#& also this job…I feel the expectations are a bit vague since it’s up to the SLP to decide what sort of help they need

[saintrosalyn]

BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths. 

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep. 

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him. 

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room. 

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself. 

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine. 

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge. 

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift. 

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside. 

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you. 

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst. 

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate. 

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels. 

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Fright.

Fright. 

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver. 

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence. 

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him. 

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in). 

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone. 

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again. 

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong. 

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.” 

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments. 

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head. 

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall. 

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach. 

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

[honey-pages]

On Your Knees - Viktor x Reader

Description -

After confessing his attraction to you, Viktor invites you to visit him in his room.

1.5k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. Blow job.

You had been seeing Viktor now for a week or so, after he expressed his feelings in an unexpected confession. You had been working as his assistant previously and he detailed that he could not, in good conscience, act on his urges when he was in a position of power - as much as you would have wanted him to. Therefore, after your job role changed and you became more independent in your duties, Viktor was back in your line of vision.

It was a well-kept secret that you both were so suited to each other. The other assistants and staff at the lab had their suspicions of your intimacy, but Viktor, noticing the subtle glances, had clarified.

“No, no. Miss (Y/N) is my assistant. I would not take advantage, no matter how charming I may find her.”

You were surprised at his openness. The conversation had gotten back to you through a friend and what could have been understood as a gentle complimentary joke, to you, meant the world. When you finally built up the courage to ask Viktor privately about this, he confirmed. Yes, he had meant it. Although he had also mentioned that a public announcement was not really the way he had intended on doing it.

You had been close since and were still in your early stages of the budding relationship. You decided it was probably time to pay him a visit. He had invited you to his room at around dinnertime. But dinnertime is an ambiguous concept for Viktor as he eats when he can fit it in, and so knowing what time to arrive was a risky decision.

You made a guess that around now was the right time and so you set out for his room. It was oddly quiet around and the walk between your rooms was not too far, you only passed a few people and no one you were well acquainted with. You approached his door after a long corridor. He had told you previously when he had invited you over to just walk straight in and not bother knocking, but that felt a little strange not knowing if he was expecting you or not. Nervousness made its appearance, and you paced slightly while considering your options. There must be a reason that he would encourage you not to knock. This was Viktor. There was probably some unknown secret project that was sound sensitive or something along those lines. You decided to walk in without knocking.

Viktor's door opened silently into a hallway which, in turn, opens into his living and workspace. His work desk is in his living room you remembered, although the light suggests that he is currently on his sofa. You put down your bag and kick off your shoes – its polite practice. You quietly turn the corner to face his living room, hoping to not disturb him by chance he was sleeping or working. In front of you, central to the sofa, Viktor sat with his hand around his cock.

His head was fallen back against the backrest of the chair and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung open, his face jerking around with the furious motion of his arm. He was panting, lost in the pleasure he was giving to himself. You had not seen him like this before. Sure, you had shared a kiss or so and light touching, but to see him so primal and vulnerable, so explicit. Standing and watching as he pleasured himself ignited some deep lust you had not yet unleashed for him, something strong and needy and -seeing him like this? - desperate.

His raw moans seemed to bring out vague words, peppered with the sound his hand made when reaching the bottom of his shaft. A repeated light slapping sound.

“Oh, fuck- “He choked out, softly to himself, as though he was struggling for breath. “(Y/N) …”

You freeze up a little bit at your mention. It suddenly made the situation so real, so red, so lustful.

“Yes?” You reply hushed, in fear of startling him, marvelling at him as though he was some mysterious undisturbed presence.

He jolted in his seat a little at your reply.

“How long have you been watching?” He managed, his grip loosened and slowed, now taking twice as long from tip to base, but not ceasing. A blush swept his face.

His hair fell around his face as he raised his head forwards, fixing his eyes on you the second they opened. He held you there in intense intimacy. You had no idea what to reply. You did not want to give the impression you had stood there fixated for too uncomfortably long. But how long had you been stood there? You had no idea. You were lost in this train of thinking when the thought of him reemerged.

“I um- Just a minute I think?” Was all you could string together; you were flustered seeing him like this.

“Come here” He purred, patting his knee with his free hand.

You approached him carefully, stomach in knots.

“Please, Miss (Y/N), on your knees”.

You lower yourself before him, settling yourself between his thighs on your knees.

“I really did mean it when I said I found you charming.”

He smiles warmly, his hand still slowly stroking himself. His gaze is intense, focused and fixed. He looks into your eyes, maybe watching the reflection of the light in them that made them glint, or maybe watching the outline of his cock in their reflection. It was unbreakable. The bond between you was powerful, inevitable even.

“Now please, (Y/N), open your mouth for me.”

You moved your face forward, level with him. His intense focus eased to a warmer output of eager want, his eyebrows hiking up at their insides, his face ready to melt itself into the open-mouthed submission he was offering you. You cast him a smile in return, a guarantee that you will satisfy. Your mouth salivated, and you hold him gently in one hand, lowering your mouth to run your hot tongue from the base of him to the top.

He shudders instantly, gripping the base of the sofa more firmly with his legs to steady himself, his head falling back once more, breaking the eye contact. His hand is propped lightly against his thigh, and at this sensation he tenses and flexes his fingers. Trailing your way up and down him, you flick your tongue over the tip, before engulfing him into the heat of your wet mouth. At this, his eyes open, and he stares breathlessly at the ceiling. Both of his hands come to meet at the back of your head and fix themselves into your hair, holding firmly but gently.

“Oh, fuck.” He mutters out a few unintelligible words before he settles on some that are understandable, “Your mouth- you’re…please, slow down.”

His grip in your hair holds tighter as his hips begin to jerk themselves upwards, betraying his composure. His eyes flash down to ensure he’s not choking you in doing so, he knows his size is more than adequate.

“Do you mind if I?” He asks, beginning to slowly take control of your head, moving it at his will to use your mouth as he wishes.

“No, you don’t mind, do you? You look too content in the knowledge that you’ve almost tipped me over the edge already Miss (Y/N).” A small grin seeps into his smile, dirty and knowing.

You work hard on matching the rhythm he is setting you with the pace of your tongue. You wrap it around him and swirl it in time with his upward thrusts, pushing and pulling him further into your mouth, to fill and force his way into the barrier of your throat. Your spit is beginning to drip at the corners of your mouth, down your chin, and he notices, wiping it away with his fingers.

“So very beautiful. I have always thought so, but now its undoubtable. You are going to swallow all of me, aren’t you?”

You nod in satisfaction; you can’t wait to see him undone. At your consent, he speeds up once more, becoming more frantic and fast without sacrificing his gentle hold. His whimpers turn into moans and expletives and his throat is purring. You feel him get harder and stiffer under your hands and tongue as he comes to his end.

“I’m going to- “He pants, “Its- “

You push him deeper than before, holding him there as you feel his cock spasm, pulsating as it thrusts forward, filling you fully.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N)- “

You swallow him. He wheezes as he catches his breath back, red faced and sweating, he sits still for a moment. After resting for a few moments, stroking your hair with his hand, he pulls you up onto the sofa next to him. He draws you close, wrapping his arms around you and bringing your head to his bare chest.

“I got quite carried away there.” He manages, hands finding their way to your shoulders, moving to tilt up your chin to face him. “I didn’t go too fast, did I?”

You smile and shake your head as a reply, seeing him fully relaxed and finished has left him dishevelled and hot and his warmth is meting into yours as you lay on him.

“I think it’s time I return the favour.”

[seokshinedk]

Today was a bit of a rough day, but the most important part is that it is over & it’s time to move on

[the-artist-grimm]

Did the couple meme finally! Modified the layout just to add more little notes. Also drew Anthea and Narinder having their typical reactions to seeing each other :3

(As a note for the sliders Anthea's color is RED and Narinder's is BLACK)

Also little facts under the cut!

Anthea

Anthea is short as heck and while they complain about it jokingly they do like how Narinder can just encompass them into hugs/carry them around easily

Borrows all the clothes cause comfy

Loves pet-names, if you can't read the text Anthea calls Narinder Nari, but also Honey, Love, Dear, Kitty, and Baby

Pretty much good with people so Anthea is a bit of an extrovert

Affection via words and actions all at once

Anthea and Narinder both confessed on the night they reconciled, at first Anthea had no plans to since they had tried to keep what the gift they'd been working on that caused the misunderstanding vague, but just decided to tell Narinder it was a courtship sash, and both confessions snowballed from there

Anthea feels just a little bad about killing bugs so Narinder's job

Cars don't exist but if they did Anthea would prefer letting Narinder do it most of the time

Can cook just fine

Big on PDA but only if chaste-so little kisses, holding hands, hugs and leaning on each other

Somewhat overprotective but not extremely so

Very much a bi-disaster. This lamb was a bit too young to think of dating while their village was around, then raised by a group of old knuckle-bones playing men while kinda in hiding till their 20s they have ZERO experience with crushes. When followers their age occasional approach with confessions or get a little too flirty Anthea has no idea how to handle it lol

Doesn't really get jealous

Flustered as heck when alone with Narinder sometimes, they were not expecting him to be as forward in private as he can be. Not that they mind of course-they just gotta wrap their head around how Narinder can be all shy in public, but the second they're alone at home he's all in on the sweet words and touches, very needy cat that one. They also are getting used to being put first so it's this wonderful mix of overstimulation

Narinder

Tall as heck and very much pleased about taking advantage of that-he enjoys how easy it is to just hold Anthea

Anthea's clothes cannot fit him but he doesn't mind, they look cute stealing his things-plus it makes them smell like him which scratches an instincts itch in his brain

Uses pet-names but kinda like old-fashioned pet names. Love, Heart, Angel, Dearest, Sunshine

Introverted as HECK this man cannot do social situations

Affection through actions cause he's not always great with words, so giving little gifts or just being next to Anthea

After Anthea revealed the gift they'd planned had been a courtship sash Narinder went through like 20 stages of grief then a rapid-fire desperate 'I need to say something NOW' as they tried to play it off as a 'I know you likely never saw me like that it was a bit more symbolic but-' thing. He just straight up said 'I love you' and it snowballed from there.

Kinda finds Anthea-a god-killer of 5, being slightly afraid of and feeling bad for bugs cute

Would drive the call all the time cause it's just easier

Really likes cooking once he's taught, it's peaceful and fulfilling.

Can be shy but does like PDA, same as Anthea he prefers to keep things chaste though, but does get a little thrill at being able to publicly reaffirm they're his

Overprotective as heck the lamb gets better at not dying but he still hates when they do.

Zero relationship experience AT ALL this man's never even had a crush before. Demi as heck he never got close enough to a person for it, so with Anthea he actually thought he was sick for a bit at first.

Part of him does still worry about being left behind so he does get jealous-he's working on it though. The only people who do not ever make Narinder jealous is the twins because well seeing his spouse and their children just makes his heart go very very soft. Anthea can spend a whole day with just the twins and Narinder's just in the background purring happily at the domesticity.

When it comes to intimacy Narinder very much enjoys seeing Anthea enjoy themselves first since after bottling up his feelings for so long, now that he has the lamb he wants to ensure they know exactly how much he loves them/remind them how much they're cared for

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[trippinsorrows]

with me + part two

authors note: well, holy shit, the response to this has been so unexpected yet insanely appreciated and humbling! the kind words of support and interest really have been so wonderful to receive. thank you thank you thank you!

this ended up much longer than i intended, but i couldn't find a "good" place to break it in half, so i apologize for the length.

i also feel like this is a bit on the boring but necessary side in terms of setting the scene and backdrop for what's to come....

i also feel like this is gonna def be more than 4 parts, so sorry!!!!

warnings: language, slight sexy time, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

words: 7.5k

tag gang: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion @tshepisho @lizzycaraballo-blog @xiamentshoneypot

“I need a break.” He slid out of you, the absence of his thick dick noticeable and borderline uncomfortable. Despite the fact that your voice was hoarse, limbs jello, and pussy tender as all outdoors, you still wanted him. Wanted to feel him inside you. But you knew you also needed some amount of time for your body recoup for the next round, so you made logic overpowered lust.

He made a sound, lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling. “So fucking needy for this dick.”

“Shut up.” It was intentionally not a denial, because he wasn’t entirely wrong. It’d been a shitty past couple weeks, what with parent teacher conferences, your least favorite time of the year. There were only so many different ways you could try to gently explain to parents that their child wasn’t the next Cornel West and actually could benefit from “additional evaluations.” But that almost always went over their heads as they attempted to tell you, the professional, the real reason why their child wasn’t doing well.

You were just over all of it and damn near at your wits end when you got the text from Joe that he’d be in town this weekend. That goofy ‘i’m about to get some good dick’ smile was damn near stamped on your face in the days preceding his arrival. You needed an outlet, and wearing yourself out on his dick until you were physically incapacitated happened to be the perfect one, the best one.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have options, you did, but they were subpar. And that was the problem with having a chance to experience superior dick, everything else that followed was mid. No one had ever fucked you like Joe. No man before him had ever made you come from just penetration. You always needed more. Had to sometimes physically instruct them on what you needed. Not with him. He gave you more—-the man could and had stayed with his face buried between your legs for hours on end—-but it wasn’t necessary. He could fuck you to a toe curling, light blinding climax with just a few good, deep strokes.

And yes, you still struggled with the guilt of fucking someone else’s man, but in times like this, where you were beyond stressed the fuck out, all you could think about was getting off and decreasing that stress. The guilt session could come later.

“What’s wrong?” He asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. You could both be around each other and not say a word without an ounce of discomfort. It was nice.

“Parents suck.” You answer, bluntly, afterwards realizing how vague that is. “I’ve had parent teacher conferences the past couple weeks, and they’ve been getting on my nerves trying to tell me how to do my job.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“Beyond, and makes me feel like they’re insinuating I don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. They just don’t want to hear it.” They prepared you in school, to some extent, to expect those select parents that weren’t the easiest to work with but to always stand behind your professional judgment regardless if one agreed or not. And for the most part, your parents in the years since you’d been teaching were relatively chill. It just seemed that this time of the year is when all of them decided to be in their difficult era.

One hand behind his head, Joe looks over at you. “Then that’s on them.” He shrugs. “You can’t make them hear what they don’t want to hear.”

Groaning loudly, you turn on your side, propping your own head up with your hand. “I know. It just sucks for the kids. There’s a couple who might be on the spectrum or have ADHD, but I can’t outright say it, so all I can do is strongly imply. And trust me, my implications are clear as fucking day. It’s just annoying when I have to work harder than I should to get people to be their kids' advocate, not their adversary.”

He’s quiet for a second and then asks. “What’s the best part of your job?”

The answer doesn’t even require contemplation. “My students. Hands down. I love kids. I love helping them learn and seeing the excitement on their face when they finally grasp a concept I’m teaching. It’s super rewarding.” 

His gaze lingers on you, “Then focus on that. You do this because it’s a passion and a love and you’re clearly good at it.” 

His words marinate over you, reminiscent of past conversations where you’re the one feeding positivity into him, reminding him to not lose focus of what’s most important and why he does what he does. The roles being reversed is different but nice. It’s nice to have him to talk to, it’s always easy to do so.

You move your hand to his chest and slowly walk your fingers downward. “Good dick and good advice. This trip is a double win for me.”

His jaw clenches when you begin to stroke him, sinfully and intentionally slowly. A smirk forms on your face. He’s just as needy for you as you are for him.

Joe’s voice is hoarse with desire. “You ready for the next round?”

“Yes.” You’re not sure if physically, you’re well enough, but that’s what epsom salt baths are for. And Motrin. You need him. Climbing on top, you grab his hardened length and align it at your entrance, dew coating the tip and serving as natural lubricant. “But I want to be on top this time.” 

________

“Mommy!”

You’re startled awake by the loud voice, jumping body, and smiling face of your personal alarm clock. The only alarm clock you’ve ever had that you can’t dictate the time it goes off. It takes a second for you to settle yourself, to push away the inappropriate afterthoughts of such a salacious dream—one you’re slightly disappointed couldn’t play out longer—to focus on the little human in front of you.

The shining sun beaming down on you from the curtains you’re certain she opened assists in doing just that. You rub at your eyes, a small, warm smile growing. “Good morning, Callie Bear.”

Her eyes, big, brown, and always full of curiosity are focused on you as she stops jumping and lands on her knees. “You’re up!”

You chuckle, how can you not be up with a rambunctious four year old jumping on your bed and screaming for you to wake up? ”I’m up.”

“Yay!” She cheers, tiny fists raised up and victory. “Can we have pancakes?” 

“I don’t know.” You pretend to contemplate her request, index finger against your bottom lip. “Can we?”

She pouts, and you bite on your lip to suppress your laughter. Her arms cross over her tiny chest, bonnet covered head tilting to the side. “May we have pancakes?”

Sometimes, you feel bad for your daughter, having a teacher for a mother. You’re always going to be on her about anything academic related, especially English. “We certainly can.” Yawning, you sit up in bed and scratch your scalp through your bonnet. “But first, hygiene.” 

Swooping her into your arms, you’re met with a chorus of giggles as you tickle her stomach with your index finger. Walking into the bathroom, you sit her on the counter and reach her her toothbrush, putting on her (Halle Bailey) Little Mermaid themed toothpaste before letting her do her thing as you do hers.

This is the first time in a while that you’re grateful for your daughter waking you up so early on a weekend. Those dreams….you’d be lying if you said they didn’t happen more than you’d like to admit. You’d tried to figure out what triggered them but have yet to be successful. 

The simplest answer would be that you miss him. You miss Joe, but that’s also the answer you refuse to admit. You can’t miss him. Don’t have the right to miss someone else’s man, someone else’s husband. 

All you can do is be appreciative that one of the biggest regrets in your life brought you your biggest blessing.

Calista, Callie, to almost everyone she knows, was a complete and utter surprise.

It was time for your women’s wellness exam, and in the set of questions they asked you, one was of course the date of your last menstrual cycle. Being stumped for a second was normal, hence why you used your beloved Flo app to track your cycle. But, it’s when you opened the app and realized you hadn’t logged a period in two months, you knew.

Didn’t need a blood test to tell you the obvious. 

You were most definitely pregnant. 

You’d used Flo consistently since you were 14 years old, there was no way in hell you’d forgotten for two whole months to input the period dates.

So, after crying and damn near having a panic attack, your doctor provided you with pamphlets. Options, as they were called. You wouldn’t review them until a couple days later, needing that time to process that you were actually pregnant. Pregnant by a married man that you’d ended things with, ironically, on the night your daughter was conceived.

What in the actual fuck were you supposed to do? Send him a text and say ‘nvm. Congrats, we’re expecting. Are you gonna tell your wife or should I?’ To this day, you’re convinced that the nasty wave of ‘morning sickness’ you experienced the first few weeks of finding out you were with child was actually just your absolute disgust that you’d allowed another woman’s husband to impregnate you.

It was like you were walking in the same footsteps your mother molded for you. Something you swore you’d die before letting happen.

What’s that saying? We make plans, and God laughs. Well, he must be having a field day with you. 

It was actually in confiding in Mariah, your best friend since kindergarten, that you were able to look past your shame and panic to see this for what it is.

“You want to have kids, don’t you?” She asked in an obvious tone, picking through the big bowl of popcorn you two shared while Insecure played at a low volume on your TV. “Well, here’s the kid.”

“I wanted to have kids with a husband, Mariah.”

“Well—“

“Shut up.” You tossed a few pieces of popcorn in her direction. This was not the time for her occasional joke. You were too busy having a mental breakdown.

“Does it really matter how the baby got here? Aren’t you the one always saying kids are a blessing? Why are you trying to block yours?” It’s a fair, valid point that you’re too stubborn to want to hear, even if it’s what you needed to hear. “I’m just saying if you’ve been blessed with being a mom, something you’ve always wanted. Seems kinda silly we’re having this discussion instead of baby names, baby showers, and gender reveals.”

“I’m not doing a gender reveal.” That much you are absolutely sure of. Never. But, Mariah’s words do resonate with you. Why were you so caught up on how you got pregnant? Yeah, it was fucked up, but dwelling on it did nothing but make you feel worse. You always imagined this would be a happy occasion, couldn’t you find it in you to be happy? Regardless of the father and that whole Tubi of a situation.

There was a life growing inside of you, no matter the dynamics of the creation, the child had done nothing wrong, didn’t deserve to be blamed. And the truth was you weren’t really that upset, you were more happy than anything, if you really allowed yourself to feel without reservation. Borderline excited, even. Maybe even at the fact that you would always have a small piece of him with you in a really big way. 

Even if he wouldn’t be a part of that experience.

And it was then that you decided. You didn’t care what anyone thought, couldn’t think about how your mother, who was completely unaware about your relationship with Joe for the entire three years, would react. You’d figure out the rest of this later because you were having this baby, but you were having this baby by yourself. Joe couldn’t know.

He wouldn’t know.

And almost five years later, nothing has changed. Yes, you absolutely couldn’t see yourself making it through your pregnancy and even the first few weeks postpartum without the help of your mom and Mariah. But, for the most part, you did everything you could by yourself for your daughter, wanting her to see the strength and perseverance of a strong, single mother. 

She finishes brushing before you and spits out the remnant toothpaste in her mouth. “Are we gonna see grandma today?”

You finish a few seconds after, spitting and wiping your mouth before answering. “We certainly are.”

“Yay!” She celebrates as you bring the towel to her face, giving it a gentle cleanse before tossing it into the hamper. Callie wastes no time in removing her bonnet and giving her curls a good shake. The two of you share a laugh as you follow suit. 

 “Pancake time?”

Separating some of her coils, you answer with a wink. “Let mommy wash her face, and I’ll be right out, kiddo.”

“Okay.” Nodding, she jumps off the counter and hurries into the kitchen knowing good and well what’s about to come out of your mouth.

“Sis, what have I told you about jumping off this damn counter?” All you hear is giggling in the wake of her dash. This child has daredevil tendencies that bring out a certain, uncomfortable level of anxiety. Medical bills weren’t in the budget, so you needed her to calm the hell down. 

She probably gets it from–

Shaking your head from unnecessary thoughts, you quickly work your way through your routine and eventually meet her in the kitchen to find her on her tablet, probably trying to figure out what movie to put on while you two cook. On the weekends, you remove the passcode from her device but still maintain the time limits for her overall screen time. 

You refuse to allow her to become an “ipad kid.”

“What’cha pick for us?” Moving through the kitchen, you pull out the necessary items and place them on the small island. 

Climbing onto the barstool, she flips the screen with a proud smile. “Moana!”

Gasping with faux surprise, you ask, “again?”

Much like her mother who was like her mother, an affinity and passion for all things Disney is another thing your child inherited. She could watch Disney movies for the rest of life and never get bored. And Moana was at the top of that list, the new Little Mermaid was a close favorite, but Moana resonated deeply with Callie for reasons you still don’t fully understand. 

Well, she is half Pacific Islan—

Clearing your throat, you and Callie get to work on breakfast, both singing along and dancing to the catchy Disney music. It’s a sweet bonding moment between the two of you, a bit of a tradition on the weekends. You’re not much of a cook, at all, but breakfast food is relatively simple. And thankfully, your child is not as picky as some other kids. A stack of pancakes with sausage is always enough to satisfy her. 

It’s when you’re both sitting in the living room, on the floor, legs crossed while you eat the delicious breakfast that you’d prepared together that a thought crosses your mind.

A distraction could be beneficial, the dream from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. And not even the dream in as much as the main event from the theme. 

You needed some dick. It’d been too long, that itch needing a scratch to give you some much needed reset. 

So, it’s when Callie is focused on the scene in Moana when Maui’s hook is broken that you grab your phone and shoot off a text. 

You free today?

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes with a response. 

Just tell me when and where.

________

Walking through the doors of your mother’s hair salon is always an experience, nostalgic almost, to all the times you and your friends would hang out there with the hopes that you could get free or discounted services. Usually free for you, not so much for your friends. 

Business was still business.

The familiar smell of hair oils, deep conditioner, and the overall sound of flat irons sizzling through hair brings a warm smile to your face. It’s things like this, this place even, that remind you why you decided to come home after college.

Home, where the closest major stores like Target and Walmart, and even the airport, are nearly half an hour away. Where you have only one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school. Where many of the streets are two laned and littered with storefronts, like your mom’s salon. Hell, the freaking bank, post office, and city hall are in the same building.

Everyone knows everyone, and for the most part, everyone looks out for each other. 

It isn’t for everybody, this almost Hallmark movie type setup. You know this. Hence why many leave for school and never or seldom return. But, for you, it’s home.

It’s also the perfect place to discreetly and raise the daughter of a celebrity.

“Grandma!”

Your mom is in the middle of a conversation with a patron but almost immediately redirects her attention to the equally familiar voice of Calista. “There’s my grandbaby!” Callie runs into your mom’s arms and is peppered with kisses all over. “Looking more and more like your mama every day.”

That genuinely makes you smile. You tend to think she favors Joe more than yourself, usually when she’s making certain facial expressions. She has a lot of his mannerisms, which you are grateful for, happy that she has characteristics from both sides. But any and all of the good things she can take from you, you want her to have.  

Callie’s smile is bright and infectious, as always. “That’s cause mommy’s my mommy!”

You laugh, approaching them and leaning in for your mom’s one armed hug as she has Callie in her other arm. “Hey, mama.”

“Hey, baby.”

Your relationship with your mom has definitely been up and down over the years, which you’d like to think is the standard for most mother-daughters. It’s something that’s arguably strengthened over time, especially post Callie. You’d gained so much more appreciation for your mother raising you on her own as a single parent. There was always appreciation, but infinitely more now as you were also in the same position. 

“I was hoping she could hang out with you for a little bit today. I have some business to take care of. If that’s okay?” 

Your mother gives you the look, the look that indicates she knows there’s more to what you’re saying but she won’t push out of respect for your privacy. And you’re grateful for that. You don’t necessarily want to explain that you need her to keep an eye out on Callie while you attend your dick appointment. 

Sucking her teeth, she starts walking to the back where her office is located. “When have I ever had an issue spending time with my only grandchild?” She has you there. Your mom would take Callie every day if you let her, and you’re so thankful for that. Not even for the tremendous assistance your mom provides but for the close relationship she has with Callie, similar to how close you were with your grandma. “Want me to do her wash day for her while she’s here?”

At that, Callie’s eyes go wide as she starts to whine, “noooo. I don’t want to.”

You chuckle. “That’s how mommy feels too, babes.” You dreaded her wash day as much as you dreaded your own. The women in your family were blessed with long, thick, healthy curls that Callie clearly inherited from you but also her father’s side cause the girl had some hair. “If you don’t mind, mama.”

She waves off your unnecessary added comment and starts to assess the state of Callie’s hair, murmuring comments to herself. 

You lean down in front of Callie and move your hand to her knee. “You sure you’re gonna be okay, sweetie?”

She nods and asks, “can we get ice cream when you come back?”

“We surely can.” You don’t allow her to have a lot of sweets—she already has enough energy as it is—but every so often, you two get the homemade ice cream cones at the local parlor. Sometimes you’ll sit outside and just talk, sharing laughs and inside jokes over the best ice cream anyone could ever have. And considering she’s about to endure a wash day, she deserves it. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

Putting her tablet on her lap, she leans over and hugs you tight. For such a tiny human, she always gives the best, most loving hugs. “I love you too, mama.”

Callie goes back to her tablet, and you issue your mom one more statement of appreciation before heading out so you can have your urge squashed and get back in time to have dessert with your little girl. 

On the car ride there, you send up a quick prayer that this time will be different, that you can get what you need and be gone without being asked to stay. It’s always the same answer, so maybe the last one finally stuck to where he won’t hope.

Won’t get his own feelings hurt.

________

“You know you don’t always have to leave right away.”

Of course.....of course.

You’re in the midst of hooking your bra back on when he hits you with the offer you were stupidly hoping he’d pass on this time around. 

Bold of you to assume you could come get some dick without this man trying to turn it into a cuddle session. 

Your smile is tight as you politely decline. “I don’t want to leave Callie at the salon too long. You never know what she’s hearing.”

It’s a weak excuse, hence him poking a hole right through it. “You know your mom would shut that down right away. Get back in the bed.”

“Really, Amir, I can’t stay.” Once your bra is on, you reach on the ground for your panties, sliding them back on as well. The sooner you get yourself decent, the sooner you can dip.

“Can’t or won’t?”

And here it goes. Sometimes, you wonder why you continue to put yourself in this situation. Amir’s stroke game is nice, but is it really worth this constant routine? You two fuck, he tries to make it more, an argument, silence on both ends for a little while until one of you needs that urge handled. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

It’s been roughly the same since you were in high school.

Amir was your first damn near everything: first crush, first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. It was a textbook small town romance. He was the quarterback, and you were the cheerleading captain. Everyone said you were perfect together and predicted at one point you’d get married after college. Truthfully, you once thought the same. But outside of aesthetics, your relationship was always rocky, borderline toxic. 

He had poor boundaries with other girls but never saw an issue because it never went beyond flirting. And because you were young, dumb, and just as toxic sometimes, you’d intentionally flirt with other guys to piss him off, knowing it was wrong to drag innocents into your Bobby and Whitney of a relationship but more interested in making him see your side of it.. 

Still, young and dumb. Not an excuse, but definitely a reason.

Even as you both went off to college, each attending separate schools, you’d occasionally hookup during the winter breaks. More often during the summer. He was your constant, preferred over allowing random dick into you, especially as he was most familiar and you knew he was clean. The devil you know type of thing.

Post college was when you really ended it, deciding that it was time to put the childish things behind you, time to put him behind you.

And you’d done relatively well for a while, the two of you becoming damn near strangers. Especially when Joe came into the picture. Amir was good in bed, but Joe was heavenly. Just the thought of anyone other than him fucking you at that time was repulsing. 

But, Joe is gone, has been, so now you’re stuck returning to the same nigga you just can’t seem to get rid of because he has a decent sized dick he, mostly, knows how to use.

And your rose can only go so far. 

“Fine. Won’t. Don’t. Not interested.” Standing up, you shoot him a look of challenge, of defiance. “Better?”

Your words understandably tick him off as he cruelly asks, “How long are you gonna let yourself be stuck on him? That nigga abandoned you and his kid, what is there to even be stuck on?”

Regardless of what happened between you and Joe, mostly with how it played out, you refuse to allow anyone to speak badly of him. Specifically when it pertains to his absence in your and Callie’s lives, especially since that was 100% your call. Only a select few know the full story, therefore the majority have no right to speak on it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so please just shut the fuck up.”

“Where is he then, huh? It’s been almost 5 years, Y/N. You need to move the fuck on. He’s your past.” Moving out of the bed, he comes up to you and places one hand to your face. You fight the desire to pull away. His touch is suddenly uncomfortable, feels wrong and noisome. “It’s time to focus on your future.”

Not that you’d ever admit it to Amir, but there’s a hint of truth to his voice. Eventually, random hookups to fulfill your sexual needs will become insufficient. Hell, even now, you still desire to be married, to give Callie that 'traditional' family. The problem is mostly lack of options, even if Amir seems convinced you two should give it another try.

 When hell freezes over. 

Your voice is even and to the point as you finish dressing and pull out your key fob. “Like I said, thanks for the scratch, but that’s all this is.” Without giving him time to talk more shit, you head out the door without another fucking word.

________

“Oh shit, is that ole girl Randy used to mess with?” Joe is only halfheartedly listening to what his cousin is saying, mostly focused on the work email he’s reading on his phone. It’s far and few in between they actually have time off, let alone enough time to go home and be among the rest of family. He’s trying to enjoy it and is enjoying it, but work is always on his mind, hence his inability to ignore the email notification that slid in mid-group conversation. “What was her name?”

“It started with an M, didn’t it?” Jey suggests. “Mariah, I think.” 

It's when the correct name is stated that Joe’s attention is briefly redirected. Mariah was your friend, the reason he was ever introduced to you. It’s a name he hasn’t heard in years. If only that was the same amount of time it’s been since he thought of you. No, instead, you’ve taken up real estate in his mind more than he’d ever like to admit or acknowledge.

“Wait, isn’t that—-” Jimmy is silenced, and out of the corner of Joe’s eye, he can see it’s because Jey gave him a look. That look you give someone when you want them to shut up.

Now…now they have his attention.

“What?” It’s when the twins share a look with each other, Jey shaking his head that Joe puts his phone to the side as Jimmy hits the lock button on his phone. “Let me see.” 

“Look, Uce—”

“I said, let me see.” One thing Joe can’t stand more than anything is when people beat around the bush or try to hide things from him. He prefers people to be upfront and honest, damn whatever feelings come up. The truth is always better, in his mind.

And yet……

Shaking his head, Jimmy blows out a breath and hands his cousin the phone.

Joe looks down and instantly regrets ever pushing the matter.

Five years.

It’s been almost five fucking years since he’s seen that beautiful smile, those deep dimples that were one of the first things he noticed about you, outside of your breathtaking beauty. You looked almost exactly the same, maybe a bit heavier, still in all of the right places. Hair a little longer but still the same deep onyx with streaks of purple. You’re smiling and posing with Mariah who also hasn’t changed much outside of a new hair color and the huge baby bump she’s sporting. A baby shower, he’d guess. 

But outside the shock of seeing you, Joe’s attention is also on the third person in the photo. A child, young in age, no more than 4 or 5, black, curly hair styled in two space-buns and a deep dimpled smile that’s almost identical to yours. Her eyes are a beautiful light brown shade, a contrast to your chocolate colored eyes.

But similar to….similiar to his. 

Brows furrowed, Joe is surprised to see you’re tagged in the photo, so he goes to your profile and is even more shocked to find it public. You were always such a private person, but he chalks it up to the fact that the only people who’d really know how to find it would have to be those close to you.

You don’t have a ton of pictures, but he clicks on the first one that has a set of photos of you and the same little girl from the baby shower. It’s dated almost six months ago, so not the newest but better than nothing. The post is a slideshow, so he begins to scroll through the photos, each of them with you and that same child, clearly at various points in her life. The last one stops him for a moment, a photo of you, crying, in a hospital bed holding a newborn baby. 

Swallowing back his emotions, Joe redirects his gaze to the caption:

my calista, my callie, my baby girl. God used one of the hardest periods of my life to bless me with the best gift anyone can receive. every day with you is an adventure. from your incessant questions about the most random of things, constant requests for disney movie marathons, to the way you refuse to part from me without giving the biggest hug and kiss goodbye while yelling ‘i love you, mommy!’. callie, you are my whole heart, and there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, sweet girl. here’s to year 4 and many many more of having the biggest honor and privilege ever of being your mama bear. 

So many things are going through his head right now. 

You had a child.

You have a child.

Based upon the date of the post, you have a child who will be five years old in a couple of months.

A child who has your smile, but his eyes, his nose, and a complexion that looks the perfect combination of the two of you. She looks like the perfect combination of the two of you.

It’s hard to not jump to the obviously glaring conclusion that all of this brings, and still, he tries to not allow his head to go there. You would….you would never do that. You would never keep his child from him, no matter how things ended between the two of you. There was wrongness to that that reached low levels of depravity, and he just couldn’t conjoin that kind of deception with who he always knew you to be. 

You were a woman who believed and tried to live by her morals. It was the reason you eventually cut him out of your life. Nothing about not telling him he has a child is moral. 

He wordlessly hands the phone back to Jimmy and goes back to reading the email, acting like nothing just happened and he doesn't have a million and one thoughts running through the back of his mind. 

It’s after he walks away, giving off an excuse that he needs to call Hunter to discuss a proposed promo that the conversation commences.

“So, we all just gon act like that lil' girl don’t look like Uce? She even got his eyes, man,” Jimmy, being Jimmy, is the first to say it aloud, the only one to actually verbalize what the others are thinking. 

“Jimmy,” Naomi chides but can’t help adding. “Do you really think that could be his kid?”

Jey decides to join in on the conversation. “It’s possible. They messed around for years.”

“But would she really do that? Have his baby and not even tell him about her?” Naomi only met you a handful of times, but all of the interactions were pleasant, and she secretly thought you and Joe would have made a cute couple if the stars were aligned differently. “She had to have told him.”

Jimmy gestures to the sliding door Joe walked through minutes earlier. “Does that look like he knew?”

“This is all just speculation.” Joseph decides to join the conversation, always the one who prefers to listen to all sides before adding his two cents. “Similiar facial features don’t mean they’re related.”

“No, but add in the timeline plus the way it ended, and you can’t help but lean one way.”

“What did happen between them?” Somewhat newer to this circle, Joseph realizes that’s a topic he’s never really heard much about. He knows his cousin basically has an open marriage and sleeps around, but he’s always heard whispers there was a woman he was with for years. 

“She just ended it one day.” Jey answers with a shrug. “Uce really ain't say much outside of that. It was sudden though.”

“But was it? Three years of waiting around for a guy to maybe or maybe not leave his wife for you?” Naomi serves as a counter, shaking her head and leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand. “Sounds like more than enough time to me.”

“It wasn’t nothing like that though. They was just messing around,” Jimmy defends.

“He cut off every other woman he was messing with when they were together.” Jey distinctly remembers how his cousin had one woman and only one woman on speed dial during that period, and it was you. It was always you. “I think it was more than just messing around.”

Joseph nods, taking in all this information. “So, if she is his, do you think she kept her a secret to get back at him for not divorcing Jadah?” It’s a bold question, but a valid one that Jey is the first to dispute.

“Naw, I’m with Naomi. Y/N wouldn’t do that.”

Jimmy shakes his head, starting to see how this is all looking to play out. “Well, if that is Joe’s daughter and that’s how he found out he has a child….this shit is about to get real ugly.”

________

Joe tried to tell himself it was just a wild coincidence. Reminded himself that you yourself said you wanted to get married, have kids. And you’d done that, had a kid. However, revisiting your Instagram pictures, in none of your posts did he see a man.

Or a wedding ring.

And just how fucking quickly could you have moved on? Doing the math, you would have had to have someone on speed dial to get pregnant as fast as you did. And that doesn’t line up with who he knew you to be. You were fucking him and only him. 

You were with him and only him.

So that left him and only him.

And like a man hyperfixated on trying to solve a puzzle, he looks at every single post on your Instagram, starting from the year you met up until now. He focuses especially on the posts that include your daughter, not that many, but enough. 

And when it’s all said and done, thoughts vs counterthoughts, logic vs emotion, Joe is 100% convinced that this is his child.

That he’s just now found out he’s a father through fucking Instagram. 

And now he’s pissed because who the hell were you to keep his child from him? He didn’t give a fuck how you felt about him and his being married, that didn’t give you an excuse to hide a whole kid? 

His kid. 

________

“Ready for your bedtime story, Callie Bear?” 

Reading with Callie has been a must since you found out you were pregnant. Your mom always told you how she read to you in the womb and to this day believes it’s why you always tested out so high with your reading abilities, even in the first grade. You’re not sure how accurate it is, having read some studies and whatnot, but you’ve followed suit, reading to Callie even when she was in your belly. Almost five years later, it’s now a tradition. She can’t go to sleep without a story.

She nods happily. You laugh and slide into the bed next to her. Naturally, she cuddles close to you, book already picked out and waiting on the bed. It’s one she’s heard a dozen times before but one of her favorites, so you read it just as theatrically, voice changes, and everything. Her giggles of happiness and merriment warm your heart. You love these one-on-one moments, wishing you could jar them and keep them stored away forever.

You’re a couple chapters in when she starts to yawn, eyes struggling to stay open, that you slide in the bookmark and promise to pick it up again tomorrow. You know Callie is ready to call it a night when she doesn’t protest. 

But, it’s after placing the book on the shelf and going to tuck her into her covers that she hits you with a question that nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Mommy, why don’t I have a daddy?”

You’re not stupid, far from it. This question was bound to come up, sooner or later. For your own selfish sake though, you were hopeful for later, much much later.

She continues, almost nervous in tone. “Ms. Leah said you need a mommy and a daddy to make a baby, so where’s my daddy?”

Curious how the conversation of where babies came from came about, you make a mental note to discuss this with your daughter’s preschool teacher before working to answer her valid question. Truth be told, you have no idea how to answer it. But if anxiety was the dominant emotion before, sadness and devastation easily topple that at the next thing to come out of her mouth.

“Does he not  love me?”

It’s not until that moment that you truly know what it feels like for your heart to shatter into absolute pieces.

“Oh, baby….” Crouching down beside her bed, you move your hand to her forehead, thumb gently caressing her soft skin. You’re so damn lost on how to handle this, what to say to take away her obvious pain, that you go with the soonest thing that hits the forefront of your brain. “Your daddy…..he….he wasn’t ready to be a daddy.”

It could be the truth, it could be a lie. You never gave yourself—or him—the chance to find out, and up until this point, you never saw an issue with that. But now….now you’re wondering just who you made that decision for. 

And if it was the right one.

Callie’s frown deepens, the answer clearly not one that makes her feel any better. “What if I’m a really good girl? Will he be ready then?”

The shattered pieces are now dust, granulated dust that you struggle to hold together in trembling palms. You bring both hands to her face. “Calista, you listen to me. You are the kindest, sweetest, most amazing little girl in the whole wide world. You don’t need to do anything to be a good girl because you are already a good girl, the best girl.”

Her eyes glaze over as she sniffles and asks in a small voice. “So why doesn’t he want me?”

“Oh, sweetie…” You pull her into a hug, holding her close and tight, as if doing so will allow her to absorb all of the love and adoration you have for this tiny human who made your life have meaning. “I’m gonna talk to him, okay? I’ll….I’ll talk to him.” That’s all you can say, even if it’s not a guarantee, even if you have no idea where such an offer came from. And you hate yourself for doing that, for getting her hopes up over something that may not even happen. You haven’t spoken to Joe in almost five years, there’s no guarantee the number is even still the same.

Still, you know you have to at least try, especially when you pull back and see the renewed hope in her teary eyes, the eyes she shares with the father she’s clearly desperate to know about, to meet, to have. 

You close your eyes and press your forehead against hers, speaking with all the love and affirmation in the world, “I love you, Calista. Always, baby.” 

You’re relieved to hear her reply in a less saddened and more hopeful tone, “I love you too, mommy.”

It’s after you’re certain Callie is knocked out and you’ve exhausted every single step of your nighttime routine that you pace around your room, partially trying to avoid an action you know you need to take. 

Especially when you find his number in your phone from an old text thread you could never find it in you to delete. 

You go back and forth for nearly twenty minutes before deciding on a simple question.

is this still joe’s number?

You feel like a damn child, throwing the phone down on the bed and burying your face into your hands. This is so much more difficult than it needs to be, or maybe it isn’t. You made the executive decision to not make Joe aware of your pregnancy for a variety of reasons that felt solid at the time.

Now…now you don’t know any fucking thing anymore, it seems. 

What you do know is that you nearly jump off the bed when your phone begins to ring. Frowning, you look at the time, wondering who in the hell could be calling you at damn near midnight.

But, it’s when you lift your phone to see the caller you know exactly why someone is calling you at damn near midnight.

Ignoring it is so tempting, but the image of Callie in tears wondering why she’s not loved or wanted is more than enough to trample your selfish desires. Sliding the green button upward, you place the phone against your ear, take a deep breath, and speak, “hi.” 

He exhales, your name leaving his mouth for the first time in years. Hearing his voice, let alone hearing him say your name, creates a heaviness you weren’t expecting. Then again, you weren’t expecting to speak to him at all tonight.

Or ever, for that matter.

Communication is suddenly incredibly difficult as you struggle to string words together to create a cohesive statement. “I’m….I’m sorry for calling so late, but—”

“We need to talk.” While your tone is soft and nervous, his is serious and borderline stoic. It takes you for a bit of a loop, but you try not to put too much into it. The real focus should be why he interrupted you so harshly with such a bold statement. He’s not wrong, but why does he think you need to talk? “I’ll get a flight out tomorrow.”

That breaks you from your thoughts. A what?  “wait—”

“You still at the same place?”

Swallowing, still very much confused, you answer, “yes, but—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

The phone goes silent on the other end, and you realize it’s because he’s ended the call. You must stare at that phone for a good five minutes in complete utter shock. Eventually, coming out of the catatonia, only one thought circulates around your mind.

What in the actual fuck just happened? 

[aquarelliwrites]

Go For Broke, Chapter 1: First Loser, Second Loser

the Monaco 2022 Grand Prix weekend retold. // series masterlist

Picture the Monaco riviera on a Thursday morning. Mechanics buzzing around cars and stacks of tyres, reporters and photographers streaming in through the gates, and a Ferrari driver sitting squeezed between the pit wall monitors and the wall on the second story of her garage. A thick pane of glass muffling the chatter and racket growing louder by the minute.

Away from the overwhelming sea of rich tourists, camera lenses and microphones, sleep clawed at the edges of her vision and the cobwebbed peripheral hallways of her mind. The iced coffee and half-eaten pastry on the floor next to her weren’t doing a good job of holding it back on their own.

A long, quiet stanza shattered with the note of a simple “Ciao.” 

“Fuck!” Her hand came up sharply - to punch her teammate in the face, or rest over her heart to calm it? She couldn’t know.

“Wouldn’t have pinned you for fight, puzzone. You seem more like a flight type of person.” He - Charles - laughed, fiddling with the vlog camera in his right hand. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning, my ass. Gave me the scare of my life just now.”

The liar grinned. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Sure. What are you doing up here, anyway?” Giving the floor right next to her a little pat, she prompted him to sit down and join her behind the wall of computers. It’s not like anyone was there to tell them they were in the way.

“I’m recording a behind-the-scenes vlog this weekend. This seemed like a good place to get some aerial footage, but I was going to go up to the terrace as well, to see which was better.” His answer was enthusiastic, and she smiled and nodded as he continued to talk about his camera specs and when the lighting on track should be the best. Alas, it didn’t distract him as well as she’d hoped. “Why are you sleeping up here?”

“I couldn’t sleep very well last night.” Understatement of the century. The heels of her palms rubbed her eyes in a vague attempt to somehow rectify an entire night’s worth of tossing and turning.

“How come?” Finally setting his camera down, he glanced back at her. “Oh, you smudged your, um..”

“Eye pencil? Of course I did.” With a sigh too deep to be indicating exclusively frustration over her messed-up makeup, she swiped whatever smudges she could from her under eyes. “I don’t know. At first, everything was too loud. Then it got too quiet, so I had to put on music. Then it was too hot, then too cold. I think I also spent a while staring at the ceiling.” And crying. That part went unsaid, though. “I’m just a bit nervous about the weekend, I think.” 

Did she say ‘understatement of the century’ earlier? She was fairly sure this beat the record. It was a miracle she'd managed to keep down the few bites she did.

He grimaced slightly, extended his hand to hold hers, gave it a slight squeeze even. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“No worries. Not your fault, monello.”

A smile reappeared on his face at the childish nickname. “Come on, you’re the only one of us who actually likes media day.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She managed a small smile. Now that she was distracted, he managed to swipe the rest of her pastry - not without earning a slap to the wrist in the process.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it!” He yells in complete defense of his actions. Had she been actually hungry, she might have killed him then and there. 

“It’s fine. I was done with it.”

Media didn't suck as much as she expected it to. Not that it usually did.

There were the ever-present questions, of course. It was a mental checklist, maybe bingo card, every week: 

Are she and Charles dating? (No.)

How does it feel to be the first woman in Formula 1 since Lella Lombardi to score points? (Good, but there should have been women before her.)

Which brands of haircare or skincare did she use? (Lots, but what did it matter when she wore a helmet most of the time?)

Does she feel like she can keep up with the rest of the grid? (This one usually just received a blank stare until the interviewer got too uncomfortable to wait for an answer.)

Was it sad that she got excited to actually talk about the car she'd be driving? Incredibly.

The rest of the interviews were crammed full of hopes that Charles would finally do well, that the team would do well as a whole, that- well, you get the point.

Minutes later, the photographers that managed to walk out first got treated to a great shot of supposedly sworn enemies - two Ferrari drivers and two Red Bull Racing drivers - standing near the exit of the media pen and watching reporters file out.

Chatting with Sergio - Checo, she and everybody else called him - was the best way to spend the, seemingly, geological eon Charles and Max took to debrief each other about… well, about everything. Those guys didn't talk all that much outside of the paddock, and they were practically neighbors. It's weird.

She always found Checo more approachable, anyway. Whenever she even walked past his Dutch teammate, she could practically feel his icy gaze shooting daggers through her. If looks could kill, she'd have died a hundred times over.

Not that she didn't return the glares - she found it quite enjoyable to produce a staring contest out of thin air, and it would usually end up with him looking away, the slightest of unnoticed blushes settling upon the tips of his ears.

Today, Checo had a delightful surprise - a guy on Twitter doing imitations of F1-related personalities. She laughed along at the stuttering blunders of Will Buxton and the monotone accented voice resembling Checo's uncannily, and even the one of Max struggling to open a can of Red Bull and swearing profusely upon receiving radio instructions, but what really got her to look aghast was the next impression. Of her.

“Come on, that's no girl voice!” She was sure they were attracting attention with their laughter, since their teammates both looked over in confusion. “He sounds like he inhaled helium!”

“No, no, he sounds correct to me.” Checo faux-wiped a tear from his eye.

“It absolutely does not!”

“Here, Charles, Max, take a look at this.” They complied - and unfortunately, did not agree with her.

“I don't know, that pretty much sounds like you. Whenever I hear you speak it's like a caffeinated chipmunk squeaking at me all angrily.” Max laughed, and she felt blood rush up to her face, embarrassment and anger mixing dangerously.

“I don't know, Verstappen, you not being able to open a can of Red Bull on your own also seemed fairly accurate.” Her sweet tone did nothing to disguise the way the words dripped with acid. He grimaced like they actually burned.

“Sorry, schat, my mistake. Truly, will you ever forgive me?” He turned away - to speak with her teammate once more. 

The guy was fucking insufferable. And the nicknames he gave her only fueled a desire to crush him out on the track. What the hell did schat even mean?

Charles squinted behind his sunglasses. “What in the fresh hell are they doing?” 

A long, obnoxiously loud slurp identical to that of a nearly empty plastic cup that used to store iced coffee sounded off from next to him. “Will you stop that?” He huffed a laugh.

“Stop what?” The second slurp managed to sound more ear-grating than the first. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

“Just… look over there, right?”

The pair stood on the third-story terrace of the Ferrari garage - a feature unique to the Monaco race - and stared out into the harbor. The Red Bull Energy Station was a raft, and it was huge, so the commotion near their swimming pool was easily visible to anyone higher than the second floor.

“That's Max and Checo, Charles.”

“No, idiot, I know that. Look at what they're doing.” He gestured, exasperated, so she cocked a hip and leaned forward over the railing to get a better look.

“They're putting rubber ducks in the pool. Or just a bunch of…” she squinted as well, “tiny yellow blobs. I’m guessing ducks, though?”

“I'm at a loss for words.”

“Charles, you are so dramatic. They just had me blindfold you to drive a sim lap in Imola a couple of weeks ago.”

“That's different.”

“We've done shit more insane than releasing a couple dozen yellow duckies into a pool.”

“Okay, and?

They observe as Max seems to… fish one out of water? A couple of moments later, he's speaking to someone on the phone, and Checo looks like he'll burst if he doesn't let go of his laughter.

“This has to be for the YouTube channel, right?” She half-turned to him to see the confusion and disbelief visible all over his face.

“Definitely. Max wouldn't agree to do that if it wasn't some sort of PR.”

“Okay, loverboy.” His encyclopedic knowledge of Max would annoy her to death if she didn't know every fact she could dig up about him. Some would call it obsessive - she'd just explain it as studying her rival's weaknesses. 

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Okay, see, he just looks like he's crying again!” Charles’ voice raised a little.

“I don't understand why you're so worked up over this.” It was his turn to observe his teammate's nonchalant, if a little curious, exterior.

“You're- ugh. Whatever. Now he's just calling someone again.”

“Oh, to be a fly on that deck. I'd kill to know what Checo was laughing at.” With a final slurp, she rediscovered one last sip of her drink that had missed her entirely.

“Ooh, be careful.” His voice was laced with a teasing undertone behind her.

She shot Charles a confused look.

It's Friday now, and all their successful data gathering in both practice sessions earned them the privilege - she'd beg to differ - of an ice bath. She's tried and failed to kick, scream, and claw her way out of them (metaphorically, of course) before.

It was, however, a relief to finally get to take her hoodie off. It had been sensible clothing mere hours earlier, but it was positively stifling then. She let out a dramatic gasp at the freedom of weather-appropriate attire.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting changed? In front of everyone? What will the media think?” His voice was nothing but crystal clear sarcasm, with his face distorted in an expression of faux disapproval. “Scandalous. I thought I taught you better.”

A puzzled laugh escaped her. “Wh-? Why the hell are you shaking your head at me? I have a top on.” She gestured to the, realistically, fairly modest swimsuit top on herself.

“Did you even think of the poor engineers who will be so distracted from working on our cars?” 

The level of this man's theatricality was show-stopping and infuriating simultaneously. “Charles. Darling.”

“Hm?”

“You were literally flashing your tits to, oh, I don't know, about… what, half the paddock? And thousands of SkyTV viewers? Like, ten minutes ago?”

“What? Me? I could never.” He even did a pearl-clutching motion at the very implication. She rolled her eyes.

“You are literally wearing less clothing than me right now. Like, if you turn around, you'll count approximately… two dozen Paddock Club girls drooling over your biceps as we speak.”

“No… Well, touché. They want us in the tubs now, though.”

“That's- yes, why else did you think I was undressing?”

“You can never know with you.”

She rolled up the towel in her hand in order to smack him as hard as she could, but he only laughed. “Prick.”

The ice bath was terrible. Awful. She wished she could be poetic and compare it to a breath of winter's night, or a fireless hearth - that would not do it justice. Plunging into the tub was the ninth circle of hell, with Dante and Virgil observing her slow and painful eternal fate.

The media people were having a field day with Charles. She didn't know how he managed to keep his composure enough to let them film thirst traps.

“Fuck me, this is miserable.” Her teeth were chattering so hard that she thought her lower jaw would soon start creaking on its hinges from the motion. She watched the goosebumps blooming all over her thighs and arms. And Charles was fucking laughing, the bastard.

“Mon dieu, I don't know what I did to wrong you,” she uttered through gritted teeth towards the sky, “but I swear never to do it again.”

The sky, of course, didn't respond. Her teammate thought it was a good time to pipe up, though.

“You took me out two years ago, in Alfa Romeo. This is karma.”

Her head snapped towards him, if only to lower her sunglasses and glare at him over the tops of the frames. He didn't bother looking up from checking his fingernails.

“That wasn't even my fault- Fuck, this is so cold.”

When the Ferrari social media girl let her know she'd start filming her then, the only thing she could do is nod curtly, jaw clenched.

“How are you feeling after FP1 and FP2?”

“Very… very positive about the weekend.” If nothing else, every single muscle in her body seizing at the freezing water might finally be the thing to give her better abs.

“And how are you feeling?”

“What, right now?” The girl nodded. “Arguably worse than before I got in. I'll be loving it when I get out in- when can I get out?” 

The small gaggle of Ferrari employees around her laughed. “Oh, yes, hilarious, I bet.” 

“Ah, you're being dramatic now. It's not a duck's cold.” His badly translated French idiom forced a small smile onto her face. Both of them being multilingual more often than not meant one of them being stared at in confusion over a poor choice of words that got mistranslated on its way over their tongue. 

“I'm just saying, it's a perfectly pleasant and sunny day. I don't understand what need there was for a plastic tub colder than a Siberian lake?”

An ice cube hit her head. Her glare only made Charles smile sweetly.

“If I wasn't under threat of all of Monaco skinning me alive at any harm done to you, I'd throttle you right now.”

He blew her a kiss. Bitch.

Champagne bubbled past her lips on the second step that Sunday. It was a Red Bull 1-3, with an incredibly disappointed Charles down in P4. She only managed to spot his melancholic expression down in the crowd of navy and red when the Mexican anthem was playing its last notes. 

The race was a spectacle by Monaco standards - an incredible 21 overtakes and a fight for P2 for the entire duration. She had barely managed to drag the Ferrari over the finish line on mediums so torn up, they might have punctured on the following lap. Really, she was just counting her lucky stars.

She blinked rapidly, wiping alcohol from her eyes. Or was it still sweat from the race? Taking a long drag from the bottle seemed to cool her down enough. Checo was chatting with Max, both of them soaked just like her. She was delighted at his win, and happier more when she realized she beat Max. A smile grew on her face uncontrollably at the thought of the way she practically skipped past the third step and straight into second place - his eyes burning holes in the side of her head the entire time. If looks could kill, they’d be cleaning her dead body off the floor before any trophies could even be handed out.

Had she glared back at him, he’d have turned his head abruptly to avoid notice.

To be entirely honest, she wasn’t even sure when a rivalry between them began to form. They never karted together - maybe she only saw him a couple of times when she was very young and he was in a category above hers. While he had skipped F2 altogether and left Charles his F3 seat, she was still fighting through regional F4 championships. When she was in Alfa Romeo with Kimi in 2020, he was already winning with Red Bull.

Maybe she had grown tired of the news of his wins; or he had had it with her successfully playing the media darling; or both of them started growing abrasive every time the other flaunted a better result as proudly as a championship win.

To put it shortly: If the two of them were involved, it tended to be tense.

Flashing Max a proud and mocking grin from behind Checo’s back only resulted in a scoff and a roll of his eyes. Or at least she guessed - the champagne stuck to her lashes made her vision a kaleidoscope a little more than she would’ve liked.

After they had their picture taken, she gathered her trophy against her hip and the open bottle limply in her other hand. Had she walked off the podium any faster than she did, she wouldn’t have caught his muttering.

“You always have to one-up everyone, huh?”

“Not everyone.” She smiled, sweetly. “Just you.”

“Aw, I’m honored.” He spoke in a tone that was anything but honored. “You only try so hard to keep up with me, schat?” Again with the ridiculous nickname. Was he calling her shit?

“In your dreams, Verstappen. S’not my fault I’m just so naturally talented, and you’re… you. You know?” Anyone who heard her dry reply might have doubted she even believed the praise she threw at herself. Except Max.

“Was it natural talent when-”

“Alright, children, enough.” Checo’s arms came around both of their shoulders as he led them off the podium. “Kid, do you want to come to the energy station- Max, don’t look at me like that- do you want to come watch the pool dive? Horner said he might wear a… what’s it called? The swimming underwear?”

“Um, Speedos?”

“Yes!” The snap of his fingers rang behind her right ear. “A Union Jack Speedo.” 

“That’s… supposed to be enticing?”

He shrugged, letting go of both of them now that the trio was away from cameras. Max left immediately. “Invite Charles. I’ll see if I can get any other drivers to come.”

“Me and Charles? I thought we were practically Public Enemies #1 and #2 over there?”

“Ah, well… yes. Maybe don’t come in red.”

“Incredibly helpful as always, Checo.”

Raising his pointer finger at her, he looked more like a dad than ever before. “Don’t give me that tone.” He received only a sly grin and an eyeroll.

“Any plans for tonight?”

“You’ll see it in the groupchat.”

The Red Bull Energy Station ended up looking more like a millionaire’s- no, billionaire’s college pool party that afternoon, with more and more people filtering in by the minute.

In a show of solidarity towards her teammate, she had stolen the P2 champagne for him and herself to share in a walk around the marina. Already, they observed yacht owners getting ready for the afterparty of the year all around them.

“You look surprisingly somber.” He said after a long silence. 

She simply took a long swig of lukewarm alcohol to avoid answering.

“Are you-” He stopped. Hesitated. “Is- Um, how are you doing?”

“Good.” A response typical for someone who most definitely was not good. “Very good.”

“Are you su-”

“Y’know, I’m very excited for tonight. I don’t get to party it up in Monaco much.” Cutting him off looked to be the best option right then. “Last year was more chill.”

“...Yes, we went for a picnic up to that viewpoint with Charlotte and… who were you dating then?”

“Oh, Antonio? I wasn’t serious with him.”

“Oh?” He gratefully took the bottle when she offered it. “I thought you were.”

“It’s hard to be. You of all people should know how the media reacts to our relationships.” Among other things.

Having not even realized it, they were now standing before the Red Bull hospitality - if that was a correct term for the frat raft it appeared to be.

“Shall we?” He said. She swallowed.

“Might as well.”

To be fair, the deck was comfortable. And loud. Incredibly loud. They were offered Red Bulls - which they accepted, as they weren’t, y’know, animals. In a few minutes, she found herself sitting on the railing to get a better look over everybody else’s heads, while he leaned against it right next to her. 

And to her mixed disappointment and relief, Christian Horner did not wear a Union Jack Speedo while jumping into the pool. He didn’t even jump - Max shoved him in after Checo.

The little party went on for a little while, but her social battery was dying and relying on Charles’ charms didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. When she announced her decision to leave to him, he agreed quickly, still carrying her souvenir bottle for her.

Unfortunately for them, nobody else had. The crowd was still there, much like a great number of immovable concrete walls, and they struggled to make their way to the stairs. Charles, being a bit taller and more broad-shouldered, went first in an attempt to push his way through. She, however, got separated fairly easily and had little control in being accidentally herded to the pool’s edge like cattle.

“Hey, wait-” Someone she had no time to see collided with her, sending her right into the water.

Or they would have, if her arm wasn’t abruptly grabbed by the most irritating, bothersome individual who she could have possibly crossed paths with at that moment.

He had an annoyed look in his eyes. “Watch it.”

“...Thank you.” It was painful for her dignity to say while he pulled her back to a standing position. Not waiting for a response, she hurried after Charles.

And left Max standing alone in the crowd. 

NOTE: Honestly, I'm not that happy with this but I am glad that I finally got it out. Slightly anticlimatic for a first chapter? Yeah, nothing I can do about that now. Also this wasn't beta read, sorry for the mistakes you were forced to endure lol

TAGLIST: @falk0r3

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[zzoomacroom]

Live a Little

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Dreamling, One Shot, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Friends to Lovers, 6500 words

Late entry for @mr-sadman's Dreamling Week 2024 (Day 1: Indulgence, First Time). Also for @dreamlingbingo (Square A3: Friends to Lovers)

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Summary: Dream needs to be convinced that he’s allowed to indulge, to want, to live. Hob shows him some of the little things that make life worthwhile: good friends, good wine, fancy chocolate, and amazing sex.

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Getting Together, First Time, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Under-negotiated Kink, Dream has bad blowjob etiquette but Hob is into it, not beta read

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“Make yourself at home, my friend,” Hob says, ushering his oldest and dearest friend into the sitting room. Dream nods soberly and heads for the sofa, while Hob turns back towards the hall. “Back in a tick. I’ve got a nice Pinot noir I’ve been saving that I think you’ll like.”

Before his friend can launch into his whole “You need not trouble yourself, I have no need for sustenance, blah blah blah” spiel, Hob darts through the hall and into the bright, cluttered kitchen at the back of the flat. He uncorks the wine and crouches down to rummage through the cabinets, hauling aside dishes and cast iron pans that would almost certainly be considered antiques by now. He knows they’re around here somewhere…

“Ha!” Hob makes a little noise of triumph as he retrieves the pair of dusty earthenware cups that he’d bought at an art fair a couple decades back. They’re handmade and painted in brilliant blues and greens, and the small bumps and imperfections on them remind him of the Border ware dishes he had owned back in the mid-16th century (minus the lead glaze, presumably).

Hob gives the cups a quick wash and dries them off before pouring the wine. He’s learned the hard way that Dream is not a fan of glass drinkware these days. When his friend explained the reason for this sudden aversion, Hob’s heart had shattered like the brandy snifter that Dream had dropped minutes before. Afterwards, he had gone through and purged his flat of wine glasses, glass bowls, and anything else that even vaguely resembled the prison Dream had described. Not just for his friend’s sake, but for himself; he doesn’t want that reminder either—the thought of his dear stranger, trapped, alone… If Hob had known…

God, if only he’d known…

Anyway. The point is, he’s been sticking with coffee mugs since then. But he can’t serve fine wine to the King of Dreams and Nightmares in a “Shag of the Century” mug, even if it does feel hilariously apropos, so it’s lucky he remembered these. The flat’s a bit of a mess as it is and he doesn’t want to come across as too much of a slob.

Hob hadn’t expected his old friend to drop by today. Well, to be honest, he never expects it, but he’s always thrilled to see him. Ever since they broke their centennial tradition with that first meeting at the New Inn, Dream has started visiting more frequently. At first it was brief, sporadic meetings at the pub, but he gradually started to come around more often, much to Hob’s delight. He’s shown up a few times when Hob was leaving work, instigating a riot of gossip among Hob’s coworkers and sixth-formers alike. Sometimes he visits Hob while he dreams, which had destroyed Hob’s entire perception of reality the first time it happened and still never ceases to blow his mind.

Usually the two of them come up to Hob’s flat, ostensibly to watch a movie or so that Hob can show off whatever new gadget he’s acquired, but the truth is that he wants Dream’s attention all to himself. Hob has always been a selfish, greedy man, and he can’t help but covet this precious time spent together. One never knows if the next Will Shakespeare is lurking in the pub.

He can never predict exactly when his friend will show up, but these days it seems like hardly a week passes without seeing him. So it’s odd that this is the first time he’s been by in over a month. Hob had noticed right away that something was troubling him; Dream seems even more distant and shuttered than usual today, and so Hob had herded him upstairs the moment he walked through the door.

He’s trying very hard not to be a mother hen, but in fairness the pub was starting to get crowded, and Hob knows that his friend is not fond of the noise. He’s just being considerate, he tells himself. Yes, he’s missed him desperately these past few weeks, and yes, the worry that he’d been captured again has consistently been in the back of Hob’s mind. But he has to rein it in and play it cool, lest he trigger another incident like 1889. He knows how lucky he is, how spoiled he’s become, getting to see Dream so often after having gone a century (or more) between meetings. So he knows he’s being a bit silly, getting so antsy after only a month apart.

Still. He worries.

(Continue reading below or on ao3):

Hob returns to the sitting room, wine bottle in one hand and the two cups balanced precariously in the other. He stifles a gasp and nearly drops them when he sees his friend perched on the sofa, having evidently vanished his coat and shoes back to the Dreaming, leaving his feet and arms bare. Hob simultaneously feels like a prude and a pervert as he drinks in the rare sight of that flawless ivory skin.

Then his heart swells with fondness—Dream has actually attempted to make himself at home, like Hob offered. “Attempted” being the key word; he does rather look like he’s sitting in a waiting room instead of on his friend’s sofa. Like he’s not sure how comfortable he’s allowed to get. Hob wants to make him comfortable, wants to wrap him in soft blankets and feed him soup and make him understand how fiercely loved he is.

Steady on, Hobsie. Get a hold of yourself.

Dream looks up from the worn copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy he’s been thumbing through, and if Hob didn’t know any better he’d say there was a faint blush blooming on his perfect cheekbones.

See, that’s the elephant in the room: the ever-present sexual tension between them has been at an all-time high lately. Obviously, Hob fell in love with Dream the second he laid eyes on him—how could he not?—and occasionally, over the centuries, he’s felt a spark of… something, from his stranger (that look he’d given him in 1789 being the most flagrant example). And he’s been feeling that something more and more often these days.

Maybe he’s just a lovesick, hope-stricken old fool, but Hob has a sneaking suspicion that his feelings for his friend are, at least to some small degree, reciprocated. Hob is sure as hell not going to make the first move; he cringes as he remembers how that had gone the last time he tried it. But it’s alright. He can be patient. He has been patient. And if nothing ever happens between them, well, that’s alright too. This easy companionship that they’ve developed is more than Hob could have ever hoped for, and he considers himself a lucky man indeed.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

“Here we are, my friend.” Hob hands one of the cups to Dream—the blue one that matches his eyes—and settles beside him on the sofa, stretching and making a point of putting his feet up on the coffee table to signal to his friend that he’s allowed to relax. And he does seem to get the hint, his shoulders easing down a fraction as he leans back into the cushions. “To life,” Hob says, tilting his cup Dream’s direction. Dream responds with a small, slightly pained smile and gently clinks his cup against Hob’s before taking a sip, humming appreciatively as he drinks.

“Good, eh?” Hob grins, thrilled that his friend is enjoying it.

“Indeed. This is a fine vintage. I thank you for sharing it with me,” Dream replies solemnly.

“I can’t think of anyone better to share it with,” Hob says, perhaps a bit too earnestly, and Dream���s blush deepens ever so slightly. “So,” Hob clears his throat, “what have you been up to, my friend? It’s been a while since I saw you last.” Dream stiffens at that, and Hob hastily adds, “If you want to talk about it, that is. You don’t have to.”

Dream takes another long sip of wine and shakes his head before speaking. “I was with family. I spent some time with my youngest sister, as well as some other relations. One whom I had not seen in centuries, and. Another. With whom I had not spoken in millennia.”

To Hob’s credit, his mind boggles only a little at that. “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? Family reunion and all?”

Dream makes a small noise—of agreement or skepticism, Hob couldn’t say—and looks away as he continues to drink his wine. It’s obvious that something has happened; Dream seems… hopeless. Resigned. To what, Hob doesn’t dare guess. Dream doesn’t seem inclined to share more at the moment, and there’s a beat of awkward silence as Hob fumbles through his mind for a new topic of conversation. He’s mentally reviewing his day for any interesting stories to tell when he notices his friend staring at the small box wrapped in gold paper on the coffee table, seemingly lost in thought.

Hob springs forward and opens the box, nudging the chocolates in Dream’s direction. “Oh! Where are my manners? Help yourself to those. Some of my coworkers got them for my birthday—well, what they think is my birthday.”

Dream blinks at him. “I do not need to eat.”

Hob chuckles. “Nobody needs to eat chocolate. It’s purely for pleasure. You don’t need to drink this very good wine either, but you’re enjoying it,” he points out, topping off both of their cups to underscore his argument. “And I bet these would go great with the Pinot.” He takes a vanilla cream-filled one for himself before pushing the box closer to Dream. “Go on, they’re quite nice. It’s the expensive stuff. I think that one’s caramel, and that’s a raspberry cream…”

A tiny smile creeps over his friend’s face as he speaks. “My sister is fond of those. Or. Something like them.”

Hob is immensely curious about these family members Dream keeps mentioning, but he doesn’t want to pry; he knows by now that if Dream wants to share something with him, he’ll do so in his own time. “Well, please, have as many as you’d like. I’ll never finish them all before they go stale, so you’d be doing me a favor.”

“I do not usually. Indulge,” Dream says, though he is still staring (longingly, one might almost say) at the cocoa-dusted confections.

“You mean to tell me you’ve got the entire Dreaming at your fingertips, and you don’t indulge in all the lovely things you’ve made? That, my friend, is a tragedy.” Hob smiles and shrugs. “Well, if you won’t indulge yourself, then why not indulge me? I won’t make you eat them, of course, but…” he takes a bite of the bonbon (it really is good, even if it’s a bit too sweet for his taste), “you’d be missing out.”

The gloom that had earlier enshrouded Dream seems all but dissipated, and Hob can’t help but notice the way his friend’s eyes flick to his mouth, the starry voids of his pupils blown wide. Hob is considerably flustered himself right now, but he manages to give his friend what he hopes is a roguishly charming wink.

Dream glances down, his cheeks reddening further. “Very well. If you insist,” he says primly, like he’s doing Hob a favor as he delicately plucks a milk chocolate truffle from the box. And he is doing him a favor; Hob already counted it as a win that he was enjoying the wine, and this is just… well, the icing on the cake. Hmm, maybe he can get him to try cake next time…

Hob loses his train of thought as he watches his friend bite into the chocolate. Dream’s eyes widen before fluttering shut, and the moan he lets out is downright sinful. It’s enthralling. Hob is in trouble.

Dream keeps his eyes closed while he savors the confection, his tongue darting out to lick the powdered cacao from his petal-pink lips. He swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Hob shivers as he envisions…

No. Now is not the time. Keep it together, old man. Hob shifts and crosses his legs, vainly attempting to ignore the heat pooling low in his belly and the subtle tightening of his trousers.

“Thank you, my friend,” Dream murmurs, glancing demurely at Hob. “They are. Nice. As you said.”

“Of course. I’m glad you like them,” Hob beams. “Help yourself to more. Anything I have, you’re welcome to,” he adds, gesturing vaguely around the flat.

Dream stares at him for a long moment, with a hunger in his eyes that brings to mind that look, the one he’d given him in 1789. There’s something else in his expression, though. Something sad. But before Hob can attempt to decipher it, Dream schools his features, once more a mask of emotionless detachment (except for the telltale flush that has now spread from his cheeks to his ears and neck).

They’re sitting quite close together on the sofa, Hob notices. Had he scooted over without realizing, or was that Dream? There’s no body heat, no familiar human scent coming from his friend, but Hob can feel a strange sort of energy emanating from him—something like static electricity. Like the heavy, expectant stillness that comes before a storm.

Dream slowly, hesitantly reaches for another piece, and as he leans forward their thighs brush together ever so faintly.

Hob’s breath hitches.

Although they’ve been meeting regularly for a couple years now, they have never so much as shaken hands. This is unprecedented.

Hob exhales shakily, and he can’t hold back the embarrassing little noise that escapes him. He tries to disguise it as a cough, but Dream freezes and draws back suddenly as if he’s been bitten.

“It’s alright,” Hob says softly, almost a whisper, like his friend is some skittish wild beast who might flee at any second (actually, that’s about the size of it). “Have another one.”

Dream shrinks back into the sofa, looking suddenly rueful. “I should not.”

Hob laughs nervously. “Now don’t tell me you’re trying to watch your figure, because you’re already…” he splutters and trails off, tugging on his earlobe as a prickling heat creeps up the back of his neck.

Too much. Stupid. So bloody stupid, just shut up.

He hasn’t had nearly enough wine for his mind to be so fuzzy and his mouth so loose. So why can’t he get a grip?

"It’s just—I mean,” he goes on, his treacherous mouth continuing to prattle on despite his brain’s feeble protests, “my point is, it’s alright to indulge. You of all people deserve to indulge. And I offered, so… please. Take what you want. You’re allowed to want things, Dream. And you deserve to have what you want. And—and I know, you can conjure anything up out of dreams and stardust. But even so. I just… I want you to know that anything I have, anything I can offer, however trivial, it’s yours if you want it. And it’s just chocolate and wine, eh? So… why not live a little?”

Hob looks up, apparently done with his ramble, to find Dream staring at him, his head cocked in that adorable way of his. His lips are parted slightly and his eyes shine with unshed tears.

Oh, brilliant. Great fucking job, Hobsie. Just don’t know when to quit, do you?

“Hob,” his friend begins, his voice a deep rumble of distant thunder, more of a feeling than a sound. “You are very generous. More so than is wise, and far more than I deserve. But I am afraid that your generosity may be. Misplaced. You say that I should ‘live a little,’ but. I am not… alive, in the way that you are. I do not live. I simply… am.”

Hob stares at him, dumbfounded, while his heart breaks into a thousand pieces. That… is the saddest fucking thing Hob has ever heard in the two-thirds of a millennium that he’s been alive. It all makes sense now. That’s why Dream has always been so interested in the mundane minutiae of his life. He’s been living vicariously through Hob, and all the while he’s got no life of his own. Just… existing, not living, for billions of years, and on and on until the end of time.

But that’s not true, is it? No. Hob rejects the entire premise. Dream may not be a living, breathing human, but he’s a person. And he does so have a life; he’s got a family. He’s got friends. If nothing else, he’s got Hob. He’s more than just his bloody function that he’s always going on about. Hob wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Tell him that he can live, he must.

Hob’s mind is already racing with ideas—he’s going to have to up his game; they can’t keep meeting at the pub or in Hob’s flat. There’s so much more out there to do and see. Maybe, instead of living vicariously through him, Hob can convince Dream to do some living with him. Not like that… Just. Bucket list-type stuff, even though neither of them can die. Although he doubts Dream would go for it; the mental image of his dear friend skydiving is as far-fetched as it is hilarious.

Of course, he doesn’t dare say any of that. He’s sure he’s already overstepped with that unhinged rant he just went on. He ought to quit while he’s ahead and drop the subject before he offends Dream. Still, it’s impossible not to notice the way Dream has been swaying closer to him over the course of this conversation. The way the air between them seems to crackle with electricity.

“Nevertheless,” Dream continues, “I am grateful for your kindness. Thank you, my friend.”

"'Course,” Hob murmurs. “Like I said. Anything I can offer, it’s yours. So… what do you want?”

Dream falters for a moment and seems to be intensely focused on picking at a nonexistent loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. “I… I must confess that I do not know what to say. When you ask me this. It is not in my nature to want; desire is the domain of my sibling. It is not within the purview of dreams. I do not live, nor do I want.”

“Bullshit.” The word spills from Hob’s mouth before the thought even crystallizes in his mind. Dream looks stunned and a bit offended, though more confused than anything else. He’s not getting up and storming out, though, so that’s a good sign. He’s frowning, but still watching Hob intently, like he’s curious as to how Hob will follow up that little outburst. Hob is curious where he’s going with this, too; apparently, sitting this close to Dream has caused his brain to short circuit, and now his mouth is running on autopilot.

Ah. Right. Better keep talking, then.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have said that. But… I mean, obviously you wanted that chocolate. And you want to be here, or you’d have left already.” The furrow between Dream’s brows deepens as Hob speaks, and he clenches his jaw tightly. Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t give him ideas. Dial it back, old man. “But that’s alright! Really, it’s fine! More than fine! I—I don’t know about this sibling of yours, but… it just seems to me like you do want something, my friend. And whatever it is, if it’s in my power to give it to you, that’s what I want. So… what do you want?” he asks again.

Dream hesitates, gazing at Hob with those fathomless blue eyes as he appears to genuinely consider the question. He’s sitting so close that Hob can see his own reflection, blurry and distorted, mirrored in the glossy sheen of tears that rests on his friend’s dark lashes.

Finally, he seems to make up his mind. He swallows and leans closer still, his face mere inches away from Hob’s. Hob ceases breathing as a perfect, pale hand snakes upward at a glacial pace, coming to rest on his stubbled cheek. It’s smooth and cool, and Hob’s eyes drift shut as he leans into the touch. Then, impossibly soft lips are brushing against his own, and Hob lets out a muffled sob as one hand flies to Dream’s waist, the other gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer.

Dream’s tongue probes gingerly into Hob’s open mouth, and lightning sparkles behind his eyelids. His heartbeat is a rolling crash of thunder as the clouds finally break—kissing Dream is like the first rain after centuries of drought; cool and sweet and refreshing and vital. Hob didn’t realize how parched he had been for so long, how desolate the desert of his soul, until this. This perfect kiss. It’s soft and slow and tastes like chocolate and red wine, and this—this may be what finally does Hob in after all these years.

Or it could just be that he hasn’t taken a breath in almost a full minute.

He pulls back, gasping and panting as he rests his forehead against Dream’s. Words fail him—a rare occurrence for Hob—and all he can do is grin stupidly at his friend.

“You,” Dream answers finally. “I want you, Hob.”

Hob lets out a wet, trembling laugh. “You’ve got me, Dream,” Hob whispers. “You’ve always had me.”

Dream surges forward to kiss him again, bolder and more eager this time, and Hob allows himself get swept away in the deluge. He could stay like this for hours—forever, even—and a needy whine escapes him when Dream pulls away again and surveys him with a smoldering gaze.

“Take me to bed, Hob,” he purrs.

“Oh, darling, absolutely,” Hob replies, scrambling up from the sofa and taking Dream’s hand to lead him to the bedroom. Then he freezes, struck by a sudden thought. “Er, quick question first. Is this really—I mean, am I awake right now, or…?”

Dream’s red, kiss-swollen lips twist into a fond smirk. “You are awake, Hob. But would it make any difference if you were not?”

“No,” Hob chuckles. “No, I s’pose it wouldn’t.”

Minutes later, they are entangled on Hob’s unmade bed, exploring each other hungrily with hands and lips and tongues and teeth. Hob is naked from the waist up, Dream having torn his shirt from his body with a fierce, otherworldly strength that was so startlingly arousing that Hob can’t even complain about the loss of his favorite button-down.

Dream sinks his delicate fingers into the thick pelt on Hob’s chest, humming approvingly into his mouth as he grinds against Hob’s thigh. Hob can feel his arousal through the soft fabric of his trousers, and he dips his hand beneath the waistband to squeeze the meager flesh of Dream’s arse. Dream goes still and inhales a sharp breath that Hob knows he doesn’t actually need.

“Hey. You alright?” Hob asks, withdrawing his hand and soothing it over Dream’s shoulder. “Sorry. I should have asked first. I know—after what you went through… I get it. We don’t have to keep going, love. Or we can, and you can keep—”

Dream cuts off his nervous babbling with a kiss. “I wish to continue. I trust you, Hob.”

Hob thinks he might explode from the affection that swells in him at those words. He beams at Dream and steals another quick, fervent kiss before peeling off his shirt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, drinking in the vision before him—Dream is utterly flawless. A marble statue come to life with creamy-white skin and elegant collarbones that flow into lithe, graceful shoulders and lean, well-muscled arms. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could cry, Dream,” Hob says raggedly as he runs his hands over smooth plane of Dream’s chest, circling his thumbs reverently around the firm, pink buds of his nipples.

Dream sighs and closes his eyes as he arches into Hob’s caress, dragging his fingers through the wealth of hair on Hob’s chest and continuing downwards, tracing the narrow trail down to the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoning them with nimble fingers.

Hob quickly shuffles out of his trousers and pants, groaning as his erect cock springs free. Dream’s eyes darken, the sky-blue of his irises nearly eclipsed by starry black as he (sweet Christ in heaven) licks his lips. “Hob,” he rumbles, his voice even deeper and silkier than usual. “You are. Exquisite.”

A laugh bubbles up from Hob’s throat unbidden. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just—hearing that from you is… I mean, I can’t believe this is really happening, it’s like—”

“Hob,” Dream interrupts, raising his eyebrows and lifting his hips emphatically.

“Right. Sorry,” Hob says, bending down to unbutton Dream’s jeans. But just as his hand brushes over the zipper, the trousers vanish, leaving Dream totally nude with Hob’s hand just millimeters away from his flushed, heavy prick. “Someone’s eager,” he smiles, taking him in hand and gently stroking the delicate, velvety flesh. “Gods above, Dream, you have the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen.”

It really is lovely—long and slim and rosy, all wreathed in soft black curls. Even his balls are pretty; plump and pert and perfectly round. Hob wriggles down the bed and nuzzles into the hot, solid length, relishing the weight of it on his face. He licks from the base to the tip, laving his tongue over the leaking slit before mouthing his way back down to his balls, sucking on each of them in turn. Above him, Dream breathes heavily and lets out quiet little whimpers. Hob strokes his thighs—he’s so tense, his muscles taut as a bowstring beneath his silken skin.

“Relax, darling,” Hob says, placing a kiss to the bony jut of his pelvis. “I’ve got you. Just let go and enjoy yourself.” He returns to his task of exploring Dream’s cock with his tongue, and Dream takes a long, quivering breath, loosening a fraction as he exhales. Hob can’t help but feel a bit smug at the knowledge that he’s gotten Dream so worked up he’s apparently forgotten he doesn’t need to breathe. “That’s it, love. Let me take care of you.”

He takes Dream’s bollocks into his mouth again, then moves lower to give a tentative lick to his hole. Dream gasps and startles at that, and Hob hears a choked-off “ah!” somewhere above his head.

Hmm, interesting.

Hob raises his head to see Dream looking down at him in wonder, mouth agape and eyes glazed. His cheeks are flushed a deep rose, and glistening drops of pre-cum decorate the alabaster plane of his abdomen. Hob smiles up at him, tracing a finger around the tight, twitching furl of muscle. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?” he murmurs.

“No,” Dream replies in a trembling whisper.

“May I?” Hob asks gently?

“Please,” Dream sighs, and Hob nearly comes untouched on the spot.

He slides a pillow under Dream’s hips and pushes his thighs upwards, gliding his hands along the smooth white flesh and trailing light kisses down to his spread arse cheeks. “Gonna make you feel so good, love. Just promise you’ll tell me to stop if I do anything you don’t like, alright?”

He glances up to see Dream nodding frantically, his eyes wide and black and glittering. “Yes. I trust you, Hob,” he says again.

Hob grins before diving in and licking a stripe from his entrance to his bollocks and back down, circling his tongue around the rim and nibbling at the tender pucker of milky skin. Dream moans and keens beautifully as Hob thoroughly slicks his hole with saliva, slurping and suckling and reveling in the sensation of Dream’s hairless, baby-soft flesh against his cheeks and chin. He dips his tongue inside, and Dream wails while Hob hums and groans enthusiastically. Dream is hot inside, and he tastes of petrichor and electricity and something Hob can’t identify but that he knows down to the very foundations of his soul (dreams, his mind supplies. He tastes like dreams).

“Hob!” Dream gasps, his voice rough and rasping. “Please—please—!”

Hob works his tongue in deeper, then pulls back and jabs it in again and again, until Dream is mewling and sobbing and writhing in ecstasy. He thinks he doesn’t want? I could teach him to want. Eat him out for hours until he’s sobbing and begging to come.

Just as the vision materializes in his head, Dream howls and clenches around Hob’s tongue. “Yes! Yes, Hob, please please please—I want—ahh!”

Hob has long suspected that his old friend could read his mind, and this all but confirms it. He shivers as he realizes the potential there—the possibilities are, well, endless. Hob withdraws his tongue and glances up, only to be met with the most beautiful sight he’s ever witnessed: Dream, red-faced and panting, his chest heaving, his lovely prick rock hard and leaking steadily against his porcelain stomach.

“Look at you. So bloody gorgeous,” Hob says hoarsely. “How are you feeling, darling? Good?” Dream nods, and Hob smiles and nuzzles against the back of his thigh. “Be a dear and grab the lube? It’s just in the top drawer there.” He tilts his head in the direction of the nightstand and Dream twists around to procure the half-empty pump bottle.

“It is not necessary,” Dream mumbles once he’s remembered to catch his breath, though he nonetheless hands the bottle over. “You cannot hurt me.”

“I know,” Hob replies lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “All the same, I’d prefer not to risk it. Indulge me.”

Dream’s lip quirks and he huffs a tiny laugh before settling back onto the pillows, graciously allowing Hob to continue. Of course he’d be a pillow princess, Hob thinks fondly as he squirts a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, spreading it over Dream’s puffy, fluttering hole. He works a finger inside slowly, and Dream makes the sweetest little noises as Hob strokes his tight, satiny walls and brings his other hand to Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream moans and arches upward into his hand, sighing in relief as the tension begins to bleed from his body.

“That’s it, darling. You’re doing so well. Just let go,” Hob coos. He adds a second finger and finds Dream’s prostate, brushing over it teasingly on every other thrust. “You feel so bloody good inside. Would love to fuck you sometime. Want you to fuck me, too. I could ride that beautiful cock of yours all day. Would you like that, love?”

“Yes—Hob—anything—please!” Dream cries breathlessly, grinding down wantonly on Hob’s fingers.

“Mm, we’ll work up to that. Right now I’d like to get my mouth on you, and you’re not going to last much longer, are you sweetheart?”

“I can—” Dream begins what would no doubt have been a devastating retort, but it tapers off into a high, quavering whine as Hob lowers his mouth to his cock, sinking down in a slow glide until he can feel the bulbous head in the back of his throat, trickling a warm rivulet of pre-come. He swallows, and Dream’s hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as he starts fucking furiously into Hob’s mouth. Hob groans and ruts his own aching cock against the mattress as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of Dream’s slick, clutching entrance. It’s raw and rough and animalistic, and Hob is more than happy to let Dream use him however he pleases right now; he might come just from this.

With no warning save for a guttural growl and a stutter of his hips, Dream comes down Hob’s throat in thick, hot spurts. He shudders and gasps, tugging roughly on Hob’s hair before abruptly going limp and boneless. Hob swallows down the last drops of spend and slowly pulls his mouth and fingers away, panting raggedly.

He crawls up the bed to wrap Dream in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and shoulders. “You did so well, love,” Hob whispers proudly. “So beautiful when you let go like that.”

Dream hums and grinds languidly against Hob’s still-hard prick where it rests between the cleft of his arse. He wriggles around in Hob’s hold and captures his mouth in a deep, desperate kiss. He trails his lips along Hob’s jaw, down his neck and chest, steadily traveling southward until he is face to face with Hob’s cock. It’s a bit shorter than Dream’s, albeit thicker, and darker-toned; not as pretty, in Hob’s opinion, though Dream would appear to disagree—he’s practically got hearts in his eyes as he glides his cheek along the hefty, engorged length. He glances hesitantly up at Hob through his thick lashes, looking almost shy.

“You don’t have to, love,” Hob smiles down at him, running his fingers through Dream’s downy, soot-dark hair. “I just wanted to make you feel good, is all.”

“Indeed?” Dream smirks. “I thought that you were teaching me to indulge. So. Won’t you indulge me?”

Hob lets out a delighted laugh. “Well, suppose I can’t argue with that.”

Dream makes a noise of agreement, then swiftly takes Hob’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him to the root in the blink of an eye. Hob gasps at the sudden velvety warmth enveloping his prick, and his hips jerk involuntarily. Dream stills him with surprisingly strong hands, pinning him down and bobbing his head in quick, fluid motions. Dream’s mouth is… fucking sublime. Christ’s bloody wounds, he’s good at this. Hob brings his hands to Dream’s hair, not pulling but stroking and kneading his scalp. Dream rumbles in approval, his deep moans vibrating through Hob’s cock, and Hob throws his head back against the pillows.

“Not gonna last,” he grunts in warning.

Dream only takes him deeper, hollowing out his cheeks and slurping hungrily as he bobs his head faster. Hob looks down to see Dream gazing up at him with a blissfully dazed expression, his forget-me-not blue eyes glassy and his cheeks streaked with tears. Hob is hit with a flash of deja vu; he’s fantasized about exactly this on many a lonely night over the centuries, though his imaginings never came close to the divine, earth-shattering perfection that is Dream’s mouth. He comes with a choked sob, flooding Dream’s mouth with a torrent of spend, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut as he swallows it down eagerly.

“I love you—!” The words escape unbidden in a breathless whisper, dragged forth from somewhere deep within the core of Hob’s being, unable to be contained any longer after being left unsaid for over 600 years. Hob doesn’t realize what he’s said until Dream freezes, tightening his grasp on Hob’s hips and digging his sharp fingernails into his flesh. Then, he’s crawling up Hob’s body like a tiger pinning its prey, steely eyes boring straight into his soul.

Fuck. Of course, had to go and fuck it all up, didn’t you?

“You mean that,” Dream intones, low and sonorous. It is not a question.

“Yes,” Hob replies softly, his voice wavering as he braces himself for the inevitable swirl of sand as Dream disappears.

Instead, Dream swoops down and captures Hob’s mouth in a savage, frenzied kiss, growling and digging his fingers possessively into Hob’s ribcage. He claims him with kisses and bites and scratches and bruises, descending on Hob like a starving man on a feast, and Hob is only too pleased to let Dream glut himself on him. Dream could devour him whole, if that would make him happy.

Once he has thoroughly left his mark, Dream runs his eyes over Hob’s body in apparent satisfaction before nestling into his side and draping himself over his chest. “I think,” Dream says, curling a tuft of chest hair around his long pale fingers, “that I feel the same. About you.” He buries his face in Hob’s neck, and Hob pulls him into a crushing embrace, beaming as he plants a kiss to the top of his head.

“So,” Hob laughs through joyous tears, “would you still say you’re just existing? Because I think we did a lot of living today.”

Dream huffs into his shoulder. “You make a convincing argument,” he concedes, his voice muffled. Then he raises his head to look at Hob, his eyes shining with amusement. “However, I believe I will need more evidence before I can draw an accurate conclusion.”

“Oh, just you wait, darling,” Hob grins. “I happen to be an expert on living, and I’m going to show you all the little things that make it worthwhile.”

Dream’s smile fades slightly at that. Hob brings a hand to his cheek, tilting Dream’s chin up and meeting him in a tender kiss. “Hey,” he whispers. “D’you want to tell me what’s been going on? It’s just… Clearly, something’s bothering you, love. And if there’s any way I can help… You know I’d do anything for you, Dream.”

“You have helped. More than you realize. And… I will tell you what has happened. What I have done. Not today, but… I will tell you. Though you may come to hate me for it,” Dream sighs heavily.

“I could never hate you,” Hob replies automatically. Because it’s true; he’d fallen arse over teakettle for Dream when he thought he was the actual devil. “Whatever happened, we’ll sort it out, eh?”

Dream simply stares at him for a long moment before speaking again. “What do you think happens to a character when their story has finished being told?”

“Er—” Hob doesn’t know what he was expecting Dream to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Dream has him fixed with a piercing gaze, obviously awaiting a well-thought-out answer. “Well… I guess that’s up to the character do decide, isn’t it? Once the story is over, they’re free to do what they want, I suppose.” He shrugs. This discussion is far too deep for pillow talk.

Dream frowns, furrowing his brows as he considers. “I believe there is some merit to your words,” he pronounces thoughtfully. “I have long believed that I have no story of my own. Perhaps I am wrong.”

“Maybe you’re just in the wrong story,” Hob yawns. He’s honestly lost the thread a bit by this point, and he’s not entirely sure what they were talking about to begin with. But that feels like the right thing to say, and Dream evidently agrees as he rests his cheek on Hob’s chest, just over his heart.

“Perhaps,” Dream murmurs, almost inaudibly.

“Like I said,” Hob says, stroking lightly down his back. “We’ll sort it out.” He yawns again, then winces at the strain on his sore jaw. “Tomorrow, though. Because I am absolutely knackered, darling.”

Dream hums, burrowing contently into Hob’s hold. “Yes. Sleep, beloved. And dream of me.”

Hob chuckles drowsily. “I always do.”

✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[notelcol]

In which John Murphy steps out of his comfort zone.

Trigger warning : blood, reference to violence.

No one asked for this one but it’s here anyway and vaguely edited 😈

(It came out a little longer than intended, I got ever so slightly carried away…)

When Murphy came back from the grounder prison camp, despite him being the bully of all the delinquents, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. What did Bellamy expect after exiling his once second in command? We should have seen this coming. The grounders would have been fools not to take Murphy for all the information he had. Blood was smeared all over him. You couldn’t tell where it was originating he had that many wounds. The image of his torture made you shudder. Even his fingernails had been ripped from his fingers. You looked away. Forgetting all the times you had needed to confront him to protect others, you made a choice.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked Clarke, the only person with medical experience.

“You can find someone to go with you to the path that leads to Mount Weather.” She said with a sigh. “The poison sumac there would be really helpful.” The tired blonde uttered her thanks, while you left to find Octavia. She would most certainly accompany you.

Murphy watched through one eye, since his other was tightly inflamed. He could not fathom why you would be willing to risk your life leaving camp, simply to acquire a calming herb to ease his plight. Especially because the last time you saw each other, you were fighting him to save a child. A child who murdered the chancellors son, and got him hung to within an inch of his own life. Murphy hated you for that, so why didn’t you? The child you were trying to save did die because of him after all. He was a black and white sort of man. One who never understood forgiveness. A person would come to blows once and that’s it, they are dead to him. He always stood by those very rules. Until you, who only fought him in the name of peace. Which is why risking yourself to help someone who truly needs it, came natural to you. Even if it meant giving a second chance to someone like Murphy.

Unfortunately none of the hundred felt the same way as you. After failing to find Octavia, you begun asking around camp for someone to go with you. When that also failed miserably, you decided to grab a gun and head out alone.

The expedition went as well as you could have hoped. You did not feel the many eyes of the forest on you for once. In fact, it was so calm outside of camp that it almost spooked you. You decided to grab extra of the plant while you were there, to save Clark and Fin a job. Finally, your bag was full and it was time to turn back. You realised that you were a little bit out of breath after a few steps. You must have been picking the flowers for longer than you thought.

The walk back to camp felt much more tiring, so your feet began to drag. You could feel the sweat dripping all over your body, particularly annoying you around your top lip. Huffing, you removed your coat and wiped away the sweat from your face with it. You moved to tie it around your waist, only to be hit by a wavering buzz. It sent your whole body spinning. You watched your coat drop to the floor and finally noticed the blood. All that blood, covering most of the garment. You were so dazed that you didn’t even notice you had fallen.

“Get. Up.” You growled to yourself. Sputtering thick crimson, you clawed at the mud. This must be biological warfare. Your symptoms too similar to Murphy’s to be a coincidence. This revelation only cemented your determination to get this poison sumac back to camp. If you had caught it, then others must have too. Your mind went round in loops while your arms refused to rest. Until you inevitably exhausted yourself and dropped your head to the forest floor.

Murphy was finally starting to feel better. The countless patients in the drop ship could not say the same. As he gave water to a quiet girl named Fox, the fabric around the drop ship door ruffled loudly. Miller came rushing in with you slumped in his arms, blood and dirt covered you to the point where you were almost unrecognisable. He watched as you were dropped into a hammock. A strange feeling, one he could not identify, filled his chest as your bag spilled open revealing the many poison sumac flowers you had brought back.

You awoke to the feeling of something cold and wet on your forehead. You groaned at the heaviness in your lungs, which only caused the blood to gurgle and spurt from your mouth. As you choked, your eyes shot open to be faced by Murphy. His eyes almost went as wide as your own as he quickly removed the cold cloth from your head and pushed you onto your side. Your breath shook in relief. Instantly oxygen came easier, and the blood drained away.

“Rest.” He spoke in a softer tone than you thought was even possible from Murphy. Of their own accord, your eyes fell closed once more. The blood was wiped from your face in a manner that felt more like caress, helping you drift away peacefully to your dreams.

For the first time in his life, Murphy had entered his personal grey area. Your undeserved kindness showed him the world through a lens other than his own rage and paranoia. He decided then and there that he would take care of you until you recovered. Allowing himself to believe it was getting even, when really it was something else entirely. It was simply another thing he had yet to understand.

[justalittlebitbored]

late nights - remus lupin

willow tree: part three excerpt

pairing/au: marauders era, remus lupin x reader

summary: you wake up to knocking on your window in the middle of the night on the night of the full moon. who else could it be but your werewolf best friend covered in blood.

warnings: angst, unrequited love, sadness, fluff, friends to lovers, childhood best friends to lovers. no use of y/n.

wc: 2.3k

a/n: RIGHT, this is an excerpt from my series willow tree, I wrote this in May when I was properly writing and sadly I started this series and I love it so much but I honestly don’t have the effort to keep writing. This scene however is such a pure wholesome scene and I’m sure those who have read the series will love it but I also think it can be a really good oneshot concept so enjoy!!!

To those who haven’t read willow tree, I don’t think u need too to understand this but I shall give context in case:

Reader and remus = besties. Reader realises she loves him, ‘unrequited’ love high jinks ensue, so she distances herself a little bit. Remus hasn’t come to reader during a full moon in a while as the marauders has started to care for him, in this one shit he comes to reader instead of

series masterlist main masterlist

Hearing a loud banging noise at your window was not quite the surprise you were expecting in the middle of the night.

Your curtains were closed but the motion sent them fluttering towards you. A million thoughts crossed your mind. What if someone was breaking in to rob you, what if you-

You heard a loud groan and then a vague, deep voice said your name. Was that Remus? Your name was said a bit louder this time. Yup that was definitely Remus. What on earth would he be doing here at this time of night?

You ran to the window and pulled the curtains open.

His bloodied body hung outside, his face leaning again the window ledge. Crap. Your fingers pulled the latch open before you could process your actions, the breeze caused the window to fly inwards nearly hitting you in the face.

"Remus!"

You grabbed his hands and attempted to drag his heavy body through the window. With his help you managed to pull him in. His body immediately slumped against yours and your knees nearly buckled under his weight. He was definitely heavier since the last time he had climbed through that window.

Managing to drag his body over to the bed, you led him down as gently as you could.

"Fuck. Remus what happened?"

Whilst running to close the window you nearly tripped on your clothes that you had taken off earlier that night and couldn't be bothered to put in your wash basket and nearly slammed your head on the radiator. Managing to close the window you immediately turned around and headed towards the bed and knelt down to grab the first aid kit that you were sure was under there somewhere.

"Come on you're here somewhere I know you are."

Although pleading with the first aid kit probably didn't do much it was more of a way to calm you down.

The boy on the bed let out a large groan and you could feel the sweat on the back of your neck begin to form and your hands beginning to clam up. Your fingers brushed against something hard. Aha, you found it. You curled your fingers around the handle and pulled it out whilst quickly standing up and placing it on the bed.

Remus let out a large groan and his arms curled around his middle as he looked like he was writhing in pain. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You had forgotten it was a full moon, you usually kept track of it but this month you must have forgotten, this wasn't a job you had done in a long time, the marauders mainly looked after him now. You hadn't seen him on a full moon in nearly two years except this one time in sixth year where he had ended outside your dorm under the willow tree by your window. By the time you had gotten out of bed and looked outside his friends were carrying him away.

Although James did shout a goodbye at you waving his hands fervently, apologising loudly.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." You hadn't done this in a long time and were quite out of practice. He had long deep gashes on his chest and shallower ones on his arms.

What do I do? What did he want me to do? Fuck.

"Remus, I don't know what to do. What do I do?" You asked, your hands shaking as your hovered them above his abdomen.

"I trust you. Just-" He grunted loudly. "-clean me up or something." He said loudly as he began to turn over onto his side.

"Okay? Okay. Right, should be easy enough?" You let out a long breath.

It's fine, it's going to be fine, you done this plenty of times before. What's the difference between now and then.

You quickly got to work cleaning his wounds with a wet rag, apologising as you went along every time he groaned.

You apologised a whole lot more when you had to apply hydrogen peroxide so that it didn't get infected. He let out cries of pain and your eyes stung with tears, you hated seeing him this way.

After quickly working for about twenty minutes you were finally finished. You walked over to your chest of drawers and pulled out a new t shirt and joggers for him. They were his that he had left round at yours before during movie nights. You would help him put the shirt on but you weren't so sure about the trousers, so you decided to leave those on the chair by your desk for now in case he had enough energy to get up and change into them himself.

"Hey, Remus." His eyes opened and he blinked at you softly so you continued. "Hi. Can you sit up for me for a moment so I can put this on you?" His attention was drawn to the top in your hands, he shuffled forward to edge of your bed and you attempted to get him into it.

His head leaned against your chest as he weakly lifted his arms up, eventually after a struggle you managed to get him in it.

He slumped back and you stood awkwardly at the side of your bed, you didn't know what to do now.

You let out a big breath you didn't realise you were holding in as your eyes began to close from how tired you were. You began to walk away to sit in your chair before you heard Remus call your name.

"Stay."

"I'm sorry?" You were confused.

"Can you stay? With me... in the bed." You blinked.

"Please?" He said with a tired chuckle. You could see him give you a meek smile, he looked exhausted, dark circles lining his eyes.

"Sure, yeah. Okay."

You slowly walked towards the bed unsure of where to go. He moved forward, opening a space behind him. You slowly climbed in, your back leaning again the pillow. He was sat up against the wall obviously in pain.

Hesitating for a moment, you placed your hand in his limp one and gently tugged, pulling him towards you.

You hoped he wouldn't say no or look at you funny.

Without saying anything he instantly fell forward, his head on your chest. You could feel his body immediately deflate. You hadn't done this in a long time; before fifth year this would happen every full moon, it was almost a ritual. You would clean him up and then he would lay his head on your chest and you both would cuddle until morning.

"I'm sorry. I don't like it when you see me like this." The words gently left his mouth. Your hand instantly flew to the back of his head, your fingers scratching at his head in a comforting motion. It was instinctual and you didn't realise you had done this until he left let out a soft whimper.

"It's okay, I don't mind." You whispered.

"I do. You don't need this burden on your shoulders." He said with a harsh tone, not directed at you though, you could tell he was aiming it at himselt.

"Hey, my shoulders are yours to use." You smiled softly at him. "Listen to me okay, I don't mind. I would rather you come to me and be safe than lie out there in those woods by yourself. Anytime you need me I will be there."

A harsh exhale left his mouth.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done tonight without you." He looked up at me.

You had lied before, saying you had never seen anything as beautiful as the sunset. You had, and you were looking into them right now, Remus' deep golden brown eyes.

For a moment you think he's going to kiss you. His eyes dart to your lips before flickering up to your eyes again. Before he could do anything he smiles, almost sadly before resting his head on you, his head eyes dart to your lips before flickering up to your eyes again. Before he could do anything he smiles, almost sadly before resting his head on you, his head nuzzling against you chest.

"You were asleep, I'm sorry I woke you." He apologised.

"It's okay, I was awake." You lied, you were asleep but he already felt guilty enough you didn't want to make him feel any worse. He said okay quietly into your chest. After a couple minutes of comfortable silence he spoke again.

"I've missed you." He whispered into your chest.

You hands paused for a moment from its action of scratching the back of his head before promptly continuing.

"I'm right here."

He whispered again in a low voice. "I know, I've just missed you."

You didn't know how to respond to that so you just kept running your hands through his hair and after a while his breathing became steady and you assumed he'd fallen asleep.

You had missed him too, even with all of this weird tension and distance. You had missed him too. Your birthday was the only time recently where things had felt normal.

The way you were both led on your bed was anything but platonic but you didn't mind, he hadn't been this close to you in so long. You leant down and pressed a long kiss to the top of his head before leaning your head backward with a loud sigh. Eventually your eyes began to droop and before you knew it you had fallen asleep too.

You woke up in the morning to Remus shaking you softly. Your eyes fluttered open in confusion as your vision began to clear.

"Hi sweetheart." He smiled at you gently. "I need to go, thank you for looking after me. I'll see you later today okay."

Your brain wasn't functioning and your groggy mind couldn't bring you to do anything but produce a soft whimper, you were not a morning person.

His hand cupped your cheek and you leant into it, your lips almost brushing his palm in a soft kiss, whilst his other hand brushed your hair out of your eyes gently. Although you were in a state you could still make out the soft smile he gave you. He let out a shaky breath before leaning down and pressing lingering kiss against your forehead.

He moved away towards your window, you turned to your side to watch him turn around and look at you again for a long moment before turning and climbing out the window. You heard a soft click soon after.

You wish you had more time to think about what had happened but you were too tired to think and the next thing you knew you were out like a light.

After god knows how long your body jolted upright.

Remus was here last night, right? You looked to the side where a bloody rag led on your bedside table along with an opened first aid kit. He was here last night, you hadn't imagined it so you certainly didn't imagine him waking you up to say goodbye.

He called you sweetheart. God, he called you sweetheart. A small involuntary smile was on your face as you pushed your covers away and got out of bed. Your mouth was dry and you desperately need a glass of water so you walked out of your room with a stupid smile on your face and no matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop.

You walked into the kitchen hoping to get a glass of water when you saw Lily sat at the counter eating some toast. Your quietly wished her a good morning as you headed towards the cupboard to grab a glass.

"What were all those sounds last night?" Lily asked.

You froze, you didn't know how to approach this really since you knew that she would read into this situation and give it a deeper meaning and you really couldn't be asked for that right now.

You slowly turned around, grabbing a glass leaving the forefront of your mind.

"Umm... nothing it was just-" She raised her eyebrows and you knew there was no point in lying about it.

"It was Remus. It was the full moon last night and he just turned up, I didn't know what to do so I just cleaned him up."

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Oh. So is he still here or?" She questioned, an innocent look on her face.

"No. He's gone now."

She hummed. "So did you guys-"

"No!" You exclaimed cutting her off. "Nothing happened. Don't look at me like that Lily. Nothing happened, it was just one friend patching up another friend."

You really thought that she was going to ask more questions but she didn't say much but look at you with a knowing smile. You didn't know what game she was playing at, but you were glad she wasn't asking any questions.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

You cleared your throat. "Right I should probably go and shower, you know aet ready for the day."

"Okaaay."

You turned around and hurried to your room, she knew what she was doing. If you spent a moment longer with you she would work her magic and make you spill all of your feelings to her. She was weirdly good at that.

You slammed your door shut and stood with your back pressed to it as you took a deep breath.

Okay.

enjoy yall!

taglist:

@diorgirl444 @starkluvrr @theweasleyskettle @milkteeboba @blakeblue01 @starqwerty20 @iluvfetuszarry @raindropstearsandtea @katsuniverse @middle-of-the-earth @speedunkle @mypeace4 @garfieldsladybird @welnasynchbest @marauders-eras @4rt3m1ss @poetsneil @stained-tea-cup @aki-chan-20 @hawkinsavclub1983 @spxcekru @stars-havefallen @hisparentsgallerryy @st4r-girl-official @po55um @taylorann2013 @potseluymenya @oloorado @poetrypirate @solnare @xxvelvetxxxx @ireneop

-

[hyperfixatedonthisnow]

Nightmare’s solace

*Not my GIF.

Nikolai Lantsov still has me in a chokehold so i wrote another thing. This one features one of my favourite fic tropes and also has a smidgen of plot this time so its a bit longer. Based more on show Nikolai who I feel is a little bit softer around the edges than his book counterpart.

Summary: You find yourself spending the night with your secrect crush, the King of Ravka and as luck would have it, there’s only one bed *gasp* ;) He comforts you after a nightmare and one thing leads to another.

Word count: 4.5K ish

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Mild angst/comfort, mention of nightmares, smut, fem!reader, P in V sex, protected sex (because resonsible adults), maybe slightly OOC Nikolai but that’s just because he’s too stupid to realise reader wants him as much as he wants her :D

All mistakes are my own.

You shuffled into what was presumably the world’s smallest room, silently cursing the innkeeper. Most of the limited space was taken up by the bed, which itself was small. There was a dresser squeezed into the corner and a short, uncomfortable looking couch pushed against one wall. “Perfect,” you huffed sarcastically, dropping your bag onto the bed. You did a quick sweep of the room and then the tiny adjoining bathing room. When you turned back, Nikolai was standing near the side of the bed. The King was uncharacteristically silent, a frown etched into his features. Tamar followed closely behind him and she let out a low whistle as she took in the room. There wasn’t even enough floor space for the four of you to be in there at the same time, so Nadia waited just outside the door. “Cosy,” she joked, waggling her eyebrows at you from the doorway and you snorted a laugh. Nikolai’s frown deepened. “You cannot seriously be expecting all four of us to spend the night in this sardine box?” he muttered incredulously. “Of course not,” Tamar answered cheerfully as she moved past him to check the window locks. If she had noticed the King’s unusually sullen mood, she didn’t comment on it. “Nadia and I will be in our own room across the hall.” “Oh. Right. Of course. Just the two of us then,” Nikolai said, sounding vaguely strangled. You tried not to be offended. “No need for us all to be together, no one knows us here. Besides, you can handle yourself, so protecting you is a one woman job really,” she explained with a grin. Nikolai nodded but his expression was still grim. Satisfied that everything was secure, Tamar pulled the drapes shut and turned to you. “We good?” She questioned. You shrugged, “I guess so.” Nikolai opened his mouth as if to protest, but promptly snapped it shut again when he saw you looking at him. He folded his arms over his chest and turned his attention to the bed instead, glaring at it as if it had personally insulted him. “Okay then, we’ll see you both in the morning,” Tamar said as she moved to leave.

“Sleep tight,” Nadia added in a sing song voice, and Tamar gave you a wink on her way out. You flipped them both off behind Nikolai’s back. They knew you had a thing for him and they weren’t exactly subtle about it, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they had chosen this room on purpose — especially since Tamar was the one who had volunteered you for this mission in the first place. You crossed to the door, securing the lock and sliding the security bolt into place, then perched yourself on the edge of the bed. Nikolai was agitated, pacing back and forth in the limited space. The lack of confidence was so unlike him, you wondered if he was afraid.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here,” you tried to reassure him, “I know what I’m doing, and Tamar is just across the hall.” “I’m not worried,” he huffed, still pacing unhappily. “Uh huh.” You only just managed to hold back an eye roll, “Then what’s your problem?” He stopped, his eyes flicking to yours momentarily and away again as he heaved a put-upon sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bed, and you did roll your eyes then. “Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m sure we can manage to share for one night.” He stared at you as if you’d said something utterly ridiculous — like you’d suggested he move to Novyi zem and take up a career as a circus clown. “Absolutely not.” “We’re both adults here your highness,” you reasoned, but his expression only darkened. “Oh come on, a little cuddling never hurt anyone. I’ll even let you be the little spoon if you want,” you teased, trying to lighten his mood. “I — we — I mean— I don’t —“ he spluttered, his face flushing red. You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was. You had never known the silver-tongued King to be at a loss for words. He fixed you with a disapproving glare as he finally managed to gather himself. “That would hardly be appropriate,” he said haughtily. You bristled at the condescension in his tone and his holier-than-thou attitude. You were only here in the first place because he had seen fit to plan a secret visit Shu Han. Technically, you were a Grisha teacher, not a royal guard, and it wasn’t strictly part of your job description to serve as his protective detail, but you owed Tamar a favour and the King had wanted to take a limited group who would not draw attention. Your part-Shu heritage made it easy for you to blend in and you were powerful enough, and had enough combat experience, to be able to defend yourself as well as him should the need arise. “Suit yourself,” you shrugged, grabbing a pillow from the bed and tossing it at him with a little more force than necessary. “If you don’t want to share, you can take the couch.” “Fine,” he muttered, catching the pillow with both hands before it could smack him in the face. He set it down on the couch and grabbed his bag, stalking off into the bathing room. You heard the water running as you rooted around in the dresser to find a spare blanket. You draped it over the back of the couch and then started getting ready for bed in an effort to distract yourself from thoughts of Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka — naked and wet, and just a few feet away. You loosened your hair from its tight braid, combing it through with your fingers, but when you opened your bag, you realized that you had somehow forgotten to pack nightclothes. Fuck. Cursing under your breath, you deliberated briefly but ultimately decided there was no way you were sleeping in your kefta or your bra. You stripped down to just a thin undershirt and panties, and climbed into bed, snuffing the nearest candle to dim the light and pulling the covers up to your waist, just as Nikolai emerged from the bathroom. He was barefoot, dressed for bed in a faded Ketterdam University shirt and grey sleep pants. His hair was damp and free of product, falling naturally onto his forehead instead of his usual swooped style. Seeing him so undone was odd, it felt intimate, and you couldn’t help but stare. Interestingly, Nikolai seemed to have the same problem. His eyes raked over your form and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze lingering on the swell of your breasts far longer than could be considered appropriate. The heat of his gaze was like flames across your skin. He took a step towards you, but then suddenly he seemed to come back to his senses. He swiftly averted his eyes and turned away, heading for the couch instead. He bent over to place his bag on the floor and your eyes were drawn to his ass. You struggled to tear your gaze away from the smooth, tanned skin of his lower back, now on display where his shirt rode up. He met your eyes as he straightened and the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement when you blushed, quickly looking away. He cleared his throat as if to speak, but you beat him to it. “It’s late,” you said curtly, embarrassed, in light of his comment about inappropriate behavior, to be caught so obviously checking him out — even if he had been doing the same. “We should get some sleep.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your tone but he inclined his head in silent agreement. Laying down on the couch, he adjusted his pillow and pulled the blanket over himself. He must have been uncomfortable. The couch was so comically small that he had to curl himself up to fit, but he was stubborn and since he’d been so vehemently against sharing the bed before, you didn’t bother to suggest it again. He reached over to snub out the candlelight. “Wait,” you mumbled, a thought suddenly occurring to you. “I uhh.. I guess I should probably warn you.” You rubbed the back of your neck self-consciously. Nikolai stared at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue and you felt your face heating up again. You couldn’t not tell him if you were going to be spending the night in the same room though, so you swallowed down the feeling of humiliation and ploughed ahead. “I have... nightmares, sometimes. It’s not really a big deal, but I can get pretty upset and I don’t want you to freak out if it happens.” A look of concern flitted across his face but he didn’t say anything and you were grateful for it, you didn’t want his pity. “Bad memories,” you shrugged, “from the war, you know?” you finished quietly, lifting your eyes briefly to meet his. The war that had killed your family, destroyed your home. The war that had seen the Darkling murder your friends. The war that had forced you to see and do things so terrible that even now you could not speak of them. Nikolai did know. He had been a soldier too, after all. He understood why the things you’d been through might haunt you, and on a personal level, he knew what it was like to be tortured by memories of the things you had done, of the people you couldn’t save. He nodded his head sympathetically. “Ok, well, goodnight then,” you mumbled awkwardly as you settled yourself down, curling up on your side. “Goodnight,” Nikolai replied softly. You tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position or quiet your mind, The King’s close proximity and the fact that you had shared your secret with him combining to make it almost impossible for you to fall asleep. You lay awake in the dark, listening to the sound of his deep, even breaths until you eventually managed to drop off. Sometime in the middle of the night, you sprang bolt upright in bed, a choked sob tearing its way from your throat. Your heart pounded, the terror of the nightmare fresh in your mind. Nikolai appeared beside you almost instantly, his hand rubbing gentle circles over your back.

 “Shhhh..” he soothed, his voice low and rough from sleep, “It’s okay, it was just a dream.” You reached out blindly in the near darkness until your hands found his solid form, clutching at him desperately as your tears began to fall. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest without hesitation, tucking your head under his chin. He was sleep-warm and he smelled faintly of cologne. You turned into him, burying your face in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and allowing him to envelope you as you cried. You trembled, struggling to get yourself under control and he squeezed you tighter still.

 “It’s over now,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.” Nikolai held you until your sobbing had subsided and your breathing started to even out, then he pulled away, moving to get off the bed. You grabbed his arm to stop him. “Stay,” you pleaded, fear bleeding into your tone, “Please.” He turned back immediately, pulling you into his arms again without argument. He stroked your hair lightly as he held you and he didn’t push you to talk. His quiet strength was comforting. Eventually, you calmed enough to realize how pathetic you must seem, clinging to him like a child. You let go, fisting your hands in the sheets at your lap and steadfastly avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, mortified. “Don’t do that,” he said sternly, putting one finger under your chin to tilt your head up. “You have nothing to apologise for.” He gave you a reassuring smile as your gaze flicked up to meet his in the dim light. His brow was furrowed with concern, but his eyes held no judgement, only empathy. His hair was askew from sleeping and his smile was crooked, giving his handsome face a boyish quality. His t-shirt was tight across his broad chest and biceps. The sight of him made your breath hitch, he had never looked so appealing as he did right then. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear. It was a simple gesture, but the unexpected gentleness of his touch and the kindness in his eyes made you well up again. “What can I do?” Nikolai asked helplessly, as your tears spilled over once more. “Make love to me,” you murmured, slipping your hand under his shirt and running your fingers lightly along the strip of skin just above his waistband. His muscles twitched under your fingertips. “Help me forget.” It wasn’t fair of you to ask it of him, but in the moment you didn’t care. You needed something to chase the demons from your mind and he was a good man. Honest and kind. You knew that you could trust him not to hurt you. There was a wet patch over his heart where your tears had soaked through his shirt and you covered it with your hand as you leaned in towards him, pressing your lips to his. He froze for a fraction of a second, but then he was kissing you back, opening his mouth to you when you licked along his lower lip. He cupped your jaw with one hand, his touch feather light. He allowed you to take full control, and you did, sliding your free hand into the short hair at the nape of his neck as you tangled your tongue with his, using your grip to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. You were both breathing heavily when you parted and you could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your palm. He was silent for what felt like an eternity, his inner conflict playing out across his face.

 “I can’t,” he said finally, but he didn’t move away. His heart was still racing and he swallowed thickly, his eyes drawn back to your mouth. He wanted you too. “You can,” you insisted. Lowering your head, you kissed and licked your way from the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt, up his neck to nip at his pulse point. He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed and his fingers lacing through your hair almost against his will. Sensing weakness, you moved to straddle him. He let out a surprised grunt as you settled yourself firmly in his lap, his hands instinctively dropping to your waist. You nuzzled along his jawline to nibble on his earlobe, grinding your hips against him and he groaned, turning his head to find your mouth with his. He kissed you hungrily, his grip tightening on your waist as he rocked up into you. You could feel his body responding through the layers of fabric between you and when you reached for the hem of his shirt, he let you pull it up and off over his head. You claimed his mouth again as you ran your hand down his bare chest and abdomen to palm his growing erection through his pants. You swallowed the sound he made as his hips canted up into your touch, but then suddenly he was pulling back and carefully pushing you away. This time it was him who mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “For what?” you frowned, confused. “I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t be taking advantage.” “Pretty sure I’m the one trying to take advantage of you here,” you chuckled wryly. “You’re not thinking clearly,” he sighed, running his fingers through his sleep mussed hair as he turned away, “You’re upset, and vulnerable right now.” Your stomach churned with embarrassment at the look of distress on his face. Obviously you had read things wrong and this was his attempt at letting you down gently. He probably wasn’t even attracted to you and even if he was, hadn’t he tried to say no? Yet here you were, practically forcing yourself on him. He was a King and you were a nobody, what right did you have to demand this of him? “I’m sorry,” you mumbled guiltily. You felt your eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears and you bit your lip, trying - and failing - to stop them from falling. “I get it, you’re not interest—“ “It’s not that.” Nikolai frowned, cutting you off mid sentence. You shook your head. “It’s okay, I understand.” “No. I want to,” he insisted, “Believe me, I do.” He reached up to cup your face in his hands, swiping the wetness from your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a display of tenderness you hadn’t been expecting. “I just — I don’t want to be a regret,” he admitted softly. “Never,” you whispered fiercely, meeting his eyes. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about this,” you confessed shyly, “I want this, Nikolai, I want you,” you assured him. He searched your face for a moment, his hand still caressing your cheek. Then he leaned forward tentatively, closing the gap between you. His lips were soft, his kisses slower than before as his tongue explored your mouth, hesitant at first but gradually growing bolder. You wondered absently if it was the use of his first name that had persuaded him. You raked your nails through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and he growled low in his throat. His hands left your face to trail down your sides, rucking up your sleep shirt to find bare skin. You broke away from him momentarily to remove it, leaving you in just your panties before him and he muttered a curse under his breath as he looked you over, his eyes darkening with desire. Reaching out to pull you back towards him, he slanted his mouth over yours once again. You moved to lay back against the pillows, pulling him down with you and he followed without resistance, propping himself up on his elbows to keep most of his weight off you. You let your hands roam his back and shoulders, touching everywhere you could reach, as his lips and tongue worshipped every inch of the skin now on show for him. His ministrations were unhurried and gentle, as though you were something to be savored, something precious. The thought made you feel emotional again and you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the sensations instead. He kissed his way open mouthed down the expanse of your throat and over your collarbones. When he reached your breasts, he swirled his tongue over the hardened nub of first one nipple and then the other, before he continued his downward path, licking and kissing slowly over your rib cage and across your stomach until you were whimpering and writhing beneath him, your hands tangling in his hair. He nosed at your center through the damp lace of your panties and you gasped, your hips lifting off the bed. He turned his head, suckling at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh — hard enough to have your hands tightening in his hair and a moan escaping your lips, but not quite hard enough to leave a lasting mark. He paused for a moment to draw a ragged breath and you felt his lips quirk up into a smile against your skin as you tugged on his hair impatiently. He moved back, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you lifted your hips to help him as he pulled them down and off, tossing them to the floor. He slid his hands up your legs, his thumbs rubbing in teasing circles, slowly inching higher as he kissed a line from your knee back up towards the apex of your thighs. His lips bypassed the place you wanted him most, moving to leave soft, teasing kisses across your hips and lower belly instead, but his hand stayed it’s course and when it finally reached its destination, he gave a self-satisfied hum to find you slick and ready for him. He levered himself up so that he could slide his tongue into your mouth as he slipped two fingers inside you, rubbing perfect rough circles over your clit with his thumb at the same time and you moaned, your back arching in pleasure. Impatient to have him inside you, you reached down between you to free his erection, pushing his pants down past his hips and over the curve of his ass so that he could kick them off the rest of the way. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. You wrapped your fingers around his length and began to stroke him, enjoying the heavy weight of him in your palm. You kept your rhythm steady, your grasp light but not teasing and he moaned, his hips bucking instinctively, chasing the delicious friction of your hand. “Protection?” he panted, and you nodded, releasing him reluctantly so that you could reach over the side of the bed for your bag. You rifled through it until you found what you were looking for and then you turned back to him with a triumphant smile. He kissed you soundly as he plucked the condom from your fingertips, tearing open the wrapper without preamble. He pulled away briefly to roll it on, giving himself a few firm strokes and then he was settling himself between your thighs as if he belonged there. He paused momentarily, searching your face for any sign of hesitation, but finding none. “Yes,” you whispered in answer to his unasked question, pulling him in for another kiss as he flexed his hips, filling you slowly in one smooth, perfect motion that had you gasping his name. He dropped his head to your shoulder, groaning as he withdrew almost entirely, before surging forward again into your tight, wet heat. You clutched at him desperately, one hand at the nape of his neck and the other on his ass, fingers digging in to his flesh, urging him closer still as he began to move, establishing a long, languid rhythm that had you both panting. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he hiked them higher, making you moan as the change in angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper.

He lifted his head to look at your face as he quickened his pace, withdrawing again and plunging back into you, harder than before, your sweat slicked bodies sliding against each other as you moved to meet his thrusts. Already, you could feel the pressure building in you, could tell that your impending orgasm would be earth-shattering. He dropped his head again, his lips grazing your shoulder as you began to tighten around him. You felt like you were drowning in him, the current pulling you under and you surrendered to the feeling, knowing you weren’t alone in it. He breathed your name against your skin as his rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he began to lose a grip on his control. “Come for me,” he pleaded, his voice rough with the strain of holding back, and you obliged, crying out as the world fractured around you, white sparks clouding your vision and your entire body buzzing with pleasure. Your hand tightened in his hair, tugging his head back up so that you could claim his lips with your own. He thrust once, twice more and then he stilled, following your over the edge into endless bliss, his mouth still on yours. Finally he broke away from your kiss, panting as he collapsed onto you, trembling with the aftershock of his orgasm. You lay tangled together, a mass of sweaty limbs, as you both caught your breath. After a long moment he shifted, pressing his lips against yours again, softly, as he pulled out. “Be right back,” he murmured. He got up from the bed and you turned onto your side to watch him go, admiring the view of his naked ass as he padded to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and relieve himself. You rolled on to your front, stretching like a cat, your muscles aching pleasantly. When he was done, you got up to take your own turn in the bathroom. Despite how sweet he had been with you during sex, you were still somewhat surprised when his trademark swagger did not reappear afterward. Instead, when you returned from the bathroom, you found him hovering awkwardly at the side of the bed, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d expect him to go back to the couch. He was still gloriously nude but with pants in hand, clearly debating wether or not he should get dressed. You smiled as you brushed past him, running a hand down his arm and placing a kiss on his shoulder as you gently tugged his pants from his grasp, dropping them to the floor. Then you pulled back the covers and got into bed, moving over to make room for him. Still he hesitated before climbing in, and then he lay rigid and silent beside you, propped up on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. For a split second, you worried that it was regret that had him so tense. Perhaps he thought this had been a mistake. Your heart clenched painfully. It wasn’t just any one night stand for you and it hurt to think he might not feel the same, but then his eyes met yours and you saw the vulnerability he was trying to hide. You suddenly realised that he was afraid too. His uncertainty was both unexpected and incredibly endearing. It was almost laughable, that Nikolai Lanstov could think that you might reject him. You shuffled closer, lifting his arm and placing it around your shoulders so that you could snuggle into his side. He didn’t protest, so you started making yourself comfortable, tucking one arm under yourself and slinging the other low across his belly. He shifted slightly, and you took the opportunity to rest your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his under the covers. When he didn’t relax under you though, you started to second guess yourself and you moved to pull away. His arm tightened around you immediately, keeping you in place. “Is this ok?” You asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. He nodded, pressing a kiss into your hair as he trailed his fingertips lightly up and down your arm. “You’re sure? Because I’ve been told we shouldn’t cuddle,” you teased and he snorted a laugh, the tension finally leaving his body. “It would hardly be appropriate,” you mimicked in an almost perfect imitation of him, and he had the good grace to blush even as he rolled his eyes. “Yes, totally inappropriate,” he sighed in mock seriousness, but he was smiling as he dipped his head to kiss you. He was beautiful like this, soft and unguarded, now completely relaxed in your embrace. Your heart stuttered in your chest. If he wasn’t careful, he might be very much in danger of making you fall in love with him. “That’s a shame,” you lamented, pouting at him, “I guess that applies to sharing a bath too?” “Hmmm. I suppose I could make an exception,” he said, in the same haughty tone he’d used earlier. You laughed and he gave you a lopsided grin in response. “Later,” he said, pulling you in tighter against him as you settled down to sleep.

[dailyreverie]

We fell in love at the end of the world

Part of the Your Wish is my Command universe

A/N: ...well this took a while didn't it? To makeup for it here's a long-ass update with like a thousand taylor swift song references because that has been my personality for the past two months. Title comes from the song with the same name by "Hozier" (Give it a listen because it has huge Poe vibes)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader (fem.)

Word Count: 3.9k words

CW: A lot of feelings. Bar setting, alcohol and drunk people mentions, reader drinks alcohol, s3x mentions.

SERIES MASTERLIST

There were so many factors of why you couldn’t be with Poe that you didn’t even know where to start enlisting them. The heart-crushing feelings you had for him were becoming unmanageable; you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t think of him without feeling your limbs and organs moving in a giddy flutter, so you did the only thing you could do: avoid him at all costs.

It’s hard to do so, ignore your favorite person in the whole galaxy, but maybe if you did for a few weeks you could get over all those feelings… right? And yes, it’s hard to do so, even more so when you are summoned to a briefing only to find him going in at the same time.

“Hey!” Poe sounded happy when he saw you, relieved even, his features even lighting up when he looked at you after taking a double look. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Poe!” Damn you, Dameron, was all you wanted to say when his arms opened to greet you with a bone-crushing hug. “You know how this gets…” Your vague answer made his smile turn into a tucked-lip grin, almost as if he were disappointed by your answer.

“I know,” was all he said. “So are we both in trouble, or are we going on the same mission?” Being in trouble sounded like the better option. You couldn’t know, but Poe thought so too.

An infiltrated spy in the government had reached all the way to the Resistance, and of course, in order to give away more information, the spy needed an in-person meeting. Even knowing that, when the General told you who was assigned to the mission, that news alone terrified you more than the actual meeting.

“I’m sending you two”. You couldn’t know who was more nervous about it, you, or Poe, who kept looking at you without really knowing what to say. Your blood turned cold in your veins. You looked at Poe as he looked at you, and you both turned to look at the General. “Why?” You asked, trying to remain as cool as possible even though you felt like your knees could give up on you at any moment. You failed, clearly, since your own mother looked at you stranged at your uneasy tone. “I mean… why send two people? Isn’t this a- uhm- one-person job?” You saved yourself quickly while looking at Poe, who seemed like a lost porg with wide eyes avoiding yours.

She glared at you as if she knew more about you than you did - and she probably did. “I’m sending you because they are expecting an Organa, and I’m sending Poe as your protection.”

The General walked past you, leaving no room for protesting. All Poe did when you exchanged a look was shrug.

“Protection?” You asked after a beat, once the General had walked past you, and from the look on her face, you may have asked a bit too harshly. Poe looked down, hiding a hurt smile that twisted your insides from guilt. “What I mean is- You don’t have to send your best pilot to this mission, I can handle it on my own. It’s just intel, after all.”

“Well, then…” Leia looked between the two of you; you with your panicked eyes hiding a thousand feelings, and Poe a couple of steps behind, uncharacteristically quiet, watching it all unfold. “...then consider this a fun friend getaway, in which your friend is also there for your safety.” She patted your arm and left the room.

“Hey!” Poe called you as you began to walk outside, and as you stopped and turned around, facing each other and waiting for him to speak, you got a glimpse of the hurt from before mixed with something else, something warm; right there, all over his eyes, you remembered why you couldn’t be sent alone with him. “Are you okay?” Was all he said.

“Yeah.” You said almost instantly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” A chuckle came right after.

“You seemed a bit… I don’t know.” His voice turned to a quiet whisper at the last words, as if he were questioning his own self. “Are we good?” He sounded hurt, and you hated yourself. A nod was all you could do without giving away your almost exploding feelings.

“We’re good.” You confirmed. It wasn’t his fault, he didn't deserve to be ignored by his best friend.

Poe nodded back, convincing himself about it. “I thought you were avoiding me, I just- I wanted to make sure we were good.”

Damn. Damn him and his perceptive, smart, beautiful, brain.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I would never avoid you.” You smiled, with an apology between the lines that you hoped he would get, but a real smile after all. You can’t be away from him, it doesn’t matter how hard you try.

“Well, then I should get some rest. Can’t be easy being your personal security, I have to be well-rested.” You pushed his shoulder, scoffing at his dumb joke. You felt almost relieved to be back to laughing with him, not realizing how torturous the past couple of weeks of avoiding him had really affected you. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lieutenant.” He shouted as he turned his back to you, finally, letting you break into the enormous smile you couldn’t contain anymore.

It was going to be a hard mission.

******

In another life, this would have been the most beautiful trip. You arrived well into the afternoon, with a smooth flight with Poe as your pilot soaring you amongst the clouds of the waterfall-filled moon you were sent to. Poe and you were back to being your ridiculous selves with each other, making the job of not falling anymore for him harder.

You laughed together at Poe’s dumb comments and jokes about being your bodyguard, walking side by side along the streets lined up with stone walls that paved the way to your secret meeting. “I need you to stop looking at me, ma'am, you can’t be distracting your security guy on times like this.” He faked a deep, serious voice, failing miserably at it since his lips kept turning upwards at the sound of your laughter.

“Shut your mouth, Dameron.” You rolled your eyes, but in all honesty, you couldn’t stop looking at him. You had to lay low for the meeting, no uniforms or clothes that could give away who you were, and Poe’s choice of clothing had you mesmerized since the moment you saw him before take-off; with his hair pushed back and his relaxed white shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders while still showing the built frame that the pilot suit usually hid, you were having a hard time to focus on what had to be done. Not that it was any easy for him either, since what you had modestly called a disguise happened to show your body in a way that was giving Poe a hard time to even turn the engine of the ship on.

Sure, you were there to see a potential spy and anyone could come around the corner and attack you, but for a few hours you felt like you could forget about all that; for a few hours, it didn’t seem like you were falling in love in the middle of a war.

Meeting the spy was anything a meeting with a spy could be, or so you thought, since you had never done it by yourself before. As soon as you reached the cantina he mentioned you spotted the guy, immediately tensing as a sharp breath came in through your nose. The realization of why you were there came upon you then, when you saw the blaster hanging so freely by the guy’s hip. Thank the Maker your mother insisted on sending Poe with you, who so gently reached for your hand and squeezed it gently. “I’ll be right beside you, I got you” he whispered, nudging his head towards where he was already holding his blaster by his hips.

You were spotted and greeted with an acknowledging head tilt and a hand urging you to reach the table. “I was expecting the General, not some kid and a flyboy playing war.” His voice was a whisper, yet you could still hear the raspiness of it, one that came with the age his graying hair and experienced eyes showed. 

“The General has more important matters than meeting a self-acclaimed spy.” Your reply made Poe hide a proud smile with a bite on his own cheek.

“You talk just like her.” He asked, knowing quite well who you were. “Little Solo, aren’t you?”

“Are you giving us what we came for or should we just tell the General we wasted our time?”

“No!” He said in an instant. “I can’t say much, but everything you need to know is here,” he placed a drive on the table that Poe quickly went for, examining it before putting it in his pocket. 

“What’s in it?” Poe asked urgently.

“Mission logs. Everything you need to know about their locations, positions, and next attacks.” He stood up then, looking at both you and Poe with the surprised look on your faces.

“How do we know you are trustworthy?” You did your best to read him, but he gave no sign of being either on your side or on the other guys’. 

“Who would be crazy enough to meet the Resistance, anyway?” And with that, he walked away.

“Well, that was fast,” Poe spoke first, signaling the waiter for a couple of drinks not before putting the drive safely kept in one of BB-8’s compartments. 

“This better be real,” You couldn’t shake the nerves away from your body, only then realizing how risky everything could have been. Who knew, maybe you were distracted by your security after all. “What if this is a fake thing? Or a drive that will read into all of our files and all our missions and-”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Poe’s hand reached yours on top of the table, but even without the touch, the way he interrupted your dooming thoughts so sweetly, calling out for you in that way he hadn’t done before, was enough for you to land on your feet again. “It’s all going to be okay, we’ll check it before giving this to the General, ‘kay?”

You nodded, that’s all you could do, since words had left your brain for a good minute already. If his words weren’t enough before, Poe smiled at you reassuring you everything was going to be alright. And how could it not with Poe by your side?

After one more comforting hand squeeze from Poe, he leaned back, taking his surroundings in as you took the chance to admire the view before you, it was not every day that you got a relaxed, loose-curl Poe all for yourself. “Let’s get drunk, what do you say?”

“Huh?” His proposal caught you by surprise, you were too busy thinking of… other things.

“We’re already here, the night is young, and that was stressing enough.” 

You laughed at his words, murmuring a so-not-convincing “You are terrible, Poe,” covering your face long enough to not see the way he lit up at your giggles. His mission was accomplished. “Alright Commander, let’s get drunk.”

A couple more drinks flowed for each one of you, enough for both of you to be comfortably tipsy, laughing, and living that night without a care in the world. Poe was in the middle of recounting a ridiculous story about Snap, something involving his ship becoming the nest of a family of tiny rodents on their last trip to Endor and him being terrified of them, when you realized how drunk you both actually were, laughing your asses off without really being able to pay enough attention to the story.

“I swear, he kept squirming away and begging me to take them out of his ship,” Poe managed to say in between laughter.

“Oh poor Snap,” You tried having some sympathy for the guy, but in between the alcohol and Poe’s laugh, you really couldn’t feel anything other thing than an exploding amount of happiness. “How come you had never told me that story?”

“It just happened las week,” Poe’s laughter began to die down. “And you were too busy not wanting to talk to me.” He raised his eyebrows at you from behind his glass. You had no words to justify it, not this time, yet your mouth still opened and closed without a sound coming from it. The one thing you were working so hard on not bringing up was laid on the table, displayed for you in the shape of Poe’s whole heart.

“I was not- ugh, I know what it seemed like but I promise it’s not-”

“This is not just me, right? I mean… you feel this too, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You almost believed yourself, asking unknowingly as if your heart wasn’t hammering against your chest all of a sudden.

“You know what I’m talking about.” Poe was so sure about what he was saying you could be mad. But you weren’t, you couldn’t be.

You could keep quiet. You could stand up and leave and never acknowledge your feelings anymore. The thing is, you couldn’t, not when looking at him at base and much less with the stars ant the moon reflecting in his eyes. “It’s not just you, it definitely isn’t.” You stated, simple as that, but the look in his face, hopeful and gloomy all at the same time, told you that you hadn’t answered his question at all. After a sigh, you spoke again. “We can’t, Poe.” 

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” He almost hoped, because that was way much better than any scenario he had played in his head.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, doubtful, not knowing how to tell him. Poe smirked, laughing at the situation you were both in. “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry for lying to you about it yesterday. But this, whatever this is, is something I never felt before.” The tiny smile he sent your way was enough to make you smile too. “Great timing, huh?”

“It’s not the best.” Poe nodded without ever breaking his stare from you.

“When Leia assigned us both, and I knew we were going to be sent away together, I- I knew I would not be able to hide it, but I had to at least try.”

“I know. I-” His own laugh interrupted him, meeting your eyes with a shimmer in them. “I felt the same way.”

You shared a silent smile, taking in the fact that you had both just confessed how bad you had fell and how you couldn’t do much about it.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to risk it.” The happiness you had felt mere seconds ago left the table, breaking both your hearts almost instantly. Poe understood, you saw him nodding, but that didn’t meant he agreed with you. “It’s just- It’s hard, Poe, and just imagine us trying to work this out in the middle of a war. There’s so much at stake and-”

“Hey, hey-” He cut you off, grabbing your hand over the table in a soft grasp in the process. “I know.” When he sighed you realized he felt the exact same way. “Let’s just finish this mission, ‘kay? We already have the intel, so let’s enjoy this dinner, get the job done, and when we get back we can continue our own lives forgetting about each other. Deal?” A pained smile painted his face. Poe’s eyes spoke a million words and reflected even more galaxies. You wanted to explore them forever.

No!, you wanted to scream. No deal, no way. How could he even suggest that when he knew damn well it would be a lie to you both? “Deal.” you said against yourself matching his sad smile, thinking of all the possible ways this could have ended if your lives weren’t so complicated.

The inn they had put you at was as lovely as the rest of the town, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy the night away with an actual bed instead of the hard mattresses you had back at Base. The report of today’s encounter was half-filled on your pad, which was long forgotten on the bed as your eyes got lost in the sight outside your window. Your nails couldn’t resist any more picking and biting, but you couldn’t take Poe’s words out of your mind.

He felt it. He felt it too and there you were like an idiot trying to avoid the most real thing you’ve both ever felt in years. “Fuck it.” you spoke into the silence of your room. You didn’t think twice when you began walking to the door, headed straight to Poe’s room across the hall and set this straight once and for all. You couldn’t ignore your feelings anymore.

But as soon as you opened the door you were met with Poe’s disheveled curls and his uneasy eyes. “Poe.” You greeted surprised, not knowing what else to say, the practiced speech you had planned was nowhere to be found anymore.

“I can’t,” he said firmly. “I can’t go back and live life without you. You have no idea how hard it has been for me too.” You were speechless. When you made up your mind to go and confess your feelings to Poe you never expected this, never expected him to be already at your door with a desperate confession of love. “I think I’m in love with you.” He added when he saw you were not talking. “I’ve been for a while, and I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not, especially when I know that you feel it too.”

He took a step back from your door when he saw you were quiet, muttering a quiet apology, but the lightning bolts you felt on your fingers couldn’t let him walk away.  

“Wait,” Your hand reached for his wrist and stopped him, pulling him to be close to you again, close enough for your chests to press against each other with every quick breath you took. Poe smiled, that stupidly gorgeous smile of his. 

“I’m in love with you too.” You barely finished the sentence when his lips crashed against yours, backing you into your room and closing the door behind him as his lips moved in sync with yours. Tender and soft, just as you had pictured them so many times, they molded perfectly with yours, all while his hands held your back letting yours cling around his neck, up and down his back, around his arms… anywhere they felt like going, making up for all the times you could’ve kissed him and you didn’t. His lips found their way to your neck not long after, making the most beautiful gasp leave your lips. You could feel the smile on the kisses he was peppering all over your neck and jaw, your fingers tangled in his curls to hold him firmly against your skin.

“Poe,” You breathed, and whatever it was you were going to say was cut short when he started kissing your lips again. With expert hands, firm and rough moving along your back, he walked you backward until the back of his knees reached the bed, lowering slowly to let you straddle him. Breathless, you parted your lips and found each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh, an incredulous laughter that forced you to hide your face in his neck. His fingers turned delicate as he traced circles on your back. If this was what kissing Poe was like, you would’ve kissed him the moment you met him at that bar.

“There’s no going back from this, isn’t it?” 

“There better not be.” Poe shook his head with a lovestruck smile all over his face. Your fingers reached up to trace Poe’s eyebrows, soon your lips replaced them and traced down his face, to that spot in between his eyebrows and the hard edges of his nose that you’ve always loved. Your hands traveled down his chest and began to lift his shirt, there was no hurry in your movements, all you wanted was to enjoy each minute you had together.

“Are you sure?” Poe whispered as you began to lift your own shirt.

Once it reached the floor and your hands were back to each side of his face, you replied with a smile on your face: “With you, I’m always sure.”

The night passed in a blur of soft touches and tangled limbs. Poe took his time, never rushing anything, letting every exploding emotion take over your bodies whenever it arrived, every time it arrived. It was everything you had ever dreamt of and more, it was the man you loved with every bit of your heart loving you back as if both your lives depended on it.

You were still wrapped in each other when the sun came up, the silence of the couple hours of sleep you had filling the room in a quiet haze. “What’s going to happen when we get back?” You broke the silence. “When people find out it’s all going to be a mess. My mom is going to freak out, everyone is going to talk, and the ranks are definitely going to come up…”

Poe turned his head to kiss your forehead as a way to stop your rambling mouth, which for some reason, has happened a lot in the last few hours. “Why don’t we take it slow? With telling everyone, I mean.”

“Sure, because the last 5 hours were definitely us taking it slow.” You commented with sarcasm, making Poe tickle your side. “Are you talking about a secret relationship, Commander Dameron?” Resting your chin on his chest you turned up to look at him.

“Maybe.” He met your impressed stare, and as you began to break into a smile he quickly turned around to lay on top of you. “I would want nothing but to scream into the galaxy that I’m madly in love with you,” He squeezed your side, making you squirm. “But for now, just for a while-”

“I know, I know. We should enjoy having this for just us, just for a little while.” You finished, pulling him in to kiss him. “You’re going to have to keep it professional, though.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always professional.” Much in disregard of his own words, his lips started attacking your neck leaving delicious open mouth kisses on it.

“I mean no cute little nicknames, no calling me ‘sweetheart’ in public, no sneaky looks,” Poe whined, writhing his hips against yours as he complained. “Definitely not that.” You whispered that last part, fingers sneaking up to his tangled curls.

“I can behave, sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The way he said that, with that love-drunk smile on his face, told you just how much trouble you were in. “Can you?”

You matched his daring smile, quickly thinking and catching him off guard as you pushed him to his back and straddled his hips. “Of course I can.”

You could deal with the rest of the galaxy some other day, because right then there was nowhere you’d rather be than in Poe’s arms. 

🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

How did you come up with the plot to Chaos Plan??

YIPPPEEEEE ANOTHER ONE!!!! HEHEHEH THANKS FOR THE ASK

Omg I LOVE this question. I'll never get sick of answering that, so like warning for long post incoming 😈😈😈😈

I talk about my inspirations a lot on this post and also in the end notes on some chapters, especially chapter 10 and chapter 20, and I always pinpoint the scene from TFBW where Butters/Chaos talks to the others through the screens of U-Stor-It as "the moment where it all started," so I guess I can talk about something different now😁😁😁I might still repeat myself a lot though lmao so sorry about that.

The Premise: Butters' Disappearance and Detective Harris

Fun fact: the summary on ao3 is actually the first thing I ever wrote for the fic, and I feel like it still holds up.

I debated for a long time whether I actually wanted to write this story, because the idea of it fascinated me so much but I was scared to commit to such a big project. But then I read this pitch to my best friend and they were FASCINATED, and that was kind of the push I needed. I haven't looked back since.

The premise of Harris hiring Mysterion (despite either of their desire to work with each other) was something deeply inspired from the premise of Six of Crows, a book I reread at least once a year. I love crime and heist stories, especially when the criminals in question are sad little losers with questionable motivations and morals, and I feel like Mysterion getting HIRED to stop Chaos is a story that wrote itself. Especially since I wanted the added backstory to be that Butters disappeared after a tragic event, kickstarted by the aforementioned TFBW scene that made me immediately think of Jinx from Arcane. That's why I implemented all those visual bits and pieces of Chaos grafitti-ing the town, particularly places associated with childhood (playgrounds, the basketball court), and decorations that make you think of a kid's birthday party (like the fairy lights).

Mysterion and Chaos

In my notes on chapter 20 I talk in detail about my thought process on Chaos and Mysterion's villain and vigilante identities and their respective modi operandi, which is something that drove the development of this story a lot.

I'm a huge character psychology nerd, so I really wanted to write a story where these two characters drive the plot fueled by their fascinating canon skills, backstories and trauma in the given canon setting. A story that illustrates in great detail how they would operate in a hero/villain story while keeping the story as close to canon (or canon equivalents) as possible.

"Professor" Chaos being an entrepreneur-type scammer & hacker villain was an idea that I found baffling to not be as widely represented as I'd expect it to be (especially given the existence of Vic Chaos???), so I took it upon myself to realize my dreams lmao. This involved a lot of research on scams and cyber-crime and everything computers and crypto (I'm a tech illiterate. this was painful bro) so I watched a bunch of documentaries on a bunch of different assholes lol. (I'd be happy to share which those where if anyone's interested hghaahah) Thankfully my mom works in a cybersecurity-adjacent job so I know a bunch of fun facts like that you can actually get hacked with a QR-code! the more you know

The Plot and Shit

Whenever I have a story idea the first thing I do is pull out this bad boy

and make myself think about all the crucial plot points that could be represented by each beat sample. (I used to have the "Save The Cat" novelwriting book and it honestly changed how I think about story structure).

Even though a lot of the original first outline drafts don't really end up representing what the story looks like in the end, it does make me think about necessary beats to keep the tension up and have it flow nicely, and the vague idea of the crucial beats does usually hold up. Originally, the moment where Kenny finds out Chaos is Butters was meant to be the "midpoint" but I ended up focusing on a bunch of other stuff in the plot that I'd probably determine the moment the roof of City Hall blowing up as the "midpoint" now.

But these scenes were among those I knew I wanted in the story since the beginning:

Harris hiring Mysterion

Mysterion and Chaos talking at U-Stor-It

Kenny running into Butters

Kenny and Butters at the graveyard

City Hall roof blowing up

Mysterion talking to Chaos at a destroyed playground

some others i can't spoil teehee

And as you'll see, this represents like 5% of what happens lmao. Most of my ideas involving Kyle were super vague, and I had no fucking idea how to even involve Stan at first, even less Cartman (I actually wanted to keep Cartman away from the plot but he fought his way in anyway, as he does).

Brother, i didn't even have any scenes with Karen planned. I came up with that one spontaneously when I was struggling to figure out how to write chapter 7 (8 on ao3, when you count the prologue) and how to connect the dots between the U-Stor-It bit and what I wanted to do with Kenny figuring out the transport thing. You'll have found me like this trying to figure out all the connections and dots in Chaos' plan between Harris, the bar, Butters past (yet to be revealed) and how the motherfuckers of our main characters are actually gonna figure all that shit out.

I'm too embarrassed to say how many chapters were just kinda spontaneously rawdogged when they demanded actual detailed explanations of what happened, when I only had like the most vague idea thinking "yeah it happened somehow" (chapter 9 was most definitely one of them. That chapter description just said something like "Kenny and Kyle do detective work idk")

So yeah i guess the TLDR answer to this ask is kinda "idk man i fucked around and found out and the plot possessed me in vivid visions." I think at it's least ramble-y and most honest, that's what it all boils down to

THANKS FOR THE ASK <33333 AND KISSES IF YOU ACTUALLY READ ALL THIS LMAO

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

The First Step of the Beginning - Translation (始まりの一歩)

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

A PDF version is also available.

Key

Hijikata Toshizo - Otori Eiichi

Nagakura Shinpachi - Sumeragi Kira

Todo Heisuke - Mikado Nagi

Okita Soji - Otori Eiji

Kondo Isami - Kiryuin Van

Harada Sanosuke - Hyuga Yamato

Saito Hajime - Amakusa Shion

Kondo: Shinsengumi. Our new name has a nice ring to it. 

Kondo: When the bafuku began recruiting soldiers without regard to social status or age, requiring only a healthy body and a spirit of dedication to report to the front lines – essentially, the loyalty to serve with all one’s might – I thought at the time that it was too good to be true. 

Kondo: However, I am truly glad I believed those words and immediately came with my comrades. We were employed without incident, called upon to serve in important situations, and our work was recognized by being granted a new name. 

Kondo: I actually come from a farming family. Ever since I was a child, I admired the bushi and although I managed to become a martial arts expert, I had a vague feeling that was the limit of my abilities. And yet, now here I am, leading dozens of comrades.

Okita: How long are you going to keep smiling by yourself? Kondo-san, commander of the Shisengumi.

Kondo: Ah, sorry about that. Captain of the First Unit of the Shinsengumi, Okita Soji-kun. I was just thinking about various things concerning the Shinsengumi, and I ended up getting a bit carried away.

Hijikata: At least for today, it’s okay to stay in a celebratory mood. After all, the fact that we were able to become the Shinsengumi is undoubtedly thanks to Kondo-san’s leadership.

Saito: Yes. Kondo-san’s power is truly great. But I think your presence, Hijikata-san, is also very important. You have always been there to support Kondo-san quietly, no matter the situation.

Okita: That’s right. It’s thanks to both of you, not just one person. Thank you as always, Hijikata-san.

Hijikata: Praising me won’t get you anything. I’ll say it again, it’s not my job to accept requests like turning today’s dinner into a celebratory feast.

Okita: Huh? You realized that I had a request, didn’t you? Just kidding, I actually wasn’t thinking about anything like that. Not until you mentioned it just now.

Hijikata: You…

Kondo: Come on, it’s fine, isn’t it? You’re the one who said it was okay to celebrate a bit on a day like today. As for making the meal extravagant, I’ll go ahead and request that myself.

Harada: As expected of the commander of the Shinsengumi, so generous! But, speaking of which, Kondo-san is the Shinsengumi commander, and Hijikata-san is the vice-commander. And we’re the captains of the Shinsengumi! This name really does feel great! It feels like we’ve gained some prestige.

Nagakura: There are many things that cannot be measured by just a title, but people certainly change depending on what they are called. If Harada’s spirits are lifted, then that alone holds meaning.

Harada: So, is it correct to say that you’re also really happy, Nagakura?

Nagakura: Yes, of course.

Todo: But we can’t just be happy. This is still just the first step of the beginning, after all. From here on, we have to keep working hard and producing solid results.

Kondo: That’s right. Todo-kun is always looking ahead and that helps me a lot. 

Kondo: Ahem. The main mission we have been ordered to carry out this time is to maintain the peace in Kyoto. However, as Todo-kun said, the Shinsengumi’s ultimate goal lies beyond just that. 

Kondo: What we desire most is to bring peace to the country itself. 

Kondo: Nevertheless, maintaining public order today is also an important duty. Let’s do our utmost to live up to the name of the Shinsengumi, which we have been entrusted with!

Todo: Yeah, leave it to me! I’ll support you properly.

Harada: If you can’t protect what’s around you first, you won’t be able to accomplish anything significant.

Nagakura: A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, so let’s move forward step by step.

Hijikata: Right. I’ll stick with Kondo-san until the very end.

Okita: I intend to do the same, of course. After all, I have decided that you are the companions with whom I will share my entire life.

Saito: Even if you say no, I have no intention of leaving.

Kondo: Everyone, thank you. I am truly grateful from the bottom of my heart. 

Kondo: The outcome of a battle is not determined by the tools, but by the people who use them. This is a passage from a book written by my favorite author, Rai San’yō. 

Kondo: I believe that within these words is a positive lesson: with great companions, you can accomplish anything. I think there are no words that fit our current situation better than these.

Hijikata: You really like Rai San’yō, don’t you? But I understand that feeling well. It’s good to have wonderful companions.

Kondo: Yes. Let’s work hard together, Toshi.

Todo: Hey, about the idea of making tonight’s dinner more luxurious, how about we include everyone’s favorite foods? I’d like tempura. What about you, Kondo-san?

Okita: Ah, I got it! Um... there’s manju, yokan, anmitsu, zenzai, nerikiri, and other sweet things.

Hijikata: That’s not a meal, is it? I would never want a dinner like that.

Okita: Don’t worry! I’ll ask them to prepare some pickles as a palate cleanser. Hijikata-san, you eat them a lot, don’t you?

Harada: For me it’s eel!

Nagakura: That sounds nice. The one from the place Harada took me to last time was definitely the best. But in that case, it might be better to just buy some to take home.

Okita: I think I’ll go with eggs after all. I’ll think a little more about how I want them done. What about you, Hajime-san?

Saito: Let’s see... Kondo-san. Among manju, yokan, anmitsu, zenzai, and nerikiri, which one do you prefer the most?

Kondo: (chuckles) This is a rare opportunity. You don’t need to worry about me. Feel free to choose whatever you like, Saito-kun.

[sea-salted-wolverine]

No one should ever go to Kasilof. It is a terrible place with terrible weather and overflowing porta potties and overstuffed dumpsters with child snatching and dogfighting and some crazy guy swinging a sword that got shot by the cops. Awful stuff really. Best avoided. Just not worth the bother.

That was the gist of the news stories leading up to the kasilof sockeye runs this year it was no issue at all to find a camping spot and it wasn't nearly as crowded so I totally agree with the mainstream media on this one. It's a den of vice and iniquity. Stay away. The rent lowering gunshots clipped a reporter.

So this year we went down with a largish caravan of 4 family's worth of people and junk and a limit of 170 fish to catch. We're soo good at planning and logistics that this went off with no hitch and no arguments (lying). Since we also had a very pregnant lady and excited 2 year old who would not be fishing but were still counted towards the limit we planned on being there for a while, at least 3 days if not more. We also had the damn dog.

So at least I was planning on a few days of chill fishing and a long slog. My brother in law left an hour or so early with his girlfriend and had one job, to find us a good spot to descend upon and set up our camp. They did not do this. One job. The fishing was hot so they didn't even really bother to park, we pulled up on his truck kinda packed off to the side of the road and he was down in the water with a pile of fish on the beach because he didn't even have a cooler ready.

So by the time we bitched him out, found a campsite, set up camp and squared everything away, it was approaching midnight. This is normal, you fish the tides as they come and its not like it gets dark so wandering the beach all night long is expected so long as you're considerate of those trying to sleep.

But then.

My Sunshineman brought his boat. I knew he brought his boat, I was in fact the one arguing that he needed to do things like park and set up camp rather than do exactly what his brother did and throw himself into the river as soon as he saw fish coming in, while neglecting those little things like, food and sleep. But since we were done setting up, he wanted to go fishing from his boat. At midnight.

I had been up early that morning to do terrible things in the bilge of a different, much larger boat that resulted in fun colored bruises on my ribs and sore shoulders, so I wasn't particularly feeling the vibe on this one. I helped launch the boat and then bowed out to go pass out in a pile of blankies in the sand.

In the time it took two set up camp and launch the boat Adak, the dog, managed to get into a fight and have his face ripped up. He is huge and he is stupid but he doesn't take shit but he was on leash while the other dog was running loose, so the impulse was to pull him back, if he had been left to his own we probably would have gotten away with out anyone getting bit.

He's fine and chicks dig scars but its indicative that I had no idea this happened 25 yards away from me until adak came up to me and smeared his face all over my pants. My pants already had engine grease, bilge slime, grass stains, fish guts, coffee, mud, sand and a few baby boogers on them so what's a little dog blood too?

So yea, not my circus, not my monkeys, in tent, pants off, pjs on, cozy bitch in the blankies, out like a light, nothing better than sleeping on the beach.

Except for the fact that your husband wakes you up at 2 AM asking for help.

I'm convinced he kept it vague on purpose.

I'm up. I'm out of the tent. I'm still in my pj's. I have my drysuit on over top. My waders have a hole in them. It is, I cannot stress this enough, 2 AM.

The boat is a 16 foot mil surplus zodiac with a 40 horse Johnson, if you care about that sort of thing. It gets nice comments from people who do care. We usually run one person to drive, 2 to work the nets, and one optional person to handle fish as they come in. Sunshine went out with our 2 friends who AFAIK crawled off the boat and directly into bed after 2 solid hours of midnight deathmatch fishing, because I watched them stumble out of the boat and didn't see them again until breakfast. The boat was entirely full of fish. THEY CAUGHT 49 FISH IN LESS THAN 2 HOURS. Kasilof reds are usually smaller than Kenai reds but there must have been a secondary run because half were the average 6 or 7 pound fish and the rest were something like 10 lbs each.

At some point sunshine must have woken up his brother because he materialized from somewhere and we got the fish out of the boat into a cooler so we could drag them up to clean them. Then came the thing that we're all still more than a smidge irritated about. Sunshine went back out in the boat, by himself, to go get more fish while BIL and I cleaned the ones he had just brought back. We couldn't even yell at him because a good chunk of the beach was asleep.

So at about 4 am the sky has decided to shift from twilight to morning and I am sitting on a cooler of gutted fish in a superbly uncomfortable drysuit having a moment of perfect communication with the bald eagle sitting on the light pole at the end of the dock. We would both enjoy breakfast, preferably of fish. But it is four fucking am in the morning. And we should both be alseep. Breakfast is not a meal best enjoyed at 4 am. A nap sounds best.

Sunshine comes back with 3 more fish. I honestly do not remember what happened to those fish. Either I gutted them or he gutted them or maybe they got raptured into fishy heaven, (which looks suspiciously like the inside of a cooler) I legitimately do not know, because I think my REM cycle was starting up again.

I get a hand to haul the cooler back to camp. I peel out of the dry suit and was asleep back in my cozy sleeping bag blanket pile before Sunshine even made it to the tent.

At something like, idk, 6am, someone started splitting wood. loudly. I was awake enough to identify that it was near, and probably not a problem and I distinctly remember making the semi conscious decision to sleep through it. At about this point my phone died and for the rest of this trip I had no idea what time it was. I intended to take pictures and document things and whatnot and that just did not happen. The phone stayed dead and my hands stayed busy.

I woke up last, presumably because the demon that compels my mother-in-law to get up at 5 AM every morning had already woken everyone up with the wood splitting. She was toasting breakfast burritos, and it wasn't as if I had slept through the whole morning because I wasn't even the last to get a burrito.

My FIL made a joke that at least one of us got a full 8 hours and BIL earned back all his brownie points by jumping in to defend me unprompted. She was indeed up at ungodly hours playing with knives and dead fish. How dare you impune her honor simply because she looks so dewy fresh after sleeping in the dirt?

I did at least get the chance to put a net in the water from the beach but we were limited out by 1pm. That's enough fish fast enough that we were dumping out food and drinks coolers because we planned on freeing up space as we went. So I had our camp that we had intended to stay in for as long as a week broken down and hundreds of pounds of fish gutted and iced in a few hours. While drinking, because we had several days worth of food and drinks and beers that had been displaced by fish. The solstice vodka lemonade from matanuska brewing is great btw.

We had planned to overlap the end of our trip with the beginning of my mom and sister coming down so we could fish together, so I called mom as were were leaving the beach. From Sunshineman's phone of course, mine being dead at the bottom of a bag somewhere. As the current time was something like 16 hours from when we arrived, she assumed I forgot something or was just calling to tell her about the nice weather, or terrible weather, or confirming the news report's porta potty horror story. She didn't expect us to pull in a years worth of food in a single tide cycle.

So we get home without incident, and get to cleaning and fileting and packing and labeling at, some, late, evening time, maybe? I'm time blind on a good day and if I had a watch it would be covered in fish slime.

So yeah, this year's fish camp was condensed into a single solid slug of dense firey whatthefuckFISHfishFISHcleanpackgutgohome. Niece creature didn't want to change our of pj's so she wore the same outfit for her entire trip which is spectacular from a laundry standpoint because a toddler given free reign to a muddy fishy beach goes about as well as expected. She had a ball and then napped through almost the entire cleaning and packing process when we got home, which is what I wanted to do but instead I fileted triple digits worth of fish.

Mom went down later for the weekend and she got rained on for 3 days and caught 7 fish and a flounder. We caught the hot run and came home with fish but at what cost?

[what-have-i-unleashed]

alone on a friday night? me too!

(early) birthday gift to @freakstertoff. this thing is freaky so i'm tagging this account of yours lol

note: i don't know much about the epic sanses so treat this as ooc as far as i'm concerned.

(cw: voyeurism/exhibitionism, some vague smut description)

"hey, you're epic, right?"

epic turns his head and sees another skeleton with strange markings down his eyes. his white eyelights have a light orange hue to them. both of them are standing in the only administration building left standing in the omega timeline right now. with a huge influx of refugees from a multitude of universes, all the workers here are frantically accommodating everyone and answering every question. epic pities them - he should feel lucky to not have a service job in his life up til now.

"who's asking?" epic asks his sudden inquirer, his hands in his pockets, as his coat billows in the invisible wind. the other skeleton looks at him with a twitch in his eye ridge.

"call me delta," he says. "seems like they're putting us in the same temp house."

"oh, you're my roommate, bruh!" epic exclaims. "wait, there should be another with us, right?"

"he's with me already," delta says, leading epic out of the crowded area. "his name's color by the way."

and epic can understand why he's named that. the dude is positively flashing rainbow colors, a real epilepsy warning. not to mention the crack he has on the side of his skull where fires are coming out constantly. so he's a fire hazard too - cool!

"i know, he's fucking awesome," delta grins, gesturing at color.

"ayo, bruh, mind the color-ful language, would ya?" epic says with a smile on his face, as delta turns to him and color snickers behind his hand. it is a nice sound, epic absentmindedly notes.

"... oh stars, you're also into puns," delta groans. and epic laughs.

"whaaaat? a sans not into jokes? you're a riot, a true rebel, bruh," he puts his arm over delta's shoulders, smiling wide. "we'll get along just fine."

epic was told by a harried service worker that it should take about two months before a permanent house can be provided to him. so for now he has to share a temporary flat with delta and color for the time being. the flat is smaller than he expected, with one modest kitchen and a living room with a small dining area. there's only one bedroom as well as one bathroom. at least there are bunk beds with quite some space in the bedroom. epic claims the top bed, while color and delta takes the bottom beds. fair enough - color is an old man, and delta seems to be the kind to move around in his sleep. still, it's a bit sad not to have anyone on the other top bed where he can throw some fun stuff at.

it's been a week since the trio moved into the flat. and all in all, everything is fine. epic volunteers to work at the refugee center himself, delta works at some construction site, and color is socializing with other people for now. they all have their own schedules, but still living together requires them to interact a lot and divide the chores. epic has to say, delta and color are best roommates he's had, but considering he never had a roommate before, that's not saying much.

until one faithful night it is. epic wakes up in the middle of the night, throat parched and skull throbbing from the frequent nightmares. checking his phone, it is about 3 am. he looks down from his bed. the other two are silent - they must still be asleep. quietly, he shortcuts to the hallway, then down the stairs.

the lights illuminating from the kitchen make him pause. okay... so one of them is also up at this hour. silently, he walks up to the kitchen, and pauses.

he can see delta's back facing him, thankfully blocking most of what is happening because he can hear the muffled sounds from where he's standing, and they're not exactly family-friendly. he can see color's flames peeking out behind delta's form, as color seems to be sitting on the kitchen island and enthusiastically responding to whatever delta is doing. oh stars, not the poor countertop... epic literally uses it every single day.

epic knows he should just slink away and pretend to not have seen anything. but his sleep-deprived mind forces his mouth to blurt out.

"yo my bruh-migos, what in the freaky flip."

with a yelp, delta stumbles back away from color as he swivels his head around to see epic's sleepy stunned face. delta's face is bright orange, and epic tries very hard not to stare at his wet ecto-tongue still hanging out.

"bruh, i cook there..." epic finds himself say.

"oh my void, i'm so sorry!" he hears color exclaim apologetically as the stout skeleton moves off the countertop. "we just didn't want to wake you up, since you were sleeping and all."

"... how many times did you guys, uh, rendezvous on that countertop?"

"we didn't- i mean, we-" delta stammers. it's the first time epic sees him so flustered, which was oddly funny and cute at the same time. thankfully for the blubbering orange mess, color swoops in smoothly to save him from further embarrassment.

"we haven't fooled around in the kitchen, if that's what you meant. we usually just meet up in the inns, actually."

"yeah," delta scratches the behind of his neck. "don't want to make it feel awkward in here or anything…"

epic looks at both of them for a while, his mind trying to fire off some sensible thoughts but unable to. there's an odd sensation pulsing in his rib that he doesn't have the time or clarity to examine just yet. in the end, his mouth utters, "it's fine if you guys wanna do it in the flat."

"what?" "are you sure?" delta and color ask simultaneously. stars, they're such a cute couple, aren't they?

"yeah, i don't mind," epic shrugs. "just don't do it in the kitchen. fire hazard and stuff. also, not on my spot on the sofa either, my bruhs." he adds a wink at the end, hoping to convey how unbothered he is by all of these constant punches of surprise.

delta and color exchange an indecipherable look before color says to epic, "if you're sure…"

epic doesn't know why color is talking as if he doesn't believe epic. it's quite an offense to his chill guy persona honestly. he's totally cool about his two friends-slash-roommates hooking up! well, maybe if he can show them how cool with it he is, then maybe…

the next few days are definitely awkward. epic has a nagging feeling that delta is avoiding him as much as possible, which is to say not much considering they share the same flat and also the bedroom to say the least. the usually brash skeleton is unusually reserved around epic, a blushing mess whenever epic addresses him. at least color still acts normal around epic, but the fact that he doesn't seem to be affectionate towards delta in front of epic lately makes the ex-scientist feel even worse.

so, one evening, as he puts down the extravagant meal he has made with his blood, sweat, and tears - from cutting the stars-damned onions - he speaks directly to both his roommates sitting across from him.

"look, i'm not homophobic."

delta chokes on the mouthful of rice he has inhaled, as color pats on his back. the colorful skeleton turns an incredulous look at epic.

"uh, what brought this up?"

"just because i like the opposite sex doesn't mean i don't vibe with the lgbt, bruh," epic huffs. "i'm totes fine with gay people."

"... okay...?" color raises an eye ridge at him, hand still on delta's back. and epic can't help but feel the side of his head burn hotly.

"look, all i'm saying is: i'm not bothered by you guys dating!" he bursts out, finally. "it's fine that my two friends are in relationship and we live together! i wouldn't mind if you guys start getting lovey-dovey with each other! i wouldn't even mind if you guys have sex in the same house," yeah, that sounds good enough as an endorsement, right? "or heck, even in front of me!" wait, what.

"what," delta echoes the last thought in epic's head. color is dead quiet. all three of them fall into an awkward silence.

"epic..." color tentatively reaches across the table, one hand holding epic's cold glove. "are you saying what i think you're saying?"

"... what am i even saying," epic breathes out, his mind in a spiral just like the electric fan above them.

color and delta exchange a meaningful look. ah, the perks of lovers and their inexplicable telepathic communication. they're just so cute together, aren't they?

"do you want to watch us have sex, epic?" color asks, as blunt as a hammer. epic can't help the blush spreading across his face, abnormally flustered by something he should be quite used to joking around about. the multi-colored skeleton continues, paying no heed to epic's turbulent thoughts. "because you're always welcome to do that."

"what he said," delta chimes in, looking intensely into epic's eyes with his orange-hued eyelights. epic finds himself unable to even lie with those pretty lights directed at him. his mouth opens, and he knows at that moment what he's going to say, wishing he won't make a mistake.

what happens next is a blur as far as epic is concerned. all he remembers is all three of them moving to the cramped living room, their meal halfway forgotten on the dining table. he remembers being treated to the sight of his two closest friends deep inside each other's mouth, delta watching him stupidly gape like a fish with a smug smile in his eyes. he remembers automatically blurting out how they needed to use a condom when the pair of lovebirds collapsed on the sofa and color gigglingly asking him for one, one hand outstretched like a particularly enticing olive branch. he remembers the breathless sounds from both of them, inviting him to come closer to see. he remembers stammering like an idiot, staying in his watching spot, a warm sensation buzzing in his bones as he watched the couple indulge in each other. he remembers the flushed and satisfied expression on color's face in the throes of pleasure, the grunted sounds coming from delta as he reaches completion. he remembers feeling all lightheaded himself, his palms sweaty as if he was the one having run a marathon and not the pair in front of him, who are now cuddling each other on the sofa, bundled under a blanket that epic has hastily brought to them after they were done.

"how was that?" color asks epic, startling the normally laid-back memelord. delta has fallen asleep next to color, his face so peaceful epic couldn't take his eyes off of it. color's voice is warm like the sun, and his flames are lazily dancing, shooting little sparks in the air like colorful fireflies.

epic finds himself speechless for once. he feels a sudden need to scoot closer to color and delta, but resolutely stays in his armchair facing the sofa. stars, what would he be to interfere in his friends' already amazing love life?

"... good, i think," he mumbles at last. "thanks for... all this." he gestures towards color and delta. color chuckles.

"glad you like it," the colorful skeleton says, tilting his head to the side. epic averts his eyesight, looking at a spot above the naked monster. "you can watch us next time too, if you want."

"oh yeah?" epic asks, a choked laugh escaping his throat. "and what does delta think about it?"

"he won't mind," color replies automatically. in a softer tone, he continues. "we're not dating, you know?"

epic jumps at the unexpected statement. "you're not?"

"hmmm not sure," color traces a hand over delta's skull. the sleeping skeleton scrunches his nose, cutely. "we've never talked about it. right now, it's just this, sex that is. so," color looks at epic, "don't feel bad, okay?"

epic swallows, not knowing what to say. color has always been the most perceptive of them after all. he leans back in his armchair, watching color fall into sleep next to delta. epic doesn't sleep himself, knowing another nightmare will just wait for him as always - not like it matters anyway.

he stays awake, guarding the two souls in his vicinity - the two most important souls in his current life. the silence pricks at him, but he perseveres, like he usually does.

dividers by @\anitalena here and @\fairytopea here

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

omg I want to know, how were the Napoleon Queer Wars of 2014 like?? 😬

oh lord lol

It's been almost ten years and I still get weird YIKES reaction in my skin when I think about it, or when people in the current Napoleonic corner act a bit like the people from back then. Which is a me issue, and not anyone else's problem. But it is why I don't really engage with anyone from the Napoleonic side of tumblr anymore - too many bad memories and bad taste in my mouth.

Essentially, someone posted the (in)famous Cronin quote re: Napoleon telling Coulaincourt about the Feelings He Gets When Looking At Someone Handsome Friend Shaped. They speculated about queer* implications of this.

--

*necessary disclaimer about modern concepts of sexuality not being applicable to the past yadda yadda yadda. I'm using short hand here, folks. No one needs to jump down my throat.

--

A bunch of the Very Serious History Blogs(tm) came down hard on them being like "you're a fool, absolutely not, Napoleon was Straight(tm)". Someone else replied being like "Well what about That Letter from N to Josie concerning a Certain Tsar of Russia?"

I forget how That Letter was explained away, but it was.

Some name calling nonsense and really aggresive replies where bandied back and forth. People were passive aggresive and mean. People ignored each other then wrote vagueing posts about it. The usual damned foolishness you would expect.

Then someone else referenced that one book whose whole thesis is basically Napoleon was Probably Bi. The book, I will say, isn't great. I'd never recommend it. But it was floating around in the 2014/15 world of Napoleonic Tumblr.

And oh man was the person who suggested it torn to shreds. Eviscerated. It was like watching a train wreck and the by standers decided to lock the doors of the train and not let the passengers off while everything burned.

There were weird spin-off dramas from this nonsense where people got into whether or not being interested in Napoleon made you a war crime sympathizer. (Some things never change on this webbed site.) Messy, messy. Also, utterly dumb.

Anyway - it ended up weirdly boiling down to two sides: Are You A Serious Historian/Take History Seriously(tm) Therefore Anti-Napoleon Possibly Being Something Like Queer Even If Never Acted On versus People Having Fun(tm) on the Internet Who Now Have Their Backs Up and Are Responding Perhaps Unwisely.

There was a third party, which I was part of at that time** (no longer, since I left academia), which was the "We Do Real History As A Day Job, Because We Are In Academia, but Lol Like Hell Would I Think to do Serious History on the Blue Hell Site. I'm Present for Shits and Giggles and Idle Speculation and Chats. Nothing Here is Serious. Everyone Needs To Calm Down and Take Themselves Way Less Seriously." We were a small contingent, to say the least.

--

**this is not to say I didn't walk away with egg on my face. Because I did. My comportment wasn't great and it's something I've been trying to be better about ever since.

It's not a time I think anyone save like four Napoleonic-interested blogs can look back on without blame.

--

But yeah - it was a real bad time on here. People were called names and cruel, cruel messages were sent to various and sundry by various and sundry. People deactivated over it. Friendships were literally torched because of it. There was a lot of issues with: "What Is Tone When Jumping On Someone's Post?? We don't know how to gauge it! Are you being mean? Are you being helpful? Who knows!! But you sounded aggresive in your add on and so I had better respond aggressively as well."

All because some people took themselves too seriously and because other people were stupidly mean about something dumb.

If I sometimes come in really strong with five million disclaimers in my napoleon asks/responses, even just the silly, purely speculative ones that no one sensible expects Real Serious History to result from - questions that clearly fall into the camp of shit a friend would ask you at the bar after four pints - things like: "was he queer? do you think he had add/adhd? what do you speculate were mental health issues he may have had?" etc. it's because of this year/year-and-a-half shit show. (And my disclaimers don't always serve their purpose because this is, after all, the Piss on the Poor website and people lack attention to detail when reading. [That said, I'm just as guilty of it as well, so can't point too many fingers.])

anyway, the long and short is that MAN people were very anti-any idea that there might have been an iota of what we would term queerness in Napoleon. And MAN no one can be normal on this site about anything so of course there was unnecessary drama and hurt feelings and bitterness.

May we never repeat this stupid time.