#AND IF THEY FOUND OUT I WAS AWAKE @4.....

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Ellie gets caught — Neighbor Ellie x Reader

Pt 1 and pt 2

4.8k words, nsfw, oral (r!receiving), face sitting, groping, confrontation, degradation, verbal consent given in a dubious consent situation, guilt on either side

Ellie was truly mortified when the screen blacked out, an error screen taking its place. She thought of every way imaginable that she could dig herself out of the grave she'd dug for herself. The camera was ripped from the wall and landed at your feet. She thought it was hidden well enough, but Ellie had underestimated the curiosity of a cat. Surely you weren't so naive that you wouldn't be able to tell what it was. Ellie didn't feel guilt for watching you, but your reaction made her uneasy. The look of fear in your eyes made her stomach twist.

Less than a minute passed before Ellie's phone vibrated in her hands, your name popping up in multiple notifications. But she wasn't ready to face the consequences, so her phone was put on "do not disturb" and placed on her desk. She slept restlessly, hardly at all in fact. Maybe she could wake up and it would all be a terrible nightmare, but she woke in the morning to a slew of texts and calls that were all too real. She feigned ignorance, choosing to read the messages without replying. The longer she played dumb, the more distressed your messages seemed.

Wednesday

10:07PM: hey i found smth in my apt and i dont rly know what it is lol. did you forget anything?

10:10PM: Missed Call

10:15PM: are you awake?

10:16PM: i looked up this thing and i think we need to talk...

10:17PM: Missed Call

10:20PM: call me when you can

Thursday

7:32AM: hey can you let me know if you have time to talk today? It's important...

7:35AM: but yeah let me know if you can talk

12:03PM: Missed Call

12:03PM: call me when you have a chance. we really need to talk about this

12:05PM: im on my lunch break so i can talk until 1

1:01PM: Ellie im not joking this is important

4:30PM: im leaving work. you at home?

4:31PM: can i stop by to talk? this isnt cool the whole ignoring me thing. I know youre on your phone all the time

4:31PM: you were active on instagram literally 10 minutes ago

Ellie knew she couldn't avoid you forever. She couldn't just sweep this problem under the rug, she would have to move away, change her name, get a new job, maybe dye her hair. But she didn't have time for that. Ellie knew you were always home between 4:40 and 4:45PM, depending on traffic. It was 4:37. She surely couldn't risk passing you on the stairwell if she tried to leave. So Ellie shut the blinds, turned off the lights, and hunkered down on the couch.

Steps click-clacked up the concrete stairwell, passing Ellie's door and up to your apartment, slamming the door behind you. Your steps were heavy above Ellie as they circled your apartment and back out the front door. The door slamming behind you made Ellie jump, each step shaking her to the core. Why was she so afraid?

You pounded on her door with your closed fist. Ellie tiptoed to the door to look through the peephole. You were rightfully upset, made obvious by your crossed arms and sour grimace. You were still dressed for work, clomping down the stairs in your work shoes and skirt, a silk scarf wrapped around your neck. In your hand was a familiar black object dangling from a chunky cord. She observed you for a moment, hoping that you would just assume she wasn't home.

"I know you're in there, Ellie! You're not fooling anyone! Your shitbox car is in the parking lot." Your patience was quickly waning, your blows to the door causing it to rattle in its frame, "come on, Ellie! You either talk to me or you talk to the cops, you pervert!" you practically screamed.

Ellie balked at your tone and volume. If she could hear you loud and clear, then so would the neighbors. So Ellie unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door just enough that you could see her face, "will you keep your voice down?" she whispered.

You sized her up, her lithe frame blocking entrance to the apartment. "If you stop playing stupid and let me in then I'll consider it."

Ellie peeked back inside at her messy apartment, knowing that your stolen things were hidden in the room. Her expression was nervous, puppy dog eyes on you as though she were begging you to say otherwise. "I'm not kidding," you state while pulling your phone from the pocket of your skirt, "I can just turn right around and bring this to the police station." Panic washed over Ellie as you turned as if to leave. She grasped your forearm to pull you inside hastily. Once you'd gotten your bearings, you ripped your arm from Ellie's tight grip.

Ellie wiped her clammy hands on her sweats, sitting down on the couch to make her best attempt at looking casual. She wasn't able to hold eye contact per your angry expression, asking nervously, "so what's up?"

Your face scrunched up and you "tsk"ed, frustrated with her innocent act, "why don't you tell me?" You held the device to Ellie's face by the cord. You held it with disgust, your reaction more akin to holding a dead animal than a surveillance camera.

Ellie continued to feign confusion, "a computer charger? Did it break or something?"

"Ellie," you grit out, "stop lying to me, I'm not fucking stupid."

She had never even seen you angry, let alone this full of rage. Ellie was at a crossroads between fear and arousal. "m'not lying, I swear..." she mumbled while avoiding eye contact.

"If you're not lying then why's this 'computer charger' by a company that makes surveillance cameras? And how did it get into my apartment, pointed at my bed?" You held it closer to her and shook it as though that would refresh her memory. "I sure as hell don't remember buying it, and as far as I can recall," you pointed an accusatory finger, "you were the last person in my apartment."

Ellie was near shaking, running through a hedge maze in her mind, but there was no way out. There had to be some way she could convince you that she was better than that. That she couldn't sink that low, but that would be yet another lie. "I'd never do that to you, it must have been someone else."

You were quick to refute her, "yeah, right. I never have people over, so who else could it have been?"

Ellie had been lying point-blank through your conversation, but she couldn't help but dig at your own little white lie. "Never? What about Abby, huh?"

You paused at Ellie's outburst, seeing her eyes widen at the admission that she knew just who was coming and going from your apartment. "Abby?" you encroached on her space, "How the hell do you know Abby? I've never mentioned her once, not even to my friends."

Ellie's web of lies was falling apart. "God, Ellie, how long has this been going on?" You tried to ask, exasperated. "Just admit it!" you nearly shouted, but she was still frozen. You "tsk"ed in disappointment, "forget it, I'm going to the cops."

You turned toward the door, and Ellie panicked, her nervous system going into fight or flight. Without thinking, she sprung from the couch to stop you. "Wait!" she exclaimed as she caught you by the forearm.

You wriggled in her grasp, "let me go, Ellie!"

She managed to grab you by the other wrist, "please just let me explain!" She pleaded, desperate to retain her freedom and keep you in her life. With surprising strength for someone of her stature, Ellie wrestled you to the floor. You fought against her, attempting to shout but being stopped by Ellie's palm pressed flat against your mouth. Her other hand kept your wrists pinned to the floor as she straddled you. "Please just listen, please..." she panted from the exertion, face red from the effort and the embarrassment of the situation. "I'll admit it, I put the camera there, but that's all I swear!" Frustrated tears lined her eyes, "please, will you let me explain?"

Your eyes were wide, but you nodded your head slowly to appease her. She eyed you nervously, "and you won't scream if I pull my hand away?" You closed your eyes for a moment and sighed, attempting to relax enough for Ellie to let up. Again, you gave her a hesitant nod. She pulled her hand away slowly.

You unconsciously licked your lips, Ellie following the movement and the glistening of your tongue. Your wide eyes sparkled up at her, your hair pillowed under your head. All the reasons for her infatuation--no, obsession--rushed to the surface. She couldn't hold it in anymore, "I love you!"

You looked confused and even more scared, if that were even possible. Regardless, Ellie rambled on, desperate to earn back your trust, perhaps even your affection. "You're just so kind, and beautiful, and interesting, and funny, and so... untouchable." She seemed melancholy as she continued, "I wanted to be close to you, but I was just so nervous." She sniffled, frustrated tears lining her eyes "I didn't know what to do, so I just fucked it up instead."

A tear slid down Ellie's cheek to drop off her chin. You flinched as it hit your skin, a tangible reminder of her feelings. "Ellie?" you called to her, and she looked at you with hopeful eyes. "why didn't you just say something?"

She avoided eye contact, almost hitting herself for not just doing the obvious. "I wanted to, but my mouth just goes dry when I see you and I feel like my heart drops to my ass..." Ellie sighed, "'sides, I'm no Abby."

She looked back at you to find an expression of pity. "You're not..." you murmured, and that sinking feeling returned to her stomach, but you went on, "you wouldn't want to be like her, anyways."

You pitied Ellie, but saw some of yourself in her. The pain of unrequited love, the anxiety of waiting for their next move, the exhaustion from the chase, and the words left unsaid. Like her, you were singularly focused on someone else. You had done your own snooping, peeking at Abby's texts while she was in the shower, always regretting it because of what you'd find. But you couldn't have been this desperate or gone to such lengths.

Abby gave you tunnel vision, so you couldn't see Ellie by your side. If you hadn't been so focused on Abby, you might have noticed her lingering stares, the things around your apartment that weren't where you left them, and the missing panties.

But suddenly confronted with all she had done, why weren't you screaming? Fighting? Running? Though conflicted, you were flattered. Why was her confession strangely charming?

You were not accustomed to being wanted this intensely, surprised but not displeased at Ellie's praise. She went to such lengths just for a look, a listen, even a taste. Her desperation would be almost laughable if it didn't make you feel so valued.

To Abby, you were a toy she could pick up, use, and discard at her leisure. Every crumb of affection was a success. You would mull them over, overanalyze them for any sign that your affection was returned, or appreciated at least. Conversely, to Ellie you were a prize to be selfishly coveted. You had acclimated to Abby's coldness, so the heat of Ellie's passion nearly burned you alive.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before sighing and attempting to bring Ellie back to center. She was overcome with emotions, all that she had been bottling up finally exploding. "It's okay, Ellie. Just let me up and we can talk, okay?"

She seemed hesitant, "you won't try anything, right?"

You smiled as sympathetically as you could manage, "promise."

She pulled away slowly, hands hovering over your wrists for a moment until she trusted that you wouldn't hit her. Instead, you sat up to rub your wrists as you both rose from the floor. Ellie watched you closely like one would a wild animal. Her studio apartment was small, so there weren't many places to run.

"I didn't know you felt that way," you mumbled, barely audible. "You could have just told me."

Ellie huffed out a humorless laugh, "if I don't say anything then I don't have to worry about getting hurt, ‘cause I’m not Abby.”

You sighed at Ellie's obvious jealousy, "Abby's no good for me anyways. Maybe I need someone different, someone like you…”

You approached Ellie slowly. Every step closer she took a step back, her legs soon meeting the edge of her bed. She had nowhere else to go, so Ellie tipped back onto the bed. She watched in awe as you straddled her, hardly believing the sight as you unraveled your scarf. You leaned over her blushing face, your lips less than an inch from hers as you whispered, "can I kiss you?"

Ellie wouldn't let this chance go to waste, omitting a response to lock her lips with yours. She let her eyes shut in bliss as she lost herself in the plushness of your lips. Your tongue was slippery and soft as it tangled with hers. Ellie felt your touch gliding up her forearms, lacing your fingers with hers on either side of her head. You sucked on her tongue, Ellie so immersed in sensation that she paid no mind to you looping your silk scarf around her wrists and pulling the loose ends tight. You sucked her lip into your mouth and let it go with a soft "pop" as you pulled away. Ellie's hazy eyes opened at the loss of your warmth, flicking up to her bound wrists before looking at you confused. She wriggled for a moment, testing the strength of her binds and laughing nervously. Her underlying anxiety clashed with arousal. She was in disbelief that you would do something like this.

"You haven't been very nice to me, Ellie," you lectured. "You took advantage of my kindness." You straddled her hips, fingers tucking under the hem of her loose gray t-shirt. You pushed it above her breasts, hands sliding across her skin to feel her tense and shiver under your touch. "I let you into my home," your hands moved to the tie of her sweatpants to unravel it, "trusted you with my cats," you ripped them halfway down her thighs, "and you betrayed that trust to fulfill some sick fucking fantasy." You pulled and snapped the band of Ellie's boxer briefs, "but you've been hiding from me." Her briefs were pulled down to join her jeans. Shirt bunched up and pants halfway down, you took in the sight of Ellie's flushed and panting form. "So I think this is only fair."

Your hands explored her torso, groping her small breasts and pinching her blush-pink nipples. She was so responsive to your touch, breath hitching and whines trapped in her throat. Her skin was hot, sweat dripping down her temple.

Her skin tingled in the wake of your touch, but there was something missing. Ellie wanted so badly to touch you. She wished she could feel the squish of your hips where you sat above her. If only she could let her hands wander, exploring every inch of you that she had wanted for so long. Your touches were so light, nails trailing along her skin teasingly. The longer you teased, the more sensitive she felt.

Ellie had been wet practically the second you burst into her apartment. It didn't take much for you to turn her on. Her core glistened between her parted legs, clit swollen and throbbing in need. "You're so wet... and just from a little groping?" You traced a pointed nail from her sternum to her navel, a light pink scratch raising in its path. "You really are a pervert, aren't you?"

She felt a hot shame at being called such a thing, but you were right. Ellie didn't have a stitch of clothing to hide behind, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath you. You groped and scratched at her thighs, laying a kiss on one of them with sparkling eyes looking at you. She was thrilled to be the center of your attention, but she yearned for so much more.

You could sense her impatience, "don't be so shy. Tell me what you want." You continued your teasing touches, never coming within an inch of her hot center.

"Please touch me..." Ellie whimpered.

You giggled, "I am touching you, silly."

Ellie groaned in frustration as you barely grazed her pussy with the tip of her finger. Wetness clung to your finger that you stuck into your mouth to suck off. Ellie could hardly believe her eyes. The bare graze against her pussy forced a choked noise from her chest. She whimpered in its absence. Just a taste of pleasure had her hungry for more.

Your grin never slipped, seeing Ellie helpless beneath you unfamiliar but exhilarating. Ellie whined out, "my pussy, please. I'm aching for you."

You couldn't help the grin on your face. Your sick enjoyment at Ellie laying helpless beneath you was an entirely unfamiliar feeling. She writhed against her bonds, pent up and unable to do anything about it. "I won't leave you waiting any longer, don't worry," you cooed.

You pressed your hand to her pussy, the heel of your palm to her clit and fingers sliding down the length of her folds. She groaned from deep in her chest when you ground your palm against her. It was directionless, sloppily spreading Ellie's wetness onto her lips and thighs. Ellie bucked messily against your hand. "Yeahh, that's right," you laughed, "just needed me to touch your greedy little pussy?"

Ellie whined at the mockery, "yes, yes, please. Just need to feel you. Do whatever you want to me, just need you!"

She was insatiable, greedy for anything and everything you could give her. "Whatever I want?" you repeat back to her.

"Anything!" she blurts out, blown out pupils locked on yours. You almost chuckled at her desperation, but you couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach.

Ellie cried out at the retreat of your hand. Brought back to reality, she was gifted with the sight of you rising to your knees and shuffling forward to straddle her chest. You caressed her cheek and she melted into the palm of your hand. "Ellie," you cooed at her, "you'll help me feel good now, won't you?" You stroked her cheek with your thumb gently, "it's only fair, right? You've been stealing from me all this time, so I think you owe me, yeah?"

Ellie's eyes darted between your rising skirt to your teasing expression. She could smell the sweet musk of your pussy from here. She knew it well, having huffed it like paint from your stolen panties time and time again. Given the opportunity to taste and smell it from the source, Ellie just might have died and gone to heaven. Or maybe you'd knocked her out and she was dreaming. "Yes, yes, please. I can make you feel so good, promise. I'll make it up to you."

You hummed at her, pretending to mull it over, "you sure you really want it?"

Ellie's enthusiasm outweighed her shame. "I want it so bad, please! I wanna taste it, feel it drip down my chin. I want you to sit on my face so bad, I don't even care if I can't breathe." So you gave into her pleas, scooting forward on your knees to hover over Ellie's face. Slack-jawed and panting like a dog, Ellie's face disappeared under the hem of your skirt.

Your wet panties were a teasing reminder of the copious amounts Ellie had stolen. She grunted as she extended her neck to lick at your panties. You carefully lowered yourself to be within her reach. The cotton of your panties was rough against Ellie's tongue. Your slick made a dark patch on the fabric, the shape of your folds visible as it clung to your wet skin. She lapped at you through the panties, tasting and sucking the wetness that had once saturated the cloth. Your breathing picked up at the pressure, the friction of your panties against your clit rough.

But the fabric barred Ellie from tasting you fully. You couldn't feel the suction of her lips or the softness of her tongue. The cotton weave was rubbing you raw. Ellie whined, and you could feel the hum of her voice against you as she tried to speak trapped against you. You shifted, pulling up your skirt to see Ellie's red face. Her glistening lips parted to speak, "off... take 'em off, please..."

You snickered, "thought you liked my panties. You took so many of them after all. Did you suck on them just like that, too?"

Unashamed, she admitted, "yes, just wanna taste it. Only took 'em 'cause I couldn't get the real thing."

You were leaking like a faucet, and her tongue through your panties wasn't enough to satisfy. You pulled the crotch of them aside to tuck into the crease of your thigh, exposing yourself to Ellie's hungry gaze. She chased your hips, nearly moaning at the taste as you shifted downward again. Ellie laved your folds with her tongue. Uninhibited, you were so much sweeter. You dripped sticky like syrup on her tongue that she swallowed greedily. For a moment, she was too lost in her own selfish desires to realize that she was teasing you. You whined aloud at each gentle lap, jolting each time she grazed your clit. She tongued at your hole to greedily slurp down your slick.

Through a pussy-drunk haze, she watched your pleasured expressions in awe. Your needy grinding against Ellie's face pulled her from her reverie. She recognized your intent and doubled her efforts. Her tongue swirled around your clit, the hardened bud throbbing at the attention. When she puckered her lips and sucked on your clit, your back bowed and you moaned gutterally. Trapped between her lips, she rapidly flicked the tip of her tongue against your clit. The sudden lashing of her tongue had your hips bucking away from the sensation. Ellie's lips were pulled away with a "pop," the release of suction causing you to flinch again. "Haa-ah, Ellie..." you panted.

Hearing you moan her name was like ecstacy. Ellie's tongue slid down your lips, circling your entrance with its tip. She felt your muscles contract against the pressure. The tip of her tongue penetrated you, and you mewled at the feeling, stomach tensing and thighs clenching against Ellie's ears. Though muffled, Ellie could hear you beg for more. You cried out for her not to stop, and she had no intentions to. She pressed her face into you, pushing her tongue as deep into your pussy as she could. Ellie's nose was pressed against your clit, her mouth wide open to keep her tongue stuck out for you. What truly sent you into overdrive was her shaking her head side to side while pressed against you. The bridge of her nose flicked back and forth against your clit as Ellie tongued your hole. Nose against your clit and mouth focused on your hole, Ellie could hardly breathe. She would run out of air, having to take breaks to gasp for air. She panted like a dog as she lapped at your clit, unwilling to let up on you even as she struggled for air. But it was worth it for the sight, sound, smell, and especially taste of you. Your voice was like a melody that Ellie wanted to play on repeat. It was pitchy, staccato, approaching a crescendo. Ellie felt your pussy flexing around the tip of her tongue, warning her of your oncoming orgasm. Your hand tangled into her auburn locks, gripping and pulling as you squealed out that you were coming. Ellie huffed air through her nose as she drank you in. She continued passionately kissing your pussy, lips and tongue edging you into overstimulation. Ellie tried to follow you as you lifted yourself up on your knees, but no matter how much she strained against her binds, she couldn't reach you. She had nearly forgotten about her binds.

It might have been the lack of air and the sudden rush of oxygen to her brain, but Ellie was practically floating. Her body was pleasantly warm, tingling from head to toe. She was soaked down to the collar of her shirt, the gray fabric clearly darker than the rest. Your wetness was drying tacky on her cheeks, flyaway hairs clinging to them.

You were at a loss for words. Absent-mindedly, you catch a dribble down the corner of her mouth with your thumb, wiping it up and pressing it to Ellie's swollen, pink lips. Obediently, Ellie pulled your thumb into her mouth to suck gently. Your breath hitched and you laughed breathily at the display. You were in disbelief that a gem like Ellie had been watching and waiting for you, hoping that you would notice her.

You sighed and leaned up to untie Ellie from her headboard. She was still dazed from the dream she just lived through. She admired you silently, peacefully.

Coming down from your orgasm, you were confronted with the reality of your actions. You had lowered yourself to Ellie's level, blackmailing her and using it to take advantage of her. But how was it different from what Ellie had done to you? You committed a crime, a felony even. Free from her binds, Ellie could easily call the police on you just as you had threatened mere minutes earlier. But she didn't.

She only rubbed at the raised pink lines on her wrists, sure to bruise later. Ellie still looked up at you with awe, as though you were an angel. Her hands moved slowly to your hips, caressing the smooth, dimpled skin of your thighs and squeezing at its softness. Her hands were cold, veins spider-webbing from palm to forearm and fingertips calloused from guitar strings.

She looked contemplative as she tucked the end of your skirt into the waistband, admiring the mess she had made of you. "Can I do it again?" Ellie murmurs, gaze flickering between you and your pussy. You were unsure how she could have this much stamina. Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you nodded. Ellie smiled, relieved, and pulled you down to her mouth with surprising strength.

Each orgasm bled into another as Ellie held you trapped above her. Long, thin fingers gripped your hips and thighs so tight that the flesh bulged between the pale digits. You cried for mercy, for her to be more gentle, but your cries fell on deaf ears. If anything, they only worked her up even more.

Your thighs trembled on either side of her head where they clamped on Ellie's ears like earmuffs. She had to indulge. It was all she ever wanted. She worked hard for this.

She only relented when you pulled on her hair hard, the grip tight enough to make her wince. You found the strength to rise on your knees, only to fall onto the bed, exhausted. Ellie wiped you down and soothed you to sleep. She covered you with a blanket, rubbed at your aching muscles and cooed praise in your ear until you fell into a peaceful slumber.

Ellie watched you rest, a quiet snore coming from your parted lips. You were splayed out on your stomach, legs slightly parted and one knee bent. Stood at the end of the bed, Ellie could see your folds peeking out from between your thighs. It was obviously swollen and flushed from all you had endured. She had gone at you so long you might have thought you had a rugburn on your pussy. Ellie had wiped you down earlier, but a line of slick still drooled from your pussy. It glistened in the low light of Ellie's room, shining in her eyes like a spotlight.

She plucked your phone from your discarded purse. The face ID rejected her, of course, so Ellie turned it toward your sleeping visage and watched as the phone unlocked with ease. She held back her impulse to snoop. To look in every nook and cranny of the device. But she had a mission to complete. Scrolling through the contacts, Ellie found Abby within seconds. On her own phone, Ellie opened the camera app, aiming the lens at your parted thighs and the clear aftermath of her attention. With a "click" of the camera lens and a few taps of her fingers, it was sent.

9:52PM: image attached

9:52PM: she’s mine

Thank you for reading my silly little stories! This turned out so much longer than I thought, but I���ve had a lot of fun with this little “series” so it was fun

Taglist: @kaykeryyy @cattjull @s0phi3w4lt3n @verseandchapterr

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.3

Chapter Three: The Air Buzzes Whenever You're Near

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: HEHEHEHEHE. Yes, this fic is basically a slice of life, low stakes, and all-around good vibes. Eventually, there will be some drama but nothing too heartbreaking… maybe… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Magnets by NIKI

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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING  

The soft hum of your phone vibrating roused you from the haze of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim light of the TV still playing softly in the background.  

Your hand instinctively reached out to grab your phone from where it had slipped to the floor beside the couch. As you shifted, something warm and solid tightened around your waist.  

Oh.  

Oh no.  

Your breath hitched as the realization settled over you like a weight. Pedro’s arm was draped across you, his body pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Your head had somehow found its way to the crook of his shoulder, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your side told you he was still asleep.  

Oh God.  

Carefully, you reached down to grab your phone without disturbing him. Your thumb brushed across the screen to silence the alarm, and you winced when you saw the time: 4:30 a.m. Far too early to be awake but late enough to question how this even happened.  

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it. You’d been watching a movie—something quiet and low-energy, just as you’d requested. You vaguely remembered leaning back against the couch, your body growing heavier with sleep. But you hadn’t expected to wake up like this, tangled together like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

Pedro stirred slightly, a low hum escaping his lips as he adjusted his arm around you, pulling you even closer. Your breath caught, panic and something else—something warmer—bubbling to the surface.  

Do I move? Do I stay? Oh, this is bad. Or is it good? Your thoughts raced, but your body refused to cooperate, frozen in place as if the universe had hit pause on this moment.  

A faint smile tugged at Pedro’s lips, even in sleep. His face was softer like this, the usual teasing edge replaced by something peaceful. It wasn’t fair, you thought, how he managed to look so effortlessly handsome even now.  

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. Carefully, you began to shift, attempting to untangle yourself without waking him. But as soon as you moved, his arm tightened again, and this time, his eyes fluttered open.  

“Mm, what time is it?” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.  

You froze, caught in the act. “Uh, it’s... early. Like, really early.”  

Pedro blinked a few times, his gaze slowly focusing on you. And then, as if realizing the position you were both in, a sleepy grin spread across his face.  

“Well,” he murmured, his voice still thick and low, “this is a nice way to wake up.”  

Your cheeks burned. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”  

“Relax,” he interrupted softly, his eyes twinkling despite the early hour. “I’m not complaining.”  

You stared at him, caught between embarrassment and the inexplicable urge to laugh. “Pedro...”  

He stretched slightly, his arm finally loosening its hold on you, though he made no move to pull away entirely. “You fell asleep first,” he said, his tone teasing now. “I just... went with it.”  

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head. “This is so unprofessional,” you muttered, though there was no real weight behind the words.  

Pedro smirked, sitting up slightly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Our little... accidental cuddle.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.  

“And yet,” he countered, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart stumble, “here you are.”  

The air between you shifted then, the teasing fading into something quieter, something unspoken but undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world outside the suite forgotten.  

And then, because it felt safer than facing whatever this was, you stood, clutching your phone like a lifeline. “I need coffee,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you made your way to the kitchenette.  

Pedro watched you retreat into the kitchenette, his easygoing grin fading into something thoughtful. He stretched lazily, his hair still mussed from sleep, before following you at his own unhurried pace. 

You were already fussing with the hotel’s coffee machine when he appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there. “You know, you’re very intense about your coffee for someone who just woke up,” he teased, his voice warm and teasing.  

You startled slightly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I need caffeine to survive this,” you muttered, your words a little too sharp, betraying just how tightly wound you felt.  

Pedro quirked an eyebrow. “This? What exactly is this?”  

You didn’t answer right away, turning your attention back to the machine and praying it would brew faster. “Nothing,” you said finally, though your tone was anything but convincing.  

He stepped further into the kitchenette, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he didn’t want to spook you. “Is it the early morning? Or... could it be that you’re stuck sharing a suite with me?”  

You froze, clutching the edge of the counter. His voice held that teasing lilt you’d come to associate with him, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made your stomach flip in a way you were trying very hard to ignore.  

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though your tone made it sound like you were anything but.  

Pedro chuckled, and the sound was low and warm, filling the small space between you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”  

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. He was standing closer now, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of amusement and something else—something you couldn’t quite name.  

“I just—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to tell him that sharing a suite with him, waking up next to him, was a level of surreal you weren’t prepared for? That he wasn’t just Pedro to you; he was Pedro Pascal, your literal celebrity crush and the man who’d unintentionally been making your life both thrilling and impossibly complicated?  

“I’m just trying not to embarrass myself,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Pedro’s grin softened into something gentler, something almost fond. “You’re doing fine,” he said simply.  

Before you could respond, the coffee machine beeped, signaling it was done. You practically lunged for the cup, desperate for something—anything—to do with your hands.  

Pedro didn’t push you further, but as you handed him a mug of coffee without meeting his gaze, he murmured, “For what it’s worth, I like having you around.”  

Your heart gave a traitorous little leap at his words, but you forced yourself to nod, mumbling a quiet “Thanks” before retreating back into your room to get ready.  

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY

The car ride to work was tense—at least for you. Pedro, of course, seemed completely unbothered, chatting with the driver and making the occasional attempt to draw you into the conversation. But all you could manage were one-word answers, your mind too busy overthinking everything about the morning.  

Once you arrived on set, you threw yourself into your work, doing your best to stay out of Pedro’s way. Which was easier said than done, considering he seemed to have made it his mission to seek you out every chance he got.  

“Hey, everything okay?” he’d ask in-between takes, his dark eyes scanning your face like he could read your thoughts.  

“Yep, totally fine,” you’d reply, before darting off to find something—anything—else to do.  

By lunchtime, you were exhausted. You slumped into a chair in the corner of the break area, picking at your food while scrolling aimlessly on your phone.  

“Who are you hiding from?” Daisy’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you. She plopped down in the chair across from you, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth as she gave you a curious look. “You’ve been acting weird all morning.”  

“No one,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly, because Daisy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  

“Oh, really?” she drawled, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. “Does this have anything to do with a certain actor you spent the night with?”  

Your face went hot, and you nearly choked on your drink. “I—what? No! It’s not like that!”  

Daisy’s smirk only grew. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’re just blushing like crazy for no reason.”  

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s complicated, okay?”  

“It doesn’t have to be,” Daisy said lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Pedro seems pretty into you, you know.”  

Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “What?”  

She shrugged, biting into another piece of fruit. “I’m just saying, he keeps looking at you like you hung the moon. It’s cute, really.”  

You shook your head, trying to brush off her words, but the flutter in your chest told you it wasn’t that simple.  

And as if on cue, Pedro walked into the break area, his gaze immediately landing on you. He smiled, that easy, disarming smile that made your knees weak, and started making his way over.  

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower into your chair.  

“Good luck,” Daisy whispered with a grin, grabbing her tray and leaving you alone just as Pedro reached your table.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and casual, as if he hadn’t just sent your heart into overdrive. “Mind if I join you?”  

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a soft, barely audible, “Sure.”  

Pedro sat down across from you, his eyes twinkling with that same unreadable expression that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t.  

“So,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned forward slightly. “Why have you been avoiding me all day?”  

And just like that, your heart was racing again, because of course he noticed. Of course he did.  

Pedro’s question lingered in the air, heavy with curiosity and a touch of concern. He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he had all the time in the world to wait for your response. His fingers drummed idly against the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the uneven beat of your heart.  

“I… Um…” you stammered, feeling like your words were stuck somewhere in your throat.  

Pedro’s brow furrowed, and his expression softened. “Did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he asked, his voice quiet and laced with genuine worry. “I’m so sorry if I did—”  

“No, no,” you interrupted, your voice rushing out faster than your brain could keep up. You waved your hands slightly, as if trying to erase the idea entirely. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”  

You trailed off, feeling the weight of his gaze. Pedro didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence with reassurances or jokes like he usually did. He simply waited, his head still resting on his hand, his warm brown eyes encouraging you to keep going.  

Taking a deep breath, you clenched your hands together in your lap, as if grounding yourself. “I’m just… I can’t believe you really want me around,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you actually want to be friends with me. It seems so…”  

“Unreal?” Pedro finished for you, his lips curving into a soft smile.  

You nodded, biting your lip. “Exactly. Unreal. I mean, you’re you—a ridiculously talented actor, charming, funny, and so... well, famous. And I’m just... me. I keep waiting for the moment you’ll realize I don’t belong in your world.”  

Pedro blinked at you, his expression flickering between surprise and something deeper—something that made your chest ache in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.  

He sat up straight, his hand reaching across the table, stopping just short of yours. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. “First of all, you’re not just anything. You’re smart, talented, funny as hell, and honestly, one of the most grounded people I’ve ever met. That’s a big deal in this industry, you know.”  

You looked up at him, startled by the earnestness in his tone. “Pedro…”  

“And second,” he continued, leaning a little closer, “I do want you around. Not because of some weird celebrity power imbalance or whatever you think this is. I want you around because you make my days better. You make me laugh. You make everything feel... lighter.”  

The lump in your throat grew, and you had to look away before your emotions spilled over completely. You focused on the half-eaten piece of fruit on your plate, blinking rapidly. “You don’t have to say that,” you murmured.  

“I’m not saying it because I have to,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

When you finally dared to meet his eyes again, you saw nothing but sincerity staring back at you. It was the kind of sincerity that made your carefully constructed walls feel like they were made of paper.  

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.  

Pedro smiled then—a real, heart-stopping smile that lit up his entire face. “Okay,” he echoed, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied nod.  

The tension between you eased, replaced by something warmer, something fragile but promising. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Pedro saw something in you worth sticking around for.  

“Now,” he said, breaking the moment with a playful grin, “can we please talk about how you were about to burn that coffee machine this morning? Because I have questions.”  

You groaned, rolling your eyes as he chuckled, the sound wrapping around you like a familiar melody. And just like that, the world felt a little less overwhelming, and Pedro felt a little more like home.  

The afternoon passed in a blur of tasks, and now, you found yourself walking toward the makeup trailer, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you prepared to fetch Pedro for his next scene.  

You knocked lightly before stepping inside, the scent of hairspray and setting powder filling the air. Pedro was lounging in the makeup chair, eyes closed as Andrea Cracknell, the key hair and makeup supervisor, gave his hair a final tousle. Suzanne Harper, one of the main hair and makeup artists, was touching up the edges of his beard with careful precision.  

The warm glow of vanity bulbs cast a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the soft crinkles near his eyes.  

Dara Hannon, the daily hair and makeup trainee, glanced up and grinned as you stepped in. “Ah, there’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” she said, setting down a brush. “You always look so put together. How do you do it?”  

You laughed, heat creeping up your neck. “Trust me, I don’t. I just hide it well.”  

“She doesn’t need to hide anything,” Pedro murmured, cracking one eye open. His voice was smooth, laced with something teasing but warm. “She’s effortlessly stunning.”  

You felt your brain short-circuit.  

From across the room, Samanta, one of the junior makeup artists, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Pedro. You don’t hold back, do you?”  

Chloë Pyne—one of the main team hair and makeup artists—smirked, tilting her head as she studied you. “He’s right, though. You have one of those naturally pretty faces. Like, the kind that doesn’t need much makeup.”  

Pedro hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. “See? Told you.”  

You waved them off, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Okay, okay—enough. I came to get you, not to hear you guys exaggerate.”  

Pedro grinned. “We’re not exaggerating. You just don’t take compliments well.”  

“I take them fine,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but him.  

He chuckled, stretching his arms as he stood from the chair, towering over you. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”  

Your stomach flipped, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “Pedro—”  

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Yes?”  

You huffed, turning on your heel. “Come on, you’re needed on set.”  

Pedro chuckled behind you, his footsteps light and easy as he followed. Just before you stepped out of the makeup trailer, his hand brushed against your arm—barely there, a whisper of contact—but it sent a ripple of heat up your spine. You swallowed hard, pretending not to notice, pretending your stomach wasn’t doing ridiculous little flips at the way his presence lingered so close behind you.  

By the time you reached the sound stage, the energy on set had shifted.  

“There she is!” Vanessa beamed the second she spotted you, setting her script down to stride over. “Finally. The only competent person around here.”  

You snorted. “I think that’s an insult to literally everyone else.”  

Vanessa grinned. “And yet, somehow, they’ll survive.”  

Before you could respond, Joseph and Ebon chimed in from where they were going over their lines.  

“Thank God, I thought Pedro kidnapped you,” Joseph teased, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We were about to send a search party.”  

Ebon shook his head. “Nah, he would’ve kept her hidden all day.” He gave Pedro a pointed look. “You’ve been hovering.”  

Pedro scoffed. “I don’t hover.”  

Vanessa snorted. “You so do.”  

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure how to defend yourself—or Pedro, for that matter—when another familiar voice called out.  

“Ah, the prodigal assistant returns!”  

You turned to see Jess Hall, the first AD, grinning as he strolled over, script in hand. “Seriously, where have you been? I swear the set runs smoother when you’re around.”  

“I… I’ve been doing my job?” you offered weakly.  

Jess huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep being humble, we love that.”  

Before you could protest, Matt—the director—walked up, arms crossed, surveying the growing crowd around you with an arched brow.  

“So…” he mused. “Am I missing something? Because the way everyone gravitates toward you makes me think you might actually be running this set.”  

You blinked. “Uh—no? I mean, I just… I don’t know, I just do my job like everyone else.”  

Matt squinted at you like he didn’t quite buy that, but he just hummed and glanced at Pedro. “You keeping her distracted, or is she keeping you distracted?”  

Pedro grinned. “Bit of both.”  

Your brain stalled.  

Matt shook his head, muttering something about actors before waving a hand. “Alright, let’s go, people. Back to work before I regret hiring all of you.”  

As the cast dispersed, Pedro leaned in, voice low, warm. “See? Told you everyone likes you.”  

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Pedro’s laughter rumbled beside you, rich and warm.  

“Why are you like this?” you muttered, voice muffled against your palms.  

He tilted his head, smirking. “Like what?”  

“You know what.”  

Pedro simply grinned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, as if he wasn’t single-handedly unraveling your ability to function like a normal human being.  

There was a steady thrum in the air whenever he was close—something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. It was impossible not to.  

It crackled between you when you stood side by side, almost magnetic.  

And when your fingers brushed, even just for a second? Electric.  

You pulled your hand away as if burned, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you tensed. But of course, he did. Pedro always noticed. His gaze flickered down to where your hands had been, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.  

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Someone might think you like me or something.”  

You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, smacked his arm.  

Pedro just laughed, dodging the second playful hit you aimed at him before finally relenting, his hands raised in surrender.  

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he promised, though his smirk said otherwise.  

With a final glare, you turned and threw yourself into work, desperate for some sense of normalcy.  

The next few hours passed in a blur of controlled chaos—wardrobe changes, prop resets, last-minute adjustments. You did your job like clockwork, moving through set with practiced efficiency. Fetching cast members, tracking schedule updates, and ensuring things ran as smoothly as possible.  

Your friends worked nearby, their presence grounding you amidst the constant hum of production. But despite the familiarity of routine, you felt off-kilter.  

Every time you caught sight of Pedro—laughing with the cast, deep in conversation with Matt, even just sitting between takes, flipping through a script—your stomach did that thing.  

The stupid fluttery thing.  

By the time filming wrapped for the day, you were both exhausted and wired, your brain still buzzing with the day’s events.  

You found yourself huddled in a loose circle with some of the PAs and crew, all of you packing up while chatting, the easy rhythm of conversation filling the space.  

Daisy elbowed you playfully. “So, how’s your day been? You seemed a little… frazzled earlier.”  

You cleared your throat, focusing very intently on coiling a stray cable. “Just… tired.”  

Jordan snorted into his coffee. “You’re such a bad liar.” He raised a brow. “Let me guess—Pedro?”  

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.  

The entire group cackled.  

“Yeah, thought so.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumbled, hugging your clipboard to your chest like it might somehow shield you from their knowing smirks.  

“Oh, sure,” Lucy drawled, her smirk downright devious. “It’s not like the man literally gravitates toward you every chance he gets.”  

“That’s just how he is!” you argued, feeling heat creep up your neck.  

Daisy hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

“You guys are insufferable.” You crossed your arms, trying and failing to suppress your flustered expression.  

Jordan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll drop it. For now.”  

As the conversation flowed, the tension you’d been holding onto all day slowly unwound. Someone cracked a joke about a prop malfunction earlier, and you found yourself laughing, the sound blending into the hum of easy chatter around you.  

“Okay, but did you see the way the fake blood exploded everywhere?” Daisy wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.  

Jordan shook his head, still grinning. “Poor props department. That cleanup looked brutal.”  

Lucy snickered. “I swear, Matt almost had a stroke.”  

You smiled, the stress of the day fading into the background. It was moments like this that made the long hours worth it—these small pockets of joy, of shared experiences.  

Then, like clockwork, he entered the periphery of your awareness.  

Pedro’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, low and familiar. The sound curled through your chest like a flickering ember, and before you could stop yourself, you turned slightly—just enough to catch sight of him.  

He was leaning against one of the equipment carts, deep in conversation with Matt, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. But then, as if he could sense you looking, his gaze flicked up—searching, landing squarely on you.  

And suddenly, it was just the two of you.  

Your breath hitched.  

Pedro’s smile softened, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. He lifted a brow, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.  

You tore your gaze away, your face burning, heart hammering against your ribs.  

“Yup. She’s gone,” Jordan muttered, loud enough for only the group to hear.  

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”  

Daisy cackled. “Oh my God, you’re so screwed.”  

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands as the laughter around you grew.  

Maybe you were screwed.  

Because, try as you might to ignore it, that pull—the steady thrum of something unspoken, something undeniable—was getting harder and harder to resist.

You quickly said goodbye to your friends as they boarded the shuttle back to their hotel, the last remnants of laughter lingering in the air. The set had mostly cleared out, leaving only a few crew members finishing up and the cast slowly trickling out of their trailers. You tucked your arms around yourself, the night air cool against your skin as you waited for the others, your thoughts still buzzing from the day.  

Then—warm hands.  

A firm, sudden weight against your back.  

You barely had time to process it before you were lifted off the ground.  

A startled squeal left your lips as Pedro spun you effortlessly, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Gotcha,” he murmured near your ear, his voice thick with amusement.  

“Pedro!” you gasped, swatting at his hands, but you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that followed.  

He finally set you down, his arms still loosely around your shoulders, and when you turned to glare up at him, he had the audacity to grin—full, boyish, utterly unrepentant.  

“You didn’t even hear me coming,” he teased, giving your shoulders a playful squeeze before finally stepping back.  

“You ambushed me,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “I almost had a heart attack.”  

Pedro smirked. “I’d apologize, but your little scream was too cute.”  

Your face burned. “You’re insufferable.”  

Before he could respond, you heard stifled giggles from nearby.  

You glanced up just in time to spot Coco, Vanessa, Joseph, and Ebon approaching, all of them watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.  

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Vanessa quipped, smirking.  

Coco nudged Joseph with her elbow, grinning. “Are we interrupting something?”  

Pedro, ever the shameless one, just threw an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not at all,” he said easily, then glanced down at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Unless you think we were?”  

You glared at him, resisting the urge to shove him away—because knowing him, he’d just make a bigger scene.  

Instead, you turned to the group, feigning exasperation. “Can someone please save me from him?”  

Ebon just laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re on your own, kid.”  

Your stomach did an unfair little flip as Pedro pulled you closer, his warmth seeping into you despite the cool night air.  

And the worst part?  

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.  

Pedro’s arm was still draped lazily around your shoulders, his body warm against yours, the scent of his cologne lingering—something woodsy, something undeniably him. You willed yourself to ignore the way your pulse picked up, to pretend your skin wasn’t tingling from the casual intimacy of it.  

Vanessa arched a brow, arms crossed as she watched the two of you with blatant amusement. “What are you doing just standing out here?” she asked, tilting her head. “You could’ve knocked at my trailer.”  

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath Pedro’s hold. “I, uh—” You cleared your throat. “I didn’t have your guys’ numbers, so I just thought I’d wait near the trailers.”  

Coco gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “You mean none of us thought to give you our numbers?” She turned to the others, looking genuinely offended. “What kind of monsters are we?”  

Ebon chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s fix this.” He pulled out his phone and waggled it in front of you. “Give me your number, we’ll add you to the group chat.”  

You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed. You had kept a certain level of professional distance with the cast—sure, you’d exchanged pleasantries, worked alongside them, shared the occasional laugh—but this? Being included like this?  

Pedro, still pressed close, must have sensed your hesitation because he squeezed your shoulder lightly, his voice softer this time. “Told ya,” he murmured, just for you. “We like having you around.”  

Your chest tightened.  

Before you could overthink it, you rattled off your number, and within seconds, your phone buzzed with a message from an unfamiliar group chat.  

Coco grinned. “Welcome to the chaos.”  

Joseph laughed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”  

You looked down at your phone, at the flood of messages already rolling in—Vanessa sending a series of emojis, Ebon dropping a meme, Pedro sending a voice note that was probably nonsense.  

A warmth spread through you.  

Maybe you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to be saved.  

But you were sure of one thing.  

You didn’t mind being pulled deeper into this.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

Turns out, everyone was exhausted. Some opted for room service, others had plans to meet up with friends in the city. The once lively group slowly dwindled, leaving you and Pedro lingering near the car.

Without a word, he reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder like it was second nature.

You blinked up at him. “Pedro—”

“I got it,” he said easily, already heading toward the car.

You huffed but didn’t argue, too tired to put up much of a fight.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, the streets of London painted in golden hues from the setting sun. Pedro, ever so casually, turned to you.

“Do you wanna go out for dinner?” he asked. “Or we could just order room service.”

You shrugged, watching the buildings blur past the window. “I don’t mind either way. It’s up to you.”

Pedro hummed as if considering his options, but he didn’t push for an answer right away.

When you arrived at the hotel, the two of you walked through the dimly lit hallway to your floor. The plush carpet muffled your steps, the air between you thick with something unspoken—comfortable, warm, charged.

At your door, you kicked off your shoes, swapping them for the soft hotel slippers. Pedro did the same, toeing off his boots before setting your bag down on the small table in the suite’s living area.

“You didn’t have to carry that, you know,” you told him, watching as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up slightly.

He smirked, that lazy, insufferably charming smirk. “I didn’t have to,” he echoed. “But I wanted to.”

Your stomach did a flip.

You swallowed, folding your arms as if that might steady you. “Well… thanks.”

He shot you a wink. “Anytime, cariño.”

After flipping through the room service menu, you both settled on an easy dinner—something warm and filling without the hassle of going out. Quickly calling the food service on the landline, the order was placed, and as you sank into the plush couch, stretching your legs, you sighed.  

"During the weekend, I’ll probably go grocery shopping," you mused aloud. "Ordering room service and eating out every day is going to burn through my savings if I keep this up." You glanced at Pedro. "So, I’ll stock up on food in the pantry if I’m still, y'know… here. In your suite."  

Pedro, who had been casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, stilled. His expression shifted from amused to something unreadable. "Why?" His brows furrowed. "Where are you going?"  

You blinked at him, confused for a second. "Uh… the front desk said they might have a room for me by next week, remember?"  

"Oh." His lips parted slightly, but he didn't say anything else.  

You watched the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee, as if the thought of you moving out hadn’t quite registered until now. There was something oddly endearing about the way his frown deepened. Like he didn’t like the idea of you not being here anymore.  

Before you could think too much about it, you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. "Anyway," you said lightly, folding your arms over your chest, "you guys did great today on set."  

Pedro’s eyes flickered back to yours, and just like that, his easy grin returned.  

"Yeah?" He leaned in slightly, resting his forearm against the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Any specific compliments, or just a general ‘you guys did great’ kind of thing?"  

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at his teasing. "Oh, I definitely had specific compliments." You tapped your chin, pretending to think. "Vanessa was incredible, Joseph absolutely killed his scene, Ebon had amazing delivery—"  

Pedro gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Wow. So, I just… I don’t even make the list?"  

You bit back a laugh. "I mean… you were fine."  

"Fine?" he repeated, eyes narrowing playfully.  

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Serviceable. Passable. Not bad."  

Pedro let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back against the couch. "Unbelievable. Here I was, thinking you were my biggest fan."  

You giggled, nudging his knee with your foot. "You’ll survive."  

He peeked at you from beneath his lashes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I guess I will."  

The warmth in his voice made your breath hitch. You quickly looked away, pretending to check your phone as the sound of the hotel staff knocking on the door saved you from whatever moment you’d just stumbled into.  

Pedro stood up to grab the food, but not before murmuring, just low enough for you to hear—  

"But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you stuck around."  

And just like that, the butterflies were back.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE NIGHT  

The scent of warm food filled the suite as you both settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the television flickering against the dimly lit room. Pedro had absentmindedly put on a movie, something familiar and easy to watch—though neither of you seemed particularly focused on it. The conversation flowed naturally between bites of food, soft laughter filling the quiet spaces in between.  

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Pedro asked, “So… no special someone waiting for you back home?”  

You froze mid-bite, your fork hovering near your lips. It wasn’t the question itself that threw you off—it was the way he asked it. Casual, like it was just another topic of conversation, but there was something in his voice. A quiet curiosity. A weight that made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed and shook your head. “Nope,” you said simply. “It’s just me.”  

Pedro hummed, nodding slowly as he chewed. “Huh.”  

You raised an eyebrow, setting your plate down on the coffee table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

He smirked, tilting his head toward you. “Nothing. Just surprised.”  

You scoffed. “Surprised how?”  

He took his time answering, setting his own plate aside before stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers drummed lightly against the cushion behind you, close enough that if you leaned back just a little, you’d brush against them.  

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, gaze flickering to the screen before finding you again. “You’re funny, smart, kind—"  

Your eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you’re about to say something insulting.”  

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I was gonna say, I just don’t get how someone like you is single.”  

A warmth crept up your neck, and you quickly picked up your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering right away. Your heartbeat thrummed a little too fast, a little too loud.  

“I don’t know,” you murmured finally, voice quieter now. “Relationships just… never worked out for me, I guess.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, his usual playful expression softening. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. Instead, he just nodded, accepting your answer without prying.  

And then—because the air was starting to feel too heavy—you smirked. “What about you? No special someone waiting for you?”  

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Nah. It’s just me, too.”  

Your lips twitched. “Well, that is surprising.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, come on—”  

You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot. “I’m just saying! You’re charming, talented, kind of a big deal—”  

“Kind of?” He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.  

You grinned. “Kind of.”  

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about how unbelievable you were, but there was a smile playing at his lips.  

And just like that, the weight in the air lightened again, the conversation slipping back into something easy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten, and the two of you sat there, side by side—closer than before, shoulders brushing every now and then.  

Neither of you moved away.

End Notes:

OOOOOHHHH?!?! Things are heating up??? Or maybe it’s literally nothing at all and it’s all in your head 😃✊

OOF— you might stop sharing the suite at the end of the week? Oh naur T^T

Thank you all for the lovely words and comments that ya’ll keep leaving on each chapter. It warms my heart and gives me fuzzy feelings that make me dizzy AAAAAAHHH

Mfs, I’m posting this while I’m outside at a club LOL

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH3

After Mommy has disciplined you with the cane, you feel the need to properly apologize to her, which was Daddy's idea, who promises you a reward if you do so.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub undertones. Domestic discipline/caning. Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Cuntwarming? Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Subspace. Aftercare. Unprotected piv sex. Creampie. Cockwarming. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 8.1k 🔷️ READ ON AO3

A/N: This chapter is a direct continuation of Chapter 1 and a summary of the dynamic you can expect from the rest of the story: a love triangle with F/F and F/M and F/F/M intimacies. I will note what you can expect in each chapter (indicated by the color of the header image and by the different colors in the warning tags), but just remember that our Reader is bisexual/bi-curious, so we'll have a multitude of different sex scenes here. ⚠️Also warning: it starts a little rough, sorry. Speaking of: before you hate on Mommy in this chapter, remember: 1) this is an established (fictional!) BDSM relationship with implied established boundaries and rules, 2) she is a Domme, 3) she is human and can have bad days too, 4) this is fiction, 5) please keep reading, it'll all get resolved! This is a HURT and comfort story after all!

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

Several months later

You startle awake to loud voices. It takes you a long moment to realize where you are. In your bed, on your stomach. Mommy's voice in your ear, muffled, and suddenly you remember why your butt hurts so bad.

It's hazy, there were a lot of tears and pleading words, apologies and desperate cries, and it all started with a baking tray and flying cookies, the smell of burnt dough in the air, heat all around you, a stumble, a crash, herbs and soil raining to the ground.

It wouldn't even have been that bad if Mommy hadn't come into the kitchen at the exact moment you had lost your balance and dropped everything, your surprise for Daddy ruined as well as her precious herb garden. You knew Mommy cooked sometimes, but why she'd been so upset upon seeing the broken pot and plant, you had no idea.

But she was furious, screaming at you as you shrunk away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you cried, trying to clean up your mess, but all you did was make it worse. You even burned yourself on the hot sheet, destroyed the rest of the plant by stepping on it, and it was Mommy's flat hand on your cheek that brought you out of the headless panic and into a deep-rooted shock.

“Take a breath,” she ordered, staring at you. “And another. Okay? Good, then clean this up. Now.”

And you did, with shaking hands, but you somehow managed to scoop up burnt cookies, dirt and plant remnants, threw it all into the trash, then wiped the floor and washed the baking sheet. And Mommy watched, with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darker, her face a stoic angry mask. As soon as you were done, you looked at her, and couldn't help but shed a new batch of tears, and some more, until you were back into your hysterics, sobbing and apologizing.

“Go to your room,” she told you. “Wait for me.”

Through the tears, you nodded and shuffled away, barely making it up the stairs. You felt horrible, and her cold demeanor wasn't helping, it only made it worse. You knew that look of disappointment all too well, had seen it on your own mother many times. You were a failure, you knew it, you'd forgotten it for a while, distracted by Mommy and Daddy's care, but you remembered now.

You were a failure.

And you sat in your room and waited, crying soundlessly, your lips tingling, feeling numb and way too much all at the same time. She came to you ten minutes later, in her hand a thin wooden stick. You blinked, your breath hitching. You knew what it was, had seen it on her wall, had seen videos of it being used on others. And it scared you. A lot. She'd disciplined you before, but only with her hand, not with that thing.

“Mommy?” you whimpered, staring at her.

She only shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Take off your pants and underwear and kneel on the floor, head down, ass in the air. Come on, don't make me wait.” Her voice was harsh, and all you could do was follow her words.

But as you knelt there, waiting for your punishment, the panic came back full force. You were shaking so badly you could barely stay in your position. More of your own pathetic pleading and crying and whining noises filled your ears, your heart beating out of your chest, your throat tight, lungs burning. Mommy ignored you.

When the first blow hit your rear, you screamed and jolted away. “Stay where you are!” she said sternly. “And count with me, come on! One.”

“One...” you croaked out. The cane cut through the air again and met your soft flesh. “Two,” she said, and you repeated it barely able to speak. “You deserve this, don't you? It's for your own good. You need this. Embrace the pain, think about what happened,” she explained between hits, three, four, five, you were shuddering on the floor, sobbing helplessly into your folded arms as the pain crashed through you, every impact making you flinch badly.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. She eased her blows a little as she talked between them, her voice strangely calm despite the relentless flick of her wrist. “You ruined something that was very dear to Mommy. I know it was an accident, but you were clumsy and careless. You could have hurt yourself as well. We can't have that.”

Ten, eleven, twelve. The thirteenth blow was particularly hard again, seemingly cutting into your skin, making you jerk forward with a pained yelp. “And you fell into old habits. We did not spend all that time trying to make you better if it only takes one stupid mistake to bring you back to square one.”

Fourteen, fifteen. You were a gasping mess on the floor, knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your weight on them. Sixteen, seventeen. Your whole body was aflame, your mind spinning, words repeating, every new hit adding to the already existing pain, and it wouldn't stop. You tried your best to breathe through it, like Mommy had taught you, but the thin wooden stick hurt more than you could have imagined. Your lungs ached with every sharp inhale. Eighteen, nineteen.

For the last one, she suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet before she pressed you face-first into the wall, holding you by your nape. “Think about what you did and what you can do better. If you can't breathe through your attacks, I will use pain as a distraction again. Maybe it'll help you more than whatever Daddy does to you...” She paused, then said: “Twenty.”

The hit came with a sudden whoosh, and you screamed, jolting forward against the wall, legs shaking, your skin burning, tight and bruised and hurting. “Tw-twenty...” you croaked out, holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your face.

As her words echoed in your head, you had to give it to her: you were indeed distracted. The stinging pain spreading just beneath the inflamed skin of your buttocks was thrumming through you in an unrelenting fashion, scorching pulses that burned through any other concerns or thoughts or doubts, emptying your mind. You couldn't even pick up on the slight poke at Daddy's seemingly useless methods of helping you through your anxiety attacks. Nothing mattered: just the cleansing sharpness of Mommy's cane.

“Good. You took it like a big girl,” she said behind you, her hand easing down your back, hovering above your warm skin. “Better than I expected. Doesn't look too bad either. Now take a cold shower, it'll feel better.”

With that she exited your room, leaving you trembling. At least you'd stopped sobbing now. For a long moment, all you could do was lean against the wall, trying to calm your erratic heart. Your throat was dry, cold sweat made you shiver. Your focus was still on the burning welts on your skin, horribly pulsing streaks all across your butt cheeks. You remember them vividly as you'd eventually inspected them in the mirror.

The cold shower was another torture, but afterwards you did indeed feel better, clean, cleared of your doubts, knowing that Mommy was right. You needed and deserved every single hit for making such a mess, for breaking down about it. As cruel and cold as she had been, you saw reason in her actions. She had to know what she was doing, of course she did, she was your Mommy, she only wanted the best for you.

In her own way...

Looking back though, you have to agree with Daddy. It has been too much. 'That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness,' he'd said. It has been, but of course you hadn't told him everything. Not as detailed as you'd liked. The anxiety attack, the uncontrollable sobbing, the hysterics. The inevitable tumble into the dark abyss, unable to come back out on your own. Mommy's cleansing slap and those cane hits... they had helped, brought you back, but...

But it still has been too much. And it has been different too. Usually when she disciplines you (she always tries to avoid saying punishment because you're not being punished for being anxious but disciplined for falling back into old patterns and allowing the anxiety to control you again), when she uses pain as a distraction, she cuddles you after, tells you what a good girl you've been, makes sure you're okay, but that time... she has just left. Something has definitely fueled Mommy's anger.

Shifting under the covers, trying not to put pressure on your butt (though whatever Daddy has put on your skin did help a little), you listen a bit closer to the voices from across the hall (you shouldn't, but it's hard to ignore them too). They're loud, as is usually the case when Mommy fights with Daddy. She is the fiery one, while he is the calmer counterpart, though he can be angry too, and loud. This morning, they are both equally agitated.

“She was being hysterical!” Mommy screeches.

“And you think twenty fucking cane hits will help with that? That's not how we should deal with her anxiety!” Daddy says, more or less calmly, but you can hear the emotion in his voice through the walls.

“She was calmer after...”

“Of course she was! Because she was in pain!” He is getting louder.

And she is getting quieter, which only means she's getting more emotional. “She can handle it...”

“You overdid it. It was too much. Don't let your frustrations out on her...”

“I did not let my – Ugh! I can't do this right now...”

There's a pause, then a door opens and shuts with a bang. It opens again. Now the voices are directly in the hallway in front of your door. Daddy's voice is quieter.

“What's the real matter here, babe?”

“Nothing...” Mommy sounds defeated.

“You don't just snap like that. Tell me.”

“I just had a bad day, it happens...” You hear footsteps pacing the wooden floorboards.

“Not like that. What happened?”

“Nothing, it's fine. I'll apologize to her, okay?”

“Good. But I'm not done with you...” His tone changes, even quieter, softer, a little challenge behind the words. A smirk.

Mommy gives a soft laugh, a bit flat but there's the same smirk in her voice. “Later, papito...”

When one pair of footsteps leaves along the hallway, your door is being opened quietly. You press into the covers, pretending to sleep. Your mattress dips, a hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin,” Daddy whispers, leaning over you to brush his lips against your temple, the only part of you peeking out from under the blanket.

You turn slightly, blinking your eyes open, giving him a tired smile. “Morning, Daddy,” you mumble. He smiles back and gives you another peck, slowly working his way down your face until he meets your lips. He's braced over you, hovering inches away, and you sigh softly into his kiss.

After he comforted you last night (by letting you come on his thigh), he'd washed you and himself with a warm wet cloth, then tucked you into bed and left, promising to talk to Mommy. He didn't seem to have gotten behind her unusual burst of anger, but you trusted him to dig deeper. All in good time.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, carefully rolling onto his side, cradling you in his arms.

“Better,” you whisper. Your butt still hurts, is tense and tight and throbbing, but it'll be okay. You're sure.

“Wanna make breakfast with me? I'll supervise, you work?” he mutters, nuzzling your neck. You nod with a soft giggle. “I think Mommy would like a nice smoothie. Should be easy enough, right?”

He helps you out of bed, picks a soft yellow sundress for you to wear (decides on a white lace thong that sits comfortably between your bruised ass cheeks), then brushes your hair and puts it into a long braid that falls down your back. He tells you to brush your teeth, and you do, and when you're done, he takes your hand and leads you down to the kitchen.

There he raids the fridge for fresh fruit and vegetables and gives them to you to chop up before he helps you pour it all into the blender with some oat milk. It's fun to do this with Daddy, standing next to him as he lets you hit the button, as you watch how everything turns into a rather unappealing green slush. After filling the thick drink into a tall glass, he puts a metal straw into it and holds it, then nods for you to follow him back up the stairs to Mommy's room.

Your heart beats faster when you approach the door. He stops and hands you the drink. “You can do this, pumpkin,” he tells you and leans down to kiss your cheek. “It'll be fine. Anyone can have a bad day, so we shouldn't hold a grudge, right?” You nod, looking up at him with a timid smile.

Then he raises his hand and knocks on the door. You flinch at the noise, inhaling sharply. “Come in,” you hear Mommy's voice through the wood.

Daddy gives you a gentle nudge, whispering “See you later, kiddo.”, and then you open the door and slip into her room. She's sitting at the large vanity, watching the door through the mirror, a brush in her hand, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Good morning, Mommy,” you whisper a little intimidated. “I... I brought you breakfast...”

She turns around on her chair, watching you, before she gives you a soft smile. “Oh honey, that's so sweet of you, come here,” she says and holds out her hand.

You walk towards her, placing your hand onto her palm. She pulls you against her, taking the smoothie from your other hand and putting it down on the vanity. “Listen, sweetheart, Mommy is –”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” you say at the same time, biting your lip. She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling softly.

“I know you are, baby girl,” she says. “But I am too. I shouldn't have disciplined you like that, it was too much. Mommy just had a bad day. I'm sorry for taking it out on you,” she adds quietly, wrapping her arms around you as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You hug her back, still a little stiff, perched between her legs. “I didn't mean to disappoint you,” you murmur into her.

She shushes you. “It's alright. Water under the bridge, okay?”

A hum escapes you, and for a moment you just stand there, holding her as she holds you, her warmth seeping into your stiff limbs. Eventually you take a deep breath, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils, before you tilt your head a bit to look at her.

“Mommy, I... I want to make you feel good, uh, better,” you say in a breathy whisper. “If you have time for it...”

She chuckles softly. “I always have time for you, sweet girl. Might be best to take the day off anyway.” She pauses, then sighs. “Well, I can stay home, but I have to work through my emails. But that shouldn't be an obstacle, right, kitten?” she whispers, then slowly leans you back fully and smirks at you.

You feel your cheeks burning up, already sensing a little throb in your core at the prospect of making her feel good. Her hands grab your waist and push you away gently, allowing her to stand up. You realize she's wearing a black silk robe (and only that), open in the front, giving you a good glance at her perfect breasts and her smooth mound. You force yourself to look up into her face.

“Come with me to my office,” she tells you and grabs your hand, taking the smoothie with the other, and then guides you into the adjacent room.

You've been here a few times before, usually perched under her desk, so the rest of the interior doesn't really matter to you. It's a bright room though, large windows, floor to ceiling, letting in the already warm rays of the morning sun. There are bookshelves lining one wall, and a wild array of other stuff in front of another. You always wondered what it is that Mommy does, aside from being a successful business woman and establishment owner.

She definitely has a lot of hobbies. There are mannequins, a sewing machine, an easel and a bunch of canvases stacked behind it. A low table with painting supplies. A camera in another high shelf next to large books probably filled with photographs. And then there's the corner you don't like to look at often, where the cane hangs from a hook, next to a flogger, a whip, a paddle and other tools like gags and harnesses and belts. Sleek black leather accentuated with wooden elements.

Mommy sure is a woman of many talents. But none of that matters to you now as she motions you to crawl under her desk, a large space made of a long wooden tabletop sitting on two drawer shelves, it's open enough to allow whoever enters the room to have a good view beneath. It's where you spent your time before, whenever she works from home and asks you to keep her company.

It's been a strange request at first, but seeing her relax due to your presence and ministrations is always something you're looking forward to. As you crawl under the table top, she puts the smoothie down next to her laptop and sits down in her chair. Despite her chaotic corner of numerous activities, her desk is surprisingly bare. No clutter, just a lamp, some pencils and a notepad, her laptop and phone on it.

You settle right in front of her, and she doesn't waste a second before she spreads her legs, her robe falling open even more as she gently guides you between them. Her warmth and scent radiates off her when you get closer to her center. She shifts on her chair, getting comfortable but allowing you to reach her just fine. Her hand remains on your head as she tilts it so you can rest your cheek on her thigh.

Looking up at her, you see her smiling, her eyes warm and already darker than usual. “You really wanna make me feel good, baby?” she whispers, watching you closely. You nod eagerly as you shift on your knees, the heels of your sock-clad feet poking into your rear. The pain and tightness of the welts is still there, but you can ignore them for now as you focus on the woman in front of you.

She leans back, opening her legs further, her hands resting casually on the armrests of her leather chair. Her eyes stay on you as you approach her core, your hands reaching up to caress her inner thighs. You hold her gaze, your face already flushed from what lies ahead. Swallowing the excess saliva gathering on your tongue (your oral fixation flaring up), you lean in and up and press your lips to her flat stomach, slowly working your way lower.

She's calm, watching you closely, and eventually you break eye contact and close your eyes, focusing on kissing along her pelvis and down her smooth mound, going by feel and warmth alone. Your hands move around her waist as you settle between her legs, holding onto her as you bury your face in her sex. There's a slight shiver when your tongue teases along her slit, your lips brushing against hers, so soft and warm.

You pepper her labia with kisses, tilting your head slightly before you ease your tongue between them, dipping into her slick. Breathing into her, her scent filling your nostrils, you feel more little twitches, her thighs pressing slightly against your sides. You retrieve your arms and rub your palms against them, noticing the hint of goosebumps on her skin as you continue licking up and around her lower lips.

When you press your tongue against her hooded clit, she gives a soft little moan, enough encouragement to keep going, to dig deeper, to kiss and lick and nibble on her soft flesh until you feel her clit throbbing against your lips. You keep your focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking your tongue against it, closing your mouth around it, sucking it hard, and she grows more vocal, her hips jerking against your face.

She taught you early on how to properly satisfy a woman, not always on herself, teaching you about your own body as well. As awkward and embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, you are grateful to know what you know now, and you find pride in being able to get her off this easily. It only takes a few concentrated licks and nibbles, a bit of teeth grazing and a pointed tongue prod, and she is shaking in her seat, thrashing her head back as she claws at the armrests, loud moans echoing through the room.

Her first orgasm comes in waves, twitches of her thighs, her cunt pulsing against your chin as you keep sucking on her clit. You look up then, watching her come undone in front of you, under your ministrations. It sends deep shudders down your own body, settling low in your stomach, a throb to your own clit as you stimulate Mommy's.

You keep going, because she'd usually tell you when to stop, and it takes more than one orgasm for her to be fully satisfied. With your hands rubbing over her trembling legs, your mouth suctioned to her throbbing clit, you watch her, waiting for any indication, any hint of what she wants now. She's breathing harder when she meets your gaze, red spots on her cheeks, her bare chest rising and falling faster.

One of her hands moves down to your head, caressing your hair, playing with the braid. She doesn't say anything, just gives the tiniest of nudges, and you follow the hint and move from her clit down to her slit. She's a lot wetter now, and you lap up every drop you come across, savoring the sweet taste as you move your tongue between her labia, teasing at her entrance, the little flutter to her cunt not going by unnoticed.

You take long strokes from her hole to her sensitive bud, filling your mouth with her taste and essence, feeling her clit thrum and her cunt clench. Tilting your head down, closing your eyes, you press firmer against her, her labia enveloping your cheeks as you push the tip of your tongue against her entrance. She mewls softly, the hand in your hair tightening, as you start pushing your tongue in and out in quick succession, moving the muscle up and down, creating obscene squelching and slurping sounds that ring loudly in your ears, a motion she's taught you, shown you, done to you so many times.

You feel the drop of your own arousal in your underwear, your body tensing as you focus on the reactions of hers. With your tongue buried in her pulsing pussy, you use your nose to push against her clit in a steady rhythm, your whole face warm and wet by now as she clenches around you. Your hands curl around her legs, trying to hold them open, but she's twitching so hard you feel the tremors against the sides of your head as she tries to close her thighs around it.

It doesn't matter, you're in too deep, literally, only focused on her pleasure, her pleasure giving you pleasure, she could smother you right that instant and you wouldn't mind. Your head is blissfully empty, all you feel and taste and see and hear is her. She's getting louder, shifting on her chair, grinding her pelvis against your face as she fucks herself on your tongue, harder, faster, a desperate little dance you volunteered for.

And when she comes, she throws herself back into the chair, gasping breathlessly, her whole body spasming against you, thighs tight against your ears, taking another sense from you as you almost drown in her juices. Her cunt clenches hard around your working muscle, and you slowly pull your tongue out when she relaxes, lapping up what she gave you. You savor the little twitches, the uncontrollable jerks of her hips, the deep exhales from above you.

As you're still licking at her slit, she moves her hands to brush stray hairs out of her damp forehead. You look up at her, lips closed around her clit, when she smiles at you. “Well done, sweet girl, thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and raspy, the low cadence sending shivers down your spine. “That's enough for now.”

You lean back almost reluctantly, licking your wet lips, blinking your clumped eyelashes apart. You feel her hand wiping at your face, her thumb pressing into your mouth. You give it a tentative suck, your eyes on her. She looks calm again, relaxed, serene.

“Mommy's gotta work now,” she tells you, pushing her thumb harder onto your tongue. “Do you wanna stay with me while I do?”

You don't even hesitate when you nod, your hands finding her wrist as you suck on her thumb, the motion pulling you deeper into the safe space you enjoy so much.

“Do you want a toy to play with?” she asks, your mind momentarily wandering to the lowest drawer of her desk, filled with vibrators and dildos and smaller items to entertain you (and her). It's a tempting thought, but you shake your head, hollowing your cheeks as you give her digit another deep suckle.

She chuckles softly. “But I do need my hand, sweet pea,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

You blink at her, your mind too empty to comprehend her words. She caresses your face, then slowly withdraws her thumb. You're at least alert enough to lick up the excess drool dripping from your now unoccupied lips. Swallowing hard, you look at her, but she already knows the empty gaze you shoot her and guides your head back between her legs.

“Keep me warm and wet, hmm, baby girl? Can you do that?” she says softly, and you nod, already pressing your lips against her throbbing clit. “But don't make me come. I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you mumble against her, leaning your cheek against her thigh as you inhale deeply, taking in her scent. She closes her legs a little around you, caging you in, holding you tightly, and you melt into her, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good girl,” she says, patting your head before she shifts on her chair one last time. Her praise almost drowns out the quiet noises of her fingers flying over the keyboard as she starts working.

You relax into her, sitting on your knees, the hurt on your butt forgotten, the drying wetness on your face ignored, the tingle between your own legs unimportant. Occasionally you give her labia a few kisses or a gentle suck, licking up along her seam, but as your mind grows silent, you slip more and more into what Mommy and Daddy call subspace, a state of mind where there are no worries, where you're not anxious, where nothing matters but the warmth of the person next to you.

It's a peaceful place where you lose all sense of time. Snuggling into Mommy's cunt or suckling on Daddy's cock, no matter where or how or when, it's your personal reward for making them feel good, for allowing yourself to let go, an escape you wished you'd known about sooner. But now you do, and it's enough. A beautiful, blissful void, and you're floating, weightless, soft breaths and a steady heartbeat, sunken into yourself.

How you come out of it is usually a blur. A gentle caress to your cheek, a little nudge, some sort of physical touch that grounds you back to the place you've initially drifted off in. A deep exhale against warm skin, your cheek pressed between wet flesh, your own thumb wet and numb between your tight lips. Your eyelids flutter when you feel another caress, nimble fingers digging into your hair, soft presses to your scalp, a soothing little hum you slowly recognize as Mommy's voice.

“Wake up, mi amor,” she whispers from above you, her accent an extra vibration through your skull.

You inhale deeply, smacking your lips, or trying to, slowly lowering your hand as you blink your eyes open. Mommy's cunt is right there, soft and sleek, and it's an instinct to raise your hand again and caress her puffy labia.

“No need, sweet cheeks,” she tells you, but you keep pushing your fingers up and down her mound, head resting against her thigh, watching the lazy movements of your digits.

Mommy sighs loudly, but doesn't do anything to stop you after all. So you continue, dip your fingertips into her slick, teasing at her clit, as she relaxes into her chair, her hand stroking the side of your head. You rub and caress, prod and poke, eventually pushing a finger into her entrance, feeling the tight clench of her walls. Her soft mewls sound in your ears, when a sudden knock disrupts the peace, making you blink and realize you're knuckles-deep in Mommy's cunt.

Mommy just issues a noise akin to a sigh or groan, and the door to her office opens. You remain focused on her, plunging your digit in and out, curling it slightly, rubbing the pad of your finger along her squishy flesh until you feel her twitching against you.

“Is she still at it?” Daddy's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“She just came back,” Mommy whispers, her voice just a deep breath. “You know how she gets after, the insatiable little thing...”

You don't really register what they're saying, doesn't matter, all you see and feel and smell is Mommy. You add another finger and continue your motions, pushing in slightly faster, slightly deeper, pressing harder against her sensitive spots. She shifts in her seat, her hips bucking against your hand, her breaths more labored.

Footsteps round the desk, and as you blink against your haze, you notice Daddy's head next to Mommy's. He winks at you before he presses his lips to her cheek. She turns her head and uses her free hand to grab his nape, keeping him bent over to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss. “So you like me again, hm?” Daddy hums against her, and instead of answering him, she just kisses him harder.

You watch them as you finger Mommy, her wetness rivaling your own as they continue to make out. You squirm on your knees, chewing on your swollen lip, your fingers moving in and out of Mommy's clenching hole, and fueled by their soft groans and moans, you dive in again and close your lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves in front of you.

Mommy gasps, jerking against your face, and you keep watching her from under your lashes. Daddy holds her face while propped onto one arm, resting on the table above you. The way their lips and tongues meet is a sensual dance you enjoy watching more and more (which wasn't always the case). Now it only arouses you more, seeing them so intimate.

With your mouth tight around Mommy's clit and your fingers deep in her spasming cunt, you shift on your knees until you can press the heel of your foot against your own throbbing core, the sudden sensation making you moan softly. You keep a steady rhythm, dipping your fingers in and out, sucking on her clit, rubbing yourself against your foot, feeling how your arousal drenches the fabric of your panties, creating a delicious friction that makes your empty head spin.

You come at the same time as Mommy, though while your orgasm rolls through you like a gentle wave, hers is a ravaging waterfall, cascading down with power, and as you keep pumping your fingers into her, her cunt convulses, spraying you with jerky jets of her essence as she moans loudly above you, barely contained by Daddy's mouth, and even though you were quite irritated the first time she's squirted right into your face, you barely flinch now, lowering your mouth to lick up everything you can catch.

She shudders on the chair, slowly relaxing, and it's Daddy who appears next to you as he pulls you away from her quivering core. Her chair rolls away, and he kneels beside you, wiping a cloth over your drenched face.

“Well done, pumpkin,” he says softly, smiling at you. You blink your eyes into focus, your lips trembling without Mommy's warmth against them. “I think Mommy feels a lot better now, don't you, babe?”

A soft groan sounds from behind him in response. “Oh yeah...” she sighs.

“You earned yourself a reward, baby girl,” Daddy whispers, as he helps you crawl out from under the desk.

When you stand, he has to hold you, because your legs feel numb and tingling, fallen asleep from sitting on them for so long. The aftershocks of your own orgasm definitely add to the little unsteadiness as well. His hands cup your warm face as he looks down at you. You still feel like floating, head too empty to fully focus on him or the change of position.

A slurping sound echoes in your ears, and when you look past him, you see Mommy closing her lips around the straw in her smoothie. She winks at you when you meet her hooded gaze. Slowly you come back to yourself, a soothing warmth flooding your limbs and core. Daddy pulls you to the side, and you notice him sitting down on the edge of the wide desk, his hands on your waist as he nudges you between his legs.

“You with me, pumpkin?” he says softly, tilting his head.

You look up at him, your hands resting on his strong thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, giving him a timid smile.

“My good girl.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before you tilt your chin up a bit more to meet his lips. As he moves his tongue against yours, slowly, sensually, you feel a presence behind you. Mommy's hands rub up and down your back, smoothing out your dress, before they disappear under the hem, and you gasp against Daddy's mouth when you feel her fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties.

She pulls them down slowly, crouching behind you, and you lift your feet automatically to step out of them. “Hmm, you enjoyed yourself already, didn't you, sweet girl?” she muses, leaning against you after she's straightened up again, her firm breasts pressing against your back.

Without breaking your kiss with Daddy, you move your eyes to see her dangling your drenched underwear on her finger. Heat crashes into your cheeks, slowly seeping down your body, and the arousal that's been draining into the bit of fabric of your thong, now drips out of you unrestrained. A garbled mewl escapes you as you rub your thighs together and squirm on the spot.

“Oh don't worry, darling, Daddy's gonna take care of the little itch, hmm, won't you, papito?”

Her voice is silky smooth in your ear, letting your eyelids flutter as your tongue wrestles softly with Daddy's. He watches you out of hooded eyes, his grip on you firm and strong, unrelenting. With Mommy still pressed against your back, sandwiched between them as you are, you feel her hands rubbing down your arms before she guides your hands between Daddy's legs, right to the not-so-subtle bulge in his pants.

He finally breaks the kiss, moves his lips along your cheek to your ear, his beard scratching along your soft skin, causing you to take a shuddering breath as you fill your lungs with air again. “Are you ready for me, pumpkin?” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips warm and wet, his breath even warmer. You shiver, and before you can answer, Mommy's hand slips around your front and down between your tight thighs, dipping right into your slick.

“Oh she's ready alright...”

“I've been asking her,” he says sternly, still nuzzling your neck, but clearly addressing Mommy, who sighs loudly and pulls her hand back.

You turn your head to look at him, biting your swollen lip, before you nod.

“Say it,” he whispers, meeting your eyes.

“I'm ready for you, Daddy,” you reply quietly. He raises an eyebrow.

You blush deeply, knowing what he wants to hear. Swallowing hard, you look down to where your hand is resting on his groin. “I'm... ready for your...” Another deep inhale, that flicker of shame rolling through your mind before you push it away again. “Your cock,” you whisper.

You look up at him, but he still watches you with a certain expectation, his eyes dark, his jaw set.

“I'm ready for your cock, Daddy,” you say again, still quiet, but it's finally enough for him. A smile breaks on his handsome face, and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Do you think I'm ready for you too?”

You give his bulge a little squeeze, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric. “Yes, I think so,” you whisper.

“Let's find out, hm?”

He gives you a wink, and you start unbuckling his belt, then fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. Mommy is there, leaning in from behind you, helping with the task. Daddy stands for a moment and lets his two women pull his pants and underwear down his long legs before he sits down on the edge of the desk again. Mommy leaves you as she gathers his clothes on the back of her chair.

You look up at his face instead of at his angrily bobbing cock, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. His hands tighten around your waist, and in the next moment he lifts you effortlessly, and you end up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips, legs spread (almost) impossibly wide over his thighs, your crotch pressed tightly against his. Your hands find his shoulders as you adjust on his lap.

“Dress off?” you hear Mommy's voice from behind you.

“Hmm, what do you think, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to see how you bounce on his cock? How your little cunt swallows every inch of him?”

You inhale sharply, deep shivers crashing through you as he talks like this. “Yes,” you breathe out, and as soon as you do, Mommy's hands are there to pull the sundress over your head. Without it, you are left completely naked because he's (deliberately) forgotten to put a bra on you this morning. A tingle goes through you.

You shift on his lap, fingers curling around his broad shoulders again. He watches you, his hands rubbing along your sides before he puts them large and warm and heavy on your waist, his long fingers almost teasing your spine while his thumbs rub over your fluttering stomach. Behind you, another set of hands eases along your thighs back to your rear, and when Mommy touches the welts on your ass cheeks, you feel her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, mi amor,” she coos. “I thought it wouldn't look so bad. Does it still hurt?”

You meet Daddy's gaze before you turn your head and try to look at her out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, Mommy, it's already feeling better.”

“My brave little girl,” she whispers, planting more kisses along your back while her hands fully cup your ass now, the pressure sending jolts of pain through you but you force them down, try to ignore them as you bite your lip and take a shuddering breath.

“Look at me, pumpkin,” Daddy orders, and you do, stiffening on his lap. “This is for you,” he starts, his hands holding onto your waist as Mommy lifts your hips until you hover just above Daddy's cock. “You take what you need from me, okay? You decide the pace. Me and Mommy will do anything to take care of you.”

You smile softly at him, bracing on your knees, your thighs trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shoulders. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for being such a good little girl for us,” he replies, tilting his head as you squirm slightly on top of him, the tip of his cock brushing between your labia as you do so.

Before you can fully focus on indulging him (or letting him indulge you?), a last speck of doubt crashes into your mind. You blink at him, lips trembling, opening your mouth to protest, knowing you haven't been a good girl at all yesterday and have the marks to prove it, but he shakes his head, his dark eyes so intense any words dissipate right off your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, nodding slightly.

And then you concentrate on him, looking down as one of your hands moves to close around his shaft as you guide him towards your entrance. It's taken you many months to get accustomed to his length and girth, a lot of training, a lot of tears, but by now you know that your body can handle him. Inhaling deeply, relaxing while also bracing yourself, you shift your hips (with Mommy's assistance) and lower yourself slowly, his tip pressing in, and with a sharp gasp you feel him slipping deeper.

They both guide you as you take it slow, steady up and down movements to ease him into you, small rolls of your hips, Mommy holding you from behind, Daddy's hands tight around your waist. He watches you, you can feel it as you focus on where his cock vanishes inside you. The strain and pressure is still a bit painful, especially since you let gravity do most of the work, but once he's settled deep in your core, filling you out completely, his tip pushing right against your cervix, you exhale a shaky breath and look up, seeing him smiling at you.

Mommy wraps her arms around your stomach, her warm cheek between your shoulder blades, allowing Daddy to cup your face and pull you closer. “Look at you,” he coos softly, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “How wonderful you fit around Daddy's cock. You were made for this, pumpkin. Made for me. My perfect little girl.”

You close your eyes, breathing against the tightness building low in your belly, your hands moving back up to his shoulders before you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it. You focus on the way he smells, how his large hands cradle your head against him, how Mommy clings to you, their warmth all-consuming. And the way his cock sits inside you, warm and hard and pulsing, how another kind of heat throbs through your straining ass cheeks.

And you realize it is all meant to be. You are meant to have relapses, you are meant to be anxious sometimes, you are meant to disappoint them, it's only human to do so. What matters in the end is that they still love you, still care about you, still treat you like their little girl. They'll continue to discipline you, push you further and further out of your comfort zone, and it will only make you stronger.

As you start moving on top of Daddy, leaning back, facing him, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce slowly up and down, you can't believe how lucky you are to have found these people (or for them to have found you). All they ever did was take care of you, in a way nobody has ever cared for you before.

Warmth spreads inside you with every slam against his hips, your walls pulsing around him, your breaths hitching, your heart beating faster. Mommy guides you, Daddy holds you, their soft words of praise and encouragement like lullabies in your ears, your own mewls and moans leaving your trembling lips in rapid little puffs of air.

Your thighs are shivering under the strain, but it's easier with Mommy's hands under your rear, pushing you up gently, while Daddy moves you down again, every bounce going deep, filling and all-consuming, and soon you find yourself floating, the friction, the steady pain/pleasure mixture, the warmth and strength of their grips, it all adds to the flickering lights, and when they suddenly all explode into a million smaller lights, you throw your head back, letting out a drawn-out moan, a deep shiver, stiffening for a second before your body starts shaking badly as your orgasm crashes through you.

You slump against Daddy's chest, arms around his neck, your hips jerking against him, and now it's up to him to keep going. His arms are tight around your back as he shifts on the edge of the desk, Mommy's hands move around your front, rubbing down your fluttering belly before you feel her fingertips drawing tight circles around your clit. You come again, with another croaked moan, spasming against Daddy as he starts thrusting up in a steady rhythm that accelerates quickly.

Sandwiched as you are, you can only take it, and you do, it's what you do after all, you are theirs to play with, and it gives you strength and pride, a safety you need to keep your mind empty and your thoughts clear of doubts. Whimpering softly as Daddy hammers his cock into your convulsing cunt while Mommy practically bullies your clit, you slip from pleasure into bliss and back, always floating, wave after wave of soothing sensations rolling through your trembling body.

Low grunts fill your ears, Daddy's deep voice vibrating through you as he suddenly stills, holding you tighter, throbbing deep inside you before he empties his balls into your quivering depths. You gasp into his neck, feeling every twitch of his cock, knowing he's painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. You relax into him as he relaxes beneath you, his warm breaths playing with stray strands of your hair.

You rub his back as Mommy rubs yours. For a long moment you just sit on his cock until it stops throbbing and softens slightly, the only sounds your rapid pulse in your ears and your combined breaths, before it's Mommy, who brings you back to reality. “Thanks for the show, you two,” she says as she walks around you. “I think I need a cold shower now.” You feel her hand rubbing along your ass cheek before she gives it a soft slap.

You jerk against Daddy, who groans, unfolding his arms from around you to lean them onto the table beside him. He inhales deeply, and slowly you lean back too, looking at him, knowing you probably look as disheveled as you feel. He smirks at you, moving one hand to brush a few hairs out of your sweat-slick forehead.

It hasn't always been this easy to let go and look the part and not be ashamed about it, but you learned to ignore it and enjoy the moment instead, the aftermath, the soft caresses and soothing words and gentle smiles enough to distract you. You lean in and press a kiss to his bearded cheek, savoring the scratch against your lips and the little hum he issues at the touch. He cups your face, thumb under your chin, and guides your head to meet his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Are you okay, pumpkin?” he whispers against your lips, his hooded eyes boring into yours.

You nod, leaning into him, shifting on his lap. “Yes, Daddy, never better,” you breathe, moving in again, and he lets you, a smirk playing around his lips.

You haven't always been as confident with him (or Mommy) as you are now. It's been a long, winding road, over potholes and embarrassment, around bends and back in a loop towards old patterns, up steep hills and down rough slopes, through shame and discipline, hurt and comfort. A journey that started in darkness, before these two people showed you just how bright life could be.

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

End notes: For now, this marks the end of the present-timeline, which was just a peek at what's possible within the confines of this story. Starting with the next chapter, we will continue the backstory arc, and Reader's journey into the world of BDSM and specifically Dd/Md/lg dynamics.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After you agreed to be their little girl, you're starting your first day in your new life. Surprises await!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[peachyprophets-blog]

BETWEEN SUN AND MOON

Humanoid! Catnap x Reader x Humanoid!Dogday

CW: Nicknames "Angel"

Summary: You get a letter calling you to an old factory. When you arrive, you recognize old faces that you once saw and loved as a child...

A/N: I've finished Chapter 4 of Poppy Playtime and felt the urge to write a FF.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The letter was on the table in front of you. You were surprised when you found this letter in your mail. The letter had an address that you hadn't been to for a long time, Playtime. When you were younger, you went there every day. Your favorites there were always Catnap and Dogday. Unfortunately, at some point you couldn't go anymore because your parents moved with you to another state. The last time you went there as a child, you were given two cuddly toys, Catnap and Dogday. The employees had known you long enough now and thought it would be a pleasure to give you smaller versions of two of your favorites as a parting gift. When you remembered it, you had to smile, of course that made you super happy. You still had them both to this day, and they accompanied you when you moved with Catnap and Dogday, you never felt lonely. And when you moved back to the city where you grew up after years because you had been offered a well-paid job, you suddenly found the letter in your mail inviting you to the Playtime area. You had already heard about the factory closing back then, but like everyone else, you didn't know why the factory with the great figures and the endless fun had closed. So you decided to drive to the factory the next day to see how things were going and maybe find out why the factory was closed.

When you went to the factory the next day, you were already excited inside, you were finally returning after all these years to the place that was so dear to you as a child. When you entered the factory, you were confused why it was open, but you didn't worry about it. After many terrible events such as the chase by Huggy Wuggy or Mommy Long Legs, you finally arrived at Playcare, the place that had shaped you so much. But you now knew how terrible this place was in secret and could also imagine why it had been closed. When you arrived at Playcare, you sat down for a moment because you were exhausted, but as soon as you had found some peace and quiet, a red mist came towards you before your vision became increasingly blurred and you fell into a restless sleep.

You can remember this dream, you had had it once before as a child. You woke up but your eyes remained closed, you heard two voices communicating with each other and there was a slightly sweet smell in the room. "Are you sure they're okay?" a voice asked worriedly but got no answer, just a deep "mhhhm". You were slowly able to open your eyes and what you saw frightened you. Dogday and Catnap were standing right in front of you, they seemed to be arguing with each other. When Dogday noticed that you were awake, he started to smile and sat down next to you before gently stroking your head with his hand. "Angel, you're awake," he said to me in a soothing tone. Before I could answer, I felt another weight next to you. Catnap had sat down next to me and laid his head against mine. "Don't worry, angel, he's missed you all these years, just like I have," Dogday assured me. Catnap gave an affirmative purr and looked me in the eyes for a moment longer. He seemed to notice that the dream was getting to you because shortly afterwards he rubbed his head against yours in a soothing manner.

"We've never forgotten you, of course, but we were always with you." When Dogday said these words, you remembered the cuddly toys you were given back then. Sometimes it felt like they were watching you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 134 (Still Dodging Danger in the Jungle)

Spencer Pancakes awoke to the furious buzzing of a swarm of killer bees inside their rental. With holes in the walls for windows in the sweltering jungle it wasn't surprising, but still unwelcome. Luckily, Spencer had a stick of guzmania pollenis to ward them off.

Heather slept heavily through the attack, still fatigued and woozy from the spider bite and subsequent antidote. But her body was healing, and though Spencer was wide awake thanks to the adrenaline rush of dodging bees, she let Heather sleep and moved to her workbench.

Spencer's dedication to preserving the treasures of Selvadorada had become a lifelong endeavour. She was well aware of the threat to ancient artifacts posed by local cartels who unofficially ran the territory, but she was smart about who she spoke to in the jungle, and always carried the proper permits for her digs.

She never felt more like herself than when her hands were callused, using her tools to shift the earth around priceless icons of a lost society. Spencer was determined not to let Omiscan culture be lost to famine, war, or the sands of time along with most of their structures.

Today's adventure involved exploring the Omiscan pyramid, looking for artifacts and attempting to disable modern traps set by tomb raiders desiring their own personal treasure vaults.

Heather and Spencer thought it fortuitous they'd decided to explore the underground temple complex today of all days, because when daylight broke through the jungle on their last morning of vacation, it was pouring rain outside.

Heather called Conrad to check in, and Spencer called her family, before the women packed their gear and headed into the jungle.

"He's worried about me after the spider bite, but I'll be fine as soon as the antidote runs through my system," said Heather, approaching a vine-covered gateway to the temple complex. She pulled out her machete and took a swing. "See? I'm alright. I'm sure the fatigue is down to jet lag, too."

But Spencer was distracted following her conversation with her family. "Apparently, Jett had a nightmare last night about Elsa Bjerg-Watson's death."

"Spence, I'm so sorry." Heather said. "I thought he was doing alright the morning after it happened."

"Everett's talking to him, and he set up an appointment with a counselor as soon as I'm back. I'm never excited to leave this place, but I'm glad we're going home tomorrow morning."

These adventurous moms were starting to miss their families, but they made the most of their last 24 hours in Selvadorada exploring the temple.

They set up excavation sites to dig through various mounds of dirt. They studied bowls, totems, and painted heads to disable traps and search for artifacts, travelling deeper underground while the rain poured heavily outside.

While the girls were exploring and digging, I got two separate notifications that 'Yoltic Xicoténcatl used a condom.' Clicked his face and flew to a woohoo bush at the temple complex. Twice! And I hung around like a creeper because I wanted to see who he was woohooing, and I think it glitched because they never came out.

I haven't played enough in Ciudad Enamorada, where Yoltic is from, but I'm familiar with him in @matchalovertrait's Alegria Legacy and I just wanted to know if he and Dani have been travelling in Selvadorada lately. 👀

After almost a full day underground, Heather and Spencer had lost sense of time and missed the sunset. But their digs were successful and they were both enjoying themselves. Heather felt better than she had in days, and before they finally realized how late it was, Spencer built a death totem with pieces of artifacts she found and put back together.

She was well on her way to becoming a bona fide Jungle Explorer. (Level 3 of 4.) She hadn't achieved her life's goal just yet, but she'd be back.

The beauty and mystery of the jungle would always hold a piece of Spencer's heart, but she and Heather were both ready to return to their families. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: If killer bees indoors at 3am is a new bug, I didn't even realize it because the windows don't have glass in their rental!

BONUS! Spencer returned home to rainy Henford to find Pawbin Hood, still dressed in the Sherwood Forest getup Heather bought him when she was 14 (she's about 34 now), outside her family home looking for treats. Pawbin Hood was alive when the game started and I'm wondering if putting him in the outfit really did make him immortal. 🤔

[jonquilyst]

Day 2 - Challenge Day

Rise and shine, kids! We have arrived at our first destination of our journey, where we will be doing our very first challenge! Who's ready?

Today, our destination is Willow Creek! A quaint town with vintage architecture, gorgeous pink trees, and marsh galore! All of you will be enjoying the scenery with our first challenge. It's cloudy today, hence the slight gloom, but it's nevertheless the perfect day to get some fresh air after a full day of being cramped on the plane!

Our challenge today is pretty simple: just race through this maze we've constructed at Magnolia Blossom Park until you reach the back building. No winners or losers; instead, the order in which contestants finish the maze will determine which team they will be on! 1st to 6th place will be on Team 1, 7th to 12th place will be on Team 2, and 13th to 18th place will be on Team 3!

Since we're only just determining teams with this challenge, there will be no eliminations either! We're saving our first out for the 2nd challenge this season 😉

Are you all ready to see what team you'll end up on? I sure am. As you can see, there's a mix of emotions here. Estrello is from WIllow Creek, so he's feeling a little bored, Josue is thrilled, and Carson is regretting his decision to skip breakfast...

On your mark... get set... GO! Our contestants are off, exploring the maze and Magnolia Blossom Park!

As the hedge rows narrow off the pavement, the group eventually becomes one single file line, with Tomiko leading at the front!

Tomiko maintains her lead and becomes the first contestant to arrive at the back building, solidifying her spot in Team 1! Touma, Minato, Nite, and Raylan follow closely behind and officially become Tomiko's teammates.

After some time, the final contestant arrived at the back building. Here are the final placements of the maze race, and therefore, our teams!

Team 1:

1. Tomiko 2. Touma 3. Minato 4. Nite 5. Raylan 6. Ziggy

Team 2:

7. Maeve 8. Brendan 9. Marilyn 10. Espresso 11. Josue 12. Carson

Team 3:

13. Lucian 14. Elio 15. Matteo 16. Avery 17. Estrello 18. Alanna

Now that our teams have formed, it's time for them to deliberate on their team names! That's right, this season, contestants will be naming their teams! No more silly two-part names from me!

So, allow me to tell you what our 3 teams have decided to call themselves:

TEAM ODYSSEY

(Minato, Nite, Raylan, Tomiko, Touma, and Ziggy)

The majority of this team are outdoorsy and athletic, so they've decided to call themselves "Team Odyssey" to highlight the journey they're taking around the sims world!

TEAM SUCCESS

(Brendan, Carson, Espresso, Josue, Maeve, and Marilyn)

Most of this team's members are keen on socializing and want to win the challenges, so they've decided to call themselves "Team Success."

TEAM INTEGRITY

(Alanna, Avery, Elio, Estrello, Lucian, and Matteo)

This team primarily consists of members who are good-natured with strong moral compasses, so they've decided to call themselves "Team Integrity" to highlight their goodwill!

Back at the plane, everyone took the rest of the day to get to know their teammates, which will continue tomorrow when we will fly to our next destination and have another socialization day! After everyone fell asleep, I found Matteo still wide-awake feeling gloomy and playing SimScuffle. I hung out with him until he got tired of me and went off to bed 😋

Today's Confessional: Avery Bennett

"I struggled to talk to people yesterday; I wasn't really sure who to talk to first and some of the others kinda paired off into their own conversations, but now that we're all in teams I feel more confident to get to know the people in my team. Trying to talk to five others is a lot more manageable than seventeen others..."

@lyratea @hellogreta @sanitysims @changingplumbob @paracosmic-sims

@riverofjazzsims @invisiblequeen @simsinfinitylt @simstagramsomeone @aniraklova

@aliengirl @matchalovertrait @ravingsockmonkey @kissalopa @bloomingkyras

@kari-sims @nakasumi-sims @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants

[siriusblackdevotee]

the amount of times I've let people step all over me (pretend I agreed with their hcs)

I should stop people pleasing. All it does is leave me awake at 4:48am, seething.

I hate short Sirius!! "Oh I hate it too, but Sirius must be shorter than Remus" fym he must be shorter?? Why can't he be taller or even the same height?? Why does he have to be the short one?? "I was reading a wolfstar fanfic but then I found out Remus was shorter so I couldn't continue—" it gets to a point. You can't handle Remus that was probably 2 inches shorter but I've had to continuously push through and read 5'5 Sirius and 6'7 Remus. Suck it up.

That person that gave a really cool headcanon for Sirius and someone responded with "May I add to it? He did that for Regulus" minus. Minus where. No he didn't!! This isn't about Regulus!! Sirius does the headcanon because he's Sirius!!

That person that said romantic "Prongsfoot is criminally underrated" and someone else responded with "I think they kissed but then James found Sirius's brother hotter and Sirius wanted Remus—" hey I'm going to find where you live, that clearly wasn't meant for you?? Who?? Asked?? You?? why is everything about wolfstar/Jegulus. You just ruined my day, thanks.

"Post Prank Lily realizing she and Regulus could bond over their cruel siblings." I hate this Post-Prank nonsense so much. Did you seriously just give the historically most popular Lilypad hc to Regulily?? This is literally a Lily-Sirius thing. They bond over their shitty siblings relationships.

Replacing Peter with Regulus. Like. How. Why. Great, the mauraders are boring. Was it not enough to give him the Slytherin Skittles?? We're giving him the marauders too?

But at the end of the day, all of this is harmless fandom behavior, so not valid reasons to be so angry. But omg. I hate it so much.

[mommyslittlebird]

It Was Never Perfect

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After your perfect week alone with Wanda, the rest of your family comes home. You start to wonder if it was the right choice to even come home in the first place.

CW: R is hella jealous of everyone, stepcest, shitty father, possessive sex, body writing, oral sex, overstimulation, risky sex, Freud’s rolling in his grave, R is a little freak

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This one kinda sucks and it’s very angst heavy. It’s kinda a huge fucking downer but in a slightly ✨sexy✨ way. I promise chapter 5 will be well worth it though. Sorry this took so long to come out!

Part 4 of Her Special Girl

For what it’s worth, you did get to wake up in Wanda’s arms on Christmas morning. You were gently shaken awake at 6:30 in the morning with light kisses to your face. “Merry Christmas, little love,” she whispered. 

You flopped over onto her chest, a sleepy smile plastered across your face. “Merry Christmas, mama.”

The two of you spent the whole morning in bed together, tangled in each other's limbs. You didn’t even get up to brush your teeth before your lips were pressed to hers. Neither of you minded, though. You were far too concerned with having your hands and lips all over each other to let something as silly as morning breath stop you. 

Around 9 o’clock though, when your lips had just made their way to her navel, you heard the front door open. Wanda groaned, reluctantly pushing you away and rolling out of bed. She put on a pair of Christmas pajamas and threw you a pair onto the bed. You reluctantly pried yourself off her mattress, putting on the pajamas.   

You heard the shouts as soon as she left the bedroom. “Mommy!”s suddenly filled the foyer and the staircase as you heard little footsteps scramble their way up the stairs. The sound made your stomach turn with envy. That was your mama. 

You walked out of the bedroom to find everyone in the foyer. Billy and Tommy, your stepbrothers and Wanda’s other children, were wrapped tightly around her waist. Wanda’s real children, you reminded yourself. 

She had her arms wrapped around them as she kissed both of their heads. “I missed you boys so much! It’s been so lonely around here without you guys.” She knelt down on the ground, kissing all over their faces in the manner she’d kissed yours only hours ago. 

Your stomach went sour. Lonely? She’d spent the week feeling lonely? No. She was lying. She was just saying that to make them feel better. She hadn’t been lonely. She had you. You were all she needed, right?

She only twisted the knife further when she stood up straight to greet your father. “I’ve missed you, my love,” she said softly before taking his face in her hands and kissing him. 

You thought you were going to be sick. You turned around and ran into the bathroom, bracing yourself against the sink. This couldn’t be happening. You were her love. You were her baby. You were her favorite, her whole world, the only person she’d ever need. She spent the week telling you so. So why were suddenly feeling like the least important person in this entire house?

You turned on the sink and splashed your face with cool water. You watched yourself in the mirror as the cool water ran down your chin. Suddenly, you were 18 all over again…

—--------

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, getting ready for the day, beaming with pride and excitement. You’d been working for two whole years and it finally paid off. You’d spent months studying to get your GED, then even longer studying to get a near perfect score on your ACT, all to get to this moment: getting accepted to college. A full ride to the local university, nonetheless. Wanda was going to be ecstatic.

You’d found out last night, but you wanted to wait until morning to tell Wanda, when the boys had left for school, your dad had left for work, and it was just the two of you alone. You crept into her office, the piece of paper held firmly in your hands. 

By the time you knocked on the door though, Wanda looked tired and pissed. “Mama?” you called into the room, hoping this would cheer her up. 

You hadn’t noticed Wanda was on the phone. She put her finger to her lips to indicate you needed to be quiet. You dropped your hands to the side, chewing on your lip impatiently. 

 “Yeah, okay,” she sighed to the person over the phone. “I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up the phone and threw it into her bag. You opened your mouth to speak, but were quickly cut off. “I’ve gotta go to the school. Tommy apparently thought it would be funny to shove his brother in a locker,” she said with an exasperated sigh. She picked her bag up from under the desk, practically shoving past you to get out the door. 

“But, mama…” you said, trying to run down the stairs after her. 

“Can you make sure my computer doesn’t shut off before I get back, please? I’ve gotta go,” she interrupted again, walking out the front door and all but slamming it in your face. 

You froze for a minute, heart shattering into a million pieces. Time seemed to stand still as the letter fell from your hand and onto the ground of the foyer. You shrunk into yourself, feeling like the tiniest, most insignificant thing on the entire planet. You tucked your knees to your chest, sitting on the bottom step. Tears poured from your eyes, clogging your sinus until you could hardly breathe. Sobs ripped through your chest, echoing through the foyer so loud it shook the glass chandelier. 

It was always going to be like this. You shouldn’t have expected anything less, really. Wanda was never yours to begin with. You were stupid for thinking she cared. You were even stupider to think she cared about you over her own kids. Her real kids. Whatever you thought you had with her, whatever you thought she felt, was a fairytale. 

You had a mother, a real one, and she didn’t care about you. You were dealt a shitty hand, and you still thought you could somehow win the game. This “having a mother” thing was simply an impossibility for you. You could toil all you wanted. It was futile. You had already lost.

This was reality. You were alone. 

You were already tucked up in the furthest corner of your room when Wanda walked through the front door. “You, young man, are gonna spend the rest of the afternoon in your room finishing up all this homework you missed,” She sternly informed Tommy, sending him angrily up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door, only furthering Wanda’s fury. 

She set down her bag and shoes at the door, huffing. She noticed a piece of paper carelessly discarded on the hardwood. She sighed in annoyance. Did anyone know how to pick up after themselves around here?

She picked up the piece of paper, charging up the stairs. She knocked on your bedroom door.. “Honey? You left this in the foyer. I really need you to start picking up after yourself, okay? You can’t just be leaving things all over the house.”

When you didn’t answer, she huffed again. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work.” She folded up the paper and slid it under the crack of your door without reading it. She went back to her office without another word. 

You made your way to the door, taking the letter in your hands and ripping it in half. You weren’t going to that stupid fucking university. You weren’t going to stay in this stupid fucking town. You were done playing house with a family that wasn’t yours. You were done savoring the praise of the woman who wasn’t even your real mom. 

You were going to go somewhere new. Somewhere better. You were gonna find people who cared about you. 

You didn’t need her. You didn’t need anyone. If no one else was going to be happy for you, you were going to be happy for you. And that was going to be enough. That was going to have to be. There was nothing else. 

—--------

You shivered, drying your face before heading downstairs. 

“Hey, honey! Look boys! It’s your sister!” Wanda cheered, trying to get the boys excited to see you. They shyly hid behind her legs, scared in the way children get when an unfamiliar presence intrudes on their familiarity. You hadn’t seen them in over two years. You were practically a stranger. 

“Are you coming to your grandmother’s with us?” your father asked. 

You looked at Wanda. She could immediately read more than just confusion. There was something very wrong. “She’s gonna stay here. With me,” she answered for you. 

Your father made no comment, turning back to the boys. “Alright fellas, go bring your bags up to your rooms. We gotta get to grandma’s for presents.”

“Presents” seemed to be the magic word, as the boys immediately ran up the stairs, carrying their bags with them and getting ready to leave again. You, Wanda, and your dad were all left in the foyer.

There was a terribly awkward silence, then Wanda spoke up. “Well,” she started, “speaking of presents, we were just finishing the last of the wrapping up in the bedroom. We should get back to it. So it’s done by the time you all get back. Right?” She looked at you, raising her eyebrows expectantly. 

You nodded, desperate to get out of this situation. “Right.”

Wanda wasted no time grabbing your hand and whisking you away. When she reached the top of the steps, she called back down to your father. “We’re wrapping things for you, so don’t come up here!”

She pulled you into the bedroom, shutting the door gently behind you. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s wrong, little love?”

Your brow furrowed in something between sadness and anger. “You’re my mama. Mine.” 

She cocked her head to the side, trying not to look amused as you were very clearly upset. “Aww, sweetheart,” she whispered with a slight chuckle. “Of course I’m your mama, sweet girl.”

You stood in front of her silently, the same angry and sad look on your face. 

“Oh come on, don’t give me that face,” she said quietly, cupping your cheek in her hand. “Is it hard for you to share mama after you’ve had her to yourself all week?”

You nodded, face softening ever so slightly. “You kissed dad! And… and you told the boys you had a bad week with me!”

“Honey,” she said, a bit firmer this time. “That isn’t what I said. I told the boys I missed them. And we both know I take no pleasure in kissing your father. Can you tell me what’s really got you so worked up? Talk to mama.”

You rubbed your arm, hesitant to spill your concerns. “Now that your real family is back you're gonna forget all about me like mom did,” you finally said, speaking just above a whisper. 

“Oh sweetheart. No no no. Mama’s not gonna forget about you,” she gently pulled you into her arms, tucking your head just under her chin. “I could never forget about you. You’re mama’s special girl, remember?”

“Promise?” You asked weakly.

“I promise,” she assured. 

You stood for a moment, trying to find solace in her arms. When you couldn’t find any, you desperately demanded “say it again.” 

But before she could respond you heard your dad shout up from the basement. “Come on boys! We’re gonna be late to grandma’s!” 

Wanda pulled away. “I should help them get ready,” she explained, turning to leave the room. You winced as she closed the door, leaving you alone in her room. 

You were beyond angry. You were seething, practically vibrating with jealousy. 

You sulked to the bed, looking to the nightstand and picking up the black sharpie Wanda was using to write on the gifts last night. You uncapped the marker, staring at the black felt tip. Permanent may not actually mean permanent, but it wouldn’t come off for at least a few days. 

You were gonna make sure everyone knew who she belonged to. 

It was only a few minutes before you heard Wanda shouting out the front door, wishing the boys and your father safe travels. You waited impatiently, counting each step you heard on her way back to the bedroom. 

As soon as she stepped into the bedroom, you were on her, tearing at her closer, trying to get her closer. She took your hands in hers, stilling them. “Woah woah woah. Slow down. We have plenty of time.” 

But when she looked in your eyes, she didn’t see the same seductive, blissful face she’d seen this morning where you’d left off before your dad got home. No. You were angry. Possessive. Jealous.

“So that’s how this is gonna be,” she conceded with a smirk. She didn’t say anything more, but she looked almost excited. You didn’t respond, holding that same dangerous glare. She let go of your hands, giving you silent permission to continue. 

You pushed her body backwards until it hit the wall. You lips met hers in a harsh, bruising kiss that would leave both your lips swollen. You only pulled away for a moment to rip her shirt off over her head. She moaned as your hands pawed at her breast, squeezing them hard enough to hurt. You teased her nipples between your pointer finger and thumb, pinching and pulling them until she yelped. 

When you were sure her lips were puffy and raw, you made your way down her body, kneeling in front of her until you were face to face with her center. You looked up at her hungrily as you slowly pulled at the waistband of her pajama pants. “Say it again, mama. Tell me I’m special and you love me the most.”

She gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head up and stroking your cheekbone with her thumb. Even in your lustful, jealous haze there was a moment of peace when she said “You’re my most special girl, little love. Mama loves you more than anything in the world.”

You made short work of pulling her underwear and pants the rest of the way down. You gently kissed her mound before hungirly diving into her core, sucking her clit into your mouth. Her eyes closed and her mouth fell open in a blissful expression. She reached down and grabbed your hair, keeping you pressed tight against her. “Oh… fuck… please… oh my love…”

She threw her leg over your shoulder, pulling you even closer as your tongue circled her entrance. You reached up to stead her waist with your hands, holding her in place. “You’re making mama feel so good baby. Fuck I love you so much,” she panted, her legs starting to shake. She pulled one of your hands from her waist, holding it tight for support. 

“You’re gonna make mama cum, baby,” she breathed, arching away from the wall. You could feel her heel digging into your back as her wetness coated your tongue. You were addicted to her taste, and determined to be the only one who ever got the privilege of tasting her again. Your nails dug into the skin of her thigh as her hand tightened in your hair. She came with a silent scream, nearly collapsing to the ground against the wall. 

She smiled at you, satisfied. But you had that same hungry look in your eye. A look that told her you were far from done. 

“Say it again,” you demanded weakly. As angry as you were, you still just looked so little and desperate. You just wanted to be loved. You just wanted your mama. 

“Baby,” she cooed. She was still panting and disheveled. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“Say. It. Again.” You commanded, biting down on your own lip. 

“You are my most precious angel. My most special girl,” she repeated. 

Wordlessly, you laid on your stomach in front of her, your face hovering over her sex. You blew cool air against the sensitive skin. You brought two fingers to her entrance, which, coated with the remains of her orgasm, gave no resistance.

“Ah,” she hummed, “careful baby. Mama’s very sensitive. Oh fuck…”

She bucked into your hand as your fingers curled to meet that special spot inside of her. You lowered your head, pulling her clit back into your mouth and flicking it lightly with the tip of your tongue. She threw her head back, arching herself further into your mouth. She groaned as you added a third finger, pumping yourself in and out of her in rhythm with your tongue. 

She grabbed your hair, chanting your name and grinding herself against you. “No one else can do this to me baby. It’s only you. Only you can make mama fall apart like this.” Her words encouraged you and you doubled down, circling her sensitive bud with your tongue.

“Honey… fuck you’re gonna make mama cum again,” she breathed, biting down hard on her lip as she came around your fingers. 

This time, you didn’t pull away, continuing your ministrations even after her orgasm subsided.

“Please baby… I can’t…” she panted. She squirmed against your tongue, trying to escape the ceaseless pleasure. You pulled your fingers away, instead wrapping both your arms around her thighs. You held her in place, determined to draw one final orgasm from her. 

You alternated between her entrance and her clit, pressing your tongue hard against her. Her legs trembled around your head, unable to handle the sensation. You hummed around her clit, spelling your name with your tongue over and over again. 

She came faster this time, forcibly pushing you away as she sprayed a stream of cum onto the carpet. You watched in fascination. You had never seen anyone cum that hard. She went limp against the wall, exhausted. 

You helped her up onto the bed, letting her rest against the headboard. You ran to the bathroom quickly to get her a glass of water and a towel, just like she always did for you. 

“Thank you,” she smiled, gratefully accepting them both. She had taught you so well. 

You knelt down between her legs, laying your head down on her stomach. “I love you, mama,” you said softly, nuzzling into her navel. 

“I love you too, sweet girl,” she replied, running her fingers gently through your hair. “Are you feeling better now? Do you think you can play nice with your dad and brothers?”

You didn’t respond. You felt better, but swirling thoughts still lingered on your mind. You thought about your father taking your place in her bed. Would she let him touch her like you had? Would he draw the same heavenly sounds from her? Would she tell him she loved the way he touched her too? The thought made you sick to your stomach. You could deal with kisses, the hugs, the words of affection, but you couldn’t deal with that.

You sat up and grabbed the sharpie from the nightstand, uncapping with your teeth. She grabbed your wrist. “Honey. We can’t. You know that.”

“He’s not allowed to see you here!” You screamed in despair, pointing at her lower abdomen. 

She looked into your desperate eyes. Sex was a scarcity between her and your father anyway. He almost certainly wouldn’t see it. She would just have to be careful getting in and out of the shower. The risk was high, but, if it could bring you even a little relief, the reward was higher. She sighed. “Alright, sweetheart. Keep it below the waist and above the mid thigh.”

You started with your name, big and bold just below her abdomen. You wrote it smaller in cursive on her inner thighs and then initialled and put a heart right next to each of her nipples before sitting back to admire your creation. 

You added a few more hearts along her pelvis before capping the marker and putting it back on the nightstand. 

Your dialated eyes and possessive gaze didn’t escape Wanda’s notice. She reached up and rubbed your chin. “I’m all yours baby. Do you like that? Knowing no one else gets to touch mama like you do? Nobody else makes mama feel so good.”

You nodded eagerly. “Not even dad because you love me more than him, right.”

She smiled gently and pulled you down to rest against her bare chest. “That’s exactly right, sweetheart. Not even your father makes me feel like you do.” She tapped the tip of your nose affectionately. “Now let’s get this shirt off so mama can hold you nice and close.” 

You put your arms up so she could pull the dense sweater from your body. She discarded it to the side along with the clothes you’d torn off her earlier. You laid flat against her warm skin. Her nails gently scratched up and down your back. “There we go. That’s my sweet girl. Do you feel better now?”

You nodded against her chest, wrapping your arms around her in the tight space between her body and the mattress. She played with your hair, silently at first, but then she started to sing softly. You recognize the tune, but the words were in Wanda’s native language. 

You laid like that for a long time, listening to the soft beat of her heart, until the front door opened again and you heard two sets of little feet running through the foyer. Reluctantly, you peeled yourself away and put back on your sweater. 

Once you were both dressed, you reached to unlock the door, but Wanda grabbed your hand. 

“Wait. One more thing,” she said, turning you around to face her. She knelt down in front of you and lifted your shirt. “Hold this.”

You cocked your brow in confusion, but held your sweater up. It was only when she lifted her hand to touch your stomach that you noticed the sharpie between her fingers. You felt the cool tip glide across your stomach, just above your navel. In her neat cursive penmanship, she had written “Mama’s Special Girl”. She capped the marker and grabbed your hip on either side, pulling you close and kissing your stomach. The kiss left a distinct red lipstick print just under her words. You beamed as you looked down at what she had left. 

She climbed to her feet, dropping your sweater to cover the message. “Alright. Let’s go have Christmas.”

—--------

Despite your reservations, Christmas went better than expected. It helped that your father, in his usual shitty mood, left to go take a nap, claiming he was exhausted and it just couldn’t wait. No one protested. 

The boys opened their presents with all the excitement expected of 8 year olds. It did actually make you feel better that they warmed up to you quickly. Maybe you couldn’t be the only person in Wanda’s life, but it was nice to least be part of her family. You kept your hand on your stomach, soothing yourself with the thought of the special words that sat just underneath the fabric.

Wanda, as usual, went way overboard with the gifts, despite you not asking for anything. Some of them were marked “From: Dad” or “From: Santa”, but you knew they were all from her. She had gotten you some dorm room decorations, a lego set, and every item off of your amazon wishlist, a list you didn’t even know she still had access to. She must’ve kept the link from years ago when you still lived at home. 

Once all the presents were gone, the boys ran happily around the house, playing with their newly acquired toys. Wanda smiled from her spot next to you on the couch, pulling you into a quick side hug. “Did you get everything?”

You smiled and nodded. “And more. What about you?”

She rubbed your chin affectionately. “Well, you’re here. So you tell me.”

You chuckled and looked nervously down at your lap. “There’s actually something else.”

“Oh?” she asked cheekily. 

You got up from the couch and grabbed an envelope from the mantle. You fidgeted nervously with the corner as you brought it to Wanda on the couch. “To: Mama” was scrawled in your messy handwriting on the back.

She carefully opened the envelope revealing an acceptance letter. A full ride scholarship to your local university for the spring semester. You were coming home. For good.

Her mouth fell open and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Is this… are you…”

You nodded and she grabbed you, pulling you down on the couch with her in a tight hug. “I love you so much. After my boys, I never thought I could ever be so lucky to get another special blessing in my life. But I found you,” she cradled your head in close. “And I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

[seldomscilence16]

The Dream Au Gift Part 4!

This one is a little shorter cause I got super busy but wanted to give ya'll something! Which also means I didnt edit it so sorry in advance! Check out 'The dream au' tag for awesome art, snippets, and other amazing writers takes! And check out @hey-hey-j the creator and fantastically talented mind behind it all and more!

...

Floyd has been unconscious since he found him. Tossing and turning and sick, but never awake. He’s wary of leaving his side, but he knows he needs to talk to his kids, and the island has been so worried… 

“Ngh-” He’s trembling, trying to push himself up, it's the first sign of anything, and Bruce is quick to pull him close, to support his weak frame. 

“Floyd, hey-” he fights in his hold, hand gripping Bruce's shirt far tighter than he should be able to in his condition, “It's okay!” 

“Whe-” gasping breaths from a too thin frame, “Where are they?” His other hand reaches for his own hair, faltering and panicked. 

Bruce carefully plucks the egg from his hair, placing it gently against Floyd's chest, 

“Here, they’re here, they’re safe.” Pulling him closer, trying to calm his own heart in some sense of reassurance, “You’re safe.”

Floyd cradles the egg, all his strength going into the action as he slumps against Bruce. His half lidded eyes are focused only on the precious cargo, but whether he’s actually taking anything in or not, the elder has no clue. When fuchsia pupils are hidden once again, when fever and unconsciousness dig their claws deep into the younger, and quiet raspy breaths once again fill the silence, Bruce lets a tear fall. Only one, before he takes a shuddering breath and situates his brother again, wiping at his face and returning to his position at his side. 

He couldn’t say how much time passes before his wife joins him. Her head laid so gently beside him as she kneels at the bedside. They speak in soft tones, and he takes strength in her supportive presence, and while the idea of leaving this room, leaving his side, had his stomach twisting and heart clenching, there is no one he trusts more than the woman before him. 

.

John hears arguing. 

An accented voice and another with a raspy quality to it. He thinks there's a few others in the background, but he’s more focused on the tones. His hair stands on end, nerves wound tight as he takes a stake from his hair, rarely does he run into other friendlies on the road, especially so close to a giant colony. He crouched low, ears flickering to pinpoint the louder voice-

He lunges.

.

Branch sees the figure around the same time Dickory does, but it does nothing to allow either of them to react in time. Barb flails backwards, Viva has Poppy pushed behind her, Hickory is still too surprised to do more than hold the stake wielding arm at a distance. Clay actually reacts first, gripping Branch’s shoulder as he breathes out another haunting name, before shouting it again with his arms up and out to draw attention,

“John!” 

His head whips around, faltering just barely as he takes the two in,

“Stop! He's with us!”

“He’s Floyd's Boyfriend!” Branch adds, a little too off put to say much else, anything to shock him enough to stop attacking. 

“He’s Floyd’s what now!?” 

“What is happening…?” Barb has been helped up by Poppy, staring at the frozen scene with a perplexed look, like she had been ready to fight and halted too soon, stuck in the lurch as it were. 

“The dead are coming back to life left and right is what's happening.” Branch mutters, heart calming just enough for some of that bitterness to return. 

“Let him go John, before you get yourself killed.” Clay warns reluctantly, motioning to the shorter yodeler that looks a moment away from throttling the visor wearer. 

John looks from one to the other, slowly lowering his weapon and releasing Hickory, he does a 180 as he turns to Clay and Branch, 

“I can’t believe you guys are alive!” He throws his arms out, grin wide, and maybe Branch can see some genuine relief in his eyes, but it's still over 20 years too late.

When silence follows his exclamation and neither brother moves forward to greet him, an awkwardness and tension war to fill the air and Poppy is never one to let it linger,

“Okay! Um… Hi, I’m Poppy. My newly found sister Viva, Queen Barb of Rock, Hickory and Dickory, and I guess you already know those two… Uh,” her eyes flash around their group and surroundings for only a moment, “It's getting dark, why don't we make camp, and figure out our next move.” 

Everyone warily dispersed to do just that, Branch ignoring John's dejected look, as Poppy appears at his side with a worried tilt to her brow. He releases a quiet sigh, but takes her offered hand as they go to collect firewood. 

.

Viva had not expected her day to turn out like this. To meet other Trolls, to reunite with her sister- who wasn't dead!- to agree to leave the putt putt course and join her on this journey… 

She was kinda freaking out. 

The jump scare just now didn’t help, and the tension between so many members was making her nervous, only added to with their newest addition. There were so many questions, but just like herself, no one looked ready to talk about it just yet. 

Their newest member stood where he had been left, Dickory eyeing him where he was setting up their sleeping spaces. John looked lost, and sad. A million emotions in his eyes, one's she didn't know, and ones she did. For all of Dickory's suspicion, she had no doubts that he too recognized some. 

And with their current group… It likely wouldn’t be addressed quickly. 

She makes eye contact with the shorter Yodeler as she shuffles closer to John Dory, figuring for once that her speed wouldn’t be appreciated here. To his credit, John's ear twitches at her approach, obviously still aware. His face changes as he straightens up, turning to look at her with only a little strain to his smile, 

“Princess Viva, good to see you alive, or would it be Queen now?” His brow furrows at the thought, the passage of time a tricky thing to deal with. 

“Mm, Clay and I are Co leaders of the Putt Putt Trolls.” Viva offers with a shrug and a so-so gesture. 

John blinks a few times, and Viva can see his brain turning all the new info around, before he nods, eyes going to where his two brothers had gone- in different directions. She thinks she might see something click, and she's reminded of the Band she loved so much, and how different they all are now. 

How real they are. 

“What brings you out here?” She finally asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“Found some food!” 

Their eyes snap back to the designated camping area, where a fire has been started already and tents set up, a pot hanging over the flames. 

“We should help out.” 

Viva’s lips purse as John walks away, avoiding her question as his shoulders sag with whatever heavy weight he’s carrying. 

Dickory sits beside him as they eat, a silence hanging over them all as even Viva and Poppy fail to lighten the mood. Eventually, John wanders to the border of their little clearing, sitting against a tree, only then do conversations slowly pick up. 

It bugs her.

But she's not sure why.  

…

“There you are! Are you alright?” 

Hickory can’t draw his eyes away from the letter, reading over it once more, each swirly slightly crooked letter. 

“It's not his handwriting.” Admitting it out loud feels like a window shutting on his shoulders. 

“You think the brother’s telling the truth?” Dickory sits beside him, he can feel the worried eyes scanning his profile as a tear escapes his careful facade. 

“What other choice do I have?” His voice goes hoarse, the letter crinkling in his fists, he has to force his grip to lessen as not to tear the evidence. His brother is silent for a long moment,

“I'm sorry…” Rarely does Dickory’s voice sound like this, “I shouldn't have asked you to come with me.” The guilt… 

“It's not your fault.” Hickory has to swallow the lump in his throat, for all his anger and fear, he never means to hurt his brother.

“But if I hadn’t-”

“Stop it.” He finally turns to him fully, firm as he looks him in the eyes, “I’m the one who left. If it's anyone's fault-” his shoulders slump-

“Now you stop it.” Dickory’s hand is solid and warm on his shoulder.

And despite the despair and guilt, an understanding passes between them. 

They’d have each others backs, like they always did. 

<<Prev next>>

[msexcelfractal]

When I gave my tux a forever home she hid under my bed and hissed at me for 28 days straight. Only came out to eat and pee when i was asleep. I would lay in bed holding a mirror so we could see each other and sing to her.

One day I found a video on my phone from when she was in the shelter. It was a video of the first time she let me pet her - it took 4 months of shelter visits to build that trust. So I set my phone under the bed and played the video of me petting her. And she reached out a paw and gently patted the screen TuT. That night, she came out from under the bed while I was awake for the first time!

Now we are best friends, and every night she hops in my lap and begs me to comb her fur. And when I come home from work I scoop her up in my arms and she purrs and purrs <3

[starlight---starbrights]

Undertale yellow flowey embroidery

This took about 40 hours, give or take a few

[daddy-ul]

It's not that I don't know it, it's my brain that refuse to compute the information

[ratgingi]

worst girl ever moment . i love her so much (slings her at the wall like a splatball)

an oc ive had since like. 2019. who i just dialtownified. lil bit of info on her under cut

she's a townie who can only be found three times in game (1. during ch1 where you can go to her apartment and knock on her door. she will answer and instantly freak out, screaming and crying that the 'angel of death' found where she lives and will promptly slam the door in your face and lock it. this will also prompt jackson to interact with you if you havent already gone to his apartment. | 2. in kara's ch1, she is one of three townies who approaches kara toward the end of the date and asks for pictures. shes also the one who spots gingi after the eggs are laid and freaks out about it which prompts the ending interaction with kara. | 3. in cora's ch2, she appears in the gas station. typegingi encourages cora to attempt flirting with her and when she realizes whats going on she laughs it off and insists they try it on someone better ["You seem lovely, but you really shouldn't waste your efforts here! I'm like, the absolute worst."] and when cora turns back to typegingi for assistance, she notices them, freaks out, and runs out of the building)

she was originally supposed to have a ladder for a head to play on the superstition of walking under one being bad luck but it was decided the effort to put an actual ladder on her was too much and she got a stepstool instead

while she adores bright colors and cute aesthetics she has a morbid curiosity about death and decay, and is terrified of her own mortality. as such she actively avoids places she thinks shes most likely to die at (namely the morgue, the cinema, the woods, the casino, the funfair, and town hall), but will go to them if accompanied by a friend

she tends to act a little dumb but is actually pretty smart, though she has a habit of only busting out intelligence if she notices she might be put in danger otherwise

she Adores flowers, and works at a little florists shop in downtown with another oc of mine :-)

[chilapis]

I should mention I actually fell asleep at a relatively reasonable time (1 AM) for once in my life.

[spurbleu]

neighbor!simon x reader. longer read.

you’re neighbor is a homebody. sort of.

he’s either never home or always home. you aren’t sure what he does, but whatever it is leaves his flat vacant for months at a time, not so much as a mouse breath breaching the thin popcorn walls that separate your rooms.

and when he is in the complex, you’d never know it. a shut in, the only give away is the muffled news channel that burrows through your moldings, or smithed footfall at ungodly hours.

the first time you caught him moving in while off to work. big bloke- and when you waved to him he stared, before lumbering into his complex. given, he was holding a large cardboard box, so you weren’t expecting him to return the greeting. but a hello would’ve been nice.

it was 4 months until you got a good look at him.

you were awake at a time you shouldn’t have been for a reason you had long forgotten. you do remember thinking you might as well do your laundry.

when you went down to the mat, there he was.

tracker fed shoulders taking up half the space, and on an inhale they took two thirds. clothes looked as though they had been dyed in pen ink and left to dry in hail. mud boots, thick legs, and the silhouette of a cauliflower ear against the fabric of his balaclava.

he glared at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. an anomaly, disturbed his routine. steel face, stone eyes, swear you’d seen the same look in your history books on the shields of greek soldiers.

it all scared you shitless, so you turned on your heel and didn’t go back until the morning. you make it a point to hustle past his door after that.

but you tend to take more than you can handle. swaddling your groceries as you wobble up the stairs, just barely there before your foot catches on the last step. produce among some of the other fragile items scattered across the tiles, and you curse under your breath.

you wouldn’t characterize yourself as a klutz, but it scrambling to collect your groceries feet from your door isn’t helping your case. the paper bags struggle against your grip, and it feels like you’re just biding your time until they all rip apart.

“you need help.”

its said more like an observation than it is a question. you turn slowly, and a goliath stands 6 feet and something over you. he sports a medical mask and a ballcap, which reveals new features- sun bleached skin that peels from the bridge of his nose to between his brows, which are thick and blonde. the left is cut in half by scar tissue and spite. if you squint you see freckles.

the night he scared you, you remembered his eyes as pitch. crow feather. under your bed.

you now see they’re the deepest shade of brown.

“i- no its fine i..” your arms do a dance with the bags, trying to keep them steady.

he grabs them both from you, and suddenly they still. its like handing squealing pigs to a farmer. built for holding them. it makes you feel weird that you like it.

“unlock the door.”

you do as you’re told and find your keys in your back pocket. fumble at the lock before opening the door and standing to the side to let him in. he nods.

sets your groceries down before gently tipping the brim of his cap. he doesn’t say anything before leaving.

and this started the strangest routine.

every week you’d get groceries, he’d be there.

the first time he was on the second flight of stairs. when you questioned how he knew you’d been shopping, he rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

“your huffin n puffin gave you away.”

he was there for four more trips. each time, you had gotten more words out of him. found out he had the driest sense of humor and a plethora of knock-knock jokes that you painfully laughed at.

he even kept up with the occasional flirt.

“yknow, you could start charging for your manual labor.”

“you rich?” he returned.

you laughed. “far from it. but this is a service, and you haven’t started making demands so…”

he stopped and stared at your back before you turned around. “so what?”

“i have to assume you just like me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his cheek twitched under his eyes. although it was hidden by the mask, you had made him smile.

“don’t get your hopes up.”

all of it was enough for you to get comfortable. and then he wasn’t there.

the absence was strange enough to make your pace stutter when you reached the second floor, but you recovered and trekked to your room.

not without glancing at his door, though.

he must be back at work. surely he isn’t…well. he couldn’t have moved out without telling you. you aren’t close but maybe you are?

you thought so hard about it for so long that you placed your ear to the wall separating your flats.

after a few moments, you heard nothing. not even a mouse breath.

you felt foolish for being so relieved. and you kept feeling foolish for hoping he’d be there with every errand, and disappointed when he wasn’t.

it was 4 more groceries trips before you saw him again.

waiting at the entrance of the complex, crossed arms and black attire stood out like a sore thumb in the winter blight that bit at your nose with snow and temperatures below freezing. you picked up the pace.

when you got to the cement steps, you sorely regretted your decision to jog. not because it winded you, or it amplified the struggle you had with your bags, but because of the smug smile you could see crinkling the bastards cheeks under his mask.

“you missed me.”

you handed him a bag. “i missed your arms. carry that.”

you could hear the grin from behind you.

“whatever you say, sweet’eart.”

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!