#I FORGOT TO REBLOG THIS it's been sitting in my drafts from when I put it there to remind me to read it then I read it and loved it and

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The desolation lingers, even with Bucky's return. You shuffle down the hall to your office and set your bag on your desk. He fills the doorway as he watches you unpack your tablet and place it on its tripod.

"Some homecoming," he growls.

You look up, eyebrows rising, unready for his confrontation. As unprepared as you are for him to be there. You're so used to being alone. He feels like a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, the issue is due at the editor tonight. And Janine sent me the draft ages ago," you avert your eyes guiltily. "It should be too much longer..."

"She sent it a while ago. Meaning, you're the one who slacked," he sniffs.

You nod and sit, "sorry. I messed up. Again."

You swivel to face the tablet and take the pen off the side. You unlock it and pinch with your fingers to zoom. He clucks and marches off as you struggle not to show your discomfort.

You lean in and focus on the work. It's so natural to you, it's soothing. To know exactly what you're doing. Not like this. Not like living. Not like marriage.

He comes back through the open door and smacks his hand down on the desk. You reel back with the pen in hand as he uncovers your rings, leaving them next to your monitor. You glance at him, "thanks. I... thanks."

Your lips twitch and your cheek ticks. You can't stop moving your mouth. That old nervous habit is back.

"Oh, and these might help," he sets down your glasses next to the rings. "Probably more important to you."

You hesitate and take the rings first. You slip them on and admire the shine. The teardrop is just as sparkling as the day he gave it to you. You reach for your glasses and he catches your hand.

"I didn't want to go," he says. "So I'd appreciate if you stop acting like I abandoned you."

You shake your head and shrug. "I don't think that--"

"I saw the Kelly's bag on the counter," he scoffs. "The soda cup next to the bed..."

"I've been busy. I forgot to tidy up."

"And cook," he challenges.

You wiggle free of him. Because he lets you. He could easily keep you in his grasp. He rescinds his hand and exhales heavily.

"Yep," you put your glasses on and turn back to your tablet, overly aware of how much room your ass takes up in that chair. "I'll cook tonight. I have a steak for you."

He clicks his tongue, "I'm concerned, not a tyrant."

"I know, Buck, alright? I'm sorry, I have a lot going on--"

"You do, yeah. Me too," he crosses his arms. "Like spending a month away from my wife. Getting my head knocked half-off. Sleeping on concrete--"

You drop the pen. You can stay up. You had that coffee, it will help.

"I better marinate that steak, make sure that flavour sticks," you move out from behind the desk. He moves to meet you, blocking you.

"I don't want you to fucking act like some trapped housewife. You haven't even kissed me," he sneers.

Your heart drops. You hadn't even thought of it. You look at his belt. It's as if he plunged that knife there between your ribs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" You flutter your fingers nervously. "Oh, I..." your lips slant back and forth.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" He shakes his head. 

"Please, I..." you step closer and reach for him, "I'll give you a kiss--"

He stops you by your shoulders and moves you away from him. It's like he's slapped you. He puts you at arms' length. He grits his teeth as his nostrils flare.

"Kiss me because you want to," he shoves you just a little. "I'll order a fucking cheeseburger. Finish your work." He pokes his tongue in his cheek and spins away. "You don't need to let anyone else down."

He stomps out and you stagger, leaning on the desk to steady yourself. What the hell? You tried. You did. Didn't you?

You swallow and blow out a long, dry breath. You close your eyes and gather up what's left of your strength. You sit and stare at the tablet. The pen sits in front of the stand. You should cry. You want to. Your eyes are barren. Nothing.

You grab the pen and roll close. You focus on the line work for the next panel. You have to stop and ease the tremble in your hand. Your frustration mounts as you can't keep the pixels from wobbling.

You hear a soft thump. You sit up and look toward the door. You hear the clatter of something else. More things tossed around. You get up and leave the pen behind.

You step into the open door and listen. He's upstairs. You go up, a step at a time, following the noise with baited breath. He's in the bedroom.

As you peer inside, he's pillaging your top drawer. He grips your vibrator and gnashes his teeth. It crunches in hand before he hurls it away. Your books are on the floor before the bookshelf, your nightstand is on its side. He continues to tear apart your things.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" You near him and touch his arm.

"Looking for evidence," he opens your jewelry box and spins the hooks that hold your necklaces.

"Evidence? Of what?"

"Him."

"Him?" You echo in confusion.

"The other guy."

"Other... Bucky? How can you say that?"

"There has to be someone else," he grabs the jewelry box and flings it with a crash. He turns to face you. "You're icing me out."

"I'm not. Bucky, I-- I--" You can't find a single fucking drop of moisture in your head. It stings for him to accuse you and yet it's all locked inside you. "I waited for you. I've been waiting. And I would never-- How could you even think--" You stammer through your anger and hurt. "You-- I thought you knew me."

"I thought I fucking did too," he snorts.

He sidesteps you and you turn to watch him storm out. You step on a book and hear the spine break. You look down as his footfalls hammer downstairs. You bend and pick up the journal you forgot. The one with all the postcards he used to send you while on missions. You thought it was cute back then how old-fashioned he was. He hated texting, but he sent you these cards he found in local shops. They just feel like reminders of what you've lost. It's gone, isn't it?

[nubiawrites]

chapter 3

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. Kissing. Thigh riding. Dry humping. 18+

Summary: Upon finding that the development process of her script moving along, Iriye gets more than one greenlight when Aaron and her go over the script.

Notes: Remember how I said this was a slowburn? It still is but you get a little treat for being patient. If you want to be tagged to be notified, like, reblog or reply to this. Let me know what you think!

MASTERLIST

It had been a trying three weeks, waiting to hear what the studio would say about the latest draft. But Iriye was more worried about what the woman in front of her thought than a bunch of studio execs.

Iriye paced a little as she watched Tamara read the last few pages of the latest draft of the script. For as long as the two had known each other, her friend still reading anything of hers filled her with nerves, excitement, and wonder. Not out of fear but knowing that whatever she wrote was safe with her friend. 

“How do you do it?” Tamara asks, putting the pages down. Iriye smiled at her, shaking her head.

“You’re flattering me too much,” Iriye took a sip of her water, her friend moving to sit up.

“It’s never too much flattering when it comes to you. As someone who remembers the short film scripts you were begging your professor to accept when you had the chance to write anything, I have always known how talented you were and how you would keep growing in that,” Tamara spoke into Iriye. “You are magic. You’re that girl,”

Iriye giggled. “Okay, I believe you. But tell me again, one time for the one time,” She joked. Tamara shook her head. 

“You’re an alien superstar. Especially after all those notes those white people gave,” Tamara shook her head. “That’s two hours of my life I will never get back. Two hours I could have spent looking at self-tapes for actresses,”

“With great power comes great responsibility. RIP Uncle Ben,” Iriye chuckled.

Tamara chuckled just as Nelly came into the office, practically bubbling with excitement.

“We got it!” Nelly practically screamed. “Did you check your email?”

Iriye pulled up her phone and braced herself as she clicked, seeing an email from Davis.

“The execs are very impressed with this draft. We’re sending it over to talent,” Iriye read aloud, the biggest smile taking over her face.

“We going to Hollywood, y’all!” Nelly yelled out. “Let me get the bottle of champagne we’ve been saving,”

“Not so fast! We’re not greenlit yet,” Tamara pointed out before Nelly could run to their mini fridge.

“And you’re not allowed to pop any more bottles within a twelve-foot radius of us. I’m almost lost an eye,” Iriye reminded. “But did you lose one?” Nelly said. “If I can’t do that, what can I do?” 

“You want to send over the script through the studio system to Aaron,” Iriye asked. “I know you love any interaction you can have with him,” She teased.

“You say that like I’m not passing notes between you and him,” Nelly admitted.

“Passing notes?” Tamara chuckled. “I need to hear more,”

Iriye rolled her eyes before settling back on the sofa in Tamara’s office.

“You want the truth or what I'm reading between the lines,” Nelly sat beside Iriye, sending her a playful side-eye.

“Anything you have to say for yourself, Iriye?” Tamara asked. Nelly pretended to hold a mic toward Iriye before the latter swatted it out of her face.

“It’s nothing! He asked for my number when we had lunch,” Iriye mumbled.

“You guys had lunch together? Where the hell was I?” Tamara asked. 

“Having lunch with some film bro,” Nelly shot out. “What? I manage your calendar,”

“It was just the both of us discussing film stuff. He wants to work with us,” Iriye shrugged. “It was friendly but professional. Trust me,”

“Then why did he say in his email to call any time?” Nelly mentioned. “I think you two forgot I was cc’ed on that email,” 

Iriye shook her head. “I’ll go send that script,” she said, trying to leave, but Nelly pulled her back down to sit.

“Aaron is fine. You can admit that right,” Nelly asked.

“She can. She's just trying to be professional,” Tamara chuckled.

“Aaron is handsome. There, I said it,” Iriye huffed, seeing the twinkle in the two other women’s eyes. “And he smells good, too,” She said before she rushed out of the office. Hopefully, that would tire them over, even if she heard Nelly’s calling out the word bitch.

After calling it a short day at the office, Iriye had gone home and spent the rest of her afternoon vibing to music as she looked over other scripts she had put on hold when tackling the feature Lanoire Productions wanted to take on first with their deal. Paradise Lost. A black rom-com with influences of the nineties and two thousand films that bonded Tamra and herself into a sisterhood. It wasn’t a dream deferred any longer. 

Just as Iriye was laughing at a line she wrote in a pilot, her phone began ringing. She looked over to see an unknown number appeared on her screen. Lowering her music, she hit the talk button, preparing to tell them they had the wrong number.

“Hello?” Iriye asked, holding the phone to her ear.

“I’m guessing you didn’t save my number,” Aaron spoke through the phone, his voice running over Iriye like scotch.

“I swore I did,” Iriye lied. She had been distracted, her brain trying to come up with excuses. “Are you calling to give me shit about it?” A deep chuckle rolled through Aaron’s chest, sitting in the seat in his trailer. “I come in peace as I always have. I got the script, and I wanted to see if I could come over to the production office to talk to you about it,”

“Too bad I’m not in the office,” Iriye admitted. “I gave myself the rest of the day off,”

“Good for you,” Aaron stated. “Since I got the script, the execs are ready to go. You should be proud,”

“I am. Thank you,” She said. “But I can’t celebrate until they give us the green light, which means attaching some talent. And from what I’ve heard, you got some competition,”

“Competition? If you don’t want me, say that,” Aaron stated.

“Boy, stop,” Iriye let out. His chuckle rang through the phone. “Shouldn’t you be shooting something right now,”

“Lucky for you, I wrapped for the day,” Aaron said. “I’m about to pack up and head out,”

“Lucky for me?” Iriye rolled her eyes at this man. “How so?”

“Well, I wanted to talk more about the script. I read it during lunch, and I wanted to discuss it some more,” 

Iriye sat up, moving her laptop off of her lap. “You read it during lunch? You must have had a long lunch,”

“I’m a quick reader when something captivates me,” Aaron admitted. “I want to discuss this more because I have so many questions. Maybe I can pick your brain over dinner if you’re up for it,” He asked as he smoothed out his pants leg and waited for her to say something.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m already lounging around. I don’t think I can get myself together to go out,” 

“Then I’ll come to you,” Iriye chuckled at Aaron’s words. “Send your address. I’ll pick something up and bring it over,”

“Aaron,” Iriye breathed, looking at her place. 

“Have you eaten?”

“No,” Iriye admitted.

“Send me your address. And if you have any allergies,”

“I don’t,” Iriye bit her lip. “Check your phone. And honestly, please do not bring anything healthy. I earned it today,”

“Got it, Miss Edwards,” Aaron spoke, his deep voice making Iriye’s stomach nervous. She said goodbye and hung up, her head falling to the back of the couch. 

“What the hell,” Iriye spoke aloud. She moved to get up, figuring he would be here within the hour. Iriye wasn’t playing when she said she had been lounging around, wearing booty shorts, no bra, and a baggy shirt. 

Iriye went to her room and stripped her clothes to change into high-waisted jeans and a concert t-shirt, tucking it into her jeans to make A Victoria Monet concert t-shirt look more hip.

She went to her bathroom, pulling her goddess locs out of her ponytail. She shook her locs out and grabbed her makeup bag, looking in the mirror.  If her mother could see her now, trying to make herself up for some man she hardly knew… she would at least be proud.

Iriye put on some mascara, forgoing foundation because she wasn’t about to do all that for an hour with Aaron. They were going to eat—that was all—eat and talk. She found a lip gloss that was not too much and swiped it on her lips.

She looked at her reflection; her brown skin still looked good from the skincare routine she did earlier after she watched her face. She looked at her foundation; Fenty-four twenty would have to wait.

Iriye quickly swept her place to make sure it looked good, stacking books she had strewn around and fluffing the throw pillows. As she moved to put her shoes on the shoe rack, she nearly tripped over them.

After more nervous tidying up, she went to the little bar cart in her kitchen and decided she needed a shot of something strong to quell the nerves. She grabbed a glass and poured a shot. 

It was a matter of time before there was a knock at her door, and she headed to the door, shaking the nerves out, and opened it. 

“Hey,” Iriye breathed, seeing Aaron standing in her doorway, hoodie and glasses on. He had to lean down some to come into her doorway. 

“Hey,” Aaron put his backpack down, and Iriye took the two takeout bags from him. “I got Chinese. It felt like a safe bet,”

“You made a good choice, Mister Pierre. You might earn that conversation about Paradise Lost after all,”

Iriye placed the bags on her coffee table, trying not to watch as he turned to take his shoes off, his ass hugged nicely by his khaki pants.

I am no better than a man. Iriye headed to the kitchen to grab some forks and plates. When she returned, she saw Aaron pulling out all the take-out containers, so she moved to sit by him.

“Is this all for me?” Iriye joked.

“For us. I didn’t know what you wanted or liked,” Aaron stated. A genuine smile came over her face as she looked at him.

Once they finished their feast, Aaron pulled the script and a journal out as Iriye moved the take-out containers out of the way. 

“I hope you know you’re not getting any of that kung pao chicken leftovers to take home,” She muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” He stated, and Iriye had to ignore the nerves he was causing. Aaron opened his journal as Iriye returned and peeked to see what he had written.

“That’s a lot of notes,” Iriye chuckled. He let her see more of it, and she caught a whiff of cologne again, clearing her throat. He looked over at her, his greyish-green eyes bright and beautiful. “Okay, hit me with it,”

“Isaiah is probably the most raw character I have ever read in a script before,” Aaron started. “His passion. His being. Everything about him… I was hooked within the first few pages. But by the end of Act One, I was rooting for him,”

As he spoke, Iriye was caught in his words about how he could grasp the character entirely. It was hard enough to focus on his actual words when she noticed how sharp his jaw was or the veins on his hands. 

“But this character… he’s so lived in. So real. You really outdid yourself, Iriye,” Aaron praised.

“Thank you,” Iriye felt the wall she was desperately trying to keep up with him coming down a little. But she needed to put some space between them. “You want a drink?” Aaron relaxed back on the couch as she moved away from him.

“Yes, I’ll take whatever you’re drinking,” Aaron said.

Iriye headed to her bar cart and began making them a whiskey sour, feeling like she could kill even more nerves with liquid courage, especially if he were going to seduce her with how insightful he was in talking about Eric and the story of Paradise Lost.

Iriye brought back their drinks, and Aaron thanked her as he took his drink.

“Cheers to you and this getting greenlit,” Aaron held his glass up to hers. She tapped her glass to his and took a sip; the liquor burned, making it slip easily down her throat. 

“Like I told Nelly, we’re not greenlit until talent gets attached, and the execs are cool with it,” Iriye explained. 

“You’ve been saying that for weeks. It’s going to happen, Iriye. I always keep my word,”

Iriye just shook her head at Aaron’s words, watching him take another sip and lick the liquor off his lower lip.

“Can I admit something?” Iriye asked. He nodded. “I went down a rabbit hole of your previous roles,”

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting that,”

“Neither was I, but if anything, Nelly is to blame,” Iriye pointed out. Aaron chuckled. “She sent me a clip from Foe, and I have Prime, so I decided to watch it,” He nodded along, listening to her. “That’s the only one I watched. I didn’t want to get you even more stuck in my head,”

“Can I admit something?” Aaron responded. “Nelly sent me the short films you and Tamara have made. I wanted to know more. So she sent me a few,”

“Of course she did,”

“Nelly is always at the scene of the crime,” Aaron chuckled, Iriye joining in. “But I can tell why she is so passionate for Lanoire. For Tamara. For you. You’re an artist. You care about your work. It’s breathtaking to me. You’re breathtaking to me,”

“Breathtaking on paper. We gotta see it on film now,”

“You will. I already told my team I want to sign on for Paradise Lost,” Aaron stated. 

“Stop playing,” Iriye shook her head, taking another sip of her drink.

“I’m serious, Iriye,” He replied.

Iriye blinked twice at Aaron, looking at her with a slight smirk on his face. His smile grew as Iriye realized he wasn’t joking. She downed the rest of her drink and stood up, needing to pace and calm down.

“You good?” Aaron watched in concern.

Iriye just continued pacing as she heard his words. 

“No, not really,” Iriye stated. Aaron got up and moved to her, stopping her so she could face him. He saw her deep brown eyes, a sense of fear running through them as he moved to cup her cheek, her so aware of his rough hands on her cheeks. “What are you getting out of this?”

“A chance to bring something beautiful you created to life. The script is something I’ve never gotten to do before. To be a part of that would be an honor,” Aaron said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly, and she felt herself calming down.

“You’re nothing like I expected,” Iriye closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and smelling his cologne invading her senses.

“Good,” Aaron tilted her head. Iriye opened her eyes, seeing him staring her down intensely. She was so drawn to him as he surrounded her senses.

Iriye saw the thought flicker across Aaron’s eyes as he looked down at her lips and felt him lean close to her. His head touched hers, her hands traveling up his arms to grasp him.

“Aaron,” Iriye breathed and he pulled her close. “We shouldn’t,”

“We shouldn’t what?” Aaron repeated, tempting her to say it. 

“This… We can’t do this,” Iriye trailed her hands to his on her cheeks. She was trying to find the urge to pull away, but it went all out of the window as he was warm and present with her.

“What’s stopping you?” Aaron brushed his nose against hers softly. “Give me three good reasons,”

“One, you’re tipsy,” Iriye pointed out.

“I only took one sip,” Aaron said, one of his thumbs slowly reaching her chin.

“Two, we don’t know each other well,” Iriye stated, not even caring if his thumb traced over her bottom lip.

“I want to get to know you. I’ve been showing it for the past couple of weeks,” Aaron reminded her. With every email and chance, he had to chat with her. 

Iriye had to keep a clear mind, but it was hard when he was so close to her. Her hands trailed down to his side, resting there to try and focus herself.

“Three, we’re going to be working together now. So, it would be completely unprofessional. A total conflict of interest,” Iriye was trying to stay firm in her decision, but it was going out the window as he pulled her closer. Her body was pressing against all the sinewy muscles that made Aaron.

“It would be wrong,” Aaron nodded. “Does this feel wrong?” He pulled back, his hands moving from her face to her waist, where they stayed politely, brushing against the little sliver of skin between her shirt and jeans.

Iriye was ready to say fuck it so badly. He hadn’t kissed her, frustrating her as much as it turned her on.

“No,” Iriye admitted.

“As much as I want you to kiss me first,” Aaron’s hands went to squeeze the softness of her sides. “I don’t want to compromise your resolve. So if this helps,” He leaned down, and those full bow-shaped lips pressed softly against hers.

Iriye was shocked. How could he be so tender, his lips pressing softly against hers? He was waiting for a reaction because he got one from her. She kissed him back.

The softness that was shared between them was beginning to become intoxicating. Aaron trailed his hands up her arms and placed them around his neck. The movement had her breast pressing against his hard chest, and though she wasn’t trying to make it sexual, a sensual whimper escaped her.

To her surprise, Aaron pulled away first. He took a deep breath as Iriye realized she was in a daze, her arms around his neck. She was about to unwrap herself from him when he stopped her.

“No,” Aaron breathed, the command light on his tongue. He pulled them back to the couch, moving to sit. He pulled his hands off of her body to take his glasses off, setting them on the coffee table. But Aaron again placed his hands on her hips, looking up at her. The hues of his eyes darkened with lust, and she liked it. Liked him having to look up at her from her seated position.

“What do you want right now, Iriye?” He asked her. Talking was too much for Iriye. She needed to show. She let her legs slip between his as he sat on the couch, straddling his thigh some before leaning down. She used one hand to hold onto the back of the couch while the other hand trailed over the nape of Aaron’s neck. She softly dragged her nails and heard a groan vibrate through his chest. “I’m going at your pace,”

“I want… if I do what I want right now, we’re going down a road we can’t come back from,” Iriye whispered. “But I want to. I really want-” Before she could even say another word, Aaron took control and pulled her down till her jean-covered core hit his thigh. “Aaron,” She gasped.

“We’re already here. Trust me, I don’t think I wanna go back now,” Aaron stated. Iriye raised an eyebrow at him. “Take what you want from me,”

Iriye swallowed as she settled onto his thigh. His thigh was muscular and pressing against the seam just right. She gave an experimental rock of her hips, a breathy gasp coming out as Aaron held her hips still in his hands. She felt a bit uncoordinated as she still had one leg pressing between his crotch while the other was on the couch. She paused for a moment, pulling back before she properly straddled him.

“Is this okay?” Iriye let her weight rest on Aaron, and he let out a groan as her center met his. God, it shook her to the core.

“Yeah, much better,” His British accent became more assertive in his voice with those words. Iriye watched him as she rolled her hips forward, seeing the breathy groan he let out. She discovered he was vocal quickly as she began a pace, moving her hips deliberately to see what sounds he made.

When Iriye knew she was doing something right as she ground on Aaron, his hands would flex or grasp her hips.

“Stay right there,” Aaron begged. Her face was pressed against his temple as she ground, the pressure delicious as it caught her clit, and she felt her core growing wet.

“Yes,” Iriye whimpered. His right hand trailed up to cup her ass cheek, and she looked at him shocked. He pushed his hips up against her as he pulled her down onto his throbbing bulge through his khakis.

Iriye had to suppress the cry that left her lips by kissing him, and the two of them began to move their hips in sync, their kisses matching just as close. Her hands moved to cup his neck and cheeks as she worked with him to dry hump him. But there was nothing remotely dry on her side.

Aaron licked the seam of her lips, and Iriye gave him entrance, his tongue licking the roof of her mouth. 

“Shit,” Iriye moaned into his mouth. That movement alone made her wonder what it would feel like to have him doing that to her lower set of lips. He pulled away with a grin.

“It feels good, doesn’t it,” Aaron trailed his lips down her chin and neck. She nodded, letting her nails dig slightly into the nape of his neck. She felt him retaliate with a nip to her neck and her breast pressed into his chest, nipples starting to strain her bra. “God, this isn’t even enough,”

“I know,” Iriye moaned, riding Aaron a little faster as she wanted to chase the feeling deep inside her. One that would quell her momentarily with a release. Aaron kept up with her pace, cupping her ass cheek harder as he moved her more.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?”Aaron grunted against her neck. Iriye nodded. “Take it. I know you want to. Use me,” He leaned back, studying her face. He wanted to take in every sign of her impending pleasure. Seeing he was serious, Iriye rolled her hips even faster. 

Aaron’s moans and groans just served to turn Iriye on even more, especially feeling his bulge against her core. She rode him harder, her clit catching on the inseam of her jeans, and she pressed her head into his neck as she felt the telltale signs. She was close and about to cum in her jeans from dry humping. As immature as it probably was, this was the hottest thing to happen with the opposite sex and her in a while.

“Just like that, Iriye,” Aaron groaned. 

“Aaron…” Aaron gripped Iriye’s ass harder and whined. It took him lifting and gripping her ass so close to her core, causing her to cry out, her body shaking as she came. She didn’t even have time to cry out fully as Aaron pressed his lips against hers and ate up every single whimper and moan. She was sensitive, but he helped her by keeping moving till the waves subsided and the tingle in her stomach subsided.

Iriye felt the kisses Aaron and her share become pecks and his length hard against his pants. 

“Fuck,” Iriye said as she realized he didn’t get off. “I didn’t mean to be selfish,”

“I wanted you too,” Aaron said, his voice deep and strained. She kissed him again before hiding her face on his shoulder.

As the haze of lust came down from her, Iriye had to ask her: What the hell did I just do?

@bluewatersfairy @coquitobby @honeysilkandcinnamon @insaneevanity @meleekabenjamin @theogbadbitch @slowlysteadycoffee @ashanti-notthesinger @thisbeautifullifeofmeandyou @mysticalbiscuitalien3 @irishmanwhore @alonahh @grooveoftiro @gabriellalover @ovohanna24 @ticalsstallion @strawberrymoon45 @hi888888sworld @msuncensered @yurfavdealer @honeys-archives @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theunsweetenedtruth @blackpinup22 @niggaronnn @aritannahrocks1300 @htnqueen305 @333symone @appelle-moi-si-tu-te-perds-numb6 @bombshellbre95 @wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hi!

I’m wondering if I could request a sanjixreader about the reader taking a hit that was meant for Sanji but he didn’t realize, yet the reader kept fighting? I’ll leave the ending up to you.

Thank you, and I hope it’s ok

Keep fighting x Black Leg Sanji ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

i'm really sorry for the amount of time this request took me?? it had been sitting in my drafts FOREVER and I kinda forgot about it I am so DEEPLY SORRY. this was so fun the to write and literally one of my favourite requests ever, so I hope this matches your expectation and that it would be worth the wait!! thank you for being patient with me. hope you enjoy this <;33 +1k words | gender neutral | mention of needles? | usual one piece violence. feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

A soft breeze blew out Sanji's burning cigarette, brushing through his blonde hair almost revealing his left eye. There was no way he could have survived the next attack - he was exhausted from the battle, his enemy being the strongest he had ever met before. Trying to take a puff from the cigarette he kept holding between his lips, Sanji wanted to taste nicotine one last time. As death approached him, all he wanted was the bittersweet company of his dearest friend; he wanted to feel his lungs being hugged by the warm smoke entering his airways, like a mother holds her child. That was it - he didn't have any strength left. Maybe that stupid marimo was right all along, maybe his captain deserved a stronger wing by his side.

Sanji stood still in the middle of the battlefield, waiting for his final act. He kept his eyes closed, his mind wondering what could have been if only he had a better father, if only he didn't let everyone down.

"Wake up, you useless cook!"

Was this death? Did Zoro follow him into the afterlife? No, no. It couldn't be.

"Sanji!"

Zoro screamed again, the metal sound of his swords almost serving as a background melody for the horrors of the battle. Passing an hand through his hair, Sanji noticed he wasn't bleeding - he wondered where was the headache coming from. Running his hands over his body, he noticed how he didn't feel any excruciating pain: no broken bones, no bleeding. Yet he passed out - maybe he just overestimated his enemy; maybe, he underestimated himself. Finally regaining conscience, Sanji looked around the battlefield - and a part of him wished he never did.

Your figure was moving swiftly on the battlefield, but your attacks were slower, weaker than usual. All you could do now was avoid any fatal blow, trying to recover from the one you just received. It didn't take long for Sanji to notice how you were covered in blood, your usual combat style being impeded by the metal piece stabbed in your leg, crossing your limb from one end to the other.

Biting his bottom lip, Sanji lit another cigarette. He was furious, rage galloping through his veins and giving him a rush of adrenaline he never felt before. He felt his muscles tighten, full of a strength he didnt believe he possessed - you protected his life with yours, using your own body as a shield. How could he be so weak? How dare he put you in so much danger? A sea of emotions flooded Sanji's thoughts; he was proud of you and your strength, yet he was scared, frustrated - mad at how he failed to protect you. His eyes were filled of admiration and worry - you endured a critical hit yet you kept fighting.

"Let me."

Sanji was quick to step in, putting his body between you and your enemy. Winking at you with the sexiest smirk painted on his lips, Sanji finally put an end to the battle you both had been fighting for too long. Before he could realise it, you were already lying on the floor unconscious, exhausted from the battle and all the wounds you endured.

The next thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a torchlight, pointed directed at your pupils. Too confused to follow the light as Chopper just ordered you, you tried to stand up. An heavy hand on your shoulder stopped you from moving, forcing you to lay on the mattress.

"Not so fast, mon coeur."

A familiar voice finally said, the French accent in his words revealing his identity straight away. You smiled weakly, realising the hand on your shoulder was Sanji's. Sighing, you stayed still whilst Chopper finished his job. You were full of bandages and stitches, an IV drip connected to your arm.

"Was it really that bad?"

You whined, when Chopper finally closed his medical kit bag. You saw the reindeer nod, dragging one of his little hoof onto his face.

"You're lucky to still have your leg!"

Chopper whined, frustrated with the way you were minimising your injury. Tears started forming in his tiny eyes, making you nod and fall silent - you knew he was genuinely worried and he was probably right about it.

When Chopper finally left the room, you felt Sanji slowly sitting down on the side of the bed, your mattress slowly sinking.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Sanji finally says. His tone is calm and full of worry, yet his words stung like salt on an open cut. His hand slowly reached your face, caressing your cheeks, his fingertips delicately tickling your skin. Biting your tongue, you hold back your explanations - he probably knows you were only trying to protect him, yet he was ready to scold you like a little child. You were fine, injured but alive. And you would do it again if you had to - protecting the love of your life from a potentially fatal blow? You would do it again in an heart beat.

"I love you."

These three words slip out of Sanji's mouth in a whisper, almost as if he didn't want to let them go. But now they were out in the open, filling the hospital room you were lying in.

"I love you and I want you to stay alive."

Sanji reiterated, clearing his throat. The words almost got stuck in his throat - flashback of the battles coming to him again in a blur. Seeing you collapsed on the floor, covered in blood with countless wounds all over your body. It was too much to take. He always thought nothing could scare him anymore, he always thought that there couldn't be a bigger pain than the one his father inflicted on him. But that was before this, it was before almost losing the love of his life because he wasn't strong enough.

"I love you too, stupid cook. I love you and will stay alive to save your ass." You giggled, causing him to blush. Sanji stared at you for a second, the softest of smiles forming on his lips before he leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. You were safe, you were his.

[notsoattractivearenti]

Golf Practice (Mason Mount x Reader)

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: sexually suggestive language, cursing (minors be warned)

A/N: even tho i didn't know anything about golf, i wrote this just cuz i can't resist golfer!mase (i did some research and still don't get golf lmao). also this has been sitting on my draft for a while and i forgot to post it ���� hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 💗 this was not proofread so apologies for any errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍

—

“Y/N, are you ready?”

“Wait, wait,” you fixed your shirt, grabbed your golf cap – which Mason just bought for you recently just for this occasion – and put on your shoes.

You closed and locked the bedroom door. “Okay, let’s go.”

Mason took a good look at you and couldn’t stop himself from complimenting you.

“My God, Y/N,” he gulped, “you are so fucking sexy.” 

“Oh pfft,” you tried to cover the fact that he instantly made you blush, “just keep your pants on, mister.”

“Seriously though, I really mean what I say!” He laughed.

“You look so good it’s almost hard to resist.” He continued.

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, can we please just go???” You insisted.

“Okay, okay, off we go then.”

He grabbed the car keys then playfully slapped your butt before he sprinted his way to the car.

“Wha- Mason!” You gasped.

—

You and Mason finally arrived at the golf course. You have never been to one before, and you were a little bit stunned when you saw how big the course was.

“Mase… I thought we were going to like, smaller golf course or something.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what made you think that but this is the place I usually play with the lads.”

“And now you’re just playing… With me?”

He laughed at your question.

“Duh, this is a date, no?”

“Yeah…” You scratched your head. “I mean, I feel like this is way too big for just us. Also you know I’ve never played golf before and this kind of makes me nervous.”

Mason then leaned in and kissed you on the top of your head.

“Don’t be nervous, my love. We’re here to just simply have fun... I will teach you if you want.” He softly assured you.

You knew it was just for fun, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit – no, not a bit, very – competitive. You’re aware you can be a sore loser sometimes, and though Mason has seen that side of you a few times, you still didn’t want to be a pain in the ass when losing especially on a sport you have not even one clue about.

“Okay, but you know I still want to win, right?” You bluntly told him.

“Of course.” He nodded and smiled.

“But just so you know, I’m so good at this you probably have little to no chance of winning this time, Y/L/N.” He said smugly.

“Oh, it’s on like a prawn who yawns at dawn, Mount.”

—

The entire time, Mason was the one driving the golf cart. You both were chatting away while your eyes were wandering around the course.

“Imagine having a course this big in your backyard,” you said to yourself, “pretty hard to maintain, I assume.”

“I mean, you sure can pay people to take care of it.” Mason chimed in.

“Yeah, if I have the money to pay them.” You shook your head.

“If you have a golf course in your backyard, then you must definitely have tons of money beforehand, Y/N!” He laughed.

“Do you see our future house with a golf course, hun?” You asked him.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He answered. “But I want a small football pitch more, though.”

“Yes, that sounds more like us. I like that idea as well.” You agreed to him.

“I would love to practice with our kids there one day. That would be great, right Y/N?”

You smiled. You do love the idea of playing football with your future little family in the backyard one day.

“Sounds wonderful.”

—

“Okay, I’ll go first.” Mason said as he took two golf clubs from the bag, then handed one for you.

“Watch how I play closely, yeah?”

“Mmm, gladly.” You responded jokily, as you stood slightly behind him.

This time, you made him blush. He shook his head and cleared his throat, then fixed his posture before making a move.

“Nice butt, by the way.” You teased him.

“Y/N!” He briefly tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes. “Focus, please.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” you giggled, “go on baby.”

He got into position and swung the club. You both then carefully watched where the ball landed.

“Alright, that’s my mark,” Mason pointed out at where the ball was, “try to hit your ball further if you can.”

“But I doubt you can.” He sarcastically murmured.

“Uh, I heard that!”

You then walked back to the initial spot and tried to imitate Mason’s posture before swinging the ball.

“Mase, is this correct?” You asked.

“Hmm, not quite.” He replied.

“Is it alright if I stand behind you to help?” He politely asked – a real gentleman he is.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You agreed. “Just try not to get hard, yeah?”

He immediately snorted and laughed.

“I’ll take my chances.” He funnily responded back.

He stood right behind you and started helping fix your posture until it felt right.

“Don’t hold back while swinging. Put your full strength on it.” He suggested.

“Like this?”

You gave yourself a try at swinging the golf club. You didn’t see it but you almost hit him on the head with the club.

“Whoop, careful!” He put down the club. “Here, I’ll guide you.”

He put his arms around yours and carefully guided you the right way to swing. With him gently helping you this close, you couldn’t exactly pay good attention to what he was trying to teach you. 

“This feels so intimate.” You blurted it out.

He chuckled.

“Focus, Y/N. You want to win, no?”

You nodded. My God, I love it when he is in this serious mode, you thought to yourself. The truth was you started to feel slightly turned on, but you were trying to resist your urge since you also genuinely wanted to learn how to play golf – you were basically fighting for your life. You were supposed to learn and practice with your “personal coach” but your mind was filled with filthy thoughts about the things you wanted your boyfriend – who was guiding you through your first-ever golf game at the moment – to do to you.

“Y/N, are you still with me?”

Whoops, you just realized you were so caught up with your thoughts you were spaced out for a bit – and of course Mason noticed.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Sorry.”

After a few tries, you told Mason you finally felt ready to take your first swing. He stepped back and cheered you on.

“Let’s go my love!”

You got into position then tried to swing your golf club, but you failed to hit the ball. Both you and Mason suddenly burst into laughter.

“Y/N, you’re the prettiest but what a terrible golfer you are!” Mason made fun of you.

“Shut up Mase! That was only the first try!” You defended yourself.

You gave it another try, this time you did hit the ball but it was definitely not a good shot. The ball only landed around 30 centimeters across from you – you didn’t hit the ball hard enough and obviously, Mason’s was way further.

“Fuck!” You yelled in frustration.

“That’s fine, baby, you’re fine!” Mason rubbed your shoulders and kissed your head. “Well done nevertheless.”

—

At the end of the game, it was clear that Mason won. You don’t like to lose, no, but you were totally fine losing to him since golfing was very new to you. But for someone who could be very impatient most times, golf actually helped you exercise your patience even for a tiny bit. At the beginning, you repeatedly expressed a lot of frustration especially when the ball didn’t get into the hole, but slowly you learned how to be more calm and eventually after a few rounds less swear words came out of your mouth. Also, having a cute, hot date did make it a lot more fun.

Mason was happy to beat you but he lowkey wanted you to win – just because he loves to see you win. He never thought you would agree on a golf date, knowing you have never played before or have never shown any interest in the sport. He initially thought of doing miniature golf with you, but somehow he changed his mind and brought you to an actual golf course instead. He even bought you a brand new golf cap merely because he got so excited to go golfing with you. He also really enjoyed helping you practice, he thought it was the best thing that happened today.

“This was so fun, my love. Thanks for doing this with me.” He said at the end of the date.

He then gave you a quick kiss on your lips.

“Fun for you, meh for me.” You playfully rolled your eyes.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” He bragged.

“Mmhm, I’ll give it to you this time. Next time, I’m going to beat your ass.” You said to him.

He grinned widely and patted your head.

“Sure, kid. Looking forward to the next one. And the other next ones.”

—

Now back at home, after you changed your clothes you saw Mason sitting at the backyard, cleaning the used golf clubs before storing them. You decided to join him there – you quietly approached him then hugged him from behind. He was a little surprised – even jumped out of his seat a little – when you did that but he tried to hide it from you.

“I knew you were coming, I can smell your perfume from afar.” This was his attempt to save his face.

“Oh I believe you.” You giggled as you kissed his cheek.

“You know, Mase,” you gently caressed his arm and seductively whispered into his ear, “I would very much love it if you smash me like you smashed the golf balls today.”

His eyebrow was raised quickly and he immediately turned his head towards you.

“Oh, really?”

You smirked.

“Mmhmm… Consider that as your prize for today.”

“Yeah? Do you really want me to uh, “smash” you as hard as I did to those balls?” He bit his lip as he teased you.

“Harder.” You emphasized.

“Well, since you asked for it…” Mason stood up, picked you up then started kissing your neck and lips, “it is my duty to deliver.”

—

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover

[spacesymbol]

heyyyyy. crazy month and a half, am i right? 😅

my sincerest apologies for the truckload of reblogs.... plus even more sincere apologies if i reblogged a very old post of yours that you forgot about 😭

ive had those sitting in my drafts for a WHILE so that they wouldnt get drowned in my likes.... but i have some weird mental hangup about posting here without also posting a Life Update..... but i kept procrastinating actually writing a Life Update..... so here we are!!

anyways. that being said. LIFE UPDATE TIME!!!!! (no cut since theres actually some very important stuff in here)

first and somewhat foremost, i submitted SEVEN college applications exactly a month ago. for context, my entire applying list (as of right now) is only nine schools. and i procrastinated SO HARD on the application materials.... it was soooo bad. basically mid october to early november was the most stressed i have ever felt in recent memory 😁👍 and i coped with it soooo well, as i historically always do (sarcasm)

the fall play(s) also recently came and went!!! the rehearsal process wasnt that bad, it was moreso just anxiety provoking since i was constantly saying "yeah it (the show) will come together eventually" even when opening night was a few days away... but the show(s) did come together!! at least, my two scenes did. i honestly can't speak for anyone else, but my scenes both went fine during all three performances with minor errors, if any

although, the week of performances and the last few days of tech was so very brutal. i had to be in the theater until 8pm or later every single day of that week (november 18th to the 23rd), which meant i was in school for over twelve hours each school day. i had to put a lot of things on the backburner to focus on the show (and not losing my mind) that week, and schoolwork was one of them.... so i am currently once again in overdue assignments hell. my classes have been fine other than that though!!!

my mental, emotional, and physical health also definitely have been on the backburner for a WHILE now.... a wonderful example is how i havent seen my therapist in two months now, and for context, im supposed to see her once a week!!! so im clearly doing fine (sarcasm). its weird though, the play honestly wasnt that distressing for me, since i had already hit mental rock bottom earlier that month because of college applications

my physical health has also Not Been Good at all.... one of my scenes in the play (the gay one) involved a shit ton of stage falls.... and our stage is made of polished wood. we took all the necessary precautions to protect my bad knee (knee pads), but that didnt do much to prevent the ridiculous amount of bruising all over my body that i still have a week after the final show.....

eating has also been Bad. but i wont go into details about that 🫶 ive been able to keep having regular appointments with my dietitian, so genuinely dont worry about that. i will be fine!!

ive also been like. mentally checked out for a while, i guess. like i mentioned, ive been doing some research into dissociative disorders and symptoms to get more clarity on if im a system or not (which i do have an answer on btw), and i think the best term to describe it is depersonalization?

and uh. okay this is actually really important. about the system thing, i came to the conclusion after a LOT of research and self reflection that i do not think i am (or ever was) a plural system. i dont think i should post the entire esaay i wrote on how i came to this conclusion (because i dont think most of you want to read all that). but if any mutuals want, i am MORE than happy to dm the whole explanation, since i know it might raise some eyebrows that i suddenly dont identify that way anymore

however, the tldr is that im pretty sure i have dissociative amnesia instead, because i never once experienced amnesia between the personas that i thought were alters, and these personas were never really that separate from me, moreso extensions of me in terms of personality, if that makes sense. there were also some.... quirks of how my "system" operated that also made me suspicious, like how i was basically always frontstuck, and how my "frequent fronters" ALWAYS aligned with my interests at the time. i honestly think that i only arrived at the conclusion that i was a system in the first place because of the environment i was in at the time (the majority my friends at the time had the system realization and were talking about it), and the fact that no one ever really questioned me being one. which im NOT saying that i wish people had, since thats rightfully a very rude thing to do, but i definitely would have benefited from someone kindly calling all that into question, yknow?

the biggest takeaway though, should be that i didnt know until very recently. there is a world of difference between intentionally lying about being a system, and unknowingly being wrong about being a system. the MOMENT i started to suspect that i was wrong, i made it known here (in the previous Life Update) and on twitter, and i refrained from using any system terminology for myself until i came to a definitive conclusion, which i only did recently. additionally, i recently removed the system section from my pronouns dot cc, and my simplyplural account is still up, but obviously not in use

ummm. other personal updates.... im hopefully going to start legal and medical transition soon?? my stepsister (also trans) has been pushing my mom and stepdad for it as a result of the election, which sparks the conversation for me by extension

as you can probably tell by the majority of the recent reblogs, the release of season 2 reawakened my dormant arcane hyperfixation 😭 it somehow came back even stronger??? if any of you happen to remember my jayvik posting from november 2021, you deserve a spacesymbol elders discount....

what else..... oh um!!!! i had an awesome joe cool (snoopy) costume for halloween this year that i made extremely last minute :)

okay. okay!!!!!!! in terms of the future!!!! im on thanksgiving break right now until this tuesday and the break is Extremely welcome.... the spring musical (aka my final high school theater show) has already been announced, and its curtains, which should be exciting, but i dont have to think about that for a While....

in terms of like Immediately upcoming things, my schools robotics team has our first qualifier coming up so im gonna have to lock in on preparing for that soon.... for college stuff, i should be getting two decisions fairly soon (one from my early decision school and one from a rolling deadlines school), and i have two more applications for early january, but all i really have to do for them is finish writing their supplements..... so HOPEFULLY i should be slightly more active on here??? i feel like every time i say that i end up jinxing myself for inactivity, though. so honestly, who knows!!! but i dont really have as much of a Pressing Reason to not be active here, i guess

thats all.... jesus fuck i wrote a lot. my bad!!! no wonder i procrastinated writing this GODDAMN!!!!

[saeyoungs-angel]

⨳​ slip up — mystic messenger

starring. 707 & you

plot. seven's usually an expert at keeping things hidden, so when he slips up, it's hard to backtrack.

genre. fluff, secret relationship

cw. 707's real name is used, cursing, mentions of non-consent (doesn't happen), written in female perspective

notes. new theme! this is from drafts but its been edited and redone a bit, hope u like it:)

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

𓆩☆𓆪

“—and then if i put this in brackets, it makes a command! cool, right princess?” saeyoung turns to you, golden eyes swimming with excitement. he was so enthralled in breaking down game coding, he completely glanced over your stare of adoration.

“the coolest! i love when you talk like a dork.” you beam up at your boyfriend from beside him, shoulders brushing with every movement. he frowns at your admission, not picking up on the tone your voice carries.

he pouts, jutting out his bottom lip, “are you making fun of me?” his mumble is laced in faux sadness, a laugh escaping you. “no, sorry.—” you calm yourself before continuing on, slipping your hand in his for reassurance.

“—that probably sounds rude, but i mean it sincerely. i have a soft spot for when you talk so happily about the things you like.” your face grows hot as the confession feels awkward coming out, your eyes now trained on your hands playing with his.

theres a pause, then, “okay, you win.” his words are quiet as you glance up to find him facing away from you, ears tinted with a blush of his own.

now you're both a blushing mess sitting on your couch, side by side so that he can share his computer screen with you.

“i never intended to lose.” you tease, poking his chest with a smirk as he gently swats your hand away. you relax, noticing the gap between your faces has been cut down immensely—you can feel his breath just above your lips, his hands now sliding down to grip your waist.

his lips ghost over your own, your heart leaps, you go to connect them until—

creak

you both rush to separate, “who's that?!” saeyoung shouts in a whisper, now on the other side of the couch. your eyes are unbelievably wide, there's no doubt you're both still as red as his hair.

you panic out a reply, “party meeting, i forgot it was today!” you both communicate quietly as to not raise suspicion.

“hello..?” the voice from the hallway peaks around the corner, revealing jaehee in her casual work attire, clipboard in hand with a few random papers.

you struggle to smile her way, glancing at saeyoung to catch him frowning lightly in his seat, attention back to his laptop with an apparent blush still adorning his cheeks.

jaehee hesitates a bit, smoothing out her shirt in attempt to avert her eyes. “sorry, am i interrupting something? i think your doorbell is broken..”

your door slams back open, loud pairs of footsteps following the intrusion. zen pops his head in before springing into the room frantically as yoosung follows, left to shut the door.

with wide eyes and a scheming smile, he points an accusatory finger in the direction of the couch you're both sitting on.

“ah-ha! they were fucking!”

everyone sighs at his familiar antics, jaehee and yoosung taking their seats respectively as zen continues to jump to conclusions in the front of the hallway.

“oh my god, zen. not again.” you groan, flopping back onto the cushion behind you, exasperation weighing on you at almost being caught red-handed.

you sit back up as yoosung gives you a ‘don't mind him’ look, gathering his rough draft of guests he intends to offer up. you turn back to saeyoung, wanting nothing more than to comb your fingers through his unruly vermilion hair or readjust his glasses for him. instead of giving into your desires though, you dare to ask—

“hey, luciel. you're gonna help too, right?”

saeyoung pauses his feverish typing, throwing you a glare at your audacity as you mouth a ‘sorry’ his way with a smile. first you tease him, then friends show up and he can't even kiss you! how inconsiderate, don't you know how flustered he is right now?

jaehee senses the tension flouting about, still shuffling her notes as she glances at saeyoung in a nagging manner. “he never helps,—”

the slam of his laptop startles the group, silence befalling the mild ambience that once had a grip on the living room.

“fine.” the redheads tone is sharp but playful, causing jaehee to grow an expression of shock.

“—i stand corrected..” she mumbles, retracting her previous statement as zen's mind begins wandering angrily.

he snickers, staring saeyoung down as he interrupts the grateful smile you throw to the hacker. “why do you only ever do work when she asks? pervert.” zen crosses his arms as half of the room lets out another agitated groan.

saeyoung laughs spitefully, “that's rich, coming from mister ‘all men are wolves’.—” you try to suppress your laugh, causing zen to deadpan at you both.

“—keep your stereotypes to yourself, since you're the one they apply to, pervert.” saeyoung knows he's won once zen goes quiet, only grumbles of profanities left in the wake.

“boys boys, you're both pretty.” you comment, sarcasm lacing your voice as you dismiss their feud with a hand motion. “don't forget why we're all here right now, let's work.”

a few hours of spouting potential guests and possible themes goes by smoothly, casual conversation flowing in-between suggestions. you've all been hard at work for quite awhile, so you suggest a break, everyone agreeing instantly.

you walk back to where your guests are sat and pass them their respective drinks, some wanting coffee and some wanting water or soda. as you hand your significant other his drink last, he smiles brightly up at you.

“thank you, pr—” his eyes widen, correcting himself in a flustered manner. “—pray for me! sorry, i think i'm sick.” he quickly tries to dismiss his weird behavior to the group.

yoosung frowns, tilting his head with innocence, “why, what's wrong?” his voice is clueless as you and saeyoung sigh in unison, jaehee not paying a bit of attention as she continues to work.

zen on the other hand, is not having it.

“poor, naive yoosung.. he was obviously gonna call her princess, you idiot!” zen's tone is incredulous as he cannot understand how the blond believes such things. yoosung furrows his brows, scolding zen with a deep frown etched on his face.

“zen! stop it, it could be serious.”

zen shoots up from his seat, scowling at the redhead across from him. “i know you're dating, just give it up already!” his patience becoming paper thin as saeyoung only smirks in his direction.

“prove it.”

a sinister smile creeps on zen's features, his sharp red eyes landing on you now sitting on the other side of the couch. “okay, i'm gonna kiss her cheek then.”

your boyfriend stiffens, not anticipating such bold statements from the actor before managing to regain his composure.

he glances from you to zen with a disgusted look, “unconsensually? that's gross, so i'll have to stop you anyways.” his words are casual and calm, but on the inside he's panicking. what if zen surprises you and you don't have time to stop him? he'd hate having to witness that.

zen crosses his arms with confidence, “she never said she didn't want it.”

“she never said otherwise, either..” saeyoung mumbles, lowly enough for zen to miss it.

you raise your hand like a student with a question, your face flushed at the conversation at hand. “i don't—”

you're interrupted by the silver-haired loud mouth, zen beginning to bicker with your boyfriend again. you decide to go back to work, feeling as if zen wouldn't actually do such a thing without asking first.

“—hey!” you're yanked to saeyoung's side of the couch at his shout, looking between them to see zen leaning over your previous spot with a cocky smile and saeyoung looking agitated.

“what was that, seven? you seem pretty protective over her.” your skin crawls at the knowing tone in his voice, causing saeyoung to grasp your arm tighter before he lets go and stands up from his seat to face zen.

the redhead taps on his soda can in loathing for a certain someone, imitating a speech preparation. “i have an announcement!—”

everyone but you waits eagerly, even jaehee has placed her papers on the coffee table to listen. the silence builds until saeyoung places his can down and motions for you to come stand next to him, wrapping his arms around you from the side affectionately.

“—this girl right here? mine.” he clarifies, the situation from before causing jealousy to bubble up inside him just a bit. he should know zen wouldn't go that far, but that doesn't stop him from feeling what he feels.

zen pumps his fist in the air at finding himself to be correct as yoosung's jaw hangs open, jaehee already expecting it as she swiftly picks her papers back up. zen carries a smug smile towards the boy that now holds you directly at his side before plopping back down, you and saeyoung following.

“i knew it, i knew it!” he exclaims, loud enough to earn an elbow to the side from yoosung.

your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, ruffling your hair as you sit comfortably in his lap from the side. “yeah, yeah. so hands off, you nosy motherfucker.”

zen only laughs, finally feeling more at peace with the confirmation he was waiting for. “easy, dude. i knew you'd grab her.”

the actor claps his hands together, rubbing them up and down as if waiting for extra drama. “so i was right, you guys were fucking?”

“go stare at yourself in the mirror some more, douche.”

“gladly.” a smirk sprouts on zen's face, wider than before at the friendly banter he and your boyfriend are sharing.

𓆩☆𓆪

feedback is extremely meaningful!

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[supportivespaceforsurvivors]

is this Devyn's blog?

hey anon, i'm sorry it took me so long to respond to this; between insomnia, work, my birthday, and other personal issues (along with accidentally deleting my initial response in a sleep-deprived lapse of judgement..), i've been pretty low on energy - but hopefully i'll be feeling better soon?

as for your question, it isn't a complete yes or no answer. yes, Devyn is a mod on this blog, and yes, he posts a lot; but nobody 'owns' this blog. all mods are equals; both in the literal sense that we all have to have administrator privileges in order to answer asks, and also that we rely on each other to help with anything we post. we're all human, and as such, we know that we have weaknesses and blindspots; as a team, we talk to each other to help smooth over some of those wrinkles to help y'all the best ways that we can - so even when one specific person's name is put on a post, more often than not, we have all contributed in some way. the reason that Devyn answers things more often than the rest of us is because he simply has a lot more time and energy than the rest of us do, and trying to write a whole response ourselves can be exhausting when you are already low on energy; but conveying our thoughts or opinions to each other for someone else to weave into a post takes a lot less energy. as such, the rest of us on the mod team really appreciate that Devyn is able to answer more often! its not that Devyn is more committed or holds more power than the rest of the mods, just that he's been more available to answer things recently.

and as a side note: we got another ask somewhat along this line of thought, but it mentioned the name of someone who made personal posts on their personal blog - and since i don't want to risk 'calling them out' (for lack of a better term), i don't feel comfortable posting that ask, so i'm adding my response to it here.

i want to start off by saying, we do appreciate when people bring up concerns that they have! giving us feedback on things that might make you uncomfortable or bother you helps us learn how to better help y'all. without feedback, we kinda just assume that we're doing alright - so encourage anyone to give us constructive feedback (i.e., dont just say something like "i dont like [thing] about mod x, fix it" - give us suggestions on how to best fix it!) if something we do bothers you! we wont be upset; you mentioning how we can better help you means that you do care about us, and we would never get upset at y'all for that. and, as such, we do really appreciate that you brought up your issues with us! genuinely our only issue was the fact a specific person was named (which really isnt even an issue - telling us who made the posts helped us find the posts, since we hadnt previously known about them) and we just don't want to inadvertently cause problems for them. we really dont think you had meant to purposefully cause strife, so please dont think we're upset with you!

as for your ask, i get why you would feel that way. Devyn tends to answer a lot and doesn't cushion his answers as much as some of us do, but it isn't due to him not caring or simply wanting the inbox empty - Devyn does care a lot about answering things well, he just prefers to get to the point rather than writing out giant walls of text. rather than try to explain things for Devyn, i'm gonna let him finish up the post by explaining his method for answering asks - i dont want to accidentally say anything that isnt true, but i can guarentee that Devyn does care. if he didn't care, he wouldn't still be here - he does care for all of you, and he does want to help! if he didn't, he wouldn't be putting in the effort that he has been to change how he responds to things in a way that won't upset or trigger people, and he wouldn't put in the effort to try and get input from the rest of us mods. please, do let us know if there's anything else we can do moving forward to help things feel less bad for you. we don't want anyone to feel like they cant be helped or that we dont care for them.

mod berry 💗

---

Hey anon.

I wanted to make sure I also answered this in case you were looking for an answer from me directly.

Originally I had a few paragraphs here essentially echoing what Berry said, but it felt too repetitive and I ended up cutting it out.

We had another ask that we mentioned we're tacking the response to on here. I'm going to copy-paste some of the text from it for context since y'all obviously haven't (and won't) see it, so that my response makes sense:

[...] we wrote in and got a quick response from Devyn whereas previously we got really detailed responses from other mods. It felt like Devyn just sees it as a rush to clear the inbox and not work with other mods. And now this blog feels like his exclusively.

I want to start by saying I understand how how I was pretty much the only one who answered anything during September made you feel like this blog is mine exclusively, but I assure you that's not the case - it just happened to be a particularly shitty month for all the mods here. While those issues haven't disappeared, we should have more availability to answer asks currently.

Secondly, something I think will be helpful is if I walk you through the process of how I answer an ask. I was going to use this one to do that and then proceeded to get distracted and forgot and answered it, so here's a fake example ask. Let's say this ask comes in:

Let's say the question is something any of us can answer easily, like, "How many followers do you have?" That's an easy question and we can all look at our follower count and give you a number. So I click answer.

I always start answering genuine asks with some sort of greeting. Usually "Hey anon," is my go-to. Then the answer. "Oh, we have this many." Then I'll end with a well-wish and my name. Easy enough.

I think part of the issue is that if people ask yes or no questions (like "is my trauma valid?") I'd rather say something short in response, like, "Yes, your trauma is valid regardless of what it is," and sign my name than waste our readers' time and my breath answering with extra words. I just don't see the point in using more words than I need to. I try very hard to make it clear, especially in shorter responses, that I'm not trying to be hostile and am actively aware of my tone. Some answers have more words in them because I always try to make sure to explain what I feel could be misunderstood and that's not always easily done in one or two sentences.

Another thing that might be part of the issue is that Berry, for example, tends to answer asks by grouping paragraphs after which they hit enter only once, and I hit enter twice to start a new paragraph. That doesn't mean Berry's answer has any more actual content in it than mine does, it just might look like that because the format ends up looking more dense in Berry's answer.

Anyway, if someone feels like they want to answer a certain ask but doesn't have the spoons, they can save it with their name to the drafts, which is where a lot of our unpublished asks live. It's like the purgatory of the ask box, because sometimes I put an ask there and sometimes I only think about it. 😬

Asks that go to our drafts aren't ignored, that's just sort of a transition period. If the ask is slightly more complicated, we usually discuss it first in the mod Discord - which you guys obviously can't see. Sometimes if we collaborate on an ask, whoever sees it in the ask box first is the one who ends up answering it, but not always. But we usually just sign those with a single name for sake of ease. If we put all the names of all the mods who contributed any thought to an ask, most of them would have all of our names on them. Also, it's not necessarily accurate to sign my name to an ask if all I'm commenting on is the tone of an ask. Sure, I technically contributed, but I didn't say anything helpful.

If multiple people have thoughts on an ask, usually what we do is one person answers it and the others reblog with their thoughts. This ask is an exception because last time we answered an ask specifically about me that way, it escalated the situation, and we're trying to avoid that.

If none of us know how to answer an ask, we'll usually publish it for our followers' input after a week. I try to follow up about asks that are in drafts pretty often, so usually they don't sit there for a month, but like we've said multiple times, this month has been a bit of an outlier for all of us.

So essentially what I'm saying is that just because you don't see active ask collaboration happening doesn't mean it's not. It all happens in the Discord and, unless you're also a mod in our server, you're not going to see that discussion happening.

Hopefully this helps with the misunderstandings.

Mod Devyn

[omgjasminesimone]

The Hot Exchange Student Part 5

Logan x MC (Ellie)

Previous Part: Part 4

Author’s Note: Final part! Thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, and reblogged this story! And happy RoDAW Epilogue day! What an appropriate time to conclude this story.

Rating: Implied NSFW at the end

Summary: Ellie graduates from high school and makes decisions for her future.

Word Count: ~3000

18 months later:

Ellie wakes up to the sound of her phone buzzing. She rolls over, blindly groping for the phone on her nightstand. She struggles to pick it up. “Logan?” She asks sleepily.

“What? No, it’s Riya. Where are you?” Her best friend asks, Ellie can hear a lot of commotion in the background through the phone. “Graduation is about to start!”

Ellie’s eyes fly open. She’d completely forgotten about her high school graduation for a moment. “Crap! I’ll be right there!”

Ellie hurriedly gets dressed in her cap and gown, hastily brushing her teeth as she fights with her hair. Ellie orders a ride from Dryve (her dad still won’t let her drive even though she’s legally an adult now) and hurries off to make it to graduation before she misses giving her valedictorian speech.  

Ellie arrives in the nick of time, taking a seat on the football field beside Riya and Darius. Ellie barely listens to the principal give his opening remarks, she’s too nervous about her own speech. Ellie has written at least 20 drafts of the speech over the school year. This is her big moment. She’s sacrificed a lot for the honor.

Before she knows it, the salutatorian, Ingrid, is introducing her with a smile. Once Ingrid lightened up on her after Logan’s sudden departure, the two had become friendly, if not exactly friends. Ellie steps to the podium and glances out at the audience. She spots her father in the front row of the bleachers, smiling proudly. Over the last 18 months, they’d rebuilt their relationship for the most part. Detective Wheeler hadn’t really changed much, still as overprotective as ever, but Ellie has better learned how to deal with him. And soon, she’ll be all the way on the other side of the country, free from her father’s ‘my house, my rules’ mantra for the first time.

As Ellie glances down at her prepared statement, she thinks better of it and speaks from the heart instead. Her speech is well received, and she basks in the cheers and hollers of her classmates and their families for several moments, before retaking her seat.

They start calling names, and they finally reach her own. “Ellie Wheeler!” Principal Suarez calls. Ellie walks onto the stage proudly. She sees tears in her dad’s eyes as she grasps her diploma, shaking Principal Suarez’ hand. 

…

..

.

The week between graduation and when she needs to leave for her summer program passes in a blur. She spends most of her time with Riya and Darius, but she and her dad also try to fit in a lot of family time when he’s not working. Ellie worries about what Detective Wheeler is going to do without her. He’s been so focused on Ellie’s life since her mother died, that she fears he forgot to create a life of his own.

As they eat their Ellie specials at the kitchen table, Detective Wheeler assures her that he’ll be fine. “I’ll pick up a hobby.” He promises.

“That’s great. But you know what else might be good?” Ellie prompts. Detective Wheeler winces, knowing what she’s going to say. “Maybe….you could start dating?” Ellie tentatively proposes.

“Honey, I don’t need a girlfriend. I’m married to my job.” Detective Wheeler insists.

“Yeah, but your job isn’t going to grow old with you. Or make sure you get out of the house every once in a while when I’m gone.” Ellie insists.

Detective Wheeler rolls his eyes. “I’ll consider it.” He finally acquiesces. “But on one condition.” He adds.

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Detective Wheeler smiles. “One last game of Infestation before I drop you off for your flight.”

Ellie smiles back. “You’re on.”

One very competitive game of Infestation that Ellie just barely manages to win later, the father and daughter drive to LAX. Detective Wheeler has tears welling up in his eyes, but he tries not to let them fall. “You know, there’s an online version of Infestation we can play together. Only if you have time of course, after your classes.” Her father chokes out.

“Dad, I’d love that.” Ellie reassures him.

“And you’ll call me when you land in Boston? And then when you make it to Langston from the airport?” Detective Wheeler continues.

“I promise Dad.”

“And you don’t need any money Ellie? I have $60 in my wallet.”

Ellie rests her hand on his shoulder as he drives. “Dad, I’ll be fine.”

Detective Wheeler sighs, merging into the exit lane as they approach LAX. “I know. I’m just…going to miss you more than you can ever know. It’s just been me and you for such a long time.” He glances at Ellie, and it’s almost like he sees her as an adult for the first time. “But I know you’ll make me proud.” He concludes.

“I’m going to miss you too Dad. But it’s not like I’m going to be gone forever. I’ll be back for breaks.” Ellie promises.

“You’re right. I just have to make it to Christmas.” Detective Wheeler responds.

The Wheelers pull up to the curb at LAX, and Ellie grabs her luggage from the trunk. Her father steps out of the car, giving her a big hug. “I love you Ellie.”

“I love you too Dad.” Ellie squeezes tight before letting go.

“Have a safe flight!” Her dad calls out, getting back into his car.

Ellie nods, waving as she walks into the terminal. She pauses just beyond the automatic doors, turning to see her dad driving off. She gives it a few moments, and then Ellie turns, walking back outside.

A yellow and black Devore GT pulls up to the curb. Logan steps out, smiling at her. Ellie smiles back, launching herself into his arms and allowing herself to get lost in his passionate kiss.

“Hey, move along! No sitting!” A security guard yells, signaling for them to move the car immediately.

Logan smirks, giving his girlfriend another quick peck before grabbing her luggage and putting it in his trunk. “Ready troublemaker?” He asks, holding the passenger door open for her.

“Always.” Ellie assures him, sliding into the vehicle.

…

..

.

9 months ago

Ellie wanders through the casino, sipping on a diet coke. She’s never been to a casino before, and it’s louder than she expected. Ellie also suspects she might be overdressed in her short, tight, and pink dress, based on the casual attire most of the gamblers don. Ellie was surprised Riya wanted to come to a casino for her 18th birthday. Ellie tried to tell her the odds, and how the house always wins based on statistics, but Riya was having none of that.

Most of the friends invited are already 18 so they can gamble, but Ellie doesn’t turn 18 until March. However, of course Riya insisted Ellie come anyway, there’s no way she’s leaving out her best friend. The security had marked Ellie’s hand with a giant black ‘X’, indicating that she’s not allowed to gamble.

She did get to enjoy dinner at the casino restaurant with the group, and she’d enjoyed watching Riya, Darius, and Ingrid play black jack for awhile. But then they switched to the slots, and Ellie was bored. She’d taken to wandering the casino, killing time.

Ellie pauses when she sees a familiar face at the roulette table. Mona, stunning in a short dress of red lace. What is she doing here? Ellie can’t help but be curious. It’s been almost a year since she met the MPC. She hasn’t seen Logan since their fight in the van, despite the strong urge she’s had to call, text, randomly show up at the sideshow hoping to find him. She’s resisted, telling herself it’s for the best.

Ellie moves behind a marble column where Mona can’t see her, but Ellie can see Mona. Ximena and Colt approach her.

“Can we get this show on the road already?” Colt asks impatiently, loosening his blue tie.

“What, did you fill your diaper already?” Mona retorts, passing some chips to the dealer as she places her bet.

“Stay cool. The handoff isn’t for another half an hour.” Ximena tries to soothe.

Colt sighs, irritated. “I hate standing around and waiting.”

“Well, this job is a lot of that Kaneko Junior. If you don’t like it, maybe you should have gone to college after all.” Mona antagonizes, smirking at him mockingly. Then, Mona freezes for a moment, looking in Ellie’s direction. She quickly moves further behind the column, no longer able to see Mona.

“Mona, what is it?” Ximena asks.

“Do you see the Brotherhood?” Colt questions.

“..No…just thought I recognized someone. Come on. Let’s get in position.” Mona replies. The three of them walk off, and Ellie peeks her head around the column, watching them walk into a roped-off room.

They’re clearly up to something. Ellie wonders if they’re in any danger but shakes off her concern. They’d made their choice. It’s really none of her business. Ellie quickly turns back in the direction she had been going, coming face-to-face with Logan. “Ellie?” He questions, obviously surprised to see her.

He looks so handsome in his suit. Ellie has never seen him dressed up before. She shakes her head, telling herself to focus. “Logan.” She finally responds.

Logan looks around anxiously, grabs Ellie’s hand, and pulls her into a private lounge. Once they’re alone, Logan stares at Ellie for a long moment before speaking. “What are you doing here?” He asks.

“Riya’s birthday. What are you doing here?” She turns his question around.

Logan shoves his hands in his pockets. He clearly knows that she already knows. “A job.” He answers anyway.

“I see you’re still with the Mercy Park Crew then.” Ellie responds, trying not to sound too judgmental.

“Yeah, I am.” Logan admits. “Does…does that upset you?” Logan asks softly, looking at her guiltily.

“I just think you could be better than this Logan. You’re going to get yourself in some serious trouble someday if you keep this up.” Ellie admits.

“I know you’re right Ellie. Salazar got caught by the police after our last job and they gave him 20 years, 10 with good behavior but we both know that’s not gonna happen. It was a wake up call for me. I’m turning 18 soon, and then I could get serious jail time if I ever got caught. I don’t want that. It’s not worth it.” Logan explains.

Ellie’s breath hitches, wondering if he’s saying what she thinks he’s saying. Is she just putting words in his mouth because she wants this so desperately. “What are you saying Logan? Are you going to get out?” Ellie asks for clarification.

“Not today, or tomorrow, but yes Ellie. Soon. I’m saving up for mechanic trade school. I should have enough in a couple of months. I’m working on getting my GED. I’m…I’m working on being a better person. One who deserves you.” Logan answers.  

Tears well up in Ellie’s eyes. “Really Logan?”

Logan pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “Yes, really troublemaker. If this lifestyle means I can’t have you, then I don’t want it. I still love you Ellie. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I love you too.” Ellie admits out loud for the first time.

Logan freezes, in disbelief. Somebody loves him? Somebody like her can love him? “Can…can you say it again?” He pleads.

Ellie laughs, tears streaming down her cheeks. She pulls away far enough so that she can look up at him. “I love you. I love you. I love you Logan. I lo-“ She’s cut off when he captures her lips, kissing her like he’s trying to make up for the last 9 months he’s spent not kissing her. He only pulls away when the need for air becomes too much.

He looks at her with so much love that she knows that he’s serious about leaving the Mercy Park Crew, about getting his mechanic certification and doing right by her. “I love you Ellie. More than I thought I could.”

..

Since that day, they’ve been together. She still has to hide her relationship from her father, and Logan can’t bring her to the garage because the crew doesn’t really trust her (daughter of a cop and all), but they make it work. Logan even takes her to prom, picking her up at Riya’s. Ellie has to hide their prom photos in her school locker, and she makes sure to get some pictures with only Riya and Darius to show to her dad when he asks.

Despite the obstacles, they’re now stronger than ever. Logan decides he’ll follow Ellie to Boston, and after Ellie decides she doesn’t need the dorm room experience (after hearing Colt’s horror stories of living in the dorms during orientation week before he quickly dropped out), the couple decides to get an off campus apartment together.

They’re both excited for the future, to put Los Angeles and all the adversity they faced here behind them. Logan takes Ellie’s hand and squeezes, and she smiles softly as she gazes out the window, the distinctive LAX pillars fading behind them.

..

A motel somewhere in Arizona

Logan is awoken by Ellie’s loudly vibrating phone. He rolls over, glancing at the clock on the night stand. Why is anyone calling her at 3:23 AM? He rubs at his eyes, grabbing the phone and peering impatiently at the screen. Logan rolls his eyes when he reads the screen contact info, ‘Dad’. Of course it’s him. 

Logan briefly imagines answering the phone. Detective Wheeler would be none too pleased to learn that Logan and Ellie are back together. He can just imagine the huge blow up that would follow. As much as he would love to rile Detective Wheeler up now that he can’t do anything to stop them, he knows Ellie isn’t ready to tell him. And Logan loves her much more than he hates her father. 

Logan rolls back onto his left side, kissing Ellie’s bare shoulder as he gently shakes her awake. “Your dad is calling baby.” He announces when her brown eyes open, blinking blearily at him. 

“Oh! I forgot to call him when my plane should have landed!” Ellie exclaims, quickly taking the phone.  

“Dad?” She answers, sounding sleepy. 

Logan can just make out the sound of her dad’s voice through the receiver. “I got worried when you didn’t call. I know you had that long layover in Texas, but I remembered your plane landed hours ago.”

“I’m sorry. It was just a really long day of traveling and I was so tired I forgot.” That’s not a total lie. They drove 10 hours before stopping at the motel. 

“That’s okay, I’m just glad to know you got there alright. How was your flight?” Detective Wheeler asks.

Ellie rolls onto her back as she chats with her father. “It was fine. I had a middle seat both flights, so that kind of sucked, but I survived.” Ellie lies. 

Detective Wheeler murmurs something else, and Ellie laughs, but Logan is no longer interested in listening. He trails his fingers over her belly, gradually moving his hands up towards her bare breasts as he kneads her warm skin. 

She shoots him a warning look, mouthing ‘Stop’. “Yeah, the dorms are nice. And my roommate won’t be here until school starts so I currently have a single.” Ellie responds to her father. 

“Stop what? This?” Logan questions softly, hands reaching their destination and squeezing her breasts. 

Ellie pushes his hands off and rolls to her side, leaving him facing her back. “No, the room and board check isn’t actually due until 2 weeks into the semester.” She continues conversing with her father. 

Logan’s lips move to that spot behind her ear he knows she likes, and she shivers involuntary as his tongue traces slow leisurely circles. He places his right hand on her bare hip, drumming his fingers dangerously close to where she clearly wants them.

“Dad, I have to go. I’ll call you back at a decent hour your time. Okay. Yeah, I love you too. Bye.” Ellie hangs up quickly, rolling back over to capture his lips in a searing kiss. She pushes him to his back, crawling on top of him. 

“You’re a jerk.” She complains between kisses. 

“Me? He woke me up at 3 in the morning! He’s the jerk.” Logan counters.

Ellie shrugs. “It’s 6:30 East Coast time. But now that we’re up...”

Logan grins as they lose themselves in each other for the second time that night. 

..  

The cross country road trip from LAX to Boston is exhausting, but there’s no one else either of them would rather do it with. They stop at the Grand Canyon, countless diners (they dance to Frank Sinatra at each one), wake up in each other’s arms daily (a new and pleasant change, with her previously living at home and him in the loft above the garage she wasn’t allowed to go to), and watch America blur by from the Devore’s windows.  

After a week of driving, they finally make it to Boston just in time for her summer immersion program. 

In Boston, Logan makes good on his promise to learn a legitimate trade, enrolling in a trade school program in the suburbs. When he gets his certification after 2 years, Ellie finally feels like she can reveal their relationship to her father. Despite the changes Logan has made, Detective Wheeler is still not pleased, He’s convinced Logan just wants to open a shop to use as a front for some criminal enterprise.

But they don’t need her father’s approval, not anymore, and they live happily ever after.

…

..

.

@choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @choicelogansbitch @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @lahelable @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @hazah @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @cora-nova @justdani14 @lady-dianelewis @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune @liamzigmichael4ever @princessstellaris 

[rulesofthebeneath]

how bout a dance: part 13

<AN> Me? Stop doing Saturday updates of hbad just to start them again when they’re least expected? Of course!!

I don’t think even I saw this coming when I first had the idea for a future!ajay x mc AU about a month and a half ago. And 103 pages, 35990 words, and 43 days later... wow. This is it. I’m really tearing up, honestly.

You guys have been so amazingly supportive of this, and I couldn’t be more grateful! This, the thirteenth and final chapter, is dedicated to everyone who read, liked, replied to or reblogged any part of this fic. You guys are my lifeblood, thank you so much for reading.

Before I do the tag list and finally get this show on the road, I wanted to share this comment I left on the fic the second I finished drafting chapter 13. It’s... absolutely me.

Anyways. Thank you.

also gonna warn again for references to explicit activity and like hella suggestion, but as always nothing explicit. </AN>

Tagging: @pixelburied @itsbrindleybinch @witchiegirl @ajaysbhandari @catlady0911 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @ylevolenahs @awkwardalbatros @ravenclawpokegirl25 @aidenzhous @hufflepvnk @lorosette

Grace woke up Monday morning to sunlight streaming through the windows into the peach-colored room and a pillow pressed up against her back. She groaned and rolled over, stretching out, and finding the other side of the bed empty.

She was disappointed until she heard conversation and laughing from the other side of the door and a delicious smell wafting in. Grace was hungry. She popped her back, then sank her toes into the soft carpet. After pushing herself up she rummaged through her bag, grabbing a sports bra and a pair of shorts to wear with the t-shirt she’d slept in. She brought the collar up to her nose and sniffed–it smelled just like him, a soapy smell with a little mint. She quickly put the clothes on, then opened the door to Ajay’s bedroom.

She leaned against the door frame for a moment, a soft smile crossing her face as she looked out into the kitchen. He was there, stirring something in a saucepan while his roommate (his name was Jake, Grace dimly recalled) sat at the breakfast bar nursing a large cup of coffee. A timer went off somewhere in the kitchen.

“Dammit, I almost forgot about the muffins,” she heard Ajay say. “Jake, could you please–”

“I’m on it.” As Jake was getting off his stool, he turned and noticed Grace.

“Hey, Grace!” he called over with a smile as he walked around to the oven. Ajay whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw her.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Grace pushed herself off the door frame and walked over. Jake, having gotten the english muffins out of the oven, gave a huge yawn as he walked over to Grace.

“Sleep well? I didn’t,” he smirked, holding out a hand for her to shake. She turned scarlet, instantly realizing what he meant.

“Jake, stop being a dick,” Ajay called from the kitchen. Grace tentatively took Jake’s hand, opening her mouth to apologize when he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Really.” Then Jake turned back to the breakfast bar, climbing back on his stool. Grace made her way over to Ajay, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind while he waited for the poached eggs to finish cooking. He turned his head to kiss her on the forehead.

“Grace, this fool is bringing someone home at least once a week. I guarantee you he didn’t care.”

Still red, Grace buried her face between Ajay’s shoulder blades, taking the moment to breathe in the smell of his t-shirt. But she dropped the subject.

“What are you making?” she asked in a voice still a little rough from just waking up.

“Eggs benedict,” he said proudly. “I’ve been working on the hollandaise sauce for days.”

“Aw, all this for me?”

“No, for me too. And for Jake, because apparently he thinks he can come out here, make fun of me, and still get free breakfast.”

“It’s true, though! You’re literally making enough for three.”

“I’ll throw this plate at your head,” Ajay joked, not even turning to look at him. Ajay made a move towards a slotted spoon on the counter, so Grace released him and went over to sit at the breakfast bar.

“So. Jake. I want to know all his embarrassing stories,” Grace said. Jake took another long sip of his coffee and rubbed at his eyes.

“Well, most of what he’s done lately has been talking nonstop about you,” Jake grinned.

“Jake!” Ajay yelled, nearly dropping an egg back into the pan. Jake just laughed, and Grace joined in.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Jake said, patting the counter, “Why were you guys laughing last night? Ajay, did you-?”

“Okay, we are definitely not talking about this,” Ajay said hurriedly, cutting him off. Grace blushed again, but smiled apologetically when he set a plate down in front of her. She eagerly dug in to the eggs benedict, finding the hollandaise sauce to be a perfect compliment to the egg, canadian bacon, and english muffin.

“This tastes amazing! I could get used to this.”

“Anything for you. Coffee?” Ajay asked.

“Ooh, yes please. Two sugars and a little milk.”

“Coming right up.”

“Hey I’ll take another cup, black,” Jake piped up. Ajay glared at him as he set Grace’s mug down in front of her.

“Get it yourself.”

Jake, hands up in surrender, walked around to the coffee machine. Ajay finished serving up the eggs, then took a seat across from Grace. Once she’d finished a bite, he pulled her in for a kiss. Then he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“Amazingly,” she replied, picking his hand up and kissing the back. Ajay was about to kiss her again when Jake settled back on his stool, fresh cup of coffee in hand.

“So, Grace,” Jake said, “Tell me about yourself! Ajay’s told me a lot, but that’s mostly been about your talent or how amazing you are.” Ajay turned red, burying his face in his hands and groaning. “I want to know something with more substance.”

“Well, um, what do you want to know?”

He paused, possibly thinking over possible questions. “What’s your favorite thing to do on a free weeknight?”

Grace tilted her head, considering the question. “I’d have to say watch movies. I have all these movies, old and new stuff I got from thrift stores, and I’ve been slowly working my way through them.”

Jake’s face lit up. “Oh, you like movies? That’s awesome. Ajay, you didn’t tell me she was this cool!”

“Pretty sure I did,” Ajay retorted, then turned to Grace. “He’s an indie film editor,” he explained.

Jake checked his watch and cursed, getting up. “Speaking of which, I have to go. I’m almost late and it’s your fault.”

“Payback!” Ajay yelled at his retreating back. Then he turned back to Grace.

“Sorry about him.”

“I’m embarrassed!” Grace wailed, putting her hands in front of her face. Ajay tugged her wrists away.

“Don’t be. He’s literally done that exact same thing to me over and over. He doesn’t care, he just likes to tease.”

“If you insist…”

Ajay grinned at her and sat back, finishing up his breakfast. “You like the eggs?”

“Loved them,” Grace replied. “The sauce was perfect and the muffins were even better. I’m lucky to have snapped you up, with all these baking skills. I thought your cooking was like a dream in high school, I didn’t know they could get better.”

“Oh, I did a summer abroad in Paris during college and took a few classes there. I still can’t even compare to the experts. But thank you, I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Ajay, you know I’d be happy here if you made me a bowl of cereal. You make me happy, the delicious food is just a plus.”

He shook his head and beamed at her. “How did I get lucky enough to get a second chance with you?”

“We’re both lucky.” Grace leaned in to kiss him, but jumped back when Jake bustled through the apartment, a briefcase over his shoulder.

“See you guys.”

“Bye!” Ajay called, then stood up to shut the door behind him and swept Grace up into a bruising kiss, running his hands down her sides.

“I thought he’d never leave,” he whispered, making her giggle. He kissed her deeply, then pulled back.

“So, we’ve got about four hours until we have to be at strike. Did you want to go home, or do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll stay here. It’s closer to the theatre. And also that means I get to spend more time with my boyfriend, so it’s a win-win.”

“Great,” he smiled. “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“Do you have Netflix?”

“Yep!”

“Then let’s watch a movie and cuddle.” Grace decided.

“Sounds great to me! Which movie?”

“Ooh, what about Hairspray?”

“You have good taste. I’ll get it cued up, you grab some blankets from my bed.”

A few hours later, Grace and Ajay watched the credits scroll across the scene. Ajay’s arm was still around her, her legs thrown across his lap.

“Every time I watch that movie I remember why it’s my favorite,” Grace sighed. Ajay laughed at her gently, then pulled his arm back. She took her legs off his lap, turning to face him.

“Okay, now we’ve got one hour before strike. And I actually thought of something I wanted to do,” he said, gently taking her hand.

Grace wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“No! I mean, yes, but I actually wanted to say something.”

“Alright, go for it,” Grace said, taking in his serious expression. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. I just need to say something, in the interest of complete honesty between us.”

“Spit it out,” Grace said, growing concerned. He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring at their linked hands.

“Okay. So,” he huffed, “I don’t know if I should qualify it by saying ‘again’ or ‘still’, but…” he trailed off, seemingly losing his nerve. She tightened her grip on his hand, trying to offer him support. But it was hard to support him when she had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth next. He took in a deep, shuddering breath and finally met her eyes.

“Grace, I love you.”

She let the words resonate around the small apartment, her grip on his hands slackening and her eyes widening. He looked like he wanted badly to take it back, but they both knew he couldn’t.

“I- Ajay,” Grace started, then stopped suddenly. It was as if her entire brain had switched off when he’d said those words. Her heart started beating faster, like it was making up for her head’s inactivity.

He squeezed her hand, looking a little sad but still smiling. She looked away, still trying desperately to figure out how she felt about it.

“You don’t have to say it back, I know it’s really soon and we’ve both been through a lot, but I had to say it. I don’t know if it’s because of the friendship we rebuilt over the course of the show, or if it’s because we rekindled something, but that’s how I feel. And I won’t say it anymore until you’re comfortable with it. But I needed to tell you.”

He kept rambling, but Grace didn’t register any of the words he said past that. Tears pricked in her eyes, and her brain was finally startled back into action. Between the tears and the pounding in her chest, Grace figured out exactly how she was feeling.

“I love you too,” she said suddenly, cutting him off. She finally looked back at him, lacing their fingers back together. “I love you too.”

She watched as the realization spread across his face, a hesitant smile forming there.

“You love me?” he asked, voice shaky.

“I love you,” she replied, and found it to be the truest, rawest feeling in her head. “It’s not too soon. Between our friendship, our previous relationship and all the emotions of last night, I… it’s not too soon. It’s the perfect time. I love you again, and I love you still.”

They sat and stared at each other for a moment, lost in a universe all their own. She watched as he went from near disbelief to shock to pure love, something that she’d seen in his eyes before but never quite this much. He pulled her to him and captured her lips in a passionate kiss, holding her tightly against him. When they separated, he pulled her into a hug, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, repeating it over and over. She leaned back to kiss his forehead and to cup his face.

“I love you too.”

[dcarhcarts]

regarding recent absences

And other such updates!

If you want the tl;dr, here it is: my mental health isn’t in the greatest place right now, and I figured I ought to explain why I must ask you for continued patience for the snail speed on this blog. I’m not announcing official hiatus, but just know that I...might continue to be pretty scarce, but I’m trying my best to be here and to be writing here. To hopefully get me more active here, I plan on dropping a few threads and cleaning out my dash re: people who follow me but aren’t writing with me. You’re more than welcome to keep following me if I unfollow you, and if you want to write with me and just haven’t gotten the chance and would like me to re-follow you, pls just go ahead and shoot me an im. I will be making a separate post about both those things, it’s just that I can’t deal with how fast my dash is moving at the moment.

If you care for the long version, under the cut so as to not bother everyone else!!! Be warned that it’s uh...it’s l o n g. TW for depression and anxiety and the general things my brain does to me lolol. 

Wow I haven’t used the post title function in a l o n g time. Anyway, hi, it’s me, Ro, your friendly neighborhood mun of a 20+ muse mumu. Don’t let the kind-of-serious format scare you - nothing bad is happening. I just have a few things that I felt the need to address that have been happening either in my life or just in my screwed up brain :D Buckle in and get ready for the ride, I guess?

Starting with something y’all already know about - I’ve not been here a lot recently. I joke about that a lot, but really, if you catch the pattern, my activity here is: exclusively after 10 pm, 2 drafts at most a day, inbox straight up clogged from like a month ago. IMS basically desolate, because I haven’t worked up the courage to pick them back up since I last forgot about them in the endless stream of things I had to do about a month ago! (that being said, uh, if you want to talk to me your best bet is probably through discord. Ro#6782 - pls, mutuals only, and tell me who you are!)  

And - because I h a t e being that mun that reblogs memes and asks for for them and then never answers their askbox / puts out starter calls when she has 10000 drafts / puts out plotting calls when she has unanswered ims, (no problem at all when other people do this but somehow when it’s m e I’m like “no you’re a terrible person”???? hmmm), I’ve also been avoiding t h o s e. If you’re new and you followed me in the last month, I’ve been putting out n o t h i n g that indicates a willingness to interact with new/more people, while the opposite is true. I’m always willing to interact - if I follow back, I want to write with you, only, well, aforementioned issue aside, I also have m o r e problems.

Namely, IRL and the fucked up thing called my brain. 

As most of you know, I got a job ~end of may or early juuuune~ and....well it’s pretty damn time consuming. I can’t have my phone during the course of my job - by the way, 4 hours - and so in those 4 hours (from 4 pm to 8 pm) I can basically get nothing done here. Then there’s also the fact that the time my shift is placed mentally and physically drains me a lot. Because it starts at 4, most of my morning is spent thinking “god I don’t wanna go to work” and because it ends at 8, most of my evening is spent trying very hard not to doze off. It also drains me a lot socially - I work at a call center, and all day I’m basically calling people who don’t want me to call them and are very irate even when they pick up, and uh, that already doesn’t do well for my anxiety haha. 

The other thing, of course - is my sort-of-seasonal depression. Winter tends to equate to anxiety for me, and summer tends to equate to depression. Again, I think I’ve joked about this a lot, but I apparently can only do drafts when I have 3 finals tomorrow and I haven’t studied for any of them. When it’s break, I get into a really weird slump - when i wake up in the morning, I don’t really want to wake up, and sometimes just stare at the wall for like, an hour. Nothing that I enjoyed during the other months, I seem to enjoy doing now. There’s too much time and too little time. It’s like i spent the whole day doing absolutely nothing meaningful but I can’t break myself out of the cycle so I keep doing that, rinse and repeat day after day, and sometimes my definition of spending time is just lying down in bed again and doing nothing for an hour randomly in the middle of the day. I feel guilty for wasting time as much as I am clueless as to how to fill it in a fulfilling way. “But Ro, you could do drafts!” A Concerned Person May Say. “You like writing!” Well, Kind Person, on some of these days, absolutely n o t h i n g Sparks Joy. 

“But Ro, I follow you on your other blog too!” The Concerned Person might continue.“You’re kind of active there, aren’t you?” And the answer, Kind Person who supported my career even if that blog is mostly obscure af fandoms - is yes.  I am kind of active on my other blog, @storyblcd. This brings us to the third and final reason why I’m.....moving at snail’s speed here, and that, my good friend - is anxiety. Well, mixed with a certain amount of mental exhaustion, of course. Note: this is n o t anyone’s fault. People’s interactions with me have not been negative - and they are not responsible for how my brain chooses to reaact to it. 

I’ve not lost muse for the muses on this blog, per se - but I’m getting burned out really fast writing them, for multiple reasons. First, muse imbalance. Now I know, I definitely k n o w - that sometimes people like one muse more than another, or have more interest in writing with one or the other, and I get that. I’ve said multiple multiple times that that is p e r f e c t l y fine. But honestly the reason I’ve lasted so long on a multimuse is because I can pick which muse I have muse for when, and I can respond accordingly / ask for interactions accordingly. But when I get so many people coming at me at once for the o n e muse when I have t w e n t y it sometimes gets a little? Discouraging? It makes me question whether or not only that one muse is popular for a reason. It also exhausts me re: the portrayal of that muse, because I”m putting out so many replies for that muse in a lot of sort of similar plots/scenarios that I just get burnt right out. And then I get scared that if I keep going I’ll want to drop the muse, so I’m staying away from those threads a little bit.

Second, I’m at a point in my portrayal of certain muses where I feel like there’s a certain expectation for how it’s going to be. My personal feelings aside, I think every mun expects their own portrayal to be different and unique and exciting - and it’s not different for me, only now I feel like the expectation and the pressure of coming up with something good and meaningful outweighs the feeling of exploration as I’m “discovering” the muse. Like most writers - I still crave validation, though more and more lately, I’m at a place in my writing where I f e e l like me from 2 months ago could have probably done a better job. While it’s not necessarily true, and these pressures are coming from m e and not any outside source, I f e e l like I have to consistently Make Good Writing, and simultaneously feel like some days I sit down and I try to do drafts and all I write is garbage. It just - doesn’t feel the same? So - more and more, I’m staring at the empty drafts page and then closing it - because if I don’t w r i t e I don’t have to admit I peaked two months ago.  

Both of these reasons have made me rather a bit avoidant of my muses here / this blog. Now, I’ve been struggling with anxiety for long enough that I know that a lot of this is - well, p r o b a b l y just my brain lying to me. See even as I’m writing this post now, my anxiety is saying “haha guess what n o one cares you’ve been gone” and my rational Anxiety-is-a-stupid-asshole voice is saying “nahhhhhh your brain is probably just lying to you.” But! In the battle, anxiety is kind of pummeling me now. I will r i s e again and win the war, most likely - but for now it’s anxiety: 1 and ro: 0.

AND finally - if you made it all the way down here, you’re a c h a m p. The solution! Well, as much of a solution as I’m hoping to get anyway - we’ll have to see if it implements well. I’m going to unfollow a few blogs so I can get my dash cleaner/more organized/less fast-moving and b r e a t h e. I’m going to drop a couple of threads, I might make a couple more muses request only/exclusive only for the like 2 people that have threads with them, I might drop a couple muses (though I don’t think this will really happen, Idk tho). There will be separate posts on those things coming soon, this is just to notify y’all. Thank you for all of your patience, thank you for all the wonderful people who’ve allowed me to write with you, I love all of you!!!!

[dankmemeuniversity]

hey friends. the other day i stupidly typed a long post on the app and of course since @staff and @support dont give any shits that the app literally doesnt function, i lost the entire post. it wouldnt post it, i tried over and over again, and i forgot to copy the entire thing before posting (like i normally do on mobile because i expect it not to function) so i lost the entire post. because of course it doesnt save it as a draft, why would it do something that makes sense and is functional? 

anyway, i didnt make this post to trash on the app. i just wanted to give one last update before i start posting memes again. im sad that i lost the post because it was so nice and had pictures but this will have to do for now since i dont have pics on my computer. 

we got Sherberts ashes back in a beautiful wooden box and my parents have him sitting on a shelf next to our dogs Zeus and Hera that we put to sleep in 2007. i still tear up when i talk about him but its so much easier to accept now. my other cat, tiger is doing better too. he was grieving a lot but my parents say he is better now.

also Ocho turned 5 months old on 9.4 and we officially had him for a month on 9.8. he’s getting so big but hes still severely underweight so we’re doing everything we can to bulk him up. hes feisty and playful and acts totally normal. the only other concern is blood in his stool. we took him to the vet to get his booster shot that he was due for but his regular vet wasnt there so we didnt get to see her. the vet he saw, though, didnt seem too concerned about the blood but we’re hoping and praying that his stool will harden and wont have blood in the very near future. 

and most importantly, i wanted to say thank you. thank you to every single one of you that replied to/reblogged my post about sherbert, that sent me messages to my inbox, and that sent me messages through chat. you have absolutely no idea how much it helped me cope and how happy it made me feel that i have such nice internet friends. i love you all so much. i have already responded to the chat messages but im going to take the next couple days to respond to my inbox messages privately. since i dont want to spam my blog with asks, im only going to be responding to the people who didnt send them on anon (that way i can respond privately without posting) but i want all of you anons to know that i appreciate it more than you know. you guys are amazing.

memes will be returning sometime between today and tomorrow and unfortunately, so will ads. ive basically been living in the vets office for the past month and im sure you can imagine the toll that has taken on my bank account. also, my apartments raised the pet fee from 250 for one pet to 500 for one pet and i didnt know that until after i got ocho. they never sent out a notice or anything so ive unexpectedly spend another 250 that i planned on using for rent. i just dont want you guys thinking im over here rolling in dough and still posting ads. the ads really help me with stuff like paying utilities or my 30/month pet fee. it makes it easier to pay my outrageous rent because im not worried about all the other small bills that i have. i know you guys understand but i wanted to explain for all the new people that have followed. 

once again, thank you so much for being such great support for me over the past month while i needed a break. i cant wait to start posting memes again. <3 

[maulish]

I think that communist governments are communist in the same way that National Socialism is socialist, which is to say, it was a fashionable word that the founders used for optics. Communism has the added twist that it doesn't scale up. It can do a great job of running a community, but if you are trying to manage infrastructure and justice for multiple communities, you need something else.

This message caught me off guard tbh, because it seemed to come out of nowhere when I first saw it. I only later realized that I'd put a post on the subject in my queue along with a bunch of shit I found in my drafts without really having added to it the way I meant to. And then I just forgot about it.

Having been born in soviet-occupied Estonia, communism is not something I take lightly or intend to bring up without actually having a point to make. Which is why I mostly just don't bring it up, because it comes with a lot of baggage. Besides, to even really address it here on this platform requires having to explain the basics. Because a lot of westerners have a really fucked up understanding of communism and mostly just have no idea what they're talking about to begin with.

So that reblog... unfortunately, while making some valid observations from my viewpoint, was not how I intended to share it. I just want to put that out there, in case anyone else saw it. I have a few such posts in my drafts because every now and then I feel like I'm about to add my two cents but honestly it's absolutely soulcrushing to even sit down and think about it so I never get around to it. And I certainly don't have it in me to go into it now.

[felroki]

I’ve watched Dirty Computer and I’ve had A Thought

This is not going to be about philosophy, or gender theory, or how Janelle Monáe (Blessed be Her name) single-handedly invented at least 3 musical genres and personally saved my soul and cured my depression, which all could certainly be dissected at great length, but right now I want to talk about something that is somewhat marginal to the entirety of the artistic accomplishment or its message, but gave me an interesting, and almost prophetic insight.

The aesthetic.

It’s rapidly become a cliché that “80's nostalgia” is totally in, and if someone feels particularly self-congratulatory, they might even point out that XY piece of media is trying to “cash in on the 80s nostalgia wave” (almost word for word the same, every time). However, while it’s hard to miss that you can almost cut the nostalgia in the air, and I’m certain that there exist forces that try to cash in on it with no motivation other than money, these comments are fundamentally missing a much greater picture that I’m foreseeing.

Consider the following list of things (not intended to be exhaustive, just a few that I can think of off the top of my head right now:)

Wildstar, esp. certain aesthetic choices.

Vaporwave, and other similar musical -wave genres that have sprung up recently (which I admittedly know little about, but I’ve heard some examples).

80′s inspiration in various genres of music in general.

The reboot of some 80′s movies with a particular, highly specific aesthetic.

Other movies that are not a reboot of anything but nourish themselves from the same source in either subtle or direct ways.

Youtubers feeling the need to revisit various forms of media from that era and give new thoughts about it.

Revival and reinvention of pixel art (especially in indie games.)

The return of some elements in the mainstream-ish fashion that I would consider goth (or at least goth-inspired)

Generally some fashion trends that I don’t quite know how to pinpoint but you just know it when you see it.

Like geysers springing across the plains, they rear their heads, superficially in different locations in the lattice of culture yet draw from (and pour into) the very same source underneath. Occasionally the 70's or 90's seep into this well, but even in spite of that they somehow manage to remain remarkably universal in their presentation. 

I wouldn’t call it any sort of objective starting point, especially since a lot of abovementioned trends predate it, but still... do you remember when in 2015 we caught up with Back to the Future 2 and someone asked: so, where are the hoverboards? I think that was the moment, the question that spoke it into existence in the most narrow and literal sense, as we all had a mass realization that we are already living in the distant, and usually dystopian, yet simultaneously neon bright future that 80s media was so fond of depicting, and something in the collective, creative consciousness has just never been the same ever since.

What particularly fascinates me is the constantly pervasive idea of rethinking. We can do the 80′s again, but slightly differently. There is an element that transcends simple allusions and references which, to my mind, more often than not goes way beyond than being a soulless, unimaginative cash grab: a deconstruction of the 80's using its blocks to build a fantastic world that would exist in the future even compared to our own current timeline - even we are not sure exactly when, suspended somewhere on the fabric of time weightlessly afloat, but we do know that our past is common.

It’s a futuristic 80's alternative universe.

Mark my words. You heard it here first, peeps (Probably?)

In the very near future we will see the rise of this new 80′s thing becoming its own style and AU in the same way that steampunk has become its own and rather well-defined subculture and aesthetic over time a few years ago. We will see things like 80′s style retrofuturistic fiction and redraws of canon characters and OCs alike... actually, I could have sworn I have seen that already. Just glancing at the above examples should give an idea how tremendous the interest is. Technically this style already exists. People can’t get enough of it. I personally have already pledged my soul to this aesthetic before I even knew it, all it’s waiting for to really take off and soar is a name.

So what should it be called? 

I think it would be hysterical if we just called it the Dirty Computer AU in Janelle Monáe’s honor but if anyone reblogs this, I’m sure there will be someone in the comments who comes up with something both supremely punny and entirely original, so....

Let’s crowdsource a name!

PS (written a bit later cause I forgot to free this post from my drafts for weeks)

Even if you dont self-identify as weebs, I want all of you who can stomach some violence and body horror to put this anime on your watching list if you haven’t seen it already. It takes place in 2019 (next year!) it’s one of the most impactful pieces of modern media, it’s aesthetically super cool, but also deeply philosophical in content, AND both the soundtrack and the animation are an incredible artistic feat.

PS2.

This has been sitting among my drafts long enough that the E3 has already happened in-between, and I had time to realize/remember that this AU, technically speaking, already has a name. I don’t know if it’s THE ultimate name that encompasses every aspect of the phenomenon but to be honest, it’s close enough for me:

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

An education chapter 23

A/N: Holy Sh*t, I have broken a few hearts; I am so sorry (ish), and I hope you all forgive me. Here we go with the next chapter, and I’m planning on finishing this story within 24 chapters total. I might leave the ending open for a sequel, but who knows? Hopefully you’ll stick to the next two chapters! (this being one) I cannot tell you how much I appreciate every single like, reblog, reply and ask about this story – it truly means the world to me, because I’ve been working so hard on this; it’s become such a huge story, and I’ve researched SO much, so I’m really happy, that you guys can feel how much love I put into this one.

As always, remember I always say yes to requests and feedback feeds the writer (butter my eggroll, please)!

MASTERLIST

An education masterlist

Pairings: Dean x reader

Warnings: Angst (!!!),  language

As I opened my eyes again, I was met with darkness. It wasn’t the seemingly endless darkness, I had met a few months earlier, but the sort of darkness, you’d get, when you just turned the lights off, and your eyes weren’t used to the dark yet. I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings. A low, guttural moan swelled behind me, like a choir of voices making the exact same sound in the exact same tone; I slowly realized it wasn’t behind me, but under me. My skin was crawling and my heart hurt. A mixture of different emotions ran through me, but mostly the feeling of absolute longing rested in the pit of my stomach – I wanted to go back. I wanted to go home. An image of Dean smiling flashing before my eyes and i squeezed them shut, trying to imprint his face on my mind.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and I realized I was standing in a round hall made up of different stones – all grey or black, or blackened with smoke. Scorch-marks were ever present on the walls, some from the low hanging torches, that were situated all along the walls, some shaped like hands, and some, it seemed, had come from nowhere. It gave an eerie feeling, that vibrated through my body.

It was cold as well. The grey slab of stone, I was standing on, radiated cold through it, as if there was a draft somewhere, and the stone walls around me hovered over me, menacing and strong. I wasn’t wearing shoes. I frowned and looked my body over, realizing I was wearing a grey sack, that reminded me of a toga mixed with a potato-sack. Not exactly my best outfit.

As I scanned the room, a shadow lurked right in front of me. I was shivering – both with fright and with cold – as I stepped forwards, slowly inching towards the shadow. The shadow was sitting on something and it seemed like the shadow was placed way higher up than I would have suspected when I approached. Either that, or the shadow was simply larger than my initial guess.

A low growl sounded in front of me, and my eyes whipped down to my feet. A black, tar-like matt of fur was sitting in front of me. It was so black, it looked like the fur dripped off it, and it raised it’s head – it was a dog. Not a hellhound, not a regular dog, but something entirely new. It looked menacing, black and the nostrils were smoking slightly; yellow, cracked teeth had been bared at me, as I approached.

“Garmr.” The raspy voice, that had made my deal, a few months back, sounded from the shadows. The dog instantly laid down, flat on its paws and closed his red eyes. I looked to the shadow, but I couldn’t see a face; it was just a darker darkness, than the one surrounding me. A slow chuckle sounded, with the voice breaking a little. I could hear a shuffle and then suddenly, a face emerged from the shadows. I recoiled at the sight. A menacing smile was stretched far too wide over yellowing and grey teeth. Black hair hung in clumps from the right side of her face, stringy and dirty. Her eyes were a deep black color, and her skin looked like it was slowly rotting away. It had turned grey and purple, even black in some areas. The skin stretched in an unnatural way over her face, her cheekbones jutting out like spikes on either side of her face. She didn’t have eyebrows, which made her eyes look bigger. It wasn’t the worst.

The entire left side of her face, minus the eye, was glowing dimly like embers. The skin looked broken and burnt, with a glow of coals, embers and flames, lighting it up like a Chinese lantern. Her neck cracked as she twitched and smiled even bigger. Her ear on the left side was just a hole, and her nose was two deep set holes, that once had been nostrils. She was way bigger than a normal person; she seemed to be three meters tall, with every feature on her enhanced in some way. In the one hand, that wasn’t leaning on her stone-throne, was holding a deadly looking spear. It looked to be made out of black stone and antlers, pointed ends in every direction.  

She was terrifying.

“And you came.” Her voice was raspy, more so than before, and the sounds of cracking bones and joints accompanied her voice. I had recoiled so much, I was almost on my ass in front of her. She was still smiling menacingly. “You were supposed to be a warrior, Valkyrie, and here you are. Cowering in front of me.” I swallowed, trying to get some sort of wetness in my mouth, but it didn’t work. My voice was flaky at best, as I tried to answer her.

“Are you…?” My voice broke off. She cracked her neck again, the joints cracking loudly enough for it to echo in my bones. “Am I Hel?” She leaned back in her throne, and for the first time, I noticed what she was wearing. It looked like her entire outfit was made out of black smoke. There were holes everywhere and it billowed on some way around her frame; it was never still. “Welcome, dear Valkyrie, to my realm.” She gestured around to the round hall, and the moans from below sounded stronger even. She narrowed her eyes somewhere to my left and I followed her gaze; a pair of hands, green and grey, had tried to climb out of the pit below us; I could see the thin line separating the wall to the pit under us, and Hel smiled at the sight. “There is always one. Every day.” She motioned to the dog with her head, and he bounced towards the hands with a ferocious growl. She turned back to me.

“Minn heimili vili sitja ykkarr enda.*” She said in a low, growling voice. I shivered. Old Norse could sound beautiful, but in her voice, and her choice of words made bile rise in my throat. I straightened my body and tried to ignore the loud screams and ripping noises from the dog and the pair of hands behind me.

“I assume you want to bargain?” She said. I shook my head and stared into her eyes. It was like looking into the void. “No?” I shook my head again. She sighed and moved her spear a little – it scraped against he stone-floor with the same sound as nails over a chalkboard. “Very well, then. You will have no bed, no place for rest. You will stay here with me. You shan’t have a moment of solitude. You will forevermore be in my realm, acting as my guard-dog, Valkyrie.” She suddenly – and way too fast – stood up, towering over me. She looked menacing and the embers under the left side of her face glowed stronger than before – fire liked her skin, but she didn’t pay it no mind. She bent down to me in a snake-like movement.

“Welcome to your new forever, rekkr.*”

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to force my fear down. We’ll just see about that.

 2 weeks in Hel

 I missed my home. I was currently curled up in a ball next to the throne on a ragged blanket, the cold seeping into my bones. I missed Dean, Sam and my child. I didn’t even know how long I had been here – I had an inkling, that time went slower down here than in the real world, so my two weeks could have been two months or two years in the real world.

I stared after Garmr, the huge, black dog. That was the only light, I could find – Garmr, despite his appearance of absolute evil, was the sweetest lapdog in the world. Hel had been angry, when she saw me cuddling with the tar-dog, but she couldn’t get him to leave my side – he liked to cuddle. I didn’t mind. It was nice, feeling some semblance of normality in this damn hell I was in.

I sighed and sat up, wrapping my arms around myself. I could feel my bones through my clothes – my hands were cold, and my ribs were poking my side. Food wasn’t really a thing down here, despite the fact that I wasn’t a damn lost soul, but a breathing human (sort of), who actually did need nurture. Garmr had once tried to give me food, and while I appreciated the sentiment, the dead, rotting arm didn’t exactly seem like something, I should eat. The look of it alone had me throw up the meager contents of my stomach. I hadn’t forgot Freyja’s words about trying to get out, and I had decided on a plan; I was about to bring Hell on the queen of Hel.

I groaned as a chorus of moans and wails rose from the pit. I looked up at Hel, who were staring into the distance with that stupid smile on her face. She didn’t scare me anymore – she hadn’t tried to do anything to me, not yet at least. I suspected that she needed me to guard her, which seemed like a fucking horrible idea on her part. I was not going to protect her; even if I wanted to, I couldn’t – I didn’t have weapons on me.

“Yo, Hel?” I asked. The plan had now started. Garmr huffed as he ran to my side and laid down next to me. I scratched him behind his ear, ignoring the tar sticking to my palm. She whipped her head to me. “Listen, I get it. You’re evil, brooding and all that, but seriously, can we turn down the alternative music here? My ears hurt.” I nodded towards the floor, where the wails of damned souls rose from. She narrowed her eyes at me. “it is not music. It is my souls.” I rolled my eyes. “Souls or not, I accept and respect your lifestyle, but you’ve got me and Garmr here; we’re turning deaf.” Hel narrowed her eyes even more, and I could feel my heart pick up, when her she stared at me through slits.

She didn’t say anything, nor did I. she just leaned back in her throne with a sneer and the flames licking her left cheek. I looked down at Garmr. “Step one.”

 4 weeks in Hel

 I had done good. So far, I had questioned her about her “lifestyle”, telling her the black clothes and alternative music was only a phase, but I’d support her through it. I had managed to get Garmr to nibble at her ankles, and I had spent a majority of a day (night, maybe? Time didn’t matter much down here) singing call me maybe, each time more loudly and higher pitched. She was trying desperately to tune me out, and I managed to get food out of my troubles – which was a good thing, but I hadn’t yet annoyed her enough for her to let me go. Yet.

As I sat at the makeshift table in the middle of the throne-room, I stuffed my face with apples and goatcheese – the only thing, we got sent down to us, and glanced around. “Hey, Hel?” She growled. “If you start your incessant singing again, I shall rip your spine clean out of your body.” I rolled my eyes. “All those dramatics. Are you sure you’re not a drama-major?” I swallowed a piece of apple and then I pointed to her. “Wait a second, I know. You’re Loki’s daughter or something, right?” She nodded courtly. I grimaced in mock-sadness. “shit, sorry. I’ve been calling you Freyja’s sister for all this time! Damn, I even stabbed your dad. That’s really bad mojo. Sorry, dude.” She sneered but kept her eyes fixed on the stonewall in front of her. “Anyway, I was just wondering… Like, your decorating kind of screams ah, look at me, I’m so sad and it just… Have you ever thought about redecorating? Maybe some white walls. Someone other than the torches on antlers?” I glanced at her and bit back a smug grin. “not that I don’t respect the antlers, I really do, but there’s just so many of them! I just thought maybe some lights in the ceiling or something. A carpet, maybe?” She sighed deeply. “would you stop with your constant bickering?!” I shrugged. “Chill, it was just a suggestion.”

We sat in silence for a while – I could feel her radiating annoyance, which was the end-goal; I was trying desperately to return to my family, by any means necessary. It was hard work, but my general snark helped me a lot – apparently, the Queen of Hel wasn’t a fan of sarcasm. Or fun.

“Also, I know that Baldur is somewhere around here, isn’t he?” She growled. “Baldur is not one to be discussed with you.” I put my hands up in defeat. “Alright. Juuust curious.” I sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair, I was sitting in. “So, about the decorating…” Hel roared with annoyance and stood up, her huge frame towering over me, with the flames licking her chin, eyes and side of her head – she looked downright like the end of the world, as she stood, burning in front of me. “Leave this room. Go… I do not even care but leave me alone. Stray as you like, but Garmr will follow you. I cannot stand to look at your face or hear you speak.” She sat back down and stared at the wall again.

I grinned. Garmr bounced up and down, ready for a walk, and I followed him out of the throne-room – my plan was working. Garmr was bouncing through the long, cold halls, adorned with antlers, dead warrior’s weapons, and the ever-present echo of moans under me, vibrated against the walls. “Gammie, listen, we gotta find Baldur.” Garmr woofed gently and ran down a corridor to the left. I followed him, picking up my pace.

Baldur was the only one, I knew could help me. He might be dead and trapped down here until Ragnarok, but he was a God. He must have some sort of connection with the Gods above – I needed to know, that I had Freyja, that she would help me. Something. Just a friendly voice could make my day a little more bearable. My stomach clutched, and my heart doubled, when I thought about Dean and my daughter; they were living their life without me.

Was she okay? How old was she now? Who did she look like? I gasped as a wave of emotions ran through me, and I had to squat against the wall, tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t handle this. I couldn’t do this. Garmr came over, as soon as he realized I wasn’t following him, and whimpered at my tears. I sniffled a little and scratched him behind his ear again. My daughter. The love of my life. Both of them were in the living world, hopefully happy and content with life. Maybe Dean had even found someone else. The thought made new tears spring to my eyes and I sobbed a little at the thought of having lost them. Maybe I shouldn’t go back. I should stay here and let them live their lives. A soft, echoing voice reached my ears. “Am I not alone anymore?” my eyes snapped up and I scouted the corridor, but I couldn’t see anything. I quickly dried my eyes and stood up – I walked slowly, Garmr by my side, until I reached the very end of the corridor; a small cell was situated in between the stones, and a young, very beautiful man stood there, staring at me with wide, blue eyes. An almost unnatural light emitted from the cell, and I remembered that Baldur was the god of light. Of course, he would have more light down here than I would.

I stepped in front of him with a soft smile. He recoiled a little, but I simply held my hand out, reaching through the bars. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He stepped timidly forwards and grabbed my hand; he felt warm and it reminded me of sun on my skin. “Who are you?” he asked in a small voice. “it’s not that important. I need you to help me.” He frowned. His golden-blond, curly hair bounced as he cocked his head to the side. “what can I do for you? I am as trapped as you are.” I smiled a little and let his hand go. “I know. I…” I didn’t know what to say. HI, can you ask the gods to come pick me up? I know they haven’t done it for you, but like, I’m special? He smiled a little. “You do not belong here, do you?” I shook my head. “No, I don’t.” He stared at me.

“What will you have me do?” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Can you contact Freyja?” He nodded. “Can you ask her, if she is ready for me to leave?” He nodded again, and closed his eyes, tilting his head up towards the ceiling. I waited. Garmr was at my side, whining and whimpering a little. I nuzzled his ear, the only part I could reach standing, and kept an eye on Baldur.

He tilted his head back, opened his eyes and gave me a sorrowful smile. “She is.” I nodded and smiled at him. “I’m sorry, you’re stuck down here. I wish I could help you.” He smiled again and grabbed my hand. “I shall be fine. I am a strong man. A sliver of hope rests in me, after meeting you. You might be the one thing, that will stop Hel. No more prisoners.” I smiled at him.

“I’ll damn well try.”

 * “Minn heimili vili sitja ykkarr enda = my home will be your end

* Rekkrr = Warrior 

A/N 2: Sorry for ending it here, right before all the good stuff happens, but a writer’s gotta write, y’all! One more chapter to go – it’ll be updated Wednesday or Thursday, depending on my schedule (and I’m really sorry for using a gif of Happy!Dean, when in reality, there isn’t any happy Dean in this chapter).  

If you liked this, let me know!

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[authoressskr]

Take the Chill Off

Characters: Gabriel, Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Mention of Cas   ::   Warnings: Language, Subpar Writing   ::   Word Count: 1024

@sdavid09‘s Daily Writing Challenge - Prompt 6: Tropes (I picked Bedsharing*)

Note: Do NOT repost, copy and paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION. -+- REBLOGGING is fine! -+-

With a wave, you send Sam and Dean off to deal with the shapeshifter/witch combo in Colorado while you stayed behind to finish healing from a lone harpy’s vicious claws.

But you weren’t alone -- no.

They’d left you with Gabriel, newly resurrected and ‘as weak as a damn fledgling’ but still able to protect the both of you if need be - otherwise Dean and Sam wouldn’t have left you behind.

Cas had found him nearly a month ago, barely able to snap himself a cookie, hiding out above a strip joint in Nevada. He said he had crashed somewhere around the Nevada border, made his way into the first big town he found and began using his charming personality to his advantage since his grace was still recuperating.

“Finally,” The archangel purred from the doorway. “We’re all alone.” You roll your eyes at the garage door before heading back to your room. The garage, like most of the Bunker, was well-insulated but usually carried more of a chill than the kitchen or library. Just before you were about to pass, Gabriel smirked confidently and snapped up a red rose. “Now that the mooks are gone, I can properly seduce you.”

“Shouldn’t you be saving your grace?”

“I could heal you. Get a little handsy.” He leans in, so the two of you are almost touching, gilt eyes dancing. “Not all the way, of course - still need some more juice to do that.” The look shifts a little, dances with an emotion you can’t quite pin down, as his fingers slide over your hand to loosely grasp it in his own. “Tit for tat, since you’ve been dealing with me, sweetness.”

“Save your grace.” You whisper, leaning in until you’re a breath apart, watching his eyes and smile kick up a notch at this dance you two have been doing since just after he came to the Bunker. “But thank you for the rose, Gabriel.” You brush the rose against your cheek as you head back to your room, wincing slightly through your smile at the pain radiating through your side.

---

With the Bunker so silent and doing things with your injury, sleep had been priority one.

So, you couldn’t figure out why you were awake.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking around the dark room. Nothing. Huh.

You wiggle into a sitting position before a shiver runs down your spine.

“Holy shit.” You mutter to the dark room, leaning forward quickly to grab the throw at the end of your bed before you yelped loudly, tears stinging your eyes as your stitches pull hard.

“Y/N?” Gabriel’s voice is loud on the other side of the door, just before it opens. You’re trying to breath as he approaches. “Get up too fast, sweet pea?”

“Fuck.” Groan. “Yes.” Gabe clicks on the light beside your bed, gently lifting you shirt as you suck in another sharp breath.

“Not bleeding.” He remarks, a tendril of grace easing the discomfort. “There.”

“Thank you Gabe. Can you hand me my slippers?”

“Why?”

“Cause it feels like Lucifer and Jack Frost are fucking in the next room - that’s why.” You snap, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of your body as you leave the warmth of your bed.

“That was quite a picture you just painted for me, snickerdoodle.” Gabriel offers his arm, which you not-so begrudgingly take, happily leaning a little more into him. For warmth. Yeah...for warmth. “Know where the boiler in the Batcave?”

“Got your cell?” You ask, your sleep addled mind is now awake and trying to deal with the cold, forgot to grab your cell. Gabe pulls it from his inner jacket pocket, he hands it over before turning to face you, hands rubbing up and down your arms as you dial. “You better pick up, Dean.” You grit before he answers.

“Whatdya want asshat?”

“Well, that was rude.”

“Damn, Y/N, sorry. Is something wrong? What’s wrong?”

“The heat isn’t working. I just woke up and it was like a meat locker. So, I’d like to know where the boiler or whatever is.”

“Sammy! Y/N said the heat’s out. Yeah, yeah. The other side of the electrical room, kid. Tell me what you see.”

“I see the damn hallway since I’m injured and cold.”

“Get back to bed. I’ll go look at the boiler.” Gabriel pulls the phone from your grasp and gently pushes you back towards your room.

You shuffle quickly back to your room, hurriedly getting into bed and gingerly wiggling down into the mass of blankets.

---

You must have dozed off while he was dealing with the boiler, since you wake up when you feel a soft weight over you before a draft behind you makes you shiver.

That’s when Gabriel slides into bed behind you, his warmth already seeping into your back.

“If you make one joke about getting me into bed…” You warn, even if the words are muffled.

“Does that seem like something I’d say?”

“If I had the will to move, I would glare at you.” His chuckle reverberates against your back in a pleasant way, relaxing against him more as his arm slips around your middle.

“Mmhmm. Well, Dean-o said that he and Sam’ll have to look at the wiring when they get back. But Sam walked me through leveling out the heat, so it won’t go any lower, honeysuckle.”

“Won’t go any lower than what?”

“Lucifer and Jack Frost fucking in the next room.”

“Stealin’.” Yawn. “My line.” Sigh. “Already.”

“Yep. Now, go to sleep. I brought extra blankets for you to burrow in. As a bonus, I also double as a sexy space heater.”

The slowing of your heartbeat told him you hadn’t heard his space heater bit, but that was more than alright since you hadn’t put up any resistance to him joining you.

Damn, you smelled good. And when you’d settled against him more - relaxing - another bit of hope sparked in his chest.

“Night, sweet cheeks.” Gabriel murmurs before nuzzling into your hair, thankful to the universe (or whoever/whatever) for the heat going out.

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