#It’s really NOT that hard and all you’re doing to yourself is making it harder on yourself.

[duskbornraven]

Veteran, Doctor, Wedding Date

Never in my life have I finished a sex scene in writing. This fandom has broken me. There is a second part in the works for the actual wedding, because I am weak willed when it comes to him.

Paring: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Warnings: mdni, sex with plot, female reader, Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, general teasing, implied age gap.

Summary: Weddings take up a lot of time, especially when you're dating the best man.

Word Count: 4k

It had been too many years since Jack had been to a wedding. Let alone asked to be in a wedding party, but when one of your best friends asks you to be his best man you can’t really say no. Even harder when said friend oh so politely reminded him that he could bring his cute new girlfriend. 

So here he was, sitting on the couch waiting for you to get home. The TV was on but he wasn’t really watching it. Anticipation weighed on him. He knew first hand that people got weird about weddings. There was an unspoken weight around them, and he hadn’t asked anyone to be his date to anything in what felt like an eternity. 

He still managed to fall asleep on the couch, and was startled awake when he heard the familiar click of the lock. Snapping his head up to a dimly lit living room, bathed in the flickering light of the TV. Pushing himself more upright, the fog of sleep still fighting to pull him back under. 

With a groan he scrubbed his face, forcing himself to wake up, so you could have this conversation. Watching you kick your shoes off, braced against the door to avoid overbalancing. “Did you make it upstairs at all?” You were still facing away from him but he could hear the smile in your voice. 

“I did, thank you.” His mock indignation getting a laugh from you, making your way over to throw yourself down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out with a continent sigh. 

“What’s on your mind?” You tapped his leg with a toe, leaning up to get a better look at him. “You’re burning a hole in the wall.” 

“I was asked to be in a wedding later this year.” Jack turned himself on the couch to face you “And, I was wondering if you would be my date.” 

He knew the answer before you even opened your mouth to speak. Your eyes lit up as you pushed yourself the rest of the way into a sitting position. The way you beamed at him, practically glowing in the low light of the room. “Of course I will.” Your excitement was hardly concealed. 

You leaned forward kneeling on the couch, braced on his shoulder, to peck him on the cheek before leaning in for a lingering kiss. His head tilted back slightly to meet your lips. A hand wrapped reassuringly around your arm to keep you balanced, the other coming to rest on your hip. 

You pulled away, looking down into his eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. Watching his face soften as he took you in again. A grin slowly spreading over his own tired features. Letting you settle back on the couch beside him. An arm draped over the back of the couch, fingertips just brushing against your shoulder. 

“Didn’t really have a plan if you said no. Considering my backup date would have been the groom.” You pushed him away lightly, moving yourself more than him with a scoff. 

“Do you know when it is yet?” You chose to ignore his comment. ‘I’ll make sure to get some time off from work.” 

“Not yet, he’s supposed to be getting a hold of me about that since it’s going to be a scheduling nightmare. I don’t know how they’re going to get by without us for a night.” His hand left the couch to run through his hair absently. 

“Do you maybe want to finish this conversation after you get a nap in old man?” You pressed a kiss to his temple ignoring the look he shot you. 

“You know I do a pretty decent job keeping up with you last time I checked.” It was hard to read his expression in the low lighting but you could catch the way his head tilted almost like a challenge. The faintest hint of a smirk still plastered to his face. 

“You do. But have you considered I’m using you as an excuse to take a nap and get some quiet time with my boyfriend for once?” You challenged him back, trying your best to keep a straight face. 

Wordlessly he hauled himself up. Then turned to offer you a hand, helping you to your feet. Once you were upstairs it didn’t take long for you to drift off, an alarm set for an hour in the future. More importantly, Jack’s arm wrapped securely around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. 

Months passed quietly, comfortably between the night he asked you to come with him. He had steadily been pulled more and more into the planning and preparation. Which meant less sleep and less time with you. 

Jack still made the effort, still made sure he caught you to kiss you goodbye and was home to kiss you before work if he had to be out. But between your work schedules and the approaching wedding date you hadn’t had time for much outside a quick kiss here or there. 

And it was starting to get the better of both of you. 

When the time came to actually go get fitted for a suit he found you waiting for him in the bedroom, laying on the bed still only in a stolen shirt that had once been his, watching him emerge from the bathroom. He stalled in the doorway taking you in, laying on your back, your bare legs bent to let your feet plant on the bed. 

 “Don't you tempt me, I can’t be late to this one.” With effort he managed to pull his focus to getting dressed, aware you were watching as he zipped up his jeans. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” But he saw the way your eyes also lingered, dragging themselves over his half naked body. 

“And hypothetically if you were, I’d make it up to you tonight.” He leaned over you pressing a kiss to your lips. Melting into your touch as your hands skated over the planes of his chest before looping around the back of his neck, letting you pull him in closer, his weight pressing you further into the bed. Your hand tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened. Weeks of want and frustration just below the surface as the heat between you. 

Shattered by the ringing of his phone from the bathroom. 

Pulling away his head hit the mattress, breathing heavily against your neck, pressing a trail kisses along your jaw before slowly pushing himself upright. Reluctantly you let him push away from you, almost aching as the warmth of his body left yours. Not missing the way he adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans before hearing his frustrated voice from the other room. “Yeah, be down in a minute.” 

You sat up on the bed watching him as he pulled a shirt over his head, glancing over at you still watching him. “Not trying to be tempting?” 

“Maybe a little.” You didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Then I’ll have to see if I can’t return the favor when I get home.” He leaned down again, capturing you in another searing kiss that was unfairly short lived. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

You listened to the front door slam behind him. Still perched on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of wheels on pavement. It had been too long since the pair of you had been home for more than a few minutes, even on his days off it felt like he was helping with something these days. 

Which was fine most of the time, but you missed him, missed finding him asleep on the couch when you got home from work. Or getting to sleep in with him on your days off, the weight of him on top of you. The way you would find yourself casually reaching out to touch him when you spread out on the couch together. 

You forced yourself to get up and move, heading for the shower to at least make an effort to start the day. By the time you had made yourself a meal there was an unopened message from Jack. A mirror photo of him, half changed into formal wear. Pants unzipped and shirt unbuttoned, his face was mostly covered by the phone itself but you could see the hint of a smirk playing across his features. 

You stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity starting at it. You finally backed out to and were about to type out something when another photo started to load in. Now fully dressed, with his arm around a groomsman, like wasn’t sending you thirst traps from the dressing room. You debated not giving him the satisfaction but you were pretty sure he knew it had worked.

You reacted to the messages and asked how it was going. Saving some of your decency hopefully by not openly showing he had gotten under your skin. It took a few minutes for him to reply. 

Good. Getting dinner and drinks after this but I’ll be home right after. 

You started to type back a reply, scrolling back to the first photo, the too pleased expression on his hardly visible face. The fact that you almost had him before he left replaying in your head. It was hard enough making the time with your schedules and now he was so busy. And this man had the audacity to tease you like that. 

If he wanted to play that game you could play that game. Phone in hand you scrambled back up the steps, an excited fluttering in your gut. There was one thing that would give you the unfair advantage, the shirt you had to stop stealing. After you had moved in you had been granted access to his old shirts. Jack insisted that he didn’t care what you stole, as long as he got it back. 

But he did, he just hadn’t known it. You had dug out one of his old shirts from the army. Had picked it because of its age, it felt like a piece of him when you missed him. That morning you woke up with your alarms as usual, rolling out of bed before the sun. Half awake you had stumbled your way downstairs to make coffee as the front door swung open, the familiar sound of shoes on the hardwood letting you know Jack had made it home. 

A moment later the footsteps stopped, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen behind you. The feeling of being watched buzzed in the back of your head, prompting you to turn. There he had stood, frozen, eyes focused solely on you. Suddenly feeling very naked you had turned to face him. 

You had been late for work that morning, and every other morning you had mistakenly decided to wear that particular shirt to bed. As exhausted as he was when he came home he always seemed to find the energy those mornings. It had become a pattern, so much so that you had given up wearing it, almost forgotten it existed. Until now. 

It took some digging to find. Buried under newer clothes, newer memories but where you had expected to find it. Embarrassingly enough the sight of the shirt alone was enough to make you feel warm. Memories associated with the way the fabric felt bunched in your hands resurfacing. 

You looked around like someone would catch you undressing in your own home before changing into it. Like the man who once wore it it had softened slightly with age, still sturdy but not as stiff as it had once been. It felt like an extension of Jack, a piece of his past made tangible. Maybe that’s why you had always loved it. 

You kicked your shorts off for good measure before positioning yourself in the mirror. The fabric covered just enough to make a point, the tiniest hint of bare skin showing in the reflection. 

Filtering through the photos until you landed on one that was perfect. Mimicking his own smug expression, phone held to the side, making sure to capture your back in the mirror. Completely innocent on a first glance, if anyone other than Jack saw you it would seem like a sweet picture from his girl. 

You hit send and retrieved the shorts, slipping them back on. Your phone dinged twice in short succession before you even had them all the way back on. 

That’s evil. 

I’m coming home. 

You had him, but you knew that before you even sent the picture. The second the idea popped into your head you won this little battle of wills. You wanted him home, but not at the cost of something important. Something he might regret missing. 

Stay, be with your friends. I’ll see you tonight. 

Fine. But you’re not changing. Be home as soon as we’re done. 

Battle won you settled yourself on the couch, determined to distract yourself, to make the time move faster while you waited. 

Say one thing for Jack Abbot, he’s a man of his word. He got dropped off around eight, a few drinks in and had practically pushed his ride into the truck when they got to the parking lot. The flush of liquor warming him in the cool night air as he made his way inside. 

You had been on his mind since he left, the weeks of pent up frustration slowly building to this moment. It took no time to spot you in your usual spot on the couch, half focusing on a movie, half looking at something on your phone. He settled heavily onto his spot on the couch, watching but not watching the TV. Far too aware that you were slowly sliding yourself closer to him.

“How was your night?” You spoke first, glancing up from your phone, finally making contact with his leg at the other end of the couch. 

“Good, I'm ready to have my weekends back.” He glanced over at you, a hand resting on your shin, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the exposed skin. 

You hummed in agreement, going back to your phone. Pretending that you weren’t aware of the way his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the slow press of his body against yours until he was pressed into your side one arm pinned beneath his weight. A hand skating over the fabric of the stolen shirt. 

Holding himself over you, meeting you in a slow, desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth when you pulled him in closer, beer still lingering on his tongue. 

He pulled away to press kisses along your jaw, just catching the whispered “missed you” that escaped you with a heavy sigh. 

He stilled above you for a moment, pausing before he spoke, whispering against your jaw “How much?” 

You squirmed under him watching a hand slowly slide up your leg, brushing at the hem of your shorts. When you didn’t answer right away he spoke again. “Because I know how much I’ve missed you.” The faintest scratch of teeth along the shell of your ear. “Missed this.” 

Heat radiating from your skin against his touch, fingers dipping breath the fabric of your shorts and inching along the soft skin of your thighs. Mouth claiming the sensitive skin just over your pulse. You could feel a twitch of a smile against your neck when a moan escaped your lips. 

His free hand abandoning your thigh to instead slide beneath your shirt, thumb teasing the elastic of your bra, leaning away to watch your expression. To take in the way your breathing caught as his hand pressed into your soft skin, savoring the way you felt against him.

“I’m going to need you to work with me.” And his arm was around your shoulders, pulling you against him, rolling himself under you. With you helping he was able to mostly pull you solidly on top of him, if not a little awkwardly. 

“Better.” He sighed, adjusting himself slightly beneath you. Hands wrapping around you to capture you in another kiss, more desperate than the last. His hand tangling in your hair bucking up against you chasing the fleeting friction against you. 

The groan you got in response to your own desperate grind against him sent a jolt of arousal through your body, adding to the pooling heat between your legs. Your desperate movements doing nothing to relieve the ache, if anything it made your movements more desperate against him. 

Jack clearly felt the same way, hands pushing down your shorts, thumbs hooking deftly in the elastic of your panties, sliding them both down your thighs, supporting you as you kicked them off entirely. Your hands travel down, fumbling with his belt for a second before managing to undo his jeans and helping him tugg them off. 

He didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on the damp patch of cloth staining his boxers. Watched as his cock twitched under your gaze. Hands pull you forwards again, pressing his clothed erection against your own soaked cunt. Still not enough but his deliberate grind pulled a broken moan from you, head falling forwards into the crook of his neck. Mindlessly chasing the sensation, grinding down against him. 

“Someone’s eager.” His voice thick with need as he bucked against you again. Dragging that fucking shirt over your head, nipping at the exposed skin he could reach. 

It was nowhere near enough, the drag of cloth doing little to ease the ache. Pulling away to be able to practically tear away the last of the fabric separating you. Swallowing thickly at the sight of him, settling back between his thighs. 

Keeping eye contact as you leaned in, licking a hot stripe from base to tip. That earned you an exhale that was dangerously close to a growl. Jack’s eyes didn’t leave yours, pupils totally blown as he watched you take his tip slowly in your mouth. Watched you even as your eyes fluttered shut, slowly inching your way down his length. With all the restraint in the world he kept his hips still when he felt the brush of the back of your throat. 

A hand brushing hair out of your face, settling at the back of your head, letting you feel the faint scrape of nails against your scalp with the swirl of your tongue and you began move, setting a pace just restrained enough to not be a tease, but not nearly enough to get him to break. Swallowing thickly around him, losing yourself in the weight of him, the increasingly desperate noises coming from above you. 

Pulling away enough to meet his eyes “Who’s eager now?” Pressing a kiss to his tip before taking him to the base again. Settling into the same steady rhythm, watching him come undone under you. 

“So fucking pretty. Can’t help it” It came out raw, almost unrecognizable as his voice. Still watching, eyes locked on the way your lips parted around his cock. Watching as you squirmed into the fabric beneath you, trying desperately to find your own relief. 

A tug from the hand still half tangled in your hair got you to pull away with an obscene pop, slightly breathless and lips swollen. Becking you forward again, sliding backwards to sit more upright against the arm of the couch. 

Those familiar hands guided you down, firm hands pressing your hips against him. Not letting you take him yet, a slow teasing thrill running through you again as he dragged between your folds. Letting up to let you set the pace, hips pressed to yours, matching your pace as you finally were able to chase away your own desperate need. 

The frim press of a thumb against your clit made you almost come undone. Hips stuttering against his as preassue built at your core, back arching arching. His other hand skating up your back, skilled hands unclasping your bra in one fluid motion, another piece of clothing discarded somewhere in the dark room. 

It was like you were being consumed by flame, burning hands teasing hardened nippels, rolling them lightly between practiced fingers. Another circling your clit, helping you come undone grinding against his leaking cock. Your breathy moans echoed in desperate shaky breaths beneath you. You were barely holding on, hips jerking erratically against his. 

“Let go.” That was all that it took. His voice was raw and quiet, strained with need. 

The building crescendo of tension snapped, stilling against him,hands braced against his chest as pleasure wracked your body, fluttering against him as you came, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Slumping forward, breathing hard. Your breath is almost too warm against the sweat collecting on your bodies. 

Jack kissed you again, slow, tender, letting the tremors run their course against him. Completely still beneath you. Cupping your face and grounding you again as you came down from the high or your orgasam. 

Pulling away, a thin line of saliva still connecting you briefly he adjusted beneath you again. He rolled against you again, a moan falling from your lips. Pushing against his chest you were disappointed to still find the cloth of his shirt, damp with sweat and very much in the way of wandering hands. 

Your hand slid under the hem, sliding it up. Reaching back with the other to stroke him before taking a breath and sinking down onto him. Jack’s head falling back exhaling through his teeth as fluttering walls gripped him, pulling him in. “fuck”

You clenched around him when your hips met. Hangs tightening their grip on your hips grinding into you. Hungry eyes glued to where you met, watching as you started to move, lifting yourself to ride him. 

You knew he wasn’t far from his own release. What little composure he had held onto was already cracking, his hips jerking erratically against yours. Already sensitive and moving at your own reckless pace once you adjusted, nails biting into skin. His thumb returning to circle your already over sensitive clit. Fatigue battling pleasure as heat sparked through you once again.  

A pathetic whine escaped your mouth, bracing against his shoulder, almost frenzied in your movements as pleasure wound tight once more. The room falling silent other than the sound of your labored breathing. Focusing solely on chasing senestion, watching the man beneath you coming undone, jaw clenched and breathing hard as you rode him.

Your second orgasm ripped through you. Your walls spasming around him slumping forwards bonelessly onto his chest. Arms circled you, hips snapping against yours, breathing ragged in your ear. 

A your name tumbling from his lips his hips stuttered against yours, finishing inside you, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You stayed like that for a minute, both breathing heavily. Still riding the high of your climax. 

“Shower?” You offered, pressing a slightly breathless kiss to his forehead. He nodded wordlessly, reaching past you to offer you your discarded clothes and helping you get off him without making a mess of the fabric below you. 

Waking the next morning you felt heavier than you had the past few nights. Blinking slowly you realized that you were pinned, your legs tangled with Jack’s, his arm thrown over your shoulders. The weight of him was almost alien the past week. Extra heat tangled around you along with the sheets. 

Moving slowly you tried to extricate yourself, tossing and tuning would likely wake him and you were awake enough. You managed to free your legs from the sheet and were slowly pulling out from under him when the arm around you flexed, pulling you closer. 

“Stay.” He murmured, arms tightening around you, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “Just a little longer.” 

You let him pull you into him, the warmth of his chest at your back, the steady pulse of his heart against your skin. The comforting scent of him filling your lungs with each breath. It was hard to resist letting your world become Jack Abbot for just a little longer. 

[mommyslittlebird]

Sub!top reader x slightly overstimulated Wanda. I need your thoughts. I genuinely wanna know because is being a domme not a state of mind? Like can you be overstimulated and like it while still being in control? I have soooo many questions abt it

-🛍️

This is more power bottom Wanda than dom Wanda, but I did my best. An expansion on this.

“Oh fuck!” Wanda screamed as her third orgasm of the night crashed through her body. She nearly shot up from underneath, overwhelmed with the sheer intensity of it all.

You slowed down. She was clearly overstimulated. You hadn’t cum yet but she needed a break.

“N-no,” she stammered. “Don’t stop. Don’t- don’t stop. Just… just hold my arms down.”

“B-but…” you started to protest. You were concerned and you never ever wanted to hurt Wanda. “If you can’t keep going that’s really alright. I can just…”

“N-no. No I want this. I want… I want you to use me,” she explained. “I want you to use me to get yourself off. Like… like I’m a just a fleshlight and you’re- ah s-shit.”

She was interrupted by a sharp thrust of your hips, pushing yourself back inside of her in one fell swoop, nearly kissing her cervix. You put her arms over her head and pinned her forearms down with your hands. You felt that familiar surge of energy run through you. Power. Authority. But at the same time, you were still so scared of hurt Wanda.

“Like… like this?” You asked, unsure of what you were doing.

“Yes! Yes that’s it. Use your mama’s body. Turn her into your toy,” she panted, writhing underneath you as your hips picked up speed again. It was too much. She’d cum so many times it hurt. But she loved it. “God! Fuck you’re so big,” she panted as you roughly forced all 9 inches of yourself into her.

Your hips rutted into hers even harder than they had before, shaking the entire bed with the power of each thrust. You could feel yourself getting close already, high on the newfound power. You shakily and nervously asked “c-can I slap you again?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up with excitement. She’s trained you to be so big and tough: to love hurting her despite your gentle heart. “Yes. Go ahead and slap mama. Make me your good little slut.”

You slapped her hard across the face, addicted to the way it made her clench around you. It made her yelp and squirm, but you kept her pinned down underneath you. “I-I’m gonna cum. Mommy I’m gonna….” You wrapped your arms around her waist holding her close and muffling your cries of pleasure into her chest.

You collapsed onto her chest, letting yourself naturally fall out of her as you went soft. She wrapped her arms around you and kissed your head, gently scratching your scalp.

“Did I do good, mama?” You asked. She was getting used to that being your first question every single time you fucked, regardless of how many times she had cum.

“Yes, baby. You were so good for me,” she reassured, adjusting you into a more comfortable position on her chest. “Mama is so proud of you.”

[nomie-11]

Hold Your Hand - Part 5

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie will stop at nothing to get you back, even if all you need is to hold her hand

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The rink was quiet at night. 

The overhead lights cast long, silver reflections on the ice, turning it into a mirror, and the steady hum of the cooling system filled the empty space. It was peaceful—at least, it should have been. 

But you weren’t at peace. 

You skated across the rink, breath coming quick, muscles burning. You had been at this for nearly an hour now, pushing yourself harder and harder, trying to shake off the frustration that gnawed at your insides. Your movements were sloppy, your footwork slow, your jumps weaker than they used to be. 

It had been too long. Your body remembered, but it wasn’t sharp like before. You could feel the rust in your bones, the stiffness in your edges. You tried to push through it, but every mistake, every misstep, only made your frustration worse.

You had been great once. 

Now, you just felt like a fraud. 

With a sharp breath, you set yourself up for a double axel, gritting your teeth as you stepped onto the left forwards outside edge that once used to be second nature, and launched into the air—

Only to land under rotated and off-balance. Your blade wobbled, skidding slightly as you tried to compensate for the missing rotations, and before you could catch yourself—

Crash. 

You hit the ice hard, the cold biting through your jacket. The impact jolted through your body, knocking the air from your lungs. 

“Fucking—!” You slammed your fist against the ice, squeezing your eyes shut, your breath shaking. 

You heard the sound before you saw her—the faintest scrape of skates shifting behind the rink boards, just out of sight. 

Your chest tightened. 

“Ellie,” you muttered, without looking. 

“You’re gonna break something if you keep going at it like that.” 

You exhaled sharply, rolling onto your back. The ceiling lights blurred in your vision, white and distant. “Go away.” 

“Yeah, no.” 

A shuffle of movement. Then, slowly, Ellie skated out from the shadows, her hands stuffed into her hoodie pockets. Her skates cut smooth lines into the ice as she moved, but she stopped a few feet away, like she knew better than to get too close. 

You closed your eyes. “How long have you been here?”

She hesitated. “Long enough to watch you wipe out three times in a row.”

Your jaw clenched. 

Ellie sighed, shifting on her skates. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You swallowed hard. “I just need to get it back.” 

“Get what back?” 

You sat up abruptly, looking at her. “Everything. My edges, my jumps, my spins—all of it.” Your voice cracked, raw and strained. “If I’m gonna do this again, I have to be better.” 

Ellie frowned, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to kill yourself trying.” 

“If that's what it takes, I do.”

The words were automatic, slipping out before you could stop them. But they were true. You had to. If you were going to leave hockey—if you were going to make this choice—you had to prove that it wasn’t a mistake. 

Ellie didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—

“You don’t even look happy.” 

You flinched. 

Ellie sighed, sitting down on the ice next to you. “Look, I don’t get it,” she admitted. “You say this is where you belong, but all I see is you beating yourself up over not being good enough.” Her voice softened. “That’s not what love looks like.” 

Your chest ached. 

She tilted her head, eyes searching yours. “Is this really what you want?” 

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. 

You didn’t have an answer. 

Ellie took a glance at you, then scooched in closer. “You’re not a figure skater anymore.” 

“Fuck you,” you whispered. 

Ellie didn’t flinch. “You’re not a hockey player either.” 

She moved until she was right in front of you, resting her forearms on her knees. “You’re just you,”

You blinked hard, your throat tightening. 

Ellie hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing yours lightly where they rested on the ice. “You don’t have to prove anything.” 

You exhaled shakily. “You don’t get it.” 

Ellie’s jaw twitched. “Then make me get it.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away. 

“I spent years trying to be someone I wasn’t,” you admitted quietly. “And then I left skating, and I thought… maybe hockey could be my thing. Maybe I could make it fit.” Your fingers curled into the ice. “But I was wrong. I should’ve never left.” 

Ellie was quiet for a long moment. 

“Or maybe you were just scared.” 

Your head snapped up, eyes flashing. 

Ellie held your gaze, steady and unwavering. “You didn’t leave because you weren’t meant for hockey. You left because you were afraid of what it meant to stay.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Ellie pressed on. “You’re scared, Cap.” Her voice was so soft, it nearly broke you. “And I don’t really get it or get why. But you’re not alone, you know.” 

Your breath shuddered, and Ellie reached out, her fingers curling around yours, squeezing just slightly. 

“You belong with us,” she said. “With me.”

You stared at her, at the certainty in her eyes, the warmth in her touch, and the weight in your chest eased. 

You squeezed her hand back. 

But your heart still stuttered in fear. 

—---------------------------------

Four days. 

Ellie had spent every single one of them in some kind of hell. 

She hadn’t expected you to come back right away. She knew you needed time. But as each day passed, her nerves got worse. She kept replaying your conversation over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every flicker of emotion on your face. What if you decided it wasn’t worth it? What if she’d been wrong? What if she pushed too hard? 

And worse—what if you never came back?

The team was falling apart without you. 

Practice had been a disaster. Abby and Vi were constantly bickering over defensive plays, Caitlyn had kept second guessing her shots, and Dina—Dina who never complained about anything—had started throwing her glove down in frustration every time another goal slipped past her. Ellie had tried to keep them together, to remind Abby of her position as assistant captain, but she wasn’t you. She didn’t have your presence, your authority, the way you could make everyone feel like they could do the impossible just because you believed they could. 

She hated it. She hated that she couldn’t fix it. And she hated even more that she missed you—not just on the ice, but everywhere. She caught herself glancing at the locker room door, half-expecting you to walk in with that look of quiet determination .She found herself looking for you in the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the places you used to stretch before games. 

And it scared the hell out of her. 

Because this wasn’t just about her need to fix the team anymore. It was you. 

It was the way you fit—like a missing piece she hadn’t even known she was missing. It was the way your hands felt in hers that night on the ice. The way you looked at her like you wanted to believe her. 

Ellie had never been good at this kind of thing. Feelings. Emotions. But this? 

She couldn’t ignore this. 

So when the locker room door finally swung open on the fifth day and you stepped inside, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, Ellie nearly lost it. 

The room went dead silent. No one moved. No one breathed. Until—

“You came back,” Dina’s voice was barely above a whisper, like she didn’t want to jinx it. 

You dropped your bag onto the bench and started pulling out your skates, like it was any other day, like you hadn’t been nearly 192 hours since, besides Ellie, any of them had seen you on the ice. “Yeah,” you said simply. “Figured Abby wasn’t doing a good job and I should step in.” 

The tension in the room snapped all at once. 

“Rude statement aside, thank fucking god,” Abby groaned, throwing her head back. 

“Holy shit, do you know what we’ve been through?” Vi demanded. “It’s been like the goddamn wild west out there.” 

“We’ve lost three practice matches. In a row.” Caitlyn muttered. 

Dina huffed. “Understatement. We got steamrolled.” 

You snorted. “Sounds like you guys need your captain.” 

Ellie was still staring at you, her heart beating way too fast, but she managed to find her voice. “Yeah,” she said, quieter than she meant. “We do.” 

Your eyes flicked to hers, just for a second. Something unspoken and undeniably private passing between you. 

Then you sat down and pulled your skates out of your bag, lacing them up like nothing had changed. 

But everything had changed. 

Because when you finally stepped back onto the ice, something in your expression shifted. Your shoulders relaxed, your posture settled, and the second your blades made contact with the rink, it was like you breathed for the first time in days. 

And Ellie saw it. She saw the way the ice welcomed like an old friend, the way your body moved like it belonged there. She saw the way your face softened, the way your hands flexed, the way you felt at home again. 

And that's when it hit her; this wasn’t just admiration. This wasn’t just respect. 

Ellie liked you. Really liked you. And suddenly, that realization was the most terrifying thing in the world. 

—----------------------------

You were 13, fresh off a promising figure skating career, when the hockey girls picked you up halfway through February. It was dark out, and a cold winter night in New York, but the tension between you and your mother at the dinner table was too much, too sharp—too final. 

So you did what you always did when you didn’t know what else to do: you went back to the rink. 

You weren’t allowed on the ice anymore unless you paid for a free practice session, and you ran without cash, so you couldn’t skate—the program made that much clear. One rumor turned into a whisper campaign, and that campaign ended in a meeting behind closed doors. A meeting where no one said the word gay—but everyone knew exactly what crime you had committed. They told you ‘your attitude didn’t reflect the program's values.’ That you ‘weren’t a good fit anymore.’ That you ‘needed time away.’

They took your jacket. Your friends. Your club. They left you with your skates and a locker you needed to empty and nothing else. 

You couldn’t go home. Your dad was out of town and your mom had gone quiet in that terrifying, clipped kind of way that told you nothing would ever be the same. She hadn’t even looked at you when you walked out. 

So you sat on a bench near the locker rooms, your breath fogging in the cold, the ice humming just beyond the plexiglass. The rink staff had gotten to you lurking. You kept to yourself. You didn’t bother any of the real skaters. You were just a girl in a parka with a beat-up duffel bag and nowhere else to go. 

That was where they found you. 

The first one to notice you was Jo. Big, loud, never shut up—she wore number 18 and had a wicked slapshot. She skated by, paused, then doubled back. 

“You a ghost or something?” she asked. 

You blinked up at her, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting in that exact same spot every night for like, a week.” Jo dropped her stick against the boards and crouched down a little. “You okay?” 

You didn’t answer. 

Then came Anya—center, number 91, with the same kind of sharp stare that made people move out of her way. She leaned over Jo’s shoulder, expression unreadable. “She’s the figure skater,” she said quietly. “From Team USA.” 

You flinched. 

“Was,” you muttered. “Was the figure skater.” 

Anya tilted her head. “So you skate?” she asked, like it was an invitation. A test, more accurately. 

You looked up slowly. “Yeah.” 

“You wanna try something new?” 

You hesitated. 

Then came the third. Frankie. Backup goalie, second-line enforcer, and the one with the kindest goddamn eyes you’d ever seen. She sat down right next to you without saying anything, unzipped her hoodie, and offered you half of her protein bar. 

“C’mon,” she said after a minute, voice soft. “We’ll even let you borrow a stick.” 

And from there it started slow. They’d let you shoot around after practice, help collect pucks, hang out in the locker room and steal their tape. They taught you how to body check without taking someone’s head off, how to hold your elbows up when you skated into a rough corner, and how to hit a mean slapshot. 

But it was Frankie who stuck. 

Frankie who noticed when you started staying later and later, when you stopped mentioning school, when you flinched at the sound of a phone vibrating. 

It was Frankie who handed you an extra toothbrush and said, “My place has working heating and a free couch. You’re not sleeping in a locker room.” 

It was Frankie who picked you up from the curb after your mom locked the front door and told you not to come back until you’d “fixed yourself.” 

It was Frankie who drove you to your day of high school and to the AA team’s tryouts, sat through the entire thing, and signed every sheet of paper, saying “you ever need anything—you call me. No matter what.” 

And most importantly—it was Frankie who showed you that hockey wasn’t about approval. It wasn’t about medals or podiums or being perfect. 

It was about freedom. About crashing and bruising and choosing yourself, even when no one else did. 

She taught you how to take up space. How to exist on the ice like you deserved to be there. 

She was the first person who looked at you and didn’t see a problem that needed fixing. 

She just saw you. 

—-------------------------

“Hey,” Ellie’s voice brings you back, low and uncertain. 

You glanced over your shoulder, watching her jog to catch up with you outside the rink. Practice had ended more than an hour ago, but she must’ve stayed behind. 

“You good?” she asks. 

You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

Ellie slows to match your pace. “You looked sharp out there today. Like scary sharp. Totally bruised my ribs when you checked me into the boards.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “That a compliment?” 

“Definitely,” she teases, then after a moment, more quietly: “You okay for real though?” 

You look at her. Really look at her. 

And something about the way she meets your gaze—steady, patient, warm—makes your chest ache. 

You nod. “It was good to be back.” 

Ellie watches you, then reaches out, brushing her fingers against yours again—gentler this time, more deliberate. 

You don’t pull away. 

She laces your finger together. 

You squeeze back. 

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of the future. You’ve already lived through the worst of the past. And maybe you were always meant to end up here. 

With her. With this team. With the people who really see you.  With people who stay.

This is part 5 of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevslover , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus , @sophie-thefrog8 , @escaping-reality8 , @saturnhas82moons

[crescenthistory]

okay. another gut-wrenching fic idea, inspired by rereading sotr. a hunger games au where you grew up in the districts with the marauders but when your parents were hung for being traitors, you were taken by the capitol for human experimentation. the marauders grieve you and refuse to forget you.

the year after, remus is reaped and survives his games. for the next three years, remus puts all his energy into mentoring and trying to help the steady stream of tributes. he tries to find purpose in helping them survive while he knows prongsfoot and dorlene work with the rebellion somewhere underground. remus cares for every tribute he ends up with, giving his all even at just 20 years old.

when a girl is reaped who looks exactly like you, though, remus immediately cares for her more than any tribute before her. he sees his long lost love and friend and wants to help you survive in this form, even if he couldn’t help the real you. when she is unjustly killed by another tribute in the training centre, it hits remus hard.

the pain of that loss still has nothing on the feeling that floors him when the president brings in a body double to cover up her death — and beneath all the styling and adjustments, remus recognises you.

to recognise you and not be able to lunge for you in front of the president is torture. to see the vacant look in your eyes as you assume the tribute’s name is torture. to realise he only confuses you more when he tries to call you by your real name in private is torture.

remus believes he failed you by letting them take you and believes he failed the tribute you replaced by not being able to protect her. he refuses to fail you again. not again. he does everything in his power to get you through to the games. even if that means having to pretend you’re the fallen tribute, to coach you into pretending you’re her for the cameras. even if that means watching you spiral and be tortured through your earpiece. to be the shell of both the girl you've been programmed to be and yourself.

he gets in touch with the rebels he knows inside the capitol — moody posing as gamemaker, frank working as the district 3 tech genius — to help him disable your earpiece and drug channel secretly, to try and remove their ability to harm you further. to then secretly trying to remind you of you really are once the interviewing is over. to remind you of the rebellion that runs through your veins, of the memories you’ve shared. whispered promises to make up lost time, chasing the glint of recognition in your eyes.

when you're in the games, capitol programming and remus' voice war in your head, all the while the president tries harder than ever to kill you — body doubles can’t become victors without the capitol's trickery being exposed. remus is ravaged by desperation as your mentor, doing everything he can to get you through it. colluding with the rebellion, pulling on sponsors, manipulating gamemakers.

when you do survive your games, whether that be through unsuspected victory or a coup d’etat finally ending the dictatorship, remus intends to fulfill his promise to get you back to yourself. all the while other, cruder rebels call you a lost cause or a lunatic, remus cradles you like you're the most precious thing he knows; because you are. even if you spend the entire rest of your life trying to gain your footing, he will not leave your side, intent on bringing his girl back to him.

[zepskies]

lol Totally tracks that she'd be questioning her life choices of how she got to this point.

A huge fucking pile of steaming hot shit, basically.

Again, couldn't help myself on the JP references 🤣

But what about Ben? Were you leaving him behind, too? Realistically, you knew it was the smartest choice. As wonderful, otherworldly, and addicting as that newfound, blooming feeling in your heart was, you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere but into turmoil. This relationship didn’t have a future. Period.

Aw man, I get why her instinct is to flee -- and how ironic that relationship line is 😭 -- but I also get the feeling that her instinct in tough situations is to run from them rather than face them. There was a line in the previous chapter of like, "you hated facing consequences," and in a way, her powers kind of help her do that, even if they have consequences of their own. Reminds me of the old Once Upon a Time theme, "Magic always comes at a price." Feels very similar when we talk about V in The Boys world.

Dottie gifted you a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard how you talk to him. I also overheard what you said that night about me at dinner. You stood up for me. Just wanted to repay the favor.”

Idk why, but here I almost worried that Dottie was setting her up for a future vindictive fakeout somehow, but I'm so glad that she was genuine here and reader earns her support. 💛

“And Grace got with a Kennedy?” you asked, not resisting the curiosity bubbling inside of you and seeing Dottie nod. “Which one?” “I think it was the oldest – Jack,” she replied. You gaped at her. “John F. Kennedy?!”

Still cackling over this and all subsequent Kennedy references! 🤣🤣

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him. “‘Cause you’re not a bad guy, right?” you said a little louder, feeling the drops of venom like castor oil on your tongue. And Ben picked up on it, his brows drawing together, facial muscles twitching as he tried to solve what triggered the change in mood. What happened between now and the moment you’d shared in the drawing room only a few hours ago? You knew you were being indecisive. You knew you were being unfair. But you couldn’t let go of that feeling. That tiny, tingling thing that kept gnawing at every bit inside of you. The feeling that kept screaming at you that something was amiss. It was there – right there.

Aw geez, it's like it's getting harder for her to distinguish between future/present and past/present, which, fair enough. 😭 On one hand it is unfair to current Ben, but in his words and behavior are early shades of what he'll become, and it's really hard to set that aside, especially when she can't explain any of this to him.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes. You shook your head, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage. “I didn’t say that. But Ben... I don’t know what I am to you… what this is.” “You don’t get it, do you?” He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through the disheveled, dirty blond locks. “I’ve told you things… things I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve let you into parts of my life that I don’t show anyone else.”

Ben's not "wrong" here, but she also has a really valid point that he hasn't made it clear what they're doing, other than having fun and going on dates. This argument is just so damn compelling on both sides 😭😭

Ben rubbed his mouth with his fingers, head bobbing in thought. “Look, maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough with you, but I care about you. I don’t know everything, but I know that I want you. I want this. All of it. The whole damn mess, alright?”

Aw there we go! The first real confession...albeit drunk, but I can live with that. 😂

Ben cupped your cheeks, the kiss on your temple an oath. “I’ll make it work, okay? I don’t know what else to say, but I promise I will. I’ll find a way out of all this... for both of us. But I need you here. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t wanna go back to that life without you in it. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need you to believe in me.”

Ok, he would've broken me there for sure 😭😭😭

“Well, thank fucking God you didn’t sleep with him,” Ben muttered as he tightened his arms around you. “I hate that guy. Total fucking pussy.” “Didn’t he graduate Harvard?” you muttered, feeling Ben’s jaw grind on top of your head. Yeah, you weren’t doing JFK any favors now.

lmfao how did we go from crying and heart-wrenching to teasing jealous Ben? I love it so much 😂😂

“Not everything is so simple, Dottie. Mrs. Brooks has always been a lady – always. She’s tried for years, but the man she married–” She sighed, her voice dropping. “It broke her. And now she watches the boy becoming just like him. It’s no wonder she retreats.”

I forget if we ever learn how Margaret met Richard in the future chapters, but it makes me wonder if it was arranged for her, or if she genuinely loved him at first. Or at least, the idea of him, or maybe a facade he used to charm her. Though he strikes me as a man to get married for duty's sake and not for love, considering all his side pieces. 🙄

“You’ve never been?” she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and mild disbelief. You shook your head. “Oh, my dear, it’s almost a must for a young lady to experience. A proper tea room, with all the delicate china and the soft music in the background – it’s simply marvelous.”

I love her lol. She's so classy and lovely. And I love that we're already seeing the sparks of life in her returning! 💖

She had imagined, for so many years, that one day she would have a daughter to share these moments with. Unfortunately, that hadn’t come to pass.

Hmm, I wonder if it wasn't for lack of trying, or if Richard just couldn't be bothered to be with his wife. Both make my heart ache for different reasons, if only for Margaret's potential happiness to have a daughter. ❤️‍🩹

“Well, that’s nice,” Grace pressed through her teeth, her polite mask finally crumbling. “But you don’t get it, do you? You’re just the latest distraction, darling. Someone to amuse himself with, and as soon as this little rebellion ends, he’ll come crawling back to someone who knows the rules, and you’ll be just another notch in his belt.” Jesus fucking Christ, why did he always have to date the biggest bitch in the room? And you’d once thought Crimson Countess was a piece of work. But you grew up in a trailer park in fucking Jersey. If a girl like Grace thought she could scare you off with a few words, she had another thing coming.

lol honestly feeling scared for Grace at this point. Classic rich bougie bitch meets broke cutthroat city girl. 😂

Mrs. Brooks gave a gentle laugh, her gaze growing even more distant. “I was just a girl back then. I had no idea what awaited me. But when I met Richard, everything changed.” She paused, her voice darkening slightly as she pushed away the memories of her childhood, like the warmth they brought was something she couldn’t bear to hold on to for too long. “He was everything I’d never known. He was wealthy, educated, and had the kind of connections that I could only dream of. He swept me off my feet. He promised me a life of comfort, luxury, and security. And I thought, ‘This is it. This is everything I’ve been working for.’”

Ahhhh here we go!! It's so fucking sad. You'd think this would be her Hollywood happy ending, but it was just the beginning of her nightmare. 💔 I find it interesting that Richard pursued her, even though she wasn't part of the upper class. Makes you think that he had a glimmer of a heart once too (doubtful), or maybe he was just attracted to her and wanted her, thinking he could mold her into the woman he needed at his side, just like he's trying to mold Ben. His "love" is hard and cold as steel. 😥

Also we've talked about how heartbreakingly sad it is, how she talks about Ben as a child here, and how she's essentially given up on her own son due to Richard's influence.

Her eyes softened, her hand reaching over to clasp yours on the table in a sad understanding. “I know you do. But that’s the problem, dear. When you love someone like him, you’ll always be fighting a battle you can’t win.”

Out of everyone, Margaret's warning to the reader rings the hardest. That she doesn't want him to put out the reader's fire like her own husband has for herself -- it's really not fair to Ben, or to Margaret herself. I love that we see her later "reclaiming her fire," in a sense. 💕

Just so you know, I have read ch. 11 and have THOUGHTS. I will comment over on Patreon soon (and catch up with the latest chapter of Somebody I Used to Know because I need to know what happened after that awful "surprise" 😭), but I just want you to know that I love how much depth you've layered into this story. I'm getting something new with every reread, friend! 💛🩵

Time After Time – Chapter 7

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, freely invented historical gossip, major angst alert & a bit of fluff

Word Count: 10.5k

Posted on Patreon April 11, 2025

A/N: Three angsty converstions in this one, three women, and one very upset Ben! Plus, a deep dive into Mrs. Brooks! If ya can't tell by the word count again, I clearly loved writing this part 😂🫶 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

It had been an agonizing hour of pacing, second-guessing, and questioning everything that had led you here – to this strange, impossible life you had stumbled into.

A huge fucking pile of steaming hot shit, basically.

You hadn’t been able to sit still since Ben’s parents returned, your thoughts racing in a thousand different directions. Each time your footsteps neared the door of the guest bedroom, they became anxiously quiet and soft, however, not wanting to alert anyone to your presence. Every moment in this mansion felt like a misstep, a mistake you couldn’t undo.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter.

You should’ve left a long time ago, but you had gotten too comfortable here – too cozy and snuggly with Ben, like he was your goddamn security blanket. But you cared about him and cared about what would happen to him, so the last thing you wanted at this point was to cause any more trouble for him, especially with his father.

So, you decided to leave.

You started throwing a few outfits from your closet onto the bed, only wanting to take the most necessary items before realizing you didn’t even own a bag big enough to stuff it in. But you had your magical remote control back, so your plan was to hit pause on the whole fucking mansion, grab a suitcase from somewhere, sneak out, and maybe rob a bank for some pocket change on your way out of dodge.

Yup, good plan.

But what about Ben? Were you leaving him behind, too?

Realistically, you knew it was the smartest choice. As wonderful, otherworldly, and addicting as that newfound, blooming feeling in your heart was, you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere but into turmoil. This relationship didn’t have a future.

Period.

Either you’d lie to him for the rest of both your lives – however long that would be – or you’d hurt him. There was no other option.

Could you tell him? Could he handle the truth? Vought didn’t even exist yet. Right now, the Nazis were working on Compound V. To Ben, people gaining superpowers would be an alien concept.

‘Hey, uh, by the way, I have superpowers that let me control time, and I’m also from the future, and we don’t actually like each other there. And oh, yeah, you’re still alive in 2023 because some crazy Nazi geneticist will inject you with this serum that turns you into an invincible asshole.’

Nope, you couldn’t imagine that conversation going over well. He’d be either incredibly mad or not believe you at all. Then what?

Fuck.

With fingers trembling, you moved toward the window, glancing out at the muddy street, knowing the path to your escape lay beyond the mansion’s high gates. You were in a mess of your own making – a mess that had to end before you caused any more disruptions. His father was back, and that in itself was a disaster waiting to happen.

It had all been doomed from the start.

But then, just as you were about to gather your courage to finally get the fuck out of here, a knock at the door startled you from your thoughts and broke the tension in the air. Cautiously, you approached it, hand hovering on the knob as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

However, as you twisted it and opened the door a crack, your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you spied your visitor. It wasn’t Ben, his father, or even his mother.

“Dottie?” Your brow furrowed in confusion before you noticed the silver tray with a plate of food and a cup of tea in her hands.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said as she stood in the doorway, her expression one of tentative curiosity. You quickly wiped your palms against your skirt, standing a little straighter as she entered and set the tray down on your nightstand.

“Did Florence or Frances send you?” you asked warily. You knew you weren’t her favorite person, but she shook her head.

“No, just figured you were hungry since you’re missing dinner. I didn’t think Florence wants you starving up here,” she replied, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sigh. “You dodged a bullet there, by the way. Family dinner is a bit… tense tonight. Lots of awkward silences and judgmental glares. Not that it’s something new per se…”

You were close to a migraine the way you strained your brow, blinking at the young maid in bemusement and shaking your head. “Thank you, uhm… I honestly didn’t think you cared about me… or even liked me,” you noted with an uncertain smile.

Dottie eyed you with a hint of mischief and approval in her gaze, a secretive smirk playing on her lips. “You’re not like the other girls who have come and gone through here. They fall over themselves trying to impress Ben, you know? But you don’t play that game. It’s… refreshing. You’ve got some fire in you. I respect that.”

“Fire?” You cocked an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed to nibble on your food. You were almost too nervous to eat with your ever-knotted stomach.

Dottie gifted you a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard how you talk to him. I also overheard what you said that night about me at dinner. You stood up for me. Just wanted to repay the favor.”

Your lips hiked a smile. “You’re welcome. And thank you… again.”

Your head bobbed, your fingers playing with a piece of bread roll. You were unsure if you should be flattered you were considered special or uncomfortable with the apparently long list of girls that had waltzed through this house.

Dottie seemed to notice your unease and plopped down on the mattress next to you. “Anyway, I thought you might need someone to talk to. We all like you, you know? The whole house. Especially George. He thinks you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met. You’re different.” She shrugged and sent you another encouraging smile.

Cheeks blushing, you swallowed thickly and met her gaze. “So, things are tense downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah. The old man is furious because Grace’s father called him in upset, saying his daughter had been crying all night because of what Benjamin did to her,” Dottie told you and rolled her eyes back, scoffing. “All fake, of course. Charlotte, the maid of the Du Pont’s, said she was completely fine and consoling herself with one of the Kennedy boys when they were visiting in Cape Cod.”

“Whoa, hold on…” You vividly shook your spinning head and held up a hand, blinking at Dottie’s waterfall of information. “Du Pont? As in the chemical industry empire?”

“That’s the one,” Dottie sang in bitter nonchalance, a bit of judgment swinging in her voice. She clearly wasn’t a fan of the people she worked for – the elite families that not only excluded people like her and you but also disregarded you as human beings altogether.

“And you guys talk among each other? I mean, the staff?”

Dottie snorted a laugh, heavily nodding. “Yes, we gossip a lot. These people always think they’re better than us, but they got more shit on them than you can find in a pigsty.”

You weren’t as shocked by the revelation as you probably should’ve been. In this house, the gossip was as much a part of the walls as the portraits and velvet curtains.

“And Grace got with a Kennedy?” you asked, not resisting the curiosity bubbling inside of you and seeing Dottie nod. “Which one?”

“I think it was the oldest – Jack,” she replied.

You gaped at her. “John F. Kennedy?!”

Dottie giggled at your reaction. “Yes, I believe so. Do you know him, too?”

Innocently, you pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, no, not all. Just heard of him, you know?”

Jesus fuck, Kennedy might have gotten around as much as Soldier Boy. And if those rumors of The Legend were true, did Soldier Boy kill the future president for personal reasons?

Now you understood why the Kennedy assassination had attracted so many conspiracy theories. Well, you could check, theoretically, and see for yourself…

Nope. Don’t open that Pandora’s box!

“Look,” Dottie said after a pause, chewing softly on her lower lip in thought, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold toward you. It’s not personal. I just don’t like the way Ben’s been acting recently. It’s... complicated.”

Your brows drew together as you watched the young woman next to you. “Complicated?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t know the half of it. You’re not the only one who feels out of place here, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dottie leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “Ben’s a good guy, but he’s got a bit of a soft spot for… the wrong things. Florence talks about him like he’s still that little boy who needs his daddy’s approval. I know how it happened, you know – how he ended up with Grace? It wasn’t his idea. It was his father’s. And you know what? Grace wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant in that either. She begged her father to arrange the engagement.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You’d known about Grace, but you’d never heard the full story. “She begged?”

Dottie’s lips twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “Yeah, she begged,” she confirmed, hazel eyes glinting with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “She thought she could change his mind, get him to fall for her. They had a fling, sure, but she knew Ben didn’t want her like that. They had a big argument about it a few days before. She stormed off, screaming he’d regret it.”

The weight of Dottie’s words pressed down on you, but before you could respond, she carried on.

“His father then announced the engagement at one of his parties here before even telling Ben about it. I mean, he didn’t even ask,” Dottie shared in exasperation. “Ben couldn’t stand it, so he rebelled in the only way he knew how. He found me, we got drunk and pissed off and then ended up in a closet together,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone flat and almost casual, but you could hear the bitter undertones of a scorned woman. “Ben had always been nice to me, you know? We’d gotten along, so when he came to me that night, I thought it was different. But he started ignoring me after. Couldn’t look at me – like I didn’t even exist... So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a little mad at him.”

You hesitated, studying Dottie’s face, looking for any hint of malice. But there was none – just brutal honesty. And you knew what this was by now. Just like Florence on your first day here, Dottie was warning you before you stepped off the ledge and fell.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dottie said when you still sat in silence, “I’m not trying to paint him as a bad guy. I’m telling you because I care, alright? I just think you should know what’s going on around here. Ben’s got his demons, and his family is a nightmare. He can’t escape what his father’s set up for him. He’s got a leash on Ben, and the pressure’s never going to let up.”

Her words cut through the haze of your thoughts like a sharp blade. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. You’d seen bits of that pressure already.

“No, I get it. I appreciate it, Dottie. Thank you,” you said softly. “But Ben’s not like his father. At least, he doesn’t have to be.”

Dottie shrugged, as if the truth was somewhere in between. “Maybe. But Mr. Brooks got a tight grip on him. The kind of grip that can make anyone do things they don’t want to. Even Ben.”

A pang of sympathy reminded you of Florence’s story once more – and all the other cruel acts you’d witnessed in your dreams. Were you blind or just foolish for believing he could change the path he was on?

“Ben’s not as immune to his father as he pretends to be. He’s not as strong as he thinks. Don’t get it twisted. His father’s got his claws in him,” Dottie emphasized. “You’re not the first distraction Ben’s found. Just-… be careful, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting into, but if you’re going to be a part of it–,” she paused, her eyes flicking back to your scattered clothes all over the bed, “–you better be sure about it.”

“Thank you, Dottie.” You nodded with a heavy lump in your throat.

She gently clasped your hand on the bed in a comforting manner and then sent you a kind smile, pulling out a deck of cards from the pockets of her apron. “How about we distract you for a little while, huh? You know how to play Gin Rummy?”

Your lips rose to a smile. “I haven’t played before, but I’m willing to learn.”

Dottie giggled, shuffling the cards in her hands. “Alright, how about I teach you the rules if you tell me about college?”

“Deal.” You grinned.

The clock read past midnight, the only sound coming from the shuffle of cards and the occasional giggles and whispered stories between you and Dottie. The minutes stretched on as you tried to forget what was happening downstairs, Dottie’s words of warning still running on a loop through your mind.

It couldn’t be a good sign that two people in this house have warned you now, could it? Shouldn’t you listen at some point?

An abrupt knock at the door ripped the two of you from your game and disrupted the fragile peace, Dottie’s eyes widening in panic. You both knew who it was.

“Shit,” Dottie muttered and hurried to gather the cards from the bed, stuffing them back into her apron. She hid in a blind corner of the room as you moved to answer the door, not opening it more than a crack.

“Hey,” you said softly and feigned an innocent smile as you met Ben’s gaze, noticing immediately he wasn’t alright. His usually shining emerald eyes carried a glaze, his smile turning lopsided as he took you in with a leer, but the distinct smell of whiskey that clung to him like a second skin was the dead giveaway.

“You’re still awake. I was hoping you’d be. Came to check up on you, sweetheart.” He smirked with shaky pupils.

Before you could stop him, he stumbled forward into the room on unsteady legs and fell straight into your arms. His large hands found purchase on your hips, dragging you closer against his body. He captured your lips, eager, hungry, and with a sloppiness that told you he had a few glasses too many.

You were close to pushing him away, hands already softly pressing against his chest before noticing Dottie trying to sneak past him, so you deepened the kiss instead, your arms winding around his neck, causing a groan to rumble through him. But on her last step, the door creaked on its hinges, and Dottie froze as Ben’s head snapped up.

Glassy eyes wide, he warily turned to the young maid, brow wrinkling into more creases than a crumpled letter. “Dottie? The fuck are you doing here?”

You placed your hand on his arm, forcing him to look at you and ground him at the same time. “She-, uh, she brought me dinner. Florence sent her. She didn’t want me to starve. You know how she gets about food,” you deflected with a giggle.

“Right.” Ben nodded, eyes flickering back and forth between Dottie and you.

“And you know, I guess I got a little nervous, so she’s been keeping me company. We’ve been playing cards,” you added with a reassuring smile, already anticipating his next question as you watched the cogs in his head turn.

“Oh.” Ben licked his lips for a moment and then looked at Dottie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dottie said, sending you a quick look of gratefulness.

“And, uhm, Dottie?” Upon Ben’s call, Dottie halted in the doorway, shoulders tense on her way to freedom. “I’m sorry…” he said, surprising you both as you shared a raised look with the maid. “About what-, uhm… what happened, you know?”

“It’s-, uh, it’s okay,” she replied, eyes flicking toward you, clearly unsure of how to respond. You gave a slight shake of your head, and she subtly cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s not okay… but I-, I forgive you.”

You gave her a quick thumbs up, and as Ben looked over his shoulder at you, brow knitted in suspicion, Dottie quickly fled down the hall and closed the door behind her.

Yeah, you might’ve been coaching her a little in those last few hours on how to deal with assholes like him in the future (which you realized was super ironic). But if you couldn’t save yourself from that man’s charm, at least you could save the rest of your gender.

“Didn’t know you and Dottie were friends,” Ben noted, turning his full attention to you now.

“Oh, uhm, it’s a new thing,” you said quickly, and it wasn’t even a lie. You gave a shrug of your shoulders. “I like her.”

“Yeah? What’s she been whispering into your ear, huh?” His voice was rough, his fingers gentle as they brushed along your cheek.

“She didn’t say anything, okay?”

Ben’s lips curled, clearly not believing you. “You know, I didn’t mean to… hurt her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.”

“Heard that one before,” you muttered, scoffing under your breath. You averted your eyes to the floor, the motion causing Ben’s hand to drop from your face.

“What?” There was no anger in his voice, only confusion.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him. “‘Cause you’re not a bad guy, right?” you said a little louder, feeling the drops of venom like castor oil on your tongue.

And Ben picked up on it, his brows drawing together, facial muscles twitching as he tried to solve what triggered the change in mood. What happened between now and the moment you’d shared in the drawing room only a few hours ago?

You knew you were being indecisive. You knew you were being unfair. But you couldn’t let go of that feeling. That tiny, tingling thing that kept gnawing at every bit inside of you. The feeling that kept screaming at you that something was amiss. It was there – right there.

And you still couldn’t fucking grasp it.

Ben contemplated, then smacked his lips, taking a step closer to you and ironing out his brow a little. “No, I-… Well, I’m no Boy Scout, but you know me.”

Your mouth opened and closed, lips trembling. You didn’t know how to respond. He was both right and wrong. But it all sounded too fucking familiar. It was that maddening feeling of déjà vu all over again.

One long stride of bow legs, and Ben was only mere inches away from you, warm palms cupping your cheeks like you were a precious gift, rough thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and hot breath tickling your skin like a whispered breeze in summer heat. You melted in his grasp in a matter of seconds like an ice cube on hot asphalt.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier,” he said, deep voice only a low murmur against the shell of your ear as he tucked a strand of hair behind it, careful like you could break in his hold. “Just hadn’t exactly broken the news yet that you’re staying here, y’know?”

“Ben–” You sighed, trying to clear the fog from your mind with a shake of your head.

“But I did now, okay?” he cut through that first brick in your wall of defense. The tip of his nose dragged against yours, coaxing. “I want you here, alright?” His lips ghosted over yours, a faint brush, barely there but enough to make you feel the heat crawling into your lower belly. “Had kind of a rough night. Thought you could make me feel better.”

He claimed your lips with a bruising force before he’d even breathed out his last word. The scent of expensive whiskey and nicotine enveloped you and clouded your mind. He smelled like he drank a liquor store and smoked a pack, but you couldn’t resist the pull – the desire, the chemistry. Your head was floating, but doubt still kept your feet tethered to the ground.

“Ben, don’t,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered despite your efforts. “Not like this. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t give a damn. Maybe I need to be drunk to feel something real for once. I need this. Need you,” he muttered, words slurred, voice rough.

He leaned in then, plump lips sinfully trailing down the column of your throat. The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, your heart racing in your chest as he slid his hand to the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

For a moment, you gave in and almost let yourself go, forgetting every drop of worry and fear that plagued your mind. His hands moved to your waist, grip tightening as he pushed you flush against his blazing body. But the blinking red alarm inside of you reminded you of the lines you didn’t want to cross.

“Ben…” Your hands pushed against his chest, gentle but firm.

He stopped then, breathing ragged and confusion gleaming in the lush green of his eyes. His gaze drifted to your face, lingering there, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. “I want you. Don’t you want me too, hm?”

The air thickened around you, sharp and overwhelming, threatening to suffocate you as you wrung for words. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, heavy against the soft, pink flesh. His pull was magnetic, his need evident.

“I don’t wanna be just another distraction for you,” you said quietly, voice shaking slightly, heart hammering in your throat. You tried to sound firm, but the way his eyes held you made your breath hitch.

Ben stepped back, hurt flashing across his freckled face like you’d just knocked the wind right out of him. His presence felt too large in the room, his emotions pressing down on you.

“A distraction?” His eyes hardened, his expression twisting with frustration and something darker. “That what you think you are? What Dottie told you? She’s been filling your head with this shit, hasn’t she?”

You flinched at the mention of Dottie’s name, not wanting to drag her into your mess. You hesitated with a thick swallow, tension creeping into your shoulders. “It’s not about her.”

“Damn right, it isn’t,” Ben huffed, shaking his head. And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

You shook your head, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage. “I didn’t say that. But Ben... I don’t know what I am to you… what this is.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through the disheveled, dirty blond locks. “I’ve told you things… things I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve let you into parts of my life that I don’t show anyone else.”

“I know. I just–”

But Ben cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. And this is how you repay me? By fucking running away? You’re not walking out on me. Not like this.”

Your heart stuttered, the words cutting deep and tightening your chest, aware he was right in a way, knowing he’d put himself on the line for you – more than you’d ever expected him to. But you couldn’t ignore the doubts that rose inside you.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admitted, your voice only a whisper, and it made his eyes soften slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Ben shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh, almost amused. “Oh, you think I can’t be trusted? That I haven’t given you enough reason to?” He stepped closer, his look pointed. “Kinda ironic, don’t you think? I don’t even know your real name. I don’t know a fucking thing about you, and yet, here you are, accusing me of being dishonest. You really think I’ve been fucking lying to you?"

You didn't respond. Silence.

"If you want to walk away, then go. But don’t you dare tell me you’re just a distraction. That’s insulting. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve given you everything I can, and you think I’m just trying to fuck around?”

You stood there, speechless, caught between the weight of his words and the fear that still clawed at your heart. Ben stepped closer again, his features softening just slightly, as if trying to calm the storm inside both of you. The promise of something more, something different with him, tore at the part of you that had been holding back.

“How do you know I’m the right person for you? You don’t even know what you want. And you’re right, you know? You don’t know me. Not in the way it matters. Not in the way you should,” you said, barely above a trembling whisper, the tears pricking your eyes.

“Then tell me,” he demanded, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Tell me who you are. Tell me your real name. Anything, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat, head shaking. “I can’t. I never meant to keep things from you, but I can’t tell you either. I’m sorry.”

Ben rubbed his mouth with his fingers, head bobbing in thought. “Look, maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough with you, but I care about you. I don’t know everything, but I know that I want you. I want this. All of it. The whole damn mess, alright?”

The raw emotion in his voice made you falter, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. That there was something worth fighting for here. The vulnerability in his green eyes made your knees weak, cracking both his armor and your walls.

Ben stared at you for a long moment, the hurt, confusion, and anger warring on his face. Then, without warning, he took a step toward you, closing the space between you two for good, and you swore you could even feel his wildly beating heart in his chest. He searched your face for something, a connection to hold onto, his hands slightly outstretched like he was reaching for you.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.” The words stung as they left you, the first tear slipping down your cheek.

Ben’s resolve crumbled then and there. He pulled you into his embrace, softly kissing the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest. And then he just held you like this for a moment. You’d never felt fucking safer while your heart was breaking.

“Hey, look at me.” Gently, he lifted your chin, wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t want to change things?” He held your gaze, eyes intense as the weight of his words hung between you. “I can’t just walk away from everything, but I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to figure this all out, but you have to let me.”

“How?” Your voice cracked, the fear of getting too close, of falling too hard threatening to crush you.

Ben cupped your cheeks, the kiss on your temple an oath. “I’ll make it work, okay? I don’t know what else to say, but I promise I will. I’ll find a way out of all this... for both of us. But I need you here. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t wanna go back to that life without you in it. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need you to believe in me.”

You could see it then, clear as day – he was afraid of losing you, the desperation brimming in the green seas of his eyes. You were his lifeline, the last thing that held his head above water and kept him from drowning in his father.

“I swear I’ll take you with me, wherever that it is. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. All I need is a little more time. Can you give that to me? Can you do that?”

The heaviness of a decision almost decimated you, but for the first time since you’d entered his world, the fear of losing him was stronger than the fear of staying.

You nodded, hesitantly at first before it became stronger – certain. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay.”

The space between you evaporated then as he closed the gap, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless. His mouth was desperate, clinging to the assurance that you were still here. Still with him.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss – it was everything. It was apology and regret. It was yearning. It was fear.

Ben was kissing you like he never wanted to lose you again, as if each second was a prayer that you’d stay. He pulled you even closer, his hands threading through your hair, his body so tightly against yours like he was trying to make sure you were real. To make sure he hadn’t just imagined this moment.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt, your heart beating faster than it had in days, weeks, months, maybe years. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, as if he was trying to tell you everything in the language of touch, in the frantic meeting of lips and breath – everything he could never say out loud.

You felt the warmth of his skin, the blazing heat of him, and you realized you both were clinging to the fragile thread that held you together, afraid to let go.

When he pulled back, both of you panting, there was a quiet between you that spoke louder than any words ever could. His eyes searched yours, his thumb caressing your cheek, forehead resting against yours.

Ben licked his lips, still holding onto you as he shut his eyes for a beat, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of the kiss. “Look, uhm, I hate doing this to you right now, but my father wants me to leave with him for two weeks,” he told you, voice heavy with exhaustion before a dark scoff escaped him. “Wants to show me how business is really done.”

You cupped his cheeks softly, looking up at him. “Don’t let him get to you, okay? You’re smarter than him.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a small smile, nodding like he understood. “My mother’s staying here with you, but don’t worry about it. I doubt she’ll bother you. She doesn’t really care about anything. I told them you’re a friend from school, so just go with that.”

“What school did you go to?”

“Choate. It’s in Connecticut,” Ben replied, a hint of amusement in his smile, noticing how carefully you were solidifying your alibi. “But it’s an all-boys school. You would’ve gone to Rosemary Hall.”

You grimaced. “So, total sausage fest, huh?”

Ben snorted a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. “You know, sometimes I wonder what school taught you all those words.”

You giggled, burying your face into his dress shirt. “Oh, college taught me those. You would know if you’d gone.”

“Ouch.” A deep and amused laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Didn’t John Kennedy attend Choate as well?”

Ben’s head tilted slightly. You could feel the movement atop of yours. “How do you know Jack?” He inched back slightly, peering down at you with a raised look. “Something you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

You snorted into his chest, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that, I swear. I just heard of him.”

“Oh, so it was just me you were immune to, huh?” Ben retorted, but you recognized the playfulness in his voice. It was your favorite side of him.

“Guess so,” you teased, giggling.

“Well, thank fucking God you didn’t sleep with him,” Ben muttered as he tightened his arms around you. “I hate that guy. Total fucking pussy.”

“Didn’t he graduate Harvard?” you muttered, feeling Ben’s jaw grind on top of your head. Yeah, you weren’t doing JFK any favors now.

“Well, he didn’t make it into the Army. I can tell you that much,” Ben blew right past your point, making you stifle a chuckle. “Heard he got a placement in the Navy, though.”

“Huh. Kinda sexy,” you quipped. Teasing. “He’ll probably learn a lot of sailor talk.”

Ben’s lips pursed in amusement as he looked down at you and was met with your grin. “Yeah, also probably gonna be a real sausage fest on that boat.”

You let out a crippling laugh, burying yourself in his chest as he joined you. Of course he’d only learn the things you didn’t want him to learn.

Ben’s fingers then snuck under your chin, lifting your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, gentle – a goodbye. “You’re gonna be okay here?”

You nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Ben didn’t say anything, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow, eyes gleaming with a mixture of relief and gratitude before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, almost reverent gesture, and it made your heart swell.

Exhaling a long breath, he let go of you and turned to leave, his shoulders slumping more with every step he took toward the life he didn’t want. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, more fragile, like the weight of everything he’d been holding in was finally starting to break him.

“I’ll never stop fighting for you,” he said with conviction as he looked at you one last time, raspy voice laden with words he couldn’t say. A promise. “Never.”

And deep down, you knew then that no matter how hard things would get over the next decades, you’d never let go, either.

The door closed for the last time that night, and then, Ben was gone.

The mansion felt quieter the next morning, Ben having left with his father for DC before the break of dawn. After getting dressed properly for breakfast for once, you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps quiet on the polished wooden floors.

You spied Margaret Brooks, Ben’s mother, sitting in the sunroom, but before entering, you decided to make a quick pit stop in the kitchen, where the faint murmurs of the staff seeped through the door.

As you stepped inside, the three women were busy at their tasks. Florence was bent over a pot on the stove, her movements brisk and efficient. Dottie was humming to herself as she arranged flowers on the counter. Frances, a bit more weathered and stern, was dusting the shelves, her eyes darting disapprovingly at Dottie, who had a tendency to daydream more than work.

“Good morning, ladies,” you said softly, your voice low enough not to carry too far.

“No breakfast in the kitchen, young lady,” Florence reminded you swiftly, which you countered with a knowing smile.

“Don’t worry, Florence. I’ll be outta your hair in a minute,” you said, making Dottie snort a giggle. “Just-… Before I go in there, can you guys give me the down-low on Mrs. Brooks?”

“The down-low?” Frances cocked a brow at you.

“Yes, the details,” you corrected. Half of your vocabulary was practically useless in 1942. “What’s her deal? Why is she so… withdrawn?”

After Dottie’s revelation last night, you thought you might as well make use of the love for gossip in this house.

Florence didn’t look up from the stove, her hands moving quickly with purpose. “She’s always been quiet,” she replied, her voice neutral but not unkind. “But over the years... well, she shut herself off. Hard to blame her. Her husband isn’t a good man, not to her or to Benjamin.”

Dottie, who had been nervously twisting the flower stems in her hands, let out a little sigh. “Yeah, Mr. Brooks is awful. He treats her like she doesn’t matter. And now she’s kind of… well, I think she just gave up. You know, stopped trying.”

Frances, who had been listening intently, fixed Dottie with a sharp look. “Not everything is so simple, Dottie. Mrs. Brooks has always been a lady – always. She’s tried for years, but the man she married–” She sighed, her voice dropping. “It broke her. And now she watches the boy becoming just like him. It’s no wonder she retreats.”

You could feel the undercurrent of sadness in the house, a grief that wasn’t just tied to the past but to the present, too.

“I see,” you said quietly, your mind racing as you thought of what you could do. You glanced at the three women. “Well, I think I’ll go see if I can say hi to Mrs. Brooks this morning. She must be lonely.”

Florence gave you a distracted nod, her attention still on her cooking. Dottie shot you a hopeful look, while Frances simply grunted in acknowledgment, not sure how much help you’d be.

You sauntered into the sunroom, the air cool inside and the glass panes still thick with the chill of winter. Outside, patches of snow clung stubbornly to the ground, a few spots melting into sluggish pools. However, along the edges of the garden, the first hint of spring dared to show – croci pushing up through the soil, small and defiant against the lingering cold as they waited for the thaw.

It only reminded you of how long you’d already been here. It felt like an entirely different life at this point. Had Ben been serious last night? And what did it even all mean?

He said a lot, but you weren’t sure your head woke up any clearer this morning.

The future was an unknown, and you weren’t used to that feeling.

As you entered, Mrs. Brooks sat at the small round table by the window, her face drawn, her green eyes distant as she stared into the steam rising from her cup of tea. She didn’t seem to notice you at first, and when she finally lifted her gaze, it was with a quiet recognition.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, smiling softly. “I’m not sure if your son has mentioned me. I’m a friend from school. Benjamin’s been kind enough to let me stay here for a while.”

“Oh, I believe he mentioned something like that, yes,” she said in a soft, tired voice, her lips curling just slightly at the corners. “You’ll have to excuse me. I wasn’t listening to everything last night. I was quite exhausted after the long travel, and that boy never knows when to stop.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Ben does have a way of going on, doesn’t he?” You smiled gently at her words and sat down across from her. “Ben did tell me a little bit about all your wonderful tea parties, though. He said you liked going to tea rooms as well. What are they like? I have to admit I’ve never been to one myself.”

At the mere mention, Mrs. Brooks’ posture seemed to shift ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled, and you saw something like life stir behind them, as if your words had opened a door she hadn’t realized was there.

“Oh, tea rooms,” she repeated, her voice soft and reflective. “I used to love them. So charming. So civilized, you know? A proper place to spend the afternoon with a good cup of tea. I haven’t been to one in ages, not since...”

She trailed off, her gaze becoming distant again, but then something changed – her eyes brightened just a little, like a light flickering on.

“You’ve never been?” she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and mild disbelief. You shook your head. “Oh, my dear, it’s almost a must for a young lady to experience. A proper tea room, with all the delicate china and the soft music in the background – it’s simply marvelous.” She sat up straighter in her chair then, the flicker of a genuine smile appearing on her lips. “I should take you, shouldn’t I? There’s one in the city I adored. It’s been years since I’ve gone, but I’m sure it’s just as lovely as it was. Would you like to go? This afternoon, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope inside of you, seeing that flicker of light in her. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said with a warm smile.

“How wonderful! Then it’s settled. We’ll go!” She clasped her hands together with joy. “Do you have something to wear? I could call my seamstress, Ms. Vivian, for you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Benjamin already did that,” you replied, hoping for dear life you didn’t have to endure another makeover. You were already sacrificing yourself like a lamb for slaughter by agreeing to this.

“Well, good.” She nodded and sipped on her tea, muttering, “Seems like I’ve done something right with that boy, after all…”

Well, judging by that statement, you were surely in for an interesting afternoon.

The soft tinkling of porcelain cups and quiet chatter filled the air of the elegant, well-lit tea room as Margaret Brooks looked across the table at you, her plump lips curling into a rare smile. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed these outings – the delicate atmosphere of the tea room, the soft hum of conversation. She had imagined, for so many years, that one day she would have a daughter to share these moments with.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t come to pass.

Instead, you sat across from her, eager eyes wide as you took in the ambiance. Mrs. Brooks noticed the nervousness in your posture, the way you clutched your teacup a little too tightly and stared at the other girls, feeling utterly out of place.

“Isn’t it charming?” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice light, almost affectionate. “I’ve been coming here for years. There’s something about the smell of the Earl Grey and the clink of silver spoons that makes you forget the world outside. You’ll grow to love it, I’m sure.”

You gave a nervous nod, your lips curving upward in an awkward imitation of a smile. “I’m not really used to places like this.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room at the white-gloved waitstaff and the carefully arranged plates of scones and finger sandwiches, wondering how many distractions Ben had found here and hoping you wouldn’t run into any of them. You could certainly feel the occasional looks and quiet whispers directed at you.

Mrs. Brooks chuckled softly, her gaze warm as she met your eyes. “One gets used to it. It's like breathing. I’ve been doing this for years, and there's nothing wrong with forgetting the world in here, just for a moment.” She leaned in slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t be nervous, Cindy. It’s only tea and gossip, and we all need a little of both.”

Something in Mrs. Brooks’ tone calmed you slightly. It was as though she was slowly pulling you into her orbit – offering more than just a tea outing, but a sense of belonging, of understanding.

“Look over there,” Mrs. Brooks continued, gesturing subtly with her gloved hand, clearly eager to share more. “Do you see that woman sitting by the window? That’s Mrs. Berwick. She’s very fond of trying to climb the social ladder, always inserting herself into the right circles. Her husband’s a banker, but don’t let that fool you – he’s a dreadful bore."

You snorted a laugh and leaned in, intrigued despite yourself. You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Mrs. Brooks had a certain warmth now that softened her more formal edges.

“And there,” she carried on, “that’s Mrs. Hadley. She’s got more money than God, but she’s also got a tongue that can cut glass. No one dares to cross her, but I’ve never cared much for her. She’s the type who never forgets a slight.”

“Seems like they all have their… quirks,” you noted, amused, remembering Dottie’s words.

“Quirks,” Mrs. Brooks repeated with a smile. “Yes, one might call them that.” Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to you, lowering her voice. “But there’s one thing they all have in common: They love to gossip. It’s their favorite pastime. And I’m sure,” she added, giving you a knowing look, “they’ll be more than eager to talk about you.” You stiffened, but Mrs. Brooks, oblivious to your discomfort, sipped her tea and continued. “Don’t mind them. They’re all still talking about Benjamin, I’m sure. The whole lot of them think they have some sort of claim on him. But they don’t, do they?”

At her little wink, your heart almost dropped to the sparkling marble floor. Did she know? But you figured it was easy to suspect if she knew her son even a little.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Brooks! I haven’t seen you here in ages.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the familiar voice. You’d heard it once before, even if it had been louder and more upset than now.

Grace.

Mrs. Brooks’ expression flickered momentarily before settling into something more controlled. “Grace, dear,” she said with a polite smile, turning her head toward the speaker. Her tone was cool, masking any warmth. “You’re looking well.”

Your stomach dropped when you saw the woman standing at the table: tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a way that screamed money and status – poised and perfect. By now, you’d heard plenty about Ben’s destined fiancée, but seeing her in person was another matter.

Her blonde hair was sculpted into a flawless wave. She wore an elegant dress with the subtle sheen of luxury and a sharp gaze that seemed to take in every detail of you with calculating precision.

Grace gave a sly smile, icy blue eyes flickering to you. “I couldn’t resist coming by. I simply had to see Benjamin’s current project.” She tilted her head slightly, a deliberate gesture, and leaned down to examine you like you were a specimen under a microscope. “Interesting choice.”

Did that bitch just call you a fucking project?!

You didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, however. You’d been dealing with bitches like that your whole life. The only tragedy about this was that you couldn’t rant about her to your friends – the hot blonde, the gay redhead, and the mute Asian chick.

Fuck. Why the hell couldn’t you remember their names? You swore they were on the tip of your tongue. Was it Andy, Mabel, and Kim? No, that sounded wrong. Dammit!

“I think I’ve seen you before, right? And you are?” Grace asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness as she looked at you.

“Cindy,” you replied with a slight edge.

“Ah, Cindy,” Grace repeated, like she was tasting the name. “Such a... simple name. How quaint.” She smiled then, a thin, shark-like smirk, and you were blood in the water. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you out and about. Benjamin has always been so... difficult to predict. But I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”

Unbothered by her baiting, you took a casual sip of tea. “Oh, I know exactly who he is, Grace. Better than you.”

Grace’s smile tightened. “How refreshing,” she said, then looked over at Mrs. Brooks. “I do hope Benjamin’s settled down by now. I hear he’s been a bit of a... free spirit lately. He always had a rebellious streak. He gets bored rather quickly.”

Mrs. Brooks stiffened slightly, but she recovered quickly, placing her teacup down with a slight clink. “My son is a grown man, dear. He’ll make his own decisions, as he always does.”

“Of course,” Grace replied smoothly, though there was a clear, sharp edge to her words.

“‘Sides, aren’t you a bit of a free spirit as well?” you quipped with an innocent smirk. “I heard about you and Jack Kennedy in Cape Cod. How’s that going?”

“Oh, you are seeing Jack?” Margaret chimed in with delight, but you could tell her smile was as taunting as yours was.

Grace’s face fell abruptly. “Yes, it’s… going,” she replied quickly, subtly clearing her throat. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she leaned in, her tone almost too sweet. “I imagine you must be enjoying the novelty of being with someone like Benjamin. Here you are, in the lap of luxury. It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it, darling? But you know, I should warn you – Ben isn’t exactly the most reliable partner. I do hope, for your sake, you’re not just a phase.”

You were about to slap her harder than she’d slapped Ben at that diner. Would it matter to history if you choked her right now?

You forced a tight-lipped smile as you ground your teeth. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m not here to judge him for his past.”

If anything, you were judging him for his future.

“Well, that’s nice,” Grace pressed through her teeth, her polite mask finally crumbling. “But you don’t get it, do you? You’re just the latest distraction, darling. Someone to amuse himself with, and as soon as this little rebellion ends, he’ll come crawling back to someone who knows the rules, and you’ll be just another notch in his belt.”

Jesus fucking Christ, why did he always have to date the biggest bitch in the room? And you’d once thought Crimson Countess was a piece of work.

But you grew up in a trailer park in fucking Jersey. If a girl like Grace thought she could scare you off with a few words, she had another thing coming.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” You looked at her challengingly, not an ounce of fear in your voice. “Here’s the thing – Ben’s not a puppet for his father. He makes his own choices. You’re not his future, Grace. You’re the past. Trust me on that one.”

Grace’s eyes blazed with a venomous glare. “Well, we’ll see how long this lasts, darling. I do hope you won’t make a fool out of yourself.”

You were about to open your mouth again before Mrs. Brooks cut in, her tone suddenly sharp, a protective edge in her voice. “Enough, Grace. We all know about Benjamin’s history. You’ve made your point, and it’s getting tiresome.”

Grace’s eyes fixed on Ben’s mother, a muscle twitching in her jaw. She clearly hadn’t expected that. “Well, it’s so lovely to see you two getting along. I mustn’t take up too much of your time, Mrs. Brooks. It was nice running into you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

With that, Grace stormed off, her heels clicking on the sparkling marble. You exhaled a slow breath, slumping back into your chair. But as you glanced at Mrs. Brooks, you saw the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“You handled her beautifully, dear,” Ben’s mother said, her tone soft but genuine. “Don’t let women like her make you question yourself. They thrive on making others doubt their worth, but you’ve got something she doesn’t – confidence and a damn backbone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, your heart swelling with gratitude. “That woman really knows how to lay it on thick, doesn’t she?”

Mrs. Brooks rolled her eyes in exhaustion. “She’s always been like that. Charming when it suits her and venomous when she feels threatened. I’m almost glad Benjamin’s been so awful to her. God knows I couldn’t have endured another dinner with that girl in my house.”

You snorted under your breath, chuckling.

“You know, I was just like you when I first arrived here – someone who didn’t quite fit in.” Margaret leaned back in her chair with a faint smile, the faraway look in her eyes sharpening, a subtle sadness creeping into her voice. “Before I met Benjamin’s father, I came from humble beginnings, you know? My parents were good, hardworking people. We didn’t have much money – just a small house in the lower part of town. My father was a carpenter, working long hours, and my mother would sew clothes for other people, often staying up well past midnight, just to make sure we had enough to get by. But there was a beauty in that simplicity. I used to take walks through the alleys, admiring the flowers growing between the cracks in the sidewalks. We didn't have wealth, but we had love, you know? And we had each other.”

You listened intently, your heart breaking a bit for her, knowing that wasn’t what she had now with her own family.

“I remember,” she continued, a slight smile tugging at her lips, “how we’d all gather in the kitchen at night. It was small, but it was ours. My mother would hum while she worked, and my father would tell me stories about how he built his first house with his own two hands. He was proud of that. And I was proud of him.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way Mrs. Brooks’ voice softened when she spoke about her parents. There was a sadness there, a longing for something simple and real that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“I can’t imagine you like that. It sounds so different from who you are now,” you said softly.

Mrs. Brooks gave a gentle laugh, her gaze growing even more distant. “I was just a girl back then. I had no idea what awaited me. But when I met Richard, everything changed.” She paused, her voice darkening slightly as she pushed away the memories of her childhood, like the warmth they brought was something she couldn’t bear to hold on to for too long. “He was everything I’d never known. He was wealthy, educated, and had the kind of connections that I could only dream of. He swept me off my feet. He promised me a life of comfort, luxury, and security. And I thought, ‘This is it. This is everything I’ve been working for.’”

Your brow furrowed. “But it wasn’t?”

Mrs. Brooks shook her head slowly, the distant melancholy returning to her features. “At first, it was. But over time, I realized something. The life Richard offered me was a gilded cage. It wasn’t freedom – it was control. I was expected to fit in, to play the part. When I married him, I entered a world where every inch of my life was dictated by money, status, and image. It’s strange how quickly you can forget yourself when you're surrounded by wealth. People like this–,” she gestured with a faint nod around the room, “–don’t care about character. They care about who you know, where you’ve been, and what you wear. And even then, it’s never enough. You always have to be more.” She leaned forward then, her expression softening as she saw you swallowing thickly. “I know it sounds harsh, dear, but it’s the truth. High society is an illusion. People want you to smile, to wear the right clothes, to speak in a certain way, but it’s all just a performance. Your soul gets lost in it.”

“So, you never wanted this life?” you asked quietly, your heart breaking for her.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into. These women here, they’re not your friends,” she replied, her fingers curling around her tea cup. “They’re rivals. Each one of them trying to prove they are the best at being the most perfect version of a woman they can be. It’s exhausting. And no matter how hard I tried, I never truly fit in.”

“You said Benjamin was different when he was young,” you said gently, wanting to know more. “How was he before everything changed?”

Mrs. Brooks’ eyes softened, and for a moment, you could see the mother she had been – a woman who adored her son, who once had hope for his future.

“Benjamin was always sensitive,” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice full of tenderness. “He was a sweet little boy who loved to ask questions about the world. He was curious about everything. He’d sit with me for hours, just asking me how things worked, why things were the way they were. And he had this soft smile that would light up a room. I’ll never forget how he used to look at me, with such trust in his eyes. He would bring me flowers and tell me stories from his little world, and I would see the softness in him, the kind of softness a mother always hopes for in a child. People always said he was a ‘dreamer,’ and I thought he would always stay that way. I loved that about him. But Richard didn’t. Richard thought it was a weakness.”

Mrs. Brooks’ voice cracked slightly, as if the memories were too painful to recount. She looked down at her cup.

“Richard did everything he could to ‘toughen him up.’ He took him hunting, made him go to boarding school at an early age, sending him far away from me,” she continued, her voice drowning in sadness. “He wanted to shape Benjamin into something he could control. He had a vision for his son – one where Benjamin was a carbon copy of him. Strong. Cold. Ruthless. My husband’s world is one of steel, and his love is just as hard. My sweet boy never stood a chance.”

Your heart sank. “And Ben – he didn’t want that?”

“No,” Mrs. Brooks said, a slight bitterness creeping into her tone. “Benjamin didn’t want any of it. But he was young, and he couldn’t fight his father. So slowly, he started to change. He stopped asking questions. He stopped dreaming. And one by one, the things that made him unique faded away. I watched my son slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

You wanted to reach out to comfort her, but you felt helpless. How could you fix this? Could you fix him?

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I had no idea.”

Mrs. Brooks gave you a wistful smile. “It’s not your fault, dear. You’re not here to save him. You can’t save him, not from himself. But you might be able to remind him of who he was before the world changed him. I think that’s why I like you so much.”

Your heart tightened as you listened. You could see the sadness in Mrs. Brooks’ eyes, a depth of loss that you hadn’t expected.

Ben’s mother let out a sigh, soft and weary, as though she had been holding it in for too long. “You know, from the moment I met you, there was something about you. Something I never had the chance to share with Benjamin.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as if she hadn’t shared this kind of honesty in years. “I’ve always wanted a daughter for many reasons, you see? I dreamed of having someone who could see this world as I see it. A confidante. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. You have a fire in you – a light. And I don’t want my son to put it out.”

Your heart halted its beats abruptly. You were taken aback by her blunt honesty, shaking your buzzing head lightly, trying to make sense of her words. “What d’you mean?”

“You don’t know what your getting into, either. You’re not like them. You’re not meant for this kind of life. That’s why I want to warn you, dear,” she said, her gaze sharp.

Oh no, not another warning… How many was that now? Three? Four, if you counted Grace?

Great.

“Benjamin might love you now, but he’ll be just like his father in the end. Cold. Hard. Empty,” she said harshly, the weight of regret in every line of her expression. “The man you think he is, may not be the man he turns out to be. Benjamin isn’t the boy I once held in my arms anymore. He’s not the man you think he is. I see his father in him more every day. I can see it in the way he looks at the world, in the way he reacts to the people around him. I don’t want you to end up like me. You’ll be the one left behind. Trust me.”

You felt a knot in your throat, your heart pounding with an ominous sound like an ancient war drum. You didn’t know how to respond. Your thoughts spiraled in every direction.

You swallowed hard, tears pricking your eyes like salt in a wound. “I don’t know if I can walk away. I think I love him,” you confessed quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the tea room.

The words shocked you. You’d never said them out loud before, but they didn’t seem to rattle his mother at all.

Her eyes softened, her hand reaching over to clasp yours on the table in a sad understanding. “I know you do. But that’s the problem, dear. When you love someone like him, you’ll always be fighting a battle you can’t win.”

▶️ Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! – MAY 9

Ooof, looks like not even Ben's mother has much confidence in him... What did you think of all the warnings? And if Ben was already this upset now, then well, imagine what he feels like when it really happens. Choo-choo, all aboard the angst train! Get ready to meet the man of the hour next week 😉

(Fair warning: Chapters never really got any shorter. I don't know what to tell ya, but half of the next one is smut, so there's that 😂🤷‍♀️)

Coming Up:

“I remember you mentioned a girl from school staying here.” The patriarch of the steel empire carved into his roast with casual violence, sipping his wine like it was penance, a pair of almond-shaped, glacier blue eyes zeroing in on his son. “Didn’t think you meant still staying here.”

You managed a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”

He gave a short nod that might’ve been a grunt, reaching for the wine glass before saying, “Likewise.”

Ben’s mother – composed in a deep jade green dress that complimented the glint in her eye – broke the tension with a dry, almost teasing, “She’s been keeping me company. And sane.”

You glanced at her in grateful surprise, but she didn’t look at you. Her gaze was squarely on her husband, almost daring him to challenge her.

Oh fuck. You had a feeling that dinner would derail soon enough. You still remembered how your own mother always looked when she wanted to pick a fight with your father. You could see that same desire in Mrs. Brooks tonight.

Richard’s eyes flicked to you as cutting as a scalpel. “Rosemary Hall, was it?”

You smiled, knowing your alibi by heart. “Yes, sir. We, uh, crossed paths with Ben’s group at Choate once or twice. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Mmm.” He sounded unconvinced, like he already had a list of questions and was working through them in his mind. “And what is it you do, exactly?”

You gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “A little of everything. Read a lot. Try to keep busy.”

Mr. Brooks leaned back with a hum, wine glass in hand. “You read. Anything useful?”

Ben’s hand tensed slightly on the table. You felt it even without looking.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

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[rs-hawk]

I saw in the ABC for Ahiga, that he wants to tie us to him and have us cock warm him. Could we see that please 🥺👉👈.

You had gone to visit your family for the day with Wyonia but Ahiga was at work so he didn’t get to come. When he gets home, he misses you so bad, and it has been nearly a day since the two of you had sex, so he decides to watch a little bit of porn. With you around, he almost never does. Why would he need to? But he had a really hard day and assumes since you’d be back late you probably couldn’t sleep together tonight.

He’s leaking as soon as he finds the video he wants- a werewolf porn where the human woman is restrained, tied around her partner as he bounces her up and down on his cock. He can already imagine doing that to you, hearing you whimper and whine as you take everything he gives you. The only reason he hasn’t brought it up is because he’s worried about hurting you, or you being scared of him. He always is so careful to maintain at least some control, but he doesn’t know if he could with this.

As soon as he hears the car approaching, he shuts the laptop, puts himself away, and by the time you come in he’s already washed his hands before coming to greet you and the baby. His long tongue drags up your face, his tail wagging hard as he tells you how much he loves you both and how much he missed you. You don’t even have a chance to respond before he scoops Wyonia out of the car seat and declares he’s putting her to bed since you hogged her all day.

You don’t mind, going to change into pajamas when you notice his laptop on the bed. Curiosity gets the better of you, and when you creak the screen open, you see the video paused. Immediately, you feel a rush of arousal making your cunt clench for a moment. Why wouldn’t he tell you he was into this?! You know he doesn’t want to hurt you, but fuck. Fuck this was so hot.

The sound of him coming down the hall to the bedroom is barely audible. You only have a few seconds to do something. You rush to the closet, looking through the restraints you use for when he shifts on the full moon- they’re the only ones you have, and despite being way too strong for you, you decide to use them anyway.

When Ahiga comes into the room, seeing the restraints being positioned on the bed with you sitting by them, he tenses. “Why are those out?” he gruffs, his ears going back slightly in annoyance. Without a word, you flip up the screen of the laptop, letting the video begin to play. His ears droop and pin with embarrassment. “I was just… you were gone so…”

“Do you want to?” you ask, looking up at him.

He hesitates, then nods. “I do. Goddess, fuck I do, but I don’t know if I can control myself. You being completely at my mercy,” he hesitates again, but his tail is wagging behind him.

“Let’s just try it. I’ll wear my silver bracelet, and if you hurt me I’ll push it against your back,” you offer, the excitement in your voice making his tail wag harder.

He immediately nods, starting to strip, nearly ripping his pants as he struggles to get them off now that he’s shifting more, his claws scraping against the zipper. You slip out of your clothes and grab your bracelet- trusting him completely but knowing that it’s a small safe guard that will make him feel better. As soon as he gets undressed, you see he’s leaking precum already. From the sheer excitement or because he didn’t finish earlier you’re not sure.

He sits on the bed, patting his lap. You crawl on top of him, letting out a breathy whine as you sink yourself onto his cock. For a moment, you think he’s not going to do it and just fuck you then, but a low growl rumbles his chest as he reaches behind him for the restraints.

It’s not perfect since he’s so much bigger than you, and even completely tightened your wrists and ankles could slip out of you really wanted to, but unless you try to escape, you’re secure. He locks your ankles around his waist, though of course they don’t go all the way around. Then he reaches like a necklace, locking your wrists around his neck.

“Easier to get my attention with the silver if you need to,” he mumbles.

His cock is twitching and throbbing inside of you, leaking precum as his knot is already partially swollen. He just wants to fuck you so bad that he’s physically restraining himself by gripping the bed under his, his claws ripping through the sheets and mattress. You’re whining, trying to roll your hips for more friction but you’re unable to with how your legs are pulled up.

Then, he starts walking around the room, his tail twitching slightly as he runs the soft pads of his paws over your back, his face buried in your neck as he forces you just to cockwarm him. Your cunt flutters around his cock, making him growl against your soft skin, but he wants to make it last. He wants to be careful. He’d never forgive himself if he lost control and hurt you.

But, when you look up at him with teary eyes, your lower lip pressed out, his resolve weakens, and it shatters when you whimper out, “Aggy please.”

Then you’re being bounced up and down, his cock slamming into your womb each time as he snarls, his teeth barely grazing your skin as his claws dig into your waist as he bounces you. When his claws break the skin just ever so slightly, and he smells your blood, he goes feral. Now he’s slamming you down harder, faster, than you thought possible. You’re a blubbering mess, your cunt a vice around his cock as his muzzle opens, his teeth now resting around your throat. If he snapped down, he’d kill you. You know he never would, but the sudden borderline violence has you cumming on his cock as your blood beads around his claws.

He growls lowly again, his teeth pressing harder, nearly breaking the skin of your neck and throat, as your cunt pulses and convulses around his cock. His already partially inflated knot starts to swell more, and unlike usually when he would just not knot you when this happens, he tightens his grip on your waist, blood now starting to trickle down your skin, yanking you down and forcing his knot inside.

His hot cum fills your tiny human body, making you cum again. Your fingers are twitching as you’re whining and moaning, careful to keep the silver bracelet pressed against the wrist above his neck so you don’t touch him with it. Your toes are curling as your body trembles against him.

Finally, he sits, panting and now nuzzling your neck, lapping at your soft skin. “Mm, my mate,” he hums.

However, the second he realizes he made you bleed he’s taking the restraints off, whining loudly and apologizing as he carries you to the bathroom to wash and bandage your (very, very minor but he won’t hear that) “wounds”. He’s a mess, his ears pinned low against his head as he apologizes and says he’s never doing this again.

You grab his wrist, looking at him seriously. “We are fucking doing that again.”

His tail wags slowly. “Yes ma’am.”

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[nikki-tine]

Hey so uh… when was it ever okay to push boundaries like this??

I’ve been genuinely FREAKED by the ungodly number of people (minors specifically!!) who aren’t listening to the pinned posts/bios when it says “MINORS DO NOT INTERACT”. It’s really NOT hard to respect others, and there is NO EXCUSE for this to be happening.

Seriously, this has me both concerned and pissed off (especially considering some minors’ blogs have the “25+ don’t interact!!” stuff on it - The FUCK?? Y’all that’s textbook hypocrisy, PLEASE respect those adults like those adults would respect you). How would you all blog owners under 18 feel if someone didn’t even bother to respect your bio/pinned post? Because THAT’S how it’s feeling to adult blogs who have EXPLICITLY stated they didn’t want minors interacting with the blog (that includes likes, reblogs, comments and PLEASE for the LOVE OF GOD don’t send them asks if you are under 18!!).

This is to the point where I’m having a hard time coming up with the words to better describe how this feels as someone three years away from 30. When there are boundaries set, it’s as clear-cut as “follow them or face the consequences for disrespecting them”. Squicking out my friends who are just wishing for some semblance of respect for once in their lives is NOT COOL, and it screws ANY chance at you being able to have proper community-integrated friends after you turn 18.

Respect, even down to the bio of the blog goes BOTH. WAYS.

[nezuscribe]

gojo never imagined an arrange marriage with you, but now you’re all he can think about.

he thinks about you when he’s training, when he’s seated at his round table, when he’s in his bed, everywhere, every time, you’re all he can think about.

and you’re oblivious to it.

you heard the gossip everywhere you walked, about the girl gojo was pleading with his family to marry. how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much more elegant she was compared to you. you knew you were never his first choice, not even his fifth, but it hurt even more when everybody acknowledged it.

you stopped wearing your wedding ring, started acting like you were just another person there. luckily gojo didn’t seem to be in any hurry about making heirs, so pretending like you two were working things out didn’t even matter anymore.

you find yourself alone most of the time. your maids were kind and patient, but they had so many things to do throughout the day that you felt awful pestering them to walk around the estate with you.

eating dinners with gojo became normal, but most of your other meals were in silence, always feeling like a speck of dust in the large dining hall.

one day when you’re walking around aimlessly you stumble across the training grounds, the open space below you filled with men swinging wooden swords back and forth at each other.

it wasn’t difficult to find your husband, his white hair hard to miss in a crowd of others. he didn’t notice you watching from above, and so you stayed hidden, not knowing if the men were picky with who watched them.

he was swift and agile. everything he did was precise and with meaning. no wonder he was named the best warrior of the north.

you found this to be more entertaining than walking around the gardens for the tenth time or watching the cooks assemble the next meal, so you didn’t even notice how gojo looked up to see you, somehow slipping away without you knowing.

you were in a state of watching but not really thinking, almost jumping out of your skin when you heard his voice behind you.

“didn’t know i had an audience,”

you yelp, flinching as you look behind you to see your husband all sweaty, panting slightly as he moves his hair away from his face. you eye the stairs that led him up here, wondering how you could’ve missed that.

you laugh sheepishly, giving him an apologetic smile as you pick are your nails.

“i’m sorry,” you scratch behind your ears, feeling heat rise to your cheeks under his intense gaze. it’s unfair how pretty somebody can look, especially after training for an hour straight, “i was just walking around and i saw this.”

he waved it off, shaking his head as he leaned his sword on the wall.

“not a problem,” his eyes shine, “i just would’ve tried harder if i knew my wife was watching.”

my wife.

the words fall so smoothly from his lips you wonder how many times he’s said it before. with malice, hatred, necessity?

you smile a little bit, eyes crinkling around the edges as you look away briefly, not noticing the way gojo chased after your cheerful face.

“how’d you get up here? where are your ladies?” he asks suddenly, looking around at the fact that it was just you up here.

“my what?” you say, looking up at him through furrowed brows.

“you know,” he waves his arm around as if that would help, “you’re ladies in waiting,”

you scrunch up your nose a little bit, something he noticed you did when you were confused.

“oh, well, my maids are working right now,” you tell him, noting that he still didn’t look any less confused.

“no, not your maids, your ladies,” he tilts his head to the side, “the girls your family sent them up to help you around.”

you stare at him, unblinking.

“the girls that are your friends, the ones that help accustom you…” gojo trials off when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere with you.

you feel even more embarrassed than when he caught you watching him, hating the way you were clueless at yet another thing in this life that no one explained to you.

“the girls you hang around with?” he finally lands on, hoping this jogs your memory.

you shake your head, eyes wide as you fidget with the fabric of your dress. his eyes fall onto your finger, lingering on the fact that you’re not wearing your ring.

“who do you spend your time with throughout the day?” gojo seems even more lost than you. he’s seen you with…? well surely that one time…?

“by,” you swallow, embarrassed, “by myself. i walk around a lot.” you admit sheepishly.

“your family didn’t send…?” he answers his own question with his silence.

this entire time you’ve been alone?

he opens his mouth to speak but somebody beats him to it.

“satoru! get down here! we’re still not done!” his friends shouts from below, and you look over your shoulder to see all the men staring at the two of you.

gojo stares at you, unblinking.

“i,” he swallows but can’t find any words.

you can’t either.

he leaves you there, running down those stairs as he shouts at the other guys to resume what they were doing. that entire day he was off his balance because he kept looking up to see you there, but you weren’t.

maybe you were just walking around, like you said.

[reignpage]

Perverted things JJK men do (established relationship)

Gojo

Cums in your conditioner bottle. He loves knowing that you wear him with you every day, that when people brush against you and inhale your sweet scent, they’re also smelling him. Satoru likes to think that it sends, on a cellular level perhaps, a message telling them you’re taken, by him. 

Intent on keeping this a secret, he does the grocery shopping every time you let him know you’re running out. Unscrewing the bottle, he places the head of his cock into the hole just as he’s about to reach his peak, jerking his long and pink cock off as fast as he can, biting his bottom lip to keep from making a noise that might alert you to the depravity that’s going on in the bathroom. 

Then, once he’s spilled his seed, he screws the lid back on and shakes vigorously to ensure it’s all mixed in properly and that every pump will have his cum in it. Satoru counts the hours until you excuse yourself to the bathroom and waits, in anticipation and with a leaky cock, for you to emerge all fresh and brand spanking new.

He’s never once told anyone else this, and he himself does not understand why he feels the urge to be so perverted. Sometimes he wonders how you’d react if he told you. Would you get mad? Make him stop? Or maybe you’d find it hot or adorable?

Whatever it’ll be, Satoru’s not eager to find out anytime soon. So, he continues his routine, smiles when you get a compliment on your hair, and frowns when you say you want to stop using hair conditioner and wear a hair mask instead.

What the heck is a hair mask?

Geto

Takes advantage of your sleeping form. It started off completely innocent. He just liked watching the faces you make: your brows furrow when you’re having a nightmare, your bottom lip quivers when you exhale just a little too hard, and you sometimes smile when you’re having a dream he can only hope involves him. 

But then, the urge to do something darker, something secretive overwhelmed him. At night, you’re completely vulnerable. He loves pushing what he can get away with. He’ll manoeuvre your body into positions he likes — arms wide open so he can see your breasts press against the thin confines of your tank top, nipples hard and poking through; legs spread and feet together in a butterfly position so he can see your panties tight against your pussy lips, the imprints defined and he can run his finger down the seam, pressing harder where your clit is just to hear your gasp; and keeping your body still so he can pull the neckline of your tank top down, baring your beautiful tits to the night air and wrap them around his cock.

He juts between the valley, tip knocking into your chin and leaving a wet trail that breaks off as he pulls back just to thrust forward again. Careful not to thrust too hard, lest the bed creaks and you're jostled awake, he uses the immorality of his act to get himself going, knowing that you're vulnerable to his ministrations. But Suguru isn't a bad boyfriend, so he leans back and presses hard against your pussy, rubbing you to an orgasm only your sleeping form can appreciate.

Ever the gentleman, he cums into a tissue and not into your mouth, and only then can he fall asleep beside you. Then, in the morning, he shrugs when you wonder why you're always soaked in the morning. Must have had a wet dream, he says.

Choso

Takes your dirty panties with him for moral support. You don’t know he does this and he’d very much like to keep it that way in case you chalk it up to him being a curse and not knowing what's right and wrong. He knows it's wrong. The truth is, he just really really likes you. Loves you, in fact. So, he sneakily steals a panty or two from the laundry basket and stuffs them in his pockets. 

There’s just something about being able to carry you with him whenever he goes. Whether, it’s whilst he’s in the car, sparring, or on a mission. He can take a piece of you out and inhale your scent, bask in your sweetness, and memorise every part of you to heart. 

Of course, his intentions aren’t entirely romantic and pure. He also really likes to jerk off with your used panties wrapped around his cock. It’s shameful and embarrassing and so depraved, he knows that, but that’s precisely what gets him going. Knowing you’d be shocked bye the extent of his adoration for you makes him thrust faster. He imagines you watching, with that saccharine sweet voice, telling him to show you just how much he loves you. And he never wants to disappoint you, so in the car, parked somewhere dark, he presses the cold, wet spot of the gusset to his nose and takes a long and deep inhale. 

The car shakes with the ferocity of his jerking. One hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and the other holding your panties to his cock head, connecting his tip to where you were and imagining that it’s your pussy wrapped around him. The scent, the wetness, the wrongness of it all makes him cum harder than he should. And just in time to pick you up too. This way when he gets to have the real thing with you, he’ll last longer. 

Toji

Pisses you off on purpose. Can’t blame him. You’re so fucking adorable when you’re mad. Seriously. You make this pouting face when you think whatever excuse he’s giving you is complete and utter bullshit, which it is. Then, you’ll cross your arms, pushing those bouncy tits up, foot tapping and accentuating your long legs. Stomping around and yelling as if you know what you’re doing. You should know by now that raising your voice only gets him hard. And damn, when you smack his chest to get his attention, it makes his dick jump in his boxers. 

Leaving the toilet seat up or not using a coaster, all of it irks you and gets him going. Of course, he doesn’t do it often; you’ll goddamn leave him if he did, that’s for sure. So, he saves his little tricks up his sleeve for when he’s really horny. Like now, when he didn’t take the meat out of the freezer to defrost in time for when you came home. You’re talking his ear off about how irresponsible he is, shrugging off your work clothes one by one until you’re left in a white button up and just panties, completely blind to how he’s grinning ear to ear, watching you bend over, showing him the smooth, round fats of your ass. 

God, he loves the infuriated look on your face. You’re fuming. The best part about it all is the angry sex you’re about to have. Maybe you like to get mad at him for the same reason. Maybe you hope, as you walk up to the door of your house, that he’s fucked up something, anything. And who is he to deny you? So, with faux indignation, he grabs you by the throat and hisses for you to shut the fuck up, get on your knees and open that pretty mouth of yours. Put it to better use than yapping, he says, eyes rolling back at the intensity of your suction.

Nanami

Swaps out your birth control for sugar pills. He knows it’s wrong. God, does he ever. But the temptation is too hard to resist. Kento’s already pushing it with the fact that he convinced you to get on the pill so you can make love with no barrier between you two but he just had to go a step further and make sure that the pill is useless. 

It only started recently. He just wanted to fuck once knowing he could be making you a mommy at any given moment. The thought of you all plump and round with his child drives him crazy. It makes him rut into you with no rhyme or rhythm, just pushing the overflowing cum he’s already pumped in there deeper into your pussy, tutting when they spill out of you. Thumbing the errant drops, he tells you to open up and pushes it down your throat; if his cum won’t go into your womb then it should go into your stomach, right?

The tears in your eyes from the overstimulation makes his cock throb. This one of the very rare moments he ever allows himself to make you cry and he imagines you'll also cry tears of joy when you find out you're pregnant with his child, and again when the baby, a little girl he hopes, is in your arms.

Kento knows he’ll be good to you. He’ll be so good. He’ll massage your swollen feet, waddle you over to the toilet, pulling your panties down for you when you can’t, tending to every craving no matter how odd and no matter at what time. You know he’ll be a good father — he’s sweet, caring, firm when needed, reliable and dependable. So, he reasons that you won’t mind if his seed does take hold. 

You love raw sex just as much as he does, after all. 

Sukuna

Makes you think he’s going to kill you. He has no remorse. The high is incredible. You have a penchant for pissing him off, so when his irritation finally boils over, you see a glint in his eyes and a tick in his jaw that very much tells you one thing: run. 

Of course, he has a soft spot for you so he gives you a head start. He’s a monster, not a man. Every part of him is attune to his surroundings. He knows every inch of the estate and better yet, he knows you. Where you like to hide, where you think he’d think to look, and where your little legs could take you in the short time he gave you. Sukuna could seek you out immediately, but the fun isn’t in the victory. It’s in the conquest. 

Voice loud, he taunts, “I can smell your fear, woman. I can hear your pathetic quivering. I know where you are. And when I find you, I’m going to tear you to pieces.”

For the effect, he even picks up an unnecessary weapon. A stoke or an axe, something that will make a chilling noise as he drags it along the wooden floor or scrape it against the wall, letting you know he’s getting closer and closer. His cock is throbbing in his robes, heavy and swinging, as he takes a deep inhale of the fear permeating the air. It’s salty from the sheer prospect of pain and death, but also sweet because it’s undeniably yours. 

Entering your chambers, he rolls his eyes at how utterly predictable, and foolish, you are. You clear haven’t learnt from any of the stupid horror movies you’ve forced him to watch — hiding under the bed is the worst thing you can do. He reminds you of that when his big hand wraps around your ankle, fondling the frail bone, and tugs. Sukuna rejoices, and leaks cum, at the blood curdling cream you let out. 

You dangle in the air as his monstrous form towers over you. When he sniffs at your pussy and smells the juices you’re leaking out too, he knows you get off on the thrill too, and perhaps, that’s the real reason he loves this so much.

[citrus-writing]

surrender to me

Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-

Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault 

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

It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.

It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.

But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.

Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".

You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.

It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid. 

You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more. 

"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move. 

You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it. 

Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want. 

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

[musexbunny]

cunnilingus ᐢ..ᐢ,

caleb is such and eater. gosh. all you have to do is walk past him wearing his favorite pair of short short. if you can even call them that…

the fabric is so thin, it stretches over your plump ass and ride up to expose the bottom portion of your cheeks.

he’s basically salivating, his hands gripping the couch cushion while he tries to control himself. his eyes are glued you, watching you bounce around the kitchen, making yourself some lunch. you really don’t know what you do to him do you?

poor baby tries so hard to look away but he just can’t! not when his dick is already hard and throbbing. he really can’t help himself, you’re just too irresistible.

before you know it, he’s picking you up, too impatient to go to your shared room so he just lays your back on the couch and hikes up your thighs.

he rests his head between your doughy thighs, taking a deep wiff of your sweet pussy and whines. he’s so pathetic. the way he looks up at you, already drunk off your scent. a deep blush crawls up his neck and he swears you’re doing this on purpose! (you definitely are.)

“need to taste you” he mumbles while quickly pulling off your shorts and panties with it. he moans when he sees the plump lips of your glistening pussy.

“fuck, such a pretty pussy” he whines, using his thumbs to spread your lips apart. you thread your fingers through his hair, moaning his name when he kisses your clit.

“mmmm” he moans, licking your pussy with fervor. you taste sooo good. his lips wrap around your now throbbing bud and you’re dripping wet from his ministrations.

your hips push off the couch to buck into his mouth making him suckle harder on your clit. his fingers keep your labia spread to give him more access to your bundle of nerves.

“please caleb!” you cry out, rolling your hips and throwing your head back. he alternates between sucking your bud and fully making out with your pussy, his tongue dipping into your tight hole to fuck you.

“tastes so sweet pip squeak” he mumbles between motions. your thighs are shaking, feeling your body hum with an impending orgasm.

“gonna cum!” you hiccup and caleb sinks one thick finger into you. your eyes roll back, the stretch feels sooo good. you can’t stop yourself from gripping his hair tighter, pushing his face deeper into your cunt.

he loves ever moment of it. swears he could die happily if it meant suffocating from your heavenly pussy.

“please please please please please” you’re babbling out while he’s pumping his finger in you, adding another one to stretch you further. his lips never leave your clit.

your body feels electric, can feel your orgasm on the tip of your fingers. the pleasure rushes through you like a warm tidal wave and you feel the cord in your tummy snap.

“cumminggggg!” you scream, your body spasming from the overwhelming pleasure. you try to curl into yourself but caleb isn’t having that! he uses his large hand to press down on your tummy, while he’s curling his fingers up into your sweet spot.

you’re whining and trying to push his head off but he grabs your wrists with one hand and sucks harder on your clit. your body shudders and you feel a rush of warmth pool between your legs. you’re squirting all over his face and he’s drinking it all down.

“good girl” he purrs

he laps up your nectar like the sweetest juice he’s ever tasted. helping you come down from your high. when he’s done he looks up at you with a wolffish grin.

“best lunch ever” he jokes and you roll your eyes.

[semiloml]

cw: dry humping, grinding, cumming in pants, messy and whiny kuroo :p reblogs, comments and likes are really appreciated<33

It starts with a kiss.

Deep, slow, teasing.

Kuroo’s lips move against yours like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s savoring every second of it—until you grind down against him.

And suddenly, he’s got no patience left.

“Fuck—baby,” he groans, hands gripping your waist like he’s trying not to lose control, fingers digging into your hips as you roll against him again. “What the hell are you doin’ to me?”

His voice is thick, breathy, already wrecked. It’s hot.

But it’s even hotter knowing that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

“Tetsu,” you murmur, feigning innocence as you grind down against him, feeling the hard press of his cock straining against his sweats. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

And he is. His breath shudders, his fingers tightening on your hips as his head falls back against the pillows.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “You know exactly what you’re doin’.”

Of course, you do.

Because Kuroo might talk a big game—cocky smirks, lazy teasing, acting like he’s always got the upper hand. But right now?

Right now, he’s a fucking mess.

“Look at you,” you hum, rolling your hips again, making sure to drag yourself slowly along the length of him. “All needy and desperate just from this?”

“Shut up—” His words cut off in a whine when you grind down harder, pressing your full weight against his cock.

Oh. Ohhh

That noise? That little, desperate sound?

You need to hear that again.

“Knew you’d be like this,” you purr, leaning down to nip at his jaw, then his ear. “All talk, but the second I get on top of you, you turn into a pathetic little mess.”

“Baby,” he groans, his hips jerking up against yours, chasing the friction like he can’t help himself. “Holy shit, don’t—don’t say stuff like that—”

But he loves it.

His cock twitches beneath you, and you can feel how badly he needs it, how close he is—his breath hitching, his hands trembling as they grip your hips, his thighs tensing beneath you.

“Gonna cum like this?” you tease, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Without me even touching you?”

“Shit—shit, I—fuck—”

Kuroo’s body tenses beneath you, and then—ohhh, fuck.

You feel it. The way his cock throbs against you, the hot, sticky mess he makes inside his sweats as he gasps through it, his head thrown back, his fingers tightening so hard on your hips you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

For a second, the only thing you can hear is his ragged breathing.

Then, finally, he opens his eyes, still hazy, still catching his breath.

And you grin.

“Now, do you think you can handle the real thing?” you hum, rocking your hips just a little, making him whimper at the oversensitivity.

His breath stutters, and you can see the way his body twitches with overstimulation—yet his cock still twitches beneath you, hard again already.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he exhales, voice wrecked.

AUTHORS NOTE: sorry for the short break!! I will work on all my requests now!! thank you all for your great support 🙂‍↕️💞

[oncasette]

biting the lads men

sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, & caleb x gn!reader

how each of the love and deepspace men react to an s/o that bites them as a way of showing their love.

content: affectionate biting (non-sexual)

sylus loves when you bite him. the first time you did it, he hadn't even batted an eye. simply smiled and moved his bicep closer for you to chomp down to your heart's content.

you tend to use your teeth when you're forced to sit quietly beside him, likely when he's doing something related to onichynus or a business deal he needs to finish up before he gives you his undivided attention for the night. you'll sit either in his lap, curled up in his shoulder, or just next to him under his arm. he doesn't mind if you ramble, but you know better than to expect him to answer all of your hypotheticals while he's focusing.

instead, when you've had your fill of talking to mostly yourself, you'll lower your head against his shoulder and bite down. you don't latch on very hard, but it's enough for sylus to know you're using your teeth.

"am i boring you, kitten?" he asks, setting his pen down in favor of cradling the back of your head. you dislodge yourself at the sensation, allowing him to pull your face up to look at him. he's got that knowing smirk on his face, his other hand tightly wrapped around your hips to keep you from falling as he shifts you to straddle his thighs.

“no,” you hum, tilting your head to nip at his wrist. he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body.

“no? just being… frisky?” a hand slides up under the bottom hem of your shirt to rest on the small of your back. you nod, biting a bit harder when you reach the base of his palm. he hisses.

“are you almost done with your work, sy?” you whisper. you gently kiss the indents your teeth had left.

“i’m all yours, sweetie.”

zayne doesn't really comment on it. after the first few incidents, and the round of questions that had followed, he knows you don't mean any harm by it. rather, he knows it's a way for you to express yourself to him when words seem to elude you.

it always seems to happen when zayne’s already settled down for the evening. unlike when you’re trying to lure him away from his work—when you use lingering touches and gentle kisses to pull his attention toward you—zayne always seems to find you biting him when he’s already got his sights set on you.

the two of you will be spread out on the couch, you sat between his thighs with your back to his chest and his arms around your shoulders, when your teeth latch into his forearm. he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just smiles softly with a kiss to your temple as he continues to watch the move you’d put on.

“react,” you huff, biting a bit harder near the junction of his elbow.

“what would you like for me to say, darling?” he says, the ghost of a laugh seeping out of him. you shrug, snuggling back further into him with your lips pressed against his bicep.

“i’m bored,” you huff.

“i can tell,” he says softly. his hand slides down your arm to intertwine your fingers together, bringing the pair up to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand. “would you like to do something else?”

“no,” you say, shaking your head. your tongue peeks out to swipe across a recently bitten patch of skin. you always tended to bite him more when there was more skin at your disposal, he’d noticed, leading him to wear short sleeves around the house.

“alright, then,” he says. he settles back down into the cushions and tightens his hold on you. when you latch down on his arm again, all he says is, “i love you, too, darling.”

rafayel pretends to hate it. he'll get all whiny and pouty each time you do it, threatening to kick you out of his studio for abusing him, but he secretly revels in it. he gets this pretty pink flush on his cheeks whenever your teeth make contact with his skin, despite whatever nonsense spews from his lips.

“hey! meanie,” he huffs, yanking his arm out of reach from your mouth. he cradles it to his chest, running his thumb gently over the barely-there indent your teeth had made in his skin. it’s the most offended you’d seen him. almost.

you continue to do it, though, a lot gentler, until one day his protestations actually manage to break through to you.

he fully rolled away from you, turning so that his back was facing you. when you attempted to warm up to him again, placing your face into the crook of his neck and sliding your hands around his waist, he swatted at your fingers until you pulled away. you could hear him pouting, the dramatic sighs and whines.

after that, and after you’d made it up to him the following morning with plenty of kisses, you stopped biting him. rafayel had assumed it was only for the day, making only a comment or two about how he was “bite mark free” for the first time, but when you withheld your teeth from him for a week and a half, he started to get whiny again.

at first, it’d been silent gestures. holding his arm close to your face when you cuddled, making sure you were angled toward his shoulder when you watched something.

then, “why don’t you bite me anymore?”

“you don’t like it,” you say, turning your head slightly to look at him. he’s sitting on the couch beside you, a sketch pad laid open over his lap. it’d stayed blank for the last thirty minutes.

“i never said that,” he says.

“yes, you did,” you laugh. “you called me a meanie and didn’t talk to me for a day.”

“are you sure about that? i probably just called you cutie like i always do and then got… laryngitis or something,” he huffs, his bottom lip protruding out. he drops the sketch pad onto the coffee table before he scoots closer to you. “will you just bite me again, cutie?”

“you want me to?”

if he had any reservations before—which he didn’t— the way your face lit up at the idea was enough to erase them completely. he nods, holding his hand up to your lips, allowing you to nibble as you pleased.

xavier is confused by it, but lets you do as you please. his brows will knit together and he’ll stare at you with those big eyes he always gives you, but he never protests or gives you any indication that he wants you to stop.

the first time you did it, he thought it was an accident. he flinched slightly, but didn’t make a comment besides that. once it started becoming a regular thing, he began to have more and more questions about your motivations.

“starlight?” he asks softly, not moving save for the slightest tilt of his head. your teeth are still latched into his shoulder. you hum in reply, nipping your way across his shoulder and down to his arm. “did i do something?”

“no? why do you ask?”

“you’re biting me,” he replies.

“yeah? i always do that,” you hum, mixing in a couple kisses with your bites before you pull back. you shift so that you’re facing him more. “do you want me to stop?”

he grabs your wrist when you start to pull further away. “no. you can keep doing it.”

“yeah?” you ask, immediately leaning in to bite down on his cheek. his face scrunches, a soft pink hue dusting over the skin beneath your lips.

he's not entirely sure of why you bite, but you never bite down enough to hurt him, and you always seem so happy after you've done it, so who is he to prevent you from latching down every once in a while?

caleb bites you back. he takes it as a challenge. you always bit him when you were kids when you were angry, or, god forbid, he was holding you down for any reason. if he was tickling you, or tackling you, your first instinct was to sink your teeth into the closest body part you could find. he went to school one day with a huge mark on his ankle once, and you never heard the end of it.

now, when you do it, he's prepared. it's almost as if he goads you into it, knowing he'll be able to do it back.

he'll wander around your apartment with a sleeveless shirt on, practically lording his arms in your face, and you have no choice but to chomp down on his bicep.

the moment you sneak behind him, your arms linking around his hips, he's on guard. he knows all your tactics. despite the otherwise gentle touches, he knows the minute your lips wander anywhere close to his arms, he's going to be feeling more than your lips.

he says your name in warning moments before it occurs. within a second of you latching down, he's spinning you in his grasp and attacking your skin with nips and bites of his own. he starts at your neck before traveling down to your shoulder and biting down with the same intensity you'd used on him.

"caleb!" you squeal, pushing his face away despite the stream of giggles leaving your lips.

"what?" he asks, softening his movments. "i'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

"only i'm allowed to bite," you counter.

"is that so?" he asks, lifting his head up to look you in the eye again. you nod as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. within a second, though, he's sliding back down to bite down at your shoulder. "i don't think so, pipsqueak."

[shiftthemoon]

reality shifting isn’t hard. you’ve been told it’s hard because everyone’s too scared to admit it’s not. they cling to their 800-step methods, their must-have crystals, their perfect conditions because they think that if they let go of that control, they’ll fail. but here’s the thing: the more you try to control the process, the more you convince yourself it’s out of your control. and that’s the problem. that’s why so many people feel stuck. shifting isn’t some big, far-fetched thing. it’s just you. it’s always been you.

we’re conditioned to think we’re powerless. think about it—school, work, society, all of it drills this idea into us that everything has to be proven, earned, validated. so, when you hear about shifting, your brain freaks out and says, wait, wait, this is too easy, this can’t be real. and then you spiral. you overcomplicate it. you make yourself think you need the “perfect” script, the “right” subliminal, or that you have to meditate for three hours while the stars align perfectly. like, no… you don’t. all of that? it’s fluff. it’s noise.

at its core, shifting is belief. just belief. no, really, let that sink in. you don’t need to “do” belief perfectly. it’s not something you master through sheer willpower. it’s something you already have. you’ve believed in things your whole life. you believed in gravity without needing proof. you believe your favorite songs are beautiful without needing to explain why. belief is natural. it’s effortless when you stop overthinking it. that’s the energy you need to bring to shifting—trust. trust that your mind knows what it’s doing, and that if you let it, it will take you there. every single extra thing you pile on? the overthinking, the doubt, the need for guarantees? that’s what’s slowing you down. not the “lack of progress,” not some mythical “block”—it’s you convincing yourself it’s harder than it is.

and let’s talk about social media for a second. oh my god, the shifting community on social media… i get it. it’s comforting to see other people on this journey. but let’s be honest—how much of that content is actually helping you? like, really? 90% of the time, scrolling through shifting advice isn’t inspiring; it’s overwhelming. everyone’s got their own opinions, their own “best methods,” their own rules. one person says scripting is a must, another says it’s a waste of time. one person swears by affirmations, another says visualization is the only way. and before you know it, you’re sitting there questioning everything you thought you knew, wondering if you’ll ever get it “right.” spoiler alert: you already know how to shift. you don’t need a thousand voices telling you what to do. in fact, the more you listen to them, the harder it becomes to hear yourself.

take a break. seriously. log off the apps. give yourself space to breathe and think. ask yourself: why do i want to shift? what’s stopping me? what feels right to me? no tiktok trend, youtube guide, or reddit post can answer those questions for you. only you can. and i know that sounds scary. we’ve been conditioned to think we need external validation for everything, but shifting is a deeply personal thing. you don’t need a step-by-step tutorial. you need to trust your instincts. that’s it.

and let me be clear: i’m not saying methods or subliminals are bad. they’re fine if they help you feel aligned. but they’re not what makes shifting happen. you are. methods are just tools. if you use them, great. if you don’t, that’s great too. because the truth is, shifting isn’t about doing things “right.” it’s about letting go of the idea that you need to.

so let me break it down for you. the only things you really need to shift are:

1. a desire. you have to want to go to your desired reality. no brainer, right?

2. belief. this is the big one. you have to trust it’s possible. no “what ifs,” no “but hows.” just trust.

3. persistence. if it doesn’t happen right away, that’s okay. don’t give up. if you’ve ever learned to ride a bike, you know that falling doesn’t mean you can’t do it—it just means you’re learning. shifting is the same.

that’s it. no fancy rituals, no endless research, no “perfect” conditions. the process is simple because it’s natural. you’ve probably done it before without even realizing it— the only reason it feels hard now is because you’ve convinced yourself it has to be.

stop making it harder than it needs to be. shifting isn’t this unattainable, mystical thing reserved for “chosen ones.” it’s something anyone can do. you can do it. your mom can do it. that anti-shifter lurking in every crevice of shiftblr could do it. you’ve always been capable. but you have to stop getting in your own way. stop doubting yourself. stop relying on others to tell you what’s possible. this is your journey. own it.

and above all, be patient. shifting is not a race. it’s not about how fast you can get there or how perfect your dr is. it’s about trust, intention, and focus. log off, tune into yourself, and let it happen. shifting has always been yours to claim. it’s not something you need permission for. it’s not something you need to earn. it’s just you, your mind, and your belief. always has been, always will be.

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Caleb touching and sucking mc’s tits for the first time after seeing her on a low cut top without a bra. He was very nervous but couldn’t help it🤍

．— ℱ）𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ：fem!reader ．nsfw．boob obsessed Caleb．tit fucking ．boob sucking ．submissive Caleb ＆ other stuff!

Caleb wasn’t the type to lose control easily. He prided himself on his self-restraint, on keeping a level head even in the most tempting situations.

But when you walked into his room wearing that low-cut top—without a bra—he felt his entire body betray him.

He tried not to stare. He really tried. But the way the fabric clung to your skin, the soft curves of your tits teasing him with every movement, made it impossible. His mouth felt dry, his fingers twitching where they rested on his knee.

You flopped onto his bed, stretching your arms above your head, and his eyes immediately dropped to the way your chest lifted with the motion. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he swore he tasted blood.

“You’re acting weird,” you teased, tilting your head at him.

He scoffed, but it sounded too forced. “No, I’m not.”

You followed his gaze, then glanced down at yourself, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “Oh…” Your voice was light, teasing. “Are you staring at my—?”

“Don’t,” he muttered, rubbing his palm over his face.

But you only giggled, shifting closer until your knees bumped his. “Do you wanna touch them?”

Caleb stiffened, breath catching in his throat. “What?”

You reached for his hand, guiding it over your chest, and his fingers curled instinctively around the soft warmth. His entire body tensed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“Fuck pipsqueak,” he exhaled, barely above a whisper. His thumb grazed over your nipple, feeling it stiffen beneath his touch, and something primal stirred deep in his stomach.

Your breath hitched, the sound so quiet yet so devastating that his restraint snapped. He leaned in, pressing his lips to your collarbone, kissing his way down to the exposed skin of your chest. His tongue flicked out, testing, tasting, before he wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked.

A sharp gasp left your lips, and your fingers immediately tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your waist as he took more of you into his mouth, sucking harder, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you shiver.

“You—fuck, Caleb,” you whimpered, arching into him, and that was it. That was the sound that ruined him.

His hands roamed greedily, his mouth moving between your tits, kissing, licking, devouring every inch you offered him. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore—all he knew was that he needed more. More of your skin, more of your moans, more of you.

And from the way you clung to him, breathless and desperate, you needed it too.

Caleb was completely unraveling beneath you. The way his breath hitched, the way his fingers trembled against your skin—it was addicting. He wasn’t in control anymore, and you loved it.

“Pipsqueak,” he groaned, voice shaky, like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re—fuck—y’know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell in uneven breaths. His cock strained against his pants, so obvious, so desperate, and the way he twitched beneath you sent a thrill down your spine.

“I dunno,” you murmured, trailing your fingers lower. “You’re the one shaking, Caleb.”

He let out a choked noise when you palmed him through the fabric, his hips jerking up into your touch. “Shut up,” he tried, but there was no bite behind it. If anything, he sounded needy.

You tugged at his waistband, watching his breath stutter as you freed him from the confines of his pants. His cock was flushed, leaking at the tip, and he twitched at the cool air. You pressed a teasing kiss to his stomach, grinning when he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so hard already,” you whispered. “Is it ‘cause I let you suck on my tits, Caleb?”

His face burned. “Pipsqueak—”

You cut him off by pressing your tits together around his cock, watching as his head fell back against the pillows. His lips parted, breathless, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight.

“Shit,” he whimpered, hands gripping the sheets. You rolled your hips slightly, adding just enough pressure as you moved, and he cursed under his breath.

He was falling apart so easily.

“You’re so sensitive,” you teased, lifting yourself slightly before pressing back down, letting his cock slide between the soft warmth of your chest. “You like this, don’t you?”

He let out the most pathetic whimper, his hips bucking up into you. “F-fuck, yes.”

You leaned in, letting your breath ghost over the head of his cock, and his entire body tensed. His thighs trembled as you flattened your tongue against the tip of his cock, licking up the precum that had gathered there.

Caleb moaned, gripping the sheets tighter. “Pipsqueak—please—”

You smirked. He was begging now?

“Please what?” You dragged out the words, slowing your movements just to watch him suffer.

His head snapped forward, eyes blown wide with desperation. His lips parted, trying to form words, but all that came out was desperate, breathless whimper.

God, he was so easy to break.

And you weren’t done with him yet.

Caleb was falling apart beneath you. His chest heaved, his fingers twitching where they gripped the sheets, completely at your mercy. His cock throbbed between your boobs, slick with his own precum, and every time you moved, his breath hitched like he was this close to losing himself.

“Look at you,” you murmured, pressing your chest together tighter around him. “So needy… you can’t even handle this, can you?”

He whined, actually whined, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “F-fuck, please—”

“Please what?” You slowed your pace, teasing him, watching his face twist in frustration. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as little breathless moans spilled from them.

“Please—ah, shit—please don’t stop.” His voice was wrecked, desperate. “I-I can’t—fuck, I need—”

You smirked, shifting slightly to let your tongue flick over his tip again, tasting the heat of him as he shuddered beneath you.

“Need what, Caleb?” You licked up the underside, slow and deliberate, watching the way his muscles tensed. “Say it.”

His fingers flexed, then clenched the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. His body was trembling, barely able to handle the way you had him trapped between your softness, teasing, dragging out every second just to watch him crumble.

“I need—fuck—I need to cum,” he gasped. “Please, pipsqueak, I—ahh—please.”

God, he was pathetic. A trembling mess beneath you, completely at your mercy, begging like he’d fall apart if you didn’t let him have it.

You smirked, pressing your soft tits even tighter around his cock, moving faster, watching the way his body tensed, the way his thighs shook.

“Then cum for me,” you murmured, licking your lips as his breath caught.

Caleb let out a choked moan, his hips bucking up into the warmth of your chest, his entire body shuddering as he finally broke. His grip on the sheets tightened, back arching as he came undone, spilling between your pillowy tits with a wrecked gasp of your name.

You watched him, drinking in the way he trembled, the way his body sagged into the mattress, utterly spent. His breath was ragged, eyes hazy as he stared at you like you had completely ruined him.

And maybe you had.

His fingers twitched, weakly reaching for you, but he didn’t have the strength to pull you close. You leaned over him anyway, pressing a teasing kiss to his sharp jaw.

“You’re so easy, Caleb,” you whispered. “I might have to do this more often.”

His breath hitched, and even in his wrecked state, you could feel him twitch against your thigh.

Yeah. He was definitely yours now.

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