#She might not be able to taste *all* of the subtle differences that he did cause her to end up with a favorite imported water

[toasteaa]

Dash forgive me, I'm thinking about them tonight 😔

[privategurlsblog]

As simple as….

Not intended for minors. 18+

Warnings: public. grinding. kissing. she’s hungry.

PLOT: you’re looking for a victim, he’s the perfect face in the crowd.

🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩

Alex watched on nervously as you swayed your hips to the beat. You'd had your eyes set on him all night and you weren't exactly being subtle about it. Though nothing any of you did was subtle at your ages, this was your first night out at a club and you were taking advantage of being able to legally buy alcohol.

He knew you briefly, not all too well. You guys ran in different circles and he was the year above you. A few times around college maybe you'd caught eyes once or twice but not enough for him to really notice you, at least not like he was now.

You wore an Ed Hardy skirt that was so short it might as well not be there. He knew that because his eyes were glued to your arse, where the brand name was scrawled across it in bright white, graffiti style writing. He wasn't usually so invasive with his gaze, women scared him truthfully, but the drinks were clouding his judgement on wrong and right.

You were dancing with intent. Letting loose wasn't on your mind, gaining Alex's attention was. You didn't really care that it was him, it could've been any of the boys but something about his shyness specifically was endearing to you.

As the night wore on, your mind became more and more clouded and yet your goal just became clearer. You escaped outside for a cigarette, for a break from dancing mainly. The smoking area was crowded with people, all wedged in between four walls. The headiness of the air was intoxicating, exciting in this state - if you were sober though, you'd probably scrunch your nose up and shower if even one toe stepped in the crowded space.

Nevertheless, you pulled a cigarette free from your packet, leaning up against a wall in a more secluded corner, observing the people packed in like sardines.

"Got a light?"

Your gaze refocused, finding Alex stood before you. His eyes were hazy and playful, a little smirk on his lips suggesting that's not really what he's here for.

"Have some of mine," you countered, lifting your fingers up to his lips, feeling the softness of them. They were stained a little, presumably from whatever fruity concoction he was drinking. You'd noticed he was ordering cocktails rather than beers like the rest of the lads and it had been another reason you'd made eyes at him. He'd taste sweet, the rest of them dickheads would taste bitter.

Alex dragged on the smoke, his eyes fixed on yours. As he released it, a grey cloud left his lips and tainted the air around you, not that it was pure anyway with how many people were in parallel situations to yours.

You noticed the heat simmering in his gaze, he clearly felt the same as you, or he was just horny. Either way, you swung your arms around his neck and pulled him in before he could even register what was happening.

Your lips crashed together messily. Nothing about it was romantic, slow or sensual. It was dirty, tongues mingling straight away, teeth clashing, pure desperation masking how bad it really would be should you both be in your right mind. You could tell he wasn't use to this, simply from the way he was prodding his tongue through your lips, the rhythm completely off and you groaned against him, pulling back.

"You're a bit eager," you raise your eyebrows, "you were acting so nonchalant I thought I'd have to give you a strip tease for you to approach me."

Alex chuckled, "you could still do that, you know. I'd be more than happy to feign some more nonchalance."

"Who uses the word 'feign' on a night out?" You scoff, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your nails scratch the surface of his skin, making him shiver under you. He steadies himself by placing a hand on your hip, his fingertips shaking.

He leaned into kiss you again, his mind short circuiting to his horniness and that only. As much as he usually would endure conversation, he didn't have the time for it right now. You groaned again, not in pleasure, in annoyance.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

It was more rhetorical, but the blush on the bulbs of his cheeks and his darting eyes said it all. You felt a bit guilty to have brought it up, but truthfully you were quite shocked. You didn't know anyone your age that hadn't kissed anyone at all.

"I'm sorry," he pulled away hastily, his voice a mere mumble. The look in his eye proved his embarrassment, his body trembling. You reached out, clasping the collar of his Fred Perry polo and pulling him back in. He seemed shocked, steadying himself with his palms against the wall behind you.

"That wasn't a request to stop," you said, "just easy on the tongue. Here, let me take control."

You kissed him this time, he followed your movements, the way your lips remained closed and merely against his for a few seconds, before you got hungry. You swiped your tongue against his bottom lip and his mouth opened to you, a low groan escaping the back of his throat as the soft muscle began to curve around his.

Alex grew handsy very quickly. He could barely help himself as his palms slid down past your waist, cupping your arse and kneading the supple flesh. His moans were concerning, a bit too loud but you hoped that everyone was too drunk to pay attention.

His hips clashed against yours, the intensity of your kiss clouding his senses as he felt himself harden. You were enamoured by his arousal, your own growing in response and you hitched a thigh so it rested between his legs, subtly shifting it to intensify his pleasure.

It was working, Alex groaned once more against your lips and as his mouth opened to free it, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down on the flesh. He pulled away, momentarily stunned by what was happening, his large eyes gazing at you in pure wonder.

He looked worse for wear, his hair all over the place from your eager hands, his lips swollen and red from your kisses.

"You're so fit," he said, squeezing your arse again, he couldn’t refrain from kissing you once more and this time he did it right. You smiled against his lips, glad that he happens to be a fast learner. You find him quite attractive but if he’d carried on slurping you up like he was, you’d probably have given up.

It’s a good job you didn’t; Alex succeeds in turning you on, the heat beginning to pool in your stomach as you both start growing hungrier, touchier, more desperate.

The crowd around you dwindles into nothing in your mind, their loud chatter and the few jeers you seem to be getting now complete background noise to your racing heart.

You dig your thigh into his crotch again, just as he begins to rut against you, clearly unable to help himself. Your hands roll through his hair and coax groans from him that you gladly swallow up. The tang of fruit on his tongue and the faint hint of smoke has your eyes rolling back as you pull him closer to you, hand now drifted towards his arse. You roll his hips against your leg, making him sigh and whimper.

“You might need to stop,” he whispers, voice dripping with lust but you don’t miss the underlying embarrassment that he’s this close already.

“Is that what you really want?” You tease, pushing him against you again and he groans, his neck elongating. The yellow lights of the smoking area illuminate the veins protruding from his neck, the blue stark against his pale skin. In the heat of the moment you can’t help yourself but to dart your tongue out, licking languidly along the vein. Alex is a mess in your arms, if it wasn’t for one palm holding the wall, he’d stumble over. The throbbing in his cock only intensified by a tenfold when your hungry mouth starts to suck on his neck, finding his sweet spot immediately.

“Christ,” Alex mutters absentmindedly. His fingers brush over your arse, gripping the cheeks beneath your skirt making you buck into his grip.

You can tell merely by his tight stance that he’s dangerously close, but the thrill of the situation coaxes you to continue even if you shouldn’t.

Despite his words, Alex does nothing to stop you. In fact his hips only thrust more intently, the hardness twitching against your thigh. You graze your teeth over the lovebite you’ve made, pleased with yourself for leaving your mark on him. You hope he won’t forget you tomorrow.

When you find each others lips against, you taste the salt of Alex’s perspiration on his lips. You know it won’t be long now so you increase your efforts, licking into his mouth, sucking his tongue, jutting your thigh.

He groans into your mouth, his body going taut. You know you’ve achieved your mission.

Alex grumbles, his entire body shaking as the overwhelming pleasure courses through him. There was no stopping it - he had warned you, he'd told himself to stop and yet the both of you couldn't resist and now he was making a mess in his trousers in the middle of a club smoking area.

He could feel the cum filling his boxers, the warmth spreading up his length, seeping through the thin fabric. The chill of the night hadn't hit him yet, still in the throes of his orgasm.

You swallowed his moans but kept your eyes open, watching his roll back until only the slithers of white were visible to you. The satisfying smirk that grew against your lips interrupting your kiss momentarily. Alex's hips stalled against your thigh, you reached out to cup his diminishing bulge, feeling the wet, sticky liquid pouring through even the fabric of his jeans. Alex's head rested in the crook of your neck, soft whimpers falling from his lips as he tried to come back to, to gauge the situation and how fast he could run from it.

"You okay?" You ask gently, smoothing your hand down the sweaty back of his head, his hair plastered against it due to how much he was sweating, convulsing, but also due to his searing embarrassment at this situation.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "let me return the favour."

You shook your head, you certainly didn't need to be fingered in this space but Alex was insistent, his lips finding yours again. You began to grow horny again, after all this hadn't exactly left you unaffected, bringing him to his peak like that without barely any effort increased your confidence by a tenfold.

Alex's fingers fiddled with the hem of your panties. He was fumbling around, not exactly great at keeping it casual. With the way he was going about it, you knew you'd be caught, so you pushed him gently.

"How about we go back to mine?" You suggested.

"Mhm," Alex was lost in your eyes, the words barely registering in his mind. He'd have no jeans for tomorrow if he ended up staying and you probably lived with your parents which he would find morbidly embarrassing and yet he still agreed. None of that mattered. You did.

"Yeah, let's go."

You took his hand and guided him out, keeping your body firmed in front of him the entire way so his wet crotch wouldn't be visible. He appreciated the gesture. He knew you'd be fun, you were taking care of him too. And this was just the beginning of the night. Alex grinned to himself - he couldn’t wait to have you.

🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩

A/N: short nd shit, boys who can’t control themselves tho ? Sign me up. Enjoy 😗

[snailmail444]

Hiiii (big fan) could I pretty please make a Sam x Sebby x Farmer request? Like both boys have a crush on the farmer and ask her to choose and she says both? Thank you so much

Both (Sam/seb/f player)

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW

I’m SO sorry this one took so long nonnie please forgive me I love you so much 😭😭😭 it got lost in the shuffle but I would never leave you hanging!! I hope you enjoy this that took way way wayyyy too long (like seven months to get to RIP). NSFW under the cut!

“Both.”

You watch the boys blanch. Sam hadn’t been subtle with his “hypothetical,” that’s for damn sure, but it’s still a surprise to see them both respond so viscerally.

“B-but we,” Sam stammers, blinking rapidly as though he can’t process, “it wasn’t—we were just—“

“Just?” You arch a brow, cross your legs and lean forward. Sebastian’s cheap futon squeaks with each shift of your weight. “Just what? You asked which of you I would want, and I said both. Did I not answer the question?”

“It was more of an—“

“—either or,” Sebastian finishes what Sam started, and you pout at him. His eyes are dark and unreadable when you do.

“But I don’t want either or. I said I want both. Or are you saying I shouldn’t get to have that? If you’re saying that in this hypothetical scenario I can’t be lavished by two hot guys instead of one? Hardly seems fair.”

They exchange a glance, Sebastian uncertain and Sam at a loss. You have them where you want them now. “Unless, of course,” your voice is smooth and silky, low, “it wasn’t a hypothetical at all.”

You watch a flush burn down Sam’s cheeks and the sops of Sebastian’s ears. Caught.

“I’m not blind,” you continue, leaning forward to trace a finger up Sam’s thigh, “I’ve seen the way both of you look at me. And the way you look at each other. Don’t tell me the thought never crossed your mind.”

You stop just shy of the rapidly hardening bulge in Sam’s sweats, splay out your palm and grip the meat of his thigh. He visibly swallows, and when he doesn’t respond you look over at Sebastian.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

His throat bobs, and just when you think they’ve both gone mute, he says, “you aren’t wrong. Of course you aren’t.”

You’re not sure how it all happens. One minute your mouth is dry, and you’re looking between them and trying to decide which one of you is going to make a move. The next you’re all moving, your mouth on Sam’s and Sebastian’s on your neck, tangled up in knots and trying to find use of your uncoordinated limbs.

You all strip like there’s no time. Like any moment the delicate thing between you might shatter and you all will come to your senses. You’ll stop and realize that it’s messy, and you don’t know what it means, and this is all too forward.

Except it’s not. Tension between everyone has been a living thing. Palpable and begging for someone to do something about it for weeks now. If anything, you aren’t moving fast enough. Heady drags of kisses shared between you and Sam, you and Sebastian, Sebastian and Sam—the first taste made you realize you’d been starving, you all had, and now you’re devouring each other with the fear that somebody might take it away.

It’s not easy for you to take your clothes off like this. Everybody’s impatient and too selfish to stop even just a second. It’s a haze of hands and skin and clothes, and by the time you’re finally able to feel the delicious skin-to-skin contact you’re splayed out on your back and your cunt is soaked and throbbing.

“Please,” you squirm. Wonder what happened to the control, when you lost it and who found it. You’re almost embarrassed to be this way—a squirming mess begging to be fucked by whoever can get to you the fastest. But what are you supposed to do? Stop?

It’s odd—the little differences you realize. Sam’s hands are everywhere, like they can’t find a spot they like the best, whereas for Sebastian it’s his mouth. Sliding down your chest and your stomach, both of them. Sam’s fingers inside of you, Sebastian’s mouth on your clit, and you arching your back and trying not to be too fucking loud because you don’t want anybody to hear this. To find you all desperate and squirming against each other while they both work to make you come like it’s their only desire on this earth.

“Shit,” you can’t help it, high pitched and whiny because they’re too good at this. It’s like they’re one person, the way they work in tandem to bring you crashing into an orgasm before you even realize you’re close to coming. You writhe against Sebastian’s tongue, Sam’s palm, and they don’t stop until you’re whimpering and thrashing because it’s too good.

“You taste fucking perfect,” Sebastian uses the back of his hand to swipe some of your slick off of his cheek. His eyes are swallowed by the pupils as he stares down at your heaving chest.

“Let me taste,” Sam breathes, grips Sebastian’s shoulders and wends his tongue into his mouth. He moans, low and filthy and it’s enough to key you back up.

You try to fill the space, desperately twisting your fingers, and unwittingly whine because it’s not enough.

Sam and Sebastian break their kiss, connected by spit and your arousal, and look at each other like they’re silently working something out. It makes you shiver, your fingers curl against yourself and your hips buck with anticipation.

And it’s worth it. Because they’re guiding you onto all fours, Sam posting himself against your cunt and Sebastian near your mouth.

“Is this okay,” Sam asks, lathing his tongue along your shoulder blades and wrapping his arms around your middle. As if it ever wouldn’t be.

You nod and Sebastian catches your chin, tilts your head so you’re meeting his eyes. “You sure?”

In lieu of a response you grind your ass backwards, feel Sam’s cock butterfly your cunt as you loll your tongue out for Sebastian. You’ve never been more sure that you want anything.

Sam moves first. Desperate and jerky and shoving his tip in with a strained, “sorry, shit—didn’t mean to—“

As you moan Sebastian’s cock slides past your lips, smooth and slow and controlled, and they stop altogether once they’re both fully inside of you.

Spit slicks down your chin as you look up at Sebastian. You feel depraved. Fuller than you have any right to ever feel. You want them to use you, to force your body back and forth on their cocks like a limp sex toy until they’ve had their fill.

Maybe it’s the look in your eye, or the way your cunt flutters around Sam’s cock, or the way you hum around Sebastian’s, but regardless they get the message and begin to move in a clumsy rhythm.

It takes a minute for them to get the hang of it. For them to fall into a smooth pattern that has everyone falling to pieces. You’re gagging on Sebastian and constricting around Sam in tandem, and you think that if you die like this it would be okay because Sebastian’s pulling your hair and Sam’s smacking your ass and your garbled moans sound as pathetic as they are guttural.

It’s Sam first. Bucking and stuttering against your cunt as he desperately rubs your clit in a last ditch effort to get you to finish before him when comes.

And then it’s Sebastian, tugging your hair to hold you still and warning you before he’s finishing down your throat. Praise spills over his lips as he groans, telling you how good your mouth feels and how perfect you’re taking it all for him.

Some combination of it all snaps you over the edge too. Tears running down your cheeks and stars flashing in your vision, sensation scraping over every nerve of your body as wave after wave of pleasure has its way with you.

You don’t know how long you all lay in a panting, sweaty heap— for air and trying to slow the beating of your hearts—when you finally speak.

“Both,” you say, and Sebastian chuckles as he pets the sticky hair away from your face. Sam burrows against you, pulling you back like a stuffed animal to hold, and preens against your shoulder.

“Both,” they say in unison, and you can feel the relief in the air. After you get some sleep, you’ll figure out what that means, anyway.

[ipsen]

Blank Canvas Chapter 7

Read on AO3. Summary: Kaneki realizes something horrible. Word Count: 3741 Chapter 8 Chapter 6 Master Post

She wasn’t exactly subtle walking to the door. She wanted Shiono to know she was going out and that there was nothing he could do to stop her. They weren’t father and daughter, and they sure as hell weren’t friends. They were, at most, editor and author; that was all.

Despite that fact, Shiono called out to her as she grasped the doorknob.

“Where are you going?” he asked, full of fake concern for a child not his own.

“Out,” she answered curtly, hoping the conversation would end there.

It didn’t. “You’re going to see that Arima guy, aren’t you?”

She tried scoffing. “A-And what if I am?” Shit, not good.

“He’s twenty-two!” Shiono stood up and looked at her. “He’s twenty-two, and you’re sixteen!”

“Yes, and I’ll be fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Kishou’s good to me.”

What did Shiono know about dating, anyway? He’d been single his whole life, and the fact that she didn’t have any siblings running around their little apartment told her that he was a total virgin too.

And it wasn’t like she was stupid either. Kishou was obviously different from those guys. Maybe he always picked where they went, regardless of her tastes, and maybe he wasn’t really one for conversation— even when it came to books, their favorite subject— but she could tell he was a lot like her. Parental issues, no friends that truly understood him— completely isolated from his own life, where choices were an illusion to keep him pinned to the wall.

A lonely soul. A broken soul. 

She was the same way: no mother, and a ‘father’ that hated her, to the point of letting someone else care for her not once, but twice. To make matters worse, this second hire just pretended to care. He was nothing like Papa, because Papa was dead and he wasn’t coming back and it was all her fault.

It was in her isolation that Kishou found her, and she found Kishou.

“He’s taking advantage of you!”

“I’m sure he is,” she quipped sarcastically.

“Wait—”

She pushed the door open. “Bye.”

“\#-, I’m just trying to—!”

Every time Shiono said that ridiculous name, the one penned by a liar, that meant another lecture. So before he could get going, she rushed out and slammed the door.

———

Kaneki and Takatsuki bid their farewells to Big Bin and crossed over to the edge of the fence. In his eagerness to leave, Kaneki made the first leap over the fence. The moment his feet touched the ground, he let out a sigh of relief. Oh, it felt so good to finally not have to turn around every two seconds to make sure a guard wasn’t—

“Look out below!”

He looked up just in time to see Takatsuki freefalling toward him from above. He yelped and stuck out his hands, catching her safely in his grasp. She was surprisingly light.

“Oof!” She giggled as if she wouldn’t have broken her back without him, as if they hadn’t been in a high-security prison literal seconds ago. “Why, thank you very—”

She looked up at him and suddenly stopped. Kaneki pursed his lips, a bit confused. Was there something on his face? Takatsuki never stopped mid-sentence; she barreled through to the bitter end. Or maybe—

(Oh, it was a crescent moon tonight; he could see it in her eyes.)

It might be boogers that’s disgusting why would you think that? Then again, his nose had been feeling a little stuffy today. Or yesterday, because it was technically a new day.

(She smelled like hibiscuses, known partly for a short vase life. Ironic, considering he’d remember her forever.)

Maybe it was just the nerves; she was always able to identify whenever he was nervous. It was nice, in a way, how he didn’t need to use his words to tell her how he felt. He could be vulnerable and not be uncomfortable. It wasn’t like Touka or Hide, who lovingly peeled open his pages and flipped through; Takatsuki already knew the story by heart.

(Hey, was it warm? He felt warm. It was summer.)

Takatsuki let herself down and brushed off her clothes. The darkness hid her expression. “Um, thanks.”

Kaneki managed to keep his tongue from falling out of his mouth. “Y-Yeah… No problem.”

She took the lead to leave the premises, keeping two paces ahead when usually they walked in stride together. It was sorely needed distance, in his opinion, because he couldn’t bear the thought of her next to a walking tomato like him at the moment. What if she saw his expression in total darkness?

To distract himself, he thought about his message to Chie requesting Donato’s case file. She was usually up at strange hours anyway, so maybe he’d even get it tomorrow if he was lucky. And hopefully the price wasn’t too high; he’d never really worked with Chie in-depth before, but Hide had some crazy stories about the things he’d done to get her (illegal) information, ranging from simple cash to stealing someone’s underwear.

Kaneki prayed for the former.

A few turns in multiple eerie alleyways shrouded in darkness later, he and Takatsuki were bathed in the streetlights of civilization once again. She darted back and forth on the local street, searching for something, before pointing out a bright white and red car.

“There’s our ride!”

Kaneki squinted at the driver’s seat, and the color drained from his face.

“Tatara! Over here!!” Takatsuki waved wildly, jumping up and down. “I don’t think he sees us— Wave, come on!”

Kaneki reluctantly waved one of his arms in a wide arc, the other glued to the strap of his satchel. He hadn’t seen Tatara since their first meeting, but he knew that Tatara wouldn’t be happy to see him.

As if to prove his point, when the car slowed to a stop in front of them, a pair of thin scarlet eyes looked past the glass and Takatsuki to definitely scowl at him.

“He’s so reliable, don’t you think?” Takatsuki grinned.

“Y-Yeah…” It wasn’t that Kaneki disagreed; he just would have preferred Shiono.

He would have entered the car from the street side (not that it was busy, but it was a courtesy), but she beat him to it, forcing him into the easily-accessible sidewalk side (he was not riding shotgun).

Once both were seated, Takatsuki undid her pigtails with a sigh of relief. Each strand freed from the hair ties jumped out in a different direction, as unpredictable as arcs of lightning. Kaneki felt the air get sucked out of his lungs at the sight, and turned away just to breathe. The city was super interesting at this time of night! It was dark, and there were… lights, and— and it was dark— Some artist he was. ‘ It was dark’?! Really?!

“Where do you live?” Tatara, for the first time, threw him a bone.

“O-Oh! The uh, the 12th ward.” Kaneki cleared his throat, trying to air himself out. It was so hot in here.

“Across the city!” Takatsuki exclaimed. “Lucky us, Tatara.”

“Sure.” Tatara started the car and got driving.

At least she was going to be with Kaneki the whole ride home; he didn’t think he could survive a car drive with Tatara. At least Yomo gave a thumbs up when he was thanked.

“By the way, the Japanese version of Chì Shé’s latest production is premiering next weekend,” Tatara suddenly said.

“Oh? Then congratulations are in order.” Takatsuki was also staring out the window. “What was it about again?”

Kaneki, despite himself, was a little curious too; were there any changes between versions, and why? Was it due to censorship laws? Language barriers? Cultural barriers? Despite being close to each other, it was always surprising knowing how different China and Japan were. He’d never been one for plays, but after months of Takatsuki dragging him to place after place after place, maybe stepping outside his boundaries every once in a while could be good for him.

“The last surviving member of an underground mafia pursues revenge overseas,” Tatara explained curtly.

Interesting… Maybe a story about the fruitless nature of revenge? Or maybe it would embrace revenge, telling the story of how some people need closure in order to finally live their ideal life? 

“Anyway, Naki and Miza rented out a resort for the same weekend to celebrate. I’d like for you to come.”

Oh. Alright. Kaneki kind of wanted to hear more, but that was fine too. It wasn’t his place to pry.

“Hoho…” Takatsuki sounded interested enough. “Who else will be there?”

“The Bins.” Oh, Big Bin had a family? Well, of course he did— everyone did— but it was more—

“Yumitsu too?” Who was that?

Tatara nodded. “I’m inviting some of my crew, and Naki and Miza are bringing Shiori as well.” Shiori? Wait, was that—

“Shiori!” Takatsuki squealed and clapped her hands. “He must be so big now!”

Tatara’s voice also took on a lighter tone. “Yes. Actually—”

As Kaneki listened, he felt more and more out of place. It was like peeking into a world that he had no right to peek into, let alone context with which to enjoy it. Who exactly was Miza besides a co-owner of a restaurant? Naki and her had a child? Big Bin had… siblings? How long had Takatsuki known these people?

Such were the things running through his mind, and it just emphasized the fact that he didn’t really know her. These past few months had just been work, work, work; the casual nature of it didn’t change that fact. Sure, he enjoyed Takatsuki’s company, and she clearly kept him around for a reason, but that didn’t make them friends: just good colleagues.

They were nothing more, and with each unfamiliar term and phrase in a conversation he had no part in, he became more and more aware of that.

Vengeance.

Not only that, but Donato’s answer continued to plague him. Did anyone else know about her connection to the Priest? If so, that meant she didn’t trust him enough to tell him herself, and despite everything, that hurt. He wanted her trust. He wanted her to believe in him. Then again, who was to say she didn’t want him running his mouth and jeopardizing her career? It was better, not to mention easier, if he was in the dark, and she was already probably in hot water after the lawsuit from Hanged Man’s. She shouldn’t be risking her career like this, even if she was a well-known figure.

Then again, she’d left Kaneki alone with Donato, trusting that he would come out the other end still on her side. If she truly didn’t want him to find out, she would have pushed more to stay in the room. But then that begged the question: why him, and not someone else? Why not Tatara, who clearly knew her more than Kaneki ever would? It didn’t make sense; he’d barely known her for three months. So what if he saw inklings of himself— his rage, his sorrow, his longing— between her pages? So what if she might have followed Haise for similar reasons?

Kaneki didn’t matter.

Vengeance.

Kaneki shouldn’t matter.

(But he wanted to matter. He was terrible like that.)

He leaned his head against the window with a sigh, staring out at the city lights. The curvature of the glass made the landscape appear like watercolors. He hadn’t done a watercolor painting in a while, he realized; maybe this could be good inspiration. His paychecks had gone largely unspent too, so he could purchase replacements for his brushes, and paint too.

He closed his eyes and imagined the process. It would feature cool colors— blues and violets— to portray a rainy night. The figure of focus was alone on a street corner, the streetlight casting a shadow over their expression. Kaneki would pay attention to the eyes, however. Silver, like his own, which glowed against the night. He would dab paint beneath them— a harsh red, perhaps, to contrast the rest of the piece— and let gravity streak bleeding tears and rain down his cheeks, neck, and shoulders, and then—

“Can Haise come?”

He jolted from the window to stare at Takatsuki. She was staring intently at Tatara through the rear-view mirror.

“Why?” Tatara vocalized Kaneki’s thoughts perfectly.

She quirked her brow. “Because I want him to? Why else?”

Tatara squinted. “It’s my gathering.”

“It’s my invitation.”

There was a long stretch of silence, and Kaneki took the time to regret living across the city. Arguing over him, of all people, and for what? He wouldn’t belong there; he didn’t know half of the names they’d mentioned, and he knew even less of the ones he did know.

“I-I don’t have to go; I really don’t think—” he began, hoping to nip this in the bud. He’d just take up space, take up necessary oxygen—

“Fine.” Tatara relented.

Huh?

“Yay!” Takatsuki clapped her hands together. “You’ll love Middle Bin, Haise. Little Bin, not so much, but it’ll be fun!”

Fun? With a bunch of strangers? “I, um…”

He was about to gently refuse, maybe use Hide for an excuse, but when he saw her looking at him, the memory of the crescent moon lingering in her eyes, his brain fooled him into thinking she might actually, genuinely want him there.

“Okay. Yeah, I can come.” He smiled at her even as his voice strained.

Were he a bit more presumptuous, he would have said she was glowing.

—

Kaneki closed the car door and made his way around to get to his apartment, when he heard Takatsuki open her side and go after him.

“Haise, wait!” she called. “Come back!”

He turned back, confused. “What is it?”

She stopped just before him, her smile brushing against her eyes. Entrancing. “I wanted to say thank you for tonight. I’m glad you came with me.”

A set of clouds had passed over the moon, and there weren’t enough lights to illuminate her, yet he thought she shone anyway. Not like the sun, but a flash of lightning, for she came and went as she pleased because none could nor should stop her, drawing more toward her for it.

Oh. She asked him a question. He nodded dumbly. “N-No problem.” Yeah, breaking into Cochlea for Sen Takatsuki was ‘no problem’. Good job, brain.

“And I’m glad you’re coming to the resort after the show.” She glanced behind her before leaning closer to whisper. “Between you and me, I don’t think I could bear it alone.”

His brow furrowed. “Aren’t they your friends? I’d think—”

“Plays are fun, but my idea of a post-play vacation is being curled up on my bed with a good book,” she admitted. “Or maybe revisiting an old favorite and jotting down some new things I learned.”

“Oh! M-Me too!” Kaneki smiled, elated to have finally found a kindred soul. Not even Rize understood the appeal. “I’m not really one for outdoors stuff, even if we were going to spend most of it indoors. So honestly, a resort is a bit— much.”

Takatsuki giggled. “I knew you’d understand. You always do.” His heart swelled with pride at that. He understood her. “That’s why if you’re at the resort, then I think I could look forward to it.”

Another dumb nod. “I-I feel the same.”

If he were a bit more presumptuous, he’d say there was some pink dusting her cheeks. “See you at work, Haise.”

“S-See you at work…” he repeated like a total idiot.

He stood in his spot long after Tatara’s car left the lot. Later, he drifted into his apartment, trying not to disturb Hide in case he was asleep. Once Kaneki dressed in his pajamas, he retrieved the notebook full of Takatsuki sketches and went to the couch to add one more for the night.

It was a routine that he’d accepted at this point: come home, grab the book, and find a spot. He was already formulating the outline in his head; two jade orbs that reflected a crescent moon, freckles like stars in the sky, and a constellation of lips that he wanted to—

It was full.

The sketchbook was full.

Why was it full? When had it become full? He could’ve sworn there was more space. He flipped through it again, Takatsuki’s smiles, frowns, glares, and more filled his vision in an overwhelming amount. In just a few short months, he’d practically memorized every angle of her face like the disgusting creep he was.

And now there was no space left.

The sketchbook slipped out of his hands and landed gently at his feet, like a landmine. His mouth turned dry as he covered his face with both hands.

The answer had been staring at him ever since the park— maybe even before then— and only now did he dare look up to meet it.

Oh no.

———

Hide came home in the morning, presumably from a business trip or overnight shift. Kaneki, meanwhile, was curled up on the couch with his Takatsuki sketchbook held tight against his chest.

“Uh, I’m home…?”

Kaneki didn’t dare look up. “Welcome back…”

Hide dropped his bag by the couch and sat down next to him. “You, uh… You okay there, bud?”

“No…” It was pointless to hide anything from Hide. “I’ve just realized something horrible.”

His brow furrowed again. “Yeah? What?”

“I think I have a crush on Takatsuki.”

“You don’t say?” Hide’s body language betrayed the shock in his tone.

“What am I going to do?” Kaneki sat up. “If I come to work, how am I going to talk to her without it being weird?”

Hide scratched his head. “I mean, you’ve held out this long, haven’t you?”

“What?”

“C’mon, dude, seriously.” Hide gestured vaguely. “You’ve been crushing on her since you were like, ten. I think you can pull it off.”

“That was a celebrity crush, Hide! There’s a difference!” Kaneki protested. “I just— Ugh…”

Hide sighed. “Oh boy… Hey, you want a change of pace?”

Kaneki glanced down at the sketchbook full of Takatsuki, then at Hide, and nodded.

“Here, look what I got.” Hide took out a manila folder stuffed to the brim with papers and pictures and handed it over.

Kaneki took it into his hands, staring blankly. “What’s this?”

“The Priest’s case file, as ordered.” He gestured to it. “All his crimes, the victims’ autopsies, and the trial itself. Chie got you everything.”

Kaneki tilted his head. “She did? Why would— Wait, what’s her price? Don’t tell me I need to steal—”

Hide put up his hands. “No underwear for this one— I checked. But she does want a reason for why you wanted this.”

Vengeance.

Kaneki gulped, rubbing his chin. “I-It was for the book… We, uh, had an interest in the Priest’s history for inspiration…”

Hide raised a brow. “And…?”

“And…” He sighed in defeat. “Takatsuki… has a history with him.”

“With the Priest?” For some reason, Hide sounded less surprised and more interested. He even whistled. Then again, it was Hide; his interests were often at odds with regular expectations. “Quite the woman you fell in love with.”

Kaneki turned scarlet. “Stop…”

Hide chuckled. “Well, want me to go over it with you? These things are dense, and you might not get through everything by yourself.”

Kaneki didn’t like the implication that this wasn’t Hide’s first criminal case file, but it was simultaneously comforting, as he had no clue where to start. “Alright. Thanks, Hide.”

Hide grinned. “Anything for my best pal!”

“Thanks…”

This was a pretty apt distraction. Plus, he was honestly overreacting a bit, and this could get him back on track. It was just a crush; he’d had crushes before right? The only difference was that if he acted on it, his entire career could end in the blink of an eye. No big deal.

He opened the folder and got reading.

Donato Porpora, the Priest. Close to two hundred documented victims across twenty-five years since immigrating to Japan. As the man himself said, he preferred heavier victims, and they were abducted with only their clothing left behind with a cross. He resided in his church and orphanage, taking care of many children, but it was discovered that they were unwittingly being fed the remains of his victims.

Among these children was a young Koutarou Amon, Kurona’s fellow worker at Taiwa. He didn’t talk much, but Kaneki could tell he was a kind person. To think, such kindness was founded in blood.

Hide was skimming a separate case. “Hey, Kaneki, look at this,” he said, bringing it over. “Yuka Nagoyama, a new politician at the time of her death.”

Kaneki’s brow furrowed as he looked at her photograph. “She’s… thin. And her weight—”

“It doesn’t match,” Hide finished. “All of his typical victims were around or above ninety kilograms. Not her.”

“Everything you need is in my case file.”

Kaneki put his current paper aside and focused on the victims’ weights.

“What’s your opinion on people in your profession getting hired?”

Hide did the same, and they piled their results together.

“Politicians, financers, rising businessmen…” Hide muttered aloud, reading each victim’s occupation.

Meanwhile, Kaneki read their names. “Tsukiyama, Rosewald, Yasuhisa…”

All members of influential families or working toward influential positions. Not only that, but their clothes were always bloodier and the scene was always messier, so that it was easy to identify the victim at the scene of the crime.

“Okay, picture this—”

Hide and Kaneki arrived at the last crime Donato committed— the one that got him caught: a double murder in an alleyway in the 8th ward. Skimming the report, Kaneki immediately realized something was wrong: both bodies had been discovered at the site.

“A lobbyist organization with a lot of government influence…”

One victim was a worker at Kaiko Industries: a woman named Kasuka Mado. She was currently survived by her husband and daughter, both cops. Kaneki vaguely recognized the surname; Amon might have mentioned it once or twice. Kasuka had had her stomach sliced open and her back broken over a dumpster, left to bleed out, and was pronounced dead by the time authorities arrived.

“… has been using serial killers to get rid of inconvenient opponents.”

The other was a homeless man residing in the local shelter. He had died of a similar injury.

Vengeance.

His name was Noroi Takatsuki.

[lampmanliveblogs]

Sticking to the theme of there being a contradiction between the coven head's magic track and their personalities - neat freak Darius being able to transform into gunk, emberwolf becoming an animal themself, the healing head being decisively ok with harming- it's hinted that Adrian, the supposedly most powerful illusionist in the track, actually isn't that powerful himself. He takes a director's role and organizes his minions to cast the magic rather than doing it himself, he regularly used that illusion-amplifier artefact to perform fears like stabilising Gus' illusion, and he's overwhelmed like the rest when Gus unleashed a burst off as mental magic at the end. Adrian is arguably a weak illusionist on his own merits, but crafts the illusion of being the top dog in the coven

Don't forget the Bard Raine with their crippling stage fright.

(Or the Plant witch Terra who is A-OK with killing. Or the Construction Head who is helping bring about the destruction of the Isles. Or the Oracle who did not see Belos' betrayal coming)

Now that I think about it, did we see Adrian Graye Vernworth cast a single spell without using his magic amplifier? Maybe some of his invisibility spells, but we never saw him cast those, so... who knows?

Not to defend him or anything, but I will say this: there is something to be said about Adrian's approach to illusion magic being more effective. He doesn't go for any big spectacles, he prefers a more subtle approach, playing mind games with his enemies. Now, that might be because he lacks the power to pull off large-scale illusions like disguising the entire school, but still. Keep in mind, the trick with the branding glove very nearly worked, and disguising Severine as Willow would have worked if Hunter hadn't been there.

Also, there is always the possibility that he got his high position not because of his power or skill, but because of his loyalty to Belos.

More asks below

And it's ironic since we see during the Day of Unity, he really did get roughed up after going through Gus' Negative Hollow spell.

And much like how Adrian ended up looking like the illusion in the end, even after all his efforts to hide it, Philip ends up reverting to his scarred appearance after the slightest bit of setback.

You're right, that is the exact same trick. I guess Philip got a taste of his own medicine in more than one way, huh? And of course, it wouldn't be a villain downfall without him being at least partially responsible for it himself. He hunted Hunter away, he pushed Kiki out of the room, and he literally threw The Collector off a bridge. All three of them, who would have stood by his side and could have seen the deception, were gone. And now they also hate his guts, which came back to haunt him even more.

I'd call this absolutely bonkers, if not for the fact that it fits surprisingly well.

I feel like I should add something, hmm...

Eda's gold and black eyes in her harpy form come from her reaching an understanding with the monster within her. It represents the truce between them and she displays it proudly, adoring her new form.

Belos' gold and black eyes come from him putting on his mask, hiding his face. It also represents his hatred of witches, being the same mask he wore as a kid playing his witch-hunting games.

Right, someone pointed it out in the comments as well, that Gus fell for the deception at first while Hunter saw through it because they befriended Willow at different points of her character arc. In some way, Gus kinda made the same mistake Amity did in this episode, forgetting Willow had grown from the meek girl she used to be to the powerful and confident witch she is today (though at a smaller scale).

They are both absolute disasters around their crushes but in completely opposite ways. It's good to see they have more to bond over than their... less than ideal upbringings.

As a fellow Big Brother, I can confirm, that stuff is genetic.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

The Kind that Never Slows Down | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 10k

✦ summary — Gotham is hit with a spell that changes your perception of Damian forever.

✦ warnings — nsfw, semi-public sex, non-con sex (not really but just to be safe), angst, language, light jealousy, light possessiveness, mentions of food, smut, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), consensual sex, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, fluff.

✦ author's note — this one should’ve been published a long time ago, but I just got around editing it. Hope you like it.

════════════════════════

The abandoned building smelled like piss and mold, the only light available entered through a broken window, and you were pretty sure you had heard rats roaming around.

But you didn’t care. Robin’s hands were all over you, plump lips sucking on your neck like his life depended on it as he pounded into you.

It wasn’t enough.

He had skipped foreplay on your insistence. You needed him more than anything, if he didn’t fuck you right there in that moment you wouldn’t be able to survive.

He grunted out of pleasure as you clenched around him, gripping your hips to ground himself as he picked up his already relentless pace.

It still wasn’t enough.

Having his cum down your thighs and marks over your neck from his kisses wasn’t enough either. Your body craved all of him, including his whining and abrasive words.

Noise outside prompted him to part from you completely. Both of you fixed yourselves as best as you could in silence, avoiding looking at the other.

You followed him outside with a sense of guilt hovering over you like a dark cloud. You felt like you had just gotten out of a trance after committing the worst of the crimes.

Nightwing stopped you by yelling, “Where were you? I looked for you two everywhere.”

“We were looking for you,” Robin lied smoothly.

Nightwing’s shoulders slumped as he nodded. “Well, Zatana undid the spell.”

Suddenly Damian’s urgent voice as he said he needed you made all the sense in the world. His need for you and your need for him had been magic-induced.

Of course it had been! You two were mere acquaintances who fought all the time for the most minimal things in the world or ignored the other to the point of making people around you uncomfortable. It was a surprise that you worked well together at night.

“A lust spell, right?”

“Well, no,” Nightwing chuckled. “According to her, the spell showed people what their heart desires the most.”

Robin stiffened beside you, and you felt every drop of blood drain from your face and fall to your feet.

“Did you hear a lot of people having sex?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “Tons of them.”

The moment you got home, you ripped your suit off and walked into the shower. You washed his cum off you, scrubbing your body twice just to make sure.

Wishing the soap could erase the marks on your neck and the memory of the way he had moaned your name, you decided to take a pill to sleep.

You hadn’t needed one of those in months, but Damian was that special. Or annoying.

God, you hated him and his stupid ego. He would surely find funny the lengths you would have to go to put this in the past.

He loved being the center of attention as much as he hated you, that was why you always tried your best to avoid him. When you didn’t avoid him, he made weird faces at you and scoffed every time you laughed.

Turning the lamp off, you hoped for the best.

Meanwhile, Damian ignored Dick’s inquiries. Why did his brother care if he was extremely quiet or if he looked like he was about to explode?

Your scent was all over him, still bewitching him, overpowering his sweat and the smell of everybody around him.

Looking down at his hands, the gloved palms that had hours before gripped and traced as much of your body as your suit had allowed him to, Damian clenched his jaw.

How could he have been so stupid? There was no other reason for you to beg him to fuck you the way you had — magic! He fucking hated magic.

But Dick’s explanation... that was worse. More stupid. He hated it too. His brother had to be wrong.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone from his family was wrong regarding magic, and Zatanna while an expert had her own biases.

Besides, his heart could have been desiring to get off the most just like yours. The two of you were busy people after all.

“Did the spell show you anything, Dami?”

The prettiest face he had seen in his entire life. “A pet demon.”

He regretted the lie the moment he said it. Damian wished a lot of things could be different. His mother would be furious if she knew how sentimental he was becoming, if she found out how often he gave into wishful thinking.

For once, he wanted to be open. But as always something was stopping him. Sometimes he wondered if he had been born to be like that or if his grandfather had simply lied.

Leaving the cave the moment he was dismissed, he trotted upstairs almost praying Dick wouldn’t follow him.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way you clung to him, or the harshness of your kiss. It had felt real, and too perfect to be happening to him all at once.

But you hated him, everybody and their mother knew that.

════════════════════════

Barbara had never been subtle around you. There had never been a need for such a thing — she was like the older sister you never had, you two carried the other’s secrets and burdens.

Back when you met her, barely as a teen, she provided a safe place you only had ever dreamt of having. You vowed to give it all back; she deserved it.

“What’s up with the turtleneck?” She asked, unsubtly so with her bright eyes on your neck.

“I have a cold,” you feigned a rasp. Perhaps this secret wouldn’t be shared.

“Mmmh. Really?” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Dick said Damian was feeling under the weather too.”

Yup. Definitely not sharing. It would be embarrassing. She had always had the theory that you were in love with Damian just because you complained about him on a weekly basis.

It was like she had never met him.

In a way, the theory was correct. But it lacked a lot of details — a spell had confirmed it from all things. It sounded ironic, quite suitable to your situation.

“Flu season, I guess.”

It was a bad lie. Everybody knew when flu season arrived because Tim started getting a stuffy nose and limiting his consumption of Red Bull in order to drink more water.

”Did the spell from the other night show you anything?”

You faked a cough, shaking your head. “I was busy on patrol.”

“I was too and I saw Dick.”

“That’s just wishful thinking, Babs. It’s cute, though.”

Her not seeing Dick would have surprised you. They had known each other for years, gone through so much together... most people wanted what they had.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re lying to me?”

You wrapped your fingers around your mug. The heat transferring from the ceramic to your palm reminded you of Damian’s breath on your lips.

Taking a gulp of coffee, you blinked rapidly. “You don’t think it’s cute?”

She rolled her eyes. “Everybody saw something. It’s how those spells work.”

“There must be something wrong with me.”

There really had to be something awfully wrong with you. Saying out loud that you wanted Damian more than anything in the world terrified you.

It was a normal thing. Not wanting him specifically, but wanting someone — everybody craved attention and love at some level, you just happened to crave Damian’s at every single one.

He was the problem, not you.

════════════════════════

Movie marathons weren’t something Damian really cared for, but they were better than hearing his father complain about minor things like if he had ruined a goon’s lungs or whatever.

Alfred called it bonding time which he supposed was a fair assessment. He found Tim’s taste in movies quite good, and now he didn’t get the urge to strangle his slightly older brother in his sleep.

His stepmother was there too. Selina had been the reason why Bruce shifted his ways, she urged him to either find a balance or stop adding people to the team.

Duke made him pass a bowl of popcorn to Tim who did the same to Stephanie. The bowl landed on Dick who was on the row behind them, just next to Jason.

Getting more comfortable on his seat, his eyes fell on the empty spot to Duke’s right. Cassandra used to sit there until one afternoon Duke couldn’t seem to shut up and she asked you to switch places. You always went with the things Duke said, sometimes even asked his opinion.

Damian complained once, telling his sister to suck it up next time. But Cassandra would never do something he told her to, that was perhaps why she was his favorite.

Everyone around him was in an amazing mood which he didn’t understand. Bruce had just tried to tell a joke, and Jason was mocking how dumb it was.

Selina laughed loudly, in that way people did when they felt genuinely happy. At least that was what he supposed; Damian wasn’t sure he had ever experienced happiness.

The sound of an approaching wheelchair made his ears perk up. Not a single pair of shoes could be heard against the floor. Fighting a frown, he turned to look at the door.

Barbara waved at all of them with a smile, maneuvering her wheelchair to sit next to Dick’s seat. Craning his neck with the excuse of saying hi, Damian watched her give Dick a chaste kiss.

“Where’s (Nickname)?” Dick asked, lifting his arm to rest it on the back of Barbara’s chair.

“She said she was feeling sick. Although...” Barbara giggled, leaning onto Dick’s arm. “I heard the voice of a guy in the background so she might have company.”

Damian felt sick upon hearing such a thing. First, you had asked to be paired up with Duke for patrol and now this? It was too much even for your pettiness — granted, he had planned on putting more distance between you two, but he hadn’t gone around trying to find someone to erase you.

The thought never crossed him, not for a single moment. He had wondered why he wished to cling to a memory when he had never been the sentimental type, but he realized that to be the entire point of deep desires.

“Well, it’s time,” Stephanie commented, “she’s been single for too long.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to scare him off,” Selina added.

Damian stood up from the now uncomfortable seat, forcing Duke to do the same so he could leave. Duke stared at him weirdly, with worry, as if he knew something Damian didn’t want him to.

He probably did. Damian had been careless two times in a row. God, he needed to get a fucking grip. Unconsciously, he fiddled with the neck of his sweater.

“Oi,” Jason called for him, “where are you going?”

“Out,” he answered angrily. “If other... members... may skip this, why can’t I?”

Barbara and Dick shared a sideways glance.

Only telling Alfred that he would be back later, Damian followed the path towards the garage. Skipping his bike for once, finding himself thinking he wanted to take as little shortcuts as possible for whatever reason, he took his car.

Damian had always been a fan of driving. He didn’t know why, it was tedious and didn’t serve many purposes in the grand scheme of things; not to him. Ever since he learned, he took every opportunity he got to drive whichever vehicle he could get his hands on.

Having control over vehicles and machines was nice, he supposed. If people were a little bit more like said things, everything would have been easier. The world would be boring, but easier to habit.

Saving people was easy, caring about them from afar gave him enough human interaction for his standards, but he would never understand them.

And for the first time since he tried to decode his mother’s attitude, he wanted to understand someone more than anything. Perhaps that way said someone would understand him back and untangle this mess.

The building before him wasn’t welcoming. He had never put foot into that place, but he knew every single person that lived there — patrol gave him that kind of knowledge. And he did some research months ago, but no one needed to be aware of such thing.

He pressed his ear to the door he had been looking for. The dishwasher was on, but he couldn’t pick up any other sound. Damian knocked on said door three times, quickly and loudly. There was no answer so he did it again. A door slammed shut inside the apartment, a groan accompanied by a string of curses got clearer as stomps approached him.

Standing tall and straight, he felt a thrill down his spine as the lock was loudly fiddled with.

You swung the door open, rubbing your eye. He observed you had thrown a turtleneck on, upside down. Damian walked past you without invitation, analyzing the living room.

There were no clothes scattered all over the floor like he had imagined he would find.

“What are you doing here?”

He ignored you, exploring the kitchen. Damian opened the fridge, narrowing his eyes as he inspected. He did the same with the cupboards.

Shoving your bedroom door open, he found the bed undone. The TV was on, playing an old movie. He heard your steps as you followed him, repeating your question.

“Is someone from the team in danger?” You asked next.

Damian pulled your closet open, tilting his head. You could’ve been more organized, he admitted to himself, but there was nothing unusual.

Craning his neck to look at you, he inquired, “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?! What’s going on?”

He stared at you, waiting for you to crack. To his surprise, you stared back — defiant, blinking less and less as the seconds passed.

You were mad, he could tell. It only made him grow more suspicious. Tensing under your eyes, sharp instead of soft like they usually were, he scoffed; he couldn’t show he cared.

“Dude,” you insisted, “you are scaring me. What happened?”

Shaking his head, he pushed past you again and continued his search. The bathroom was warm, the mirror fogged up and tiles sprinkled with drops of water.

He turned around, watching you again. Well, your hair was wet now that he paid more attention to it...

Damian checked in the small laundry room too, but he found bottles of detergent and folded towels next to your suit. Nothing else. No one else.

“Damian—“

“Shut up.” He pointed at you with a finger.

“You are the one who came to my place to look for whatever or whoever you are searching for! Unprompted!”

He didn’t answer.

You went back to your bedroom to turn the TV off and pause the movie, resigned to the fact that he had ruined your self-care day.

No one knew you would be home that day. You had ignored everybody’s calls and avoided being active on social media just in case they were stalking you. Turns out the utmost secrecy isn’t enough to avoid Damian Wayne.

He stood in the living room, looking down at the coffee table as if expecting the furniture to turn into something else. Fixing his eyes on the centerpiece he knew Dick had given you as a gift because it reminded him of you, Damian furrowed his brows.

“Have you been alone the entire day?” He asked, feeling your presence behind him.

“My neighbor brought some cake. Other than that, yeah.”

“Barbara said you had... company.”

“I haven’t talked to Babs in days.”

Barbara had continued asking about what you saw that night with the spell, and you weren’t willing to say it still. Weeks had passed, but it felt like mere seconds had at times. It was so easy for her to ask, to assume things.

Only you knew the conflict you were feeling. She would never understand how awful it was to find out the one you desire the most is the one who likes you the least.

You had entertained the naive idea that he was in the same position, but the more you replayed what had happened, the more you convinced yourself it had been one-sided. He gave in because the release was pleasant, nothing else. People say things they don’t mean while having sex.

You had done it before, for fuck’s sake. You had faked having a good time before, who was to say Damian hadn’t done the same with you?

“Have you seen anybody else?” He blurted.

“My neighbor, I told you.”

He reformulated, “Have you had sex with anybody else?”

You considered lying, you really did. It would make the tension go away, you would have to see him around with other people but it would save you from a lot of embarrassment.

A part of you told you it was stupid, that you wouldn’t be able to take it. Much less when the people who usually took some interest in you tended to ghost you for whatever reason.

“Not since that night, if that’s what you’re asking,” you admitted.

“Good.” It slipped, but he didn’t care. He meant it, and it felt nice to say things he meant, no matter how harsh they could sound.

You rounded the room, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. “Why are you here?”

“I was told you had company,” he repeated himself.

“And your logic was to interrupt me?”

“Yes.”

You couldn’t believe him. Did he want you to be alone and miserable your entire life?

The worst part was that you would probably be. Finding out you liked him, that you wanted to have him around, that you craved his attention, and his touch, rocked your world and shattered it.

Who would ever compare to him? His flaws were other people’s better qualities, even you who didn’t know his good side that well was aware of that.

“Do you really hate me that much? I’ve never done anything to you!”

He finally lifted his head. You wished he hadn’t, you wished you didn’t have to see anything other than anger in his handsome features. “I don’t hate you. I would make your life a living hell if I did.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” you chuckled, way more sadly than you thought yourself capable to feel regarding anything that came from him. “You roll your eyes at me every time I visit your house, Damian.”

“It’s not intended at you.”

“The scoffs sure are,” you reproached him, “and your stupid comments of how unfunny anything that makes me laugh is.”

“It’s not because of you,” he shouted. Shaking his head, vexed, he twisted his mouth as he huffed his anger out through his nose. “Cassandra’s jokes aren’t even that funny.”

“See?”

“Why don’t you laugh at mine?” He reproached now, crossing his arms to mimic your stance. “Why is it always one of my siblings or my friends who get a positive response but not me?”

“Oh, come on! You’re saying that like I didn’t come by hearing you say my name a few weeks ago!” Your words stunned him into silence which you used to your advantage. “You never tell jokes in front of me, how am I supposed to laugh at them? I always feel like shit because you only accept being around me on patrol, you entrench yourself in your room and make a point to slam the door shut just so I hear... you know what? Forget it.”

“I hate seeing you with them,” he said, wishing his words hadn’t carried that much emotion. “I always bribe people to not ask you out or to leave you alone, I have to watch you hug Jon and kiss my siblings’ faces. You’re always so damn nice until I appear... I prefer being alone than enduring your indifference.”

You widened your eyes. “You bribe people to not ask me out?!”

“Is that the only upsetting part from everything I said?” he snapped.

“No, no. Of course not. I just...”

He hummed. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“A waste of money, honestly.”

“If I didn’t, you would be with someone else right now. Probably Duke, you’ve always liked him.”

“You bribed Duke?” You let a small laugh out. “Duke? Our Duke?”

“Yes! Stop mocking me.”

“Duke knows everything, you know?” You admitted, uncrossing your arms.

You hadn’t been able to keep things to yourself for that long. Seeing Damian around suddenly hurt. The feeling had always been there, but finding out that he was your heart’s deepest desire wrecked your perception

When you told Duke, he reacted casually, as if you had told him the most obvious thing in the world. He said you and Damian were the only ones who hadn’t seen it.

“He knew certain things before I did, in fact,” you added. “Besides, I see him as a brother and he sees me as a sister.”

Damian nodded. It made sense, now Duke’s attitude seemed normal in comparison to what Damian had assumed.

He always assumed things. Bruce had told him once that he needed to learn to ask before acting out — this was the first time Damian found his father’s words useful.

“Why did you kiss me that night?”

“I believe it was more than kissing.”

“Yes.” Damian hadn’t been able to forget, he never would. “But why?”

“I felt... I don’t know how to explain it,” you confessed.

The room suddenly felt small, extremely hot. You shed the stupid turtleneck, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the stubborn marks on your neck.

Make-up had hidden them well for a few days, and most of them had faded already, but there were two bite-marks, too big and deep, that needed more healing time.

“I was scared,” you told him, “that’s why I felt the rush to take your hand. And it was enough for a while, but then it wasn’t, I wanted you closer.”

“I couldn’t breathe. I assumed I was being poisoned. Then you took my hand and I panicked for a moment, I thought...” his voice broke.

You gave him time, trying your hardest to hide how surprised you were by hearing him like that.

“I thought you were having the same symptoms,” he rasped. “I’ve been trained to fight those things off, but you haven’t and I knew you would die. Your hand made it better for a few minutes, then I needed you closer too.”

“We can forget about it if you want,” you assured him, avoiding looking at his face in case your comment relieved him.

“I don’t.”

Damian reached for your hand in the same fashion you had that cursed —literally— night, shakily, urgently.

And in the same fashion he had, you allowed him to take it.

He brought you closer to him. You observed he looked more tired than ever, perhaps because things had been tense for the past weeks. You couldn’t have possibly looked too different.

“The spell doesn’t have to dictate this,” he said, tilting his head to look into your eyes. “It won’t. You know I don’t trust magic.”

“The spell is not the problem,” you whispered.

“I didn’t think there was a problem.”

“We have never spent time together outside of patrol, Damian.”

He sighed, nodding. “Get changed. Let’s go out.”

Only a lunatic would give their self-care day up for a guy. Well, you didn’t really care if people thought you were a lunatic, and Damian wasn’t just a guy — still, giving up the ice cream in your fridge was a sin.

A sin you were happy to commit.

Damian waited for you to get changed, patiently if anyone asked you. It had taken you a few minutes to even choose something appropriate, based on his own outfit because that was just logic.

He slipped his cellphone into his pocket while you locked the door. As you turned around to take off, he offered his hand.

You took it, intertwining your fingers with his as you walked down the hallway. In the middle of the stairway, you bumped into one of your neighbors who smiled sweetly at both of you. To your surprise, Damian smiled back.

Also surprised to discover he hadn’t taken his bike, you bowed as a thank you when he opened the door of his car for you.

“Do you want to put some music on?” he offered.

“You pick,” you said, curious as to what he would play.

You could’ve sworn he was nervous as he stared down at his phone, looking for something to play. He scrolled down, then up — he switched apps, then continued scrolling.

“I’m not picky.” Your tone was soft, an attempt to assure him.

“I don’t really listen to a variety of genres.”

“What do you listen to the most?”

“Classical. My mother got me used to it.”

You rested the side of your head on the backrest of the seat, looking at him. “You can play that if you want. Or we can just talk about the weather and whatnot. I think it might rain tonight. You like rain, right?”

He locked his cellphone, turning to face you. “Yes. It calms me.”

“I hated it as a kid,” you disclosed, hoping it would ease the tension and better his mood. “I was scared of thunderstorms.”

Igniting the engine, he prompted you to continue, “Not anymore?”

“No. My mom used to tell me that the only reason why they were so noisy was that the sky was happy to unwind and eventually I believed it.”

“That’s cute.”

“I had a phase in which I was in a bad mood if it didn’t rain.” You laughed at your own comment. “Now I like it just fine, less obsessively.”

“I had a similar fixation with snow.” He laughed too, and your stomach did somersaults — it was the first time you had heard him laugh genuinely.

Damian didn’t talk about life at The League often, he didn’t feel compelled when he knew the preconceptions that came with simply mentioning the place or his maternal family.

In fact, everything Batman Inc.’s members knew had been from Bruce. He liked the secrecy, those were parts of him and no one else. But he was willing to share tiny pieces with you.

He saw it as something supposed to be shared between two people interested in starting a relationship.

So he continued, “I would only climb mountains if they were covered by snow. My mother called me a brat many times, but she gave into my wishes for a while.”

“How did you grow out of it?”

“I broke my elbow.” He briefly looked to the side and then took a turn. “I proved her right, and I didn’t like not having the last word so I started despising the snow. I don’t mind it now.”

Before you could ask anything else, he pulled into the grocery store’s parking lot.

He picked a basket once inside the store, making a motion for you to follow him.

“What are we buying?”

“Fruit and whatever you want for a picnic.”

Realizing you weren’t near the fruits aisle, you gripped his sweater, steering him to the other side. Of course he wasn’t used to doing groceries.

He silently allowed you to guide him which was a win, Damian hated being told what to do no matter how small the suggestion was.

It didn’t take either of you too long to get everything you needed, but he spent ten minutes choosing a blanket as if he wouldn’t ruin the poor thing with mud and insects.

Passing the clothing area on your way to do checkout, you elbowed him on the side. He stared down at you, then followed your eyes as he realized they were fixed on something.

Damian groaned. “You’re so funny.”

“Oh, come on! You’re telling me you wouldn’t buy Batman underwear?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

You narrowed your eyes, keeping your laugh in when you saw what resembled a pout on his face. “Robin’s?” you tried.

“Perhaps.”

You lost it at that. “Are they comfy?”

“Will you stop laughing if I say yes?”

“Only if it’s the truth.”

He just nodded, then did the gesture upward so you would resume the path towards the exit.

Pleased with his answer, you walked towards the checkout line. Damian stood behind you, breathing your scent in.

“Is that a new perfume?”

You craned your neck. “How did you know?”

Shrugging, hoping he was being nonchalant enough, he said, “I have a good nose.”

After a brief fight over who would pay for the groceries, —which he won by saying it had been his idea—, you left the store in direction of the park.

Your hand found his naturally, as if your palm’s place was to be pressed against his bigger one.

It felt good, but not really because of that bullshit —true, but bullshit still when magic was so unpredictable— of him being what your heart desired the most. The truth was that you could feel in his grip how much he wanted this to go well.

Swinging your clasped hands, you walked around the park, looking for the perfect spot to sit at.

You found a spot away from the kids running around, against a tree. Damian laid the blanket on the grass, placing the paper bags onto it next.

He slid an arm around your shoulders, using his other hand to eat.

“Do you think your family is already spying on us?” you asked gazing at him as you leaned onto his arm.

“I am certain.”

“You don’t mind?”

He lightly smiled at you, reaching for a strawberry. “Not at all. Do you?”

“Nah. I’m not looking forward to Barbara’s teasing, though.”

“Why did she tell us you had a guy over?” He bit down into the fruit.

“She has always said I have feelings for you.” You wiped the corner of his mouth with your thumb. It never occurred to either of you that you would need napkins. “And I guess she put two and two together when we covered our necks and used the same excuse.”

“In my defense, I could have blamed Tim.”

“In my defense,” you copied his smart-ass tone, “I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You told Duke from all people.”

“Duke was supportive.”

Damian hummed sarcastically. “I’m sure everybody knows the details already. He loves to gossip.”

Seeing you frown before you turned to look to the other side, he reached for your farthest cheek, softly pushing your face so you would stare at him.

“I don’t care if they know.”

You wished you could have believed him. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have avoided me the same way I avoided you.”

“I cared,” he clarified, “not anymore.”

“What changed?”

“Me, my priorities… my vision of you, of this.”

You took an apple in your hand. Rolling the fruit in your grasp, you only nodded. Saying something else would have been nice, appropriate even, but words escaped you.

The fact that he didn’t hate you was still pretty new, shocking to some extent. His willingness to be seen with you by family and strangers alike was a huge compliment, and a big deal.

It was too serious so suddenly… you liked it no matter how scary it was. There had to be a reason why he felt so sure about this, and trusting Damian had never been a bad idea.

Except from that time when you ended up with stitches all over your arm, but you could let that go if it meant having him by your side. As corny as it sounded.

“Meetings will be weird, won’t they?” You sunk your teeth into the apple, hearing him chuckle.

“Less awkward, I hope. Although I enjoy vexing my siblings.”

“We can have fake fights in front of them if you want.”

“And blame them for our nonexistent problems?”

“Of course, I’m sure they will try to give their input either way.”

Damian groaned. He feared just that. It would be out of a place of care, he knew, but it didn’t make it less intrusive — he could picture Dick, sitting down in front of him in the cave, with a big smile and dangling his finger as he told him the way he was supposed to treat you.

He liked to imagine that Cassandra would only threaten him. Perhaps Stephanie would do the same and stop Tim from patronizing him.

Not wanting to ruin the moment by thinking what would Jason and Duke do, he shifted and changed the subject to the movie you had been watching earlier.

You explained that it had been one of your favorites and told him the plot between bites, amused by the fact that he was trying to look interested even though you knew it wasn’t his type of movie.

He told you about the movies the team was supposed to watch that day. You didn’t feel guilty for skipping; as much as you loved them, you needed time for yourself.

Spending time with Damian on this occasion counted as time for yourself, although you would make yourself clear to him that you would eventually need alone time for real. It was a mere exception.

The two of you walked around the park for a while, talking about random things. He was surprisingly easy to talk to once you tried, and God did you try.

It couldn’t get better than hearing him speak casually, about the architecture nearby and the types of flora around the park, in a light tone and with his hand in yours.

Your fingers played with his, and once again you found yourself in awe of him, of how comfortable he was with the mindless gesture and his willingness to keep up with it. You doubted someone would ever surprise you as much as Damian did.

Slowing down a little bit to take the scenery in, you naturally tightened the grip of your fingers on his.

It was such a nice day to be outside… perhaps the weather cast had been wrong and it wouldn’t rain.

The city was bathed in a pink glow as the sun set, unrecognizable. No one would have guessed such scenery to take place in a deeply violent and corrupted place, not even the most optimistic person in the world.

You remembered clearly how surprised Jon had been the first time he saw something other than thundering rain and gray skies in Gotham.

Glittering under the sunlight, the flowers at the end of the playground looked alive for once as the sky stunned many around you. And when you turned to look at Damian, curious about his reaction, you found his eyes solely on you.

The trees, so green under the light of dusk, had nothing on Damian’s eyes. Such thought, so familiar that you felt as though it wasn’t the first time it crossed your mind, so natural that you found it a fact and not an opinion, made you forget about everything around you.

He continued gazing at you, finding the curiosity in your beautiful eyes flattering. Oh, how much he enjoyed being the object of your attention.

The scenery behind you was gorgeous, he was certain of it. In his opinion, you complimented the view in ways nothing would ever do — there was something in your peaceful semblance as you tore your gaze off the sky and admired him instead.

You could’ve been sharing a silent moment with the strangers around you, one of those things he had heard you say once made the world make sense, yet your eyes were on him, on his face. And it made him feel important like nothing before had.

His father’s praises, the ones he had sought for so long were nothing in comparison. Dick’s patience although fundamental to his development as a man fell short against the way your eyes were shining for him.

Twilight swirled around you, but his eyes never left your face nor yours did his. The world didn’t exist, and if it existed, then it didn’t matter — not when you found him worth all your attention, not when he thought you to be brighter than the sun itself.

The air in the car as he drove you back to your place was thick and tense. He hadn’t said a word since he told you about that time Bruce inaugurated the school across the park.

Damian looked lost in thought, like often you had seen him while out on patrol. The places his mind took him had never compromised his performance — you admired that.

Bruce had called him out an infinite amount of times, but he couldn’t do anything else when Damian always delivered. You had wondered how he did it many times, but now you had to assume Talia taught him.

He walked you into the building, fingers brushing your wrist as you fell in natural silence.

Fumbling for your keys, you felt him lean onto the wall just next to your door. You took more time than needed to open the door, hoping he would say or do something.

When he didn’t, you pushed the door open and turned on your heel to face him.

“I had an amazing day with you,” he said, eyes on yours.

You breathed out, “I did too.”

Why couldn’t the day last longer? You logically knew you would see him again, but something inside you wanted him to stay. You wanted him to stay, better said.

Would it be too bold, too sudden, to invite him in? He probably had patrol that night — hell, you were supposed to be getting into your suit at that moment instead of pondering on whether you were brave enough to imply you wanted to spend more time with him; preferably in your room, naked.

Fuck it. If he said no, you would say you had patrol either way.

“Do you want to co—“

“Yes,” he answered before you could finish the question, letting a relieved sigh out.

You pulled him into the apartment, arm around his neck as you used your other hand to close the door.

His lips fell on yours as he kissed you slowly, arms delicately around your plump form. He took his time to map your lips with his own, somewhat afraid of kissing you wrong.

Damian grew confident as you attempted to kiss him more firmly, as steadily as your giddiness allowed you to. Tasting the fruit he had eaten earlier off his tongue, you wrapped your other arm around his torso, bringing him closer.

Smiling on your lips, he angled his face, kissing you with the same urgency he had the other night.

Eagerly, he tangled his tongue with yours until both of you were panting in search of air. As you caught your breath, Damian fiddled with the ends of your turtleneck.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Can I take this off? It’s getting in the way.”

“I can take it off—“

“I would like to do it, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” you assured him.

Damian slid the turtleneck off you slowly, huffing a small laugh when the blouse you were wearing under inched up. Placing the item to the side, he leaned to kiss your jaw.

Placing your hands on his sides, you slanted your head upon feeling his lips travel down to your neck.

He kissed the bite-mark left from before, softly, giving it small pecks. “Did I go overboard with this one?”

“A little bit. It’s been a pain in the ass to cover.”

“I’ll be more careful from now on,” he promised, leaving more light kisses over the area.

Your pulse quickened at the implication of his words. Damian felt the rush of blood on your jugular where he scattered wet kisses.

He trailed his lips up, breathing in your ear. You shuddered, fighting a whine as your hands looked for the hem of his crewneck sweater.

You inched the sweater up to his chest and waited for him to stand straight so you would be able to take it off. Damian was too busy kissing your face to care.

“Hey,” you did whine this time. “Damian, let me take it off.”

Smirking on your cheek, he hummed. Slowly, painfully so, he pulled away from you.

Once you had gotten rid of the sweater, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. He curled his arm around you again, wanting you flush against him.

He slid his hand down and took a handful of your ass, making you buckle your hips up. Dragging his lips to your jaw again, he said, “Your stupid suit didn’t let me do that last time.”

One of your hands stayed on his shoulder while the other landed on his hip. Your fingers played with the loops of his jeans as he continued gripping and grabbing your ass like he had never touched one.

Angling your face, you attached your lips to his neck. Damian’s grip on you tightened.

“I want to take it slow,” he whispered, “but you’re making it really hard.”

“Metaphorically?” You mouthed his throat, hand sliding down to his chest, squeezing itself between both your bodies.

“And literally,” he whined. You loved the sound, for once not demanding yet still bratty.

As your hand slipped downward, you continued kissing his neck, paying special attention to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You hoped your lipstick wouldn’t dirty his shirt — or maybe you hoped it would, both were fine with you.

Damian put some space between you, understanding what you were trying to do. While you undid his jeans, he undid yours, considering it would be better to get rid of everything on his way now that he was still feeling patient.

Shoes and socks off, the two of you shed your jeans without care of where they landed. Now the living room’s floor truly was covered in scattered items of clothing and this time Damian enjoyed the view.

“Come here.” He reached for you, eyes on your chest as his hands ghosted your sides.

You looked up at him, unable to hide the enjoyment you got from his hungry eyes being all over you. Following their movements, you also observed their slow dilatation.

He inched a hand up your side. You assumed he would finally knead your breast but he merely ghosted its outline, head tilted as he watched his own hand move.

For a few moments, he only did that, almost as if he was in a trance. The warmth of your own palm on his lower abdomen as your fingers brushed the elastic of his boxers made him react.

You pushed him back, towards your bedroom, pulling the door open and shoving him inside. He smiled, lifting his arms in mock surrender.

Damian sat down on your bed, relishing into the smell of everything you owned — the bedding smelled like a mix of fabric softener and your delicious new heady perfume.

You got the urge to kiss his entire face, hands on his shoulders as he slanted his head back for you to do it comfortably. He relished on the gesture too, so spontaneous and warming.

He placed his hands on the backs of your thighs, urging you to straddle him. Watching you second guess yourself, he drew you closer to encourage you.

Giving a last kiss to his nose, you complied. Damian snaked his arms around your waist, a pleased smile pressing against your chin before he kissed your mouth.

You bit his lip, tugging on it. He crashed his lips against yours again just to then do the same himself, intentionally bitting harder than you had.

A moan escaped you. Feeling his cock twitch under your navel, you rocked your hips to watch his reaction.

His arms tightened around you as he tutted against your core. “This is the reason why I never train with you,” he groaned.

“I thought it was because I almost broke Tim’s leg once.”

“Don’t mention anyone else right now.”

Right. You had forgotten he had been jealous earlier.

Damian rolled over, switching places with you. He kissed you before you could pout, cradling your face with one hand while he held himself up with the other.

You placed a hand on his upper back while the other rested on the side of his neck, kissing him back with the same amount of passion he was kissing you.

He had you breathless in a matter of seconds, and as he broke the kiss, you saw his nostrils flare in attempts to catch his breath quickly.

Trailing kisses down your neck, he dropped his hand to your breast. This time he kneaded it, humming against your skin when you reacted with a small sound. His thumb brushed your nipple, playing with it while he busied himself with leaving marks on your chest.

So much for being careful, huh. At least those were easier to hide.

“Do you want me to eat you out?” He asked bluntly.

“If you’re in the mood.”

He kneeled on the bed, hooking his thumbs in your panties to slide them down. You lifted your hips to help him out, laughing when he threw your underwear behind him with little care.

You opened your legs for him, finding a comfortable position as he stayed there, taking all of you in, completely naked and at his mercy.

He kissed your thighs first, teasingly nibbling on them. Every time he got closer to the center, to where now you needed him instead of only wanting him, he pulled away and went back to your thigh.

Slowly, he dragged his index finger up and down your folds. Damian rested his chin on your right thigh as he watched his finger collect and smear your wetness, proud of the fact that he was the one who had made you wet. No one else.

Your breath hitched in expectant excitement as you saw him finally bury his head between your thighs. His tongue followed the same path his finger had outlined, at the same rhythm.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he praised, licking his bottom lip clean.

As he gradually increased his rhythm, licking long stripes along your folds, you got bolder and urged him to be firmer by pushing your hips upward.

He moaned against your pussy, playfully sucking your labia to let you know he got the message.

Bringing an arm up to pin your hips back down, he used his other hand to open your legs a little bit more and part your labia.

Damian pressed his tongue on your clit, moving it gently at first. He wanted to know exactly what you liked and how. It didn’t take him long to switch between using his lips and his tongue which earned him a loud moan.

His hand caressed your thigh, eventually sliding between the mattress and your body to grab your asscheek.

You whined his name, reaching down to hold the back of his head. It was clear to you that he was enjoying every sound he managed to make you blurt, and it felt really good, but you needed more.

Out of nowhere, he tugged on your hips to slide you down the bed. Kneeling on the floor, he sucked fervently on your clit.

You fisted the duvet, begging him to keep going. Damian complied happily, mouth latched on your clit as your pussy swallowed his moans and the four walls of your bedroom made yours bounce.

They were music to his ears and his entire body. He could feel the tingling all over him, excitement and pride flowing through his bloodstream.

Massaging your ass, he couldn’t help but chuckle upon feeling both your hands on his head now. He allowed you to push his face farther in, not once slowing down.

Your hips bucked up and instead of restraining you, he moved with you. If you moved up he did down and vice versa. You got louder and he marveled at how responsive you were to him.

He growled, gripping your ass with force as he sucked on your clit until his cheeks were hollow. He let go only to repeat the motion, letting his tongue wander when he needed a break.

You tugged on his hair, squealing. Your body tensed in his grasp, prompting him to continue with his ministrations. Feeling the tremor in your legs as you tried to settle back down on the bed, he started lapping tenderly.

You caressed his hair, panting with your eyes closed. Damian lifted his head, hands softly dancing over your thighs as he stood up.

Feeling him hover over you, you opened your eyes albeit with a little difficulty. His mouth and chin glistened with your slick, wanton eyes inspecting your semblance.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you rasped before clearing your throat.

He caressed your sweaty cheek. “Later.”

“Bu—“

He shut you up with a kiss. “Later, please? I just want to be inside you.”

Nodding against him, you kissed him again. Tasting yourself off his tongue was addictive. You held him still for a moment, licking your slick off his gorgeous face.

Damian growled, deep and loud this time, hands already on your waist. “Should I wear a condom this time?”

“No. Unless you want to?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want a single thing to keep him from feeling you fully. Damian stood from the bed. “Get on all fours.”

You rolled on your side first to then do as he had told you, holding your breath as you waited for him to stand behind you.

He rested a hand on your hip. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you gave him your consent.

Damian entered you slowly, little by little, less worried about hurting you and more about making you feel every inch of him as his cock filled you.

You breathed out through a whine. He gave you time to adjust to his size, leaning to kiss the scar on your back.

Wanting to stay like that forever, you waited more than you should have to. If he was aware, he decided to be patient — such thing only made you grow wetter.

“Go ahead,” you told him, hoping you didn’t sound too desperate.

Reaching over, he gripped your hands. “You feel amazing, beloved.” He kissed your shoulder, nibbling on your skin as he rocked his hips.

God, you didn’t know if his comment had been what flattered you or the pet name. Either way, hearing them was as amazing as the way he felt inside you, filling you like no one before him had.

His hands left yours. He opted for placing them firmly on your hips and thrust into you steadily, keeping you from moving too much.

Humming in pleasure, you held the edge of the bed in anticipation. He went faster exponentially, calculating every single one of his thrusts.

Having control over his thrusts and the movement of your hips was nice and all, but he needed you closer.

Slapping your thigh, he croaked out, “On your back.”

You missed his girth the second he parted from you so you could change positions, it made you feel empty.

Damian helped you get comfortable, holding your thighs open before you got the urge to rub them. He smirked when you glared at him, hand leaving one of your legs to hold his cock.

He penetrated you again, bottoming out immediately as he made himself comfortable on top of you.

“Fuck, Damian!”

His hips snapped forward involuntarily. Both of you moaned at the same time, he pushed against your g-spot and you throbbed around him.

His movements were rougher like this, wilder. It was as though he wanted to prove a point to himself, you didn’t know which and you didn’t care as long as he fucked you like he needed to be inside you in order to be complete.

“Say my name again,” he rasped the command.

And how could you deny him? You repeated his name as many times as your moans allowed you like a broken chant.

Damian’s pace got quicker every time he heard his name fall from your lips, a tad uneven as he allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure the mix of everything was bringing him — your walls gripping his cock, your hoarse moans and the angelic way honey dripped from your voice when you called for him.

You dragged your nails all over his back, moaning and whimpering in his ear. He was so loud in your own ear, saying things in Arabic that you couldn’t understand in such a fervent tone that you weren’t sure if you would come because he was fucking you into oblivion or because of his strained voice.

Hearing your name slip in his prayer-like monologue, you cried out upon feeling your stomach get tighter. You clung to his shoulders, letting him ram into you in unsteady thrusts that went from slow to hammering in seconds.

His tongue slipped, Damian started switching between languages. Grip on you tightening to the point of being bruising, he begged, “I need you to come first, please. I— shit.” He dropped his head into the crook of your neck as you wrapped your legs around his hips, clenching around him.

You threw your head back, arching up to meet his latest thrust as your orgasm flew through you. Distantly, you processed a few of the sounds you were making and some of the ones you were elating from him.

Strings of hot cum covered your walls. He growled on your skin, saying your name and something you couldn’t really understand.

You let him ride off his orgasm inside you, hearing the mess he was making as the wet sounds from your slick and his cum mingled. His mouth covered yours in a tired kiss, lazy and with a hint of the tenderness he had put to the side even though his intentions had been different.

Once the two of you had caught your breaths and he had made an even bigger mess, you pulled the bedding off the mattress and threw everything into the washing machine.

He was all over you as the two of you shared a shower, so close that scrubbing off took you way longer than it should have.

In all honesty, you didn’t mind. You were too happy to complain about his annoying little antics that you couldn’t wait to get used to.

”Should we suit up?” You asked him, watching the water drip down his chest like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“They can manage without us for a night.”

“You want to skip patrol?”

Drying his arms, he copied your tone, “You don’t want to spend more time alone with me?”

“Of course I do,” you replied immediately. “But you love patrol.”

He stood still, somewhat stiff in front of you. “Not enough, it seems.”

You dropped the topic at that and went on with drying your body.

He only put his underwear back on while you slipped a pair of panties and a t-shirt, awkwardly trying to find something to change the topic.

“Do you want some ice cream? I have a tub in the freezer.”

“Sounds good.”

A nice moment you shared, silently eating ice cream. He sat close to you the entire time, brushing your side.

It felt natural, as though you were supposed to be doing that and not anything else. Patrol could wait, and his family, and your friends, and the entire world.

The world stopped so you two could enjoy the moment, the day. Or perhaps it didn’t and you just couldn’t bring yourself to give this up for it — but he couldn’t either and that meant everything to you.

Damian never skipped patrol, he hadn’t done it in the worst moments of his life and you never expected to see the day in which he would find something more worthwhile.

You found a clean sheet for the bed in the laundry room which saved you from having to squeeze yourself with Damian on the couch. Maybe it was time to get a bigger one.

He rested his head on your stomach, cheek against your belly as he looked up at you. You could tell he wanted to say something, his brow was ever so slightly furrowed, and his eyes seemed clouded by a thought. He looked pretty nonetheless.

He traced his fingers over your thigh, drawing little doodles. You could make some up by feel — a flower, a bat, his name, a few stars, his name again, an R inside a circle, a heart, his name for the third time.

“I think I would’ve broken my oath to my father if you had had someone over.”

You slid your hand off his hair to caress his cheek, too worried to hide your frown. Damian took his promises and oaths seriously, more seriously than anything else. You had seen his family use said thing against him.

“It wouldn’t have been worth it,” you tried to reason with him. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Would you have gotten mad at me?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It would’ve depended on a lot of things. Without context, obviously, but...” Realizing you were about to make up excuses for something that hadn’t even happened, you decided to ask, “Why are you still thinking about that?”

“I don’t want you to forget about me. Ever.”

“Are you planning to say goodbye or something of sorts?”

“No!” He glared at you for even considering such a thing to be a possibility after everything the two of you had talked about, after everything you had made him feel. ”But I...” Damian scoffed. “I can’t explain to you how horrible it felt. My eyesight clouded the moment Stephanie said it was time for you to start seeing someone.”

“Jealousy does that to us.” You tried to sound wise by saying it, an attempt you found quite pointless as you replayed it in your head.

Silently, he lifted his head off your stomach in order to lay down next to you. Shifting so he would be comfortable, you held your head up with your hand to properly gaze at him.

Damian mirrored your position. He told you, in a hushed tone like it was his deepest secret, “I felt like you were replacing me.”

Stephanie only had said that because it was the truth. Your relationships always fizzled out after the first two months so you had stopped trying. Then there was the fact that Damian himself had sabotaged who knows how many of them...

From her perspective, it made sense.

“Damian...” you trailed off, in vain. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you won’t.”

“I won’t replace you as long as you don’t replace me.”

You thought he would find the comment insulting even though it was perfectly sound. But for God knows which time that day, Damian surprised you by scoffing with nonchalance.

Dismissing your worry, he slid closer to you, resting his forehead against your flexed arm. “I couldn’t possibly be happy without your perfume all over me.”

Grabbing him by the hair, you forced him to lift his head. His eyes found yours in a second, curious. You dropped your hand to his neck, sliding it up to his cheek.

Giving him the sweetest kiss you had ever given, tracing the side of his gorgeous face tenderly, you hoped you were doing a good job expressing what you wanted to communicate.

You were. He gave you in return the brightest smile you had seen in your entire existence. It was all for you, something you had caused, something you wanted to see for the rest of your life.

Damian pulled you onto his chest, laying on his back. He mindlessly ran his fingers over your side and up and down your back while you listened to his steady heartbeat.

You couldn’t possibly feel complete without him ever again.

[purple-babygirl]

What about Bucky dealing with a Little that's very picky about food and nervous about trying new foods so Bucky does things like eating the new food first and then asks if the little would want some, and maybe something to do with the fact that the little eats the same few foods nearly everyday? You can ignore this if you want!!

Word count: 2,613

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, it's all fluff.

A/N: Hi! I loved this so much and I loved writing it and I really hope you like reading it just as much💜 Thank you for sharing this idea with me; it was awesome💜 Also, it might take me some time to get to your guys' asks, but I will never ignore you. Please enjoy xx💜💜 I know I said I was trying to write them shorter but they keep getting longer idk I like to make food so🤷

~~

chef daddy adventures

Bucky was a democratic daddy. He had rules and they were agreed upon and followed, but there were still certain things his girl got to choose to her own liking. Bucky would schedule a play date and she would decide what to wear. Bucky would say it's bath time and she'd point to the bath bomb she wanted to drop in the tub. Bucky would cook and she'd pick what she wanted to eat.

The thing was, though, that she picked almost the same things every single time. She ate the same things every week. And not only that, but there were stuff she would refuse to eat or even taste. Her doctor assured Bucky it wasn't something physical: no sensitive palate and no allergies. She was just a picky eater; always nervous about trying anything new.

This left Bucky with limited options both when he was cooking or ordering food. He wanted to make his girl comfortable, but that didn't mean he wanted her to miss out on all the benefits other foods offered because mushrooms were tasteless, seafood tasted ocean-rancid or the texture of cooked zucchinis was weird.

“Hey, bubba, what do you think we try something different today?” Bucky proposed after she picked fried chicken again when asked about what she wanted for dinner.

“Different?” She tilted her head, dropping her colouring pencil, letting Bucky carry her outside of the playroom.

“Mhm, maybe we could try a new recipe for chicken? You know daddy only makes you tasty stuff, right?” Bucky said as he sat her up on the kitchen counter.

“I don' know, dada..” she trailed off unsurely, the thought alone making her nervous.

“You're doubting daddy's cooking skills?” Bucky gasped, closing his eyes and clutching his heart.

“No, no, dada, no!” She assured him quickly, wrapping her limbs around him like a baby koala, arms and legs hugging his torso.

“You like daddy’s cooking then?” He asked her playfully.

“Yes, daddy, I like it a lot.”

“So you're gonna help daddy with our newest recipe?” Bucky opened one eye, smiling mischievously at the girl wrapped around him.

“Yes, daddy.” She meekly nodded in his chest.

“And you're gonna give it a try? Eat it with daddy?” He opened the other eye, his big hand rubbing her back.

“Yes, daddy,” she repeated, looking up at him.

“Such a good girl.” Bucky kissed her forehead and she smiled at the praise.

~

A few minutes later, Bucky had the needed ingredients on the spacious counter beside his girl: chicken breasts, shallot onions, a couple garlic cloves, cream, some shredded mozzarella and parmesan and mushrooms. Now, she did object to the addition of mushrooms to the dish, but Bucky convinced her it won't affect it because it had no taste. She couldn't argue against her own words.

Bucky could see the slight sadness on her face because she actually liked everything he put in that pan except for the sliced button mushrooms. But he needed her to give the fungi a chance.

“Bubba, you wanna sprinkle the cheese?” That should cheer her up.

~

“Baby doll, you wanna try some?” Bucky asked before scooping her a portion, though he knew what she was about to say.

“Only cream, no mushrooms, please, dada.” Exactly that.

“But, bubba- just give it a try.”

She stayed silent, her fingers pinching the tablecloth.

“For me?” Bucky pleaded with her gently.

“Dada..” she didn't want to say no but she didn't want to eat the mushrooms still.

“Here, look, daddy will try them first and I'll tell you if they don't taste good, okay? Promise,” Bucky said, scooping some cream and mushrooms on his spoon.

“Okay, daddy,” she agreed quietly, his promise making her feel less nervous. She trusted her Daddy's judgment.

“Bub, you're missing out,” Bucky told her as soon as he chewed his food, licking his spoon in emphasis, “those mushrooms are delicious.”

“They have a taste?” She asked with wide eyes, making Bucky smile big.

“Yup, taste like the cheesy cream sauce we made. You want one?” He picked one slice of mushroom, rubbing it in the white sauce.

She nodded, opening her mouth.

“Good girl.” Bucky slid the fork in her mouth, watching her face as she chewed.

“How does it taste, bub?”

“Like cream,” she confirmed with a smile.

“Wait till you try it with chicken in the same bite, hold on.” Bucky excitedly started preparing the next bite on her fork, internally sighing in relief that he was able to get her to try something new.

~

When he tried to do that again with zucchini though, Bucky miserably failed. The second she saw the tall vegetables through the plastic shopping bags, she asked Bucky if they could order pizza for dinner that night, not even giving him a chance to cook them for her. The same thing happened when he attempted to sneak shrimps into their linguine. She wasn't near as compliant as she was when they cooked the mushrooms. Maybe it was because mushrooms didn’t have a strong, distinct taste or texture for her to remember and complain about. Whatever the reason, she made one thing clear: she did not want her teeth anywhere near that green vegetable or that shellfish.

Bucky almost gave up on zucchinis and shrimps until one day when they were watching Ratatouille, a lamp lit above his head. He saw his girl mesmerized by the dish Remy made Ego so much that she constantly kept talking about it: how colorful it was, how she wished she could taste it and how she wondered what was in it. Bucky being Bucky, he knew the recipe. And he knew it essentially contained zucchinis. So the next day when grocery shopping, Bucky made sure to get all the ingredients needed to make one, delicious, authentic ratatouille for his girl.

Only problem was, she was a smart little one. She knew zucchinis when she saw them and she saw Bucky thin-slicing a few. So she refused to eat when dinner was on the table, asking if she could have noodles instead. It would be the fifth time that she'd wanted noodles for dinner that week. Bucky made her noodles anyway so she wouldn't feel left out on the dinner table, but he still had to convince her.

“Mmmm, it tastes so good, baby doll. I bet it's better than the one Remy made,” Bucky said, exaggeratingly savoring the bite he took.

“Remy is the best chef ever, dada,” she mumbled, fingers playing with the tablecloth.

“Exactly, so what does that tell ya?” His question made her gaze on the full pan in subtle contemplation.

“That daddy is a better chef?” She bit down.

“That's right. You want a taste, bub?” Bucky asked her softly.

“Dada, I don't like zucchinis,” she said in subtle frustration, her feet almost kicking air under the table. She wanted a taste, she just didn't want a taste of zucchini.

“Too bad; tastes delicious,” Bucky shrugged apologetically, watching her as he took another fork between his lips.

“Does it really taste good?” She wondered curiously, eyeing the tomato sauce-smeared plate.

He successfully had her attention.

“Mhm.”

“So good?”

“Yeah, so so good,” Bucky promised, “you wanna try?” He offered her the next loaded fork with a hopeful smile.

She stared at Bucky, hesitation clear in her eyes despite her mouth-watering at the sight and smell of the dish, the sweetness of basil filling the air.

“But just a li'l bite?” She negotiated, still trying to get out of having to eat zucchini.

“Just a little bite; see if you like it?” Bucky dropped the food back on the plate, getting her a smaller portion on the fork instead.

She nodded, “yes, please, dada.”

“Good girl. One little bite coming up. Open up, bub.” Bucky smiled, positioning the fork before her mouth.

She faintly pouted at the thought of zucchinis but opened up and let herself taste the food. The more she chewed the more her eyes widened, making Bucky chuckle.

Bucky didn't put any zucchini on the first fork, not wanting her to feel betrayed. He wanted her to warm up to the meal bit by bit, so he only gave her eggplant and tomato.

“You like it, baby doll?”

“Yes, dada. 'S delicious.” She nodded, tongue licking the side of her lips.

“Told ya.” Bucky grinned wider, reloading the fork for her.

“No, dada, that's too much zucchini,” she whined when she saw the bite he was preparing on the fork.

“Tell you what, did you like the sauce?” Bucky asked and she nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah? Okay, we'll dip it in lots of sauce, cover it up real good and you won't even know zucchini is there.” He promised, rolling the zucchini on the fork around in the bottom of the casserole pan.

“But I saw it.” She continued to whine.

“Trust me, bub, just like we did with the mushrooms, yeah? Open up.”

She obeyed and let Bucky feed her the sauced veggies and he was right, all she tasted was the amazing sauce and the slight crunch of the onions hid the weird texture of the zucchinis.

“Dada, wan' more please,” she requested with a sheepish smile after swallowing, her feet now swinging under the table.

Bucky was just staring at her, proud of himself that he got her to enjoy a food she would've continued to claim to hate minutes ago. He was more than happy to be the Remy to her Ego.

“Of course, baby doll.” He smiled wide, scooping another serving on the plate for her, “tell me I'm a better chef than Remy first,” Bucky teased, keeping the fork at a distance from her mouth.

“Dada's better.” She blushed, opening her mouth, making Bucky chuckle at her cuteness.

She was finally eating zucchinis and she was relishing them. That was amazing progress; Bucky just had to find a good movie for every food she refused to eat…

~

It was two weeks after Bucky made them ratatouille that he tried to sneak in another recipe containing something she didn't like to eat. Bucky had done his movie research.

And so on movie night, Bucky put on The Princess and The Frog for them to watch and made sure his baby had her eyes on the screen when Tiana's father was stirring the pot of gumbo.

“Oh, look how tasty that gumbo's looking, bubba.”

“It's a movie, dada. Real shrimps taste like-” She shook her head as her smart mouth ran.

“The ocean, yeah, I know, bub.” Bucky sighed, kissing her temple. The hardheadedness he'd encouraged on her before was coming back to bite him in the butt.

But Bucky wasn't a daddy to give up. He set up his ingredients the next day and invited his baby doll to the kitchen to assist. She was always happy when they were doing stuff together, and Bucky wanted her to see how everything was made so she knew what she was presented when it was time to eat.

Bucky did the dangerous stuff: peeled and deveined the shrimps, cut up the sausages and vegetables, minced the garlic, and simmered the sauce while she did the safer stuff like handing him the salt and pepper, tasting the warm broth a couple of times before Bucky dropped in the shrimps, and occasionally giggling when he would peck her nose or cheek.

“You wanna put in the last magic ingredient, baby doll?” Bucky suggested, pointing to the Tabasco sauce bottle.

“Yes, dada.” She nodded, happy that she gets to play Tiana's part.

She let Bucky open the bottle for her and hand it over, his hand on hers to make sure she didn't spill too much into the pot.

She was pleased to be cooking with her daddy, but she wasn't exactly as pleased about the thought that she might have to eat shrimps or something that tasted of it for dinner.

When they were seated, she didn't let Bucky scoop any shrimps for her. She only agreed to try the veggies and the sausages and maybe get a couple of warm broth spoons. But Bucky wasn't going to have it be like this.

“Oh my god! Who made these amazing shrimps that taste nothing like the ocean and everything like Tiana's gumbo; they are yummy!” Bucky announced loudly, making her giggle as she chewed her beef sausage slice. She was thankful the shrimps didn't ruin the whole dish for her.

“Baby doll, you've got to try this. It's too delicious!”

She shook her head stubbornly, trying not to gag as she watched Bucky bite into another shrimp.

“Bub, I promise it doesn't taste like the ocean.”

“I don't know, dada..” she replied, nervously picking at the tablecloth again.

Bucky frowned, disheartened, as his shoulders drooped. She didn't like that look on daddy. She wanted to make him smile.

“One bite?” She asked in her small voice, eyes becoming curious again.

“One bite.” Bucky cut her a small piece of the shrimp and carefully neared the fork to her mouth.

She pulled away before it touched her lips “but.. if I don't like it daddy eats the rest? Please?”

“Okay, baby doll, whatever you want.” He smiled in agreement.

She sniffed at the fork, surprised to find that it smelled of herbs instead of the ocean. She locked eyes with an expectant Bucky as she closed her lips around the fork. She pulled back and started chewing slowly, Bucky anxiously anticipating her wanting to spit the food out.

She chewed for a minute before swallowing and smiling. She actually smiled at the taste, “'S good, dada.”

“Really? You like it?” Bucky asked cheerfully and she nodded.

“Yeah, daddy didn’ lie to me. It doesn’t taste like the ocean.” She beamed gratefully.

“You want more?” He offered with a grin and she nodded harder.

“Yes, please, dada.”

Bucky was so contented with himself he could write it in the papers. His girl was eating stuff he cooked that she'd refused to eat from the hands of certified chefs before. And she is liking them! No spitting, no throwing up, no disgusted, grimacing facial expressions made. He was really succeeding!

~

“Dada? Thank you,” she whispered shyly to Bucky as she sat on the kitchen counter, watching him do the dishes.

“For what, baby doll?”

“For cookin' me all the delicious food in the world.”

Bucky turned the water off and dried his hands before walking to her and engulfing her in his arms, her face finding its hiding place in the crook of his neck, “you're welcome, bubba,” Bucky sighed, kissing her hair, “thank you for trying it.”

She pecked his jaw in reply. She was so precious and adorable and she didn’t even know it.

“And I also like it when daddy tastes the food for me first,” she added, pressing her nose further into his neck.

“Yeah? Why's that?” Bucky smiled at the thought of her feeling safe eating aft-

“'Cause then if it tastes bad daddy could eat it alone and I don't have to eat it.” She mumbled, making Bucky fake another gasp.

“An' because I trust daddy too,” she peeked at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh no, too late, young lady, my heart has already been broken.” Bucky shook his head dramatically, playfully trying to pull away from the hug.

“No, no, dada, I love you,” she giggled and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, not wanting him to stop holding her.

Bucky laughed, “I love you too, bub.” Bucky kissed her forehead, nose and cheek, “I'll taste every food first for you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

[mypoisonedvine]

The Wrong Idea | Lee Bodecker x reader

summary: you weren’t exactly a rebel in the eyes of the law, but that didn’t mean you cared for the corrupt, alcoholic town sheriff.  and that certainly didn’t mean you would care at all for him marrying your mother.  if only you’d known how much worse it could get...

word count: 4.5k

warnings: smut!! (heavy dubcon/noncon), age gap (reader is 19), stepcest, loss of virginity, pain kink, creampie kink, infidelity, degradation, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, choking, slapping, daddy kink, authority kink, subtle ddlg themes?, reader’s mom being toxic af

You’d never cared for the Sheriff.  Even you, being generally a well-behaved young woman, thought he was a little too intense and a little too corrupt.  Up until now, you’d assumed your mother agreed with you on that, because she never protested to your complaints about Sheriff Bodecker and his ‘fascist reign of terror’ as you called it.  Apparently that was a poor assumption, though.

“You… what?!”

“I never told you we were seein’ each other because I knew you had your childish rebellion against him and his police force,” your mother explained with a demeaning eyeroll.  “But now that we’re engaged, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“How long has this been going on?” you asked quietly, still in shock at what you were hearing— and unable to take your eyes off of the sparkling diamond wrapped around her finger.

“Oh, I’d say… about two months now,” she decided.

“Two—” you stopped and started over, so bewildered that you couldn’t finish your original sentence.  “You’re engaged after two months?”

“Don’t make that face at me, you look so ugly when you scowl like that,” she frowned.  Of course, she could never miss an opportunity to nag you.  “He’s a respectable man, and he treats me well.  The wedding is in three weeks— and he’s generous enough to let you live with us after that.  Says there’s a spare bedroom for you in his house.”

“His… his house…” you slurred, suddenly feeling light-headed.  “I’m… we’re moving…?”

“Yes, honey, and with your work ethic it’ll take you the whole three weeks to pack up, so you should start now,” she informed you with that cruel, fake smile of hers.

She walked away as you sat down on the couch, staring off into space, trying to comprehend what you just heard.  It’s not like you thought your mother was flawless or anything, or that you and her had a perfect relationship, but you thought she would’ve been a little more… gentle about all this.  She could do better than him anyways!  But she didn’t care about that, only money and status.  You could almost laugh at her small-mindedness to think the Sheriff of a nothing-town like Knockemstiff was actually plentiful in either of those things, but right now you couldn’t laugh.  You couldn’t even cry as you packed your things and said goodbye to the home you’d known your whole life.  You were just numb.

//

You couldn’t look him in the eye when you arrived at his house, duffel bags in hand and shoes stained with the dry red dirt of summer.  It was nicer than your old place, and if it were anyone else’s you’d say it had charm, but everything was tainted because you knew it was his.  You could sort of tell that this had been his bachelor pad for a while, but it had a half-assed attempt at hominess with the rug in the living room and a centerpiece on the kitchen table.  He even had a TV, presumably funded by bribes and all his other nefarious dealings— meaning you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to watch it.

“Nice to meet ya, properly,” Lee greeted, though his monotone didn’t come across as particularly impassioned.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” you mumbled quickly, hoping to get this conversation over with.

“You don’t have to call me Sheriff anymore, you know.  Not in the house, at least.”

You nodded but said nothing, following him as he motioned for you and moved into the hallway.  You trailed behind him, noticing the eerie lack of any personal effects on the walls (no family photos, apparently, and not much of a family to photograph in the first place from what you’d heard), and stopped when he reached the door at the end.

“This is your room,” Lee informed you stiffly.  Opening the door, you were horrified by the assault on your eyes of pink.  Pink everything: pink wallpaper, a pink fuzzy quilt, pink bedframe.  There were even assorted stuffed animals on the bed, disturbingly enough.

“When my mother told you she had a daughter, did she not mention that I was grown?”

“You may be nineteen, honey, but you’re nowhere near grown,” he scowled.  “She didn’t tell me she had a daughter until two days before the weddin’.  This is what I managed to... improvise, since then.”

You almost had sympathy for him, just in that you two were both victims of your mother’s eccentricity.  Almost.  

“Must’ve inherited your expensive taste from your ma,” he frowned.  “Sorry, princess—” the nickname made his lips curl like the word itself tasted sour— “but this’ll have to do.”

“Oh, I’m nothing like her,” you sneered back, “cause I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“What are you two chatting about?” your mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

Both of you answered at the same time: “Nothing!” 

With a grimace, you dragged your bag into the room and shut the door in his face.  It was those little acts of rebellion that had to tide you over.  You weren’t audacious enough to do anything actually cruel, or illegal, but you weren’t going to make this any easier for him.

At first it was just refusing to leave your room.  That worked for a week, until you realized you were going to starve to death.  So then the only times you saw him were at the dinner table, which you made into a protest by pretending he didn’t exist and refusing to answer his questions.  You occasionally relented when he asked you to pass something from your side of the table, but you never looked at him while you did it.  

He didn’t seem angry or sad about your determination to avoid him, if anything it seemed like he was happy to pretend you weren’t there either.  And that should’ve made it easier, but for some reason it bothered you even more.  You realized that maybe his attention did matter to you, even though it was negative attention that you were hoping to inspire, but you knew that was ridiculous and you tried to fight it.  Still, for all your plans to never see him, you sure did think about him a lot.  You thought about where he might be, so you could be somewhere else.  You thought about what he must be doing at work, and how he was probably continuing to be a nasty mean drunk as frequently as possible.  You wondered if he and your mother were making love just across the house, although you were lucky enough to never hear anything.  Just knowing that could be happening made you feel sick, even though you realized it was none of your business.  

You sometimes found yourself listening for it at night, just in case.

//

Your mother had decided to spend her new husband’s money on a trip, but the man himself couldn’t tag along— too much work to do, apparently.  The prospect of being left alone with him was nightmare fuel, but you didn’t even try to ask her to stay… you knew she wouldn’t listen.  She’d been totally absorbed in her own world since the wedding, seeming to be very fulfilled by the social role of ‘Sheriff’s wife’ to the point that she had lost all interest in her former position as ‘your mom’.  

There was a balance to the silence with her gone, though.  You avoided him, he avoided you; it was a tense truce, but a survivable one.  At least without her, nobody was going to try to make you two get along.  Friday night was different, though.  This time when he came home from work, you knew you were stuck with him until Monday morning.  That thought made you realize that you needed to get out and you didn’t care if you weren’t dressed for it.  It was hot, and it was just a walk so nobody was going to see you in this miniskirt anyway, right?

Too bad Lee was sitting on the couch, still in his uniform, not giving you any mind but likely to harass you before you could make it outside.  You figured if you just walked casually enough, he wouldn’t even notice, so you made your way towards the door.

“You’re not going out like that,” he announced suddenly, seemingly without even looking up from his newspaper.

“Says who?” you deflected quickly with a raised brow.  It wasn’t that you wanted to pick a fight, but you just couldn’t understand why he would even care what you were wearing.

“Says the guy who doesn’t want you to give all the neighborhood boys the wrong idea.”

“What idea?!” you asked, crossing your arms.  He shot you a look, quickly raking in your body and outfit which made you feel more observed than you cared for.

“The idea that you’re a slut,” he explained coldly.

You gulped at his words but tried to keep a poker face.  You didn’t let it get this far just to give up.  You were so sick of his shit; what made him think he could boss you around when he’d never even tried to get to know you?

“What makes you assume that’s the wrong idea?” you shot back, fighting the nervousness in your voice.

You hadn’t expected him to stand up instantly, the coffee table wobbling a bit when his knee bumped into it.

“The fuck did you say?” he hissed.

With his teeth bared at you he looked like a predator, and you felt like small, helpless prey.  You tried to muster some of your former confidence, but everything came out shaky and weak.  “I— I said that maybe it’s not the wrong ide—”

He pounced, crossing the room and slamming you back against the wall, a hand at each shoulder; you instantly cowered, shrinking back and turning your face away from him as far as you could.  You never thought he’d put his hands on you like this.  Your heart was pounding so loudly that you were surprised you could hear his hoarse whisper.

“Watch your tone with me.  I’m not kidding around.”

“I’m an adult,” you weakly fought back, “I can do what I want.”

“Not in my fuckin’ house you can’t!” he bellowed.

For some reason, it all hit you at once.  All the emotions you’d been suppressing since your mother had gotten engaged— all the anger and fear and betrayal and indignation, they came bubbling up before you could stop them.  

“I don’t even want to be in your ugly fucking house!” you cried in response.  “I don’t wanna be anywhere near you!  You’re a fascist and a tyrant and a pig!”

You expected him to get more aggressive but he suddenly stilled.  It was the scariest anger, that outwardly-calm type that made your blood go cold.

“Go to your room.”

You didn’t question it, turning to walk away (any excuse to get away from him, right?), but you didn’t expect him to follow you in and shut the door behind the both of you.

You were paralyzed with fear as he stepped past you and sat on your bed.  It was sort of strange as you realized you’d never seen him in your room before.  He stood out against the somewhat childish decorations, but you were in no mood to appreciate the humor of the situation as he patted his knee.

“Lay across my lap.  Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He couldn’t possibly be doing what I think he’s doing, could he? you wondered to yourself, but did as he asked.  You realized you’d never been so close to him before, the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes.  He smelled like cologne and booze, although you didn’t think he’d actually had much to drink yet today— at least compared to his normal habits.  It was almost worse to think that he wasn’t acting on drunkenness now.

“It’s prob’ly too late for it, but you are in serious need of discipline, young lady.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, but your body reacted to it differently than you expected.

His fingers slipped between the top of your skirt and your skin, having to pull pretty hard to get it down due to how tight it was.  You bit your lip and hoped he wouldn’t notice your arousal, but as your pussy was exposed, you could feel the breeze from the ceiling fan and you knew you were undeniably wet.  You didn’t know why, but you were.

“Count them for me,” he instructed coldly and before you could ask what you were counting, he brought his hand down firmly.  You felt his wedding ring in the slap and it made you feel a little sick.

“O-one,” you stammered.

He delivered four more, alternating cheeks, and you tried not to react with visible pain.  But as the intensity increased, you realized that not reacting might’ve actually been making it worse.  Either way, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out when the eighth made your whole body lurch forward from the force.

“Eight!” you squealed, but both of you noticed the way you pushed your hips forward.  Unintentional as it may have been, you were trying to rub yourself on his thigh, desperate to be touched where it felt like all the energy of your body had focused.  You were sure you’d never been so horny before, and now your clit was nearly throbbing.  What the fuck is wrong with me?!

He quickly delivered the final two slaps before grabbing your neck, hoisting you up until you were on your knees before him.  He examined your face closely and you tried to keep your lip from shaking.

“You’re worse than I thought,” he hissed.  “You are in dire need of a punishment.  You should thank me for going so easy on you so far.”

You realized when his grip on your jaw tightened that he was being literal.  “Thank you, for going easy on me…”

“Where’d that fire go, huh?  Guess you’re all talk,” he laughed.  

He roughly shoved his fingers into your mouth, moaning lowly as your tongue rubbed against the pads of his fingers.  “This fuckin’ mouth.  You just don’t know when to keep it shut, do you?  Come on baby, open up.  I’ve got a better use for it than your fuckin’ disrespectful attitude.”

He used his free hand to work on his belt right in front of your face, and your eyes went wide.

“Don’t act so surprised sweetheart,” he said with a hint of irritation, “this is exactly what you’re asking for.”

You gasped a bit when his cock was freed from his trousers, springing up and already red at the tip.  You’d never seen one this close before and it was intimidating in every way.

“Like what you see?  You’re so wet for it,” he purred.  You tried to speak but words abandoned you. 

It was all a blur as he held your mouth open and shoved his cock inside— it tasted like skin and salt, and the size made your chapped lips crack until you worried they would bleed.  His moans were deep and gravelly, making your skin break out into goosebumps as he pumped smoothly into your pliant mouth.  He slapped your face a few times, not quite hard but plenty strong enough to make it sting.  You winced with each impact, the tears which had welled from your gagging finally falling down and dripping from your chin.

“Suck on it, princess, like a popsicle… fuck yeah, like that,” he groaned, and your mind resisted obeying him but your body was completely at his mercy.  “Aw baby, ya look so good chokin’ on my cock.  Is that what you were gonna go do in this slutty little outfit you’ve got on?”

You tried to shake your head but he was holding you down, not even giving you a chance to breathe.  His protruding stomach rubbed against your forehead when his cock was this deep in your throat, and the disgust and fear somehow made your arousal stronger.

He let you go, finally, and you pulled back with a gasp and a cough.  You weren’t given much reprieve, though, as he started to tug at your blouse as well.

“No, wait,” you whimpered, weakly trying to bat his hands away.

“Wait?  I think I’ve been waiting long enough,” he growled.  “Your ma’s a fuckin’ tease, hasn’t touched me since I got her that ugly fuckin’ ring.  Let’s hope you learn from her mistakes.”

Your blouse was torn open and tossed aside, leaving you only in the pulled-up skirt and your bra.  Reaching up to cover yourself, you were discouraged by the shockingly-gentle brush of his hands. 

“Don’t cover yourself, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.  His gaze made you feel hot all over, and it wasn’t just because of the summer weather outside.  “Nobody ever looked at ya before?”

You shook your head, looking down at the floor.  A finger under your chin guided you to look up at him.  

“Nobody ever touched ya before?” he pressed, his stare boring into you.  You shook your head again.  “Fuck,” he whispered, but then he started to smile proudly.  “Knew you were a good girl, princess, you just didn’t wanna act like one for some reason.  You gonna be good for me now?” 

You nodded weakly, swallowing as you tried to comprehend what was happening.  

“Then I’ll be good to you, too,” he promised darkly, a shimmer in his eyes that made you throb between your thighs.  “Come get on the bed, pretty girl.”

You almost resisted, but it was your need driving you now, not your mind.  You had been waiting too long to let a boy touch you, and now that a man had touched you, you felt all kinds of wrong and yet craved more.  Before you had even finished sitting down beside him, he was slipping off your bra and pushing you back onto the quilt.

“Sheriff!” you yelped instinctively, a little disoriented as he started to climb on top of you.

He chuckled, clearly amused by your unexpected appeal to authority.  “Wanna know a secret, sweetheart?  Wanna know the real reason I said you didn’t have to call me that anymore?”  He leaned down, his breath hot and moist against your neck when he spoke: “Because it made me so fuckin’ hard when you said it.”

He pressed his cock, still wet with your spit, against your thigh; maybe just for emphasis, a reminder that he was still hard and wasn’t anywhere near done with you.

“What are you gonna do to me…?” you asked weakly, your voice so wavering and broken that you cringed just hearing it.  

“Just gonna make you feel good, princess,” he smiled, and before you could ask what that would entail, he was groping your tits in his large, calloused hands.  A low groan echoed in his chest, and you tried not to squirm as he teased your nipples between his fingers.  They were already hardening from the moment he’d touched you, but somehow it was getting even worse when he played with them, watching your face and surely seeing the shame you wore there.

His hands trailed lower, rubbing your waist, your thighs… you found yourself anticipating that he’d remove your panties, so much so that when he did, you quickly lifted your hips to help him slide them off.  You couldn’t believe how easily you were letting him do this to you.

“I can tell how much you want it,” he taunted lowly as the fabric slid down your legs and was tossed to the floor.  “I can smell how much you want it.”  He growled a little before diving in, licking a thick stripe through your folds and taking a moment right at the end to tickle your clit with his tongue.  “So fuckin’ sweet, princess; I knew you would be,” he praised.  You were forced to wonder how long he’d been thinking about this.

The noises were beyond obscene and you felt your face burning— but there was a burning in your gut, too, and shooting down your legs.  You’d never felt like this before (being a very good girl who never even touched herself), but you knew that if he didn’t stop, you would come.  And you really, really wanted to come.

Everytime he put pressure on your clit, your leg quivered involuntarily.  It was nearly too much, the sensation so powerful it almost hurt, but he pushed you right to the edge without knocking you off.

“Please,” you found yourself begging before you could stop it, “please, Sheriff—”

“I’m not your Sheriff anymore, sweetheart,” he informed you gruffly, popping up from between your legs with the entire bottom half of his face covered in your arousal, “I’m your daddy now.  Go on and beg your daddy to fuck you.”

Eyes shot wide open, you stared back at him in bewilderment.  Rage flashed in his eyes, and he snarled as his hand suddenly wrapped around your neck, tightening and choking you. 

“You heard me,” he groaned through his teeth.  “Beg me.  To fuck you.”

“Daddy,” you stammered, hoarsely fighting to speak through the pressure on your throat, “fuck me, please.”

He slammed his cock into you and you nearly screamed.  It burned and you instinctively tried to crawl away but, of course, his weight on top of you made it impossible.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned.  He laid down on top of you entirely then, slipping his arms under your torso and holding you tightly.

Each thrust made you feel like you had reached your limits, as if you couldn’t be stretched further which was probably true.  And yet, in spite of it (or worse, because of it), you found yourself moaning and writhing under him, even arching your back to make his movements smoother.  He laughed a little as he bit at the shell of your ear.

“You love it, baby,” he moaned, “you love my cock.”

You couldn’t respond, just sob as you clutched at the shirt still on his back, your jaw tight as you tried to bear the pain.  

“It’s not always gonna hurt like this,” he promised between heavy breaths, “s’gonna feel good soon.  Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, pretty girl.”

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if that meant that this would happen again or not.  At the moment, you were incapable of thinking that far ahead, too focused on the way the sting of the stretch was melting away and morphing into such powerful pleasure that you couldn’t even see straight.

He kissed you, and only then did the weight of it hit you.  Who he was, what he was doing, what you were doing… it had been distant and vague before, but something about his tongue inside your mouth made you remember that the metal digging into your back was his ring; that the lips on yours were sworn to somebody else— and at that, the one exact person that made this so fundamentally wrong.

Tears welled in your eyes, gentle sobs shaking your chest.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling back and kissing your tears away, “feels good, don’t it?  Feels good when daddy fucks you?”

You knew speaking would only make you cry more, so you only nodded your head shamefully.

“That’s my good girl,” he moaned as he fucked you deeper, harder, rougher.  Your fingers held onto the back of his neck, running through his hair and pulling him closer.  He kept mumbling praises but they fell on deaf ears, pleasure clouding your mind and making every hair on your body stand upright.  He didn’t stop as he reached down between your bodies and laid his hand over your stomach, growling with satisfaction at what he found there.

“I can feel me inside ya,” he grinned.  “Feel that, sweetheart?  Feel how deep I am in your wet little cunt?”

When you didn’t answer, you got a quick slap to the face.  “Yes,” you replied quickly, “yes, I— I feel it.”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting you there until you nearly screamed.  You couldn’t figure out why something so objectively painful only pushed you closer to your peak, making every spot inside you more sensitive, but somehow it did.

“Gonna come, pretty girl?  Want daddy to fill you up?” he groaned against your ear, pushing down on your stomach even harder.

“Yes, daddy!” you sobbed.  “Please!”

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me,” he hissed, “don’t fuckin’ stop.  Keep milkin’ my cock and m’gonna fill ya up so good, princess…”

You couldn’t stop even if you tried— your orgasm hit you in powerful waves, your head falling back as your walls clenched involuntarily (as did your fingers and toes, so hard that your nail tore the sheets a little bit, which you wouldn’t notice until the next day).  He grunted as he came, pumping into you with each thrust until you felt more full than you ever had before, in a way you could never describe.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, him catching his breath and you losing yours as his weight threatened to crush you.  “Fuck,” he groaned as he sat up and pulled out.  He grabbed your legs and held them up for you, staring at your abused pussy and making you feel uncomfortably observed.

“Push it out for me, wanna see my come leak outta ya,” he purred, moaning a little when you did as he asked.  It felt even hotter as it gushed out of you, and you mindlessly bit your lip.  He tucked his softening cock back into his trousers, rezipping them and buckling his belt.  “We’d better get ya cleaned up, huh princess?” 

The bathroom wasn’t far, so he carried you, setting you down to stand on your own as he started to draw a bath.  You watched him, although you weren’t really watching him so much as staring into the void of space that happened to be in his general direction.  You were so out of it that you didn’t even register when he turned around and smiled at you with an air of pride.

“You look so good like this.”  

It pulled you out of your trance, though you had to ask him to repeat himself with a mumbled “huh?”

“I said you look good like this,” he explained, stepping closer.  “Fucked out, braindead, just my empty-headed fucktoy.”

“I… I don’t…” you began to disagree.

He used your jaw to turn your face to the mirror, and you gasped when you saw yourself: your hair was a mess; your whole face was red, especially your eyes and nose from crying, but plenty on your cheeks where he’d slapped you; your lips were swollen and slick; bruises were already forming on your arms where he’d grabbed you, and along your neck and shoulders where he had bitten you.

His form dwarfed yours as he stood behind you, looking at your reflection with a smile.

“Look at us,” he announced wistfully, “one big happy family, huh?”

[admirableadmiranda]

Debts and balances: or how much does one man have to pay over the course of his life?

Good morning everyone! Today we’re going to be talking about debts, and why Jiang Cheng needs to shut the fuck up on debts because he is the one in the wrong pretty much the entire time.

Let’s start by acknowledging that I am not of this culture so I may perhaps state a thing or two wrong, but I also have several functioning brain cells to rub together and I pay attention so I will probably be more right than most of the “hot takes” I see on why Jiang Cheng is not actually in the wrong here. Because he is. He so is.

So, debts. First of all, there are multiple levels and layers of debts and to whom do you owe them too. So let’s start with the first one where the story is subtle about it and yet both Jiang Cheng and Madam Yu are in the wrong. We know that Cangse Sanren saved Jiang Fengmian’s life at one point when they were young. Life debts are big. To only be alive because of someone else’s actions is a debt that it is possible you will never be able to pay back. There are multiple stories of otherwise good people protecting the obvious villain because they owe that.

Jiang Fengmian’s only way of being able to pay back that debt after Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze die is to take care of their child and raise him how they would have. I.E, as a cultivator. This is not a debt that Wei Wuxian owes to the Jiangs. It is quite literally, the least of what Jiang Fengmian owes him and his parents to do.

Jiang Cheng cannot claim that Wei Wuxian owes them for his life. He is wrong. 

Next debt that even Jiang Cheng does not try to claim, only his ever so pleasant stans, the fucking dogs. The fucking dogs that he does not actually give a fuck about. 

Wei Wuxian does not ask anyone to do anything about the dogs. He is not in a mental state to. He is in a state of triggered phobia where his brain literally goes into run away screaming mode. This is also not funny and Jiang Cheng is a jackass for making fun of it whenever it happens. Jiang Fengmian is the one who decides that it’s better for the dogs to go. Even though Jiang Cheng is upset, he does not actually hold this as a lingering grudge against Wei Wuxian. He lets it the fuck go. And even if he didn’t, the resentment and anger should be aimed at the person who actually made a decision about it. Not Wei Wuxian. He does not give one singular fuck about his dogs later on. Let the fucking dogs go.

Third off: The Fall of Lotus Pier. There are different levels of blame that we can lay on this. Wei Wuxian is not close to responsible for this. Jiang Cheng knows this and elects to blame him anyway.

The first people we can lay the blame on the fall of Lotus Pier is the Wens, who came with ships, warriors, Wang Lingjiao to rile up the notoriously short tempered asshole Madam Yu, and Wen Zhuliu the Core-Melting Hand. They came prepared for battle and they got what they wanted. Madam Yu is the second one we can lay the blame on, for deciding to attack and demean Wang Lingjiao, not for making her do anything she didn’t want to do, because holy hell did she want to whip Wei Wuxian until he couldn’t move and leapt at the chance to do such a thing, but because Wang Lingjiao is a servant who was elevated by her lover and Madam Yu is a classist asshole. This is the only reason she flips out. Wei Wuxian did nothing wrong. Wei Wuxian does not have the blood of Lotus Pier on his hands, he is tied to Jiang Cheng and told to protect him at the cost of his life, a debt he does not owe. 

The four debt he attempts to claim, the only one that might be considered to have some teeth if it weren’t for how much Wei Wuxian gives him back almost immediately. Jiang Cheng goes to distract the Wens from Wei Wuxian and ends up getting captured and losing his golden core. So first off, in this world a golden core is a lot to lose, I won’t deny that. But, first off, Wei Wuxian is only in danger because after being whipped a lot, then strangled, then having to run after Jiang Cheng multiple times because he would rather go die at Lotus Pier than listen to either of his parents and escape, he still goes into town to get them something to eat because otherwise Jiang Cheng would rather lie on the ground and die. Fucking great sect leadership there, huh Jiang Cheng? But yes, Jiang Cheng sees the Wens, sees them notice Wei Wuxian, goes off to distract them and then gets captured and loses his golden core.

Now we’re getting to some of the debts that Jiang Cheng owes and refuses to pay back, because that’s definitely going to get him far in this world. Wei Wuxian in his panic and attempt to find Jiang Cheng, finds Wen Ning, who after some struggles manages to convince him that he can sneak in and get Jiang Cheng back out. In addition, he also retrieves the bodies of Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian. This is huge. Jiang Cheng now owes him both a life debt for again, saving his life at great cost to his own: Wen Ning is literally committing treason here, and also for restoring the lost honor of not being able to bury his parents properly. Wen Ning gives them a proper burial and later after the war he is able to lie them to rest in the Ancestors Hall so their spirits will be at peace and he will have fulfilled his fillial duties. By all means, the debt he owes Wen Ning in particular is so great that he should have taken in every Wen in those camps and sheltered them because it is as close as he will ever get to repaying that debt. And that’s just Wen Ning!

The next debt he owes and refuses to pay is to Wen Qing, a genius doctor and respected by Wen Ruohan, who uses the prestige and skills she has to protect both him and Wei Wuxian in at this point enemy territory when they are being actively searched for, being the new sect leader and head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. She hides them and then later uses her skills to give him a new golden core so that he can go and fight back against his people, revitalizing his clan and eradicating hers. This is another debt that could only really be paid back by protecting her people if she came to him. He owes her literally his life, his power and his people.

The third debt he owes and refuses to pay is to Wei Wuxian, who more than overbalances the scales back in his favor by giving him his golden core. He pays his chance at immortality, his power, his strength, his cultivation, everything that he has to his name so that Jiang Cheng won’t starve himself to death over losing his core. In addition, he tells Jiang Cheng that this comes from a once in a lifetime favor from his mother’s master so even before when he didn’t know about the core, this is still a massive, massive debt, a limitless one time favor from an immortal that he uses Wei Wuxian’s chance to get and never actually thanks him. So at this point, his own golden core as a debt starts to seem a little hollow. Either way, it’s been repaid. An action you do in service of someone else is not a weapon you get to hold over their heads for multiple lives.

Moving on! The next debt he would like to claim is that Wei Wuxian apparently has no right to do things he does not approve of. Excuse me? Is he now a computer program that crashed? What the fuck Jiang Wanyin? Wei Wuxian has less rank than him, although Jiang Cheng is so high rank in this society that he only shares his rank with three other people and there’s no one above him so it would be very hard for him to not be, but he is still a person, with his own thoughts, wishes, dreams, hopes and beliefs. He is not an extension of your hand, to make your clan look good and stand behind you as a hammer to smash on people. Wen Qing goes to Wei Wuxian to ask for help for finding her brother, her people because they are literally being tortured to death. This is a debt that by all means, Jiang Cheng should be repaying. See that part where Wen Ning committed treason to help him and restore his family’s honor? See that part where Wen Qing literally gave him the ability to go back to war against her family? This is the point where anyone with honor would recognize this is the only thing I can do. I will throw myself on my sword if I must, but I must repay this debt to them. There is nothing less I can do. But Jiang Cheng has only the honor of a mangy cur and ignores this, and when Wei Wuxian goes to fulfill this debt, he tells him to stop. To him, his multiple life debts are an inconvience to shoving his nose so far up Jin Guangshan’s ass that he’s tasting what he had for dinner that day.

The next debt that he would like to claim is the death of his brother in law. This is a debt that Wei Wuxian would owe to specific people. This debt is to Jiang Yanli, Jin Guangshan and Jin Ling, one of whom is wanting to forgive it, one who is too small to decide at the time, and one who straight up does not give a fuck beyond advancing his power. Jiang Cheng is not one of these people. His sister is fine, she’s not his concern anymore, she’s a part of the Jin sect. The only reason why he died is that Jiang Cheng decided the best way to repay his debt to Wei Wuxian was to throw a temper tantrum and declare him an enemy to everyone, ripping out every support from under his feet. Regardless, Jiang Cheng is an asshole and does not get to claim this debt.

The final one of Wei Wuxian’s first life that he keeps hurling at him is the death of his sister...the death of his sister who chose to leap between Wei Wuxian and a sword. The death of his sister at a battle that broke out because Jiang Cheng has been with Jin Guangshan whipping the cultivation world into a frenzy against the Wens and Wei Wuxian because of power and jealousy. The battle that would have not happened if they’d left them alone. Jiang Cheng has been to the burial mounds. He has seen the farmers, he has seen the baby there. He has decided that rather than do anything to repay these various deaths, he will kill them on other people’s swords instead. Because he is also a coward and won’t pick fights he can’t win. In addition he likes to steal Yanli’s agency, she’s the one who chose to come, she’s the one who chose to get in the way and she doesn’t die with regrets. And she is not his debt to claim. Again, the one who actually gets to claim this death that Wei Wuxian is not responsible for is Jin Ling, who actually shapes up and decides that it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t blame Wei Wuxian for it. He forgives him his role in that space and moves the fuck on, unlike a certain sir stabby grape mcwhipinnoencts.

And then Wei Wuxian dies and any debts he may have still owed to Jiang Cheng, not that there were any, die with him. Jiang Cheng has no claim on him, he was not part of his sect, they were not brothers in any way, indeed Jiang Cheng called him his enemy. Even most people with far more real grudges at this point would let it go. Wei Wuxian is so dead that no one can find his soul, no matter how hard they look. He comes back to life and reaps the rewards of his actions, finding new allies, getting the chance to actually interact with Jin Ling and make his apologies, and in the end, settle down to a peaceful life with an adoring husband and nothing left to be repaid. If there is still a debt he owes, it is only to Mo Xuanyu, who gave up his entire cycle of life to let Wei Wuxian reincarnate early with his memories, a sacrifice he only asked for repayment in the death of his family. He may owe more still, but that is all Mo Xuanyu wanted from him in repayment for this great sacrifice. The cultivation world is in the wrong when they’re trying to persecute him again for the actions of his previous life, he owes them nothing anymore. The debts he carries towards Jin Ling are the ones he chooses to take on, feeling guilty that he grew up without his parents due to the world’s general actions and also no one else taking responsibility for how far things fell. 

That is what Jiang Cheng finally realizes in the temple, crouched on the floor and sobbing like a spoiled child over the golden core sacrifice. Is that he is in the wrong and has been in the wrong the whole time. That there is nothing he can hold onto, no debt that Wei Wuxian ever owed him that he could demand to be paid. He built it all up in his head as he left his honor, his family and his dignity in the wake of his arrogance. And it’s a painful thing to realize, the consequences of your decisions, but all he can do is live with his own ruined reputation, his own loneliness and the fact that no one wants to be around him. He’s blacklisted by multiple matchmakers, his disciples are more like thugs, Wei Wuxian chooses every opportunity to get away from him and even Jin Ling likes him less and less over the course of the book, not forgetting that he seems to prefer Jin Guangyao to begin with as he actually talks to him sometimes and doesn’t hit him. Jiang Cheng refusing to pay his debts gives him exactly what a debt deserter deserves. No one has a reason to trust him. The one bit of positive character growth he does is giving up and not trying to reel him back in by telling him of the sacrifice. At this point, all it would be is just him trying to get another debt he cannot hold because it is long since repaid, never quite made up for what they gave him to make up for it, and worthless in the face of Wei Wuxian’s new life. Wei Wuxian owes him nothing and never has.

Also, just to tally up the relationship between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng on things given between the two of them, Jiang Cheng gives him: a lot of whinging on how unfair it is that Wei Wuxian is a prodigy, and a one time immediately regretted and held over his head sacrifice of a golden core. Whereas Wei Wuxian gives him: many lessons on how to be a kinder person that he ignores, the patience and tolerance of his stinkbug attitude, his love, his affection, his fucking golden core, his reputation, his blood, his livelihood, taking over his debts, trying to keep any of his actions from reflecting on the Jiangs even though if Jiang Cheng had repaid any of the debts he owed, there would have been no problems because if the Jin’s did decide to attack, Wei Wuxian would fight back and he can level battle fields on his own, his honor, his relationships, and even his life in the end, because if Wei Wuxian had ever turned on him like he claimed, he would have been a bloody smeared spot on the ground. And Jiang Cheng gobbles this all up and demands more with Wei Wuxian’s blood and tears dribbling from his mouth. 

Would you give that much for someone who doesn’t treat you well? Would you find that a reasonable price to pay for someone who demeans you at every opportunity, who tells you you deserve your misfortunes and that no one likes you? Why are you surprised that in the end Wei Wuxian would rather walk away with people who care about him, why he gives up, leaves any opportunity for anything in Jiang Cheng’s hands. Wei Wuxian has given more than any person should for almost nothing. It is a sign of triumph and victory, of recognizing his own worth and value in the world and who he wants to be with, that he leaves, that he walks away with his head held high. He owes Jiang Cheng nothing, and Jiang Cheng will just have to fucking live with that.

[ballorawan740]

SCP Scenarios: SCP x Reader - McDonald's Sprite (REQUESTED)

Main Masterlist | SCP Scenarios Masterlist | My Works Masterlist | Rules | Request | Socials | My Original Post

Requested by: @katnotmore123

Bro y'all be simping for Sprite and I'm here simping for 7Up...

I mean I like them both but I just prefer 7up over Sprite... It's like comparing Pepsi and Coke ngl but with a more subtle difference

SCP 073 (Cain)

You came back to the foundation one day with a cup of iced drink and Cain had asked what you were drinking and you showed him

He was mildly confused but soon understood the beverage since he had seen them somewhere on the web (no, not the hub, an advert from McDonald's)

You asked if he wanted to try some and he did, so you gave him a sip

You were slightly annoyed and surprised since you drove over an hour and hadn't had anything to drink and the last thing you wanted was someone taking your drink

But since it was 073, you made it an exception since you hadn't expected him to have any food or beverages outside of site 17

You figured that he had enjoyed it as he reminisced his past about being able to eat plant-based food but no longer could

You felt bad and agreed to get more when you next go back

The researchers had wondered if the drink had ever rotted in his mouth but realise moments later that it's mainly made out of artificial ingredients aside from the natural flavourings

SCP 076-2 (Abel)

I have high doubts that you would be able to persuade Abel to drink such a plain beverage, so you had devised a plan to get him to try

You made a bet with Abel in which the loser has to finish off the drink, not that you'd complain (you unhealthy mf), but you really wanted him to give it a try

Abel accepted and had very much lost the bet

He had taken a sip and you noticed that he's enjoying the drink and teased him

He spat it out and flat out denied it (like the tsundere he is) but continued drinking it anyways

Some of the researchers monitoring Abel's cell found it rather amusing that he enjoyed such a "plain beverage" and did try to tease him about it

Let's just say it didn't end very well as it resulted in somebody's head being chopped off

You both had agreed that if Abel stops trying to breach his containment and be more cooperative, you or somebody else in your team would buy him more Sprite from McDonald's (and by 'buy', I mean kidnapping the whole chain's Sprite dispenser)

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

999 would most definitely take the drink out of your hand since his little tingles tell him that whatever you were drinking was sweet

And he was very much right

You were slightly shocked but wasn't surprised since he does have quite a sweet tooth

Every now and again, SCP 999 would ask if you had any more of those drinks and would even ask what they were

You had explained to him that it's a lemon and line flavoured soft drink created by the Coca-Cola company (the more you know right?)

He was intrigued and sweetly requested if you could buy him more and you obliged

You would use your time off to buy a dozen of Sprites from McDonald's and would sometimes buy other soft drinks like Coke and Fanta for 999

Needless to say, you had an orange blob as your personal pet who would give you unlimited hugs since you spoiled him with so many drinks

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

This mf of a lizard right here is just as stubborn, if not even more than Abel, and would reject trying that beverage at all for the whole entire week

You had to bribe him and the researchers were laughing their socks off from this interaction you both got going

He did give in but was rather hesitant at first

Once you poured some into his mouth, he seemed slightly disgusted from the taste

He would just sit still for a moment as to contemplate then stuck his tongue out as a sign of disgust

But bring the cheeky person you were, you spilt more into his mouth which led to him farting for the next few hours to which everyone laughed

Dr Bright heard the commotion and came to see what was happening

Let's just say he encouraged you to carry on if you want your head cut off but found it amusing regardless

In short, don't ever give him Sprite unless you want to torture him

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

Does this bird doctor even drink?!

You mention multiple times about human food and how delicious they are

Mainly McDonald's Sprite and their food since its rather popular

ESPECIALLY THEIR CHEESE BITES/STICKS!!! HAVE YALL EVEN TRIED THEM!? THEY'RE DELICIOUS AF!!!

OMG they've released the garlic ones but I preferred the normal Mozzarella sticks and cheesy bites though

Anyways, back to Sprite, our side chick

049 would be intrigued about this 'Sprite' since you spoke so passionately about it like your life depended on it and requested you to get him one for a try and so you did

When he drank it he was surprised at the foreign taste

He asked if there were more beverages like it and you answered honestly, carrying on with your love for McDonald's and offered to buy him some for a try

Basically, 049 would give it a try since you spoke so passionately for them

He wouldn't necessarily hate it, but he wouldn't love the drink as much

I'd say he would be intrigued to try something new outside of his role in curing the pestilence

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

I am so sorry guys, I'll have to make 035 hella short since I can't think of anything interesting for him

DO YALL THINK THIS BOI CAN EVEN TRY?! JUST LOOK AT HIM!!! HE'S A BLOODY MASK!!!

The closest thing for him to try the drink is if you gave his now possessed body some beforehand so 035 could telepathically understand the taste

Like if you just straight up gave him the drink I don't think he would be able to drink it even if he wanted to

If the now dead body never had Sprite, then you ould just describe the tase to him in form of arts (I like to imagine 035 would be into arts, especially performing arts since he's basically a theatre mask)

SCP 105 (Iris)

Our girl here has a high chance that she might have tried McDonald's Sprite

But she just prefers healthier foods (this healthy mf knows that y'all can't keep healthy, that's why she's here to start your New Year's Resolution which is to stay healthy)

You both would recommend food which is healthy or unhealthy and would try them

Iris is more than capable of controlling her diet, but you, on the other hand, have a hard time doing so (don't lie, we all know y'all like junk food)

So, you both compromised in which you can have junk food as a reward, namely your favourite beverage, Sprite

You just love the citrus flavoured, colourless beverage so much that Iris would have to hide the drink from you (ah yes great promotion from me XD)

What would you do without our girl, Iris, eh? (Die from overeating unhealthy food which causes heart attacks and strokes, of course, fun!)

Anyways, sometimes when you're the one going out, you would be the one to buy a few dozen bottles of Sprite from McDonald's (bro do they even sell bottled drinks? Ik they do in KFC from where I live OwO)

Iris would drop dead from the sight of you bringing in so many Sprites into the foundation

She would most likely drink some with you, not because she likes them, god no

It's because there's no more room to store them and she's just a little bit thirsty

SCP 106 (Old Man)

This old man would be so confused by all this food and drinks from the outside world

His first impression of McDonald's was that of a circus since you've shown him the older advertisement for McDonald's since it fits his age (love you 106!!! Not)

And then you gave him a menu, and god did he not have any glasses (boi he do be needing to go to Specsavers fr)

He read Mozzarella Sticks as mosasaurs pricks, the Spicy Veggie One as spicy vag- and what's worse is that he read Double Quater Pounder as double quantum pounding (he even read Coke wrong!)

You and the foundation staff burst out of laughter at his 20/20 eyesight

So one day, you returned to the foundation with some Sprite in your hands in hopes that 106 would give it a go and so he did

He found the flavour somewhat new and strange but still enjoyed it nevertheless (this boi here do be a man of culture, am I right?)

Anyways, 106 loved it so much to the point that during one of the breaches, he disappeared from the foundation and reappeared with 10 boxes of Sprite

The researchers then realised afterwards that 106 had used his pocket dimension to teleport to the nearest McDonald's and stole the boxes of Sprite without even paying

They were even more surprised to find that the workers there were ordinary humans and weren't even fazed about 106 teleporting to their business (Sames here bro! If anyone stole my food/drinks I'd be pissed too regardless of who it is!!! Food is food!!!)

You basically made him addicted to Sprite

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

(Imma be honest here, idk if this guy eats since he's facing the wall and covering his face like 99% of the time unless some guy saw his face)

You were sat in 096's cell and was debating on what food to get from McDonald's

096 was curious about what you're talking about since he heard you mumbling bout food from this so-called "McDonald's"

So you explained to him the concept of food and that generally speaking, unhealthy foods are tastier and typically served quicker in at places like McDonald's

Imma be real here, I like Burger King's chilli cheese bites a tiny bit more since the McDonald's at my place is stuck with garlic cheese bites atm

It's not like I hate them, but I just prefer the old ones, but it's nice that McDonald's changes up their food every now and then

Anyways, back onto our side chick

You bought your favourite Sprite along with the double quantum pou- quarter pounder

096 was upon curious and so you let him have a bite of your quarter pounder and your Sprite

Let's just say that 096 found it weird and didn't ask about human food again

Dr Jack bright

Jack Bright is very much aware of McDonald's and other fast-food chains since he does have a fair share of memories of eating them with his family and because the bodies he possesses do be unhealthy af (just like you)

You were talking about food with one of your co-workers and Bright just so happened to be nearby and butted his head into the conversation

Your co-worker also just happened to leave for a meeting so you're both stuck together talking about McDonald's

Sometime later, you bought to the foundation some food, including Jack's favourites as he had mentioned not long ago

You both tried each other's food and he was mesmerised by the Sprite since it's been a while since he had it

So whenever you went back, you would buy a larger bottle of Sprite for Jack since he wouldn't have much free time and needed to drink more anyways

Sometimes, when you're both talking about food, you'd make up puns for them or just laugh at your misinterpretations since you're just as blind as a bat (btw I've read somewhere that bats have good vision, they just use echolocation a lot)

Some of the things you both would say would be "Did you hear that McDonald's gave all their employees large laptops for Christmas? They were Big Macs" and "Hey, Ronald McDonald - been watching any good clown movies? Ronald: I'm loving it"

One time, he smacked your bum and casually said to you "Girl, this quarter-pounder will take you to a whole different level of experience" and then left

Dr Simon Glass

Another doctor who has knowledge of fast foods

He's similar to Bright in a way as he doesn't leave the facility as often as he likes since he's constantly busy

Also, he would make terrible jokes and puns using wordplay

When you told him about your favourite drink, Sprite, Glass immediately said "I went to the store to get eight cans of Sprite. When I got home, I realized I’d only picked seven up"

You just looked dumbfounded at his puns and laughed as he continued

He did manage to take a sip and drank the whole can of Sprite instead

You even bought some wrap with extra mayo and told Simon about your friendly chat with the waitress/cashier and mentioned her former co-workers

And you died on the inside because his only reply was "She should go back sometime to ketchup with her old co-workers or she mayo not want to"

To shut him up, you have decided that buying him Sprite would work and it kinda did

Only for a short while though

Dr Alto Clef

Clef is well aware of the fast-food chain called McDonald's

It was hard to ignore it as a lot of people younger than him had kept talking about it, even you

Even worse if it was you talking about McDonald's since you have an obsession with their Sprite

Poor Clef was confused as he assumed that all lemon/lime flavoured drinks were the same

Oh boy was he wrong

You came back with your lunch from you know where and 2 bottles of Sprite

One was from McDonald's and the other from Lidl along with some of your favourite pastries, like croissants and toffee yum yums

You had him try all the foods and both Sprites and he finally gave in to the fact that McDonald's Sprite tastes more superior than the other

Not only that, he made dirty jokes and puns about the food in McDonald's

Like "Baby, you got more legs than a bucket of McDonald's", "Come over to my house and I’ll give ya a happy meal", "Do you work here? Because I’d like to order some fries with that shake" and "Girl when I am done with you, you won't be looking for no toys in this happy meal"

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

Benjamin Kondraki would be the type of person who would be reluctant to try but would anyways since you asked so kindly and gave them those eyes

And by that, I mean a death glare

NGL he doesn't seem like the type of fella to be eating a ton of unhealthy food

I mean he doesn't necessarily eat salad or anything overly healthy, but he does have a balanced diet for the most part and does treat himself sometimes, but not too often

You magically crept up behind Kondraki and scared him unintentionally but you still laughed anyway because you're evil

He looked down and realised that the packaging was from McDonald's and you were holding a familiar clear bottle in your other hand

You were kind enough to share your food with him and he thoroughly enjoyed it

Then after that, you forced him to drink some Sprite since he has PTSD from your unhealthy obsession with it

And yes, he did end up drinking it

And no, he didn't like it nor did he hate it

You were upset that you thought he shot you down about Sprite but quickly regained your happiness since he did tell you about the drink being just above average

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

[aminiatureworld]

Enigmatic Feelings II

Characters: Beidou, Childe, Eula, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,402

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: In which the reader’s s/o is jealous

Author’s Note: Decided to tack on two characters to the request. This is my first time writing for Eula, and I think this prompt really fit her. She really reminds me of Kaguya Shinomiya in mindset, which is kinda hilarious. I hope I wrote her well!

In case you’re wondering, I kept all the NPCs gender neutral so that the reader might interpret them as they wish.

Beidou

Beidou and her crew tended to get drunk. Like, a lot. Rowdy parties soaked in alcohol, audible from Guyun Stone Forest to Qingce Village were simply part of ship culture. Though they might’ve been loud and somewhat disorganized, there was never any sense of overstepping boundaries, and things never ended up going too far.

Or at least that’s what Beidou would’ve liked to think. Watching you and another shipmate moseying up to one another was a surprisingly unpleasant experience, and Beidou took another swig of her flask to wash out the acidic taste in the back of her mouth.

What did it even matter if someone was flirting with you? It was the end of a long haul, emotions were running high, and everyone knew that you were the captain’s partner. Everyone knew that nothing serious would come of a little flirting, and the occasional compliment or teasing remark towards you here and there had never really bothered Beidou before. She wasn’t about to be jealous of a few flirty shipmates; after all, the ability to sweet talk should probably be a requirement for signing up for piracy anyways.

Maybe it was just how blatant the flirting was, so different than the usual passing, good-natured banter. Beidou knew how well each of her shipmates could hold their liquor. She also knew how quickly norms and rules tended to be thrown out the window the moment one got plastered. Even if the shipmate meant nothing truly malicious or devious in their words, Beidou couldn’t rule out the fact that they were probably genuinely flirting.

Neither could she ignore the fact that you were distinctly flirting back. Beidou wasn’t really surprised by this turn of events, after all you’d always responded with a good natured tease at the remarks flown you way and even engaged in some meaningless flirting yourself towards the other members of the ship. It was part of ship culture after all, to be so open and careless. The sea was never calm or placid, why should her voyagers be so? Still, Beidou couldn’t deny the fact that she was uncomfortable by the current situation, protocol be damned.

A part of her wanted to go up and tell you right out; you were her partner, and she was sure that you’d be able to understand what she was feeling. Yet pride kept her at her seat, downing more liquor to distract herself from her conundrum. After all, it’d be kind of hypocritical of her to cultivate a familiar ship culture and then turn around and revoke it at the drop of a hat, wouldn’t it? Nor would it feel right to enforce rules upon others that she herself didn’t follow. It’s not like Beidou hadn’t ever flirted with or teased someone else without thinking too much about it. How could she blame her crew for following her example?

Still the sight of you and your shipmate danced in front of her eyes, urging her to do something she’d surely regret. Beidou let out a loud sigh, something that wasn’t ignored by the people around her.

“You alright captain?” Juza eyed Beidou worriedly. One of the other hard drinkers on the ship, Beidou knew that she couldn’t rely on alcohol to allay her Chief Mate’s worries.

“I’m fine!” She spoke loudly, plastering a large grin upon her face. “I was just thinking about how proud I am of all of you! How much of a tight-knit crew we are!”

Beidou could tell that she was garnering the attention of the rest of the shipmates and stood up. She had neglected to make a speech so far, so wrapped up was she in the scene playing out before her eyes. Clearing her throat Beidou held up her flask, the eager anticipation of her crewmates combining with the liquid fire in her system, causing a wave of rash confidence to run through her. At least she was an entertaining speechmaker.

“I look out upon the faces of warriors now! We may be somewhat irregular, an anomaly of the seas. However, that doesn’t change our bond, our fierce loyalty, our capabilities. I look out upon a group of people closer than family! Perhaps you’ve had brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, but tell me this! Could any of those members of your previous lives fight back to back with you? No! They could not! We are a special breed, and there will never be anyone who can understand us as we can understand each other! And we ought to never forget this! Do not forget the brotherhood forged by fire. I know that I never will!”

Cheers erupted from every corner as sailors drank gleefully. A few of the more out of commission crewmates were sobbing uglily, hugging whoever was in their vicinity and making slightly incomprehensible statements of affection and loyalty. Beidou sat down, smiling at the chaos in front of her. Yes, she really was part of a band of brothers, and there was no reason to forget or doubt that. Why was it then that she felt as if she’d been somewhat deceitful? And why was it then that her eyes once more drifted towards you and the sailor who was now enthusiastically slapping you on the back?

The rest of the night passed in a haze of alcohol, as Beidou downed drink after drink. She didn’t walk up to you, didn’t try to acknowledge the source of her unease. Why should she? It was a party after all, and there were other things to do. Passing out just as the sun was beginning its ascent once more into the sky Beidou wondered if she was always going to feel this way when anyone got slightly flirty with you. If so, well, she was in for a rough time.

The next day was greeted by a pounding headache. The sun was much too bright, and Beidou let out an annoyed yelp as she stumbled towards her window, trying to not fall flat on her face as she grasped for the curtains. Yanking on them awkwardly she had just managed to get them somewhat closed before there was a knock on her door. Cursing the captain drew herself up as much as she possibly could in her current state, hoping that her clothes didn’t look too much like she’d simply slept in them.

“Come in.”

“I thought you might want a pitcher of water.”

Your voice was soft and slightly apologetic. Letting out a sigh of relief Beidou nodded, allowing herself to stumble back towards her hammock and flop onto the blanket. Wow she had drank a lot last night. You walked over to her desk, steps too steady to be that of a hungover person. Pouring a glass of water you stared at Beidou as she drank, a question in your eyes.

“What is it? You seem to want to ask me a question.”

“Are you sure you’re up to answering?”

“Well now I won’t be able to rest until you tell me it.”

“Fair enough,” you smiled. “Was something wrong last night?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean you didn’t even walk over to me once. I was kind of surprised, to be honest.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I just want to know why you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” Beidou wrinkled her nose. Her head throbbed in protest and she quickly dropped the expression, sighing before taking another drink of water. “Well, perhaps I was slightly avoiding; but it’s wasn’t your fault.”

“Whose fault was it then?”

Beidou paused, trying to gather her thoughts as she searched for an answer. “You know that I don’t mind some familiarity on this ship.”

“Yes, as you so eloquently put last night,” you giggled slightly. Ignoring the subtle tease Beidou continued on.

“Well, I mean it; but it seems like I’m not very good at following my own rules. That shipmate you were flirting with last night? I just, I don’t know. Normally I don’t mind, y’know? But this time, well, it couldn’t stop bothering me. Even though you didn’t seem to mind it at all.”

“I didn’t mind it because he was drunk off his ass.” You pointed out, voice still soft and understanding. Taking one of Beidou’s hands in yours you leaned over to press a quick kiss on your partner’s forehead. “I’m sorry to hear it was bothering you though.”

“It’s not just that,” Beidou admitted. It seemed the floodgates of her thoughts had opened, and now she felt the need to tell you everything. “It’s that I couldn’t even follow my own rules, that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling… almost resentful. A captain, a good leader, they follow their own rules. It’s the only way to whip all the idiots into shape. But I couldn’t do that, I failed last night; I failed as a leader, I failed as a partner. I couldn’t follow my own example. Some leader.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. Squeezing Beidou’s hand you shook your head slightly. “I know that the people on this ship sort of see you as a goddess, which you are, to me at least. Still, even goddesses can sometimes have flaws. Besides, if a shipmate ever came to you with these fears you’d absolutely laugh it off, give them a pat on the back, and send them on their way. So maybe you should follow your own example in that way. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Beidou’s gut reaction was to contradict you, to point out once more how she had failed. However she was too tired, and your point was making a suspicious amount of sense. “Very well,” she smiled slightly, “you have a way with words darling. You sure you haven’t missed a career as a siren?”

“I already have a lovely sailor, thank you very much,” you giggled. Pressing soft kisses across Beidou’s cheeks you stood up. “Now drink a lot of water and get some rest. We can’t have our captain out of commission.”

“I trust I’m not the only one sleeping in today?”

“Oh definitely not! It’ll probably take a week before we’re in any shape to treasure hunt again.”

“Pity.”

“So greedy!” You gasped in fake surprise.

“As if you didn’t know that when you signed up.”

“I don’t know I never pegged you as the jealous type,” you said in a sing-song voice. Beidou felt her cheeks redden.

“Shaddup.”

Your laughter filled the cabin, bright and rejuvenating. Beidou couldn’t help but crack a small smile herself. How had she ever gotten so lucky in regards to her partner? Regardless of how, she wasn’t about to take you for granted.

  Childe

Childe liked to think of himself as one of the “good ones” when it came to Harbingers to work under. Was he somewhat demanding and only expected the best when it came to combat? Well, yes. Did he regularly debase his coworkers and underlings? No, he wasn’t Scaramouche after all. As long as you were passionate in your drive to serve the Tsaritsa and as long as you never missed out on your training, well Childe was sure that he could never have a problem with you.

That was, in fact, not true.

One of the Fatui messengers had been talking to you for almost twenty minutes now, though about what Childe hadn’t the slightest idea. After all, he’d already gotten the message that he needed, and the messenger surely had no business with you – you didn’t even work for the Fatui. Still there the messenger stood and there you stood next to him, a small smile on your face as you let out a soft laugh in regards to whatever they were saying.

Childe knew that he had no reason to feel as he did, but that didn’t stop irritation from rising inside him, and a sudden urge to flaunt his superiority that he usually reserved for the field of battle rose up inside of him. He didn’t quite understand why he was suddenly struggling against the urge to run up to you and throw his arms around you, but the urge was certainly there. What in Teyvat were you talking to that messenger about? What could possibly take up so much of your time? Considering the small fragments of conversation that made it to his ears Childe ruled that it was nothing truly of importance.

Letting himself lounge even more across his office chair Childe let out a slight sound of annoyance. Weren’t the two of you doing something before the nuisance came along? Sure, it wasn’t necessarily the most important thing, but discovering the best place in Liyue to study the stars was hardly worthless. After all, being somewhere high up and with a good view meant a better survey of the land around you. Who knew when some pesky Millelith or intrepid adventurer might try to attack the Fatui members scattered across the plains and mountains in Liyue? It was imperative to have eyes on everything, certainly more important than whatever this was!

Finally giving into his rising irritation Childe walked over to the two of you. Slinging an arm around your shoulder, Childe tried to give the messenger a smile that didn’t convey ‘scram or I’m kicking you out’. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my partner and I have business to do and I’m sure that your other messages won’t deliver themselves. To the Tsaritsa information is everything and all that, so you should probably make sure people actually get said information.”

“Oh, uh, yes my lord. I’m sorry.”

The messenger pulled himself up straighter, giving an awkward bow. Turning to go the messenger didn’t fail to turn back around to give you one last smile. Accentuating his smile once more Childe finally detached himself from you as the messenger walked out of the office, shutting the door softly behind him.

After that the messenger seemed to be showing up everywhere. Childe could’ve sworn he was getting more mail in a week than he had in all his previous months in Liyue. Not to mention how awkward the timing of the deliveries seemed to seemed to be. What was the point of getting “important” mail right before the Bank ostensibly closed? What was Childe supposed to do with the information now? Never mind the fact that the letters and notes he was getting seemed to be getting more and more mundane, even nonsensical. A shipment of weaponry to be picked up, that might be important. But specifications on the renovations Dottore was making on his lair? Why would Childe ever need to know something like that?

Nor did it escape Childe’s notice that these messages always seemed to come with at least twenty minutes of conversation with you. How was the Harbinger supposed to concentrate when someone was yakking away in his office? Besides, what did it matter to you what this person’s favorite flowers were? Childe knew that the Tsaritsa was often quite ingenious in her schemes, but he truly couldn’t see what relaying someone’s favorite flowers could do? Had he mentioned before that you weren’t even a member of the Fatui?

Every day the messenger would endlessly chat with you about the stupidest things, and every day Childe would end up interrupting the two of you. What started with slinging an arm around your shoulder was slowly escalating. First it was an arm, then two, then an arm around your waist, then a head on your shoulder. One time he’d even pulled you right against him, smiling slightly as you let out a squeak of surprise.

Of course Childe knew what he was experiencing, was not necessarily unfamiliar with the concept of jealousy. Still, he wasn’t about to tell you about it. After all jealousy was a shallow, grasping sort of emotion; something that caused generals to fight against one another to approach him or the Harbingers instead of tending to their own troops. Jealousy was a useless sort of emotion, and not one that a warrior such as himself ought to feel. Besides, did he really need to feel jealous about an annoyingly persistent messenger? They were hardly above a weed in the hierarchy of things.

Still, Childe couldn’t exactly deny that he was feeling jealous. Avoidance was one thing, deceit was another. Even if he didn’t want to tell you about what he was feeling, he would never lie to you about it. Which is why at the end of another tedious twenty minute conversation when the messenger had finally left and you turned around to ask him if something was wrong Childe found himself frozen, stuck between quite the rock and a hard place.

“Why would you ask such a question darling? Does something seem wrong to you?”

“Childe, please. You’ve been clingier than barnacle recently. Are you even supposed to be at the office today; weren’t you supposed to inspect an outpost in Dragonspine today?”

“I just wanted to spend some time with my wonderful, amazing partner! Is there something wrong with that?”

“For you? Yes, there absolutely is. Childe, are, are you upset about something?”

Childe stared at you for a moment, crumbling under your persistent gaze. He could tell that you were worried, could tell in the slant of your mouth and the furrow of your brow. He couldn’t very well say no. That would be lying after all. He was upset about something, even if it was something utterly beneath him. He was still upset.

“That messenger has been annoying me.”

“The one that just left?” You turned to look at the closed door behind you, a puzzled expression on your face. “But why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re flirting with you.”

“They’re not!” Your expression was incredulous, but you paused for a moment, obviously thinking about something very seriously. “At least, I don’t think they are. Are they?”

“Yes,” Childe let out a snort. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice. Why else would they be delivering the most worthless information before chatting with you when they should be somewhere else?”

“I guess you’re right,” you admitted. “But Childe, it’s not like I’d ever be interested in them. I mean, I can see how it’d be kind of annoying to have someone invade your personal space, but why the clinginess?”

Childe stared at you for a moment. “You’re kinda dense you know.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh you absolutely are. How else would you not realize that I’m jealous?”

“Well, well because I don’t know. You just don’t seem the jealous type. Besides, it’s not like I’d ever have interest in anyone other than you. I don’t know, I just don’t see the point.”

“You really are dense.” Childe smiled a small, frustrated smile. Letting his head drop into the crook of your neck he let out sigh. “I know that there’s no reason that I should’ve be jealous. I just, am. I don’t know why, but seeing that messenger flirting with you for days on end, I couldn’t help it.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Your tone shifted slightly as you reached up to card gentle fingers through Childe’s orange locks. “Sometimes we’re just weird like that. Just as long as you know that you never have reason to be jealous, then you can be jealous sometimes. Alright?”

“Alright.” Childe whispered, finally letting himself relax a bit.

Raising his head he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a small purr of happiness, gladly reciprocating. The weight on the Harbinger’s chest lightened, and he was finally met with the feeling of lazy contentment.

“Now, don’t you have an inspection to attend?” You smiled indulgently. “Go on, I’ve got errands to do anyways. As much as I appreciate the attention, you have to lessen the clinginess, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises darling.”

The sound of your indignant squawk, combined with Childe’s laughter, chased him out of the room and down the staircase.

  Eula

As a member of the esteemed Lawrence family Eula was confident in the fact that such base emotions as jealousy were utterly beneath her. What did people take her for? A commoner? What a presumptuous line of thought!

No, it was certainly not jealousy that Eula was feeling right now. What a preposterous notion. She was simply irritated that a Guild member had forgotten all respect due to the Knights of Favonius. After all, you were a part of Mondstadt’s frontline protectors, a far cry from those poor fools who relied only upon commission to prove their worth. Yes, it was simply how presumptuous that lowly Guild member was being, taking up your time on your patrol across the parapet of the wall surrounding Monstadt, to engage in such a frivolous act as flirting.

Surely there was nothing more to it? No, it was not even worth it to pose such a stupid question. After all, what was a lowly adventurer to Eula? A nuisance, perhaps, but nothing more. Certainly nothing to be worried about. There was no reason to pause at the tower door, no reason not to simply walk over to you, her partner and coworker. Your time on patrol was done, it was time to come in. Why then was she hesitating?

“You must love the view up here,” the adventurer smiled widely.

“Yes, it’s very nice!” You were all smiles.

“I’m sure it’s made all the more beautiful by your presence,” the adventurer pressed on.

“Ah, t-thanks,” you replied, smiling again and reaching to grasp the back of your neck. “Really, you’re too kind.”

“Not at all!”

The adventurer appeared to want to say something else, but Eula had long ago decided that things had gone too far. Who did this mere Guild member think they were?

“Your time is up soldier, you are needed in the afternoon meeting.”

Eula tried to keep her posture as correct as possible, looking straight past the interloper to you. You seemed to brighten, rushing over to Eula and nodding enthusiastically.

“Eula! Of course! I’ll be down, right this instant.”

“Good,” Eula replied, giving a curt not. Glancing over towards the adventurer she crossed her arms. “As for you, layawaying a knight of Favonius is a blemish upon the Adventurer’s Guild. Such a discretion surely must be paid with vengeance. Mark my words, I will not let this deed go unpunished.”

The adventurer stiffed. Taking a step towards Eula their face contorted into a snarl. “Listen here you Lawrence –”

“We’ll be going now!” You jumped in, glancing at you Eula nodded. Turning around she kept her features neutral. However she noticed the way you gestured apologetically at the fool before going to follow Eula, expression one of undeniable embarrassment.

Perhaps it was too much to hope that the adventurer might’ve learned their lesson. There they were the next day, standing right in front of you, acting as if yesterday’s squabble had never happened. Talking your ear off just as before Eula couldn’t help but frown at how they were to you, how they always seemed just about to brush their fingers against yours. How crude to do such a thing to a perfect stranger.

“Dear, is everything alright?”

Your voice snapped Eula out of her reverie. The two of you were walking towards Headquarters to grab your extra equipment before heading home. Normally Eula cherished such quiet moments, feeling like they were the few times when she could be utterly confident, utterly herself. This time however she found the events of the week pressing on her. Only managing to nod Eula quickened her pace slightly, as if to outrun the feelings that were growing inside her.

 “Hey, is something wrong?”

Eula lifted her gaze away from the papers she’d been halfheartedly scanning, her eyes meeting Amber’s. Eula would be the first person to admit that she wasn’t exactly sure how she had become friends with the eccentric Outrider. Indeed most of the things about Amber on paper grated Eula quite a bit. Still Amber was probably Eula’s closest coworker – other than you – and closest thing to a best friend that Eula had. It was perhaps unsurprising that Amber should notice something was wrong, and Eula was almost pleased by the fact that Amber was concerned about her.

“Nothing of great importance,” the knight replied. “There is only a nuisance which has been taking up a great deal of time and seems to still be interfering, despite all my efforts.”

“What kind of nuisance?” Amber tilted her head. Eula looked away, staring at the shelves that lined her office. She didn’t really want to look her coworker in the eyes.

“A, human nuisance. There has been an adventurer from the Guild who has been taking up a great deal too much of my partner’s time. They are utterly too presumptive in familiarity, and I feel that they are jeopardizing the Knights of Favonius with their irresponsible actions. Yet, despite all my efforts, they refuse to rethink their devious ways. It is no small problem.”

“That does sound very unpleasant.”

“Indeed, and yet I know not what to do. My reprimands have fallen on deaf ears.”

“Have you thought of maybe telling your partner.”

“Why would I ever reveal such feelings to my partner?!” Eula whipped her head around to look at Amber. The smile on her face was somewhat self-congratulatory.

“Eula, can I ask if you’ve considered something?”

“What is that?” Whatever Amber was about to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

“Have you considered the possibility that you might be jealous?”

“What, what nonsense! As if I should ever fall prey to such, to such base sensibilities!” Eula felt her face redden. Finding a particularly dirty spot upon the ground Eula stared intently past her friend. No, surely Amber was wrong.

“If you say so,” Amber shrugged. “But you might want to think about it. I mean, if I were feeling jealous I’d want to tell my partner. Besides, isn’t it the duty of a knight of Favonius to be honest and true?”

“You’re taking this awfully seriously,” Eula mumbled.

“Maybe,” Amber smiled, “but I do care about you. Remember that.”

With that the Outrider grabbed the paper she’d presumably been looking for and walked out the door before Eula could think of any sort of comeback. Turning her gaze back to her work Eula let out an exasperated sigh. Vengeance would be required against her coworker for such a ridiculous suggestion.

It was beginning to get on evening as Eula raced towards your regular guard spot. She’d worked later than usual today, probably spurned on by irritation at Amber’s ridiculous suggestions, and now Eula hoped that you hadn’t given up waiting for her and decided to go home. Climbing up the stairs her mind drifted once more to what Amber had said. Jealous? A member of the Lawrence clan was jealous? No, it was surely ridiculous. I mean, sure, she found the majority of her family members repulsive and vain and lazy to a fault, but surely she had to take something out of all the time she had spent within their midst. Besides, appearances had to be kept up, if only for the song and dance that the other people of Liyue insisted on continuing, long after it had stopped being of any use.

And yet, if she really was jealous, which of course she wasn’t, wouldn’t it be right to tell you? It was these thoughts that chased Eula. As she reached the top of the stairs to the opening of the parapet she decided that, if Amber’s theory were somehow proved right, she would tell you. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the familiar silhouette of an adventurer meant it was the perfect time to figure this question out.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled. “Still, Monstadt must be guarded day and night, mustn’t it?”

“Ah yes, the Knights must do all they can to protect our glorious city. Still, would there not be another reason for you staying up here so late?”

“Not particularly,” you shook your head.

“Are you sure about that?” The adventurer leaned towards you. Eula once more felt her heart seize up with that now all too common emotion. Was this jealousy?

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure.” The more that Eula had watched this song and danse the more she had realized how awkward you seemed around this person.

“Oh come on, a lonely figure looking out from on a wall, it’s sounds pretty story-like doesn’t it? Then again, you are straight out of a fairytale.”

“Thanks,” you replied, laughing somewhat awkwardly.

At this point Eula had come to a decision. Regardless of what this emotion was, and she was becoming increasingly worried it was, in fact, jealousy, you still seemed to be somewhat uncomfortable. Walking out onto the parapet she took your hand, glaring at the adventurer which stood across from you.

“I see you are once more distracting one of the Knights.”

“They didn’t mind, did you?” The adventurer’s mouth screwed up into something resembling a sneer. When you said nothing they shook their head. “You just had to come and make everything awkward; typical of a Lawrence member to be such a pain in the ass.”

“And now you insult one of the Knights! Indeed, the punishment will surely be great; and, until I decide what punishment is to be meted out, I suggest you take your leave.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” The adventurer sputtered, but Eula merely smiled.

“Indeed I can. If I find you harassing one of our Knights one more time, know that I will not be so lenient as to merely give you a warning.”

“I wasn’t harassing anyone!”

“Distracting them then, making them unable to perform their duties, being a public nuisance. Do any of these serve you better?” Eula waved her hand. “Not that the terminology matters at this point. What matters is that you stop your current behavior.”

“Please just listen to what Eula says,” you piped up. Smiling a small smile you walked over to the adventurer. “I know that you were just trying to flirt, but I think that you should shoot your shot elsewhere now. Okay?”

The adventurer looked slightly red in the face, though whether it was embarrassment or anger was anyone’s guess. Slinking away, grumbling something under their breath, the Guild member was soon down the stairs and out of sight.

Sighing loudly you turned to Eula.

“Thanks for that. I mean, really! I don’t think they were trying to be actively malicious, but really sometimes you just have to read a room! I’m just glad I didn’t have to break it to them by myself.”

Staring at the stones under her feet Eula found herself mumbling something.

“What?”

“It, it wasn’t for your sake.”

“Ah yes, I know, it was for the honor and glory of the Knights of Favonius! Still, thank you.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. It was that, well, Amber’s been talking to me.”

“Amber?” You tilted your head, evidently confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. “What was she talking to you about?”

“About a very foolish emotion, one that I would never dream of feeling myself. And yet, I, I do believe that maybe, just maybe mind you, it had a factor in, in my actions.” Unwilling to come right out with it Eula found herself frowning. “The audacity of her really, to imply that a member of the Lawrence family might experience something as base as jealousy!”

Looking up towards you Eula saw recognition pass over your features. For a moment you did nothing, then suddenly a small, soft smile broke out on your face. Walking over to Eula, you gently enclosed your partner’s hands in yours.

“Thank you for telling me Eula, I’m sure it must’ve been difficult.”

“I-I’m not sure about it yet!” Eula stammered. “Only Amber wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“That does sound like Amber,” you let out a soft laugh. “Still, thank you for telling me. It means a lot to me, okay?”

“A-alright.”

“I’m glad.”

You leaned over to give Eula a quick peck, before turning to walk down the stairs. Eula followed, one of her hands still intertwined firmly with yours. Suddenly her heart felt lighter than it had all week.

[asmallnerd]

Autistic Shoto Todoroki

The analysis

First off, I would like to say that this is purely a passion project. I am not a professional, I am an autistic teenager and I’m just very interested in this character because I heavily relate to him. I’ve collected some scenes from the manga and two specific things from the third light novel.

If you could boost this (if you’re interested that’d be great because while I really enjoy doing this it does take a lot of time! With that being said let’s dive into this and I hope you find this interesting!

Could Shoto Todoroki be autistic? Here is why I think he absolutely could.

Emotional perception

Let’s start with one of the most obvious things about his character. The emotional factor.

Shoto doesn’t emote in the way his peers do. Now, of course this also plays into the brooding mysterious guy archetype, but that’s not what we’re talking about.

Shoto’s face is typically relatively neutral, this is apparent from the moment we first meet him and while he does tend to express his emotions more clearly later in the story, it doesn’t ever really change. Something that immediately comes to mind is how in chapter 202 Iida asks if Shoto is alright because Iida noticed his expression change (because he knows him very well by this point). Ojiro points out that he did not notice this, since Shoto’s face barely changes at all.

We see Shoto in a lot of situations where his peers show excitement while his expression remans completely flat. This lack of emoting is something extremely common in people with autism. It’s not that they don’t have emotions or don’t express them at all, they just do it in a way that is hard to understand for people outside the spectrum or those who don’t know the autistic individual very well. They often struggle to understand what emotion they’re feeling in the first place and of course it’s hard to express feelings if you don’t know what you’re feeling.

Shoto doesn’t only show difficulty expressing his emotions but also recognizing those of other people. One of the best examples of this is the final exam arc, where he gets paired up with Yaoyorozu. In chapter 63 specifically, he doesn’t realize that Yaoyorozu is upset about something even though to someone else it’d probably have been obvious. Only when Aizawa points out that he should listen to her does he notice that he’s been doing something wrong. Shoto didn’t notice she was upset, and he didn’t notice he was being rude.

Emotions and emotional responses are continuously shown to be difficult for Shoto to handle. What he has absolutely no issues with, on the other hand, are academics. Of course, we can naturally assume that he’s been drilled to study hard from a very young age, but he is also extremely intelligent outside of the classroom. During the sports festival he is the first person shown to figure out that the obstacle course poses a lot more disadvantages to the people in the lead, during the practical exam, he is able to come up with a solid strategy very quickly.

During the training camp arc, him and Deku are the ones to come up with a strategy to protect Bakugo on the spot. He also doesn’t seem to consider his intelligence anything special. A lot of autistic people tend to assume that other people’s experiences align with their own. This can be seen when he seems surprised about Denki worrying that he’ll fail the written final exam. He asks how he could possibly fail if he’s been attending class, like the concept is entirely foreign to him (also there’s about a 0% chance this was a joke because this is Shoto we’re talking about.) He is very good at logical problem solving but emotional issues seem to stump him.

Literacy and verbal filters

Moving on, another big factor that Shoto seems to struggle with is his tendency to be overly literal and very blunt. There are several instances where he says things that we as readers as well as other characters perceive as insensitive. Once again, his interaction with Denki about the final exams (chapter 60) can be an example. He didn’t seem to think it was inappropriate and because this is Shoto, he didn’t ask to tease him either. Denki even points out that this was insensitive to say. A more subtle example is his conversation with Izuku in chapter 73, when they talk about Kota. His overall phrasing is fine, but he remains very blunt and direct and essentially ends up telling Izuku that his tendency to cut to people’s hearts with his words is annoying.

My personal favorite for an example can be found in chapter 83, in the hospital after the training camp, when the class visits Izuku, Shoto points out that “Of course Bakugo isn’t here.” Needless to say, he couldn’t possibly have timed this statement any worse. It wasn’t necessary in the first place, but he didn’t register it as something inappropriate to say.

One example of not him being unintentionally rude but just showing a different approach to telling the truth is seen in the third light novel. The fifth chapter revolves around the class preparing a birthday party for Iida. At one point, Sato asks if Iida has food allergies out of nowhere. Iida naturally asks why he needs to know this, Shoto is immediately ready to answer the question honestly, which would have spoiled the surprise, had Izuku not stepped in.

Autistic people often have trouble seeing whether something is or isn’t appropriate to say. Neurotypical people’s brains have a filtering process, it helps them be aware of possible responses to a statement. This filtering process is not functional or only limited in autistic people.

Shoto is also overly literal. In chapter 57, he gets upset over his friends continuously getting their hands hurt and refers to himself as “the hand crusher”. He is very serious about this and does not understand how Iida and Izuku could possibly think he was joking.

In chapter 164, he answers Gang Orca’s metaphoric question entirely seriously. During the interview training in chapter 241 he first seems confused by the made-up mission in the first place. He then proceeds to ask Mt Lady if she has a heart condition when she uses the phrase “My heart would burst out of my chest”. Finally, he appears genuinely horrified when she calls him a “lady killer” (“My smile will kill women..?!”)

In chapter 257, when Mineta claims school talk will “ruin the taste of the food”, Shoto simply says it tastes the same to him, to which Mineta proceeds to call him out for being overly literal.

Autistic people typically struggle to understand jokes and sarcasm, in fact, it’s often one of the main characteristics in people with an ASD diagnosis.

Overfamiliarity and Oversharing

Shoto’s tendency to overshare is another thing that is very typical foe ASD.

He doesn’t seem to understand that telling his life story to a classmate he’s barely interacted with prior is not exactly an appropriate thing to do. He repeats this later with All Might and, most notably, in chapter 165, when talking to the preschoolers during his provisional licensing course.

He also seems to have a slightly different perception of what makes someone friends than his classmates. As shown in chapter 241, to him, spending time with Bakugo during the licensing course is enough to deem them friends. Even when Bakugo points out that there is no correlation between the time spent together and friendship, he still doesn’t seem to understand.

Autistic people tend to become overly familiar and are easily attached to people if they perceive just one of their interactions as positive.

Attachment to inanimate things

This is something not really shown in the manga, but noteworthy, nonetheless. We know that Shoto, upon moving into the dorm building, remodeled his entire room from a modern, more western style room, into a traditional Japanese style one. The second chapter of the third novels goes into depth about why he did this. Shoto was entirely dumbstruck and thrown off by how different the room is from what he was used to. He knew the traditional Japanese rooms from home and his brain assumed that the dorms would be the same. He felt like the different style was wrong. He doesn’t like the unfamiliar flooring and even a small thing like the positioning of the light switch bother him.

He’s not comfortable in the unfamiliar environment, so he decides to change it.

Autistic people often struggle to adjust to changes. In environment and routine. They feel most comfortable in a well established and familiar routine, that includes the feel of their living space. A change of environment this drastic would be extremely stressful for someone on the spectrum.

Another thing that isn’t particularly obvious but does make sense when considered is that Shoto seems to have a comfort food (cold soba). While he’s never shown or stated to be a picky eater he does seem to opt for the same food whenever he gets the chance. Autistic people often have a very restricted diet due to sensory processing issues that apply to food textures, smells and taste.

Additional points

Shoto seems to be a little face blind. He doesn’t know who Kota is when Izuku mentions him, which seems to genuinely surprise Izuku. He also didn’t remember Inasa at all despite them having been at the same entrance exam.

In chapter 202 he’s shown completely zoning out. Of course, this can happen to anyone, I just found it interesting because it was shown so clearly, making it obvious that it was something we should pay attention to.

In the novel chapter in which he remodels his room it is also mentioned that the feeling of synthetic floor against his feet upsets him.

Shoto also seems relatively indifferent to temperature. Of course, that would correlate to his quirk as well, but it is also common for autistic people to struggle with temperature perception as well as other things that neurotypical people don’t struggle to recognize like hunger or thirst. This specifically applies to situations where you would typically end up in pain like, for example, frostbite. Shoto would obviously be used tot his but him showing no reaction at all to his body halfway freezing over was a little unnerving.

He also is shown to be relatively uninterested in certain social events like for example the room competition after the class moves into the dorms. He doesn’t want to be there; he’d rather go to sleep. In the beginning he also shows clear disinterest in making friends with his classmates. Both very typical things for people on the spectrum.

In chapter 244, Hawks asks Shoto a question in a way that seems to confuse him so much he can’t even form a coherent response. [Hawks: “Seemed like you were in trouble, Endeavor.” Endeavor: “Me? Not a chance.” Hawks: “But it seemed that way, didn’t it, Shoto?” Shoto: “Um..I…uh…”]

He probably didn’t register if Hawks actually wanted him to answer or not.

In chapter 64 he mistakes Yaoyorozu crying for her feeling sick, horribly misreading her expressions.

This last point is more personal than the rest, watching his reactions to Endeavor’s fight with the Nomu in chapter 190 made me think of the stress progression that often causes autistic shutdowns. Shoto was clearly becoming more and more stressed as he was watching and once it was over simply seemed to shut down. That is a very typical response to emotional distress or overstimulation in autistic people.

Final disclaimer

This is purely for my own entertainment; it is not meant to be offensive to anyone and I am not saying that this is absolutely what is going on. I’m simply elaborating on a theory/headcanon that I have. That being said, if you have questions feel free to drop them in the ask box, I’d be thrilled!

[icedflames]

I’m getting too irritated with these people who say that Azriel is only lusting over Elain as if Cassian wasn’t only lusting over Nesta back in Acomaf, Wings and Ember proves that. The double standard when the woman your fave is simping over is the character that you can’t self-insert💀

I mean... it’s just silly to expect a romantic declaration in a chapter that a very small number of readers can get. It’s just as silly to say that Nesta and Cassian’s dynamic is so different from Elain and Azriel’s so therefore, Azriel doesn’t feel as deeply for Elain. If you read closely enough, Azriel’s feelings for Elain are quite clear in the bonus chapter and throughout ACOSF. I’ve compiled all the hints in the book here and here.

Nesta and Cassian are loud, rough, and passionate. Elain and Azriel are quiet, soft, and intimate. Nesta and Cassian circle each other like predators. Elain and Azriel do a quiet dance and slowly drift towards each other. 

Both couples are like night and day.

Given that, there are a lot of parallels and similar themes...

These may be totally out of order but... You get the jist. 

Wings and Embers

And in those blue-gray eyes, he could see the thoughts swirling in her as if they were smoke under glass. The cunning mind at work behind that face—the one he hadn’t been able to get out of his head these weeks.

Azriel’s POV

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Wings and Embers

Cassian leaned toward her, and Nesta found herself tipping her head back, exposing her neck, granting him utter access as he grazed his nose against her throat.

&&

So he’d just . . . moved.

And then Nesta had tipped up her chin, allowing him access to her throat.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  

Offer and permission.

Wings and Embers

“It’s easier, isn’t it,” Cassian breathed, crossing the distance again, not caring who saw them standing in the bay window. “To wield the words and the coldness as armor to keep everyone from seeing where and who you failed and how you did not care until it was too late.”

Only hatred gleamed in her eyes, no hint of that slumbering lust that had addled his senses.

“Well, I see it, Nesta Archeron. And all I see is a bored and spoiled girl—”

&&

Something must have shown on her face, in her scent.

Because his annoyance vanished—no, it shifted. Into something else, something . . . Rage.

That’s what stilled Cassian’s face. Pure, burning rage.

It robbed her of breath, of any sort of sense that she might indeed have the upper hand as he ground out, “Who.”

Azriel’s POV

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed.

&&

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

Wings and Embers

Soft—her skin was so soft; so fragile. He could scent the mortal blood rushing just beneath. Cassian breathed in the smell of her into his lungs, stirring his cock as it latched onto some intrinsic part of him and sank its talons deep.

Nesta Nesta Nesta

Her eyes drifted closed, and a small, breathless sound came out of her as Cassian brushed his lips over where his nose had touched.

Azriel’s POV

Letting scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. 

Wings and Embers

It hit him in the gut so hard he could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back into his head.

&&

Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he’d find himself on his knees, begging her for a touch, for anything.

But he leaned in, and grazed the tip of his nose along the side of her neck.

Azriel’s POV

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.

Wings and Embers

His knees nearly buckled as her slender hand dug into his fighting leathers. He tried not to think of what that hand would feel like on other parts of him. Gripping him; stroking him.

Azriel’s POV

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

&&

Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make.

Wings and Embers

“I’ll mail the letter tomorrow morning.” Nesta paused with her hand on the knob and looked over a shoulder. “You know nothing about who I am, and what I’ve done, and what I want. And while we’re on the subject . . . Send someone else next time. If I see you on my doorstep, I’ll scream loud enough for the servants to come running.

Azriel’s POV

“Snarl all you want." Rhys leaned back in his chair. "But if I see you panting after her again, I'll make you regret it.”

ACOMAF Chapter 39

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business.

ACOSF Chapter 59

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

Both chapters make it clear that there is some intense sexual attraction but also - Cassian can read Nesta and see through her. Azriel doesn’t need his shadows to read Elain. He knows her. 

Cassian clearly feels something for Nesta. As does Azriel. But they are two very different male leads who will express those feelings very differently. 

As a side note, SJM did not know if Nesta and Cassian would get their own book so I think she purposely made their chapter more overt in terms of romantic/sexual undertones. She found out that she would get to write their book after ACOMAF was published. 

SJM has also left enough breadcrumbs throughout ACOSF to assume that Azriel is most likely in love with Elain. He’s tormented, he’s upset, he can’t sleep, something is eating at him. I mean it’s right there. 

If he just had sexual feelings for Elain, he’d take Rhys’ suggestion and go to the pleasure house. Why risk all the trouble for a quick fuck? Why get so upset over that? It’s never stopped him before. 

Sorry for the soliloquy, I’ll stop talking now 😅

[anathtsurugi]

A sneak peek at chapter 3...

Well, the new chapter won’t be up until next Monday, so I thought you all might like a little taste now.

If you’re interested and/or able, the full chapter is available right now on my Patreon. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy...

~*~

Rex didn't often feel the need to indulge Jesse's 'moods'. Outside of a hot combat zone, his brother had his way of dealing with things and he had his. He didn't often grasp Jesse's sense of humor and so had given up trying. But as the pair of them made their way to the comms center to flag the Council the next morning, it became almost painfully difficult to ignore the other trooper's subtle smirk and sideways glances. Difficult to the point of-

"All right, soldier," he finally snapped in exasperation, "before you ask anything-"

"Oh, I wasn't gonna, Commander," he mocked playfully, offering a dig to Rex's pauldron. "But since you brought it up, answer me one thing."

"No promises," Rex ground out.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yes, actually. We did," he threw back in triumph.

"We, Commander?" Jesse needled, raising a pointed eyebrow at him as he moved to walk backwards in front of him.

"Kark," he grunted in self-chastisement as he shook his head.

"Speaking freely here, Rex, but Thank. Kark," Jesse groaned with a kind of acerbic relief. "A lot of us were starting to wonder if the pot was just gonna keep growing indefinitely."

"The pot?" Rex pressed as his brother fell back into step with him.

"Oh, yeah. Longest standing betting pool in the seedy underbelly of the 501st. When's Rex gonna lose his-"

"You all were betting on me?" he demanded incredulously.

"Don't look so shocked there, Rex. I wouldn't let it bother you. Besides, I guess the winner's technically Echo...even if he isn't part of the 501st anymore."

"Why? What was his bet?" he asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, suddenly wondering if he even should've rescued his vod from the clutches of the Techno Union.

"Always said it wasn't gonna happen. That that particular piece of hardware was gonna stay shiny unless it was with someone you really loved," he said, suddenly becoming serious as they entered the center. "And you love her."

The only response Rex could manage as they gathered at the projector was a nod. It was the truest thing he'd ever known but, at the same time, it was still so new...so fragile...

"Course, she loves you, too...y'know, if that was something you were worried about."

"Honestly, Jesse, I'll probably just spend the rest of my life waiting for her to wake up and realize she can do better than someone like me," he said, staring vaguely down at the glowing projector ring, not really seeing it.

"Don't sell yourself short there, vod," Jesse said, voice striking a balance somewhere between solemn and silly. "You're always saying how she's the best of the Jedi, well...you're probably the best of us. That's gotta count for something."

"Jesse-"

But before he could get another word in, an image flickered to life beside them. An image of Anakin Skywalker.

In the few moments he had to look at his general before Anakin noticed them, Rex had to say that he looked...exhausted. He had seen the Jedi knight running on little sleep and lack of food, but this was different. The weariness he saw was bone deep...soul deep even. The only thing he could think to compare it to was...the brief glimpses he'd caught of Master Kenobi's face after Duchess Satine's death.

"General?" he started in concern before he could stop himself. But when Anakin looked over to see them, his expression visibly brightened just that little bit.

"Hey, Rex, Jesse. I understand the 501st's oldest pool has been...resolved," he said with a tiny look of amusement.

"Sir, yes, Sir," Jesse said with obvious relish. "Seems the Commander here was kept up quite late."

"Careful there, Jesse. That's my Snips you're talking about," the Jedi warned, his voice only mildly threatening. Then he shifted his eyes more toward Rex. "She sorta grew up without us, didn't she."

"That she did- Sir," he said awkwardly, struggling to keep his expression neutral. Just because their general knew about the situation probably didn't mean he would want to hear about his former apprentice in certain...situations.

"Guess this is the part where I tell you that if you hurt her, you die," he said with a shrug, the same almost haunted weariness flickering back across his face. "Doesn't matter how many battles we've fought."

"Though I wouldn't doubt she's capable of killing me herself if it ever came to that...if it ever did, General...I would let you take my head off and gladly...because I wouldn't deserve to have it at that point," he said, his hands briefly clenching into fists as his gaze dropped.

But the silence following his words seemed to stretch almost too long, and when he finally looked back up at his general, it was to a look he couldn't wholly identify in his eyes. Ultimately, though, the look collapsed into an exhausted smile before the Jedi nodded in approval.

"You'll be fine. We're gonna have a lot to talk about when you guys get back, and I do mean a lot. But Rex, until then I've really only got one order for you."

"General?"

"Take care of her. Take care of each other. No matter what happens, I want you to be there for her," he said, as serious as Rex had ever heard him.

"You don't have to order that of me... nor even ask it," he returned. "As I told Maul when this all started, I would choose her life over mine every time. I will always protect her. Always."

"I believe you," Anakin said with a sure look, but before he could say anything more, he looked over and offered a subtle, "Master Windu," in greeting just before the older Jedi stepped into the holo image, letting them know that the conversation was over. But as Jesse gave a brief recounting of his time in command of the new division, Rex's thoughts kept going back to the strange looks he'd seen on Anakin's face. He couldn't make sense of it, but he could see that something was going on with his general.

The sooner they got back to Coruscant, the better.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Take Care of Me

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 5.5k

Summary = A discussion about sex toys turns into something more … concrete

Warnings = Swearing, talk/description of mild anxiety. SMUT (18+ only), use of handcuffs in a sexy way, oral, piv sex

A/N = Prompt no.8 requested by @itspdameronthings​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” w/santi and bolded in text. Also 3 things; 1 = Tom doesn’t exist in this AU, 2 = this is basically pure smut im so sorry, and 3 = I did do head hopping in this, which I know you’re not like supposed to do but also fuck the rules y’know?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

It’s always easy to be loose after one of Benny’s fights.

It’s a heady mix of adrenaline, beer and testosterone, swirling together into a mix that makes you forget your normal boundaries. You’re normally quite brazen about your sex life anyway, but there is a line. You respect your partners, and there’s no need for your teammates to know too much.  

You’re all packed into a half-moon booth, Benny straddling a chair that he pulled up to the table after he spent too long chatting up the bartender.

It’s a small comment from Benny (because of course it’s Benny), saying that you haven’t got laid in a while, and you’re honestly surprised he noticed. But then, that’s the only predictable thing about Benny, that he is unpredictable.

Your surprise means you take a little too long actually thinking about it, which confirms Benny’s statement. You lean back a little in your seat, desperately ignoring Santi, who’s sat to your left. It also means you bite back a little harder in defence.

“Well maybe if you guys didn’t look like you’re about to murder anyone who even dares ask for my number maybe I’d have better luck.” That’s a lie, but there’s no way you’re going to tell them the truth. No way you’re going to tell Santi-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will, sat to your right. “So you’re asking for our help?”

You scoff, hitting him up the head. “No, thank you.” Will knows why. Because of course he does. One of your oldest friends, he’d been the one who convinced you to join the team in the first place. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

You send a wink down to the table to Benny, who’s the first to catch on, hollering, and you try not to react to Santi leaning forward, suddenly interested, as though you’re not already hyper-aware of every body movement of his.

You continue, deciding you’re quite enjoying the effect you’ve had. “What do I need some stranger for when I can give myself a better orgasm than he could ever dream of?” You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin, as both Benny and Will holler, gaining a few glares from the pub’s other patrons.

That sip means you’re unprepared for Santi to lean in closer to you, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath. “Maybe ‘stranger’ is where you’re going wrong.”

You swallow, unprepared for the sudden flare of attraction shooting through you and turning your head, just as he says, “I could take care of you.”

You catch a glimpse of Santi’s fuck me eyes when Benny (the dickhead) interrupts. Crossing his arms on the sticky table in front of him, he asks, “Does that mean you have toys?”

Frankie’s hat somehow tips lower on his head, if that’s possible.

Will twitches towards his brother, like he wants to strangle Benny for being so uncouth, but you put your hand on his upper arm. “Of course.” The best course of action is to just act like this is normal, so add a bit of air to your voice. This was normal. “Who doesn’t?”

There’s a blush rising on Benny’s cheeks and you can’t help but stoke it, grinning at him, and attempting your best bedroom eyes. He’s still not too ashamed to ask though. “What kinds?”

Will decides he’s had enough, glancing at Santi behind you with a frown and hitting Benny over the head in an imitation of the way you’d hit him. You laugh, unexpectedly pleased at the reaction you’ve gotten. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Benny nods, eager, even as Will stands, grabbing a hold of him, and steering him towards the bar. “Yes! Yes I would!” He manages to throw back at you and you laugh again, twisting your body to face Santi and Frankie, bringing your left leg onto the bench.

***

Meanwhile Santiago is in hell. He’s been in multiple hellish situations before, most similar to this one, in that it was always the 5 of you, bullets flying around your heads, rifles in your arms, weighed down by heat and sweat and tac vests.

And yet somehow, he thinks this might be the worst. Your foot next to his thigh, your knee bent, pulling your jeans up your leg and exposing your ankle to him. Watching you flirt with Benny, talking about sex, and toys, and masturbation. When that's all he wants to do with you. He just has to get the courage to tell you.

With you, there was a before in Santi’s life, and an after.

Before he knew you; and after he knew you.

Before he loved you; and after he loved you.

Except Santi’s not quite sure when he fell in love with you.

It started when Will introduced you as the newest member of the team, one of his childhood friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he treated you like he treated anyone else, quickly discovering that you weren’t like anyone else.

He welcomed you into his life with open arms, starting off innocently - he wanted to spend time with you. You were Will’s friend, which meant that there must be something good about you. You made him laugh, made him feel safe (even when he wasn’t). He’d wanted to do the same for you and thought he did a pretty good job.

He became your friend, until one day the two of you were watching a film. He can’t remember what it was, just that you were at his house, drinking and laughing and talking, huddled in one of his blankets, and looking like you belonged there, forever.

Falling in love with you was so easy, Santi didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Santi’s still impressed with himself that he didn’t just blurt out the words then and there. I love you.

How long had he been in love with you for? He couldn’t pinpoint down a specific moment. He remembered the night when you’d become friends - the last two around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows, making that awkward small-talk that occurs between acquaintances.

You’d made him laugh, playing chubby-bunny and teasing him until he’d had a go. You’d talked and talked, and Santi can’t even remember what about. Nothing, probably. The basics. Boring stuff, but filled with details that he’d used to keep the conversation going the next day.

He knows when he became your friend. Recognised when you trusted him more than the others, with the exception of maybe Will.

But he didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Just the day that the love became so overwhelming in his chest that he realised it.

The real nail in his metaphorical coffin was the night afterwards. The 5 of you had gone to a bar, and a girl had started talking to him as he was buying drinks. She was pretty, but she wasn’t you. And like a flashbulb, all of Santi’s previous partners flew through his mind and he realised that nothing had ever come out of them because they weren’t you.

They didn’t know how he liked his coffee, or why he had joined the military. They didn’t know the story behind his callsign, or what his favourite song was.

You did. What you weren’t there for, you asked about. You remembered. You made him feel important, like he mattered. In ways that he didn’t even really know existed.

You were the one that started him on decaf without telling him. That had been a conversation and a half. Before morning briefings, you’d started bringing him coffees. He hadn’t noticed much of a taste difference, and shamefully, had come to expect them.

Until, a month later, you weren’t there. A small trip home to visit your family, everyone knew you’d be back in a couple of days. Regardless, Santi had ordered what he’d thought was his usual coffee.

And found his anxiety rearing up again. It was subtle, making him more jumpy, less able to sleep, but it was there. He wasn’t sure what the cause was, definitely hadn’t linked it to the coffee, instead assuming that maybe he just missed you. Maybe because his anxiety hadn’t disappeared all the way, even with decaf. Maybe it was because it was your presence that helped him too.

He hadn’t even really noticed when the caffeine was gone, hadn’t noticed the absence of something wrong, only seeing the contrast when it returned. Maybe because it was gradual, the weaning off the caffeinated coffee, whereas the return, with his request of additional shot, had been too sharp for him.

You hadn’t noticed at first, assuming that Santi’s bear hug when he’d first seen you had just been because he missed you. But after lunch you pulled him to one side.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes are slightly wider with worry, and you’re chewing slightly on your bottom lip.

He hates that he’s the one to do that to you, and he tries to brush it off. “I’m fine.” That was his first mistake. His second was trying to push past you.

“Santiago!” He’s pulled up short, and there’s that tension, pulling at his shoulders, his eyebrows. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Your tone of voice hasn’t changed, but this time it’s a command.

Exhausted, hating himself, Santi drags his hands across his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t...I don’t know.” He takes a breath, and it shudders through him. “I don’t know.” He sounds defeated, and he hopes you can’t hear it. “I just...I feel…” How does he feel? “Jittery.” Is what he finally settles on, but the word still feels wrong somehow.

You frown, looking him up and down like you’ve never seen him before. In fact, you’re silent for so long, Santi starts to be worried that you’re going to tell him to stop being so fucking ridiculous.

You don’t, but you ask questions.

Has he been sleeping? “Not really.”

Does he have something big coming up? “Just the usual.”

Has his daily routine changed at all? “No, I don’t think so. I get myself a coffee in the morning and the-”

You interrupt him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” And now it’s wrong, because now you’re looking at him like it’s your fault, when it definitely isn’t. “Santi I’m sorry. It’s your coffee.”

Santi frowns. His coffee? And you sound so apologetic, and he doesn’t understand why. “I switched you to decaf.” You can’t meet his eyes any more, gaze skittering to his shoulder with nerves. And you’re not shutting up. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or asked if I could, I just... I knew you were getting nightmares, and decaf helped me so I thought it might help y-”

Santi cuts you off with a hug.

And now, the three of you sat in the booth, he hates himself for agreeing with Benny. He would like to know. He has a sneaking suspicion, odd little comments you’ve made throughout the years that when pieced together, paint a picture. A very vivid picture that he sometimes uses to torture himself, late at night in bed, imagining what you’d look like with your hands between your legs and wrapping a hand around his-

Santi shakes his head. Now is not the time. There’s never really a good time to fantasise about one of your best friends, but in public when they’re sitting next to you, is definitely one of the worst.

And why did he have to offer to take care of you? Did he think he was in some kind of cheesy porno? What if you hated him-

In the end, it’s you who breaks him out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed Pope.” You push out with your foot, lightly kicking his thigh, unable to read his stony face.

Throughout all of this, Frankie has kept quiet, and now the conversation seems like it’ll be returning to safer ground, he rubs a hand over his face, lifting his hat slightly. “No.” Santi protests, although he says it too fast for it to be sincere. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Good,” you reply, and Santi can see the moment a thought pops into your head that you can’t resist, he can see it in the way your eyes light up with mischief. “Out of all the boys, I figured you’d be the most likely to use toys.”

Frankie quickly slides out from his seat, muttering something about going to the toilet, his cheeks aflame, as Santi chokes a little on his beer. “Or maybe Will,” you muse, and Santi coughs again. “Shit, are you alright?” You ask, rocking forward to lean on your knee so you can rub Santi’s back for a second.

He concentrates on getting himself back under control, on not focusing how warm your hand is against his back. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart down, praying that the room is dark enough that you won’t see him blush.  

Santi nods, his eyes watering a little, and you laugh, but it’s not unkind, not even when one of your thumbs wipes at his lower lash line, brushing away his tears with the pad. It’s so unexpectedly soft, another sharp contrast to this sticky, seedy bar they’re all in, where the booth seats are cracked and the most complicated drink they make is a rum and coke.

“Good,” you say, voice quiet, scooting back on the bench, your foot closer to his thigh this time, and Santi hates himself for wanting to follow you.

Instead, he pretends everyone else is still here, even as he watches Will whisper something into Benny’s ear as they stand, drinking next to the bar, with no clear intention of returning. Suddenly Benny punches Will’s upper arm, and Santi’s eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion. Benny looks ecstatic, and for what?

“I’ve used handcuffs,” he says casually, half of his mind taken up with Benny and Will acting like lunatics at the bar behind you. He’s wrenched back to you when you raise an eyebrow, and he’s reminded what it feels like to be the centre of your world.

Fuck, you’re sexy though.

***

Your heart beat speeds up, suddenly sounding loud in your chest. Your mind is screaming Danger! at you - but how can it be? This is Santiago. You would trust him with your life. You have.

I could take care of you, flashes through your mind again. Maybe-

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to act calm when there’s a steady thrumming under your skin. “And are you the tied up person, or do you do the tying?”

Santi scoffs, like he thinks the answer is obvious. Maybe it is.

“I do the tying.”

You smirk, dragging an exaggerated eye up and down his body. “Sure about that?”

He looks relaxed, like he can take up more space now Frankie has gone. One of his hands is on your calf, gently trailing up and down, slowly setting you on fire, and you don’t even think he realises he’s doing it. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t recognise, darker, although it seems familiar. That’s been happening more and more lately, especially when it’s just the two of you. You like it.

“You want to test me babygirl?”

You feel breathless. “Maybe I’d like to try.”

You’ve never spoken with Santi like this before. You flirt with him more than the other boys, but this is new. This feels...real, somehow. More dangerous. And he’s closer now, shifting, so your foot is over his lap, his hand wrapped around your ankle, on your bare skin and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You watch his hand move on your leg and you feel like you could evaporate.  

“That’s not what good girls do.” Fuck, his voice.

“Good girls don’t do a lot of things I do.”

And you’re not sure what gives you the sudden confidence, but you lean forwards, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It’s a horrible angle, your legs in the way, but you don’t care.

And then you’re retreating, opening your eyes again, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. Your mouth feels tingly, where you can still feel Santi against you. His grip has tightened on your leg, no longer moving.

And then his hand is tugging at you a little, and there’s a smile threatening to take over his face.

Come here.

You scoot up, so your left leg is fully over him, your right leg tangling with his under the table and you can smell him now, beer and - as weird as it sounds - like a man. It’s familiar. Nice. Breathless, you shoot him a little grin, suddenly unsure.

And then he’s kissing you again and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, but firm, moving against your mouth, contrasting with the slight stubble growing on his face. His free hand moves to your waist and you let out a small sound.

You break apart after a second, both of you breathless. You’ve slung your arms around his neck, fingers idly playing with his chain, and you’re the first to speak.

“So do you use those handcuffs on anyone?”

Santi kisses you again, short and sweet, before he answers, his lips mumbling against yours. “Hmm, just on girls I really like.”

You kiss again, neither of you really wanting to stop. “Can I use them on you?” Santi asks, moving to kiss along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. You feel surrounded by him, he’s all you care about, all you can feel.

Your eyes snap open, desire pooling in your belly. Is this really happening? “Yes.”

“Good.” Santi’s voice is still low in your ear, before he moves down your neck, soft lips a stark contrast to his stubble catching on your skin. “How do you feel about a date, too?”

“Yeah?” You lean back slightly so you can see his face. He’s beautiful in this light, face half hidden in the shadows, eyes dark.

His lips are brushing yours again.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice, do it properly.”

“Good,” you mumble against him, “that sounds really good.” Your fingers are still playing with his chain, lightly brushing against the scar on his neck. “Shall we go?”

Before you know it, the two of you are sitting in a cab, having said a quick goodbye to the others, Will asking if it was safe for them to sit back in the booth. You’d responded with the finger, not bothering with a proper reply.

Santi leans over to you, whispering into your ear. “Can I really tie you up?”

You clench your thighs together, closing your eyes in an effort not to physically respond. The pause is enough for Santi to hesitate, hand shyly holding yours. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, it was just a-”

You stop him with a kiss, moving your hand so you can squeeze him in reassurance. When you answer, it’s a mumble against his mouth so the driver doesn’t hear. “Break out the handcuffs, and we’ll see if you’re as tough as you act, big boy.”

Santi groans when you lean away from him.

Getting inside Santi’s flat is a feat in itself, and you’re honestly a little proud of the restraint both of you showed by not fucking in the stairwell, stopping every couple of meters to kiss each other senseless, hips clumsily knocking together as you rile each other up.

You’ve been inside his flat before, so when Santi kicks the door closed, walking you backwards into his bedroom, kissing you all the while, you don’t protest. It’s so nice to finally kiss Santi like you’ve wanted to for a while now, so nice to feel his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards while his hips press into yours, steady now, purposeful.

His fingers are playing with the waist of your trousers, and you help him, shimmying your jeans off, pushing them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he surprises you, dropping to his knees in front of you, pulling your knickers down your legs.

Looking down, you feel dizzy from the rush of power this brings you. Santi looks like he’s about to worship you, his face close to your pussy. His hands are on your waist and he pushes at you, encouraging you to step back.

When you don’t he tips his head back, exposing his neck to you. “Step back.” His voice is dangerous and you can feel more wetness gathering between your legs. You grin down at him, still not moving.

In response Santi nips at your thigh, grinning when you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He pushes at you again, and this time you let him, stepping back until you hit his bed, sitting down.

Santi presses his hand against your stomach, and you allow yourself to be pushed back, falling back onto your elbows so you can watch him. He presses his nose to your mound and you squirm, impatient, as Santi spreads your knees so he can fit between your legs.

You watch him press his nose to your pussy, burying his nose in you, feeling yourself grow wetter. “You taste so good,” he groans, “Sweetest pussy I’ve tasted.” As he begins to explore you with his tongue, your hips lift off the bed with a groan and it takes you a second to recognise your own voice, broken with need. Santi’s arm reaches out, pressing you down as he explores your folds. Stubble is scratching your thighs, a pleasantly rough feeling compared to the soft wetness, the pliability of Santi’s tongue. Your clit is the first thing he concentrates on, his tongue practically lapping at you, and it all feels so good.

One hand is desperately fisting the sheets to the side of you as you try to hold on to reality, the other knotted in Santi’s short curls, nails scraping ever so slightly along his scalp even as he lifts you higher and higher. Broken pleas of his name fall from your lips when he inserts two fingers into you, gently pumping in and out, with a strangely satisfying squelch under your cries.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and unsuspecting. One second your chest is heaving, breaths short and shallow, the next you’ve tensed up as you fall apart under Santi.

He keeps kissing you, gently pressing his lips over your thighs, hips, stomach as you stare at his ceiling, willing rational thought to return to you. He’s murmuring praises into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, what a good job you’ve done, how pretty you look when you come, how he wants to make you do it again, and all the while you float somewhere above your body, hardly daring to believe this is real. Santi keeps kissing you, any skin he can get his mouth on, desperate to keep tasting you. Gradually he moves up your body, even as you lie there, panting, letting him push your top up, bunching under your arms and around your neck.

Your hands fly to his hair when he bites the soft skin of your breast peeking out from your bra, and you arch your back towards him slightly, letting out a small whine. You can feel his smirk against you, so you wrap your legs around his waist, canting your hips up, grinding against where you can feel him, hard and aching in his jeans.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, slow and lazy when Santi lets out a low growl in response. He tips his head up so he can look at you, his eyes soft as he smiles at you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then his body weight is gone and he’s standing next to the bed, taking his top off and it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him and been allowed to look, and Santi’s all shadows and soft muscle, pale scars highlighted on his skin.

You sit up, and it takes you a second to fight your way out of your top, quickly sliding the straps of your bra off, and dropping your clothes to the side of the bed as you watch Santi cross his room, and fish out a pair of handcuffs from a box with a couple of other objects inside, as well as what you’re pretty sure looks like a strap-on. And maybe it’s because his ass is currently in your eye-line, maybe it’s the surprise, but the image of you wearing it, teasing Santi with your dick while he waits on all fours on his bed, begging for you to touch him, suddenly pops into your head, and you have to work to hold back a moan at the mental image. Oh my god.

When Santi turns back to you, he’s opened the cuffs. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

You suddenly feel nervous, your mouth dry, and you don’t know why, this is Santi. He’s made it clear that you don’t have to do this, and anyway you want to. “Green is good, orange is slow down, red is stop,” you recite easily, and Santi nods in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he says and his words hit deep in your stomach, unfurling something you hadn’t known existed. “You say something and I’ll untie you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back on your hands, eyeing up the way Santi’s jeans are still on, now hanging low on his hips, exposing a small trail of hair down from his bellybutton. “What if I don’t want you to untie me?” You ask.

You can see how his eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me you understand,” he says, voice stern and you shiver.

“I understand,” you parrot. Santi nods, pleased at you doing as he says, and steps out of his jeans, pulling his boxers off at the same time, releasing his cock. He’s hard, curving up towards his stomach and leaking pre-cum.

Almost on instinct, you lean forwards to lick it off, and Santi lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sensation of your mouth just wrapping around his head, your hands on his thighs. Before you can take him any further, he’s stepping back, shaking his head.

“Lie back,” he instructs, and you obey. Santi kneels next to you, tugging your wrists up, above your head, looping the handcuffs through his headboard and clicking them on around you. You give them an experimental tug, biting back a moan when they hold fast. “Colour?” Santi asks, and you grin up at him.

“Green.” Your voice already sounds broken. “Santi, please.”

Santi just kneels back, looking at you with those hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, hands running up and down your body, ignoring how you squirm as best you can under him.

“Oh yeah?” You ask. “Why don’t you come down here then, instead of just watching me?” Santi’s hands reach your breasts, squeezing and gently massaging and you arch your back towards him.

“You’re unhappy with my hands?” Santi returns, and stops touching you. You can’t help it, letting out a whine and straining to move your arms towards him, before remembering you can’t, your attempted movement jangling the chain a little.

“No, Santi,” you’re desperate for him to touch you again, especially now you can’t touch him,“Santi please, touch me again, touch me more.” Begging has never come so easily to you. And then Santi’s moving between your legs, gripping your hips and thrusting up, but not into you, just along your folds. You moan, shifting as best as you can while Santi coats himself with your slick, the head of his cock just pushing your clit, teasing you and riling you up further.

You suddenly really want to touch him, to rake your hands through his hair, to scratch your nails down his back, to be able to suck a purple hickey into his skin. You let your head fall back to the bed, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more, desperate for him.

It’s only when you open your mouth in a desperate plea, a whine of his name, “Santi, Santi please,” that he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in silent pleasure, just as Santi begins to talk. “Fuck, baby.” The stretch of him is delicious. “I wanted this for so long.” Now fully seated in you, he rests on his forearms, kissing you softly, first on the forehead, then on your lips. “Colour?” he asks softly.

You nearly cry from how sweet it is, how sweet he is, before responding, a mumble against his lips. “Green.” You feel full, like this is how you’re supposed to feel all the time, this is your base state, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying to achieve this specific feeling.

“Good girl,” Santi murmurs and you keen at the praise, feeling insatiable, wanting more, clenching around him. He grins, registering your response. “You liked that? You like being told what a good job you’re doing, how good you feel around me..” he breaks off with a gasp, and your eyes close as Santi begins to move in time with his words, long, slow thrusts as he begins to put you together again, building you up, further and further, his thrusts speeding up gradually, the sound of his dick sliding into your wetness, and the slap of skin-on-skin loud in his room, mixing with your moans.

You lift your legs up, wrapping them around his waist, hooking one of your feet around Santi’s butt. They don’t stay there for long, one of Santi’s arms pushing one leg up your body, hand under your knee as he splits you open. The new angle hits something deeper in you, and you gasp, unable to move and at the mercy of Santiago.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, coming out of nowhere, your lower body suddenly clenching around Santi, arms straining against the handcuffs, as you try in vain to touch him. You tumble through it, muscles spasming as you fall under him. He keeps moving into you as you shudder below him, pulling you through with murmured praise and encouragement as another broken cry leaves your throat.

His thrusts start to get sloppier as he goes faster, losing his rhythm slightly and you can tell he’s near his end. As best you can, you start moving your own hips, grinding up to meet him, words of encouragement slipping past your lips. “Santi, you feel so good, are you gonna fill me up?” You coo, pouting a little, tugging your wrists a little for emphasis. “Please Santi, I want to feel you, come in me, please-”

You stop when Santi snaps his hips once more, with a groan of finality and you can feel his cum inside of you as he holds himself there, his cock pulsing within you. He presses a couple more gentle kisses to your neck before sliding out, and you hiss slightly at the pull on your sensitive folds of your pussy.

He leaves for a second, returning with a key and gently releasing your wrists. “Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging your skin. “You did so good for me.”

He helps you sit up, kissing your cheek before leaving again. This time when he returns, he has a wet rag, and a glass of water, which you take a sip from, not having realised how thirsty you were. He gently dabs the rag on the inside of your thighs first, and the two of you watch in slightly morbid fascination as Santi’s cum leaks out of you onto the rag.

“That’s kinda hot,” you comment idly, wondering if Santi fucked all sense of you.

He only laughs, wiping the mess away and cuddling up next to you. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks as you lean into his arms, his hands wrapping around your wrists to rub circles into your skin.

“Yes,” you answer, probably too quickly but beyond caring.

“Good.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Santi wants to ask you something, so you twist in his arms, kissing along his shoulder. The act feels small, and innocent somehow, despite your states of undress, as you try to reassure him.

“You were right,” you murmur near his ear, “Stranger was where I was going wrong.”

It takes him a second to piece your reference together, but then he grins, and it’s like he hung the sun in the sky. “Yeah? I took care of you?”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, biting back your own identical grin. “Yeah.”

***

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