#Sorry if I repeat myself or something. I suck at making longer posts like this while sounding coherent at times lmao

[rayday-mayday]

dude about your female redesign post it reminded me of something that has been similarly bugging me recently.

when people compliment character designers by saying because they draw more diverse body types "you know they love women"

like its this weird intersection of purity culture and gender essentialism feminism? like they redesign women to be less sexualized because that's the way women /should/ be in their eyes. and they think they're being progressive but they're just like reinforcing purity culture. but then if you say that they'll defend it by saying that the original is sexualizing women. like women being sexy is inherently bad how dare they.

like how lesbians will think "im no better than a man" like its a bad thing to think a woman is sexy.

i saw a clip about like a pair of ridiculously bouncy anime boobs and ppl making fun of it as they do. but i thought to myself "the person who drew this really loves women" because like that's what it means to lovingly animate that much boob jiggle.

like if we can assume based off character design alone that someone loves women then wouldn't it be right to assume that the people who draw female characters sexy love them and want to see them being adored and seen as sexy and cute? dont they really love women?

Yeah, people see the problem of (real life) women being sexualized against their will, and then think the problem is the sexualization, instead that it's that people are ignoring the woman's boundaries/wants.

As a response they then come to the conclusion that women shouldn't be sexualized, and the only way to respect women is to not sexualize them at all.

That then leads to them thinking all sexual desire towards women is bad, and that showing any sexual desire towards them means you're inherently objectifying them. Of course while ignoring that some women consent to be sexualized. You know, think porn actresses, women who willingly make thirst traps, or other similar things, which can quickly lead to someone spewing anti-sexwork rhetoric or similar bullshit.

Anyway, sometimes these types of people then also start to conflate fantasy/fiction with reality, and start to think that showing any desire towards fictional women (especially if they're sexualized for a male audience) is inherently bad. When in all reality, what you fantasize about sexually has nothing to do with what you really think/feel/are. And honestly? Saying otherwise is harmful (which is another conversation entirely.)

So in a pursuit of respecting women, these people end up forcing them back into a puritan and restrictive mold that women have been trying to escape for generations now. But they can't do that towards real people, so they target the fictional characters who, due to being literal objects, cannot do shit about their behavior. And how do they do this? By "unsexualizing" the "sexualized" female characters and hating on anything that "sexualized" fictional women.

They also go on to praise anyone who redesigns women in a "non-sexualizing" way, which often is often characteristics that are often considered ugly by conventional beauty standards.

But because they're taking these "sexualized" character designs that they think are bad because they're sexy, they by proxy say that whatever they redesign the character into is not sexy/desirable.

I remember this being a problem with certain Twitter artists a while back who'd redesign female characters as fat, dark-skinned, with body hair, and/or covered up fully in an attempt to "un-sexualize" them. And, you know, was sending the message that women who are fat, dark-skinned, or have body hair are ugly/undesirable as a result.

So yeah, that means that not only are they forcing women back into a puritanistic box, not only are they taking away women's choice of if they want to be sexy or not, but some are also calling some characteristics ugly when they try to redesign "sexualized" female characters.

Also, yeah, your last point is also right. If you can tell if someone loves women by how they draw them (which you can't, but that's besides the point,) then finding women sexy and drawing them as sexy would mean that you love them. But no, according to some of these people, finding women desirable is bad, and you need to be sent to horny jail for execution for being attracted to them.

[stilljuststardust]

Hey

Idk if you remember me but I sent you an ask before. Unfortunately i'm still miserable. I feel like the "you already have it" advice doesn't work for me, at least for shifting, and gives me mental breakdowns instead. There's so much stuff i'm sad about and idk how to get over the attitude that being sad = your manifestation won't happen.

I cry to myself about how much life sucks like once a week. I'm disappointed in myself that i've been on loa tumblr for like a year and seemingly learned nothing since I haven't gotten anything I wanted. Idk what the ppl that manifest easily are doing differently than me, or how to make what they do work for me. Idk what to do I feel like all the mainstream advice

I try to follow like "imagine it and chill out" or "you already have it" just give me mental breakdowns instead of success. Idk what to do i'm really tired. Please help

Hello again, I do remember you.

My perspective has changed a bit over this past year. I'm sorry that it wasn't what you needed then. You don't have to feel great, you don't have to feel anything.

It's not about doing everything right, you're just repeating something till your subconscious manifests it. You don't have to jump through hoops or suppress your emotions you just have to saturate your mind.

This is sloppier than I'd like. It's 3 am and though I've been thinking of what I'd like to say I'm a bit too out of it for it to come out how I need it. I don't want you to wait longer though so I'll post it anyways.

Similar post where I said all of this better

Also, I know you've read this before but you really should again:

It's ok to feel like shit

Your emotions don't manifest. If you just need to be told that I can say it as many times as you like. Half the stuff I've manifested I was cranky or anxious or mad when I did it. Half the time I didn't believe it'd happen and then it did. Half the time I felt how you do. You can do it. I promise.

I don't use fulfilment for the same reason you mentioned, stressed me out. For me personally it was vague and didn't allow me to anchor myself.

It's ok that you feel like shit. It's ok that you're scared. It's ok that you're hurting. You can still do this and I promise you don't have to magically defy your emotions to do it.

In terms of how to change the actual belief you just affirm the opposite. You learned it through repetition it's unlearned the same way. Anti-climatic I know. I used to have a rule that if I said something bad about myself I would repeat three things good. Maybe when you have that belief come up your repeat three reasons why you can feel like shit and still manifest.

Stop punishing yourself for having emotions. Suppressing emotions has never made them go away and I can tell you from experience it is a losing battle. You can feel them, it's ok.

In my opinion you need to take a break. Take that pressure off. Right now it's a burden of its own and it's just piling onto everything else you're feeling.

You need to take a couple days where you don't push yourself so hard. No methods or law or anything. Process your emotions and let yourself breathe for a bit.

Chill. Not as a method or a tool but just genuine mental health advice. I know taking a break won't solve the issues in your life but neither will beating yourself up every day. Ground yourself and let out everything you're pushing down because it is clearly weighing on you.

You have been putting near constant pressure on yourself for a year. In my experience the pressure you're putting on yourself is more suffocating than your actual feelings. The most painful thing is usually our refusal to feel it.

When I would suppress my emotions it felt like constantly running away from my life. I didn't feel better, the suppression just became an additional burden. We let out emotions because that's how they leave us. If we hold them in that's where they'll stay, inside of us.

Cry for an hour, throw a fit, write in a burn book. Give yourself permission to fucking feel. (You can do this even when manifesting something btw)

When you're ready to come back to manifestation don't return to emotional suppression. Feel what you feel just don't repeat the old story to yourself. What I mean by that is you are 100% allowed to feel like absolute shit just don't affirm for anything you don't want.

Get off Tumblr and get away from all the noise telling you what to do or shaming you for mistakes.

Stick to robotic affirmations instead of fulfillment . The only goal is to repeat a sentence/thought that implies you have it and avoid repeating anything that implies you don't.

Feel whatever you want, it's robotic because feeling is not a factor. It's a definable goal so you don't have to be constantly asking if you're doing it right.

10 minutes whenever you can just repeat what you want. That's your only goal do not add anything else to it. Don't try something new when you get anxious, stick to a schedule and take care of yourself. I say this because I think what you need is something solid to ground yourself with instead of a less defined goal.

Don't ignore your mental health in the name of living in the end. Living in the end is just refusing to affirm shit you don't want.

Your biggest obstacle is your self hatred. This is speculation but it sounds to me like when you waver or give into the 3D you respond to it by chastising yourself.

Maybe you have an unconscious belief that self discipline = scolding yourself or this is just your knee jerk reaction to mistakes. You can recognize the need for change without berrating yourself. Sometimes healing isn't linear, sometimes we slip up, that doesn't mean there is something wrong with you.

From a different post but I honestly don't think I can rephrase this better:

You cannot shame yourself better. Hating yourself, comparing yourself to others, being cruel to yourself because you "aren't doing good enough" has never helped you. If you only have one person in your corner it should be you. If you have only one person telling you to keep going it should be you.

On days when everything seems out of your control you can control how you treat yourself. You deserve kindness and patience too. It's ok if you have setbacks. It's ok if you got off track.

It's ok to trust yourself. It's ok to tell yourself you're good enough and that what you're doing is enough. It's ok to tell yourself that you're good at this.

You feel things very deeply and there is nothing wrong with that. Shame will not push you out of it.

You are consistently reinforcing the beliefs that you:

1. Are not good enough to manifest

2. Cannot change and

3. Will fail if you try again

Self defacing behavior is doing NOTHING but further a negative self concept/make you feel like shit.

You are good enough. There is nothing wrong with you. You do not have to become someone else to get what you want because you are enough.

Links

Manifest with anger subliminal

Manifest with sadness subliminal

Manifest with impatience subliminal

Success stories with robotic affirmations (aka without emotion)

My favorite manifestation video "you only have one limiting belief"

[boltun-tr]

this video

it opened my eyes so much more

what the FUCK is even a “strong female character”? because it can be so subjective, it can be so many things, when people say cinderella sucks or snow white and ariel etc is because theyre cute and feminine and kind or do mistakes, especially so called “feminists” say this because being kind and feminine is seen as weak, wich is a another can of worms that can be opened

snow white expreiences fear and terror after being told her stepmother wants her DEAD,she isnt a person who physically fights back but if you watch the damn movie, you can see she knows when she is mistreated, she can be sarcasitc too, even after years of abuse she tries to keep her head up, also please thats a 14 year old girl, i was even more timid than her at that age, being positive despite your situation doesnt make you weak, its a strength, if you was a woman or girl want to dress feminine, then go for it, if you enjoy it why should it be a bad thing? if you want to look masculine then go for it too

what i said about snow white also goes for cinderella, they have similarities so i would just repeat myself

then lara, she has a tomboy side but also has a feminine side,then her goals being very simple but relatable, just like the princesses, she herself does mistakes, does things because she has her own hopes and dreams,im so tired of this bad faith criticism, if you want to criticise them, then u know, watche the movies, play the fucking games

im not gonna talk about the live action remakes this post would be longer, but lemme tell ya, these movies did exactlyyy listen to the bad faith shit, its like crystal dynamics did the same

“if youre not a absolute girl boss and dare to have have flaws and cry alot then sorry sweaty you suck as a human being” fuck off

so yea, i guess just make sure you have fun and are passionate with how you write your character, your female character doesnt suck just because she is kind and feminine, or a tomboy, or very masculine and muscular, or if she is emotional, or does mistakes, bitch i WANT TO SEE THAT IN FACT, i love when a character does mistakes, it makes me feel seen lmaoooo, a character can be a loser, not everything needs to be a superhero or something i dont give a fuck

there cant be a direct answer to this,what makes a character empowered, at least i dont see it, can be fucking anything, i wish i could add more but thats my two cents, this is in my drafs for years lmao and now im just typing out how i feel

i guess it means in short, if you have human flaws, emotions and do mistakes then youre a bad character? PLUS being cutesy and feminine? then the issue mostly being bad faith and lazy ass criticism, nuance is also something that lacks most of the time, i guess i get it now

dude my brain broke

my fave princess is snow white btw and i will defend her 1938 version, thanks for reading this mess LMAOOO

[daddymothxxx]

[.ooc.]

Okay, so, here's the deal because this needs to be a post, I guess. As it's not being fully seen on my pinned post nor in my foreword.

[EDIT 4/1/2024] I am no longer interested in plots/AUs where your character/x character are Deal Contracted to Valentino. Especially as a pre-established relationship.

This is for a couple reasons:

This puts the onus of character interaction on me. It makes me have to do all the character development for your character and none for mine (Valentino). At least, logically or not, that's how it makes me feel.

Though you may not intend for smut, it makes me feel like I am compelled to do smut/smut adjacent things sans any kind of relationship building between our characters.

It assumes that I'm playing Valentino to do smut/smut adjacent stuff and NOTHING ELSE. That couldn't be further from the truth. Further from several times I say 'not smut focused'.

It lacks imagination and creativity. There, I said it. It does. I'm going to be mean about this bullet point. There are SO MANY other options for interacting with Valentino, but all people seem to want is 'hurr hurr make moth boss around/fuck/control my character in sexual ways'. Not yuckin' your yum, trust me, but I'm not getting much of anything out of that. Refer back to bullet one above.

When not doing the bullet above, it's like....so...??? Low hanging branch??? Easy path??? Least resistance?

Please stop asking for Valentino to own your character's souls/trying to be his employee.

I have tried to do this plot/idea for other people a handful of times now and have had to ENTIRELY carry the thread/plot. (Bullet One) While the other person's character just kind of goes 'yes boss right away boss can i suck your dick about it boss'. e_e

There are plenty of other Valentino's to fulfill this plot with, it just isn't me.

I got to sounding a little mean there, I apologize. I'm just a bit frustrated.

I didn't take up Valentino for people to smut-hunt/have me be the foil to their one-sided should-be-fanfics. I'm sorry.

Stars, I sound so mean right now, but I just am begging for Good Soup(tm). Make Valentino scared or angry or sad or cagey or happy or regretful or SOMETHING. idk???

Be his friends or his enemy or his frenemy. Not his fuck-slave-wannabe.

Thanks for enduring my tedtalk, I'm probably going to lose followers or make people feel bad with this, but honestly;

This broken record of being approached for this stuff is making ME feel Really Bad.

Like, it really sucks to be approached for plotting and have to spend the first interactions in PM be 'no, sorry, not doing that' and then have to repeat myself. And then have people just get discouraged from interacting with me at all. I have RSD and this isn't helping.

[ranchracoon]

Devour Ch. 7: Gift Giving

Master Post

Chapter 6

You awake with a start, shooting your head up and immediately regretting it as you drop your head back down onto a soft pillow. You want to believe that everything that has happened in the last, who knows how many hours, was all a fever dream. The pain though, the pain snaps you back to the harsh reality that it wasn’t a dream. When you swallow it stings from how dry your throat is, looking toward the nightstand you see a glass of water sitting there. Your face contorts with different looks of discomfort as you prop yourself up in the bed and reach for the glass but your fingers won’t grasp it. It’s as if you have lost complete function of them, and all you can do is paw at the glass before falling back in defeat. The effort alone makes you pant with exhaustion, and a bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. 

What the hell happened to me? You think.

The door opens with a soft creak, making you look toward its direction to see a familiar head of blond hair. Your heart flutters and makes the wound on your neck throb again but you don't care, you focus solely on Bela as she steps into the room. She looks at you with relief, sadness, and something else you cannot pinpoint but you’re happier than ever to see her. The last thing you remember is laying on top of Bela before blacking out, with no way of knowing if she lived; but here she is, standing in front of you. Bela closes the door behind her, carrying a small black box, wrapped in red ribbon in her hands when she approaches the bed, sitting on the edge near you. 

“Excuse me for coming in. I wasn’t expecting you to be awake. I brought you something for when you feel better.”

She leans over and places the box on the nightstand, as she did there is something different in the air that you never noticed before. Your face tilts as you take a deep inhale of the air around you, there is the familiar smell of death that accompanies each sister but also something faint. Another deep breath with more focus and determination revealed it to you: honeysuckle and jasmine. That’s what she smells like and you suppress the urge to bury your face into her until the smell overcomes your senses. Bela turns her head at you, watching you take deep breaths before lowering her gaze and biting her lower lip softly. She holds her hands in her lap, pulling the fabric of her gloves from each finger before pushing it back down and repeating the process.

“Thank you for what you did.” She sucks in a shaky breath, “if not for you I-I might not have made it. I’m also sorry that this is the result of it.”

Her hand moves from her lap and she intertwines her fingers with yours, squeezing your hand but still not looking at you. Your breath quickens, trying everything you have to return the squeeze, it’s draining but successful as your fingers shift perfectly between hers. She smiles a little and you see her shoulders relax, her hand fitting comfortably in yours.

“That’s the closest I’ve been to death that I can remember. I don’t remember anything from before I was like….this.” She motions over her entire body with her other hand, “and now I wonder if that’s how every person I’ve ever killed felt. That overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and fear, knowing there’s nothing I can do. When I close my eyes I see myself back in that room, feeling my body breaking and unable to move.”

She turns her head away so you can no longer see her profile, but you briefly caught the tears that rolled down her cheeks. You muster another squeeze of her hand, watching her wipe away her tears with her still facing away from you.

You clear your throat, gently rolling your chest around, “Bela.” Your voice sounds coarse, like your vocal cords are being rubbed down with sandpaper.

“I’m sorry. I came here to check on you, not pour out my feelings. Let me help you.”

She releases your hand and moves around to your side, helping you sit up and rest against the headboard. Her hand brushes against your sweaty forehead, while you remain locked on her eyes. Slowly you reach your hand up and she meets you halfway, both of you clasping your hands together once again. She notices your eyes drifting toward your arm and your expression turns into one of confusion: just last night your wrist had more scar and scab than skin, and today there’s nothing, as if it never happened. Bela grabs your chin gently with her thumb and forefinger, locking your head and making your eyes go back to her. 

“I know you must have a hundred questions, and I promise that everything will be explained in due time. For now, you need to focus on healing your body and not concern yourself with that.” She runs her hand along your cheek, making your face hot.

You do have questions. So many questions, and you don’t have the patience to wait for answers. She presses her thumb against your mouth when you try to open it, shaking her head. You aren’t going to get any answers, not from her at least. Her thumb traces the outlines of your lips as her eyes dart from your lips back to your eyes.

“Do you need some water?” She asks, breaking the silence.

You blink a few times before nodding in response.

She reaches across you for the water with her free hand, not releasing your hand as she did, then twists her body to bring the glass to your lips. You raise your head the best you can, drinking the water greedily until she pulls it away from you, letting a dribble of water run down your chin. Water has never tasted so good before, you want to drown in it but know if you drink too fast that it’ll come right back up.

“Don’t get used to this. Remember that you’re the servant, not me.” She teases before setting the glass on the stand next to her. 

You attempt a laugh but it turns into a cough that becomes rather violent, your body curling into itself while covering your mouth with your hand. Bela’s face turns to worry as she stands and runs her hand over your back, the other hand holding yours even tighter. When the coughing fit subsides you lay back against the headboard, Bela watching over you with worry as she brushes some loose strands of hair away from your face. 

“Mother said it’ll take some time, but you’re in the worst of it now and can only get better.”

Your eyes meet hers again, seeing they are still shiny from crying, “lay with me.”

Bela hesitates, you can see her contemplating her decision as her eyes dart between you and the floor, then she stands and goes around to the opposite side of the bed. She crawls on top of the covers, wrapping her arms around you tightly and ignoring your grunts of pain. You can smell the honeysuckle more clearly now as it wafts around you, and when the pain lessens, you use the remnants of energy to lay down again and wrap an arm around her. She lays her head against your shoulder, and her fingers run along your chest. 

“You can talk to me anytime Bela.” You whisper.

“You should go back to sleep.” She responds equally as quiet, clearly not wanting to talk anymore.

The both of you lay like that for some time, her fingers trailing over the curves of your abdomen and then back up to your ribs. When she looks back at you she notices your eyes still open, to which she huffs, using her fingers to press your eyelids shut.

“Go to sleep.” She orders.

As stubborn as ever, you open one eye to peek at her before closing it again when she tries to reach for you again. 

“I swear to Mother Miranda if you don’t close your eyes I’ll make them close.” She threatens teasingly.

You wake from slumber again, noticing no light through the curtain and turning your gaze toward your clock. 3am. A soft sigh makes you look down to your opposite shoulder to see Bela asleep on it, her breathing rhythmic, perfectly in time with your own breathing. Even without any light you can make out everything in your room, clearly seeing the furniture in different shades of gray and black. When you look back down at Bela, you can see every perfect detail of her body, from the faint smears of makeup and blood on her face down to the detail of her head symbol. 

She had moved under the comforter, and no longer wore her cloak, you glance over to the desk to see her cloak hanging on the back of the chair. Her body isn’t cold but every part of it is pressing against your own. You smile to yourself, realizing that she was using you to warm herself up and now you two are nearly the same temperature. Burying your face against her hair, you take another deep breath of her sweet scent, memorizing it to your brain; breathing it in like your life depended on it for survival. You close your eyes and think about how warmly and gently her and her sisters treated you.

“Good morning sleepy head!” 

You snort awake, immediately looking to the edge of the bed to see Daniela sitting there with a big grin. You look to the empty space next to you, your hand swipes along the ruffled sheets and feel that it's still warm. After your heart rate dies down from being woken up you turn your attention back to Daniela. 

“Oh my Mother I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She stands up and helps you sit up, leaning you against the headboard before flying over to your desk and back. Plopping a tray onto your lap, your mouth instantly starts to water from the smell of food. The growl in your stomach only encourages you. Daniela refills your water then props herself against you smiling, and amongst the smell of breakfast you get a hit of apple with cinnamon. Now your curiosity is thoroughly peaked, they each have a unique smell and you have one more sister. You narrow your eyes in thought as you wonder what she’ll smell like.

“I brought you breakfast. I thought maybe I could read to you while you eat.”

You blink away your thoughts and smile at her, nodding your head, and slowly eating the food she brought you. It is weird being served, secretly you hope your recovery is slow because you enjoy every minute of this treatment. The sound of Daniela’s voice is soothing, you relax your muscles and it gets easier to eat, but even after eating everything on the tray, you still feel a little hungry. When you finish she puts the tray back on the desk then stands by your side.

“Scoot forward.” She tells you. 

You look at her confused but she makes a motion with her hands and you’re not about to argue. With her help you scoot yourself forward, it’s difficult to stay sitting up but she holds you firmly in place as the dips behind you. With her other hand she pulls her dress up far enough that you look away before you see anything you shouldn’t. Her bare legs stretch out on each side of you, and the same hand that was holding you up now pulls you against her chest. Her hair tickles your cheek as she hugs her arms around your body and continues to read with the book resting on your chest. 

As Daniela finishes reading the book to you, the door opens again, this time to reveal Cassandra. She raises an eyebrow at the two of you, Daniela spooning you while you’re almost asleep against her breasts. You blink a few times to wake yourself up and try to sit up only to be stopped by Daniela tightening her hold.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Mother wants an update on how Y/N is doing.” Cassandra says matter-of-factly.

“No, we just finished reading. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Daniela kisses your cheek before removing herself from the bed, and easing you against the headboard once again.

Daniela picks up the tray and turns to take it out, her eyes meeting Cassandra’s who gives her a smirk. After Daniela leaves Cassandra approaches the side of your bed, looking you up and down before grabbing the cover and pulling it back. It’s not enough to cause a draft but the sudden surge of cold air makes you shiver nonetheless. She stands upright then hands you the glass of water, you take a sip but the look on her face tells you to keep going. You finish the cup of water and Cassandra hums softly, she takes the glass and sets it aside. 

“I need you to attempt to stand and tell me how you’re feeling. I’ll also need to see your wrists and ankles.”

You oblige. She checks your wrists and ankles first, commenting on the progressed healing. Next is trying to stand and move. Every bone in your body pops when you move, the action is agonizingly slow and painful as one leg drapes over the edge, followed by the other. Now sitting on the edge, you plant your feet firmly on the ground, breathing deeply to not only contain the discomfort but suck in the courage to push through it. You fail miserably.

A muffled scream of agony roars behind your clenched teeth as you push with your arms and engage every muscle in your legs that shake uncontrollably. Cassandra places her hand on your chest and another on your bicep the moment your legs give out and you plummet back down on the bed. She helps you get as comfortable as you can once more, letting a sigh escape her while her aureate eyes examine your body one last time. 

“Not great but expected for your first day.”

When she angles over you to examine the scar on your neck, this is when your missing piece completes the puzzle. Her scent is by far your favorite, with earthy tones of wood mixed with the coolness of eucalyptus. You aren’t very stealthy for she looks in your direction when you inhale, then continues her observation without bringing it up.

* * *

Every day you get stronger, and every day one or all of the daughters will visit you to check on your progress. With your strength returning you work toward being able to walk around freely, bathe yourself, and soon you can leave the four walls that have made you slightly stir crazy. However, a question still remains and the ladies won’t answer you or would change the subject when you ask. What happened to you? You struggle to remember the events leading up to it, and anything in between but all that comes is throbbing pain in the scar along your neck. You spend a considerable amount of time jumping between sleeping and contemplating why the scar along your neck remains, but the others have disappeared.

Being bed ridden has also given you plenty of time to become more confused about what happened to you. Being able to smell such faint yet distinct aromas from the ladies, hear people coming before they knock on the door, waking up in the middle of the night and you can see as if it were day. All you can do is hope that answers will come soon, though you remain doubtful. 

Today is your first official day of no longer being confined to your room, and for once your heart beats with jittery excitement to return to your work. As you are pulling your suspenders on, your ears perk at the sound of heavy, heeled footfalls coming down the hallway. Before she knocks on the door you can smell cigarettes and expensive perfume, the combination hurts your head and makes you scrunch your nose. You fix your face and open the door as she raises her fist to knock, she drops it and waits for you to move out into the hall; your room being far too small for her to enter through. 

“It is so nice to see you up and about. My daughters have informed me you have made an excellent recovery.” She starts.

“Thank you, My Lady. Your daughters have been keeping me in great company, and I fear I might have gone crazy without them. To be candid, I’m excited to be returning to my normal schedule.”

The lady gives you a sympathetic smile, “unfortunately Y/N, you will not be returning to your work.”

Your heart sinks at her words, as does your smile with the look of total defeat taking its place. Even your shoulders and posture slump down, your body physically deflating but you continue to look up at her. Hundreds of questions and feelings bubble in your chest, wanting to be expelled and answered. The lady raises her hand to keep you from speaking, and indicates she isn’t through speaking. 

“I have been monitoring the maidens in your absence and have chosen a replacement. She is not as competent as you, but she’ll suffice. You will no longer attend to the needs of myself or the rest of the castle grounds. In fact, you will no longer be in charge of the other staff either. My daughters have grown rather fond of you and have requested that you be their personal maid, and that your only duties will revolve around them. I agreed. Afterall, they did care for you while you recovered, and I find it only fair compensation.”

You can’t say anything as you continue to stare through the Lady, tensing your jaw in order to not let it drop. You’re clearly, but also happy? The thought of personally caring for the daughters makes you excited because that means you’ll see them more; but you also feel as though you’ve disappointed her and are currently being punished. 

“I am sure by now you have noticed that you no longer have normal mortal abilities and I cannot risk the safety of you or other staff. We will meet every morning in the dining room to check your progress until I know you are manageable, and can be around others without incident.”

Your eyes meet hers in surprise anger, “what do you mean manageable? What did you do to me?”

Your voice starts to raise, making the lady’s face turn stoic and dark, the shadow from her hat not helping in making her appear more menacing. She scrunches her nose in dissatisfaction from your outburst, but slowly releases a breath in an attempt to compose herself. You catch her flexing her hands open and shut from the corner of your eyes.

“Mind your tongue. If it were not for my daughters, and the fact that you risked your life to save one of them, I would have killed you and drained your blood. Instead, I decided to save you. You should be grateful and remember your place. I will forgive this outburst, but next time I will not be as understanding. You are not above spending a night in a cell.” 

Her cold voice makes you flinch back and bow your head at her, swallowing back your emotions to keep from having another outburst. Squeezing your eyes tight you bow even lower so that she can’t see you hiding your flurry of emotions. You hear her sigh heavily and you straighten out, this time looking at the space between you and her.

“When you choose to act properly I might answer some questions you have. Until then, all I will say is I am learning at the same time you are.”

You watch the edge of her dress disappear from view before turning back into your room, slamming the door behind you hard enough the hinges shook. Your blood feels like it's boiling, you want to throw something but also don't want to ruin any of the nice furniture. You ball your fists, squeezing until your palms hurt from the pressure, and you feel something sharp digging into the skin. Looking at your hands you see the tips of claws breaking through your fingertips, blood slowly draining out of the holes they made and from the broken skin on your fingers. You pant heavily, staring at the night black talons protruding from your torn skin. The claws eventually retract and the holes seal over back into your normal fingers, the only clue they were ever there is the blood trails. 

You take a shaky breath, going into the bathroom to wash your hands and staring at yourself in the mirror while grasping desperately to catch your breath. You glance between your fingers in the mirror, trying to wrap your head around what you just witnessed. Out of the corner of your eye you look over at the box that still sits on your nightstand; Bela did say it was for when you were feeling better, and right now you need a distraction. The box is light in your hands, glancing over it until you pull the red ribbon loose and letting it fall onto the nightstand. You take off the top of the box only to see white tissue paper, and when you push it aside a glass of liquid comes into view. 

You set the empty box down and hold the bottle in your hands, admiring the sleek design of it and the fuchsia flower that is on top. The flowery smell is potent when you twist the top of the bottle off, but it smells heavenly too. Your anger subsides momentarily and your muscles relax while dabbing the perfume on your wrists and neck. After setting the bottle in the bathroom on the empty counter you finally finish dressing and leave the containment of your room, breathing in the smell of the castle. 

The walk around the castle brought you joy, but it isn’t long lived as your mind starts to drift back to the claws from your hands and what Lady Dimitrescu had said. You are so preoccupied you hadn’t noticed the slowly forming mass moving next to you until you’re caught off guard by a voice. 

“Look who lives!” Daniela smiles.

You jump back with a yelp, blinking at her before giving her a soft smile, “ah, hi Daniela, I didn’t see you there.”

“After all this time, this is when I finally scare you?” She laughs before catching you looking away from her, “is something wrong? I figured you would be happier to finally be out and about.”

You chuckle softly, “I thought so too.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek in thought, she’ll find out eventually anyway. You look down at your feet as you walk, slipping your hands into the pockets of your pants. There’s a piece of lint inside one pocket that you roll between your pointer finger and thumb, fidgeting with it as you try to think of the words.

“I think I got fired, but also, promoted?”

You didn’t bother bringing up the claws, not wanting her to worry and certainly not wanting to be bombarded with questions you can’t answer. Daniela stops walking, you take a few steps more before stopping yourself and twisting to look over at her. She starts to giggle, her giggle turning into a belly-grabbing laugh; her laugh is contagious enough that you join her in the laughter. 

“Wow. You sure are full of firsts aren’t you? First to live this long, first to go to the dungeon and not get killed, first to get fired and promoted, and..” Daniela leans forward, smelling the air around her as her thought process goes elsewhere, “are you wearing perfume?”

Red forms on your cheeks as you turn back around and walk down the stairs, recognizing now that you are near the Hall of Ablution, “yes…um..Bela gave it to me.”

Daniela narrows her eyes, reappearing next to you and giving you a smirk, “I see. So tell me more about being fired and promoted.”

You rub the back of your neck, “I just talked to Lady Dimitrescu and she told me I would no longer be working with the rest of the staff, but instead I would be working under you and your sisters only. I’m happy to continue working, especially for you three, but it still kind of hurts though. Everything is changing so rapidly.”

She bumps you with her hips, “don’t be so bummed about it, we’re better company than the rest of the staff anyhow, and we’ll certainly keep you busy.”

You chuckle in agreement with her as you two continue to walk through the halls together, soon you are interrupted by the other two sisters who are equally happy to see you walking around. They follow you, quipping with each other but otherwise staying quiet throughout the rest of the walk. Even though you have spent a whole week with them, it is nice to see how much they enjoy your company and vice versa. 

Continue Reading

[yukidragon]

hiya! i wanted to ask, do you have sauce’s old art saved, or is there an archive somewhere? from what i’ve read, they had a twitter that’s been privated/locked (?) but i see people post art that looks like it was drawn by sauce ;w; also i’m sorry if this was already asked, i feel like i sent in this ask before but can’t remember,,

i love and appreciate all your work btw!! i hope you have an amazing day <3

Awwww! Thank you so much! That makes me really happy to hear. I hope you have an amazing day too! 💖

I’m afraid there’s no archive set up as of yet, just pictures fans managed to save and pass around amongst themselves. Sauce did mention that they wanted to create an archive on the patreon before they closed their twitter. I don’t know if that’s still happening or not, but I imagine that’s taking a backseat to their personal recovery and making progress on their various projects. They have a lot on their plate right now, so it’s understandable that it might take a while.

I have quite a lot of old art saved myself, and I use some of the pieces here in my posts occasionally, with Sauce’s consent so long as I credit them. They’re really such a nice person. That’s why whenever I share some of their art, I like I plug the SnaccPop Studios Patreon and remind everyone not to repost any of the privately posted content elsewhere.

You can see a lot of Sauce’s art peppered around my blog, particularly in posts I’ve labeled as Headcanon Ramblings. Sometimes it really helps to illustrate my points, you know? Maybe I should add a Sauce-y tag sometime.

Sadly, I can’t show any of the NSFW art over here without heavy censoring. Tumblr might say they’ll allow non-erotic nudity again, but I suspect all it’ll take is one floppy ding-a-ling, some “female presenting” nips, or something a bit too spicy and suggestive and my blog will be taken out with an extinction level event.

I mean look at this. This is such a fun picture and all you get to see over here is Jack’s face. Sure I could show the man’s nips since he’s not “female presenting” but with the level of spice sprinkled in this picture, I’d rather not risk it. Such a shame. Not that I can complain about seeing a face like that. This clown is having a really good time and it shows. Sauce does great work with expressions don’t they?

You know, this picture actually looks pretty exploitable cropped like this. It looks like a good teaser illustration for some spicy writing. It seems like an awful shame not to do anything with this idea, don’t you think?

Alice might not be a part of the full picture Sauce drew, but I’m totally going to imply it with a little bit of writing. I hope you all enjoy this impromptu snippet of Adults Only spicy fun times between Jack and my version of his sunshine~!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

...

Jack moaned as he tipped his head back. His clothes were in disarray, his shirt rolled up close to his collarbone, his pants and underwear dangling off one of his legs, with the rest of his signature outfit nowhere in sight. His flushed skin glistened with sweat and bore countless pink patches that marked where Alice claimed him as hers with her mouth.

That same mouth was wrapped around him now, showing Jack love in a way that he had only dreamed about before. He lost count of how many fantasies he had about Alice going down on him, but no fantasy could ever hope to compare the real thing.

Alice had started with kisses that fluttered along his length delicately, but just as the teasing started to get too much, she switched to using her tongue. She tasted him thoroughly, making sure not a single inch was left untouched before she took the tip into her mouth.

“Oh Alice…,” Jack moaned before biting his lower lip. “Your mouth feels so good… so warm…”

Alice let out a low hum, and the vibration of her voice made him twitch a bit. She repeated the sound again, longer this time as she sucked on him, and she was gratified to see his eyes roll upward.

Jack was so big, bigger than anything Alice was used to. A part of her worried she might not be able to handle all of him without choking, but she was determined to try. She focused on relaxing her jaw as she dipped down as far she could before she had to draw back for a breath, taking him just a little bit further each time.

Jack twined his fingers through his sunshine’s fair hair as he watched Alice adoringly. “You’re doing so good…” She gazed up at him through nearly white lashes, and the way her blue eyes burned with desire that was only for him sent a jolt of heat directly into his core. “God… You look so beautiful like this. I love you so much.”

Alice wanted to respond in kind, but words were impossible for her at the moment, so she traced a heart on his inner thigh with her finger instead. Jack murmured her name in return, his rich voice dissolving into another moan as she teased him with gentle suction. She couldn’t get enough of his sweet words or all the adorable noises she coaxed out of him. It made her all the more determined to please and tease him.

[rafaelblackbird15]

Teen Wolf Fic Recs Part 2: Steter

It took me quite awhile to gather all these together, so please enjoy discovering more parts to the incredible world of Teen Wolf, provided to you by the wonderful writers of our fandom.

Leave comments and kudos for these writers if you can, they really deserve it, they're wonderful. And it's my honour to try and share their creations with tumblr.

These are Steter, Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale fanfictions. Read them at your will. Check the tags on the actual fics for warnings and such.

I have included links to authors that write a lot of Steter as well, and some of their fics for examples. I'm sorry this post got so long, haha, but enjoy the stories, they're worth it.

If any of the links don't work, just comment and I'll fix it.

Check out my other Sterek fic recs [Part 3] and [Part 4] and Steter fic recs [Part 1]

*********

Broken Bones and Broken Bonds by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 20148

Chapters: 4/?

Summary:

Stiles kind of wished that he’d at least tried weed before this. 

Or something, you know? Maybe taken up a graffiti hobby, or even just skateboarded in front of City Hall often enough to get a citation. 

He wished he’d done something to be deserving of the looks people gave him now, rather than just being the recipient of his dead father’s unused power. 

**********

Stigmata by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1661

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

He feels so hollow that he almost wonders if he's been turned inside out. This emptiness he feels; is it the vastness of the entire world?

How do you fill a world? With people, he supposes. But his people no longer want him.

He needs people.

*********

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 14565

Chapters: 7/7

Summary:

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

"Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them."

What the f—

**********

Steter Week 2019 by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Works: 4

Complete: No

Summary:

There isn't a summary listed so I've included the first fic underneath:

Marvelous Miss and Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Words: 3346

Chapters: 1/1

also Part 1 of the Magnificent Mischief series

Summary:

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

********

Author: twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

This author has a lot of wonderful Steter fics, and their writing of the pairing is really worth having a good look through.

*******

Blood Runs Cold by Smalls2233 on Archive of Our Own

Words: 111408

Chapters: 22/22

Summary:

“So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if you know it's useless?”

Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”

“And the plan is…?”

----

Trusting Peter Hale is something that Stiles had repeatedly told himself to never do. He had seen first hand the results of Peter's plans and schemes, but when a shadow began tormenting Beacon Hills, he found that sometimes he'd have to to play along with Peter's games.

This story does include a dose of Chris&Stiles interaction about midway and carries on throughout, and then Chris/Peter towards the midend, which also carries on. And it kind of dissolves into Chris/Peter/Stiles. If that's not your taste, that's fine, because the majority of the story is Stiles/Peter, and that majority is really really good Steter.

**********

No One Listening Tonight by Smalls2233

Words: 6985

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.

----

Stiles stumbles into a magical trap forged by a wannabe warlock.

*********

Author: Smalls2233

*********

Blue by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3179

Chapters: 2/2

Summary:

Derek brings both Scott and Stiles to the hospital to prove a point about hunters, but Stiles isn’t sure the point he’s getting is the point Derek’s trying to make. Especially when his black and white world explodes into color the moment he looks into Peter Hale’s eyes.

*********

The Long Way Around by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 15569

Chapters: 3/3

Summary:

When Peter leaves Beacon Hills for good, he expects that to be it for the broken bonds of the last remaining members of the Hale pack. Fate and Stiles Stilinski aren’t of the same opinion.

**********

Prowl by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3454

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Laura's body is never found, but instead of continuing with his murder spree, Peter gets distracted by the scent of his mate. Stiles gets very distracted by the huge wolf that starts showing up at his house all the time.

**********

Author: Wynnebat

This author writes some really interesting, deep stories about Steter that are really beautiful.

**********

your last white lie (everything is not alright) by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 4023

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Stiles says yes, and things go downhill from there.

**********

reflect by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 569

Chapters: 1/1

Part 1 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

(previously posted to tumblr)

When he dreams, he can sometimes still hear his mother’s voice, explaining it to him: Reflections are the price we pay for what we are.

*********

sentire by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1027

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

[to feel]

Stiles hears the whisper of death before it strikes.

**********

Author:

snowdarkred

This author writes some really intense, interesting stories about Peter and Stiles. Not as long as some fics are, but they're really good adaptions of Steter with a lot of feeling.

**********

The Striking Complication by aurevell on Archive of Our Own

Words: 27235

Chapters: 4/15

Summary:

The smile slips off Stiles’s face. “Hey, um. Why am I here?” he asks, voice unsteady. “I’m—I have this weird feeling like I shouldn’t leave you. I’ve felt all day like...” He can’t finish the thought.

Peter looks as surprised as Stiles feels. A strange expression passes over his face, there and gone before Stiles can decipher it.

Stiles snaps awake each morning with the sense that he’s missing something. Weirder still, he can’t wrap his head around his sudden, inexplicable trust in Peter Hale, who seems to know way more than he’s letting on. Nor can he guess why a half-remembered nightmare seems to haunt his every move.

Rinse and repeat. Because time loops suck, apparently.

*******

Author: aurevell

This author has 11 Teen Wolf fics under their belt. 5 Sterek and 6 Steter. Happy rummaging!

**********

the teeth right down to the blood by sazzafraz on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2133

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

‘We’re pretty fucked right now.’ Scott says. Stiles doesn’t speak but there’s something singing in his bones that says Scott got the message anyway. (In which both are bit and things are gruesome.)

This has a sprinkling of Scott/Stiles, Scott/Stiles/Peter, and Scott/Allison as well as Steter, but it's worth the read, a good story with an interesting concept.

*********

Author: sazzafraz

This author doesn't have that many Steter stories, although they do have a few. Although they do have some pretty lengthy Teen Wolf fics about other characters of the show.

***********

Everything goes (wow) by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 8215

Chapters: 5/5

Part 1 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

It was supposed to go like this:

1. Peter summons demon to the circle.

2. Demon remains in said circle until Peter outlines their contract.

3. Demon agrees to elegantly crafted contract, becoming loyally bound to Peter and Peter alone.

Instead, the creature steps casually out of the circle, tosses its things onto the leather sofa, and starts immediately meddling in Peter’s immaculate space, touching all of Peter’s very expensive things.

*********

It's only by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2905

Chapters: 3/5

Part 2 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

“Darling, please don’t pout.”

“You’re pouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”

*********

You are a memory by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 900

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the Little glimpse series

Summary:

If he has to bleed to breathe warmth back into Peter’s icy body, he will.

Because Peter’s done the same for him.

********

Author: midmorning_bomb

This author has 16 Steter fics. A little unfriendly to some of the other characters, but it's only kind of obvious because it's not subtle about it, and not exactly underserved. Has some really interesting ideas as well as some kind, well developed Steter. Definitely have a read through.

***********

[m-r-nicely]

Perfect Day

Just something I wrote while listening to Perfect Day by Gabbie Hanna. First time posting anything like this, so I’m gonna apologize before I even begin. This definitely turned out longer than I planned. I got sadder the further I got, but as goes the song so what can you do? Ya know?

Anyways, the colored texts are lyrics from the song, though some of them may seem a bit forced or out of place. I’m new to this.

The bold texts are thoughts.

The italics are just emphasized.

Wanda x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating; language (Steve don’t read this); and of course beginners’ cringe

a/n: It took me so long to figure out why I couldn’t post this only to find out that posting from the website is wonky. So I had to type this out on my phone from the computer. If this happens for all the writers I read, kudos to you all because this fucking sucks.

Anyways, enjoy.

I let my head fall back onto my towel as she begins packing up everything we brought with us to the beach. I’ve given up trying the puppy eyes, which I’m bad at anyways, and have opted to simply ignore her. Unfortunately, this was the sealing of my fate. You see, when your girlfriend is an Avenger, you know those people that do hero things, and you are not, being a civilian that can barely lift the 25lb weights at the gym, it probably isn’t a good idea to practice pushing your luck. Not that she ever seems to mind, because she knows I mean no harm and do it just for kicks. Plus, I always stop when she seriously asks me to. Most of the time she even admits to enjoying my childish antics. This very moment, however, would not be going in my favor. It didn’t take me long to realize this. Just the tiniest observation of the ground seeming to fall from under me as my towel wrapped around my body, loose sand resting on the fabric being shaken and thrown across my damp skin.

“Hey!” Nothing. Not even a glance. Oh, it’s so on. “Miss Scarlet Bitch, Could you pretty please put me down?”

I see her pull her lips into her mouth and press them into each other with her teeth as the corners of her lips spread upwards. She only does that when trying to hold back a laugh.

“Cherry on top?” I continue. Her smile grows. One more push and I know I could break her.

I was about to lay down my finishing line, but never got the chance. The towel moves from around me, the air is warm but still gives me goose bumps when the light breeze makes it rush over my skin. Suddenly, said towel is wrapping itself around my face. Not to the point that I couldn’t breathe, but enough to muffle anything that could come out of my mouth. Even though I cannot get anything understandable out, her laughs still reach my ears, a sound I will never get sick of. The fabric face hugger releases my head at the same time my feet touch the ground. First my toes feel the burn, then the balls of my feet, and finally everything back to my heels. I yip out at the pain, hopping from one foot to the other in a poor attempt to ease the burning from the sun soaked pavement. The car has yet to be unlocked, which I only notice after I’ve ferociously yanked at the door handle.

“Babe?!” I whine, to which she only laughs, once again.

“Yes, darling?”

“My whittle tootsies,” I say in as childish of a tone as I can manage. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pressing myself against her back, but also pulling myself up to free my flesh from the scorching stone.

“If you had listened,” she starts, I cut her off with another childish whine, to which she giggles, “you would have had time to put your sandals on. These are the consequences of your own actions.”

I know she’s right, as per usual, but what irks me the most is the way she says it so lightheartedly. As if my suffering is entertaining her. ‘I would have had enough time if someone didn’t kidnap me from my sandy paradise.’

“I can hear that, you know.”

‘Shut it.’

“I’m sorry,” she turns around in my arms and places a kiss on my nose, “do you want to repeat that, honey?”

I know better. The head tilt is enough of an indication to tread lightly and choose my next words, or thoughts, wisely, but the way she says that pet name send shivers up my spine.

‘I love you.’

She brushes her nose against mine before placing a gentle kiss on my lips. “I love you too, y/n,” the words are so soft and quiet, as if she merely breathes them out. I, however, hear them loud and clear.

We share a few more pecks, the pain in my feet long forgotten, then get into her car. I lean back into the headrest as she pulls out of the parking space. By the route she’s taking I can tell we’re going to the compound rather than my apartment, which isn’t an issue since we both have clothes and necessities at either location. I roll down the passenger side window and let my hand languidly surf along the wind whipping past the opening. I can feel tickles and tingles in my stomach when she moves her hand to rest on my lower thigh, her thumb caressing just above my knee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive back to the compound is only 2 hours. We barely got our stuff out of the trunk before she decided it had been too long since her lips were on mine. I giggle at each kiss exchanged as I try to escape her attack. I thought she would open the door with her magic since she’s too…..preoccupied to open it manually. Instead, the door swings open to reveal Rhodey with a playfully grossed out expression displaying itself across his face.

“Alright, children, nobody wants to see that. Come inside before we get public complaints,” he says, a toothy smile slowly making itself known.

“What’s wrong, Rhodes,” Sharon says as she walks past the open door carrying files, likely recent mission reports, loosely against her right side, “not a fan of young love?” Maria laughs, as she’s following not far behind Sharon with a similar pile of manila folders.

“Love? No no no. You see, we’re just two misfits sharing kisses,” I joke. Wanda playfully flicks my forehead as she walks past me towards the door, taking my free hand in her own. Rhodey lets the door shut after Wanda and I make our way inside, her hand keeping a soft, yet firm, hold on mine. The three of us make our way into the elevator, Rhodey having been on his way here beforehand, while Sharon and Maria go down another corridor with their files.

“How was it?” Rhodey asks us.

“Weather was nice. The water was slightly warm from the sun hitting it all day. The sun wasn’t too overbe-” Wanda covers my mouth with her hand before I can begin listing every nitty gritty detail, other than the ones he is asking about.

“It’s been such a perfect day. Thank you for asking, Rhodey,” she tells him.

Metal doors separate to reveal the lively lobby of the third floor with several SWORD agents, SHIELD agents, and, of course, some of the Avengers. Rhodey leaves us with a nod of his head before walking towards the kitchen. Wanda guides me in another direction, leading me to the corridor that breaks into different hallways with doors on both walls, each one an entrance to a different bedroom.

Second hall on the left. Fifth room on the right. Wanda’s room.

We, once again, have only just made it through her bedroom door before she’s smothering my face with little pecks. I manage to squirm out of her grasp and start putting everything away where it belongs, running away from my girlfriend when she gets too close to catching me. All that’s heard in the room are our laughs and my footsteps as I evade her, but all things must come to an end.

Wanda has been walking across the room to give me an actual chance to get away, but she decided to lunge at me suddenly without warning, getting the upper hand once again. Not that I mind.

“These have to be put away,” I pout. Her kiss barrage halts. I feel the same sensation from the car as she sends me a gentle smile. I’m too mesmerized by her soft green eyes to realize she’s using her magic to put away the last of what I was talking about just seconds before.

“There,” I look around the room then back at her, “all done,” she whispers to me.

‘What did I do to deserve this?’

She giggles as I’m practically dragged to the bed and into her lap, maneuvering to straddle her, as we couldn’t help but hold each other. Her attack continues, but now more passionate and focused on my lips.

One hand rests on my thigh, gently tracing small patterns, while the other makes its way to the small of my back, nudging me closer to her ever so slightly. My arms drape over her shoulders before slowly receding and cupping each side of her jaw. I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting like this, tangled at the mouth, but eventually I shiver, becoming very aware of us still being in our bathing suits.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I whisper as my lips hover just above her own, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence in the room, my eyes still closed.

“Okay, honey,” is all I hear. When she says it this time, it’s warm and calming. Loving.

I get up and go about picking what I want to wear for the rest of the day, since it’s only 5:00pm. As I shut the bathroom door I let out a happy and content sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I step out of Wanda’s shower and into her bathroom, or as I have made it, her sauna. I work on drying myself off as the mist remaining in the air keeps me warm. I gradually pull on my clothes.

First my undergarments’, then my sweatpants and socks followed by my camisole, and topping it all off with one of Wanda’s oversized button up flannels. As I pull on Wanda’s flannel, I saw ‘I love you’ written in the steam on the mirror. I smile to myself as I grab my brush that I had brought with me when I’d driven to the compound this morning to get ready with Wanda. I brush my hair while admiring my girlfriend’s work, but my movements slow until I eventually come to a stop. I lean over the sink slightly to look closer at the writing, and my smile vanishes.

The steam had fogged over the letters to some degree, but not enough to hide them completely, indicating it was made today, but not recently. I know I didn’t leave this here, so maybe Wanda had written it earlier…..no. She was the only one that took a shower here this morning, and I was still on my way over.

Besides that, there is one crucial detail that chips pieces of my heart away the more I think about it.

I place my hand on the mirror by the ‘I’ and swipe it across slowly until I reach the ‘u’ then my tears start to form. I grab my stuff and open the door to her room.

She’s sitting on her bed with Cheers set up on her laptop, the episode we last watched displayed on the screen. She is already wearing her favorite hoodie of mine, which I gave her in our third month of being official, and shorts that barely manage to peak out from under my hoodie. The image of Wanda in front of me makes me feel the tingling again…..but this isn’t the same.

She lifts her head to smile at me. That same smile that used to make my cheeks flush. Now it hurts to see. I try to give her a smile in return, but I struggle to fake these things. My attempted smile ends up being the sides of my lips barely curling up, and only for a split second, before falling again. This odd behavior is obvious to Wanda, so she moves the laptop off her lap and turns to face me completely.

“What’s wrong?” She asks me. What’s wrong!? I just scan her face for a moment, not knowing what I’m looking for. I snap out of it when I hear her again.

“Y/n, are you okay?” She really doesn’t know?

Well, here we go then. Rip off the band-aid. I turn my head down to look at where I’ve suddenly found an incredible level of interest in my hands.

“When I got out, I saw the mirror,” I stated slowly, “and I couldn’t help but smile at the sweet message you left me.” She inhaled sharply, but it was so quiet that I nearly missed it. I waited a few seconds before glancing up at her. She was….

Smiling? How could she smile at this!? Does she think I’m an idiot?

“I wrote it just for you, darling.”

Bullshit.

‘But it wasn’t in your handwriting.’

By the look on her face, I knew she heard my thought and I’m somewhat relieved because I don’t think I can say it out loud without breaking. That relief is short lived, though, because it just confirms what I already knew, and suddenly those happy little letters were the saddest thing I’d ever seen. I clench my jaw to hold back a sob I can feel building. The threat of tears is starting to burn my eyes and cloud my vision, but I hold them at bay. Wanda sits in shock, and we stay like that for a mere minute, though it feels like an eternity.

‘Do something,’ I beg myself.

Nothing.

‘Do ANYTHING.’

Wanda’s eyes drop to the floor. It’s subtle, but I see it. She wants to say something, and she knows I won’t like it, but she needs to say it now while I'm giving her this chance, because I don't know how long it'll be until I'm willing to listen again.

Wanda says nothing for another eon, knowing that it likely won't make any fucking difference. As if the heartbreak, the broken trust, the betrayal will all hurt less because she chose to tell me 'with who' or 'why' or 'how long' it'd happened.

So I make the first move, disrupting the silence that had settled in the room. I begin gathering my belongings: shoes, bag, keys, phone, etc. If neither of us are going to say anything, then why would I stay here? Short answer, I won’t.

Eventually I make my way towards the door. Only now does Wanda seem to get the gist as she scrambles to get off her bed. Unfortunately, she manages to catch me before I can get fully into the hallway.

“Y/n wait! I can explain. It was-” but I cut her off as my hurt mixes with a newfound anger, and she appears to sense the shift.

‘Oh, so now you need to get your conscience clean? Right as I decide to leave?’ I scold her in my mind, still unable to release my jaw, which remains locked in place. ‘God, spare me the details, Wanda. I don’t care anymore, who it was or why you did it, because it’s done. I don’t think I can deal with this right now, and I need to go.’ With that I practically bulldoze through the hall so she can’t keep me there. Tears are streaming down my face regardless of how hard I try to fight them. Fuck mind over matter.

I’m not running, but you’d have to run to catch up to me, at least Wanda does. By the time I reach the main corridor to the rooms Wanda is halfway down the hall. I get a few paces down the corridor when a hand grabs my arm and spins me around. One guess who it is.

You're wrong. I turn and see Daisy looking at me with a smile that falls the minute she lays her eyes on my tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. If my jaw wasn’t as tight as it is I know my lip would be quivering.

“Hey, y/n, what’s wrong?” A conversation with Daisy is a distraction that I need but can’t afford. I want so badly to tell her I’m okay. To tell her I’m fine and make my way out of the building. I feel bad for brushing her off like this but I have to.

“It’s nothing. I just have to go. I’ll give you a ca-”

“Y/n!” Wanda rounds the corner, making her way to us quickly. She has tears starting to build in her eyes as well now. I can already see Daisy putting the pieces together. She’s not blind, and her concern for me morphed into a sisterly protectiveness. She always saw me like that, a sister, and now when I needed it the most, she was here. I’m so grateful for her.

Daisy puts a hand up and stops Wanda from getting any closer to me. She isn’t fuming and expressing the anger she feels, it’s more of a vibe she gives off. The atmosphere shifts and that’s what made Wanda stop. I assume this is a good time for me to haul ass and get to my car, but apparently this day just keeps getting more difficult.

My teeth are grinding against each other and I’m sure at least one of my teeth is going to chip when I hear her. “Y/n, it was a mistake! Everything moved so fast that I-” Now more people are gathering to see what the commotion is about. From the kitchen, the lobby, the other bedrooms, the offices, meeting rooms, everywhere on the third floor is slowly emptying into this one corridor.

‘Wanda, I don’t want to cause a scene.’

She stops talking and just stares at me again. I gave her a chance to explain earlier and she didn’t. I’m not giving her a chance to explain now that I'm worked up and on the edge of breaking. I keep walking towards the elevator until I’m about to reach it. I’m keeping my head down, but most agents I pass can probably see the damage this has done. I notice Rhodey, Carol, Loki, and Mantis in the distance. I can hear Daisy getting louder at Wanda behind me.

I almost make it to the metal box, where I can take a moment to myself before leaving, and am about to enter when a red hue moves the doors into each other. ‘Please let me go. I just wanna leave.’ I fight so hard to keep myself composed to the best of my ability. Why can’t she just let me go? We can talk later, when we both calm down, why is she keeping me here!? My breathing quickens as I look around the room like a cornered beast, trying to find any way out that I can.

The stairs!

I all but run to the stairwell and tug on the handle. It doesn’t move. Why is it fucking loc- it’s not locked. The scarlet around the hinges gives it away. Fine, she really wants to do this now? Then we’ll do this shit now!

The relief floods my teeth as I pry my jaw apart so I can talk, but all that comes out is a choked sob. Daisy is keeping Wanda near the entrance to the corridor so there remains a distance between us. Not that we would get physical in a fight, Wanda would never hurt me like that, but to make sure there is no ‘magic forgiveness’ spell put on me by the witch. The first wave of sobs wracks my body as I start to pace. My hands running through my hair and tugging at the roots in several places, a stress mechanism that I’ve worked so hard to get rid of.

It’s a telltale sign of mine that Wanda and our friends picked up on that signifies I’m about to. Lose. My. Shit.

And I did.

“I bet now you wish you would’ve wiped it away!” I didn’t expect my voice to sound as hoarse as it does, but the sobs destroy my larynx with each emotional release. The tingling in my stomach now on full blast as I let everything from the past half hour out, in front of our friends, and Wanda’s team, no less. “What would you have done if I hadn’t seen it? How long would you have let me live in blissful ignorance!?A false sense of security! A faithless relationship!”

Wanda doesn’t try to move towards or away from me. Tears are streaming down her face as well, Vision standing on the sidelines likely not knowing what is wrong. I know it was him. I didn’t before, we get along very well and I’ve taught him a lot about cooking, being his taste tester, but the way Wanda looks at him right now. It says it all.

Like a deer in headlights.

Poor android doesn’t even know why I’m upset about this. He’s still learning, only a few years old. I know he didn’t know any better than to follow his heart, but Wanda did.

“Why’d you lie?” My voice is too broken to keep shouting. I feel as if I’m floating, the world around me slows down for a short period of time. Seconds before my knees crash onto the ground a pair of arms wrap around me. I try to fight, to get up and walk out. Walk out on Wanda, walk out on this relationship, walk out on love. I glance up to see Pietro, her brother, holding me with a heartbroken look in his eyes. I cling to his shirt as he sinks fully to the floor, still cradling me in his embrace.

My voice is nearly gone, throat is damaged and strained, eyes are puffy and burning, nose is running from the mucus mixing with my tears in my sinuses leading to pain behind my tear ducts, my head throbbing from the sobbing I’ve done. My breathing is erratic causing a lack of inhalation and a massive fucking headache. I begin to see growing splotches darken my vision, and manage to croak out one final question, the softest I’ve spoken since leaving Wanda’s bathroom. Only loud enough for those in my direct vicinity to hear.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

All That I Ask

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6990

Warnings: Smut. Smut, feels, and Sam Winchester being wonderful. There’s a brief moment of post-traumatic dissociation, but the traumatic event itself isn’t discussed or really even named. Otherwise, it’s about as gooey and sweet as a fuckin marshmallow. This is like... fix-it fic for life-canon. 

A/N: Whether it was rape or coercion or just a partner who didn’t care enough to make you feel comfortable, I think almost every woman knows what it’s like to feel powerless or unsafe during sex. This is about agency and trust and hang-ups and recovery, and how partners should handle those things.  

This was inspired by a request from @the-departed-patato. Thank you for trusting me with this one. I didn’t realize until I started typing that this was something I really really needed to write.

Also, major thanks to the Slack squad for edits and support and trying to curb my comma habit: @rockhoochie, @icemankazansky, @fangirlxwritesx67, @stunudo​ y’all are amazing.

Here’s my heart, don’t break it.  It’s all that I ask, nothing more.  - “Moonlight,” Future Islands

1.

This is so stupid. 

This is Sam. This is sweet, kind, gentle Sam, and I’m head over heels for him. 

I want him. How could I not? I’ve wanted to do this since I met him, and now I can. He tugs his shirt over his head, and I can run my hand up his side, down his chest, tracing the ripply contours of abs, and god dammit, I want him. 

He rolls me onto my back, hips slotting in against me. I can feel the drag and catch of denim, I can feel where he’s hard against the crease of my thigh, and I can feel his weight on me, holding me, pressing into me, trapping me, and I can feel myself start to shut down. 

This is so stupid. 

I remind myself that I’m safe. He’s being gentle, I tell myself. He’s not holding my wrists, he’s not pinning me, he’s not doing anything that should make me feel unsafe. 

I’m still shutting down. I stare at a point somewhere over his shoulder as he kisses my neck, and I remind myself that I’m being stupid, and I can’t fucking breathe. 

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s looking down at me, rolling onto his side again, and I try to focus on him but part of me is seeing someone else. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, voice small and tight around the lump in my throat. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, so fucking sweet with his sunflower eyes wide and concerned. I shake my head. 

“No, it’s stupid,” I squeak. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t — we can — I’m fine.” 

“Do you need space, or — how can I help?” 

“Don’t go,” I breathe. “Please don’t, I’m okay, just come… come here?”  

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, putting an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here. Take your time.” 

I burrow into his chest, tears stinging my eyes as I start to break the grip of whatever cold thing has been clutching at my ribcage. 

This is so fucking stupid. 

I remember to breathe, and Sam waits. He strokes my hair, whispers soothing nonsense, cradles me close. 

“I’m sorry,” I choke out eventually. I can’t look him in the eye; I look at his neck instead, the steady flutter of his pulse under the skin. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, soft but fierce. “Nothing. You hear me?” 

“‘Kay.” I swallow hard and try to shake it off. “We can — it’s not that I don’t want to. Do you want—” 

“Stop,” he interrupts. “There’s no rush, okay? If you’re doing this because you think you should… for my sake? That’s not how it works.” 

He curls a gentle finger under my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes, and I feel hot all over at the tenderness in his expression. I blink away tears and give him a tiny nod. 

“This is about the guy you told me about?” he asks, tentative. “Was it… it was more than you made it out to be, wasn’t it?” 

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to make words. My heart is racing, and I can feel the panicked beat of it in my throat, choking me. 

“We need to talk about this, at some point. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, but I need to know what not to do. I don’t ever want to scare you.” 

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling raw and exposed and so goddamn crazy about him. 

“We don’t have to do that now, though. Just rest. You’re safe with me.” 

2.

 “Good morning, gorgeous,” Sam whispers when I stir. He’s spooned up behind me, one big solid arm around my waist, and I settle myself more comfortably in the cocoon of his embrace. Then I remember. 

“About last night—” I start hesitantly. 

“If you’re going to try to apologize again, stop right there,” he says, and I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “But if you want to talk about it…” 

We didn’t close the curtains, and the morning sun is filtering through the blinds of the motel room, making everything feel clean and bright and fresh. It’s easier like this, too, with my back to Sam. I don’t have to feel his eyes on me. 

“There hasn’t been anyone else, since,” I admit. My voice sounds very small in the quiet of the room. “So… I don’t really know what causes it. Not for sure.”  

Sam exhales slowly, his breath tickling the curve of my neck. “What happened last night, to set it off?” 

“Having you on top of me, I think. It’s not — you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you. That’s all on him,” Sam says. The faintest hint of a growl in his voice takes me by surprise. “No blame, okay? I’m not going to take it personally. Not ever.” 

“Okay. Um. Feeling… held down, or trapped. And you shouldn’t — don’t grab my wrists?” 

“I can do that. What else?” 

“I think… just, not too rough?” I ask, cheeks burning. “I don’t think I could handle… too much. The first time, at least.” 

“Okay,” he agrees calmly. “And what else? What does work for you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This isn’t about, like, just making it manageable for you,” he says, low and earnest, kissing the curve of my neck. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Oh. Um.” 

I’m suddenly very conscious of his hand splayed over my lower abdomen, his palm warm through the thin cotton of my tank top.  He must feel the way my belly tightens, because he slides his hand a little lower, thumb tucking under the hem and stroking back and forth, tickling deliciously. 

It’s such a light touch, a barely-there brush, but it’s sending sparks down my spine. I wriggle back against Sam, wondering if the sudden crackle of tension in the air is just my imagination. 

“I want to know what gets you off.” Sam’s voice is husky and heated, and my breath hitches. It’s not just my imagination, then. “I want to make you come. It’s not just about… penetration, or whatever.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and I wonder if that’s the first time someone has made the word penetration sound sexy. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want my mouth?” 

I shift, and I can feel him getting hard through his pajama pants. 

“Yeah,” I whisper.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I want that. Sam… want you.” 

His hand slides lower, until the tips of his pinky and ring finger are dipping under the elastic of my shorts. 

“When you touch yourself,” he says quietly. “What do you do? Can you show me?” 

“I don’t—”

His hand finds mine where it’s curled loosely on the mattress, slides under it so that my palm rests on the back of his, and he laces our fingers together, bringing our joined hands back to my stomach. 

“Can you show me?” he repeats, and the warmth of his hand is burning through my shirt, pooling in my core, making me want like I haven’t wanted another person in a long time. 

“Oh.” I take a deep breath. 

I guide his hand lower, flush against my skin, under my waistband and down until his fingers cup my cunt. When I press my middle finger down against his, he moves with me, one long finger parting my lips and stroking through silky wet heat. He follows my lead, waiting for me, his knuckle bending when mine does, nudging against my entrance. His finger is so much longer than mine. When I curl it, pressing in, it’s him sliding into me, his fingertip, shallow and easy. 

I exhale slowly, not pushing, and he stays, chest rising against my back as he sucks in a deep breath, waiting for my direction. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says, low and gravelly. 

“Good.” 

I’m shaky and wet and aching with how much I want him, and I’m not sure where this is going, not sure I’m ready for more than his fingers, but I need him to understand: none of this, none of my hesitation, is because I don’t want him. 

I draw his hand up, showing him where to stroke with one slick fingertip, circling my clit, and I can feel him trembling too, all down my back, his cock hard where it presses against my ass. This torturous drawn-out intensity, the way he’s waiting for me… it’s almost unbearable, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to move any faster. 

We breathe in sync, both our chests heaving at the same time as the zing of it ripples out through me, and —

Someone bangs on the door. 

“Up and at ‘em!” Dean shouts. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, as Sam lets out a low groan. It takes every bit of my willpower to pull away. When I roll to face him, he’s just as wild-eyed as I feel, flushed and panting and gorgeous. 

We’re both paralyzed for a second, staring at each other, until he lets out a long sigh. 

“Later,” he husks, and it sounds like a promise. 

“Later.” 

3.

Later, when we fall into bed, I’m shaking for a completely different reason. 

It wasn’t a bad hunt, in the end. It’s just one moment that keeps replaying in my memories on a sickening loop. There was so much blood, all down the side of his face and neck, and he went still in a way that made my heart stop for a second. 

Apparently ears bleed a lot. 

I felt a little embarrassed when I saw the injury, a barely-there slice through the cartilage, but I couldn’t shake the sight of all that blood. There’s still traces of it on his skin, dried in his hair. My stomach churns whenever I catch a glimpse of rusty red. 

He pulls the comforter up over us, lying on his uninjured side, and I kiss him, deep and starved, my entire body vibrating with the tension of lingering adrenaline, like my skin is sparking up with the reminder that we’re still alive and we should enjoy it while we can. 

I can feel it in his muscles, too, the way he’s holding back, holding himself stiff like he has to restrain himself. He rolls onto his back and takes me with him, arms strong around me, body warm and ready under me. 

I choke on a quiet sob, trying to hold it in.

Sam freezes, big hands cupping my cheeks as he breaks the kiss. He looks at me, eyes deep green-gold in the lamplight. 

“It’s not — it’s not that. You scared me.” 

“I know,” he says. “I know. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

“Want you,” I say fiercely, watching the way his swollen-red lips twitch into a bittersweet smile. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re already on edge. If your fight or flight system is still all revved up…” 

He’s right, but I hate it. He brushes hair back from my forehead and kisses me again, chaste and quick. 

“Okay,” I whisper, against his mouth. “Just… god, you scared me, Sam.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and I kiss one corner of his mouth, then the other. 

“I need a shower,” he says. 

I frown, feeling childish as I confess, “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“I didn’t mean — come with me,” he suggests. “Shower with me. Not — no sex.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Really?”

“You don’t have to,” he backtracks gently. “If you’re not ready to—” 

“Sam, I’ve wanted to see you naked since I met you,” I say flatly. “Believe me, that is not the problem.” 

He laughs, dimples flashing as he grins up at me. “Then… yeah. Come shower with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight either.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He only turns on half the bathroom lights, keeping it dim. The harsh fluorescents would be too much. It’s easier to pull my shirt off when I feel like I can still hide in the shadows. 

I try not to stare as he strips down matter-of-factly and steps in, but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to look at myself, either, when I compare my body to Sam’s. I get my clothes off before I can talk myself out of it, tripping clumsily out of my jeans. 

He must see something different than I do when I look at myself, because the way he stares at me when I step into the shower… he looks at me like he never wants to stop looking. 

I’ve never felt like this before, shaky and vulnerable and open but in a good way, because somehow I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling like this. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust Sam. That trust is what stops me from covering myself with my hands, stops me from doubting myself as I step under the spray with him and stand up on my tiptoes for a kiss. 

One kiss turns into more, syrupy-slow, water streaming down our skin as we melt into each other. Sam licks and sucks and nibbles at my mouth until my lips feel puffy and bruised. I adjust, slowly, to the feel of his body against mine, the way my soft curves mold to the muscled planes of his chest, the way his cock twitches against my stomach as he gets hard, and even though I can feel the length of him hot and heavy between us, he doesn’t press for more; he kisses me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. 

By the time he pulls away, I’m light-headed. He looks down at me with water beading in his spiky eyelashes, and he smiles. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, and somehow, I believe him. 

I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He grabs his shampoo from the edge of the tub and turns me around, my back to his chest. 

He massages little sudsy circles into my scalp and combs his fingers gently through the tangles. He shields my eyes when it’s time to rinse, tilting my chin back gently into the spray. Nobody’s done this for me since I was a child. It makes me feel innocent and serene and fucking treasured, the way he takes care of me. 

Sex has always felt like the height of intimacy to me. I always feel vulnerable, like that’s the closest I can get to another person, the most exposed. 

Sam’s fingers in my hair feel like a better expression of trust than anything I’ve ever done in bed. Sex has never felt this intimate. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this intimate. 

Everything starts to fade, the leftover adrenaline draining out of me, the outside world ceasing to matter. It’s just Sam and me, completely bare, wrapped in our little steamy cocoon. I feel safe. I feel exhausted, heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, muscles aching, but I don’t feel pressured and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel safe. 

4.

Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

He’s stretched out over the pool table as he lines up his shot, eyes laser-focused, hands curled around the cue. He has his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and I can see veins standing out under the skin, corded muscles rippling, bunching and shifting with every twist of his wrist. 

Yeah. I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

Dean spits out a sip of his beer, spluttering out a vehement, “Ew, I don’t want to hear that shit!”  

So apparently I said that out loud. 

Dean stalks away, muttering to himself, and I chirp a quick “Sorry!” to his retreating back. 

He’ll get over it. 

Sam’s done with his game, and he’s walking toward me, grinning in that slow easy way of his as he tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t handle not touching him any more. 

“Can we get some air?” I ask breathlessly, and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he lets me tug him outside. 

There are a couple people smoking by the door, so I pull him farther away, down to the end of the building, where a tacky wooden statue of a bear stands between us and the door. It’s close enough to privacy. 

Sam slouches back against the brick, and I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him, leaning against him and trusting him to keep me upright. He goes with it, opening up for me as I take control of the kiss, his lips pillowy, and I can feel him smile. 

“What was that for?” he asks, when I give him a second to breathe. I nuzzle into the side of his neck and nip at his pulse, and his fingers tighten on my hips. 

“Just want you,” I say bluntly. I kiss him again, a deep filthy kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “I was watching you, and… yeah. Want you. Can we go back to the motel?” 

“You’re drunk,” he says, mock-admonishing, but he’s still smiling. 

“‘M not drunk, you’re drunk,” I mumble sulkily. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the P, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tipsy, maybe.” 

“Which is still too drunk,” Sam says gently. 

I let out a tiny frustrated sound as he kisses me again. “Fine.” 

He laughs, shifting his weight, getting one knee between mine, and when I settle closer, I can feel the blunt pressure of his thigh right between my legs. 

“Believe me,” he whispers, between kisses, “I would really, really love to take you back to the motel right now but… it’s not a good idea.” He shifts, and I whine at the friction. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight. I want us both to be sober for that. When we get there… I want to remember every second of it.” 

“Kinda worried I’m gonna combust before then.” The drag of denim on denim pulls at the seam of my jeans, almost painfully good, and I shiver. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he didn’t realize that he was torturing me. He rocks forward experimentally. It feels like fireworks. 

“Don’t oh me,” I grump, except it comes out more breathless than grumpy. 

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he whispers. “Don’t want to rush it. Want to take my time with you. I want to watch you come for me, want to taste it —” 

I whimper, rolling my hips helplessly, clinging to Sam so tight that my fingers must be bruising his biceps. 

“Do you like thinking about that?” he asks, growling low against my ear. “My mouth?” 

“Please,” I bite out. “Fuck, Sam, I need — something. Anything.” I tilt my hips down again, trying to make my point. 

He hesitates for a split second before rocking up to meet me, and I let out a ragged sigh. 

“I won’t — not tonight, not more than this,” he says hoarsely, stumbling over the words. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he asks intently, “Are you sure this is okay right now? If you really want —”

“Please,” I say again. I meet his eyes, embarrassed by how much I want him but steady in spite of it. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel like this, loose and relaxed and reckless, or maybe it’s just Sam, the way he’s letting me take the lead, the way he groans when I shudder against him, the way I trust him with my life and trust him enough to let him see me fall apart like this. 

And I am falling apart. I work my hips in little circles, feeling the dull burn of it clench in my gut with every tiny movement, pushing myself closer to the edge. 

Sam just lets me, chest heaving, murmuring filthy-sweet things in my ear: “I’m all yours. Anything. Don’t care how long I have to wait, just — want to make you feel good. Want you on top of me, want you to just — ride my mouth, rub yourself all over my tongue, want —” 

I let out a tiny, bitten-off whimper, hiding my face against his shoulder. My muscles spasm as I come, jerking against him, feeling it thud through me all at once like a punch to the gut. 

I’m almost surprised by it, and by the wave of relief that washes through me. It’s not the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, but it’s the easiest by far. I never realized I could get off like that. 

Then again, any experience I’ve ever had with dry-humping was with the guy on top of me, hipbones bruising my thighs, and… yeah. No thank you. 

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, arms around me, supporting my weight as I collect myself.

“That was… unexpected,” I blurt out, and I giggle helplessly as I pull back to look at him. He grins back, and there’s something so dazed and beautiful in his expression that I lose my breath all over again. 

“I —” Sam starts, but he catches himself, shutting his mouth abruptly.

I’m falling in love with you, I think, heart pounding, but I know I can’t say it now, can’t say it like this. 

Sam and I look at each other in silence for a second, and then the moment passes. I flush, self-conscious, an apology on the tip of my tongue. 

“Don’t apologize, that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me,” Sam says preemptively, before I can form the words. “You should go inside, before Dean comes looking for us. Just… give me a second?” He adjusts himself in his jeans, making a face, and I giggle. 

“See you in there.” 

5.

“That was easy,” Dean comments, as we buckle our seatbelts. “Where to next? Sammy, did you find anything in the paper this morning?” 

“Actually,” Sam says. “I could really use an evening off. Can we grab some food and go back to the motel and just… chill for the night?” 

He and Dean exchange one of those Winchester looks that don’t mean anything to anyone else but the two of them. 

“Sure,” Dean says easily. Sam smiles at me in the rearview, and I think, oh. 

My brain is my worst enemy. By the time we pull into the motel lot, I’m panicking, and I’m not even sure why. 

Sam’s laughing at something Dean just said, bathed in gold late-afternoon light, and he’s incredible, and I should want nothing more than to get him in our room and jump him, but my chest feels tight and I’m convinced that I’ll freeze up, freak out, mess it all up, and he’ll give up, he’s already been so patient — 

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks. The driver’s side door slams behind Dean, breaking me out of my trance. 

“Fine,” I say, too brightly. “I’m fine.” 

He studies me for a second, head tilted, and I try to smile at him. It doesn’t work. 

“I’m not fine,” I amend, and feel my face crumple. 

“Hang on one sec?” Sam asks, and I take a second to compose myself as he jumps out of the car. He and Dean have a whispered powwow and then Sam returns, key in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“Come sit up front,” he says easily, without explanation. “Let’s go for a drive.” 

“We can —” I try, but he cuts me off. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like there’s pressure,” he says firmly. “I just want to spend time with you. Let’s just… go for a drive.” 

So that’s what we do. When we leave the strip mall hell that surrounds the motel, Sam gets off the highway and we’re in the woods, driving up a winding mountain road. Sam seems to know where he’s headed; he mutters “Think it’s around here somewhere,” at one point, and then eventually he turns onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

He drives slow, easing into the sharp curves. I can breathe again. It’s hard to feel panicky out here, up in the open air, close to the pink-tinted sky. When the trees open up there are views of sprawling valleys, just starting to turn orange and yellow in the first hints of fall. 

There’s a wide pull-off for a scenic overlook, “Rocky Knob,” and Sam parks. The sun is setting behind us and the clouds are lined in deep pink now. 

Sam spreads his coat out on the scratchy grass, right in front of Baby, and we sit next to each other, watching in easy silence as the light fades and dusk falls. 

“Thank you,” I say quietly, tilting my head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm around me and I shift, turning to settle more comfortably against his side. A sliver of moon is just visible on the horizon. 

“You know you don’t —” he starts. His voice sounds choked and strange. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I just like seeing you happy. That’s more important to me than… any of the rest of it.” 

“Thank you,” I repeat, firmly, and he lets out a laugh that’s more of a sigh. 

I twist to kiss him, intending to make it a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he turns to meet me, tongue flickering over my lower lip, teeth scraping ever so carefully. One hand finds my cheek, and his fingers are so long that I feel dwarfed by the way they cradle and caress and pull me closer. 

I crawl into his lap, straddling him. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other between my shoulderblades, steadying me. I trace the hard lines of bones under skin, running my fingers along the jut of his jaw and stroking the hinge of it with my thumb, sliding the other hand back to cup the shape of his skull, and for all his size and strength he feels fragile under my fingers. I brush over his pulse and rub the soft hollow behind his ear, and I can feel how fragile this is, this thing between us and the way it makes him shake when he breathes. 

We’re both shaking, I realize, as I rest my forehead against his. The tip of my nose nudges against his. The curve of his lower lip brushes mine, barely, not intentional enough to be a kiss, just… close. 

Not close enough. Never close enough. 

“Sam,” I start, voice wobbling dangerously, but I don’t even know where to begin. His fingers twist in the back of my shirt, fisted in the fabric like he’s afraid to let go. He exhales — inhales — trembles. 

Somehow I never considered that I might not be the only one here who’s scared. 

I kiss him one more time, trying to tell him how I feel even if I can’t say the words yet, and then I pull away to look at him. His eyes catch and reflect the moonlight, glittering in the dark. 

“Let’s go,” I say, and my voice isn’t shaking any more. 

6.

Sam’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do with himself once the motel room door clicks shut behind us; he turns the desk lamp on and just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

“We could watch a movie?” he offers. His hesitation makes it easier, somehow, to take the lead; I go up to him and tug at the hem of his shirt as I kiss his jaw. 

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” I say firmly. I slide my hands under his shirt and run my thumbs over the ridges of his hipbones. “Take this off?” 

He strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, smiling, shy and happy. 

We kiss and shed layers and kiss again, stumbling back toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we’re down to our underwear, and even though I’ve seen Sam naked, now, the sight of him takes me by surprise. It doesn’t seem fair, how beautiful he is. All the bare golden skin throws me off-balance. 

He moves slowly into my space, running his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders, and when he kisses me, my head spins. I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. Sam just folds to his knees in front of me, smiling up at me patiently. 

“Can I?” he asks softly. He runs his hands up my legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties. When I nod, he tugs, and I lift my hips to let him slide the fabric down until it’s out of the way. 

He moves closer, kneeling between my spread legs. He doesn’t look shy any more. He looks hungry, pupils huge in kaleidoscope blue-gold irises as he watches me through his lashes. 

I nod again, silently giving him permission, and his lips curl into a smile. Sam hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me forward, until I’m right on the edge of the bed. 

“Give me your hand?” he asks, and when I do, he brings it to his head, tangling my fingers through his silky hair. I lean on my other hand to brace myself and the position opens me up for him even more. “You’re in charge,” he reminds me. 

The first lick is slow, just a smooth wet curl of heat tracing up my center, good in a way that’s easy and sweet even if it’s not the ‘god more now’ kind of pleasure. I run my fingers through Sam’s hair idly, trying to relax. He does it again, dipping down and dragging up, before swirling his tongue over my clit, and the friction coils up and rolls out through my core. The next lush swipe of his tongue has more pressure behind it, and he lingers on my clit, flattening his tongue, massaging. I let out a little sigh, and he hums approvingly. 

“Want you to tell me what feels good, okay?” he asks, mouthing at the crease of my hip. “Or show me. Hold me where you want me.” 

How does he just say those things? 

Sam buries his face between my legs again, not just licking but working me over with his open mouth pressed to my cunt like he’s kissing me. He gets my clit between his lips and sucks gently, and it’s so good that I tug him closer helplessly, giving in to the pleasure before I even have a chance to hold back. 

“Sorry,” I gasp, relaxing my grip when I realize how hard I’m pulling. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to —” 

“I like it,” Sam growls, the words vibrating right up against me. Then he’s doing that thing again, slick pulsing pressure, and I give in, twisting my fingers in his hair and tilting my hips up to meet his mouth as my eyes roll back in my head. He moans low in his throat.

Every wave of suction feels more intense. It’s sharp and bright and perfect, building so fast I’m not sure what to do with myself; all I can do is hold on and arch up and shudder. I can feel it pulling up from my fingers, my toes, an inevitable swell of pressure under my skin until the wave of it finally crests and I come with a shout, long and drawn-out, one shock of pleasure after another. 

“Fucking — fuck, Sam,” I whine, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched and cracked. He flicks his tongue over me again and I twitch, jerking away from the raw-nerve feel of it. 

When I drag my eyes open he’s looking up at me, smiling, a dimple just visible as he turns his head to kiss my inner thigh. 

The fuck am I supposed to say to that? 

Apparently I can’t say anything to that. I think my brain has gone permanently offline. 

Sam sort of scoops me up and deposits me farther back on the bed, where I’m not at risk of falling down on my ass, and I grin dazedly as he stands up. His mouth is red and swollen and it looks like sin. 

“Still with me?” he asks, and I nod. “Be right back.”  

I scoot back until I can get under the blanket and sink into the pillows. I hear Sam rummaging in his shower kit, then the water running, but I don’t have the mental capacity to pay attention. My eyes are half-closed by the time he comes back. 

He sets a bottle of lube down on the nightstand and I avert my eyes uncomfortably, taking the glass of water he offers before he slides into bed next to me. 

“Why did that just make you get all shy?” he asks softly, correctly interpreting my expression. I shrug and twist away to set the glass down, but when I turn back to him, he’s still waiting for an answer. 

I cuddle close, tucking my head under his chin, listening to him breathe for a moment. He’s naked, hard against my hip, and I’m almost surprised by the way my body responds to that; my stomach flips, hot and eager, in spite of my racing thoughts. 

“It’s like… all of this,” I say hoarsely. “It just makes me feel like I’m being a pain in the ass. Because it’s supposed to be simpler than this. It means I’m not wet enough, and… I want you, and that should be the only thing that matters, and instead we have to go through this whole process of talking about my issues and… it’s supposed to be easier than this, and it’s my fault.” 

Sam is very still, muscles stiff, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s angry. 

“It’s not ‘supposed to’ be anything other than good for you,” he says sharply. “Look at me for a second.” 

I pull back, taking in the fierce, raw expression on his face. My chest feels tight. 

“Everybody’s different,” Sam says, quiet and intense. “Everybody has shit they like and don’t like, places they like being touched… it’s not an issue, and it’s especially not your issue. You’re not being difficult by telling me how to help you enjoy yourself. I want that. I want to know how to make you feel good. Okay?” 

“Okay,” I whisper. 

“And if I ever meet any of your exes —” he says, jaw clenching, eyes stormy. I let out a nervous little giggle, and his expression melts from thunderous to soft before he continues, “It makes me happy knowing that you feel safe. It’s hot, watching you get off on it… your reaction is what turns me on more than anything.” 

My stomach swoops. I slide closer, running a thumb over the soft swollen curve of his lower lip. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice dropping down low. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He rubs his palm over the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough of my bare skin. “When you were pulling my hair and just — the way you were shaking —” 

I cut him off with a kiss, melding my body to his, and he smiles against my mouth before opening up easily, kissing me back with these slow, sultry swipes of his tongue. I can feel him everywhere: bare all down my front, hands roaming like he can’t help himself, close and feverish under the blanket. I push it down, shivering at the cool air on my sweaty skin. 

When I tangle a hand in his hair and tug slightly, Sam makes a gorgeous needy sound, and his cock twitches, hard and thick against my stomach. I push him onto his back and he goes easily, pliant under me, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips as I straddle him. For a moment I feel paralyzed by the sight of him. The moment stretches and I just stare. 

Sam runs his hands up my hips, sliding one hand up between my breasts before tracing the curve of one with his knuckles, dragging his thumb over my nipple and circling as the skin pebbles under his touch. My shivery sigh of pleasure breaks whatever spell we were under. 

I duck down to kiss him again, and the movement presses the ridge of his cock right between my legs, silky skin hot where it slots up against me. When I roll my hips, we both groan. 

I reach for the lube. His smile goes smirky at the edges. 

“If you say ‘I told you so’ right now, I swear to god —” I blurt out, and we’re both laughing as I touch him, slicking him up messily. 

It’s the laughter that erases the last of my doubts. My nervous giggle bursts like a bubble in my chest, releasing whatever tension I was holding there. I just feel light and giddy and happy as I wipe my hand on the blankets and position myself. 

Then I’m sinking down, opening up around him, and the sudden aching stretch turns my laugh into a breathy moan. Sam is watching me as I work my hips down, taking him in. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

I understand, now, what Sam meant: your reaction is what turns me on. Because if I’d wanted him before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. He tilts his head back, arching up and exposing his throat, tendons shifting under the skin as he strains under me and gasps out my name, and the clenching wave of need in my belly is blinding. 

Fuck. 

I shift, lean forward, sparking up some new kind of friction deep inside where I’m so full of him, and I’m whimpering as I kiss him gently. 

“Okay?” he asks. I cup a hand to his jaw and he brings his own up to cover it, an oddly tender gesture. 

“So much better than okay,” I tell him. It’s the truth. 

I take it slow. We kiss, mouths clumsy with need, and I take it slow. 

It takes a few minutes to adjust to his size. I rock my hips in tiny little movements, circling, twisting, feeling all the different ways there are to just feel him. Every movement brings some new sort of sensation as he drags against every sweet spot deep inside me. 

I’m barely moving. I know he must want to fuck up into me, thrust, but he holds back, holds himself steady, lets me take what I need while he whispers sweet bits of nonsense against my lips. He tells me I’m beautiful, tells me I feel incredible, tells me I’m safe, and I trust him. 

Then I grind down harder, and something flares up inside me, quivering out from where his cock is pressing deep in my belly. I do it again. The low dull throb of it has me trembling, panting against his mouth as I brace myself to get more, harder, clenching around him desperately. 

Sam slides a hand down between us, flattening his palm over that spot, and I can feel the pressure building right there, but I need more. 

“Sit up for me?” he asks raggedly. “Lean back, it’ll —” 

He grits his teeth and cuts himself off, but I do it without questioning, sitting back on my heels and bracing my hands behind me. I would feel exposed if I wasn’t distracted by how good this feels. I’m barely moving, still, but Sam presses his palm down and tilts his hips up, and it’s like I can feel the molten force of it everywhere, like it’s going to split my skin. 

Sam looks as close to the edge as I feel, eyes glazed, and I can feel him jerking up to meet me. 

“Do it,” I hiss, and when he thrusts up for real, the surge of pressure makes me cry out, loud and shameless like I never am. 

One last urgent grinding roll, one last surge of pressure, and I’m gone. I let my head fall back and let go, trusting Sam to keep me tethered to the earth as everything else goes brilliant white and sends me flying. 

I’m distantly aware of the way he curses and twists up, the way he swells and twitches inside me, but there’s so much sensation that I can’t separate what’s him and what’s me; it’s all just one hot slick rhythmic pulsing rush as we ride it out, together. 

When I start to go shaky and useless, Sam tugs me so that I flop forward onto his chest. I melt against him, face buried in the sweaty crook of his neck, skin thrumming with satisfaction. I kiss whatever bit of him is close to my mouth, and he tastes like salt. 

“So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” I mumble. 

“I don’t think it’s ever felt like that, with anyone,” Sam says quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. “But… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so.” 

I can tell he’s holding his breath. I put my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding, racing in counterpoint to mine, and I want to tell him that he’s safe; he can trust me with this. 

“Me too,” I whisper, and he exhales. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave me a message? It means the world. 

Thanks for reading. 

[sweet-dreamins]

i’m sorry, i missed you (s+f)

○ pairing: kei tsukishima x fem! reader, soft brat tamer kei x bratty reader (who regrets being bratty)

○ word count: 2.8k

○ summary: after a day of being bratty, tsukki finally puts you in your place

○ content: 18+, d/s dynamics, spanking, use of “Sir” as title, brat taming, light angst, crying but no dacryphilia, traffic light safe word system, fingering, unprotected sex (pls wear a condom lskdjk), a bit size kink, creampie, aftercare, happy end :)

○ a/n: this turned out way softer than i originally planned lol but soft tsukki is good tsukki 😌 hope you like it, feedback is greatly appreciated!!

Huffing, you cross your arms and pout, not meeting his gaze. Tsukki looks down at you with a light smirk, amused by your antics. You had been snippy with him since this morning, and at first, he brushed it off, mistakenly assuming you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. However, as the day went on, your remarks only grew more pointed and intentionally provocative.

“I can do this by myself, leave me alone!”

“Ugh, whatever, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Be quiet, Tsukki, you’re so annoying!”

He was letting you get in as many jabs as possible, waiting to see if you would show any sign of remorse and apologize.

You did not.

He knew that you were just acting out because you wanted attention. Plain and simple. He had been pretty busy this week with volleyball practice and his job at the museum. But this was getting ridiculous. You needed to be put in your place. You also needed a little help in getting the truth out.

“It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” You taunt him, mirroring his smirk. He hadn’t said or done anything to correct your behavior all day, so you figured you were going to get away with being bad. You thought if he was going to punish you it would’ve been hours ago after the tenth or fifteenth rude comment came out of your mouth. Before disappointment could settle in, he grabs your face, thumb and index finger digging into your cheeks, tilting your face up to meet his stare.

“You want to repeat that, little girl?”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing underneath your skin and in between your thighs. You bit the inside of your cheek, considering you had already dug yourself six feet deep. His smirk grows at your quiet submission before throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a yelp of surprise and he slaps your ass in response. You pout at the floor as he carries you to the bedroom, butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

The world flips as he throws you onto the bed as if you weigh nothing. You bounce on the softness, your skirt flipping up. He can perfectly see the little wet spot on the center of your pink panties. His smile oozes self-satisfaction as he coos,

“Aww, how cute you’re already wet?”

You look down at your skirt and move to fix it, but he grabs both of your wrists with one hand. He flips your skirt all the way up and cups your clothed pussy. You try not to wiggle against his fingers, knowing that would land you in even more trouble.

“Don’t hide what is mine, understand?”

You swallow thickly and nod, your mouth going dry at the fierceness in his honey brown eyes. He slaps your inner thigh, eliciting a gasp from you. You fight the urge to glare at him, just pouting instead.

“No, you don’t get to be quiet now while you were running your mouth all day.” He looks at you expectantly for your proper reply.

“I understand, sir.” He gives you a small smile of praise, internally surprised at your wise choice.

He leans in closer and gives your cheek a few patronizing pats, “That’s more like it. Besides, I still haven’t decided if I’ll let you cum tonight.”

He lets go of your wrists and sits down next to you. You already know what you have to do. You quietly crawl over to him and lay yourself on his lap. You grab fistfuls of the sheets beneath you in anticipation. He interlocks his fingers and stretches them before rolling up his sleeves.

“You’re going to count every single spank and say thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

One. Five. Nine. With every spank, you can feel yourself getting wetter. You want nothing more than for his hands to wander lower and sink into your pussy. As you count out loud, you run through everything you said to him today. Technically, you got his attention...but you could’ve gone about it in a much nicer way.

You know that you can be a lot to handle sometimes. On the one day this week you spent together, you were nasty to him. He was probably looking forward to spending the day with you, and all you gave him was attitude. You could’ve just told him you had missed him instead of being mean. What if you had said something that actually hurt him? Who’s saying that you hadn’t already gone too far? Maybe you should’ve just been good for him today.

“Twenty! Th-hank you si-ir.” You choke out the final number, trying to catch your breath. He gently massages reassuring circles on your stinging skin. He opens his mouth to ask you what your color is but you interrupt him with a sniffling,

“Ts-suki?”

He knows not to reprimand you for using the wrong name, the weepy tone in your voice giving away your headspace. He softly asks,

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Yellow,” your voice warbly and pitiful.

Kei easily scoops you up into a sitting position so you’re straddling his lap. Now he can see your glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you went to wipe your face. Your bottom lip wobbles slightly as you try to hold back even more tears. Regret is swirling in your head, while your butt is burning, and your pussy is dripping. Your brain is struggling to comprehend this combination of sensations, turning your thoughts into a tangled mess.

“I’m so-orry I was so me-ean to you today,” you hiccup, rubbing at your tears with balled-up fists but they just don’t seem to stop coming.

“I’ve just been mi-issing you a lot, fuck, I missed y-you so much and I should’ve just to-old you that.” You choke these words out through gasping breaths. You want to let him know everything inside your head, but your body is not cooperating. He pulls down his sleeve, raising it to wipe away your tears.

“Take a deep breath, baby.” You stop trying to force words out of your mouth and slowly inhale, hoping it’ll calm your body. In and out, in and out, slow and soothing breaths, tears falling less and less frequently. Kei reaches for his water bottle and brings it to your mouth, controlling the pace of your drinking, knowing you might end up chugging it. He sets it down once you’ve had enough water and rubs your back. By now your breathing has evened out and new tears have finally stopped falling.

Kei presses a kiss to your forehead and mumbles against it,

“You learned your lesson, huh?”

You nod and hum a wobbly affirmation.

You feel him smile against your skin before he pulls away, looking into your eyes while holding your face with his hands.

“Okay. You gonna be good for me now?”

A beat of silence passes.

“I’m gonna try.”

He throws his head back in laughter and you giggle with him. Hooking his arms under you, he turns around and lays you down on the bed. He hovers above you and brushes the hair out of your face.

“What’s your color?”

After your punishment and crying session, you feel so much lighter, no longer weighed down by your rambling brain.

“Green.” You sniffle and give him a soft smile. He looks over your facial expression, making sure that you’re not lying to him. Once he’s satisfied, he drops to his forearms, caging you in, and kisses you.

Your heart soars as he kisses you desperately. It’s clear to you now that he missed you just as much, if not more. You happily let him take control of the kiss, relaxing into his hold. While he distracts you with his lips, he reaches down between the two of you and starts rubbing at your clit. You break the kiss with a small gasp, arching your back into him, wanting more. Kei grins at your reaction and reaches farther, spreading your lips and gathering slick with his fingers.

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaking, is this all because of me?”

You look up at him, and he swears he can see tiny hearts in your eyes where pupils should be.

“Yes, sir, all for you, only for you.” He kisses the tip of your nose as he slips two fingers into your pussy. Slowly thrusting in and out while rubbing your clit with his thumb. As the pleasure builds, you beg him not to stop, worried that your orgasm will be ripped away from you tonight.

But Kei isn’t a monster.

“Shh don’t worry, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He continues thrusting and scissoring his fingers, stretching you out on his lithe fingers, preparing you for his cock. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, he sucks at the skin. He pulls away to admire you underneath him, marked up and already getting dumber by the second.

His original plan was to edge you for most of the night and ruin your orgasm anyway, but that depended on your post-spanking state. You were obviously regretful of your behavior and already slipping into that cloudy headspace. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you tonight, especially after you had cried your eyes out, so he’s determined to give you at least one good orgasm.

Instead of focusing on reaching your climax, you let yourself focus on how good he’s making you feel. Goosebumps rise all over your body and your head feels even dizzier than before. You let yourself melt into him.

Kei notices just how much you’ve relaxed and feels a pull at his heart. You trust him so much, trusting him to take care of you, your body, and your pleasure. He especially knows how hard vulnerability can be, and yet here you are. Happily giving yourself to him as if it’s second nature to you.

He kisses you again, this time more desperately, trying to get as much of you as possible. He licks your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in. His tongue traces over yours gently before sucking on your bottom lip as you whine in response. When he breaks away, a thin string of spit connects the two of you briefly. He reaches behind his neck, swiftly pulling his shirt off and then tugging off his pants.

You keep your eyes glued to his body as you frantically pull off your shirt and bra. How was he so pretty? All you want to feel is his skin against yours. As your gaze travels up his body, the two of you lock eyes to laugh at your frenzied pace.

He settles above you again, kissing you, placing his hands at your sides while gently tracing your skin with his thumbs. He reaches over to grab a condom, but you stop him. With wide eyes you say,

“I want to feel you cum inside, please?”

He lets out a groan and kisses you as an answer. He strokes his cock, smearing pre-cum down the length. Grinding against your pussy, he coats himself in your slick, the head of his cock bumping against your clit. He smirks down at you as little moans spill from your mouth.

All for him.

He lines himself up and looks at you, making sure that you’re ready to take him. You nod desperately, wanting to be completely stuffed. He slowly pushes into you as your mouth drops open. He stills once he’s fully inside, letting both of you get used to the feeling, already panting. Your warm walls hugging him so, so tight, and his cock making you feel so, so full. You stutter out,

“So full! Ah, ‘m so full. Your cock is so big, ‘su-sir!”

He grins at your praise and near slip up.

“Mhm? But you always take me so well, pretty baby.” He lightly presses down below your belly button, feeling and faintly seeing the outline of his cock inside of you. You cry out in pleasure, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your walls. He isn’t even moving and your pussy won’t stop clenching around him. He gives a shallow thrust, pulling a whine from you.

He keeps his pace slow, building in speed and force. Until he is repeatedly slamming into you, nearly pulling all the way out and then pushing deep inside of you, your cries getting louder and louder. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter, your vision blurring a bit. Kei wraps his arm around your middle as you arch off the bed, deepening the kiss.

You whine against his lips,

“I-I’m getting close, so close, so close! I’m so close!”

“I know baby, let go for me.”

He reaches down with his other hand, still holding you close, to rub frenzied circles into your clit. You shut your eyes tight and your mouth drops open, only whines coming from the back of your throat. Soothing tingles of pleasure shoot throughout your body, your orgasm finally washing over you. You feel as if you’re floating, warmth taking over your body, inside and out. You can barely string together a coherent thought, but then you remember he hasn’t cum yet.

Your pussy still riding out your orgasm, clenches over and over around his cock. Kei nearly growls out,

“Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

All that’s bouncing around in your fuzzy mind is how badly you want Kei’s cum inside of you. You want it so, so bad, to be filled up with it, for him to paint your insides white, to feel his liquid heat. Your jumbled thoughts fall out of your mouth as you babble,

“Sir, please! Please, please, please, cum inside of me! I want y-you to fill me up, please fill me up with your cum!”

Your broken pleading pushes him over the edge as he shoots his cum inside you, giving one last thrust to nestle himself as deep as possible. You can hear him breathing hard next to your ear, shaky with scattered moans. You can feel his cum filling your pussy, leaking out onto your thighs, nearly throwing you into a second orgasm.

Kei has a brief internal debate if he should pull out or not. If he does, clean up might take a little longer….but then he’ll get to see his cum ooze out of you. He gently pulls out of you, spreading your thighs apart so he can get a proper look. Creamy white oozing out of silky pink walls, your chest heaving and eyes glassy.

Absolutely perfect.

Bonus:

After grabbing a warm towel and boxers, Kei lays down next to you, pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You tangle your legs together and nuzzle into him, pressing a kiss over his heart. He’s glad that you can’t see the ridiculous blush on his face from your simple gesture.

You let out a sigh of contentment, knowing you’re safe in his strong arms.

“I love you, Kei.”

He kisses your temple and rests his chin on top of your head.

“I love you, too. You did wonderfully tonight. ”

A comfortable silence drapes itself around the two of you, like a warm blanket. But of course, Kei being Kei says a little too smugly for your liking,

“I missed you too, you know….I just didn’t need to act out and be a total brat over it.”

“Shut up,” you while with a bashful smile on your face, “I already said I was sorry.” You mumble into his chest with a pout, to which he proudly chuckles.

“I know, I know.”

“Hey, Tsukki?” He hums in response.

“Can we go take a shower now? I’m still kinda...sticky.”

“Fine, but you were the one who was practically begging me to cum inside you, to fill that little pussy up.”

Heat rushes to your face, the post-orgasm clarity arriving in full form, the obscenity of your pleading hitting you like a ton of bricks. You squeal in embarrassment, scolding him, and lightly slap his chest. He laughs and says,

“Yes, we can go take a shower now.”

You let out a rather pathetic cheer, but make no effort to get up.

“....Kei...can you carry me?”

He sighs with such weight, you’d think Zeus had just condemned him.

“If I must.”

He scoops his arms underneath you, picking you up bridal style. You call his name again and he looks at you with raised eyebrows.

“Can we take a bath instead?”

“Fine, I guess.” Rolling his eyes, once again acting exasperated.

He sets you down on the counter as he grabs towels and turns on the water.

“Oh, and can we do a bath bomb?”

He leans down to look at you, eyebrows quirked up as if to say ‘Really?’. You give him a big smile and the best puppy dog eyes you can muster.

“Pleeease?”

He gets even closer until your noses are touching, still giving you that smirk and golden eyes of mirth. You feel your cheeks heat at his closeness. He gives you a quick kiss, whispering against your lips,

“You’re lucky you’re cute, brat.”

[teacup-crow]

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

[youhideastar]

I've been trying to keep myself accountable to posting something once a week, and I'm not going to have a finished fic ready this week (because the last fic in the 5 Things That Didn't Happen in Xuanwu Cave set is longer than the other 4 combined! Whyy?!). But in the interest of posting something, here's a preview of what will be next week's fic. Summary below so you can figure out whether this is your jam or not; no warnings, I think, beyond what's implied in the summary? First ~1000 words or so below the cut!

Summary:

“Well!” Wei Wuxian exclaims with deliberate cheer, clapping his hands together once. “This is terrible! But it could be much worse. You could be stuck here going into heat all alone!”

“I would prefer that,” Lan Zhan says, flat.

“You say that…” Wei Wuxian wags an admonishing finger at Lan Zhan. “But it’s actually your very, very great good fortune to be stuck here in this cave with me specifically, because I am an expert at having your heat in the middle of nowhere, with no one around, and no supplies.”

Wei Wuxian’s first thought, when he catches the tell-tale scent of heat, is Damn it, body, your timing is the worst.

He’s in a fucking cave, his chest is cooked meat, there’s a monster in here, he’s starving, and, oh yeah, he’s trapped in an enclosed space with the biggest prude he knows, who hates him and who will not be understanding about Wei Wuxian riding his own fingers while he’s in hearing distance.

But it’s…

He sniffs.

It’s not his heat-scent. And he knows what his heats feel like, by now. This isn’t it.

Oh, shit, he thinks, skin prickling. Don’t look at Lan Zhan, don’t look at Lan Zhan, don’t—

His head turns on a swivel.

Yeah. There’s Lan Zhan. His cheeks are just the slightest bit flushed – otherwise, he looks normal, folded up against the wall of the cave, staring fixedly at nothing.

Lan Zhan is going into heat.

Lan Zhan is going into heat.

Lan Zhan is going into heat.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath to try to calm himself down, which is a very stupid thing to do when the air is full of a faint but extremely delicious heat-scent. His dick twitches, and he scowls.

Stop that. This isn’t fun. Poor Lan Zhan must be miserable. This is probably his worst nightmare. All the things that would suck about it even if it were me, plus he’s stuck here with someone he can’t stand.

Wei Wuxian should give him some privacy, he thinks, but… there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere except out into the main cave, where the false Xuanwu is waiting.

Wei Wuxian worries the cuff of his robe between his finger and thumb while he thinks.

If Lan Zhan really wants him out, he’ll go, he decides. But he’s not going to be the one to suggest it.

He takes a deep breath—

Because he never fucking learns, apparently. With his tongue and throat coated with the green-floral-musky-salt scent of Lan Zhan’s heat—darker and crisper than his own—he takes a nice shallow breath and asks, “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t so much as blink.

He looks utterly cool and collected, which is—

Look, Wei Wuxian is impressed. By the time he’s giving off this much heat-scent, he’s usually knuckle-deep already. But that’s beside the point.

“Lan Zhan, how do you—how do you like to spend your heat?”

Lan Zhan gives a full-body flinch, and pins Wei Wuxian with a furious stare.

“Sorry, very personal question, I know!” Wei Wuxian holds up his hands, palm out, apologetic. “But since we’re about to, uh…”

Lan Zhan’s glare doesn’t get any less furious. But he turns it toward the fire instead of toward Wei Wuxian. He bites out, “I don’t know.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. Then he blinks again. That… doesn’t make any sense.

He must be misunderstanding. Maybe this is some Gusu Lan brush-off meaning “none of your business.” But lying is forbidden, so…

“You… don’t know,” Wei Wuxian repeats, as if the words will acquire a different meaning the second time around.

 “Mn.”

That’s Lan Zhan’s stop this line of questioning at once “Mn.” Wei Wuxian has become very skilled at telling them apart. And also very experienced at disobeying them.

“How can you not know?” he asks, scooting around to peer straight at Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Zhan avoids his eyes. Stiffly, he says, “Heat and rut cloud judgment and incapacitate the body.”

And sure, that’s a true statement, factually. But Lan Zhan says it like it’s some kind of explanation, which—

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian is having a horrible flashback to those days in the library memorizing the Gusu Lan Sect rules, and in particular, a set of rules that seemed vague and boring at the time—just general admonitions to practice self-restraint, he thought, but in weirdly intense language—that now seem to have a very obvious and absolutely insane specific meaning.

No way. No. It can’t be.

Hoping desperately to be wrong, Wei Wuxian asks, “Lan Zhan, is this… is this your first…”

Lan Zhan drops his gaze to his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. He doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t have to.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes, eyes wide.

Like most omegas, Wei Wuxian had his first heat when he was fourteen – a mild, juvenile heat, where everyone instantly looked hotter to him and he got kind of flushed for an hour or so, and then it was over and he got cakes. Over the years, as was typical, his heats lengthened and intensified—but it was gradual. So by the time he got his first full-blown adult heat, it wasn’t too scary – he’d had practice with gentler, quicker versions of the same thing, and he knew what to expect and how to handle it.

And so, for Gusu Lan to teach disciples to suppress their heats as long as they possibly can…

It’s cruel, thinks Wei Wuxian, indignant. Oh, it might not be so bad for the weaker cultivators, who can only put it off for… he wouldn’t know, maybe a year or so? They’d still get to start out with something pretty light and easy. But for someone like Lan Zhan, who has the cultivation level to put off his heat for years and years—

He didn’t get any practice, Wei Wuxian thinks, with a stab of anger at Gusu Lan and their stupid rules. He didn’t get to try the light and easy version. His first heat is going to be a—how old is he, nineteen?—a nineteen-year-old’s heat, and he has no idea what to expect or how to deal with it.

Lan Zhan is… he’s so annoying. He’s a prude, and a stick-in-the-mud, and he gets mad at Wei Wuxian over the tiniest things, and the truth that Wei Wuxian can’t hide from, looking at Lan Zhan pointedly refusing to look at him, is this: Wei Wuxian likes him so much. Lan Zhan is so good. Nobody deserves to have their first heat at nineteen, trapped in a cave with a legendary monster and their least favorite person, but Lan Zhan least of all.

I’m going to fix this, Wei Wuxian resolves. I think I can make it better.

“Well!” he exclaims with deliberate cheer, clapping his hands together once. “This is terrible! But it could be much worse.”

That earns him a look from Lan Zhan, and a wave of skepticism so strong that Wei Wuxian can smell it even through the overpowering scent of heat.

Undeterred, Wei Wuxian points out, “You could be stuck here going into heat all alone!”

“I would prefer that,” Lan Zhan says, flat.

Obviously. But Wei Wuxian is on a roll now.

“You say that…” He wags an admonishing finger at Lan Zhan. “But it’s actually your very, very great good fortune to be stuck here in this cave with me specifically, because I am an expert at having your heat in the middle of nowhere, with no one around, and no supplies.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head ever so slightly. He’s listening, thinks Wei Wuxian, triumphant.

“I spend all my heats in a shack in the woods a few li outside of Lotus Pier. So I know what I’m talking about! Just listen to Wei-laoshi; you’re in good hands.” Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks down to Wei Wuxian’s hands, and—right. That sounded weird. Wei Wuxian stuffs his hands between his knees just to make clear that he’s not about to start—he doesn’t know. Whatever. “Aha. Not that you’re in my hands. I’m not. Hands. Anyway! Yes.”

TBC!

[starkermeup]

Be a Good Boy for Mr. Stark

Peter shows Tony how appreciative he is of him.

Or what should of happened in the car ride home in Homecoming.

Cross-Posted on AO3

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Peter smiled warmly as Mr. Stark talked to him, trying hard to focus on his words, while also attempting to convince himself that this was really happening. His role model and idol The Tony Stark, thinks he's special and deserving of his attention, to be even a future avenger, it was still a lot to take in. But he was loving every minute of it.

"Are you listening kid?" Mr. Stark asks, frowning at the prospect of being ignored and it takes Peter right out of his stupor. He nods his head shyly and blushes when he looks into Tony's dark chocolate eyes. That was going to take some getting used to he decides. "Because I don't like repeating myself."

"Y-yes, Mr. Stark. I heard you loud and clear. I was just thinking about everything you're doing for me and I feel so lucky and thankful that you'd take a chance on me." Peter finishes rather lamely and looks down nervously as he fumbles with his phone.

Tony stares at him with a raised eyebrow and it is then that Peter realizes the limo had stopped moving. Mr. Stark smiles at him then, but in a way Peter had yet to witness prior. He suddenly leans over Peter and Peter's confused but hugs the man regardless. If Mr. Stark wanted to hug him, there was no way he would deny him.

Tony waves his hand dismissively at the window and the figure on the other side walks away. Peter shivers when he feels Mr. Stark's hot breath on his ear.

"There is one way you can show your gratitude for my kindness Peter." Tony says and Peter feels chills run up his body. "You want to show me how grateful you are?"

The teenager blushes harder and clutches his mentor's expensive jacket. Mr. Stark couldn't be serious could he? There's no way he's talking about...

Tony guides Peter's hand down from his shoulder, down his suit until he stops on something hard and Peter audibly gasps when he realizes it’s his mentor's cock. He was aroused and it was for Peter of all people. He felt dizzy with realization and something hotter as Mr. Stark rubbed Peter's hand over his own crotch.

"Well? What will it be Mr. Parker? Are you thankful? Are you going to be a good boy and show me how thankful you are?" Tony asks smoothly, like he's completely unaffected by the movements of Peter's hand. Peter wants to change that. He whimpers at the good boy comment, feeling himself get harder by the second.

"Y-yes Sir I want to. I w-wanna show you how much I appreciate you." Peter says and he's not sure what he wants or what Mr. Stark wants from him but he's more than onboard for whatever because Mr. Stark wants him.

Tony smiles against his neck and brushes a fleeting kiss there. "Good boy. Now get on your knees." Mr. Stark says the last part with an edge and Peter finds himself dropping to the flooring of the limo before he really knows what he's doing. "Take it out, show me how grateful you are Peter." Mr. Stark motioned towards his crotch and Peter's mouth goes dry as he carefully takes out his mentor's cock with shaky fingers. Before he knows it, Tony's cock comes into view, much thicker and longer than his own. Peter's breathe hitches at the sight and his mouth waters. Mr. Stark was huge. The girth of it alone was making Peter anxious with the fear of letting his mentor down. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Sir, I-I don't know what to do..." Peter hesitates. Instead of frowning like the teenager anticipated, Tony smiled at him again and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair.

"That's okay, I'll help you through it. Wrap your hand around the base and lick the tip." Mr. Stark says easy like he was explaining bio-tech and not teaching his mentee to give him head. Peter nodded and did as he was told, gapping at the way his hand couldn't fully wrap around the sheer girth of the cock. He leans down, shyly licking the head a few times feeling the taste of salt and pre-cum on his tongue. Tony hums pleased at his efforts but tugs on Peter's curls edging him further down his length. "Don't be shy, I wanna see just how appreciative you are." Mr. Stark says and Peter can read between the lines to what he means. "Breathe through your nose." The man above him adds.

Peter closed his eyes and sucked hard as he allows his mouth to take the whole head in his mouth. Mr. Stark groans at the sensation and Peter wanted to smile that he's getting The Tony Stark off. It motivates him to take the man deeper, feeling his jaw start to ache from the thick cock.

"Hmm, yeah that's so good, Peter. You really are such a good boy, aren’t you? Showing me how grateful you are, how much you want it. Such a good boy..." Tony praises him and it makes Peter moan around him. He wants to be Tony's good boy, wants to make him feel good.

He's nearly to the base when his gag reflex kicks in and he pulls off embarrassed, coughing a little.

"I-I'm sorry Sir. I-I don't think I can take it all in my mouth." He resisted the urge to add yet because Mr. Stark probably won't want him to show his appreciation again after this. His heart sinks at the thought. He couldn't have that. "Can I try again please?"

Mr. Stark stared at his mentee, hair disheveled, eyes blown and lips puffy. All this from a little dicksucking. Amazing. He pondered. "Of course baby." Tony said, petting Peter's already messy hair.

Peter's heart fluttered and his cock twitched at the word. Mr. Stark just called him baby. Baby of all things and Peter felt hot all over as he sucked his mentor back into his mouth. Peter closed his eyes again and rolled his tongue, going up and down on the cock, thinking of all the best porn he'd seen, trying to imitate what they did. It seems to be working as Tony's groaning nonstop with his hand securely in Peter's hair, not yanking but simply guiding the boy down.

"Fuck. You're doing so good baby. Keep it up, let me see your eyes. I want you to remember who you're thanking accordingly. Remember who this mouth belongs to from now on." Tony says, thrusting his hips up in time with Peter opening his eyes. Tony seeing Peter's big orbs widen as he gags on his cock. Tony groans at the sinfulness of the act in front of him.

Peter whines but doesn't pull off, instead focuses on breathing through his nose and rutting his hips against the floor desperate for some friction. As his mentor gently fucked his mouth, praising him, Peter couldn't believe his fate, his role model and crush since he was a kid wanting him like this. It was almost too much. Mr. Stark had said his mouth belongs to him now. Peter whimpers at the idea as he hollowed his cheeks. That would be nice he thinks, to be owned by Tony Stark. He wants it. Craves it even.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum baby. Gonna bust my load in your mouth and you're gonna swallow every last drop. You're going to show me just how grateful you are." Tony utters and stares at Peter as he comes hard down the boy's throat.

Buried to the hilt of his mentor's cock, Peter had no choice but to gulp down the waves of warm cum the best he could, eyes not leaving his mentor. Despite the act they just committed, somehow staring at one another like this, felt like the most intimate thing they had done. Peter pulls off when he thinks he got it all and suddenly feeling very exposed.

"M-Mr. Stark..." Peter says and a small string of cum on his bottom lip, connected to the tip of the man's softening cock. He isn't sure where he's going with this. Although he isn't given a chance to finish because Tony groans as he grabs him up and planting the boy in his lap. Peter blushed at the sitting arrangement. Even though, Tony was soft now, he was still big and Peter could feel it on his thigh. It made him moan desperately. "Please, S-Sir I need to-" Tony hushes him with a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I'll take care of you baby," The older man says and he looks even better up close like this, so handsome and god, did he smell good. Peter tried to close the small distance between their lips but Mr. Stark beats him to it, tugging Peter forward by the curls at the back of his head. Peter gaps, immediately clinging to Tony. He moaned as his mentor worked his mouth open, feeling like jelly in his embrace. His first kiss, going to Mr. Stark, he whines with realization, unintentionally grinding down, which made him whine more from the friction.

Peter must have got caught up in the rolling of their tongues because he doesn't even notice Mr. Stark's hand traveling down his back and around until he lets out a high pitch moan in the kiss. Tony presses hard on the teen's confined hard-on.

"Look at you, so hard just from cock sucking. You just aim to please, don't you Peter? Always being such a good boy...I think you deserve a reward." Tony says against the boy's mouth. He slides his hand into Peter's jeans and wraps it around his throbbing cock, Peter leans forward from the friction, resting his forehead against the older man's shoulder. Noises he can't contain slip out as Tony works his cock up and now.

"G-god, M-Mr. Stark I-I" Peter can't even finish his sentence, too focused on the heat of his mentor's hand on him. It felt incredible, another first taken by Mr. Stark and he was getting off on it. He couldn't help the way his hips move on their own, only moaning more when Tony lets him.

"That's it Peter. Fuck my fist like the needy little thing you are. I want you to cum like this. Good boys do as they're told so be a good boy and cum baby." Tony whispers into the boy's ear, jerking him faster.

Peter isn't sure exactly what takes him overboard, he'd bet it was the 'good boy' or 'baby' comment. Either way, Peter was coming and whining as Tony worked his cock completely, milking it of every drop until he was soft and sensitive. Peter collapsed on top of his mentor, completed sedated, trying to catch his breath as the latter pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket.

"Hm, you made a mess of my suit jacket." Tony clicked his tongue and Peter blushes with embarrassment.

"I-I I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to. It just felt so g-good..." Peter says and he's staring down at the man's chest. Tony tips his head up, so they're eye level and presses a kiss against the boy's lips. He pulls away shortly afterwards (much to Peter's disappointment) and smirks at him.

"Since you were getting your reward, it's alright this time but-" Mr. Stark stops as he holds Peter's jaw in place, looking at him with dark orbs. "If you do it again, I'm gonna make you clean it up with your tongue, understand? Good boys don't make messes."

"Y-yes Mr. Stark, I'll be more careful next time." Peter says, still floating from the best orgasm he ever had. Again. Mr. Stark wanted to do it again with him and that was definitely something Peter could get behind.

"I know you will," Mr. Stark says accordingly and puts himself back into his slacks, Peter can't help but watch, still in disbelief the cock was just in his mouth. "You're a good boy."

[hotchley]

pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

[uswnt-keeper]

Focus Isn’t My Strong Suit

Prompt by @cpaeralricey: Can you do a Kelley x youngersister!reader quarantining together and the reader has to to do School online but struggles cause of their ADHD and just lots of fluff and Kelley helping the crazy kid out. Does that make any sense? If not don’t worry about it.

Note before we start. Sorry if this is terrible, I don’t have ADHD so I don’t really know what it’s like, I tried to make this is fun as possible. Also just for future reference I will no longer be writing Kelley, Alex, or JJ fics. (There will be my final Alex post today, but that’s it).

This royally sucked... like to a whole other level of sucking... does that sound weird? It sounds weird, oh well... whatever. That’s not the point, the point is, I’m stuck doing online school, which normally isn’t that bad, but it all kind of happened all at once.

You see, I’d been flown out to visit Kelley, my older sister, in my spring break which happened to be at the beginning of March. I hadn’t seen her in a long time between her traveling for different teams, and I missed her. I miss all of my siblings honestly. Jerry was off doing business man things, and Erin was off hanging with her besties on some beach somewhere. Kelley was the youngest of my older siblings, but shes 32, I’m 16, big age difference there. I’d been adopted by my family at a young age and so, of course there would be an age difference, but they were family and Kelley and I were close.

Anyway, back to my main point of how much this sucked. The nation went on lockdown literally a week into my stay, I couldn’t leave for the airport or anything and Kelley’s games and trainings were suspended after the SheBelieves cup, even the Olympics were cancelled. So I was stuck, but that wasn’t what sucked, I was with Kelley, that was great, but then came online school.

Online school, for someone like me, is the worst possible option. I struggled with ADHD and paying attention in a normal class, but sitting on my own in a room of distractions would be even worse, I mean... how was I NOT suppose to say dream or cheat on a test?!

Not only that, but I was awaiting my prescription, we had to start ordering it so it shipped to Kelley’s apartment in Utah. So with that going on, we were now in late March and we realized it would be another day before my pills arrives... and I was out.

“Kelley!” I yelled from my bathroom, looking at the empty bottle.

Kelley came rushing in, “What, what is it?!”

“I’m out of meds,” I said hyper focused on the writing on the bottle.

“Oh.... OH WHAT?!” She grabbed the bottle out my hands, shaking the orange container around as if she was trying to summon more pills to her.

“It’s just a day, it won’t be that bad right?” I said and Kelley looked at me with a glare.

“When was the last time you weren’t on your meds?” She asked.

I thought about it for a moment, “Uhh, probably before I was diagnosed.”

“So when you were bouncing off the walls?” She asked and I shrugged, walking out the bathroom.

“Look, I have school in like... oh actually I’m late,” I said looking at my phone, it was only 8, but class started at 7:45.

Kelley groaned as I rushed to my laptop, she had moved to the dining table after finding me staring at my ceiling for an entire class, she was fun as a sister, but her feeling of responsibly over me was unbearable.

I logged into the class with my camera off, apologizing for being late and I made up some random excuse. I looked to Kelley who had just walked out of my room, and she rolled her eyes at me and tossed me t-shirt. I muted myself and looked at her confused.

“You forgot to put one on,” she said before I could ask and I looked down at myself realizing she was right, so I begrudgingly pulled in on with a huff.

After my first class, I had my second period, which was a study hall, and I hated it, all I ever did was stare at off into space, which ended up happening this time too. I went through the whole school day, completely unable to focus on anything as I felt my ADHD consume my movements and thoughts.

“Y/N!” Kelley snapped me out of my trance, I realized she sat in front of me, working on something of her own, “Your teacher asked you a question,” she said.

I unmuted myself to apologize before asking her to repeat the question. The one good thing about ADHD was that I often retained large chunks of info if it was interesting enough, so I had the knowledge to answer the question this time.

When I muted myself again I sighed, it was times liked these I hated my condition, it was unbearable and made me miss so much shit.

“You okay Speedster?” A nickname Kelley had gifted me at the age of 4 when I literally couldn’t stop running around, it’s fitting now as I’ve followed in her footsteps and started playing soccer.

“I hate not being able to focus,” I complained and finally, as I said that, the class was over.

“Well,” Kelley started, closing my laptop for me, “Maybe you should walk around or something, get some focus back?” She asked, I sighed again, it was the best idea so far, “I’ll be here if you if you need me.”

I stood up, taking my computer to my room and threw it on the bed. There was no way I could focus on doing yoga or lifting weights, not at all. All I wanted to do was run around, do anything but what I was doing. It was probably about 5 minutes in my room before I rushed out my room, heading to the kitchen to search Kelley’s cabinets.

“What are you doing in there?” Kelley turned after I rummaged for a few minutes.

“Food,” I replied.

“If your hungry I can make you sandwich or something,” she said, looking away from her computer.

“Ughhhhh,” I complained, “A sandwich sounds so boring,” I groaned and she rolled her eyes at me, going back to the meeting she was in.

I left the kitchen, heading back to my room, sitting on my bed feeling restless. I tried writing and reading, I even did some homework, but eventually I got bored again, and I felt antsy. That is, until I found something I could compare to gold.

“No way,” I whispered to myself, pulling two things out from under the guest bed, “This is gonna be so much fun.”

Kelley’s POV

I was worried about Y/N, I knew she would feel bad about her ADHD, usually I’d go distract her, but I was caught in this stupid meeting for another few minutes. I was listening to what my manager was saying amongst the other people there, until something stung me.

I flinched, looking at my arm, then around me and at the floor, finding a... nerf bullet?

There was a click and another one hit my temple this time.

“Ow,” I complained, looking to where I heard giggling.

It was Y/N of course, hiding behind a cardboard cut out of me with a nerf gun reaching around it.

“Y/N, don’t you—“ She shot me again, laughing hysterically, I turned to my computer, “Listen guys, I’m gonna have to go, got something to sort out,” I said and they nodded as I logged off.

Y/N looked at me with a challenge, if this is what she needed to calm down, then I guess a little match wouldn’t be bad.

“It is so on,” I said, reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets.

“WHAT?! You have a nerf gun just sitting in your kitchen?!”

“Never know when it might come in handy,” I shot at her, the bullet sticking itself right in her forehead and she huffed and smiled.

“I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“You wish,” I replied.

Turns out the one round turned into three hours of an intense and heated nerf battle, ending with Y/N surrendering to the couch where sweat fell from her head.

“Alright, alright, you win,” she said exhausted for once and I plopped down on the couch next to her.

“Told you I’d kick your butt,” I said.

“Surrendering doesn’t mean you kicked my butt,” she complained and I laughed.

“How you feeling?” I asked, looking to her now.

“Exhausted for the first time today,” she said with a smile, “Never thought I’d be happy to be tired.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her in to a hug, “You know there’s nothing wrong with your ADHD right?” I asked and she shrugged, “If you ever feel bad about it, remember that you can totally start a nerf war and it’s completely justified,” I said and she laughed.

“Thanks Kell.”

“Anytime kiddo.”

There was a pause.

“Do you have food?”

“I knew you wanted something.”

She laughed again and we spent the rest of the night eating and watching movies until we fell into a deep sleep.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Old Friends–Matt Brody

Warnings: slight language

Matt's POV

I walked around the beach, the sun beating down on me. I looked around to see families playing, friends laughing, and college kids partying.

"Damn," I mumbled under my breath. "I fucking hate spring break."

"It's not that bad," Mitch laughed.

"Yeah, it is. Nothing but drunk college kids, partying and finding new spots to fu. . ."

I turned around, freezing mid-word when I saw her.

"What is your problem?" He laughed as he tried to follow my gaze. "Who is that?"

"I can't believe. . ." I stuttered. "She's. . . I haven't seen her since senior year."

"Who is she?"

Instead of answering his question, I turned on my heel and jogged towards the lifeguard shack. I ignored the questioning looks from Holdon, CJ, and Ronnie as I walked into the locker room.

"Brody," Matt said as he walked in. "What the hell is going on? You saw that girl and started acting like a teenage boy being paired up with a girl for the first time."

He stopped laughing when he saw the look on my face.

"I never thought I would see her again," I mumbled as I sat down on the bench and ran my fingers through my hair.

"Who was that girl and why do you look like you're going to pass out?" Mitch asked as he sat down across from me.

I sighed as I slowly looked up at him. "Her name is Y/N. We grew up together. She was my best friend."

Mitch looked at me skeptically before asking, "If she used to be your best friend, why did you freak when you saw her?"

"I just. . ." I stuttered. "I never thought I'd see her again."

"Well," Mitch chuckled as he stood up. "She's right outside. Go talk to her."

The way he said it made it sound so simple. If only it was.

                          * * * * *

My heart jumped into my throat the next day when I saw Y/N and her friends were back. I found myself watching her all day. While her friends drank, danced, and went in the water, Y/N sat on her chair and read.

I smiled when I remembered how growing up, Y/N never left her house without a book. With her nose buried in a book, she was always at the gym with me while I trained.

"The longer you stare, the creepier it gets."

I looked over to see Mitch walking over, a knowing smirk on his face.

"I'm not watching her," I stuttered. "I'm doing my job."

"Come on, man," he sighed. "You have been staring at her every second since she's been here and you continue to stare at her the entire time you're outside. Just go talk to her."

"I can't," I sighed.

"Why not?" Mitch asked, slightly laughing.

"Because I left her," I sighed.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed as I ran my fingers through my hair. "Senior year, before I got the offer to join the US Olympic team, we had planned to go to college together. Even with our plans, Y/N was nervous. She was extremely introverted growing up and didn't make friends easily. As we got closer to graduating, she started getting nervous about moving away from home and starting over. So, I made her a promise. I promised to always be there for her, to help her in every way I could but. . ."

"You left to train with the Olympic team instead of going to school with her," Mitch finished for me.

"The day I left," I sighed, the memories weighing me down, "she told me that she was proud of me, but I could tell how hurt she was. It was clear that I had let her down."

Mitch thought about it for a second before speaking up, "Have you tried to reach out to her?"

"I've written emails, texts, even wrote out what I would say on the phone, but I never had the guts to actually reach out." I looked back over to her, my heart sinking. "She probably hates me."

"You never know until you take the chance." Mitch patted me on the back and sighed, "Take the chance, Brody."

As he walked back into the office, I bit my lip and studied Y/N. Before I could talk myself out of it, I left my post and walked over to her still reading alone.

"Not many people bring a book to the beach."

I held my breath as Y/N looked up from her book. It took her a second to recognize me. But when she did, her eyes widened. I laughed as she dropped her book and quickly stood up.

When she was on her feet, she didn't hesitate to jump into my arms. I laughed as I instantly caught her, slightly spinning her around. I couldn't help but notice how it felt to hold her again.

I finally put her down and she leaned out of the hug. She giggled as she took me in.

"Matt," she chuckled. "I can't believe. . . All these years. . . You're blonde!"

"I am," I laughed. "I just thought it might umm. . ."

"It looks great," she reassured. I subconsciously ran my fingers through my hair, unable to look away from her.

Y/N gasped as I pulled her back into my chest and wrapped her in another hug. She giggled as she wrapped her arms around me.

"I can't believe how much I've missed you," I said under my breath.

I broke the hug and awkwardly cleared my throat. I looked around to see a few of her friends watching us.

"Do you umm. . . Maybe we can. . ." I cleared my throat again, forcing myself to stop acting like a nervous middle schooler. "Do you think your friends would mind if I stole you for a little bit? We could go to lunch and catch up."

Y/N smiled as she glanced over at her smirking, giggling friends. "I don't think they'd mind."

                          * * * * *

"So?" Mitch asked in a sing-songy tone as I walked into the lifeguard shack after my lunch with Y/N. "How was lunch with the one and only amazing Y/N?"

"It was great," I sighed as I sat at my desk.

"I'm guessing she didn't slap you in the face and tell you off," he tried to joke. I glared at him before rolling my eyes and looking away. "Matt, what's up?"

"I just. . ." I grunted angrily as I ran my fingers through my hair. "Being with her again brought back feelings I thought I got rid of."

"Feelings?" Mitch repeated. "Holy shit. Do you. . ."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I'm in love with her."

"I'll be damned," he mumbled under his breath.

"I've been in love with Y/N since middle school," I confessed. "I was in love with her but I left. How could I. . . I put a stupid Olympic career before the girl I've been in love with since we were twelve."

Mitch walked over and sat on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Brody, from what I saw when she jumped into your arms, she doesn't care that you left." Before I could interrupt him, he continued, "It may have been hard for her after you left, but she definitely hasn't held it against you. The only thing stopping you from being with the girl you claim to be in love with since you were twelve is you."

Mitch sighed as he stood up, fixing his shirt. "Matt, Y/N is still here. I guarantee that if you let her go again, you won't get another chance."

As he walked back to his desk, I thought about what he just said. As soon as I realized he was right, I stood up and ran outside. Mitch laughed as the door slammed behind me.

When I got outside, the sun blinded me. I searched the beach as my eyes adjusted to the light. My heart jumped into my throat when I finally found Y/N walking across the beach.

I started running towards her, no idea what I was going to say. The closer I got to her, the less I knew what I was going to do. Y/N looked over and smiled when she saw me running towards her. When I finally got to her, I was out of breath.

"Hey, Matt," she laughed as she watched me struggle to catch my breath. "Nice lifeguard run. You okay?"

I caught her off guard by grabbing her face. "What are you. . ."

Before she could finish her question, I pressed my lips to hers. I felt her suck in a surprised breath. She hesitated before wrapping her arms around my waist and slowly starting to kiss me back. When neither one of us could breathe, I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against Y/N's.

"Matt," she stuttered, still trying to catch her breath.

I leaned back and looked into her eyes. I scanned her face, trying to get a hint at what she was thinking.

"There's something I need to tell you," I said, finally breaking the silence.

"What is it?" Y/N asked under her breath.

"I'm in love with you," I blurted out.

"What?" She gasped. "You're in. . . You. . ."

"I'm in love with you," I repeated. "I've been in love with you since we were twelve. I don't know why I never told you. But then I got that offer to go to the Olympics and I took it. I took it because you convinced me it was a great opportunity. I know I should've told you before I left. I just. . . I was scared of what would happen after telling you how I felt. I was worried that you wouldn't feel the same way and I'd lose you. So instead of risking that, I left without telling you the truth. I never should have left you, Y/N. I'm so sorry. I know you have a life of your own and have completely moved on so I understand if you don't feel the same way. It's been years since we last saw each other. We have our own lives and I understand. . ."

This time, Y/N cut me off by grabbing my face and pressing her lips to mine. I didn't hesitate to immediately start kissing her back. I couldn't help but moan as I pulled her tighter into my chest.

She broke the kiss, slowly lowering off her toes. She bit her bottom lip as we caught our breaths.

"Matt," she whispered, my name sounding heavenly coming out of her mouth. "I've been in love with you since we were kids, too."

My heart jumped into my throat at her confession. Before she could say anything else, I pulled her into my chest and picked her up, slightly spinning us around. Y/N giggled as I put her back down, slowly pulling out of the hug.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I just. . . I've imagined you saying that to me since I was, like, thirteen."

"I've imagined you coming back from the Olympics and confessing your love for me hundreds of times," Y/N said with a soft smile.

I made her gasp as I pulled her into my chest and pressed my lips to hers. This kiss was soft and short but it said just as much as the others. When I broke the kiss, I leaned my forehead against hers.

"Can I take you to dinner tonight?" I whispered. "I think it's time I finally take you on a date."

Y/N leaned back and looked up at me through her eyelashes. She bit her lip, nervously chewing on it before nodding.

"I think it's about time for that too," she smiled.

I looked over Y/N's shoulder to see Mitch watching us with a proud smirk. He sent me a wink before turning on his heel and heading inside the lifeguard shack.