#already ive been here long enough for it to feel like 'my stuff' not 'their stuff' which immediately makes it 10 times harder

[bugcadaver]

i just wanna read but my options in this house r either 1) my room, which is nice n private but only has my bed to sit on, or more preferable The Floor, or 2) the front room, which has a comfy chair n lamp set up, but family come in n out of which is extremely distracting

if i wanna b able to read more than a sentence at a time it's gotta be my room But i'll probably b too uncomfy to focus anyway.. bleeehh

also this house is So unfriendly to device use, which ig is good. every room has massive windows so bright sun all day, n all the blinds/curtains got torn down but not replaced. plus all the window settings r rotted or filled w asbestos so its not worth putting new ones up atm

i moved in in august n the idea was have the house liveable by xmas but lol @ that happening. obvs i can't fix anything myself or organise getting some1 to do it.. the fam's gotta take out loans to repair the house 2 sell it but everyone's got 100 other things to deal with first.. i'm just here helping keep the place sort of tidy in the meantime. god i'm already sick of it tho, the 2 months not paying rent have been nice but id like my own space asap

(...gotta find a new roommate, gotta find an affordable apartment somewhere i can get to work)...aiya.. i just want like a 1bedroom house out of the city, man

[quarklynx]

Casually flirting with the idea of fucking around and getting a master's degree. The time will pass anyway, right?

[13eyond13]

.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: to blanc, you are the change he needed, and your pressing secret won't change that.

WARNINGS: mentions of mortality, blood. Vampire stuff.

COMMENTS: ok ok so @vivislosingitagain here is my thought process YOU like biting people and sucking their blood so YOU are a vampire. and HEY GUESS WHAT vampires are IMMORTAL kind of. and im pretty sure blanc is really fucking old so i think mortality angst would work great with him BUT WHAT IF HIS PARTNER WAS AS OLD AS HE WAS AND BIT HIM. that's the post.

also im so sorry if blanc is out of character i have seen this man three times in the routes ive played + the prologue oops.

It’s a clear night. The stars are bright in the sky, just as they were hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Blanc doesn’t know if they’ll ever change, but he takes comfort in their consistency. They��re stationary, unmoving, unshifting, just like him. He’s always been in Cradle, long enough to see the shattering of bonds between the armies and the first Alice fall. He’s seen the skirmishes and the blood and the carnage.

And he’s seen you, the one who followed him into the rabbit hole and into Cradle.

He remembers thinking you were cute. He remembers Oliver scolding him for speaking his mind, and he remembers you tearing your eyes away from him, a shy smile on your lips. You’ve always been alluring, in a way he never anticipated, and it makes him wonder if someone from the Land of Reason can really be magical like the people of Cradle.

It’s no use though—he knows the passage of time will take you away. He knows love (what he feels for you, there’s no doubt about it) is a powerful force, but it cannot break the way the sun and moon rise and fall, it cannot stop the stars from dying light years away, it cannot stop your inevitable aging.

He knows this, and yet he can’t let go. He greets you in the morning with a soft pat on your head, leaning over your bed as you stretch and yawn. His gaze softens when you rub your eyes and look over at him, and you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing you ever want to see.

He’s so selfish—he wants so badly for you to only look at him.

For someone so keenly aware of how mortal you are, he knows he's being awfully flippant about it. It’s the folly of man, to be so foolish as to yearn, but there’s always the possibility that fate will take pity on his poor soul and listen to its cries for his love to stay.

And so, the next night, a night that should be no different from any other, he breaks his routine. He keeps you up late, chatting over tea as the full moon rises in the sky, asking you if you want to go home. He watches you as you go quiet, your previously bright smile fading into a thoughtful frown. You’re staring into your tea as if it can give you the answer, and Blanc hopes the tea will give you the same answer he would.

I wish you would stay. I wish you would stay with me. I wish you would think I’m worth it. I wish that if I had to be hurt then you would be the one to hurt me because I’ve never loved anyone like you and I doubt I ever will. I wish you would be the one to thrust this dagger into my heart so fate doesn’t have the chance.

“...I want to stay with you.” you say, and Blanc knows you’re hiding something from him but he can’t bring himself to ask when you already look so worried.

“Are you sure?” he asks, reaching across the table to place a hand on yours.

Your head jerks up and you meet his gaze with parted lips—almost like you want to tell him but are far too scared.

“You can tell me anything.” he stresses, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m not...” you purse your lips, looking away again as you choose your words carefully, “I’m not having doubts about staying here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Blanc holds back his sigh of relief in favor of another inquisitive glance. Your brow furrows and he knows you feel his stare, your cute canines poking at your lower lip as you gnaw on it pensively.

“I have a secret I don’t think I’m ready to share yet.” you say softly, turning back to him, “I will someday. I just...need time.”

Blanc laughs, a sound that's full of relief and love and sounds like the wind chimes that hang in your no longer temporary bedroom’s window, the ones that have been there since you came and will be there when—if—you leave.

“Darling.” he breathes, staring straight into your eyes with so much love, “I have all the time in the world.”

The full moon sinks beneath the horizon and the sun comes up again. The teacups from the night before have been cleaned and placed back on their shelves, and the cake you two cut slices out of remains in the fridge. There are still traces of you within the house—your skincare is still in the bathroom, your toothbrush is next to his, and your chair still has a cushion of your favorite color. None of those things have been removed because you didn’t leave.

You’re still in your bedroom, sleeping soundly, but this time Blanc is there with you, his arms wrapped around you. His body is tangled with yours, your legs intertwining as the bed sheets knot themselves around your limbs. Your head is resting right over his heart, the part of him that’s pounding away for you. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and stares down at your sleeping face, the face that shows him all of your thoughts and emotions, the face that belongs to the person who loves him enough to stay.

He wakes you up with a kiss on your forehead, a kiss on the bridge of your nose, a kiss on your left eyelid and a kiss on your right, a kiss on your jaw—

He sighs when you start to stir, propping yourself up on your elbows. The bed sheets fall off your body like water cascading down the side of a cliff, and your bleary eyes have never looked more beautiful. He lays there, admiring you in the morning light as the wind chimes chime, the soft breeze from the cracked open window ruffling through your hair.

You shiver.

“Darling,” Blanc calls, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Good morning.”

You smile when you turn to look at him, and you allow yourself to fall back against the mattress next to him.

“Good morning.” you murmur, your nails tracing the curve of his cheekbone before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “You look so handsome.”

Ever the charmer, he’s rarely been charmed himself. And so he does the only thing he deems appropriate, and thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand.

Weeks pass, and Blanc finds himself growing into this new routine. You're a sign of change, that he knows for sure. His own room remains vacant for the most part unless you decide to pull him into his room instead of your own when you’re ready for bed. It makes no difference to him where you go, only that he can follow you like the lovesick fool he is.

Except you’re not leading him to either of your bedrooms tonight.

You’re leading him outside, under the pale moonlight and into the chilly nighttime breeze. He looks up at the full moon and holds your hand a little tighter.

“Thank you for giving me time.” you say, the wind swelling as it passes between the two of you and further into the night, “I’m ready to tell you what I’ve been hiding from you now. It’s...not fair to keep it from you any longer.”

“I understand,” he smiles softly, cupping your cheek, “Go ahead.”

“I’m a vampire.” you say, and it takes his brain a few moments to catch up, “I’ve...found it hard to get blood in Cradle but since meeting with Kyle’s he’s managed to get me blood when I need it. I don’t like drinking from animals or people but it...has to be done for me to stay alive.”

Blanc’s brain is whirring as you spill your guts to him, your mouth moving faster and faster as you explain how despised vampires are in the Land of Reason, how people view them as monsters and how you’re certain you’re cursed.

Cursed. What a funny word to say to him.

“Is that why your canines are so sharp?” he blurts, leaning closer to your face.

You stop talking, bending backward just a bit at his sudden closeness.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” you ask, looking confused.

“Ah, well....I always thought they were cute.” he smiles kindly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I...” you blink owlishly before shaking your head in disbelief, “Blanc, I just told you I’m a vampire.”

“Indeed you did.”

Your mouth falls open as if looking for the right words to say, and yet you come up with nothing.

“You can feed from me if you wish. I don’t want you to suffer any longer.” he offers like its the most natural thing in the world.

Still, you say nothing.

And then he murmurs your name, as soft as the flower petals brushing against your ankles.

“I don’t want to use you like that. I don’t want you to be a food source for me.” you grit your teeth, staring at the ground like you couldn’t be more ashamed, “I don’t want to be the monster the Land of Reason made me out to be.”

“You’re not. I give myself to you willingly, and I'll do it over and over again.” Blanc murmurs, hands slipping away from you.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbone open to the nighttime breeze and your eyes.

“My love.” he opens his arms for you and his shirt slips off his shoulder, leaving his skin vulnerable—

“I give myself to you.”

And he pulls you into his chest, as he whispers words of love telling you that you can bite him, drink from him, take all that you need and that it will be okay because he’d give you everything if you asked for it, and that you changed his life for the better, you brought springtime’s flowers and winter’s shimmering ice and summer’s warm sunlight and autumn’s delicate, beautiful leaves to a life that was so repetitive and boring until you arrived—a life that belonged to the man you see before you but not anymore because its yours and it will always be yours.

Tears prick your eyes as you kiss his skin, worshiping each freckle and small scar you can reach. Your canines poke insistently at his skin and you ignore the urge for one, two, three, four, five seconds before your mouth opens and you bite down, hoping the small gasp that leaves his lips isn’t one of pain. You’re careful not to take too much but it tastes so good and who knew drinking from the one you loved could make you feel so happy and full.

Blanc looks up at the moon as you feed, happiness and adoration blurring his vision as he thinks about you, you who trusted him enough to bite him, to tell him who you were, you who stayed behind for him even though you could have left.

He stares up at the moon and sighs because he’s in love. He’s in love with you.

And after you’re done, after you pull away and lick the puncture marks to soothe them, after you press a dozen more kisses to his skin, Blanc still loves you. His blood is smeared around your mouth but he pulls you in anyway, kissing you with everything he has because you deserve nothing less than that.

And he loves you.

Over and over again, he loves you.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be aging or how long you will have by his side, but he knows that if you will forever be his constant, he’ll come out okay in the end.

[pupyuj]

Need ur thoughts on baby daddy ive unnies 😊

since i’ve already covered jiwon and yujin before i’m only gonna do gaeul, rei, and wony here! 💕💕

[cw: pregnancy, lactation kink]

gaeul would be the sweetest baby daddy ever :(( i like the idea of the two of you being a long term couple who everybody always assumes that are married but actually aren’t 😭 and naturally gaeul would want a kid with you but due to thinking that you might not want one yet or ever, she ends up just staying quiet about it until you bring it up, in which her eyes literally light up as soon as you say “i’d love to have your baby” one night during a heart to heart 🥺🥺 after that talk, the two of you would then try to get pregnant every time you fuck! there’d be a different kind of hunger in gaeul’s eyes every time she’s on top of you—she fucks you in a way that feels good for you and her and to top it all off, she’s making sure not to waste a drop of her cum 😵‍💫 promises you so many sweet things in your ear after every thrust 🥺 things such as: “i’m gonna give you however many of my babies you want” and even taunting you almost?? “you want that, hm? you wanna be a mommy, my love??” 🤤💕 of course countless nights spent fucking and being a nightmare for your neighbours results in you having a perfectly healthy child in your belly months later 💞 now ik ya’ll were expecting something nasty and allat but gaeul is just . the angel ever so this was mostly just soft hours 😭

rei and her baby daddy moment would come as a welcome surprise methinks 🤓 getting you pregnant was neither planned nor unplanned 😭 yes, she frequently daydreamed about starting a family with her one true love but she wasn’t actively trying to knock you up every time you fucked! in fact, reibear is very careful and strict when it came to protection bcs the last thing she wanted to do was give you a baby you didn’t ask for 💀 so she was shocked in the best way when you gave her the big news with the happiest look on your face 🥺💞 rei would hug you, spin you around, then jump about the room with you before stopping abruptly to ask you if you really are happy with all of this and when you answer “yes” (bcs of course!!), she would jump around with you again 😭😭 ah, rei would be so happy that she’d just pick you up, put you on top of her desk, and give you the best head she’s ever given you in all your years of dating 🥰 and she’d honestly have an obsession with eating you out throughout your pregnancy and it is not just because she’s addicted to your taste! there’d be this whole misunderstanding where you’d start thinking that maybe rei was starting to get the ick seeing your stomach get bigger as her child grows inside you when really she’s… scared to do anything else 💀 hell, you’d even catch rei jerking herself off alone in your shared bedroom and she’d explain that she’d just been afraid to fuck you properly bcs she didn’t want to potentially hurt you and the kid ☹️

ofc you’d reassure rei with both words annnnd… riding her reverse cowgirl style and proving that you can be safe having sex while pregnant! 💕 and now onto actual baby daddy stuff; rei takes it all very seriously to the point where it’s so endearing 😭💘 she’s always on high alert when it comes to your needs and there’s never a moment where she’s far away enough to not immediately be there when you need her, such a sweet girl 🥺☹️ she’s giving your baby bump kisses, caressing it, staring lovingly at you while you take a nap in her arms… SHE’S JUST A WONDERFUL MOMMY UEUEUE 💔💔

wonyoung acts like a kid who has just been given a new toy when you drop the news on her head in the middle of a lovely friday afternoon after coming home from a doctor to confirm that yes, you are in fact pregnant with jang wonyoung’s child! and when i tell ya’ll she’s locked tf IN throughout your entire pregnancy.. 😭 actually leaves work to always be in the house and take care of you, never ever leaves your side, actually loses her mind when you so much as trip on air or get a paper cut, and is clingy and overprotective to the point it’s kinda annoying?? 😭 like you would actually have to sit her down and tell her to not stress about you and the kid bcs she’s already doing so much for the two of you 🥺 ofc she’d calm down then and be a bit more tame around you! 😭💞 ugh, wonyoung would be so sweet… constantly talking to your stomach in this baby voice and getting so happy when she puts her hand on it and feel your baby kick 🥺🥺 seeing you so happy carrying her child just makes her want to make more! and this is where her clinginess became rlly adorable bcs she’d just stare at you with shining eyes and a lil pout… you’d think she’s just being cute for no reason but nopeee~ let your eyes wander down a bit further and you’ll her cock fighting against the fabric of her jean shorts 🤤☺️

wonyoung would absolutely not let you do anything that requires you to do too much so she would actually have you sat on the couch while she’s standing up with her dick all hard and up in your face 😵‍💫 and even though you’re only using your hands and mouth on her, wonyoung is still asking you if you’re doing okay, praising you endlessly, and rewarding your hard work with the loveliest of moans, whines, and the softest hair pulling 🥰 cums all over your face, neck, chest area, and your tits… the sight of her seed dripping down your breasts just gives wonyoung the idea of her newest obsession! wonyoung + lactation kink is just a match made in heaven okay?? it’s impossible to not picture her just getting absolutely turned on at the idea of getting a taste of your breast milk and then actually going ahead to do exactly that when you decide to entertain her fantasy 🤤🤤 and she cums in her underwear while she does it. oops 🤭

[rafeandonlyrafe]

virginity

words: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, virgin!reader and virgin!rafe, kind of bullying at the beginning, very cute and fluffy rafe, reader is implied to be a kook, first date, female receiving oral, fingering, p in v sex, protected (for once! yay) sex

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @dreamingwithrafe @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

“oh my god, bridgette, you'll never guess who asked me out!” you squeal, flopping onto her bed.

“ooh, umm… kelce?” she guesses, but you just shake your head no, the smile on your face growing.

“rafe!” 

bridgette sits up instantly. “rafe as in rafe cameron?” you can tell by the look on her face that she's skeptical.

“the one and only.” you nod.

“but um… he doesn't date?” she says, genuine confusion in her voice.

“i thought you said he was basically a rich frat boy?” you sit up, now thinking over the interaction, but there's no way to confuse “will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night?” as anything other than asking on a date.

“well, yeah, he parties and stuff but he doesn't… date. he's never had a girlfriend.”

“well, ive never really had a boyfriend.” you shrug. “and don't say jonathan because he does not count.”

“yeah, but you have an excuse, y/n. your parents moved you all over the country, you didn't have time to date until your parents settled here a few months ago.” bridgette counters, and she does have a point. you've never been in one place long enough to form a true relationship. “i think rafe just doesn't date because he doesn't like any girls enough.”

you frown, thinking over her words. “well i guess that means he likes me enough to ask.” you say quietly.

bridgette shrugs. “good for you. he better take you somewhere expensive, boy has MONEY!” she says, causing you both to erupt into laughter. “oh…” bridgette suddenly quiets. “i wouldn't tell evelyn. she has the biggest crush on him, she'd get so jealous if she knew you asked him out.”

-- the next day --

“hey dad…” you say in a sweet voice, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“oh god, y/n, what do you want?”

“can i borrow your credit card?” you ask with a whine.

“y/n, you are an adult! you can’t keep borrowing my credit card! what do you need anyways?” “a new outfit… for a date tonight.” you whisper the last part, but your dads eyes still bulge open.

“a what?” “come on dad, all my outfits are so revealing, don’t you want me to buy something more covered up? or should i wear that pink skirt mom got me-” “no!” your dad cuts you out, fishing his wallet out of his pocket, slapping the credit card into your hand. “something that doesn’t show too much skin, y/n.” he warns, and you nod and run out to your car before he can lecture you or ask you any more questions about the date.

--

you look through the rack of dresses, trying to find one that you like and would feel comfortable in tonight with rafe. you don't want to give him the wrong idea by showing up wearing a dress that's more suited for a club or party.

you have some hangers already in your hand of dresses to try on when you hear a shout of your name. you look up to see evelyn and her two best friends following her. 

when you moved to the outer banks, you quickly assimilated into the social scene and learned that evelyn was the queen bitch, super wealthy, but not at all likable, with an insane amount of possessiveness over rafe, despite him never even showing interest in her. evelyns first words to you were to stay away from him, but you won't let her intimidate you away from this date.

“what are you shopping for?” evelyn asks, her lips smeared in a bright red shade of lipstick that contrasts her light hair.

“a date tonight.” you reply, keeping your eyes mostly on the clothes, trying to convey that you're not interested in whatever show of dominance she's attempting.

“i heard about that. how did you scam rafe into taking you somewhere?” she asks, her friends snickering behind her.

“he asked me, actually.” you hum, keeping your body language disinterested, despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. “I guess he likes me.”

“that's real funny, y/n.” evelyn says, placing her hand on the rack to stop you from looking. “because rafe is mine.”

“should i call him right now?” you look her in the eye, your temper reading on your face. “should I have him tell you what you already know? that he's not interested?”

“you are such a bitch!” evelyn yells, and the storekeeper finally becomes aware of the situation, heading out from behind the counter and towards you. “i will ruin you for stealing him.” evelyn states before turning and stomping out of the store, her entourage falling in step behind her.

“miss, are you okay?” the shopkeeper asks.

you hum and nod, knowing that whatever they plan on doing won't work, evelyn may have popularity because of her money, but everyone knows not to trust a word out of her mouth. “can i get a dressing room to try these on actually?” you ask, picking up a dress that you think would be perfect for tonight.

--

the doorbell rings and you give your father a glare, already having warned him to stay in the living room and let you answer the door. the last thing you need is your father scaring rafe before your date has even begun.

you open the door, letting out a breath of relief when rafe is also dressed up. you realized while buying the dress that you didn't actually know where you were going for dinner, you just assumed it would be on the fancier side.

“wow.” rafe let's out a gasp, “you look beautiful.”

you blush, smoothing out the front of your dress, giving you an excuse to break eye contact and look down at yourself. “you look really handsome too.”

“let me help you down the stairs.” rafe extends his hand, and you subtly wipe your palm against your dress before placing it in his, accepting his help out the front door as these are new heels (you couldn't resist when your dad gave you his card).

rafe keeps your hands locked together as he leads you towards his truck, of course opening the door for you and helping you in.

you smile at rafe as he gets into the driver's seat. “im excited.” you tell him honestly.

“me too.” rafe grins, keeping his eyes on the road as he takes off but reaching over your tangle your fingers together again. “im nervous too though.”

“rafe cameron did not just admit he is nervous.” you gasp, making rafes smile grow as he shakes his head.

“i really like you.” he explains further, making you smile and lift his hand to your face, pressing your lips to it in a kiss. 

--

“how's your food?” rafe asks, taking a bite of his own. you ordered salad, too nervous to eat anything else in front of rafe. since he admitted how he felt about the date, it felt all the more real.

“it’s really good!” you say. “thanks for taking me.”

rafe smiles at you, his eyes containing a warmth you haven’t seen before. “so, where did you live before moving to the outer banks?”

you had told rafe before that you moved around a lot, but never got into the specifics, so you spend most of the dinner telling him all the states that you’ve lived in and responding to his questions while asking some of your own.

rafe accepts the check and pays for you without question, brushing off your thanks before leading you out of the restaurant, his hand firmly placed on your back.

“do i need to get you home by any time?” rafe asks when you get back in the car.

“no.” you shake your head. “i don’t want to go home yet either.”

rafe smiles at you, reaching over to place his hand on your thigh as he drives towards his house. you hum softly to the music, glad for the short drive before you’re walking into tanneyhill. rafe informs you that everyone else is gone, so it’s just you two.

“should we watch a movie?” rafe asks, gesturing towards the couch in the living room.

“sure! you pick though.” you say, not wanting to have to make the choice. rafe sits down on the couch and picks up the remote, navigating to some comedy you haven’t seen before. you sit down next to him, close enough for your thighs to be touching.

rafe wraps his arm around your shoulder, letting you get comfortable against his side.

the movie is decently funny, but you’re far more focus on being tucked up against rafe. at a funny scene, rafe lets his laughter loose, and you can’t help but turn and look to him, watching his face light up.

rafe notices you watching him and his laughter softens into a smile. “can i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod, turning to face him as rafe places a hand on your cheek, bringing your mouths together in a kiss that quickly turns more passionate as you deepen it. you shift again so that you straddle rafes lap, placing your hands on his shoulders as you continue to kiss, your dress pooling on his lap.

“y/n-” rafe gasps when he pulls away, realizing both of you went a little overboard when your lips first touched.

“i have to tell you something rafe.” you say, realizing the compromising position you’re in and not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“what is it baby?” rafe questions, his hands falling to rest on your hips.

“i’m… i’m a virgin.” you admit.

rafe lets out a sigh, like he’s relieved, which causes your brows to scrunch together in confusion. “i never thought i’d say this to you but i am too.”

“what?” you question. “i thought you were known for partying and flirting and stuff!” “yeah, i used to flirt a lot but i was never serious enough with anyone to sleep with them… not until you.” “oh my god.” you coo, leaning forward to press your lips together again. rafe wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your chests closer together.

“i would lose it with you, baby. if you want.” rafe says.

“i-yes. i want that.” you nod.

“tonight? now? only if you’re sure.” rafe says. “i know we’ve only gone on one date, but it feels… right.”

“i agree.” you nod. “i’m not saying we are going to be together forever based off one date but i want to lose it with you. together.” 

“let me take you upstairs then.” rafe stands effortlessly, with you clinging to his front as his arms hold you steady. you press soft kisses to his neck as he carries you, feeling equal parts nervous and excited for what is about to happen.

rafe sets you down on the end of his bed before stepping back, admiring you in his bedroom, especially knowing what you are about to do together.

“can i take your dress off?” rafe asks, and you nod, letting him come up and grab the bottom of your dress. you lift your hips so he can pull it up and over your head, and you let out a silent thanks to god that you wore matching underwear.

“you’re so gorgeous.” rafe says, looking down at you with glossed over eyes. you can tell from the tightness of his pants that he’s not unaffected by seeing you like this.

“sit down, let me take your shirt off.” you tell rafe, grabbing his hand so he sits next to you on the bed. you tug his shirt off, admiring his muscles as you run your hands over them. rafes hands stay on his knees, waiting for permission to touch you now that you’re scantily dressed.

“do you… do you want to take your pants off?” you ask, glancing down at his crotch. “it seems painful.” you giggle.

“yeah, the zipper hurts.” rafe admits, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his legs so he’s in just his underwear, his cock straining against the fabric, a small patch of wetness already growing.

“do you wanna lay down? i want to kiss you some more.” rafe asks.

you nod, moving up the bed until you can rest your head against the pillows. rafe crawls over your body, his eyes mesmerizing every inch of bare skin until he can press his lips against yours, the kiss is passionate but slow and deliberate, building up gradually until you’re moaning against rafes lips.

you reach behind your back, unclipping your bra before taking it off, flinging it somewhere in the room to be picked up later. rafe gives you a final kiss before looking down at your bare chest.

“oh fuck.” he groans, reaching with one hand to grip the underside of your breast, holding it in his palm as he slides down, his mouth falling open onto your nipple. you let out a moan as rafe explores your chest and what makes you moan the loudest.

he plays with your nipple with his tongue, then teases around it before ultimately sucking it into his mouth before switching and repeating on the other side.

“is that good?” rafe asks, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “really good.” “should i…” rafe looks down at your underwear, and you give another nod.

“you’re going to have to um… finger me. to open me up for you, ya know?” you cringe at your words, but you know it’s true and don’t want your first time to hurt.

“yeah, yeah of course.” rafe tugs at your underwear, his eyes staying between your thighs as he tosses the fabric to the floor. you take a deep breath before spreading your legs, putting your cunt on display for him.

“so sexy.” rafe praises you, moving so he’s lying between your thighs. he spreads your folds open with two fingers before using his other hand to rub his pointer finger over your pussy.

he traces around your clit before bumping it, making you flinch at the sudden pleasure.

“was that good?” rafe asks, and you just let out a moan in response when he doesn’t wait, rubbing over your clit again.

rafe smiles, moving his finger lower to your entrance before circling around that as well. he presses against your tight ring of muscle, thankful that you’re already quite wet as you relax and give way, letting his finger slip inside.

he begins to thrust it in and out slowly, building up speed as it becomes easier for him to move.

“try to add a second.” you tell him after a minute.

rafe nods, managing to work a second finger inside of you, but he can tell by the way your forehead scrunches that it’s not as comfortable as one, so he leans forward and presses his tongue against your clit.

“oh fuck!” you scream out as he flicks the tip of his tongue over and over, allowing you to focus on that instead of his fingers thrusting in and out of you.

rafe even makes a point to separate his fingers some, widening them to open you up even more. you don’t even flinch this time as his tongue stays playing with your clit.

“i’m ready.” you pant. “i’m ready, i need you rafe.”

rafe nods, moving to kneel between your legs, not sure what the best position to put you in is, but you seem to have it already thought out as you take a pillow and put it under your hips to raise them so he can stay kneeling on the bed.

rafe works his underwear off, and your eyes widen when his cock is revealed, regretting telling him you were ready after just two fingers. he grabs the condom he must have tossed onto the bed earlier and rips it open, sliding the latex down his length.

“if you need more time…” rafe trails off.

“just go slow.” you say, knowing he will stop at any point if you really need him to.

rafe moves closer, holding himself in his hand as he lines up with your entrance. his head pushes in easily, but the further forward his hips move, the more you struggle, but rafe sees it and slows down until he’s finally fully seated inside of you.

something sparks in that moment, realizing that you have both lost your virginity and it has rafe bending down over your body to press your lips together. you appreciate the kiss as it gives you even longer to adjust before rafe starts rocking into you slowly.

“that feels good.” you reassure rafe, all feelings of pain now gone.

“you feel good.” rafe says, unsure how he’s able to keep so much control over himself to not go feral in this moment, but he likes you too much, cares too much to move any faster and potentially cause you pain.

he keeps up the slow movements, moving from just rocking to actually thrusting as he starts to pull further out. 

“faster.” you whimper, eyes sliding closed as you focus on his length inside of you.

rafe doesn’t question you, needing to move more himself as he begins to speed up his thrusts, pushing his hips forward harder as well.

“i-i’m sorry i don’t know much longer i’m going to last.” rafe admits.

“it’s okay just touch my clit again.” you say. you would do it yourself but your body feels weightless right now, and you’re not sure if you can raise your arms up.

rafe nods, gripping your hip with one hand but letting the other roam to your cunt, rubbing his thumb over your clit as he tries to hold back his orgasm as long as possible while still pushing his cock into your heat repeatedly.

you let out your moans with freedom, knowing that there is no one else in the house to hear you. rafe begins to grunt and you feel him swelling inside of you and you know that he’s close.

rafes body falls forward, his thumb still moving on your clit but his cock stilling as he cums, filling up the condom as he pants heavily.

“y/n!” rafe finishes with a call of your name. you are so close to your orgasm, and you surmise rafe must know as he stays inside of you, rubbing faster until you cum, your body arching off the mattress, even underneath rafes weight as your high hits you with a shout.

you manage to reach to push rafes hand away, needing the overwhelming pleasure on your clit gone as your orgasm works through your body.

rafe curses when your cunt pulsates around him, but waits until you’re done to pull out. he flops to the side, pulling the condom off and tossing it into the trashcan next to his nightstand.

“how does it feel to no longer be a virgin?” you ask.

“felt good to finally use that condom i’ve been keeping in my wallet since i turned 16.” rafe laughs, reaching his arm out to pull you closer to him. “but seriously, i’m glad i lost it with you.” “i’m glad too.” you smile, pressing a quick peck to his lip. “and maybe i should have asked you this before we had sex but… will you be my girlfriend?”

“oh my god, yes!” you squeal.

[nyxyxx]

Godly Desires - Part 3

The Diluc chapter woohoo (he may be a little ooc but thats cuz im very inexperienced at writing him) The yandere stuff will gradually get more intense as the story goes on but for now its super super mild. I. II. III. IV.

Warnings: This story contains yandere content and religious themes

-3-

"A friendly drink"

-

You had just arrived with Diluc at Dawn Winery, and you couldn't help but notice the glances you got from all of the workers as you walked past them. Something about it seemed odd, but you didn't have enough time to figure out what was wrong. You trailed after Diluc as he led you into his office, and shut the door behind him.

"Please, sit," he said, watching you awkwardly stand by the chairs. You nodded and hesitantly sat down on the cushioned seat, and you couldn't even believe how comfy the seat was. Well, you had just been spending all of your time in the wild outdoors so having a nice chair to sit in was very unusual.

Diluc walked over to his chair, on the other side of the desk, and sat down. He pulled a bottle out from underneath his desk. "It's grape juice, is that alright?" He asked, suddenly nervous. He didn't want to give you a bad first impression, although it was already a little messy because of what happened down by the lake.

"Oh sure. I don't mind." You answered. The corners of his lips rose ever so slightly, and he opened the bottle of grape juice. You were engrossed in the way he carefully held the wine glass, gentle but firm, and the charming way he poured the juice into the glass. Something about it was surreal. Elegant even. He had an air of nobility around him life that.

However on his part, what he noticed was completely different. He felt that his hands were too shaky. That he was taking too long to pour the glass, and the silence that hung in the air was becoming thicker. He could barely breathe at the prospect that you were even here, in his home, sharing a drink with him. It was unbelievable, really.

Once he was finished, he handed the glass over to you, and you took it from his hand, your fingertips gently brushing against his. The tips of his ears turned a very light pink, but he was lucky that you hadn't been paying attention to that.

He hated that he felt so nervous. He should be elegant and charming, and leave a very good impression on you, so that maybe, just maybe you might see him favorably. He despised how weak he felt, but it was only natural for him to be nervous in the presence of a being like you.

"Mm...thank you" You said, as you took a sip of the grape juice. It was sweet, but not too sweet, and had a little bit of sourness to it. It was refreshing and cold, but made you feel warm. Out in the wild, you had occasionally found fruits and just drank the juice from them, but this was a little different.

"Please, there is no need to thank me, it is my honor," He said, taking a sip from his glass. You thought he was just being a gentleman, but in truth he was all euphoric on the inside.

In the silence, your mind began to wander. You started to doubt more and more if this was actually a dream or not. Of course it had to be, because this place wasn't real. Diluc wasn't real. That should be the case, but yet, you felt like you've been here for such a long time already. When were you going to wake up from this dream?

You thought it strange how real everything feels, from the cold water, to the rich taste of the grape juice, to the hunger and thirst you had experienced, it was all so vivid. Could this really be a dream? You've heard that it is possible for people to experience very real sensations in their dreams, but you never thought it would be as convincing as this.

Well anyway, there was no point in worrying about the details. You had no idea how long this dream was going to last, so in the meantime you might as well have fun with it. After all, there was no harm in having fun in a dream right?

The glass in your hands was now empty, the juice all gone. "Thank you for the drink, but I should probably get going now," you said, rising from your seat. You already missed the softness of the chair. You looked at Diluc, who sat their blankly staring at his empty glass. Shrugging, you began to walk towards the door, only to stop upon hearing his voice.

"You should stay the night here. It is already getting dark outside. It will be dangerous." He said, quickly rising from his chair. He walked over to you carefully, and smiled. He was just trying to be considerate.

"I mean, is that really okay? I don't mean to impose..." You trailed off, while that was true, you also did feel a little bit awkward about the situation.

"I assure you, it is not a big deal. I'll have a guest room arranged for you." He said, without waiting for your answer. "Then you can leave first thing in the morning." but please allow me just a bit more time to be near you, is what he didn't say out loud. You simply sighed and agreed. It would in fact be easier just to stay here until morning. Then you could find your way to Mondstadt without it being the middle of the night.

-

Taglist: @justyoureader; @mmeatt; @iamapotatoe; @clavichordcleffa; @yu-ulda; @c3rtifiedsimp; @eravariety

[screaminglygay]

Go for it

pairings: kate bishop x fem!reader

summary: you finaly have enough courage to tell the archer how you feel, will she say the same?

warnings: this part is angsty:( sorry, some crying, swearing

word count: 2k

an: i broke my own heart with this one ngl, also hi im back? i mean ive been here, just very very distatnt. anywaysss hope you will like this one, im still sucker for our lovely girl katie

part one

!MDNI!

"You should tell her." MJ speaks up as you all are sitting in Peter´s room, in the aparment he shares with May.

"What? Tell what who?" You really can´t lie, especially to MJ and Natasha. You never had a succesful time telling a lie to these two.

"She knows." Peter just mumbles as he sips from his apple juice. You look at MJ.

"Peter is really bad at keeping secrets around me and you talk about Kate way too much. Not that hard to figure it out." MJ simple states.

"Right. Of course." You nod and smile.

"But really, MJ is right-" Peter looks at you.

"As always." She cuts Peter off. And you just giggle at the couple infront of you.

"You should tell her. And tonight is a party so it´s the perfect ocassion." Peter says as he throw his epmty bottle into the trashcan perfectly.

"Today is a party? What for?" You tilt your head at the Spider-boy.

"Tony didn´t tell you? Welcome back party… for you." He smiles.

"I thought we had a welcome back party."

"You really though that a few drinks just between the Avengers will be enough for Stark?" MJ is right. If you can have two parties why don´t throw them? At least in Tony Stark´s eyes.

"Mr. Stark just wants to welcome (Y/N) as much as he can. We all did miss her, MJ." Peter say, almost as if he´s trying to protect the bilionare.

"I did miss her too, but I know that she won´t be much happy if I throw her a party with hundreds of random people, who doesn´t even know her." She states.

"You won´t throw me a big party, MJ? Oh man." You say sarcastically, which makes the girl laughs, but Peter frowns a bit.

...

You are not really sure what to wear, because every single time you think about going to that party it also makes you think about Kate right away. And that makes your stomach full of all different kinds of butterflies. As you look at the clock you have 15 minutes to get ready, but you know that you will come a little later.

Most of the pople don´t even know, who is the (Y/N) who just came back from long missiong and second all of those people are there for a free stuff and being able to say that they went to one of the Stark parties.

So by the time you will arrive, those random people will be drunk enough to not pay a single bit of attention to you, which is exactly what you want.

You decided to wear a simple outfit, but comfortable one, which still makes you look really pretty. Looking at your reflection, you feel a surge of excitement. You're not just getting ready for a party; you're preparing for a chance at something magical. You're ready to make the night unforgettable. With chapstick in hand, you head out, each step a heartbeat of anticipation. Tonight, you're not just attending; you're embracing the opportunity to make your feelings known.

...

As the door from the elevator opens, you can already smell the alcohol everywhere. Oh, how you already miss the calm night you had when you came back. This is just too much, even though you appreciate the gesture from Tony.

Your eyes immedietly find Peter and MJ, standing by the bar. It looks like they came like five minutes ago, so you decided to join them.

"You look stunning, (Y/N)!" MJ smiles and gives you a side hug.

"Well thank you, I didn´t want to over do it…" You shrug as Peter smiles at you. "Is uh- Kate here?" The nervousness is visible, really visible.

"She is. I saw her with Clint like two minutes ago." Peter asnwers with a smirk on his face.

You nod at his answer, which makes MJ frown as she looks at you.

"What?" You look at the girl.

"Don´t stand here and go get her!" She yells and that makes you jump a little.

"Oh- um right! Yeah! I should, right?" You look between Peter and MJ.

"YES!" They both yell at the same time and when they tell you good luck, you are already on your way to find the archer and ask her on date.

You navigate through the pulsating crowd, determined to reach Kate. The sea of people seems endless, but the glint of her presence keeps you moving. You move through conversations and laughter, your eyes scanning for that familiar smile.

Finally, you spot her. A surge of relief washes over you, and a smile stretches across your face from ear to ear. This is the moment you've been waiting for, the chance to ask her out.

Just as you're about to approach Kate, Pietro appears, cutting through the crowd with his characteristic speed. "Hey, I need to talk to you," he says urgently, his tone brooking no argument.

"Really, now?!" you exclaim, frustration bubbling beneath your words. The timing couldn't be worse, but Pietro seems like it´s a life or death situation.

"Yes, now! It's important," he insists.

With a quick glance back at Kate, you follow Pietro as he leads you to a couch with the rest of the Avengres. There's a mix of curiosity and annoyance as you wonder what could be so urgent that it couldn't wait.

Pietro lean in to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've got this bet with Steve – he thinks he's unbeatable in arm wrestling. I know I can take him down. Can you give me some secret tips and tricks to secure my victory?"

You raise an eyebrow, torn between anger and irritation. "Now? Seriously? I had plans, you know," you reply, annoyance evident in your tone.

Pietro grins, completely unfazed. "Come on! It'll be quick. I just need the inside scoop from the strategic mastermind herself." He tries to give you complimetns so you don´t run away from him.

Your conversation with Pietro is cut off by the girl, you´ve been wanting to talk to this whole time. So you happily turn around, with a huge smile on your face. But it´s quickly turned into a confusion. She´s not alone, there is some really tall, handsome, godly looking guy. And it´s not Thor.

Kate looks at you, with a little smile. "Guys, I would like you to meet someone. This is uh- my boyfriend Mike."

Her boyfriend? What?

You just stare at Kate, you don´t make an eye contact with the guy, you just can´t. You can feel the stares from MJ and Peter, not even realizing when they came to where you are standing now.

The pleasant buzz of the party becomes a distant hum, drowned out by the thundering beats of your own heart. It's as if time has frozen, leaving you suspended in this surreal moment of disbelief. You try to mask the shock with a forced smile, but your eyes betray the confusion and hurt swirling within you. The air feels thick with disappointment, and the lively atmosphere of the party turns stifling. MJ and Peter exchange concerned glances, sensing your mood shift immedietly.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut – Kate, the girl you've been trying to gather the courage to ask out, has a boyfriend. The connection you felt, the anticipation building up to this moment, crumbles into a disorienting mix of shock and disappointment.

"You must be (Y/N), I heard a lot about you." That's the moment you finally make eye contact with the man. Shaking his hand out of politeness is a reflex, though your heart isn't in it. Still in shock, you find yourself mechanically going through the motions, the reality of the situation sinking in with each passing moment.

"I am, yeah- but I never heard anything about you, so-" you look back at Kate with confused look.

"Yeah, I uh- I wanted to be sure before you all meet, and now I am." You can notice that Kate is nervous and it means a lot for her, obviously, so you´re trying really hard to be… okay.

"Now you are? That´s amazing, Kate. So happy for you." Holding it together is getting harder and harder, why does it feel like this? You two weren´t even a thing and you knew her just for a little bit. It´s not fair to feel like this, especially not to her.

"Would you like to play beer pong?" Kate quickly asks, playing nervously with her rings on her right hand, which you always found cute, always. Stop. "She´s the best at it!" The archer adds and looks at her boyfriend.

"I uh… maybe later, sorry. It wouldn´t be fun, if I won again." You chuckle, the most fakest laugh in the history, but it seems like Kate and Mike bought it. "Play few rounds without me, you know… warm up." You smile and the group of Avengers kinda walk away. Some of them to the beer pong, some of them to the huge kitchen, some of them to dance … and you? Away, as quickly as possible.

Which wasn´t that hard to be honest. You took your jacket and went to the roof, your favorite place in the entire compound. As you get up, the view will never get old, you can see all the pretty light, different shapes, colors, sizes. This spot always helped you clear your mind, but not today… you couldn´t help, but cry.

You wrap your arms around yourself as if trying to hold together the fragments of your shattered expectations. The tears continue to fall, each one a silent testament to the ache in your chest. It's a lonely moment, and the rooftop, once a place of solace, now amplifies the isolation you feel.

After some minutes with just your sobs in the complete silence, you can hear someone coming up. You can hear two people, so it´s obvious it´s Peter and MJ. You just look at them with sad smile and tears running down your face.

They don´t say anything, Peter sits on the left and MJ on the right. Both hugging you closely, not planing on letting you go any time soon. As you lean into MJ and Peter's comforting embrace, the exhaustion settles in, a weariness that goes beyond the physical. There's a profound comfort in their presence, in the shared silence that speaks volumes.

The weight of the sadness feels a bit more bearable with each passing moment in their arms. It's a tired kind of sadness, a weariness that seeps into your bones. Yet, the shared hug becomes a haven of respite, a haven where you can momentarily release the burden and simply exist in the embrace of friendship.

"We´re sorry, (Y/N), we didn´t know that-" Peter rubs your back as he decided to break the silence.

"Peter-" your voice is shaky, but that won´t stop you from talking. "It´s not your fault, you just tried to give me the confidence I needed. I´m not mad at you, I´m not mad at all… just sad." You try to take a few deep breaths.

…

Over the course of the following weeks, the art of evasion becomes your unintentional expertise. The initial shock and heartache from Kate's revelation leave a lingering unease, making the prospect of facing her an emotional minefield. Rather than diving headfirst into the turbulent waters of conversation, you instinctively choose the safer path of avoidance.

Whenever you sense her presence approaching, a subconscious reflex kicks in. Your excuses range from sudden commitments to vague social obligations, all meticulously crafted to provide the perfect escape route.

The once-shared spaces become your labyrinth, and you navigate it with a silent determination to maintain a safe distance. Corridors become your refuge, and crowded streets offer a camouflage of anonymity. It's not out of malice or resentment; rather, it's an instinctual act of self-preservation, a way to shield your fragile heart from the vulnerability that still echoes within.

Days turn into weeks, and the dance of avoidance becomes a routine, a carefully choreographed routine that shields you from potential hurt. The emotional wounds need time to mend, and facing Kate too soon feels like an unbearable prospect. The avoidance is a temporary solution, a way to give yourself the space needed to process the unexpected twists of emotion.

Once again, thank you for reading!

Be ready for part 3!:)

[meruz]

hi!! im sure ppl have asked this b4, but i scoured your asks tag for an hour or so looking to see if you answered anything abt it and couldnt find anything, so i was just wondering if youve made any posts on your process for making n selling merch b4? and how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff (hopefully that makes sense, im not sure,,,)

hi! got a bunch of asks abt merch stuff lately im gonna put it under a cut.

preface: i don't know if i'm the best person to ask about all this stuff because I'm doing merch on a strictly hobby basis LOL. I have a fulltime job which takes care of the bulk of my finances, I don't really make big quantities of anything and my main priority at cons is to just make enough money to see my friends in different cities at minimal expense. i pretty much always get a refund when i file my con taxes because my profit after all the deductions is like fucking..nothing.. lmao. So if you ultimately lose money following my advice don't blame me. OK NOW lets get into it

my process for making merch: when I have an event scheduled that I want to make merch for I start by brainstorming a bunch of stuff I wanna make. for mgscon this is what I wrote down in my sketchbook lol

i made a legend to denote which ones are actually just reprints. it gets easier to plan out merch when you already have merch. out of the new merch ideas here i actually only made like 4 of them. and out of the reprints i only reprinted like three. i also came up with like 4-5 other merch ideas after writing out this list that i actually did do. LMAOO UM. my point here is that nothing rly goes as planned.

when i get a merch idea i start with thumbnails what i want it to look like (sometimes this is based off merch ive seen before so its very realized and sometimes its really vague bc im kind of pulling it out of my ass)

then BEFORE i go into making the final art I research how I'm going to make the merch. whether its printing/constructing it myself or looking for a manufacturer. There's a lot of different places that you can get custom merch made, i used to go shopping around at local printing shops but nowadays it's really common to do it all online. For both these jet tags and the washi tape I did some of my own research into manufacturers and also asked friends for their contacts/referrals/recommendations etc. most manufacturers either have their specs/template publicly available or will give them to you when you ask. so once I've locked into a manu and gotten the specs I'll start designing the final art.

then it's sending it off and waiting! easier said than done.

i will say this process is a lot lengthier for some types of merch than others LOL. for prints... I've been doing prints for like a million years and I plan out almost none of it. I draw everything at print resolution so a week before I have a con scheduled I'll simply go through all the files I've accumulated since my last con, squeeze whatever drawings I want into standard print sizes lol (ie. 8.5x11, 11x17, 4x6 etc), and print them at a local shop. takes like a couple hours max.

how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff?

I mean. honestly I don't know. selling fanart is the kind of thing that IP holders kind of just let slide as long as they don't think they're losing a substantial amt of money on it. there ARE a couple franchises people avoid because they've been known to send IP lawyers after fanartists... disney is the big one and they're known for being pretty petty abt it... that's why you don't really see people selling fanart of the disney princesses at cons. ive heard pokemon will also crack down if your project seems to be making a lot of money lol, part of why i think a lot of pokemon fanzines operate on a charity basis. I do feel like the pokemon company has bigger fish to fry than someones artist alley table though so i wouldn't sweat it too much.

it's also generally considered impolite/bad taste to sell fanart of small franchises. webcomics and indie games especially if they only have like 1-2 devs who rely on the income that game makes.

I'm not a lawyer so you shouldn't consider this legal advice BUT I will say... I don't think you should let IP law stop you from selling fanart lol. especially if it's low quantities/not mass produced and you're not making crazy amts of money I think you kind of have a leg to stand on. Besides, most cases it seems like the worst you'll get is a cease and desist.

you Will notice that when people start turning their artist alley endeavors into a real business they'll generally ease up on selling fanart (the case most prominent in my mind is omocat lol). but i love fanart and thats why i will never make money and thats a promise [snake saluting gif]

SORRY IDK IF ANY OF THIS WAS HELPFUL. I've been doing merch and cons for a long time (10+ years lmao, you can find record of this on this very blog) and i think im kind of old fashioned about it. i recognize the artist alley/merch scene is a lot more demanding now than it used to be but start small at local low-risk events, online sales etc and work your way up and remember to have fun and itll be ok i believe this wholeheartedly.

its literally just layers of acrylic like any other dinky charm. I'm sure pretty much any manu that does acrylic charms could do it but this specific charm/template i did order through a group order server. they're pretty well known! heres a link to their twitter

@wheatormeat sorry for taking a full month to answer this... anyways. This is tricky because I've actually been changing up my sticker manu everytime LOL IDK if I've found one I actually love.

these ones i ordered thru an alibaba manu because I was jumping on a friend's group order to save on shipping. it was ok. they arrived a liiiitle late and printed a lil dark but i think thats kind of my fault LOL I use dark colors i always need to lighten things before i get them printed and i think i just didnt lighten these enough. otherwise i rly love the quality!

i realized i never posted these online and also this is not a good picture (the lighting in my living room sucks rn) but i printed these tmnt stickers thru stickerninja they feel really solid but they needed kind of a lot of space for the cutline. but their customer service was very nice and helpful!

these ones i got printed at washimill and i was so impressed with how fine their cutline is... pricing and quality of the sticker itself is alright they feel a lil flimsy? idk. but i do like the printing. i kind of elected to go with them solely because i was already ordering washi tape. A LOT of my manufacturing decisions are made based on how much money i can save on shipping tbh.

and thats my sticker manu reviews dont forget to like comment subscribe idk if i have one im gonna stick with forever or anything im rly indecisive. ideally id like a manu based in the u.s...? because im based in the u.s. and international shipping is pricey. but idk if i keep ordering washi tape maybe ill keep using washimill. who knows...

[queerprayers]

hi ! i hope you're doing well, and i just wanna say first that i love your blog and it just radiates comforting vibes :)

i wanted to ask for some advice. i chose god over a year ago after having this push-pull thing with him for almost ten before that. most of my issues with actually accepting him came from ideas i had about him from his more conservative/evangelical followers, which i began to debunk for myself after figuring out that god, not them, was who i wanted.

so i've been sticking to the old testament, mostly. i found god in there, grew to love him because of it, and it's just a beautiful text, but also there are far fewer conservative dogwhistles in there than there are in the new testament. the new testament is hard for me to look at, and i feel guilty about it.

and its like- ive grown up with jesus my whole life. my parents are methodist, i was raised methodist. but i've never felt very close to him, thanks to those who twisted his verses about love and kindness into weapons against people like me. i read these verses that mean so much (john 3:16 and the like) and all i get out of it is a crawling sense of dread. like the associations are Bad, and it seeps through the whole new testament.

all this long-winded nonsense is basically to say that somebody got their hands all over the new testament and now i look at it and it is just barren. have you ever experienced something like this? any advice on how to,, reclaim the new testament or something? (thank you so much for reading this holy shit it's long. sorry about that)

Thank you beloved, I'm glad you're here! No such thing as too long here, I promise—well, there might be on my end. (You've been warned.) I'm overjoyed that you've chosen to pursue God—separating what you've been told from what you seek to believe in is such a hard thing to navigate.

I'm gonna be honest, this is such a refreshing question and I'm glad that you're asking it. I overwhelmingly hear the opposite from Christians—that the New Testament is easy and loving and comforting, and the Old Testament is scary and violent or whatever. I always want to ask first, what their opinions of Judaism are, because that's a red flag to me; and next, have they read the NT? It isn't easy and it isn't always comforting, and I think too many Christians only read the parts that they think are. The fact that you're recognizing those hard things and wanting to deal with them is a beautiful thing—we should take these texts seriously enough to criticize and struggle with them.

First of all: You have no need to feel guilty for what other people have done with holy things, or for your emotions. You have not done something wrong by carrying this hurt with you. What we feel is not in our control—but we can listen to it. Let this be a movement of desire, not of guilt. You're seeking God past the dread. You want to grow enough that the ideas people have taught you don't stand between you and what you want—and you've already done so much of this growth. I believe that you can keep moving in the direction of God, and find God in more and more places. But you don't have to pretend it's not hard. And if it was easy I'm not sure that would be a good thing.

Your experiences and associations and discomfort and fear—they're your history and they're also the history of the text. I'm sure you've heard people say "Don't let stuff like that turn you away from the original meaning of the verses!" Or "Jesus didn't mean that!" But of course the verses hold weight. They've had baggage before they ever got to you—two thousand years of it. Hold space for the fact that they've been used to hurt you and others. That's not meaningless—it's part of the meaning now. People who claimed their destruction was what Jesus meant have added to the history of Jesus and the text—and people who created love and beauty in honor of those verses have also added to these histories. We can learn about the original meaning of the text, but we cannot erase or ignore the meanings that have existed over the years. Go into this without guilt or pressure or expectation, and bring the anger and confusion and bad experiences. The text is strong enough to handle them. God is strong enough to handle them.

I want to acknowledge that finding God in the Hebrew Bible and existing there with Them is a beautiful thing. You don't have to equally relate to every single part of a religion to create a home there. Of course I hope that you grow new connections with the NT, but if it's never the same as the OT, that's not a flaw or a failure. None of us can find all the places where God is present and hold them all equally. Our brains aren't big enough for that. You have created a beautiful connection with God, and I hope that you know that there are so many fulfilled, faithful people who have not, and will never, experience God in the NT. Of course these people generally aren't Christian—and that's obviously a choice you can make—but I hope that knowledge reminds you that you aren't doing anything wrong. You have a duty to God, not to religion. And you certainly don't have a duty to the ideas you've grown up with or translators or interpreters or even to Biblical writers. We enter religion to learn and create community and to fully live out our duty to God—religion serves us, not the other way around. 

I love that you brought up conservative dogwhistles because this is a point that, again, I've heard more people fall on the other side of! More people have a problem with the politics of the OT, for lots of reasons. The NT was written much closer to our current point in history, of course, in a time and culture much more familiar to most of us than Ancient Israel. The Roman Empire's language and government and philosophy has influenced the world immensely, and I think for most people it's therefore easier to exist in/relate to/project on. For you, though, this might be having the opposite effect. The fact that the Roman Empire is closer and more influential to our culture may make you more aware of its injustices and biases. Conservatism as we know it is much closer to values found in the Christian scriptures than the Jewish ones partially because it's more culturally and politically similar to ours. (Think about how many far-right people idolize the Roman Empire! And of course, think about how many conservatives are Christians.) 

I'm assuming, because you're someone who notices politics in texts, that you've probably confronted things in the OT that you've had to process and put in context and perhaps still struggle with. I know that you've been met with violence and patriarchy, and that you've read verses that you probably know have been used to justify racism, sexism, slavery, and homophobia. Perhaps you've come to these chapters and said something like, "Wow, this has been used for a lot of evil, and this is something I have to deal with, but I also want to give grace to the culture that existed this way and told these stories, see the times that systems like patriarchy are challenged and changed over time, and use this for good and liberation in my own life." Maybe this is easy for you, or maybe it's taken a lot of strength. 

Barbara Brown Taylor talks about "shadow languages" in her book Holy Envy (which I recommend)—languages in the Bible that assume things, that carry with them narratives we need to look out for. She identifies the language of contempt, the one of social hierarchy, the one that glorifies suffering for suffering's sake, the one that divides reality into opposed pairs. She tells us that "the purpose of staying on the lookout for languages like these is to prevent them from becoming uncontested parts of the Christian worldview. Every time I run into one of them hard enough to hurt, I turn around and look in the opposite direction, where there is almost always a counternarrative in scripture, just waiting for someone to notice it."

I think about how slavery is not abolished in the Bible—it has not been abolished ever. At various times in history, it has been taken for granted, challenged, uprooted, and changed form. Why are the ancient Israelites freed from captivity and go on to enslave people? Why does God move them to chip away at slavery but not fully eradicate it? Why does Paul say there is no slave or free under Christ Jesus, but preserves the social hierarchy inherent to that statement? It angers me that oppression is never abolished completely and immediately, but I also know that's not how people (or true stories) work. We take a lot of things for granted—and that leads many people to conservatism. I love Paul's writings, and I also know that his greatest sin (like many of us) was believing God's love liberated only as far as his imagination. He could imagine a God who loved the enslaved, could imagine a world in which their souls were equal, but could not imagine a world without slavery. He could imagine a spiritual equality of men and women, but not a social one. The gospel writers could worship a Jewish man as God, honor the scriptures he quoted, and add no nuance to the Jewish leaders who opposed him. They could imagine a messiah coming from Judaism but could not give grace to the Judaism around them.We all have failures of imagination, and we are always wrong. (Thanks be to God.)

I am not in the business of excusing harmful systems. I don't think you should do this when tackling the NT—I think you should challenge it and accuse it and dismantle it. But I also want you to remember the grace that you have brought to the Hebrew Bible. You have found God in a text with a lot of hard things and a lot of beautiful things—I bet you can do it again. Maybe it's more personal this time, maybe it's closer to your culture, but you have the skills. And maybe this is gonna make you go back to the OT with harsher eyes—so be it. Be curious about how this changes your relationship with history—humanity's and your own. However you understand conservatism, you can find it in both parts of the Christian Bible. And you can't take away the ways people have furthered that. But you can see them, and you can build relationships with the stories, knowing that your imagination can go further—and God's goes further still. You have been taught by bigoted people and a bigoted world, and you know it. You already know you want God, not them.

So what do we do when someone got their hands all over the New Testament? I love that question, because they absolutely have. They're still doing it. Someone got their hands all over the OT too—actually, probably more and worse someones seeing as it's a Jewish text and Christian hands are inherently meddling. But this is all part of the text's history. However much we believe God was involved, people wrote in their own language and from their own culture.  The curation and copying and collecting and translating and analysis inherent to the Bible's existence (it didn't spring fully formed into the King James Version) are people's hands. We can't take that away—and in fact, we needed their hands for these texts to get to us. 

Reclaiming the Bible for me has not included pretending those hands don't exist—especially when they're personal. What it has included is prying some of those hands off to see God underneath. The thing about that, though, is that it gets our fingerprints involved. You can't reach into a text and find God without getting your hands dirty. There is no pure holy text in this life. The NT that you're reading—unless you're smarter than me—is already translated. You can learn to read Greek, you can study history, but you're gonna be doing it with your own hands. While you're finding God in the text, accept that even if you go all the way back, the original writers' fingerprints are on the very first copy. 

Let this move you to know that none of it is empty. I acknowledge the barrenness you're describing as the only thing you can see right now—but know that even if this is overwhelming, it's proof that the text itself is full. The fact that so many people, for good and evil, have touched it and transformed it, the fact that you desire connection with it, means that it is not empty. There would be nothing there for you to want to reclaim—but you're asking.

I think it would be really interesting for you to find the humanity in the gospels. Look for the people. Yes, these are characters told and retold—you can see the fingerprints—but they were people first. Look for people reclaiming and messing around and taking cultural things for granted and challenging other things—and live in it with them. Don't approach any of it as a solid text that exists—look at it as a living, breathing text that we all tear into. And, yes, this means people are going to twist it almost beyond recognition, but they do not have a monopoly on joining the story—you bring your experiences and your biases. Be human with it, the way that I'm sure you are with the OT, which is full of flawed, evil people who sing beautiful songs. Be human with them.

Enlarge your theological circle. Read liberation theology, queer theology, disability theology. Read the Quran, which is an amazing time that people got their hands on the NT (as well as having its own history of violence). Find different, beautiful hands that tell these stories in new ways. I can't promise you'll find beauty—that's such an emotional and personal experience. We can't force beauty out of anything. But other people have found and created beauty, and we can experience it secondhand—through stained glass, a musical, a movie, a song, a poem—not because their eyes are better than yours, but because they're also honest.

Barbara Brown Taylor (again in Holy Envy) recounts wisdom from a visiting imam, who "explained that the long lineage of Muslim scholars who have worked collaboratively for centuries to interpret the Quran in the most humane ways are more to be trusted than those who spill blood based on their own readings and ambitions." There are always other traditions, and when all we can see is a weapon, there are those who will unclench our fists. 

I would encourage you to make sure you have a NT text that has footnotes to tell you when someone is quoting the Hebrew Bible. The NT is in relationship with, building on and interpreting and philosophizing about, the OT. If you are coming from the OT, bring those verses with you, the same way Jesus and early Christian writers did. The New Testament as a body of work did not exist for the first Christians—the scriptures they had were the ones you have connected with. You're in such good company. Look at how easily Jesus quotes scripture, the verses he adds on to and interacts with, the prophecies he sees himself in. Look at the sacrifice imagery that the gospel writers use to talk about Jesus—assuming that the reader will be familiar with these themes. Even within the OT, we can see later Jewish prophets criticizing and conversing with earlier verses—humanity is constantly in conversation with itself and God. You have such a good foundation for understanding this relationship.

The other good foundation you have? Wrestling with a text. It's the ones we're in community with that are the ones we're most often in conflict with and hold to the highest standards—for Jesus, this was the Jewish community he was a part of, and for you, this might be the NT. Have beef with your own scriptures and communities and religious leaders—reclaiming and wrestling are what the gospels are about. Acts and the letters in the NT are continuously debating the relevance of various OT verses. Do hard work on a text, and do it in good company.

Carry with you the scriptures you love as you travel into unfamiliar or painted-over territory. Know that you have something to come back to, however far you g0. While wading into waters you don't understand, you know that there's land under your feet—and you know that it's land that Jesus valued, that all the people in the NT valued, even as they wrestled with it. The first verses of the NT are a genealogy from Abraham to Jesus's adoptive father. Christians see this all as one story—whether you believe that right now or not, the human story is constantly moving, and God is your solid ground. 

Jesus set down a foundation on that rock of God and Christians have added bricks to it and torn stuff down and messed around and burned it and kept building it—but you know there's God under it, because you've seen Them. So when you read Paul awkwardly shoving some bricks together and think, "That's not how I would build a community…" know that God's under there. When you read Peter denying Jesus, know that his name still means "rock," that you can still create solid ground after everything. You know where God is, and also, our lives are ever-expanding journeys of finding where else God could be. Yours looks different from the Christians who consider the NT to be that same rock, but that's okay! It's okay if the OT is a firm foundation for you, and the NT is one of the bricks. Look for God in those awkward bricks, which I know you can do because you've already done it. King David wrote the most beautiful songs I know—you don't ignore his murder and rape, you honor the whole story.

John 3:16 is a much-loved verse—but it being more important than other verses is a construct. You don't have to like it—in fact, the context of this is Jesus talking to Nicodemus, who doesn't understand what he's saying. Jesus is very familiar with confusion and even anger as a response—and he even seems to seek it out sometimes. Nicodemus comes to him as a genuine student, and Jesus starts going on about being born again, something that his new student seems to have no foundation for. Oh, to be a confused new student rather than someone whose had "being born again" held over my head! I wish I could come to the idea with no baggage! I wish I had no foundation for that idea, so I could start over—which would, perhaps, come closer to what Jesus is saying than any evangelical teaching. 

Take care, keep trudging. Whatever path this brings you to, whatever communities you end up building, know that with God as the foundation, even awkward haphazard fingerprinted ripped-up texts can tell stories that we need to hear. I can't take away the associations you have with these texts, but I can pray you create new ones. Learn new songs, meet new characters. Get your hands messy. 

Don't force a positive relationship—what people have done with the text is a barrier to you right now, and this might be more of a journey with a barrier than a going through it. There are pieces of barriers I've broken open that come with me when I revisit those verses. You already have a more honest relationship with all of this than so many others, and you have the skills already to know that it is God, not the world's followers, that you want. 

I hope this wasn't long-winded nonsense, and I hope something here resonates. The short answer (which I probably should have put at the beginning) is that yes, I've experienced something like this. The year I couldn't read the Bible without panicking, I cried while watching The Prince of Egypt. In the years after that, I almost came back to it like I was converting—reading the basics, starting from scratch. Growing up and becoming purposely Christian (rather than your parents exactly) is a kind of conversion, and you have to reclaim the texts, and ask God to reclaim you as you are now. 

Isaiah 55:10-11 tells us that God's word pours out like rain, and never returns empty. It sticks with us until something grows inside us. And John begins his gospel by telling us that the word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. This is a living word, one that cried and got angry and fell in love with his friends and participated in a culture and wrestled with God's will and interpreted scripture and was a person with us. You'll have to forgive Christianity for being so human—God did it first. God got his fingerprints all over us, and we wrote texts that have God's living breathing word—and also our messy hands. Thank God for your hands, and the love that they will bring. 

<3 Johanna

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

❥ Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: Wanted to write a platonic older brother Dick Grayson story, but depicting his spiral into yandere-hood. Tumblr can’t handle my swag AO3-length writing, so multiple parts it is!

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: platonic sibling yandere content, older brother Dick Grayson, younger sibling reader, non-vigilante reader, adopted reader, slow burn yandere(?), the pacing is very a-day-in-the-life-esque, kind-of stalking, unsettling build-up, Dick isn’t a full-blown yandere yet, starting off tame, biblically accurate Batfam, CLIFF HANGER!!

❥ 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃.

Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

He never told you outright, but you knew. It was painfully obvious during your initial meeting (one that was “long overdue,” according to Bruce), back when Alfred dropped you off at his Blüdhaven apartment with all your belongings. Though he offered a welcoming smile with complimentary dimples, something dark swirled in his sapphire eyes, a stony cold stare contrasting with his warm greeting of, “nice to finally meet you, (Y/N).”

You didn’t know that much about Richard Grayson, other than his role as your pseudo older brother (and the fact that he was Robin, and now Nightwing, but you were still wrapping your head around the idea of your filthy rich adoptive father being fucking Batman, so… there’s not much you could say on that). He seemed friendly enough in all the gala interviews you’ve seen, but you were starting to realize to not take someone’s press persona as gospel: after all, Bruce Wayne seems much more put together in front of the cameras than he does in the manor. So, while unsettling, you couldn’t say you were too surprised by this official first impression.

Maybe he was just tired, you told yourself. He probably doesn’t get much sleep, with the whole crime-fighting thing and all.

(Yeah… crime-fighting thing… y’know, cuz your pseudo older brother is Nightwing, and your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking Batman.)

However, after getting all your things settled into his spare bedroom — Alfred being a big help, as he always was — you were getting the sense that your gut intuition was right; Richard Grayson didn’t really like you at all. He may have acted all cordial, giving you a tour of his apartment and making polite jokes, but as soon as Alfred left and he excused himself to make a phone call in his room, his true feelings on your collective predicament became painfully apparent, as thin walls did nothing to hold in his heated argument with Bruce.

“B, why the hell are you doing this to me?! ……. No, they’re in their room. Getting all their stuff settled in right now. ……. I know I did, but now that they’re here, I just—!! ……. No, they’ve been okay so far, it’s just— come on, B, I know you’re an empty-nester, but if you weren’t ready to take in a kid, why’d you—?! ……. Really? So adopting orphans is just a hobby now?! ……. Yeah, and it’s really unfortunate what they’ve gone through, but you can’t just pick up every stray you see, especially if you’re this fucking paranoid about them wanting to—”

This was the only time you could understand Bruce’s response over the phone; “I DON’T WANT ANOTHER DEAD CHILD, DICK.”

… Ah.

There was a beat of silence before Bruce continued, though his softer tone made it impossible to make out what he was saying. He went on and on until Dick sighed. “Bruce, I want them to have a happy home. And, yeah, I sure as hell agree that the manor might not be the best choice, but I’m off doing my own thing just as much as you are. At the very least, Alfred— ……. What would’ve been good for both of you was to not sign the papers in the first place. You’re still healing, and they need someone who can be there for them. ……. No. No, they’re already here. I’ll stay true to my word, B, but they can’t stay here forever; you know that. It’s just not healthy for all of us. ……. Yeah, I know. I’ll do my best. Look, I gotta figure out what I’m gonna make this kid for dinner.”

And then, without a single goodbye exchanged, the call went dead.

So, yeah. Richard Grayson didn’t really like you.

Which was fine. Really, it was. You weren’t even his sibling by law, as you learned from Alfred that Bruce technically never even adopted him, yet here he was being asked to take care of you, a reminder that he can’t escape Bruce Wayne or Batman no matter how hard he tries. While you were still learning the full situation (again, your filthy rich adoptive father is fucking BATMAN), what you already knew didn’t paint a pretty picture. Honestly, you didn’t blame Richard Grayson for being a little spiteful towards you. It did make sense.

You just wish it didn’t make you feel so… unwanted.

“How was school, kiddo?”

A questioning hum was startled from your vocal chords. The car ride had been so silent, you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, almost forgetting that you were buckled into the passenger seat of Richard’s — Dick’s, rather; he told you to call him Dick the day you moved in — older, copper-colored car. After taking a few moments to collect yourself, you threw your temporary guardian a glance only to find he was pointedly staring at you (which was concerning, as he was driving).

“Uh…” your voice faltered a bit, forcing you to cough in your fist. “It was alright.”

His eyes lingered on you for a bit longer before returning to the road ahead. You thought that was the end of the conversation, but then he spoke up again. “Did you learn anything?”

A bit of an awkward thing to ask, but at least he was trying. “Factoring in algebra. And I guess a little about the Mongol Empire.”

“Factoring,” he said with distaste. “Wasn’t a fan of that. Though it didn’t really help that I had the worst algebra teacher. Ended up with a 70 in that class by some miracle.” A small beat of silence. “Do anything fun with friends?”

You grimaced. Though you tried your best not let it show, you knew Dick probably caught it through the rear-view mirror. “I, uh, haven’t made any friends yet.”

“It’s already October,” he skeptically stated with a quirked brow.

“I know. It’s just…” you clutched your book bag closer to your chest. “It was my first day here, so… gotta make new friends.”

“… Oh.”

As much as you wanted to dryly chortle at his reaction, you refrained. It probably wasn’t his fault he didn’t know about being transferred from Gotham to Blüdhaven Academy, since Bruce apparently had a habit of keeping people out of the loop with things. For all you know, Dear Ol’ Daddy Bats just gave Dick an address and said, "drop off at 9, pick up at 3:30," leaving your pseudo-older brother to fill in the blanks from there (“this is an address to a school, so I’m assuming this is where they go to school,” or something like that).

So, all you could do was shrug. “Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tighten. He seemed to be deliberating on something, eyes burning holes through his windshield as he let out a sigh. “So, guessing you have no one to stay with for the night?”

“Stay with?” You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean, stay with?”

“Well, I’m gonna be out tonight,” he explained, his tone sounded a bit exasperated. “Can’t just leave you on your own. Do any friends from your old school live near by?”

You were at a loss for words. He wanted you to stay with someone? For the entire night? “Wait, hold on… you just wanna dump me at a friend’s house anytime you do your hero shit—?”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, kiddo, but we’re in Blüdhaven,” he spat at you. “And my apartment isn’t exactly in the nicest part of town.”

“But— it’ll be fine, ‘cuz you have a Bat-level security system,” you protested.

His grip got tighter on the steering wheel. “Doesn’t matter. You’re used to the manor, not street-level crime, kid.”

“I grew up in Gotham,” you retorted. “I’ve known street-level crime way longer than I’ve known the manor.” Before he could say something to that, you beat him to it by following up with, “and besides, all my friends from Gotham live in areas that are just as bad as your apartment. Wasn’t all that popular with the socialite kids with mansions, you know.”

No response for several seconds. Dick’s expression was far from pleasant, and you were starting to worry if you were getting yourself into some sort of trouble. Eventually, however, he let out a frustrated sigh, his cold eyes snapping towards your figure. “You make one hell of an argument, kiddo. But listen. We’ve gotta go over home-alone rules when we’re back to the apartment, alright? I don’t want anything happening to you under my watch.”

“Fine by me,” you shrugged.

The conversation was then dropped.

A small smile started to bloom on your face. He really thought he could rid of you like that, didn’t he? You knew he didn’t really like you, but using it’s not safe as an excuse to a Gothamite? Really? Yeah, that’s a bunch of bogus.

… Though, you had to admit, it was nice that he at least sounded considerate.

You woke up to the sounds of disgruntlement coming from the living area.

It wasn’t too loud, as you couldn’t exactly comprehend what was being said, but it was loud make you realize the disgruntled party was extremely ticked by something. Getting out of bed, you put your ear to the door for better listening.

“I already told you, I can’t. I’ve been leaving this kid home alone far too often for my liking. ……. Where, Roy?! Where can they stay?! Bruce isn’t in the right headspace to have another kid in the manor, and— ow, fuck— it’s not like they have any friends to crash with for the night! ……. Transferred schools. Would’ve been nice if Bruce said something about that, but— ……. Said their Gotham friends live in areas just as bad. Besides, there’s no way in hell I’m letting them step foot back into that hellhole without me being there. ……. ‘Cuz it’s fucking Gotham, Roy! It’s only city in the world that has a death by killer clown statistic!!”

Ah. Another phone call. Dick had been making a lot of those, recently. You never knew who was on the other line, except if it was Bruce or (by rare chance) Alfred, but you had a general idea that it was always one of his super hero friends. Not very many people casually talked about beating up thugs and criminals, after all.

“No— absolutely not. Bruce would be pissed if he found out!! He’d think I’m trying to make them into my sidekick or something, and god knows what happens to them after that. I’ve been through the system, Roy. While I’m not too keen on keeping a kid around, putting them back there is not an option. ……. They’re just— safer in my apartment than anywhere else right now. I can’t have anything happening to them. Not after Jason. Bruce would never forgive me, and I— I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. ……. I’m sorry, Roy. Maybe next time. ……. Yeah. Tell the other Titans I’m thinking about them, okay? ……. Yeah, good luck tonight. Try not to show up on the news. ……. Yup. See you.”

Your ears picked up on a low beep, heralding the end of the call. As Dick let out a string of curses, you couldn’t help but feel… empty. You were more than just a pain in the ass for Dick; you were a full-blown problem. It wasn’t just the fact that you were keeping him from having hero fun. Even if he wasn’t all that fond of you, he still considered you his responsibility, and seemed genuinely worried about your safety when he wasn’t there. You were under the impression that he went out at night to forget you existed, but…

Jason…

Jason was a name you were only vaguely familiar with, usually used as a heavy blow in a Dick v. Bruce argument. While you don’t exactly know the full context, Alfred did make mention once of a kid who lived in Wayne Manor before you (the one who is “no longer with us,” as the butler solemnly said), and upon stumbling into the Batcave by accident, some of the only coherent mutterings he offered were, “Jason,” and “no, not again.”

Again, you didn't know the full context, but it's easy to put together the pieces from there.

A particularly loud curse from the other side of the door brought you back to reality. You at first wondered if you should go out there and make sure your current guardian-figure was okay, but you decided against it, as A.) he was probably just patching himself up from a particularly rough skirmish, and B.) he didn't seem like he was in the mood to see you. Besides, with your thoughts on this Jason kid, you didn't know if you had enough self-control to keep your burning questions locked away on your tongue.

So, instead, you decided to lay back down in your bed, brainstorming ideas to get Dick to talk about Jason.

This was… kind of a terrible way to ask.

Sure, you were curious. The thought had been haunting your thoughts since Bruce’s breakdown, and being out of the loop was slowly eating away at your mind. But maybe you could’ve been less… abrupt… and given Dick a little bit more time to be mentally prepared. It was an extremely sensitive topic, after all, and you knew even he was healing from the aftermath.

You hoped he understood your question wasn’t just morbid curiosity; Jason’s death is in-part the reason you’re here, after all.

Dick stared at you across from the dinner table. His fork had a few pieces of macaroni skewered one the prongs, half-raised to be shoveled into his mouth. Blue eyes stared right through you, blinking owlishly as he presumably tried to process what the fuck you just asked him. All you could do was hunch into yourself in your seat, mentally scolding yourself for how fucking rude your question probably was. Painfully long seconds ticked by with no sort of response, and you eventually decided that the best course of action was to do some preemptive damage control.

“You— actually, you don’t have to answer,” you weakly sputtered. “I’m so sorry, that’s— that was so uncalled for. I’m really sorry, Dick.”

He set his fork down. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… did Bruce not— he never told you?”

You shook your head.

“… Ah,” was his reply. His eyes wandered towards the window, an unreadable expression falling onto his face. He seemed a bit… lost. Which was understandable, as you didn’t exactly give him prep time for a conversation like this. You gave him as much time as he needed to put his thoughts in order.

Finally, he gave an answer. “Killed in action. Ended up in the hands of the Joker, and… well, he didn’t come home. No Robin ever since.”

The flat tone that carved through his words caused your hair to stand on end. He kept the details vague, but you didn’t find yourself minding all that much. If the Joker was involved, it probably wasn’t that much of a lovely story. “So, he was Robin after you?”

A hum of confirmation came from Dick. “The mantle was open, since I took up a new name. After finding out that Bruce was Batman, he practically begged to be trained as Robin.” He slowly brought the fork to his mouth. “That’s what Bruce said, anyway.”

It was then you noticed the silverware rattling from some sort of rhythmic thumping. After a few moments, you realized it was from your knee hitting against the table, causing you to will your legs to stay still. “Um…” you cleared your throat. “Were you… close with Jason?”

“I mean, we were friendly.” He still neglected to make eye contact with you. “I tried to be a good example to him, but I was busy doing my own thing here.” His gaze dropped to the linoleum floor. “Didn’t spend enough time with him.”

A heavy pressure crushed down on your chest. While you didn’t know Jason personally, you were no stranger to the concept of loss, and the more you learned about his death, the more your current situation was starting to make sense. Jason discovered Bruce was Batman. He wanted to be Robin, and Bruce let him. Then he died as Robin. Bruce’s adopted son died on the field, in the costume.

So, after you found out Bruce was Batman… it probably felt all too familiar.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you practically whispered.

Dick only sighed. “It’s alright, kiddo.” Finally, he raised his eyes to look at you. “Say, how are you doing in that chemistry class?”

… Huh?

The abrupt change in subject was… interesting. But definitely understandable, as talking about Jason’s death probably wasn’t all too pleasant. Guilt started to eat away at your conscious, the thought of making Dick uncomfortable by reminding him of his grief and regrets making your heart feel heavy. So, you merely offered a shrug and said, “uh… I’m doing fine.”

“Thought you were having trouble with valence equations,” he mused.

You could only dumbly stare at him. Okay… this was new territory. Sure, he always asked how school was while picking you up, but this was the first time he’s talked about it at dinner. Then again, this is the first time you two have talked at dinner period, since most dinners were spent eating in total silence, so maybe he was just trying to cleanse the awkward air that you created from randomly inquiring about Jason (because you can't do anything right, apparently).

So, ignoring the warmth that swirled in your chest at the thought of him actually caring about your life outside of the polite, seemingly obligatory after-school exchanges, you indulged.

Blüdhaven nights weren’t all that different from Gotham’s. They could get noisy, the sounds of the city mixing together into one cacophony. You’ve learned how to sleep through it all, and it’s not like it’s all high energy for the entire night; around 1 in the morning, there’s a lull in activity that yields little to no sounds to disturb your slumber. Some would even call this hour the most peaceful that places like Gotham and Blüdhaven can get, despite all of the dubious activities that are probably happening.

So, something like the sound of a window sliding opening is enough to disturb this peace.

It was your window. It sounded like it was right in your room, so it had to be your window. You stayed as petrified as a statue in your bed, the fog of sleepiness immediately airing out of your brain from your nervous system screaming, holy shit, someone is opening my window. Well, maybe, if you continued to stay still, they wouldn’t recognize the obvious lump in the bed, take whatever the fuck they wanted, and be on their merry way. With any luck, Dick was done doing his hero shit, and the unfortunate sap breaking into the apartment would have a run-in with Nightwing.

That’s when a your bed began to creak from a new weight being added to it.

… Ah, shit.

You didn’t move. There was no way in hell you were moving. Even if the intruder seemingly knew you were there, you could do nothing else but stay stagnant in place, waiting for them to make the next move. Maybe, if they touch you, you could swing your arm to hit them and catch them by surprise. That might give you enough time to run, find Dick’s room, and pray to god he’s home. If not, then you could at least lock yourself in his room and hold out until he does.

Your thoughts were cut short when a familiar voice rang out.

“You didn’t lock your window.”

… That bastard—!!

Relief crashed through your body like a tidal wave. A heavy breath tumbled out of your lips — one that you didn’t even know you were holding in — which alleviated the growing pressure in your chest. Now that you could feel your limbs again, you willed away the shiver that wanted to travel through your body as you turned to face this so-called intruder. “Kind of an unconventional way to come home, don’t you think?”

Your eyes met the pearly white lenses of a domino mask. The shadowy figure sitting on your bed had his arms crossed over the unmistakable azure symbol of Nightwing, which, oddly enough, had an intriguing iridescent shimmer under the moonlight. Huh… none of the cameras really pick up that detail, you mentally noted, glancing back and forth between the contrast of matte black and shiny blue. You were no professional superhero costume critic, but it was a nice little touch.

Dick’s tired sigh snapped you out of your thoughts. It was a grim reminder that — oh, yeah — you’re about to get chewed out by your vigilante kind-of-older-brother… at an ungodly hour. “Kid,” he began, the chastising tone you were becoming more and more acquainted with lacing every word, “you can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that. What if I was some crook, or kidnapper, or worse?”

“Good thing it was just Nightwing coming through my window to give me a heart attack,” you humorlessly mused.

Though you couldn’t see underneath the mask, you knew he was giving you that one unamused stare you’re all too familiar with. “(Y/N), I’m serious. This is about your safety, your life, even. If something bad happens while I’m out, I won’t be able to protect you. For god’s sake, kid. I could be on the other side of Blüdhaven while you’re getting taken, or murdered, or whatever!!” He took a moment to heave another sigh. “Just… promise me you’ll lock your window next time, alright? Please.”

All you could do was wordlessly nod. After taking some time to process what he was saying, you admittedly felt bad. He was right; neglecting to lock your window like that could very well mean death in Blüdhaven. It’s not like growing up in Gotham is any different, so you knew this fact very well. Maybe your time at the manor caused you to become less careful, as it’s unlikely any criminals are hitting up the Wayne residence anytime soon; and it’s not like any of them know about the Bat-level security, either.

A springy click echoed through your room, and you looked up to see Dick inspecting your window (you’ve long stopped questioning how he just teleports like that). After deeming it to be safe, he softly padded towards your door. His hand was on the knob, but he seemed a bit hesitant to turn it. Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked at you over his shoulder and said, “goodnight, kiddo.”

“… Goodnight,” you mumbled.

He was out the door.

Click.

Now alone in your room, you could finally replay what just happened. Dear Big Bro Dickybird just gave you the scare of a lifetime, chastised you about being irresponsible, and left to assumingly go to bed (though you’re not sure if that man actually sleeps or not). The conversation — well, more like lecture — played in your mind, repeating on loop like a broken record… because of course your mind wanted to make you feel guiltier than you already did.

That’s when something weird stuck out to you.

“You can’t keep forgetting to lock everything like that.”

… Keep?

As far as you knew, that was your first time actually forgetting…

So... how did he know?

Thwack.

Before you could even begin to register whatever the fuck just hit your forehead, a teasingly dry voice rang out from above. “Your handwriting really sucks, y'know."

With furrowed brows to showcase your confusion, you forced yourself to sit upright on the couch. A small notepad fell from your chest to the floor, the pages sprawled out from the metal spiral to reveal your list of things you wanted from the store. “I was writing fast,” you grumbled.

"Sure you were," cooed Dick with a less-than-friendly smirk. He then cocked his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest. "Wanted a change of scenery or something?"

You felt your face scrunch up. "What does that mean?"

"You usually watch your dumb little YouTube videos in your room," he explained. "Not sprawled out on my couch."

Honestly, you weren't even going to question how he knew that. Maybe it was that dumb Bat-detective intuition, or the fact that you probably need to start turning the volume on your phone down a notch (thin walls, remember?). Rolling your eyes, you situated yourself so that you were once again lounging comfortably on the couch. "Trying to tell me something, bucko?"

"Yeah, actually." Before you knew it, you were being ripped away from the cushions, an indignant yelp leaving your lips as you dangled mid-air from your legs. You had to adjust to your new upside-down view in order to throw Dick an incredulous glare. The bastard merely offered a shit-eating grin, simply stating, "get off my couch."

"... Could've just told me that," you spat out.

He began to walk you out of the living room. "You wouldn't of listened."

"Wha-- I totally would've!"

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Whatever retort you wanted to throw at him dissolved into a heavy OOMF as he dropped you onto the floor. You found yourself glaring up at him once more as he swiped invisible dust off of his hands, giving you a champion smirk before heading back in the living. You managed to orient yourself into an awkward squat just in time to see him confidently throw himself into the couch cushions.

That asshole just kicked you out of your spot.

You were not about to let that slide.

With an animalistic yell, you began to gallop — yes, gallop; it was a weird mix of running and crawling, as you were already on the floor — at him full speed. He barely had time to react to your charge (as you victoriously noted from his surprised OOF as you pounced on him), and within seconds, the both of you were locked into a fight to the death. Dick might've had the upper hand when it came to combat technique, but what you lacked in experience, you made up in dedication as you tried your damned hardest to push him off of the couch.

"Hey," he wheezed out. "Quit it, you little freak!!"

"You quit it," was your breathy reply. "I was here first!!"

"But it's my couch!!"

"Didn't see you using it!!"

"Just 'cuz I was getting your dumbass groceries!!"

"You were out for a whole-ass hour!!"

Despite giving it your all, the battle was beginning to turn against you as Dick managed to wrestle your upper body between his forearm and bicep. He eventually managed to pin your viciously kicking legs under his arm, and looking back on it, the scene probably looked reminiscent of a zookeeping holding down a trashing crocodile. This didn't deter you however, as you began to gnaw at his forearm, drawing a sound of disgust from your captor. "I had to spend, like, 30 minutes trying to decipher your shit handwriting," he scoffed. "Now can you just accept defeat and stop biting me!?"

You tried to respond with something along the lines of, "not until you give me my spot back," but it came out as garbled nonsense with your mouth full of his forearm. He aggressively told you to repeat yourself (probably under the pretense that you were giving him some major lip), and during the time you relieved his skin of your teeth to say something much worse than you initially did, a cheerful little tune began to play from Dick's pocket.

"... Hold that thought," he murmured.

Respectfully, you kept still and allowed him to use one of his hands to fish his phone out of his hoodie (you thought about using this as an opportunity to escape, but that would go against the unspoken rules of battle). He squinted his eyes to read the caller ID, only to heave a frustrated groan. “Bruce,” he curtly informed you. You were about to ask if he wanted some privacy, when he suddenly released you from his hold and sent you careening towards the ground. So, taking that as an answer, you scrambled off of the floor and headed towards your room, phone somehow materializing in your hand in the process.

From your room, the call sounded so faint.

… Maybe the walls weren’t as thin as you initially thought they were.

You let out a jet of hot air through your teeth. “The hell is taking him so long?”

The time was 3:50, but Dick’s old car was nowhere to be seen in your school’s parking lot. You shot hit a text 5 minutes ago that has yet to be read, and if you were being honest, you were more anxious than annoyed. Dick was never late to pick-up. Late to drop-off, sure (there was one time you showed up to school at 11:25 due to him sleeping in from a late-night drug bust, and you got the pleasure of making up an embarrassing excuse at the expense of Dick’s pride to the front office), but never pick-up.

So, this meant one of two things; he’s finally forgotten about you, or there’s an emergency.

Just as you were debating on checking the local news, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up to reveal a message from Bastard. You could feel your apprehension melting away as you unlocked your phone to read his message:

robbery going on

… Ah. That explains the spike in police siren activity going on around you.

You were about to shoot him a classic, “what the fuck” text, but his typing bubble popped up. After a second, another message followed:

gonna be late

Okay, now you decided to send your, “what the fuck.”

The read status under your text didn’t show up until a few minutes later (because that’s what you needed in this moment; more anxiety), and he immediately got to typing.

sorry kiddo

stay put

be there in a sec

Your shaky fingers managed to type him a message along the lines of, “be careful, good luck,” which was left unread by him. A snake of apprehension began to squeeze at your lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. You had to force yourself to suck in a good bit of air to calm your nerves. Maybe he was just busy kicking some ass, that’s all. He’s stopping a whole-ass robbery from happening, so it’s not like he can keep up with your messages. Besides, he told you he would be there “in a sec,” so he’s probably wrapping everything up now.

Calm down, (Y/N), you scolded yourself. Your brother is Nightwing. He’ll be fine.

That’s when you witnessed an explosion light up the sky.

It was distant, but big enough to send a low rumble through the ground. You watched in absolute horror as the violent orange and yellow dissipated from behind the cityscape, leaving an inky trail of smoke behind as its calling card. More and more sirens of different origins — police, fire, ambulance — were overlapping in a terrible harmony, though it was hard to process from the brazen ringing in your ears, clogging your brain out from the outside world.

Oh, shit.

What if that was—?!

You desperately fumbled with your phone, unlocking it to reveal your still unread message to Dick. You were hoping for some sort of sorry about that text, or at the very least to see his typing bubble, but you were met with radio silence. Apprehension became pure fear when your thoughts began to race. Something bad happened to Dick. There’s no way in hell an explosion happened coincidentally, so something bad just happened.

Not good, not good, not good at all…!!

It took longer than you wanted to get your fingers to type something:

Dick??

Dick, you okay??

I saw that, are you okay??

Dick??

Dick??

… Nothing.

You resorted to calling him.

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

… Beeeeeeeeep…

“Come on,” you muttered. “Come on, come on, come on, pick up—!!”

… Beeeeeeeep…

…

“Hey, you’ve reached the voice mail of Dick Grayson, just shoot me a text and I’ll—”

You hung up.

This was bad. This was so bad. Something bad is happening, and you’re not even sure if Dick’s okay. Hell, you saw how big that explosion was. Is he even fucking alive?!

You couldn’t help but utter a watery, “no…”

You’re not going through this again.

Without a second to spare, your legs began to carry you forward in a full sprint. You weren’t exactly sure where the explosion went off, and it’s not like you’re all that familiar with Blüdhaven just yet to know where any possible candidates for a robbery could be, but you followed the smoke pillars like a beacon, gauging how close you were based on the surrounding sirens. People stood like statues on the sidewalks to ogle at evidence of destruction wafting through the sky, and no cars dared to run you over as you cut through the streets.

“Come on, Dick,” you said between huffs. “Please— please be okay..!!”

He had to be okay.

You couldn’t lose someone else in your life.

[mihwee]

"I just wanna eat him up."

Siyun Baek x M! Reader

SYS: You were staying over at Baek siyuns house, — Due to some unfortunate circumstances. your shirt JUST had to get wet. And it just had to rain. Whats up with these coincidences?

Well..Your both men right? Theres no need to worry. A little nap would be fine...

TAGS: NSFW. Blowjob, handjob, Deepthroath, dirty talk, Slight-ish taboo. CNC, Cum play, Cock Play. (He sucks ur cock when ur slesping 🔥 summary)

Warning: CNC. Harsh/explicit language as said, He does naughty stuff to your balls when ur over there pretending to be snoring (LMAOO) if your uncomfortable with that, you can leave. again MALE READER. no one is strictly top here so.....

MINORS UNDER 14 DNI. MINORS UNDER 16 DO NOT REQUEST. DNI :(fujoshis, Fudans alligned.)

Setting: His bed

A.N: Hey guys~ ive been gone for so long.... sordy~ busy with shs

By the way, you can request anything! Ive been catching up to the trendy manhwas these days, and trust me. Im not that picky when it comes to fantasies lolll . My friend just reccomended me this manhwa, and i told her im not really interested in romance. Pfft, the look on her face if she ever sees my account would be astronomical...

Siyun quietly sat on the bed. Staring intently at your sleeping figure. "Asleep already?" He thought, He hasnt even been out for 10 minutes. He hums, his fingers brushing over your hair, Your soft skin visible.

He felt himself flinch, Your soft breathing, the way you looked so peacefull on his bed. In his clothes, With HIm. He smiled a little, oh what Could have he been if your not there? He felt his eyes darken. You dont need those pesky pests that makes you miserable all the time. Just stay with him. Just say the word and he'll....

He softly mutters under his breath, his silver strands slowly falling onto your skin as he leans in closer. Enough to feel his breath against the corner of your lips. "Fuck."

.

.

As you feel him shift away from the bed, and eventually walk his way to the kitchen— you slowly turned around, and shot your eyes wide open. 'What the fuck was that??' You bit your inner lip, trying to compose youreself as you felt some heat creep up your face. 'So he really does like me...' you blinked profusely, Trying not to bite your nails.

You felt his lips graze onto your neck just a minute earlier, does he act this way even when im not around? You thought. Its not like your repulsed by actually finding out he likes men. Its that... you never believed someone like him, Likes YOU.

Your face heated up more at the thought of siyun liking you intimately. 'And its not to self loathe but there are many variety of optio'-

You tried to muffle your yelp as you felt a pair of hands dig onto the fabric of the mattress. Siyun came back. And to the best of your efforts, You tried to put up a best act. gripping onto a pillow and grunting, Laying upstraight.

Siyun watches a little, his eyes slanting as he observed your every move. Has he found out you were awake from the beginning? Ah, shit. But what suprised you even more, is that his hands were slowly spreading your legs apart. You closed your eyes tightly, hes infront of me? What the hell is he doing? You sweatdropped.

You felt him scoff from above, his raspy breath evident. You feel youreself twitch as he leaned down to your crotch, you feel like you could die right now. What is he planning to do? You gripped onto the pillow tight. Trying to hide your flushed face.

Siyun smirks a little, Hes never done anything like this before. And he knows fully well your wide awake, trying to pretend. He felt himself heat up. Your not pushing him away, you wanted this. You needed this. You needed his mouth on your dick. And your not exactly offended by the thought either. Lets just see how far you can go without fucking into his mouth, begging for more.

He hums lowly, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he let himself get comfortable beteeen your legs. He lets out a soft "Aah" sound as he opened his mouth, placing his lips just right above your clothed tent.

He kissed your bulge softly, letting his sharp canine graze onto your waistband. Slowly dragging out stiffled reactions from your mouth. His hand onto your thighs, and his face burried deep. So you can feel his every breath on your most sensitive spot. He chuckles slightly, letting out sounds of soft lip kisses onto your cock, his hooded eyes staring right through you in the pillow.

"Fuck, i just wanna eat you up." Siyun muttered, grinning quite widely, before letting his broad tounge lick a strip up your bulge. Your reaction evident as you gripped onto the pillow tightly. Barely managing to keep the gasp inside of your mouth.

He hums in satisfaction, His boney fingers tracing your cock slowly. Circling the wet spot as he rested his head oh so casually just beside your erection.

You cant see whats going on, yet you feel so sensitive. You cant help it, Fuck. Shoudnt you be stopping him now? Why... ah..

You feel his finger snap around your waistband, and slowly dragging it down to your boxers. Humming all throughout the way. As your pants was on thigh level, he felt like it was appropriate enough to start sucking you off. He licked his lips a little, flicking your boner with the tip of his fingers.

"Desperate little thing huh?"

As he whispers, he lets out a blow onto your tip. Feeling annoyed that he cant see your face. But sure, Lets play this game Y/N.

You let out a involuntary moan as he wrapped his lips around your cockhead, Feeling a stripe of his tounge dart out and take a taste.

Occasionally, beads of tears well up against your eyes as he licked up long stripes against your shaft, his teeth grazing every once in awhile. His hand pumping against your base as he slicked up your dick with spit. When did he even learn this anyway? Did he observe from "those" dreams or something?

You held onto every ounce of pride you mustered, to not fuck into his mouth. Feeling his hands firmly press against the sides of your hips and finally take you whole into his mouth.

"Mmghh...mmmh." he moans happily, letting his tounge slide around your cock as he hollowed his cheeks, his eyes glancing at you through his eyelashes. Your arms still gripping on that fucking pillow.

He felt his eye twitch, determined to make you cum deep inside of his mouth. To forget about those two Insects for awhile, and focus on him entirely. He tries to let out every lewd sound to drag out your reactions one by one.

"Ngahh..." he moaned, licking a broad stripe under your shaft, He felt himself redden. Your cock was twitching and resting onto his face. his lips pursed to kiss every vein on your cock.

Shit, you were so cute. Your little whimpers drove him crazy. Every time your hips Bucked involuntarily, it got his own dick hard. He should control himself. He should... Ah, ah.... what should he even do with you?

He kissed the top of your cock, before enveloping it once more into his mouth. Trying to hide his excitement as his throath clenched around your lenght. He bobbed his head up and down, slowly tasting every part. Slicking it completley wet with his salivia. His nose hitting your pelvis as he let his mouth get penetrated.

You bit your lip, hiding your face under the pillow as you heard his mouth elicit wet squelches. I wonder whats the look on his face? You huffed out. Cut and erratic. The normal you woudve been slapping him on the face already. If not, you woudve been slapping youreself too.

You tilted your head discreetly, your eyes half lidded as you took a short peek. Yet you felt your heart race even more.

—He was directly staring into your eye. Your dick making a dent onto the side of his cheek. He smirked, Letting go with a slight 'pop' sound.

Siyun felt your cock twitch under his fingers, He bit his lip in excitement. He cursed under his breath, and pushed your pillow aside. Gripping it under his fingers as he threw it on the wall.

You huffed out, drool pooling onto the shirt you borrowed from him. Your eyes wide open and looking above him. "I...uh- ugh..." you muttered, before getting cut off immediatley. The lips that sucked your dick onto your own, tasting your own precum.

You moaned into his mouth, your tounges Inexperiencedly exploring eachother. Yet you coudnt care less. You placed your palm onto his nape, as he bit your lip. Rubbing it against his sharp teeth.

Your breath hitched once more as his palm went back onto your hard cock, fapping it more faster than before. "....y/n... your so cute. Your so so cute." He whispered, His thumb onto your tip. Is this a good time to confess? Well no fucks sake.

You bit your lip hard as he moved his mouth to bite and lick your earlobe. Whispering sweet nothings as his hand continued to pleasure your cock. " Ah... hah.. You love this. You fucking love it. So... so stay with me. Forever. Please..."

siyun felt himself get more and more turned on by your moans and whimpers, Without even touching himself. He wants to pleasure you for now... He doesnt want to push you too far. He should focus on you only. He can come later on.

You let out a broken moan that sent his eyes wide open. The grip on your cock tightening as white spurts of thick liquid shot out. Your hips bucked onto his hand, covering his fingers with sticky cum.

"Ah... ahhh.... u-uooh..."

he smirked widely, letting go of your softening cock as he lifted himself up. Sitting onto your thigh. As he looked at his hand, he coudnt help but feel a sudden rush of adredaline. His face flushed with his own sweat, not even noticing his own boner thats weighing down inside his pants.

He moaned onto his fingers as he licked your cum, Letting the salty taste spread onto his tounge. And looked at your breathy figure underneath him.

His fingers caressed your bruised lips, before letting two of his fingers enter your mouth. Your eyes half lidded,... before slowly sucking it.

His eyes widened, grinning even widely than before. You tilted your head down to take his fingers deeper inside your mouth, holding onto his wrist firmly.

"Ahh..."

"Fuck."

Oh my gosh, well... i was thinking of doing a part 2. So thats why there wasnt any aftercare as of now, Where its either he rides reader, or reader rides him...

Its up to me anyways~ u can comment. Maybe i can get convinced to continue this hehe

[sweetracha]

Hi sweet peach! It’s 🧋 from your other account! I hope you’re resting after working hard! Here’s a soft and smutty thought for you!

Just Felix helping you unwind after a hard day. He puts your favorite kitten collar on you before letting you hump his pillow all while praising you before getting behind you to join the humping. You both rock your hips and bounce on the soft surface til you both spoil his pillow.

He’s just so sweet to you 💜

okay okay okay...god this has been on my mind since you sent it. Everyday I think about it at least once...thats not a joke.

Ive been wanting to write a longer fic with it, hence why it has been sitting so long. Today is my last day of freedom so I knew I wanted to get this idea out there to the world.

Don't be surprised if a longer Felix fic uses this plot.

Pillow Talk

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT!), Sugary Sweet (Fluff)

Allergy Warning: Switch! Felix (Dom lean), Switch! Reader (Sub lean), Pet Play (Outfit and nicknames), Pillow Riding, Praise, Felix Watches, Dry Humping?, Soft Smut with Felix

Felix knew today was going to be a rough one for you. With your recent promotion to manager, and then lack of training for the position, he knew the pressure the company was putting on you. When you texted him on your break you explained how you were about to break down from it all. Then on your lunch when you called he could hear the sniffles from a post-sob session. Felix couldn't fix it right now, as much as he wanted to. However, he could make your night as enjoyable as possible.

You stumbled through the front door. Your outfit was disheveled in stark comparison to how you left this morning. The cry that left you once you removed your shoes alerted Felix that you were home.

"Is that my pretty kitty?" The sunshine smile appeared around the corner and out of the hallway.

"It's something anyways," you remarked back. The stern glare you got in return surprised you.

Felix and you were known to play around in your free time. Trying every kink at least once. He was quick to learn you leaned a bit more towards the submissive side, especially after a hard day. Kitten was his power move. One or two mentions of the nickname and you were a puddle at his feet.

"You know I don't like it when you say stuff like that" Felix tilted your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. "Now what are you?"

"A pretty kitty"

"A who's are you?" You searched his eyes for the dynamic of tonight before answering.

"I am master's" Felix's low hum approved of your choices.

He led you into the shared bedroom where he helped you change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. This being one of his long tee shirts and a pair of you panties that made him go crazy. Felix sat you down at the edge of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Once he was back you saw the brush and make-up wipes he was holding.

"Close your eyes, kitten. Good girl" He gently removed your make-up before fixing your hair.

Your eyes began to part open but the action was quickly stopped.

"Eyes closed. Don't make me say it again. Obey what your owner tells you, kitten. You know the rules." Usually, his voice held a level of scary authority when he reprimanded you but something about this was different. It was soft, almost like a gentle reminder if nothing else.

Soon enough you felt something clip into your hair, then another. The jingling sound is what put it all together. It wrapped around your throat just tight enough that you felt some pressure. A warm feeling ran through your body as you slipped deeper into the comforting fuzz. You already knew what it all was.

"Open your eyes kitten"

You opened them to see your reflection in the mirror. Perfectly shaped cat ears were nestled into your hair, and the blue bows at the base matched the ones on your panties. It complimented nicely with your baby blue collar. A single bell hung from the bow in the middle along with a tag that had Felix's name and contact information.

"Sweet kitten, look at you" the rumble in his tone almost mimicked a purr. "So soft baby, my tiny little thing. You look so precious, but you know that right? You know you are my favorite pet. Now let your owner treat you, you've been so good after all."

Felix propped up his pillow on the bed after folding it in half. He made quick work of your panties, but instead of tossing them somewhere random, he stashed them away for later. He picked you up with ease and placed you right on the fold. The crease of the pillow met your clit and made you moan instantly.

"My kitten is already purring. She must be so sensitive today" Felix soothed you as he took a seat just across from where you were. From here he had a perfect view of your face, but also of your ass in the vanity.

"Go on baby. Be a good kitten and hump master's pillow"

And so you did. Back and forth your hips rocked against the silk covering. You squeezed your thighs closer together to try and gain more friction. The speed you set was desperate and wild. Usually, sex with Felix was graceful and methodical, like his dancing. Tonight, however, you acted on instinct.

It has been over 30 minutes and you could feel yourself getting closer. You were right on the edge of sweet relief but you couldn't quite get there. You wailed out in hopelessness. When you opened your eyes to beg Felix for something more he was gone.

Then the sound of a zipper was heard behind you, along with the removal of his boxers. A hand cupped your face before a body could be felt behind you. Felix straddled the pillow and spooned himself up to you.

"Hips up kitten" Felix commanded with a few taps to your exposed skin. Once up, you felt some shifting behind you. Felix lowered your hips once more. But instead of feeling silk, you felt skin.

Felix had his bare cock slotted under you, trapping it between your pussy and the pillow. The cool silk and your hot skin sent Felix into a dizzying spiral.

"Hump, Kitten" Was all he said before his hands helped you move again.

This is what you needed to be pushed over the edge. The head of his cock slammed repeatedly into your clit. Soon enough the stimulation took over your body as you shook violently.

Felix wasn't doing much better. After about 3 rotations he was ready to cum, already staining his cover with pre-cum. He tried to keep his Dom composer but the whines that left his throat were failing him. His nails dug into your hips as he tried to hold on for dear life. Once he felt your thighs quake it was over.

Both of you came with a crying moan, one high-pitched and the other low. You slumped back into Felix as his chest breathed unsteady breaths. A gentle kiss is placed on the back of your head.

"My sweet kitten"

The Sweetest Batch: @goblinracha, @xx3rachaslutxx, @j-onedrabbles, @lixiesweetbrownie, @marrivmel,@lyramundana , @raaaaaaahhhh , @the-geese-shall-dominate

[thedogeveryonehates]

I just had my first ever adult-y 'im sorry but we can't be friends anymore' conversation and it really sucked and it really hurt and I'm writing it down here bcus i feel awful🫠

Long story

So we met on the dating apps years ago and we've kept in contact ever since cause he's genuinely a sweet & cool guy. Also, he was hard of hearing and would teach me cool indo sign language stuff

He lives in another city and only visits occasionally for work reasons but whenever he stopped by we would hang out

Back then it would be hanging out and hooking up but ever since i met my bf he wanted to make it clear that the latter was off the table since he wasnt comfortable with it

The next time we met I had to explain to him that I was no longer in the market for a partner, but I really valued his friendship - trying my best to show that I didn't wanna lead him on if that was the case

Even though he said he understood, it really didn't seem that way over the next few months

We would be having normal conversations and catching up on whatsapp and he'd randomly say "so you don't have feelings for me?" or "what did i do wrong?" - and it really made it awkward like we were literally discussing our spotify albums 2 minutes ago what happened

The worst part is, he would ask these questions very genuinely and sometimes follow up on these questions. So then I would match the tone as best i can - only to get the response "haha yeah i was joking i already know haha". Whenever it happened i would laugh it off and look stupid

But the final straw happened a few hours ago. He was feeling flirty but i was tired so i said to try and find a casual hookup on the dating app. He's genuinely really handsome and he's always been popular on the apps so i said it shouldn't be hard for him and that he'd find someone within the hour

He then straight up LIES to me and says that he deleted the apps a few weeks ago, following that up by writing "you are more than enough"

Afraid that he thought i was leading him on or sending him signals, i tried to shoot that down as fast as possible. Basically going through the motions of rejecting someones advances as respectfully as i possibly could to a good friend i cared about

After a few grueling minutes of silence, he hits me with the "damn i wasnt being serious" and sends me a screenshot of the app still on his phone (full of unread notifications - remember: popular)

Fast forward an hour later and ive blocked him everywhere except instagram dms, where i told him that i needed some space

Yes he apologized profusely and yes i accepted his apology but i just got so stressed and humiliated that I couldn't take it anymore

I still feel awful

This is usually something i would vent to my boyfriend but he's asleep rn so ill just let my [tumblr] mutuals know and probably delete it when i wake up

Writing kinda makes me feel better it turns out

[werewolf-girlfriend]

ive been enabled so let me share some of my thoughts on how to get ur art noticed online

if u want Engagement on ur posts then i believe that its critical to make people care about ur art. the easiest way to do this is to appeal to something they already care about, like fandom, aesthetics/subculture, current events, having fun (people love humor!). a harder but perhaps more fulfilling route is to talk about ur own ocs and projects enough until people start caring about them too

theres an infinite amount of topics people care about out there so id suggest picking something u already care about urself and channel ur art energy there. trying to make art for the most popular things out there regardless own interests is an exercise in misery, id advise against it..! if im allowed to get superstitious for a moment, i do believe that even untrained eyes can tell whether a piece of art was fun to work on or a chore. and besides! if ur having fun then its easier to create more, and the more u create the more chances ull have at getting lucky and having a post seen :)

on a very related note, art is a way to communicate ideas so the quality of the idea being presented in a piece of art is paramount to how popular a post will be. what i mean by this is that technical skill isnt the primary determinant of a posts popularity. if all your posts are portraits of original characters then people will have a hard time connecting with your posts and theyll keep scrolling, even if those portraits are masterpieces! the major exception to this is probably other artists, who ive found usually have a greater appreciation for the technical side of art (we can only speculate as to why..!)

lemme finish by saying that making popular posts and being good at art are two entirely different skillsets, ive seen many incredibly skilled artists with jack shit for notes because they dont give people a reason to care about their stuff NOT TO MENTION its a huge game of luck whether a post will get seen. so dont go insane in pursuit of recognition!

(i dont want to make this post too long so ive included examples from my own art and their note counts with my analysis after the break)

hello and welcome to the extracurricular segment to this post :) i bring yall two pieces from my art blog @werewolf-artfriend:

here we have a portrait of my fursona that im still proud of and a sketch suggesting "what if sniffers (from minecraft) were the size of mountains?" (let it be noted that the sniffer sketch was posted right during the minecraft mob vote = peak interest in the subject of sniffers).

the portrait at the time of writing has a crisp 30 notes, whilst the sniffer sketch has over 2000 notes. from the same artist, on the same blog, posted only a few months apart. i believe this is a good example both of the power of a piece of art having an interesting idea at its core AND of a piece appealing to the interests of the masses

this is of course just two convenient example posts, but i have experienced fan art of popular topics getting thousands of notes a couple of times now, amidst my other furry shit that these days get around 200-300 notes in comparison

this may sound like a really long winded way of saying "fan art make the world go round" but i just want to point out the nuances that

1) it matters what u make fan art of: if a fandom is small or dormant (waiting on new canon content for example) then clearly less people will be excited about the fan art you make. dont expect 10k notes on ur post if the average recent post in the fandom gets around 200 etc etc

2) it doesnt have to be fan art! ive also had some of my bird art get thousands of notes because people simply like birds :) and this applies to ANY topic people care about! the world rly is your oyster on this one

anyway i think ive started rambling dhgdjhgd thanks if u read this far! i hope i got my point across! and if ur feeling down about ur art not being seen then just keep at it okay! keep creating and keep having fun! keep sharing ur ideas and perspectives with the world and ur audience will eventually find u! i love you!

[nico-di-genova]

In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

--------

Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

--------

Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.