#also it’s so fucking awkward because I clearly don’t have enough work to be doing

[morganbritton132]

I started a new job a couple weeks ago and I get to work from home (which is great!) except for four hours when I have to go into the office on Wednesday. And like, no complaints. Everybody is super nice and the pay is good, but I have never felt more like a broken vending machine than when people talk to me here. I feel like I’m constantly spitting out the wrong things.

[mariacallous]

I plan on voting for Biden in November.  But it’s terrible.  A vote for him is still a vote that will not significantly improve our deepest and most troubling social problems.  He won’t give us Medicare for All or any other badly needed boosts to social programs.  He will probably continue to support policies that actively oppress BIPOC.  He will not help us.  He’s also a sexual predator.  Truly, I do not want to vote for this man.  This is not the man I wanted to vote for.  I don’t want him in office.  He is simply not good enough.  This man doesn’t represent what I want at all.

But if I don’t vote for Biden in November, I feel like I’m making it that much easier for Trump to win another election.  And I want that even less than I want a Biden presidency.  I don’t want another 4 years of what we have now.  No fucking way.  No.

I’m so conflicted.  I feel like there is blood on my hands.  I feel like I’m casting a vote for death and misery if I’m not voting for a progressive candidate with a progressive platform.  I feel like I’m committing nothing short of an atrocity no matter what I choose to do.  I don’t want to harm people, and yet, won’t I essentially be doing exactly that?  I just want to do the right thing.  I don’t want to bring harm, or perpetuate harm towards anyone.

Trump will probably win anyway.  He’s doing all he can to ensure that, and it will probably work.  The impending climate disaster will kill us all because we will clearly continue to do nothing.  Our bodies will be riddled with micro and nanoplastics.  America will become an even more of an inhospitable police state.

 Nobody will hold Biden accountable for anything if he wins, and he’ll never give us the public policies we desperately need. 

“Is this what hope feels like?  I’d forgotten,” you tweeted recently.  How?  And for what?  I see nothing but bad things to come.  I feel a deep sense of hopelessness and despair.

There are plenty of reasons to feel hopelessness and despair right now, but with regard to Joe Biden, you are wasting a whole bunch of negative emotions on a giant pile of shitty beliefs that just aren’t true.

First, and let me be very clear on this one, Joe Biden is not a sexual predator. He’s just not. Believe me, I would be shouting it from the rooftops if I thought he were. When Tara Reade went public, I took her allegations very seriously. I gave her extra helpings of the benefit of the doubt, but it turned out there was a mountain of evidence suggesting that Reade has always been a lying, manipulative grifter (which I didn’t want to be true), and there was another mountain of evidence suggesting that the predatory behavior alleged by Reade is simply not in Biden’s character (which I was very reluctant to trust). There was a time when I was hopeful that Reade’s accusations might even knock Biden out of the race, but I’m not the kind of person who believes a thing merely because I want it to be true. It’s fine if you want to criticize Biden for what appears to be a history of awkward or retrospectively inappropriate behavior. Hell, you can even buy into all that “Creepy Uncle Joe” bullshit, but you’re just plain wrong if you insist that Joe Biden is a sexual predator. (Obviously, the same cannot be said of Donald Trump, who is a straight-up serial rapist with a list of at least twenty-five women who have publicly and credibly accused him of sexual assault.)

As for your policy concerns, I understand your frustration. I would love to be voting for a far-left ultra-progressive firebrand of a candidate in the upcoming general election. That would feel wonderful, right up until the moment that she loses in a landslide, and I guarantee you, a far-left ultra-progressive candidate would get her ass handed to her by Trump. That’s not an outcome we can afford as a species, much less as a nation. You understand this, which is why you still plan on voting for Biden. Good. I’m really glad you’re not being a purist asshole about this. The evil garbage monsters in the GOP just love a left-wing purist who refuses to vote responsibly. Republicans are desperately praying to their imaginary white Jesus that all the Green Party crunch bars will fuck it up for the rest of us like they did back in 2016. We cannot let that happen again.

Listen, I’m not gonna try and convince you to like Joe Biden. You’re already gonna vote for him, so I’m perfectly fine if you hate his breathing guts. What I do want from you is a little maturity, some vision, and a realistic sense of scale. No one candidate will ever be the solution to our problems — not Bernie, not Liz, and certainly not Joe. At best, a candidate is a vector, a course correction, a desperately needed step in the right direction. That’s all we can expect from Biden, and he is bringing it. He’s bringing it every single day with a list of policy positions that are more progressive than any President’s in the history of the United States, and he most certainly brought it with the selection of Kamala Harris as his running mate.

Biden recognizes his place in history. He knows he is little more than a national stop-gap, a post-Trump tourniquet to stanch the bleeding. His Vice-Presidency and eventual Presidency will be a line of demarcation between two very distinct chapters of American history. This is more than just bridging the Boomer/Millennial generational divide. In the distant future (if we have one), it is my sincerest hope that Biden will be remembered as “The Last of the Old White Men,” a happy warrior who marked the end of a certain kind of Modern America and who helped usher in a new kind of Postmodern America. Those terms are clunky and loaded and absolutely will not stand the test of time, but we’re not the ones who get to name what we’re about to become. We’re the ones who have to keep doing the hard work to finally get us there, and that’s why I really need you to change your whole fucking attitude. 

This shit is going to be grueling. The fight will be brutal if not bloody, and there is absolutely no room for whiners and layabouts. You want to improve our deepest and most troubling social problems? Great. Quit moaning about doing harm with your vote and go do some actual good with your own two fucking hands. Pulling a lever in a voting booth every couple years is the bare minimum. In terms of civic duty, it is the absolute least you can do. Of course Biden won’t give us Medicare for All. Neither would Sanders or Warren. That’s not how any of this works. Presidents don’t give us shit. We do it ourselves. We demand it, loudly and with force, and over long stretches of time, with enough solidarity and sustained action, laws are enacted and policies change. 

I was around when the Clintons tried deadlifting their universal health care plan off the ground back in 1993. Maybe you remember it, maybe you weren’t even born yet, but that’s how long this shit takes. It’ll have been three fucking decades and two fucking generations of Democrats trying desperately to kick that gutbucket up Capitol Hill by the time we finally get around to some semblance of a single payer healthcare system. Thirty fucking years, my friend. That’s the kind of patience and perseverance the American experiment demands of us, so quit your fucking whining. Enough with all the pearl-clutching and hand-wringing. Take all your conflicted navel gazing bullshit and toughen the fuck up, buttercup.

You are on the right side of history. You are with the good guys. Quit your fucking bitching, and get out there and help us win.

[bachissidehoe]

look at the mess you made - itoshi s.

chapter 3 of 7 of the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.

synopsis: y/n struggles to leave some of the bands' post-concert parties without the help from one of the members, but surprisingly, drummer itoshi sae is the only one around to provide her an excuse. even though she knows sae the least out of the band members, she'll still let him walk her back to her room...

warnings: smut; penetration; riding; degradation; facial; scratching; fem reader; minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

w.c. 3.2k

The life of Blue Lock’s professional journalist involves awkward hours consisting of interviewing the boys, watching and taking notes on their shows, frequently meeting with Reo and Bachira to proofread articles and social media posts, and setting up discussions with potential sponsors. And so far, it’s been fantastic. Their past 3 shows have completely sold out and she’s only been working with them for a month. But it can also be exhausting, so when she gets the opportunity to wind down, she takes it. 

Tonight, however, is not one of those nights. 

“Another, miss?” 

“Let me buy it for you, gorgeous!” 

“Come dance with me.” 

The sounds of semi-important people connected to the band somehow. Rich people who sponsor them, engineers who worked the show, their families. It’s a frequent occurrence, these parties that take place after a show. It’s important that these events are good so they continue to get sponsorships, or at least that’s what Reo says. But anymore, it just seems like a festival of horny old rich dudes who ogle y/n like she’s an object for their use. She can’t even count the amount of excuses she’s had to come up with to avoid making a random guy mad that she won’t fuck him. 

“Sorry, I have to-” She stops, realizing none of her usual excuses are here. Usually, nobody will question it if she has to “ask Isagi a question” or “go over something with Mikage”. But both of them, in fact most of the band, seems to have left already. She can feel her blood start to boil, knowing that more than likely, Isagi’s found another random girl to fuck. It shouldn’t still bother her, considering she still lets him rail her whenever he sees fit, but she’s a little tipsy so she can’t help it. 

“What do you have to do sweetheart? Going somewhere?” An arm is suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, trapping her from going any further. 

“Yeah, what’s wrong? Have another guy you’re supposed to meet up with?” Another man slurs. They’re clearly drunk, and it doesn’t help that maybe y/n herself had one too many drinks, making it harder for her to think on her feet. 

She scans the bar, her eyes slightly blurred, looking for anyone she recognizes who might be able to help her out of this. 

“Goodnight y/n~” A familiar voice calls to her, halfway out the door. 

No, don’t leave. 

“Chigiri.” She says. Not loud enough. “Chigiri.” She tries again, but he’s also pretty drunk and stumbling. He might not be able to help her either. “Hyoma!” She says. 

“What’s it? Prrrretty girl~” He turns around, stumbling back through the door. “Who are youuu?” He turns his attention to the man holding onto her. “I don’t think she likes you, right y/n? She likes meeeee~” He giggles, hiccuping as he catches his balance on one of the bar tables next to them. 

“Well she’s with me tonight Chigiri Hyoma, hope you don’t mind.” The man smirks. For the life of y/n, she can’t remember his name. Some sponsor, some business owner, something like that. She’d get a serious talking to from Reo if she pisses him off. 

“Well I do~ mind.” He giggles again. “Y/n, when am I gonna get to fuck you? Like Isagi and such?” 

Y/n nearly falls over, and not because she’s slightly drunk. Why would he say that in front of these guys? Clearly he’s lost it. This doesn’t help her at all, it actually might make it worse. 

“Um, uh if you see the chance take it.” She rushes through her words, her eyes darting around again, looking for a way out. 

“Y/n! With Chigiri Hyoma!” 

“Oh no.” She mumbles, as another familiar voice enters the conversation- if this interaction can even be called a conversation. 

“Aiku!” Chigiri throws his arm around him like they’re best friends. It’s not like they’re not friends, but definitely not the type to hang over each other the way they are now. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like Oliver is sober enough to help her either. 

Oliver Aiku, the lead singer of Blue Lock’s opener, Ubers- also consisting of lead guitarist Aryu Jyubei, bassist Niko Ikki, and drummer Barou Shouei. As if the misfortune is following l/n y/n tonight, none of the other members of Ubers are around either. Just Oliver, the known fuckboy, who’s even more drunk than Chigiri. 

“Y/n, are we all taking you upstairs or what?” Oliver jokes, nudging Chigiri and the other man who still hasn’t stopped touching her. 

“That would be lovely.” The man grips y/n’s shoulder tighter, which honestly seems to sober her up quite a bit. That doesn’t sound lovely, it sounds awful. 

“Alright, that’s enough. Y/n, help me take these guys back to their rooms.” A new voice, a deep, monotone, unbothered voice. A voice that doesn’t sound drunk at all. 

“Sae!” She practically leaps for joy, meeting his striking teal eyes. 

“Let’s go. You’re pretty sober now, I could use your help with these two.” He places his hand on her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nearly growls, dusting the man’s hand off her like it’s a bug he’s grossed out by.

Y/n breathes a sigh of relief, finally stepping out of the unfamiliar man’s grasp. 

“Have a good night sir, I have to help out with these two, thank you for coming!” She exclaims frantically, a nervous smile plastered across her face as she loops Chigiri’s hand over her shoulders. 

“This mean we’re fuckin’?” Chigiri slurs through his words, his eyes droopy as he uses y/n’s shoulder for support. 

“Why are you so fuckin’ heavy?” Sae groans, holding Oliver upright as they finally make their way out of the bar and begin the short walk across the street to the hotel. “Where’s Hyo’s room key?” Sae barks. 

“Are we fuckin’ Sae too?” Chigiri giggles. 

“You’re not fucking anything.” Sae sneers. 

“Hah! Fuckin’ virgin!” Oliver cackles, nearly slipping out of Sae’s grasp, but Sae grips harder, practically digging his nails into him to prevent him from falling onto the hard pavement. 

“Am not!” Chigiri argues. “Y/n told me when I see the chance, I should take it. Look see, she’s touchin’ me~ she wants me so bad hm~” 

“Ah, found it.” Y/n pulls her hand out of Chigiri’s pocket, pulling out his hotel room card.

“Found Oliver’s too.” Sae holds it up, looking for the room number.

Luckily, they’re on the same floor, making it easy enough to locate their rooms and put the drunk idiots to bed. It’s always someone who overdoes it, and after the long stretch of shows the boys have had, they probably deserve it too. 

Y/n sighs, leaning against the outside of Chigiri’s hotel room door and sliding down. She could fall asleep here, really. But she’ll take having to walk a drunk Chigiri home over having to fuck an ugly old guy any day of the week.

“You feeling okay, y/n?” She suddenly notices Sae standing in front of her, staring down at her pathetic looking figure. He sounds less than concerned, almost like he’s attempting to sound like he gives a fuck. It’s not necessarily working. 

Sae is the one y/n could say she knows the least out of the Blue Lock band members. He’s rude, stand-offish, and never seems like he wants to be there. Though he enjoys being part of the band, his attitude tends to spark conflict with potential sponsors and collaborators, leading to quite a few conversations between him and Reo about acting nice for a change. 

The drummer was a music prodigy as a child, having articles written about him, news stories done on him, and a number of fans even as an elementary school kid. He would frequently play shows as a guitarist with his younger brother Rin on bass, and it wasn’t until he went to study music at only 12 years old that he decided he’d become a drummer instead. 

“I’m fine, just resting for a sec.” She answers, forcing herself to her feet. 

Surprisingly, Sae grabs her arm, helping her stand. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” She chuckles, referring to his hand tightly gripping her forearm.

“I know.” He says. “Where’s your room?” 

“Floor 10.” She answers. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Sure, but I’ll walk you back there.” 

Y/n stays silent, unsure of how to respond to a gesture like that. It seems reasonable enough, a guy wanting to walk a girl back to her room, especially after saving her from a potential harassment situation just an hour or so ago. But for Sae, it’s definitely a bit abnormal. He’s not usually one to take interest in protecting her, or anyone else for that matter. 

“What?” He asks, clearly noticing y/n’s change in demeanor. 

“Oh, nothing, I just didn’t expect you to wanna do that.” She says calmly as they begin their walk down the long hallway. 

“Why not?”

“What is this, 20 questions? I dunno, you just don’t seem like the type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to be fucking Isagi every chance you get but here we are.” He fires back, clearly not the sudden nice guy y/n thought he turned into. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She tugs her arm away, indicating that not only can she walk by herself, she’s also slightly annoyed.

“You’re awfully attached to him, considering he couldn’t care less about you. That’s all.” 

“Isa- Yoichi cares about me.” She argues.

“Sure, as a person, as a friend maybe. But not how you want him to.” 

“Who are you to tell me how he feels? Or even how I feel?” She stutters, feeling the tears welling already. Maybe she’s not as sober as she thought. 

Bachira said the same thing to her weeks ago now. And she still went back. She still hung onto the idea that maybe he was just using those girls to purposely make her jealous. She still convinced herself that Isagi Yoichi was- is- in love with her. And she still let him take from her whatever he wanted. 

“I’m just observing.” He shrugs.

“Don’t you have to go find some girl to fuck? Like Isagi and Nagi and them almost every night?” She spits. It’s not a good comeback, but she can’t think of anything that’ll get under his skin. She’s too tired for an argument with Itoshi Sae. 

Sae just chuckles. 

He’s a complicated one, for sure. He definitely doesn’t bring girls around as much as the other band members, except for his brother Rin, who does so even less. But still, he does occasionally, and never discusses it. In fact, Sae doesn’t discuss much at all. He’s the one who wrote one of their first songs “Look at the Mess You Made”, and insists it stays on their setlist, but y/n has no idea what makes him so attached to that song out of all of them. She’d love to know more, if she wasn’t so pissed at him she’d want to ask him some questions, get inside the mind of Itoshi Sae.

“How drunk are you?” Sae asks, pressing the button on the elevator. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” She places a hand on her hip as if he was accusing her, stepping inside the elevator as the doors swing open. 

“Good.” He says, following her and watching the doors begin to close, his teal eyes peering to the side. Suddenly, y/n feels uneasy under his gaze- or maybe something different- somewhat aroused?

She doesn’t have time to analyze it further. The split second the doors shut, Sae has her pinned against the wall, his lips feverishly slamming into hers. She can’t react, she can’t tell her body how to handle this situation. His lips are already on hers. And she finds herself letting her eyes flutter shut, meeting each sporadic movement of his soft, pink lips with her own, letting her body go limp under his rough touch. His tongue slips and slides against hers, and she lets him too, making room for him to explore the insides of her mouth. 

She can only manage quick breaths, most of which turn to soft moans. He’s so harsh, so intense with his kiss, it’s nearly desperate. One of his hands remains pressed to the wall to hold her in, the other softly yet threateningly cups her cheek, the cold pads of his fingers pressing against her soft skin as if he’s holding back from breaking her neck. 

Every movement Sae makes is soft and smooth, riddled with an aura of sexual experience y/n would never guess he had. It’s so calculated, the way his tongue moves against hers isn’t forceful, but isn’t submissive either. She wants more of him, she wants to know how he moves, where his hands will go next, what positions he’ll put her in. She finds her hands traveling to his hips, a single finger dipping under his shirt to feel the softness of his muscular skin-

Ding.

And the elevator opens, forcing the two apart, with Sae suddenly standing at the door of the elevator to lead her out. 

They remain silent as well, y/n due to being completely stunned, and Sae due to pure smugness for pulling it off at all. He can read every emotion on her face, and most of them are horny. 

“This, um, this is my room.” She says quietly, awkwardly. It’s not that she didn’t like it, she actually wants more. But it came out of nowhere, she doesn’t even know Sae’s intentions. 

Sae stops, saying nothing as she unlocks the door. 

But she keeps going back to Isagi, doesn’t she? Even after Bachira arguably fucked her better, even after knowing he doesn’t intend to fall for her, date her, or even view her as anything other than a little fuck toy whenever he wants it. Maybe knowing the intentions makes it worse. Maybe this situation is exactly-

“Alright, night.” Sae turns around as y/n walks through the door of her dark hotel room. 

No, no. She shouldn’t. She doesn’t need any more of this. She doesn’t need to make this mess worse than it already is. 

“Wait-” She stops him, her body’s needs overpowering her logical side. 

“What’s that?” Sae turns around, a smug smirk plastered across his gorgeous face, his lips still plumped from kissing her just moments ago. 

She doesn’t say more, she doesn’t need to, instead grabbing him by the hand and pulling him through the door. 

Y/n feels like she blacks out for a while, kissing him like she’s been desperate for him for years, touching his body and giving him access to everything he wants of hers. By the time she comes back to her senses, his cock is stuffed deep in her soaked pussy, squelching noises echoing around the room as she bounces on him. It’s hard and fast, her hands pressed to his chest, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her up and down on his thick cock. 

Her legs already burn, but it doesn’t matter. She’s determined to ride him all night if she has to. She never thought it would be Sae out of all of them, she never thought she’d stare down at him, his eyes snapped shut and his auburn hair messily sticking to his forehead, short moans leaving his lips as she fucks herself on his cock. 

He’s so quiet, restricting himself to heavy breaths instead of speaking aloud. He doesn’t need to speak or tell her to go harder or compliment her- the way his body moves is enough to motivate her. How his cock twitches inside her as her walls hug him, how his chest rises and falls every time her hips crash down on him, how his hands squeeze tightly at her hips as if he wants to poke through to the other side. 

“S’good Sae.” Y/n restricts her vocals as well, but her shaking body hurdles closer to her orgasm with every movement. She leans forward on him, her lips nearly touching his as she bounces her ass on him, grinding into his cock so it hits the right spot to bring her closer. Her breath tickles his lips, his tongue, his nose- he loses himself for a moment, kissing her weakly, licking the drool off her lips. “So close~” She whines, pressing her clit into him, creating the last bit of friction she needs to drive her over the edge. 

“F-fuck~” Sae curses, his muscles tightening as he feels her pussy squeeze him in through her orgasm, his cock feeling every sensation of her wetness surrounding him like he’s drowning in it. Maybe he wishes he was. 

Y/n shakes, her body already burnt out from fucking him so hard, and she collapses on top of him, her muscles completely giving out. 

“Not done.” Sae groans, wrapping his arms around her limp body and swiftly flipping her on her back, her tits bouncing beautifully as she looks up at him, dazed and sensitive. 

He plunges back into her, feeling her warmth surround him once again, fitting snugly inside. In just a short second, Sae goes from being ridden like a dildo to fucking y/n like she’s the toy, rutting into her with a strength and speed that can only be described as godly, a beautiful destruction. 

Suddenly, Sae’s the only one who’s silent, with y/n completely unable to control the whimpers and curses that escape her into his awaiting ears, just motivating him to fuck her harder. She pushes at his chest, her weak hands pressing his skin and running through his hair, desperately clawing at him like she can’t decide if she wants him to stop or go harder. 

She sings his name like she’s praying to him, her rhythm matching with his deep thrusts, his experienced hands gripping at her tits. The overstimulation becomes too much, embarrassingly much, as she unexpectedly cums again, fluids rushing to coat the base of his cock and inner thighs as he drives it into her like a sword. 

“S’ry, Sae~ ah~” She can’t prevent the tears from streaming down her face as he leaves no part of her pussy unfucked. 

“You look pathetic.” Sae grunts, placing a hand on her wet cheek almost like he’s threatening to slap her. 

“Fuck~” She throws her head back.

“Ah, look at me.” Sae demands, forcing her gaze back to his striking teal eyes. Those eyes, they look so emotionless, which somehow makes it hotter. He doesn’t care if she lives or dies, and that’s all she could expect out of Itoshi Sae. “Gonna cum all over that pretty body.” He grunts.

It’s the first compliment he’s given her, catching her off guard enough to prevent her brain from processing his words. With a few more rough thrusts, he pulls out, stroking and squeezing at his cock as he holds it over her, finally spraying his thick load all over her. White ropes spurt from his twitching tip, coating her face, her hair, her tits. She’s covered in him. 

Her breathing is heavy as she lays helpless under him, drenched in his sticky cum, her pussy throbbing yet still pulsing for more. 

Sae snickers. “Hm, look at the mess you made.” He says, pressing his pink tip against her entrance once again. 

[televised-eyes]

It really saddens me to see Aziraphale get the full force of everyone’s contempt over his reaction to the kiss & here's why:

What do we know about Aziraphale's true character? What they we been shown? Well, he’s a silly angel, who cares too much, loves his partner Crowley and truly wants to do what he believes is the right thing!

Don't get me wrong, I can see why a lot of people side and identify with Crowley after the final fifteen, given his trauma and the fact that he was the one making himself vulnerable by initiating the kiss.

But here the thing: it’s not like Aziraphale acted out of character after hearing Crowley’s proposal. We, as the audience, have been shown multiple times when Crowley has begged for them to run away together and every time we’ve seen it, it has been in a situation where Crowley wants to abandon all responsibility. It’s a trauma response and I don’t blame Crowley for being traumatized by Heaven and Hell. Just like I don’t blame him for not wanting to go back to either.

But Aziraphale has never responded positively to this proposition before. The only difference this time was the kiss. A beautiful, desperate, awkward kiss!

Aziraphale has always been wired to take responsibility and direct action even when he shouldn’t. For him, Azi’s personal code is to always do what he believes is the right thing to do, even if it might not end well. He gives the flaming sword to humanity, he saves Job’s children, he discorporates himself to stop the apocalypse, he does the thing with the halo.

I just don’t buy the narrative that he chose Heaven over Crowley. I think Aziraphale chose Heaven *because* of Crowley. He knew as long as he was in charge, he could keep Crowley safe.

Azi clearly loves Crowley despite his cognitive dissonance at all times. He can talk all the livelong day about how they "aren’t friends," but his actions speak the opposite. He cares deeply for Crowley. Azi trusts Crowley, he lets him get “plenty of use” out of the bookshop, he turns a neighborhood association meeting into a cotillion ball so that he can dance with him, he risked an eternity in Hell by wearing Crowley’s face.

He also knows that Crowley always comes back especially his angel needs him. Unless Crowley does a 180 and returns to Hell to actively thwart Heaven out of spite (which ngl that would great television & a theory I’d like to dwell deeper into elsewhere) this was just another disagreement and they will work it out somehow by working together. And hopefully learn how to communicate clearly!

The very root of the argument was misunderstanding and failure of communication on both sides.

The more I think about the “I forgive you” line, the more I think it may have just been Azi’s gut reaction to read the kiss as one of Crowley’s “temptations.” It’s a loaded word, but I think most people read the kiss as a last act of desperation to convince him to run away. In the past, we have seen Azi’s automatic response to what he feels like is a temptation from Crowley has always been to “forgive” him.

Is it irritating? Yes. Is it good communication? No. Is it a trauma response? I think yes.

I think that’s why the ending of season 2 didn’t upset me as much as it has upset others. I feel like I understand both sides—both how and why Crowley and Aziraphale make their decisions—because the writing is so damn good.

*Aziraphale did not reject or abandon Crowley.*

That last look at Crowley before stepping into the elevator was not a “good bye” or a “fuck you.” I truly believe he looked back to remind himself why he’s doing what he’s doing in the first place!!!

Aziraphale is protecting Crowley because he loves Crowley and believes their relationship is not only worth making sacrifices for, but also strong enough to withstand them!

[lemonxdaisybby]

NSFW Headcanons for Yakuza 7/LAD Peeps

I literally had no idea what to title this, but the title is self-explanatory so I suppose it’ll do ✨

Let’s gooooo

Ichiban Kasuga:

Bit of a vanilla guy when it comes to sex, and is more of a sub. Probably doesn’t have a ton of experience too, so would allow you to take the lead.

Enjoys missionary most, or likes to be sat up as you ride him. Basically any position where he can clearly see your lovely face, he likes.

Blowjobs would ruin this guy, he is a sucker for them. First time you gave him one, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Would be super gentle when receiving, and would refrain from shoving your head down. He might involuntarily thrust into your mouth though, but only because your lips around his dick just feels so good. Would hold your hair back for you, if it’s long enough.

Not the best at giving oral at first due to lack of experience, but he is very eager to learn how to please you, and would be very appreciative of you guiding him on what to do.

Overall, he’s just an absolute sweetheart and just wants to do his best to please you.

Yu Nanba:

Another vanilla.

Controversial mayhaps, but he could be a switch. Can take the lead if you want, but does generally prefer it when you’re in charge.

He would most likely be a bit stiff/awkward the first few times you fuck, as he can be a tiny bit shy, but he definitely relaxes and catches on quickly to what you like, and what works best for both of you.

Doesn’t have a huge sex drive, and also another one with not tons of experience.

Enjoys lazy, sleepy morning sex, and he firmly believes that there is no better way to start the day.

Gets rather flustered when giving oral at first, but the little noises and hums he would make are to die for.

Of course he enjoys getting blowjobs, but would almost be a little shy about receiving? Would probably ask if you’re sure you want to do it, and would make a point to reassure you that you don’t have to.

Does love a good handjob though. This man is lazy, and would find it so nice to be able to just sit back and let you do your thing.

Adachi Koichi:

Sex on the brain. This guy is always down to get laid.

He’s definitely more dominant, and would love to just pound into you from behind. Has a surprising amount of stamina for a man of his age.

Would maybe accidentally leave bruises on your hips when taking you from behind. Man’s got a strong grip. Would make it up to you after with lots of big teddy bear cuddles.

His beard is definitely gonna tickle you. Whether he’s kissing you, nuzzling and biting your neck, or has his head in-between your thighs, you’re gonna feel the tickly stubble.

Loves boobs. He’s gonna be biting them, sucking them, kissing them…he just can’t keep his hands off them.

If you ask him nicely, he would lie back and let you take control, if that’s what you wanted. Probably wouldn’t happen too often though.

If you guys were out and about, and he managed to find a nice, secluded spot where you two could fuck without being caught, he would totally be down for a quickie or a blowjob. However, if there’s any chance of you two being caught, then absolutely not.

Saeko Mukoda:

Most likely a switch. Can take the lead no problem, but happy to be more of a light sub if you would prefer to take charge. Nothing extreme, however.

Knows what she likes, and also what she doesn’t like so much. Would probably establish boundaries very early on, which is good.

Respect is so important for her, so she wouldn’t be in to anything remotely degrading. She’s a very proud and independent woman, and it shows in the bedroom too.

More on the gentle, vanilla side, but if she was rather frustrated or in a teasing mood, she would definitely get a couple of bites in. Nothing hard enough to leave a mark though. Wouldn’t leave any hickeys, and probably wouldn’t want to receive any either.

Likely doesn’t have sex that often. She’d want to be in a relationship with someone before fucking them, or would need to at least have quite a strong, intimate bond. For that reason, she’d likely have toys so that she can satisfy herself, but doesn’t use them too often as her sex drive isn’t that high. Would be willing to use toys during sex with her partner, more so with a female partner.

Seonhee:

Dom, dom, dom.

Not an extreme dom, but is definitely the one in charge. It just comes naturally to her.

Would have a decent amount of experience. Probably has had a couple of fuck buddies in the past, but with very clearly established boundaries and rules. This woman is very no-nonsense.

Amazing with her fingers, and knows it too. Oozing confidence, and would catch on so quickly to what you like, and what makes you absolutely weak. Would just be so smug at the sound of you moaning as she works her magic.

Wouldn’t give oral often, if it all. Of course, she is happy to receive oral. Would somehow still be in charge, even when receiving, and likely wouldn’t be very loud, but would make a few appreciative noises. The harsh grip she has on her partners hair would be a dead giveaway that she’s enjoying it, however.

A busy woman with a lot on her plate, so her sex drive wouldn’t be majorly high.

Already knows what she likes and doesn’t like, so maybe wouldn’t be that open to trying new things, unless it really appealed to her.

Joon-Gi Han: 

He’s giving bottom vibes, or maybe a switch at a push?

Is a total tease. He knows he looks hot, and when he’s horny he will attempt to seduce you whilst still appearing all coy. Flashes you ‘fuck me’ eyes, and his voice just turns smooooth as butter.

Takes orders well. Order him around like a lil sex butler, although no degrading stuff and no being mean! Order him to strip, command him to eat you out, tell him to fuck your brains out, he will do what he can to please you.

He’s very honest and straightforward. If there’s something he doesn’t like or enjoy, he’ll tell you.

Not massively experienced due to his past, but is open to trying most things at least once.

If you ordered him to choke you or be too physical in any way, he would refuse. He is very protective, and would never want to even risk hurting you. It would just feel wrong. He might tie you up if you ask him though, but he’s not great at being a top so you’d maybe have to lightly guide him still.

His moans are so heavenly, especially when he’s getting his dick sucked. Would definitely have a firm grip of his partners hair whilst they suck him off, but nothing painful.

Likewise, when he’s giving oral, the little appreciative hums and groans he makes are amazing. His hands would be gripping on to your thighs so tightly, and he would literally be eating you out like a starved man.

Overall, his main focus would be pleasing you. He wouldn’t be too focused on his own pleasure.

Tianyou Zhao:

Probably a top. He’s so flirty and playful, and it’s kind of hard to imagine him not being somewhat in control.

Very good with his hands, and would be an absolute pro at fingering. Could make you finish from that alone very easily.

He probably enjoys seeing you flustered, so would definitely be a huge, massive tease. Likely gets a bit of a kick out of seeing you blush.

Loves, loves, loves ass. Any position where he’s taking you from behind with a good view of your ass, he’s there for it. Loves squeezing your ass, grabbing it, slapping it, you get the gist.

Also loves nothing more than burying his head in between your thighs, and sloppily eating you out.

When getting his dick sucked, he’s probably gonna thrust in to your mouth or push your head down. Would praise you and tell you how good it feels if you deepthroat him.

If he can get you somewhere private when out in public, he would be down for a quickie if he was super horny.

[narcolini]

open wounds

frank castle x gn!reader, ex dating, hurt/comfort, 2404 words

for day 6 of whumpril : salve | painkillers | bad coping mechanisms

warnings for burns, implied suicidal intentions, terrible first aid probably

a/n: yknow when you love a character so much that you dont even know where to start with writing about them?? no?? just me?? im shaking in my boots... also huge shout out to @ashlingiswriting for helping with this!!

tagging: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa​ (five times as requested)

He’s dripping wet. Frank, back at your door, for the first time in half a year, and dripping wet from head to toe. His jeans, his hoody, his boots—which must weigh a tonne, if they’re as full of water as the rest of him. He’s scrubbed his face dry, clearly, because the front of his hair is sticking upright, brushed up by the rough of his fingertips, and his cheeks are cleaner than the rest of him. Bare of the grime he’s covered in. If it wasn’t so obviously a bad thing—him being here, him being anything other than his usual self—you might’ve laughed. Might’ve joked about him choosing the worst church for an over-due baptism.

‘What the fuck happened?’ you scoff, bypassing all other greetings. You don’t even spare the thought to be annoyed at him, to tell him to go away, get out of here, before someone sees you. You just balk, and frown, and hang off the door as you look him over. ‘You look like you went free-diving in the river, Frank.’

He doesn’t respond, just sighs and tilts his head as if to say—

‘Oh my God.’ He did. He jumped into the fucking river. ‘That explains the stink, then.’

‘Yup.’

It’s pouring off him. Stale water, oil spill.

‘Look, I gotta ask you a favour,’ he says, awkward about it, though you’d thought as much already. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.’

And you wouldn’t let him in, either, if you didn’t have to.

‘Come in.’ The less time he spends in the corridor, the better. ‘Do I even want to know what you…’ The words fizzle out once you’re behind him, door closed and facing his back.

The material of his hoody has been singed away, not entirely, but across his shoulders and in patches down his spine, the t-shirt beneath in a similar state. He’d been set alight, somehow, long enough for it to burn all the way through. Two layers of cloth and then skin. Red, raw, skin.

‘Jesus, Frank.’

‘Had to put it out somehow,’ he shrugs, ‘seemed like the quickest option.’

‘Do you even realise how much shit is in that river?’

But he must do, of course, because he’s here. He’s not at home, self-medicating, slapping soap and water on it and hoping for the best. He’s here because he’s smart enough to realise bacteria will kill him easier and faster than any bullet would. Which isn’t usual, for most, but he has a knack for surviving no matter how many holes they put in him.

‘Bathroom, please,’ you tell him. You remember where it is.

You watch him nod in front of you, hands tucked in the sodden pockets of his hoody. He’s holding himself rigid—tense arms, straight shoulders—to hide the shakes, you realise. The wet has gotten into the bones, chilled him deep enough to send shivers through the muscles. Why he’s bothering to try and cover it, you don’t know. You’ve seen him in worse shapes.

When he reaches the bathroom, you in tow, he turns and waits. In front of you, on the curling blue bath matt beneath. It’s been a long time since you’d done him a favour. A long time, since you’d been alone with him, for reasons other than why this doesn’t work, why the two of you won’t work.

You sigh, close your eyes. He knows as well as you do what’s coming.

‘Am I in danger,’ you ask, feeling the sick twist of regime in your stomach, the edge of familiarity in the question, ‘by you being here? Is it putting me in danger?’

‘No, no, I promise.’ His head shakes. ‘No-one knows I’m here.’

‘You’re sure?’

He pauses, swallows. Nods. ‘It’s just me.’

‘And is it only the burns? Nothing else?’

‘I’d do it myself, but I,’ his teeth chatter, ‘I can’t reach.’

‘Okay.’ No surprise gunshot wounds, no broken bones. You can handle it, as long as you know what to expect. ‘I’ll do my best,’ you tell him, now you know it isn’t at your detriment, and turn to look through the cabinet above the sink.

‘Thank-you,’ he begins, which you try to wave off. ‘No, I mean it, I—I know you must hate…’ The words get away from him. A drop of water shakes from the peak of his hair onto his cheek. ‘Yeah, just, thank-you.’

You know what he’s implying. He’s as wrong about it now as he was then.

‘I don’t hate you, Frank.’

‘Well, you don’t like me much,’ he grumbles. ‘Not that I blame you.’

You don’t like his choices. You don’t like his instincts. You don’t like his susceptibility to getting himself in trouble, once a fucking week. ‘Take this off,’ you tell him, tugging at the sopping wet of his sleeve. ‘You’re shivering.’

He complies, jaw-setting as he pulls both the hoody and t-shirt over his head, no doubt having to rip the burnt-fibres from the edges of his wounds. He does well to hide it—if that’s the case—removes them without a hiss of pain, or any hesitation. The wet lump of them lands on the tiles with a slap, water splattering over your socks.

You fill the sink, making sure it’s lukewarm, cool. It’d be better to douse him with hot water, really, to stop the shivers and get rid of the smell, but the burns are more pressing. The very last thing they need is more heat.

‘Jeans and socks too. Then sit on the bath,’ you instruct before leaving the room. It isn’t for privacy’s sake, but to get your blanket from the couch and a clean towel from the closet. Get him warm, get the site disinfected, then cover it in Saran wrap and hope for the best. It isn’t as good as real, authoritative, medical treatment, but it’s better than he could manage by himself.

When you’re back, he’s done as you said again, and is sitting on the edge of the bath in just his boxers. A sorry sight, long past the invitation that it used to be. You’re sure there’s scars there that you aren’t familiar with, across his chest, below his naval, but there isn’t time to inspect them. He’s shaking still, and looking up at you like he’s sorry to occupy the space at all.

‘You ever treated burns?’ he asks, as you hand him the blanket.

‘Nothing like that,’ you admit. ‘Spin.’

He does. You put the towel on the floor beneath his back, where the drips will be, as he drapes the blanket over his lap. He isn’t shy about it now, how cold he is. He pulls the edge of the throw up to his chin, tucking his arms inside it, and gives a bigger, exaggerated shiver afterwards. Like he’s purging it, and inviting warmth to take it’s place now that it’s out.

Without the clothes, the burns look dangerous. Red and angry, almost the print of a cross over his back, with the worst of them sitting in a thick strip along his shoulder blades.

‘What even…?’ You brush a thumb by the edge of it, bending down to get a closer look; it’s not just a burn, but a scrape too, a layer of skin torn off like he’s been dragged over tarmac. ‘What happened, beyond the fire?’

You don’t mean the order of events that led to it, or the reasoning behind him shouldering fire in the first place—you’re long past caring or asking about his endeavours. Anything that ends in a list of dead bodies, people he’s killed, is none of your business. That stopped being your problem, the same time he did. But the longer you look, the less it seems like a simple, standard burn. The less you know about how to treat it.

Frank grunts, head dipped. ‘Over-estimated a jump. Slipped off a, a wall, going into the river.’

You wince. ‘Yeah, looks like you left a bit of your back attached to it.’

He puffs out through his nose. ‘That bad?’

Not by his standards, you’re sure. ‘Well. I think it’s saved you from the worst of the blistering, at least.’ The smaller scalds will, no doubt, tonight or tomorrow, but the wide abrasion across the top might have saved him from something more severe. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to put cream on them,’ you say, ‘but I’ve got an antiseptic spray that I think will be worth the risk.’ And the pain. ‘Okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, without hesitation, ‘do what you gotta do.’

When you start at it with the water, poured slow from a mug and onto his back, he hisses. Sucks breaths in and out between the clench of his teeth, regulates the pain for your sake alone, you’re sure, and you can bare that. You can work while he does that, quiet and dedicated.

But when you move onto the spray, he swears, low and rasping, like he hates you for a moment. Like he’s angry at you, the antiseptic, the base of the bath that he thumps with his heel.

‘I’m sorry,’ you put quickly, unable to ignore it. ‘This is the worst part.’

Maybe bad enough, really, that you shouldn’t be doing it at all. In the grand scheme of things, agitated burns are better than infection, right? Better than leaving whatever germs live in the Hudson, to fester in the scrapes of his skin.

‘Keep going,’ he insists, through the clench of his jaw—so you do, grimacing each time he swears and flinches under you.

By the time it’s done, dried and wrapped, you’re both exhausted. Him more than you, that you can admit. He sits quietly on the bath now, waiting for the painkillers you’d promised. It’s the first time he hasn’t tried to convince you that he doesn’t need them.

‘Here.’ You hand him the pills, the glass of water. Watch him swallow them both, before sitting beside him, facing the opposite way. Shoulder to shoulder. ‘I think that’s about all I can do for you,’ you say, glancing at his waiting gaze.

He’s got his head turned towards you, dark eyes only inches away. You can’t match them for long. You’re looking back at the pile of wet clothes on the floor before you speak again.

‘If it shows any sign of infection, Frank.’

He puts the glass down, head shaking in the edge of your vision. ‘I’m not going to a hospital. I can’t.’ He’s dead already, he means, and waltzing into the ER would ruin the only leg-up he has.

‘Then someone who knows more than me, at least,’ you insist. ‘You can’t do any of your righteous, vigilante bullshit with sepsis, you know.’

‘I know,’ he says, and he means it. Sounds sore about it too, regretful, even. Not because of his health, but because of what it would take from him.

You let him sit with that for a moment, watching him drop the blanket from his shoulders and put his hands over the top of it instead, pooling in his lap. The shaking’s stopped now; without the wet clothes, and in the warmth of your home, it didn’t take long to scare them away. After the ordeal you put him through, he’s sweating instead. Damp across his brow.

‘Why d’you do it?’ you ask, though you’d told yourself long ago that you would stop asking him that. Stop wasting your breath on something that would never change.

‘Do what?’ He looks like he might laugh, glancing sideways at you, like he’s itching to say, you think I toasted myself on purpose? But it’s over-compensation, really. He knows what you mean.

‘Put yourself in these fucking situations, every time…’ You sigh. ‘You had a chance to get out, Frank. To start fresh.’

But why bother saying it to him? You know the answer as soon as it comes from your lips. You know what makes him do it. You know he can’t function otherwise. If bad coping mechanisms had a poster boy, he would be it. If self-hatred and self-pity was a competition, he’d win. He would lap everyone before they’d even got off the mark.

‘You’ve got to retire at some point,’ you tell him, which sounds like a plea you hadn’t aimed to give.

He scoffs, shaking his head. His thumbs toy with the edge of the blanket. ‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’

Not for him, that’s the truth, and it snowballs in your head until you say, ‘You’re gonna keep going until something kills you, aren’t you?’

He doesn’t answer, because he can’t do that either. Admitting it aloud, to himself or to you, would make it real. Undeniable.

‘Well,’ you start, bending the conversation into something liveable again, ‘you’re lucky your ex is so good at first aid.’ You shoulder him, lightly, smiling until he smiles back. Just enough.

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘yeah, I am.’ He considers you for a moment, before tucking his chin and looking to his hands. ‘I didn’t think you’d be so,’ he hesitates, searching for the word.

‘Willing?’

He nods. ‘Thought I’d have to talk you into it.’

You snort, a real smile creeping onto your lips. ‘Would you have begged if I asked you to?’

‘I don’t know.’ His brows pinch together, thick and sorry-looking. ‘Would you have turned me away if I didn’t?’

‘No,’ you realise, because you had patched him up too often to let him suffer now. The blood on your hands has to have been worth something. ‘But I’d have taken an extra pass with that spray.’

He laughs weakly. ‘Yeah, that, I’d probably deserve.’

Because that’s his answer to everything, isn’t it? Every ounce of pain he endures, is nothing but a coin in the never ending debt that he owes himself. The only person that would ever expect it of him. The only one that thinks he deserves this, burns and wounds that he can’t fix for himself.

‘I think you should go,’ you say quietly, as your heart tugs in the opposite direction. ‘It’s late.’

Late, and approaching the longest time you’ve spent with him since the two of you broke up. Any longer and you might forget why.

[wrathofrats]

more pebble and ivy hc to add to the collection? Pls?

Hiii for more info on my pebble and ivy headcanons please see these two posts and also if you’re wondering who the fuck pebble and ivy are

I need everyone to know I’ve been talking about them for months in private, and I have like 4 fics lined up for when I decide everyone is ready for them. They’re my stupid secret obsession.

Ok now that that’s all out of the way, have some random shit I’ve thrown into @divine-misfortune DMs for the past month

-

Therapist: so pebble how do you feel about this relationship

Pebble: great. Thats my twink I own him.

Therapist: uh …… ok Ivy how do you feel about that

Ivy: I’m his twink he owns me

Therapist, about to call Terzo to warn him: ok!

-

Pebble w rock magic making ivy such pretty jewelry and he’s always like

“I made this super rare demantoid garnet to match the vibes of your aura”

And ivys just like “WOOO SHINY AND GREEN”

I think pebble is gods biggest rock nerd because it’s very on the nose and I think he deserves to be a stupid nerd about something under his dumbass personality

I think mist half flirts with ivy to fuck with him and pebble and ivy just goes wide eyed and stares at the ground and stutters and mist is like “??? Alright loser” and pebbles like “😍😍😍😍”

The insane amount of pathetic awkwardness is rizz to pebble

-

Pebble: hold on I have to water my house plant

Mist: your boyfriend has a name you know

Ivy: yay water (:

-

Oh my god

Ivy trying to impress pebble, he just desperately wants to hear that laugh, be the cause of it, so he tries to play some stupid prank on alpha or omega but it’s just …

Wrong

Because he doesn’t fully grasp the idea

And pebble can’t help but laugh at him anyways because the attempt was cute enough

Im thinking the poor thing literally writes “stupid” on a piece of paper and tapes it to alphas back

Pebbles never been more in love.

-

And something nsfw bc (:

Ohhhhhh alpha is the fucking worst

Don’t think he would go as far as fucking ivy given the chance but he absolutely acts like he’s going to because god it’s fun to watch pebble fume

(Also maybe it’ll get him to actually make a move because all this yearning is going to make alpha sick)

It’s small things a first, maybe crowding him against the counter, tipping his head and saying he’s pretty before letting him go

And it’s not even the move that makes pebble upset it’s the fact that is so very clearly worked ivy up beyond belief. Had the poor thing blushing so hard you’d think he was sick and quickly walking out of the room with his shirt pulled down over himself

Ohhh do you think alpha teases pebble about it? Holds it over his head?

Maybe gets pebble pinned against a wall somewhere with his legs wrapped around alphas waist so he has to rely on him for support, just a normal thing they do

Until alphas whispering how pretty ivy is into pebbles neck

shouldve seen him when I almost got a finger in his mouth, practically drooled over it the pathetic thing

And pebbles begging him to shut the fuck up, growling and digging his claws into his back.

wonder if he would’ve let me. Just allow me to fuck his pretty little mouth with my fingers in front of everyone? He seems pretty easy, I’m sure he would’ve loved it

[ronearoundblindly]

Release (Ari x Reader)

a Bedrock and Blueprints tale, following Tension

Summary: After ten years of friendship, you and Ari have finally crossed the threshold into something more than friends. Is it for the best?

Warnings for SMUT. What do I say? The entire 3k 4k+ (4339 words to be exact) is feels and smut, gang. Protected, awkward-moment-filled, passion- and insecurities-driven sex. Seeing as it's sex, there are mentions of bodily fluids. Shocking, I know. It's also sex with beefcake Ari, so that deserves a warning, too.

So what you're saying is--" you take a few big breaths "--we have work to do in the bedroom now?

It’s been a hot second since you last slept with someone, but based on this first scorching minute with Ari’s mouth on yours and his body close, you’re about to make up for a lost millennium of sex—dirty, delicious sex. Thirty seconds of dry humping whatever bit of him is so hard atop you would suffice, doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his thigh, or his fucking face. There are also the options of his abs, his hand, his forearm…at this point a foot would do. Even if he fell asleep on his stomach right now, that ass is tight enough that you could ride him into the sunset but—

Sweet mercy, when did you get this horny?

Senses drenched in him, your body tenses at the feel of his thick, muscled torso between your thighs, rocking step by step on the way to your unfurnished bedroom. Before Ari can reach his destination though, you pull at his hair, needing your lips on him again, needing to explore and possess. He can’t see or keep walking, so instead, he crashes you both into the wall less than two feet from the bedroom door.

No one skips a beat.

Ari tastes like lemonade and cigarettes, bitter and smokey-sweet like a barbecue sauce smothered over a slab of meat—say, the rack of ribs beneath your palm and a dusting of chest hair. Your nose picks up the faint tang of sunscreen from his face as you shift and angle to let your tongues play.

The way this man moans your name should be illegal. 

That vibration trespasses on every nerve. That single word assaults your aching core. Arrest him! Lock him up (with you inside) and throw away the key.

The very thought makes you grip him tighter and clench around nothing.

He smiles into your kiss, relinquishing the lead in favor of lingering enjoyment. When you finally gasp for breath, he wanders. Between his strong, broad hands on your ass and his open mouth sliding up your neck, you’re pretty close to signing over the house just to get him fully naked.

You shimmy your ankle over his gym shorts to gauge if he even has boxers on. There are only two, slinky layers between your throbbing heat and what is clearly an incredibly hard dick. Bless him. Bless Ari’s total impatience. He continues to rock his hips against you at a snail’s pace, completely opposite of his darting tongue.

“Ari,” you whine, high and thin, pushed to the brink already, the sharp pang of arousal twisting your insides.

It’s the very first time he hears you say his name in that way, and the pathetic tone stirs something primal in Ari. It spurs him on and drives him to blindly waltz you both into the room with your temporary, inflatable mattress.

He only gets to the other side of the wall before pinning you again.

This morning when he met at your apartment, the couch was the only furniture that could fit in his truck. The inflatable is a minimal-effort, ‘just in case’ option, because you don’t know how long it will take to make the place livable or if you’ll stay overnight to work on it. The idea would have been to stay overnight alone, of course. This is not the scenario you imagined needing it for. This is actually a scenario you’ve never imagined, and up until a handful of weeks ago, he hadn’t imagined it either.

No, you never thought about Ari this way, not really, not for you, but the sudden onslaught of ideas for how he can use you suffocates your mind in the most welcome way. Thinking is for another time. Now is the time for action.

We have work to do in the bedroom, you said.

Yes, you’re a dedicated worker. That’s a proven fact.

Fuck, he said.

Yes, Ari, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Shirt off,” he mimics your orders from the couch, leaning back to give you space. He’s amused by how slowly you comply, body sluggish and distracted anticipating what’s to come. The hem of your tee isn’t even above your breasts before he’s groping over your sports bra, fascinated as the plush flesh beneath spills above the neckline at his every touch. There’s no tiny bow in the center—like his imagination (or maybe his memory) conjured up a few times—but he still considers the thick, unyielding fabric a sort of gift wrapping.

He helps by sliding his thumbs under the band but doesn’t follow the garment all the way off. He’s too busy coaxing a nipple into his mouth with his bandaged hand and pinching the other between his fingers. He nips at your tender skin as you gush more beautiful sounds.

Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.

In all your (mostly drunken) conversations about sex over the years, you’ve mentioned the things that loosely make up the list of ‘rules,’ things essential to good sex for you, but you never described yourself in bed. You’ve never mentioned that you’re loud. Ari likes that. His whole body hums in appreciation of it.

The list is pretty short, actually, for a decade’s worth of information.

Rule #1: Show some initiative.

Sure, he’s seen you be bossy. You’re not shy about sex, but that doesn’t mean you like being the one to create all momentum. No problem there. He’s ready. He wants you. He fucking needs you, and you know it. It’s plain in the daylight.

For comfort though, he’s flicking the switch beside you both on the wall for the overhead fan. He hasn’t fixed the AC yet, and even with the windows open there isn’t much breeze. He can already tell he’s going to be a sweaty mess based on his thundering heart rate and the simple idea of putting his hands all over you. Unfortunately, the cut on his palm still stings like a son of a bitch, and he has to stop thinking about how the fan has a dramatic wobble that he can hear even when he can’t see it.

Being face-deep between your tits is well worth the chance of his very own Final Destination ending. Consider the initiative taken.

Rule #2: Foreplay.

Not exactly rocket science, but this one’s still more abstract. You never gave a play-by-play, so Ari’s had to pool together mentions of specific things you’ve found sexy during a relationship. Almost none of them have to do with penetration itself. There are sex-adjacent things, of course. He held me down while… He never stopped kissing me during… He watched while I came, etc. Shit, did Ari think about that one a lot in the last weeks.

He breaks from your breast to catch his breath, and for a moment, you’re both all tongue and teeth. You bite at his earlobe while Ari licks the path of your collarbone.

He knows you remember the heavy petting, you remember being told what he’s going to do to you, and you remember reaching the point of begging for it, too.

Of course, now he remembers how he’s spent the last weeks imagining you beneath him, on top of him, bent over literally any piece of furniture he walked by, especially if he watched you walk by it first in real life. One day recently, he lied and said he was sick when really he was so hard for you he didn’t think he’d manage to be around you even if he rubbed one out first.

Yeah, Ari’s had fantasies; he’s about to have memories.

You slip against the wall, grinding harder against him as you fall a few inches. Your fingers curl into his chest hair, unable to grip at his arms in your stupor.

Playing by the rules is about to serve him very, very well, which brings him to Rule #3: Dirty talk.

He rocks his hips forward.

“Want it slow and deep, don’t you,” he growls lowly. When all you return is a strangled cry, he rolls his hips again. “Can think of a dozen ways to take you right here.”

He knows you love that. Excited dirty talk. Desperate dirty talk. Needy dirty talk. Not overly dirty talk, nothing so graphic as to pull you out of the moment (at least, not the first time), but you want some good noise.

If what he’s done so far is any indication, the total three sentences of it, then you’ll be mewling like a cat in heat before his pants are even off, and damn, is Ari excited about that, desperate for that--dare he say?--needy for that.

Panting heavily, you’re blind with lust, completely at his mercy, the epitome of down-to-fuck.

“Then do it,” you gasp out, “old man.”

The snarl that erupts from Ari makes you laugh, but his vigor in tossing you down to the mattress is anything but humorous. You meet his eyes to see an intense, animalistic gaze, darkened by the same spell you’re under.

The inflatable is awkward and bouncy, tilting wildly to one side beneath your weight, so when you lift your hips for Ari to pull off your shorts and panties, the plastic scoots farther away, making you slip out of his grasp.

“Stay still,” he growls again. “Don’t test me, woman.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you giggle back, watching the hairy beast stalk forward. Frustration looks good on him. It hardens his features beneath long-soft locks and bares those pearly-white teeth for you.

You only have space to playfully shove yourself and the mattress farther back once until you hit the opposite wall, and Ari’s chest is flushed an angry pink when his hands get to you. 

“Gonna pop this fucking thing by the end of the night.”

Your head snaps down. “Don’t you dare.”

His grin tells you he’s teasing, especially with how so much of his palms and fingers drag down your legs as he finally gets your clothes off, but there’s a moment when your breath catches.

As your best friend stares at you naked for the first time, it dawns on you that this changes everything; you have already changed everything.

Without warning your thighs clap together and your butt sags to the floor beside the tilting mattress. Even though your eyes are already shut, you cover your face with your hands.

“What are we doing?” You thought the words so loud that they came out as a whisper. “I can’t lose you.”

After only a split-second hesitation, Ari’s hands relax from your ankles.

“Hey,” he soothes, tugging your wrists to move them away. “Hey, honey, no. That’s never gonna happen.”

He crosses his legs as he crawls closer to you.

The good news is you’re not crying, but the bad news is all that sexual excitement from moments ago has ratcheted up into painful anxiety that sharply overfills your chest. It’s hard to breathe.

He takes your face in his own hands. “I will always be here for you, but you have to know that I can’t go back to—“ Ari licks his lips quickly, struggling not to notice your bare shins against his, your bare knees against the inside of his elbows, your ass cheek just barely pressing the top of his foot “—to just friends.”

He swallows hard and holds your gaze.

“I can’t unsee you,” he says, though he means so much more.

He’ll never stop thinking about how gorgeous you are now. He can’t stop appreciating your strength—all types of it—that you’ve shown for so many years. He’s admired you as long as he’s known you, and even if colored by attraction, that will never change.

He can’t find any more words to describe you right then, so he pets his thumbs across your cheeks, hoping to show you what he can’t say.

He’s not wasting this chance, he won’t let you shut down, and even if today goes no further than this, Ari is resolved to cherish every second. So he’s had his fast and hot kiss; now he wants your steady and passionate one.

He removes his hands to lift beneath your knees, lacing your feet over his legs to just outside his hips. You don’t have to open your thighs. They remain solid between you while he leans forward to capture your lips. This kiss is slow, tentative, a wanting and waiting attempt to sort through thoughts you’ve never had before, a moment to reframe something—someone—you’ve only ever viewed from one angle, and that’s difficult, Ari knows.

The idea alone nearly ran him off the road in those first seconds. He’s had (he’s taken) weeks to adjust, but shit, does he hope it doesn’t take you weeks. His nights without you were already becoming intolerable. Now he’s had a taste—a partial taste—of what he wants and he’ll fight tooth and nail for the rest.

Because Ari Levinson now lives to provide whatever you want, but he can’t do that from afar. He can’t handle even the distance of friendship. Ten years and you never left him behind, never forgot about him. You never babied him or asked for anything. You could have. You should have sometimes.

You weathered the uncertainty of deployment and coming home better than anyone he knows. He always felt your devotion as a friend, even at his most chaotic and unsure. He realizes he counted on that. He needed you more than you needed him, and you still stayed and stayed. He’s had no idea what he’s doing for years, and you never stopped.

You were always the stable part of this. It makes sense that you’d fear what he’s going to put you through.

But the reframing isn’t that hard for you.

Ari has this world churning around in his head because he’s never built any sort of life for himself. You? You have always wanted the same things. You’ve planned. You’ve prepared. You’ve cut out pieces that don’t fit and bring you down. Ari’s survived all that. He means something to you. You care for him. He fits. He does not bring you down. Ari was always coming and going but never left you. He never has in ten whole years.

You know how you two get along through every situation under the sun. You even know how you two fight, and you’ve always made up. The making-up part will just become a lot more active now.

All your brain has to do is shift him over to a different column: from ‘my friend’ to ‘mine.’

He thinks he’s asking for more than you’ve always been, more than you’ve already given. You think he’s asking for what he already has, what he’s already earned.

Somehow, the soft drag of his lips against yours conveys all his passion. Somehow, you allowing him in demonstrates all your needs.

So the kiss continues, topped by sharp breaths and involuntary grunts of pleasure.

His beard is magical. It turns rough and coarse when he’s more intense, but during these slow moments, it feels damn near silky against your skin. It makes you think of what else it can do, what else his mouth can do.

You’ve sat still and willing this whole time but uninviting, so you open your legs at his sides, laying them over his lap, and smooth your arms over his shoulders to bring him closer. His response is immediate and audible, the reprise of that vibrating, dirty moan rakes over your every sense.

Ari puts a hand on your stomach, lightly scratching his forefinger back and forth before squeezing your side and pulling you up into his lap. 

“I’d give you anything,” he mutters against your lips, waiting for doubt that never comes.

“I’m about to give you a tour, Ari. Get on with it.” Your breathy tone lets any intensity to your demand evaporate like the saliva in his open mouth. He licks his lips.

“There she is,” he chuckles.

 Rule #4: Slow but not gentle. Not one thing all the time.

Ari’ll be damned if he ever gives you a reason to call him a One-Trick Pony or a Minute Man, but after weeks of fantasizing about what you’d feel like, he is truly overwhelmed by the reality.

He’s got to keep it together. He’s got to fucking taste you.

“Up on the bed,” he orders, lifting your hips to guide you only partially upright, leaving your legs wide open and by his sides, back wobbly supported by the noisy plastic.

He likes the thatch of hair between your legs and how responsive you are. Ari’s a bit ’70s pornstar in that way. The natural sight and scent of your cunt make him feral, and before you fully balance, he’s plunging his tongue in without warning. At least he’s gentlemanly enough to cup your ass and help raise you to his attack.

A string of curses escapes as you clench and relax. You are very loud, he likes that very much, and luckily, the house sits on a bit of land. Your neighbors aren’t within earshot of these open windows.

You don’t rush him or order him around. You babble just as much when his nose brushes your clit as when he purposefully sucks it. It makes his exploratory approach even more thrilling. It ticks some of his boxes, too.

Oh fuck. Boxes!

Ari pops his mouth off of you with a sloppy sound, and your trembling legs fall in his dropping arms.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, jumping off the floor and running out into the hall.

You hear the front door open a few seconds later.

“What the fuck,” you scream into the empty house, body hot and coiled, ready to spring.

His car door creaks open, and you swear in that instant that if that man drives away, you will burn this house and his apartment to the ground.

The sounds repeat themselves in reverse order until Ari’s back in the doorway, shirtless, glorious, holding condoms. Good man.

“I could have killed you,” you huff, flopping your head back on the mattress.

Ari grins, pulling out a small square packet and tossing the box aside.

“Where was I?” He kneels back down, stroking your bare hip and thigh as they continue to twitch. His blue eyes sparkle with something unfamiliar, something new: adoration.

Your breath is stolen at the thought of it being for you.

He grabs the two pillows and blanket from the useless bed. Effectively handling you like a rag doll, Ari wads up the blanket behind your head after pulling you to the center of the room. He works two fingers through your folds, waiting till you start to roll into them, only to then gruffly order you, “up.”

He places one pillow under your raised hips. Fingers gone again quickly, he stands above you, staring.

“Ari, just fuck me please,” you beg below him.

If that didn’t light all of his other fantasies on fire and dance on their ashes, he’s not sure what would.

His shorts are off in a flash, the last pillow wedged under his own knees, and Ari makes like he’s completing the world’s sexiest push-up as he lowers himself down. He pants, his toned chest grazing your heaving breasts in time with the gasps of lost restraint. His hand brings the foil packet to his teeth and rips the seam.

He holds the open end to your lips and whispers, “you mind?”

Eyes locked on his, your mouth pinches on the rim of latex as he slides the wrapper away and tosses it, too.

“Thank you,” he rumbles, taking the condom, keeping up his bit of pornstar show by letting you watch his face while he rolls it in place, touching himself. The head of his cock hangs low enough to swipe at your mound teasingly during this performance.

It makes you shiver.

Rule #5: The first time should never, ever feel lazy. Put your back into it.

He practically roars at the feel once he sinks his length fully inside of you. Your wanton cry in his ear along with the bite of your nails in his biceps sets him on edge. He pumps a few times, but he’s too close too fast and has to pull out, gripping his base harshly. Even when the feel of you isn’t on him, the sight of you floods his mind like blood floods his groin.

Fuck, he has to focus.

You’re impatient and so damn close that your hand moves to stroke yourself, completely uncaring about what’s stopped him. If he thought the sight of himself fully seated inside your cunt was distracting, Ari short-circuits as he watches you touch yourself while looking right at him.

He started it though. It's only fair.

He leans down on his bad hand as best he can, getting close enough to abandon his own dick and shove two fingers back inside you, earning him a euphoric grunt that snaps your head back.

“That’s it,” he moans, curling and rubbing in time with your circles over your clit.

Moments later, your rhythm falters and slows, coupled with a high whine of ‘shit’ and your hips bucking off the floor.

His thumb dexterously flicks your own fingers out of his way, and he cups his palm forward. The effect of this dual friction is immediate, violently shoving you over the edge, unleashing your orgasm. Your mouth falls open, but barely a peep sounds. Tremor after tremor rolls from your spasming walls up through your spine, pushing your breast back to his eager mouth. 

He tries to work you down easy, to let you settle after your high, but you’re having none of it.

“Damn it, Levinson,” you hiss, pushing his hand away with another wet smack and rolling him and you over. You straddle him in the layer of dust on the wood floor. “You’re gonna come for me.”

Right, well, looks like you aren’t being lazy either because you certainly put your back into this.

You line him up and sink down until his cock is as deep as you can take, pulsing your hips as if it will stretch you further and further until he’s lost inside you.

His respite bought him some time. He’s not on the brink anymore, but he’s not far off.

You ride him with a hand around his throat, no pressure, your fingertips cradling the back of his head and your thumb flat against his jugular. His grip on your wrist to keep you there is harder. Your weight leans on his chest where your other hand is splayed for balance. Your hips stroke him wildly while you struggle to keep your eyes open and on his own hooded gaze.

You babble.

You babble about how hard you just came. You babble about how good his dick feels inside you. You babble about the places he’s reaching that make you want to explode, and Ari can’t take any more distance between him and that mouth of yours.

He shoots up, pulling your arms out of his way and grasping your ass to keep you steady, lips latching together.

Your shallow thrusts don’t miss a beat, but he helps, kneading the soft flesh of your thigh, tugging at your pace.

“Come again,” Ari whispers hot into your kiss. “Come for me.”

The command makes you keen, leaning back to brace your hands around his outstretched legs, bouncing with a renewed urgency. That response has Ari possessed, fucking up into you, meeting every roll of your hips with an extra nudge to your sweet spot. Your shouts quiet, and he knows you’re on the edge, too.

Every shattered moan he swallows from you, every shuddering gasp. You’re just as eager to take his harsh breaths as your own, but your body shakes uncontrollably, sweat-glistened skin on sweat-glistened skin.

With more force than he actually intends, his fingers dig a bruising grip on your waist and Ari uses you to milk the tightness from his aching sac. It’s only a few extra thrusts after you start to flutter again that he shoots into the condom and hauls you back to his chest, biting your collarbone as gently as he can manage while still coming in hot spurts.

While you return from floating, he takes in the warmth and feel of you, relishing the well-earned exhaustion and a single slow drizzle of your release down his balls.

He steadies you with a secure hold beneath your shoulder blades. It’s an appropriate moment for lazy kisses, he thinks, and you both continue weary explorations of the nearest limbs, silent, leaving only the churning teeter of the fan above. Soon, you’re slumped against his chest and drawing a little pattern on his skin.

“We should do that again sometime.”

Ari snorts, wiping a hand down his face before attempting to lift you. “We should go on a date, kid.” His voice is hoarse and thick.

You’re amused but your laugh stops short at the sensation of his cock dragging out of your slick cunt.

He would tease if he weren’t so determined to get the fucking condom off, but in a surprising feat of renewed energy, you’re spinning onto your knees and wrapping your lips around him as soon as the latex is pulled away. Ari’s so overstimulated by that one touch that he yells your name between a few choice curses.

“What,” you say, eyes back up to his, finger wiping his cum from beside your mouth and licking that, too. “I didn’t get to taste you.”

Ari’s brain short-circuits again. His back and bare ass are covered in wet smears of dust while a heady, rich smell of sex permeates the room. He knew working on your house would be a dirty job, but he had no idea it’d be like this.

New Rule: You two should definitely go on a date…and then do this immediately after.

Ta-dah! \o/ I did it, gang. Broke through some rough and emotional writer's block to bring you a real Sinful Sunday chonk. Hope and pray that everyone enjoys this and the next few things in the works. Thank you for reading!

[Next Part; Main Masterlist]

[lxverrings]

Omggggg I just read my req 😭❤❤

Te amo te amo te amo te amo TE AMOOOO!!

I'm actually from Spain 👀

I honestly loved it like all your other works lol ❤❤

I also have another req if you don't mind 💀

Miguel O'hara with reader that is a spiderwoman with the same traits as him (fangs, claws, organic webs) but it was against her will (aka human experimentation) and has a hard time trusting others because of that.

Just some angst / confort

- Spanish anon 💫

One In the Same.

A Miguel O’hara drabbleish

Warnings: anger issues. Lotsa... Yelling </3 lashing out, angst with a comfort-ish ending. GN! Reader!!!

Summary: Miguel forgets how easily he can break with someone that acts and is like him.

A/N: I forgot Spain. How the FUCK did I do that. Still my favorite Nonnie, También te amo, Cielito <3 —I’mma keep you at Solecito ; anyway!!! I did some research on Miguel’s powers— why does he have telekinesis. Well, that’s in the quirked up ginger comics, so I just took the overall ATSV things! I wasn’t sure about the red eyes, so I gave reader pink eyes to differentiate text! Enjoy!!!

Again, he didn’t know what he was doing when he recruited you and your bright spinel colored eyes, sunken into themselves with clear exhaustion burning in your eyes. Wearing the sunglasses he also tended to wear when he was outside more than not, getting empanadas or conchas de chocolate.* He didn’t expect anything as abnormal yet.

Yet he... Hated it.

Look at you, the same powers. Some potential variant of him or whatever?

But...

Pero... *

He lacked social skills already, hell, Miguel’s sorry ass coops up in his own little Man Cave and only LYLA glitches in unexpectedly

(Alfred and Batman?)

Well.

That didn’t matter. You would rarely talk at meetings. He didn’t have to worry about you... But why?

Why didn’t he?

He had to worry about everything going intricately perfect already! Why not one more thing?

The hard truth was... You didn’t trust him. And Miguel realized this when he tried to reason with you on going to a mission.

“Apúrate. No tenemos todo el pinche día.”

He heard your sigh and suddenly jerked his head as you spoke.

“Can’t I do this alone?”

“What the shock are you talking about?”

“You heard me.”

He could almost hear his blood pressure rising in an instant, anger fueling him without much effort.

Embarrassing, really.

“I did. Ahora, cállate*. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t want you to come.”

“Too shocking bad.”

Well that fueled your agitation. “I don’t... Want you there, coño!*”

“What did you just shocking call me?”

The argument got more heated, so heated in fact, that he got too close— that it made you flinch and smack him square across the face.

“I— um...”

“Fuera.*”

You complied.

Rushing home, through your portal as the adrenaline wore down. Once it did, you saw him clearly. The version of your boyfriend that brought you against your will. You were pretty for him. He took off your walls and focused on himself selfishly, calling you pretty like a mantra, bruising your skin senselessly until it bled, and even then, his sorry ass just called you pretty as a habit.

Never once beautiful.

And that was enough for him to throw you to his uncle who experimented on you to his heart’s delight.

Tears flooded down your face, in your civilian clothes, and that faithful watch heard your distress.

Every fucking night.

And Miguel was catching on too...

One week later, he found himself looking for your dimension.

“Shock me... Pinche reloj culero.*”

And eventually, your not-so-romantic knight in shining armor appeared.

Even Miguel could tell something was wrong as the orange portal lit up. Not that you could see it.

Awkwardly, he patted your back, making you flinch.

“Shock— look. I’m sorry, I—”

“Yo soy la qué debería pedir perdón.”

Miguel just sighed and awkwardly sat next to you. It was awkward sitting next to you like this.

It had been a while since Miguel had done anything similar. So he just quietly wrapped a single arm around you...

And let you cry there.

Translations:

Conchas de Chocolate is a type of bread, can’t accurately translate because that’s like saying Baguette but translated

But...

Hurry up. We don’t have the whole damn day.

Now, shut up.

Asshole.

Get out.

Dumb useless watch.

I’m the one that should be saying sorry.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 46 - Not Quiet on the Western Front

Y'all leave camp. Is that blood?

On AO3.

You offer back the blanket Astarion brought out to the woods. He gives you a delicately offended face and says he’s never seen it before. And then he’s turning away, done talking to you because you are nothing to him now, and Shadowheart shoots you a—it’s not quite sympathetic, but it’s in the same family—look.

The rest of camp emerges as you dress in your second-cleanest clothes.

You avoid eye contact. Especially with Karlach, who greets you with a grin that falters when you nod and brush past to get to the egg scramble Gale throws together.

Astarion doesn’t join, y’all. You catch a few glances thrown his way from the others, some silent conversation passes around you like a flurry of group chat text you ain’t included on.

Great. Awesome. Just what you wanted. Not awkward at all.

But either Shadowheart does a great job silently deflecting everybody, or they communally decide to let sleeping dogs lie; nobody outright asks you about it.

Then y’all bust up camp and set out to find this goblin camp and the druid who might be able to do magic brain surgery or whatever.

And Astarion immediately sidles up to Gale with a tone you now recognize. Not even twelve hours later, and he’s completely ditched you. All because you wouldn’t spread your legs.

That explains the pile of lovers, don’t it? He’s a fuck boy, is what he is. And you are an idiot for not seeing that sooner (of course the only one chasing you would be the one with the loosest standards).

You increase your pace to join Lae’zel and Wyll up front. Wyll glance to you, smiles, and thank fuck he don’t say nothing.

Lae’zel, unfortunately, stares at you a second, and then, “You smell of the bloodsucker, but not of mating. Was he not satisfactory?”

You don’t even see the rock that trips you—points to Wyll who manages to catch your elbow and keep you from eating dirt.

“Fuck’s sake, Lae’zel!” you whisper-shout. “You can’t go asking people that!”

Y’all are at the front. There is a chance, however small, the words didn’t carry back to the fuck boy bloodsucker.

“Why not? If you have no claim to him, then others may make one. But if he is an inadequate partner, I would be less likely to do so.”

You stare. Wyll, beside you, looks horrified.

Lae’zel scowls. “Is this another istik oddity? Your people complicate all things for no reason. Speak plainly.”

And it is silent behind you. No idle chitchat, no scoffing; Karlach isn’t even humming. Oh sweet fucking christ on a cracker. This is not happening.

“Lae’zel,” Wyll tries.

But she fucking hisses at him. “I was not addressing you.”

Maybe you can override the blood potion you slammed back not too long ago and force your soul to separate from your body. Maybe you can negate the dirt potion if you bash your head into a tree enough to give you brain damage. Or at least pass out so it hits whatever bullshit magic timer it needs so it stops working.

Lae’zel stares at you. She ain’t letting this go. And you are not going to turn around. If you turn and see the others, you’ll have to acknowledge this is, in fact, happening when it so clearly ain’t. This is a dream. This is a horrible, nightmare dream.

“Um,” you say, your voice all high. “It, um, that’s…is that blood?”

There is blood in the path, actually! Thank fuck! It is also fresh, as indicated by the body in the grass and the pile of scooped out guts not much further along. Flies buzz over them, but ain’t no maggots, so it can’t have been lying there too long.

Considering all the other bullshit y’all’ve run into recently…

***

It’s gnolls. Of course it’s fucking gnolls. A whole fucking pack of them and you have the presence of mind to not drop your fucking stick this time. Wyll helps a lot with that by staying out in front of you, hitting them with spells that boil the skin off their faces if they get too close.

Karlach takes the worst of it. Tends to happen when one screams, “Eat it, fuckers!” and charges in like a pack of suburbanites on a Black Friday store opening. Shadowheart has to make her sit so she can jesus hands shut the massive gash opening up the tiefling’s thigh down to the bone.

Karlach takes it all in stride. “Ooh, think it’ll scar? I’m gonna tell everyone I got it chopping through a Beholder!”

You leave them to it, and follow Wyll and Gale into the cave the gnolls were trying to get to. Three more dead people lie in clustered pieces. You stand over the nearest a moment before kneeling.

“Sorry, friend,” you say. “I hope you find what you’re looking for and get some rest.”

And you slip your fingers into his pockets. Some gold and a handkerchief. Well.

The others poke around boxes and baskets, retrieving the still-edible food and anything of value. You wander alone, until something catches your eye. A fancy box wedge between two rocks. You crouch to peer at it in the gloom.

The lid does not lift. There’s a lock on the front. Astarion has been getting y’all into this shit so far. And it ain’t like you know how to pick the damn thing open.

You spot him up a ladder on a ledge nearby, patting down a dead man of his own. That new and exciting dread washes over you. Surely you can figure this box out? Maybe hitting it hard enough will pop the thing free?

It does not pop the thing free. It does attract Gale’s attention. He ambles over, saying something about an unlocking spell, but his mojo is running dry and it don’t work.

You can feel Astarion’s gaze on the back of your neck. But you refuse to turn. It’s probably childish, and definitely petty as hell, but he tossed you out like garbage, like you are nothing. No hesitation, no attempt at talking it through. You didn’t put out and he was done with you, and two can play at that, motherfucker. You are not the metaphorical bigger person.

Eventually, Karlach saunters in.

“Trying to get into that?” she says, noticing the both of you armed with sticks, standing around the damn thing like a couple of uncles holding beers and staring at a car engine that won’t turn over. “Want Mama K to take a crack at it?”

Mama K. You go a little weak in the knees. “Yes, please.”

She lifts her ax and brings that sucker down so hard it makes you jump. Metal bangs, and y’all flinch, but Karlach is a fucking monster with that ax, and her aim is dead-on. The front wall of the box falls off, neat as cut paper.

“You’re amazing,” you say.

She guffaws, but there’s a teeny duck of her head, and you have a suspicion that if she wasn’t red and literally on fire, there’d be some blush on her cheeks.

Inside is a letter, some gold, and a funny looking bottle. Scratch that, an evil motherfucker of a bottle. It’s made of metal, with the most sinister fucking face glowing on its surface. Fucker screams poison. You ain’t dealing with that right now, but it might come in handy on a druid rescue (Ancient Romans used to poison the wells around an enemy army, perhaps?).

What you don’t want is for the bastard to wiggle open in your bag and like, melt it from the inside or whatever. You grab the top and twist to make sure it’s on tight.

Except this ain’t Earth. And righty does not mean tighty in Faerun; nor does lefty mean loose-y.

You unscrew it.

Only a little! The barest wiggle before you catch it! But it’s right as Gale spots it, squints, and starts to say, “I’d be very careful with—”

The bottle explodes. Black fumes pour out. You drop the thing and fall back, waving your arms before the sense bubbles up through your brain and you wrench the front of your tunic out of the stays to cover your mouth and nose. The others cough and swear, and the air shifts. Goes cold to freezing so fast your skin prickles in confusion. You stagger out of the cloud just in time to catch Lae’zel shout something in her language and something big moves above you.

“The fuck,” you start.

A giant fucking eyeball over a goddamn fucking maw of teeth longer than your forearm. Fucker is huge and hovering over you. Four tentacles lift up from its back, and each of those ends in an eyeball, too. They blink all out of sync, and you’re backing away, but one of them stalk eyes spots you, and the entire thing turns to look.

Your bladder nearly gives.

“Spectator!” Wyll shouts. “Eleanor, get out of there!”

The thing rises up silent, a goddamn UFO made of teeth. You can’t breathe. All thought fails, leaving only mindless gibbering and your body is a dead thing around you.

“Shka’keth!” Lae’zel shouts. A silver blur streaks past you as she vaults up and tried to bury her sword through that big ass eye.

But the UFO dodges and roars. The sound slaps even the gibbering right outta your head. Your body turns, and bolts. No thought. Just run. Away from the sound, away from the horror and the teeth.

Impact lances up your shins. Air claws at your throat. A stitch pulls at your side sharp and hot and still, you stagger on.

 Flash of the others around you—Gale lifting his staff, his eyes glowing. Karlach roaring. Wyll pointing a magic blast.

You run past them all. Sprint—it’s too much, you can’t do this anymore—for a pile of rocks. Throw yourself behind it and try to catch your breath. Your heart tries to burst outta your ribcage.

More roars and shouts behind you. Light flashes and the thunderclap swats you and the thing screams. Your hands clap over your ears. You shut your eyes and burrow into your knees as best you can.

It needs to stop. This all needs to stop. All too much and you can’t. You’re so done. You just want it all to go away. You been strong and resilient and all them fancy words people like to throw around and you cannot anymore.

A thud and a scrabble.

Lae’zel lands in the dirt next to you. Blood coats the side of her face. She starts to roll up, spots you. Her lips pull back in a sneer.

“Gah! Useless,” she hisses. And then she vaults off, leaving you sitting there in the dirt.

Fuck, they’re fighting. They’re hurt and they’re fighting and this one really, really is your fault. You don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t know this place and Lae’zel is right. You can’t do magic or swords. You dropped your staff again. You are a pathetic, useless little shit.

“Wyll!” Karlach shouts.

Oh god. You turn and peer around the outcrop. Spot the man down, Karlach standing over him with her teeth bared at the advancing UFO thing.

Oh no. Oh god, no. No. You have…you have to do something. Do anything.

Bag. See what’s in the bag.

Next thing you know, all your worldly possessions are strewn out on the dirt as you scramble through them. Water, rations, clothes, a rusty fork. Something useful, something you can…

A misshapen little thing. Roundish, but in patches with nasty little holes all over it. Lae’zel had called it something when you picked it up. What was it? What—?

“A void bulb,” Not-Sasha’s voice echoes in your head the fucking bitch. You almost drop the damn thing (is this fucker watching you twenty-four seven? Is it listening in on this, too? How was that view yesterday of you taking a shit—) “Use it.”

In an instant, you see it in your head. What it is. What it does.

And oh. Oh very much yes.

You can’t think. Can’t let yourself. You’re staggering up on jittery legs and stumbling out. The UFO monster fires some kinda beam that Karlach barely dodges. Something is very wrong with Gale—he’s on his knees, batting at shit you can’t see. Astarion pops out from an outcrop much like your own to fire an arrow that don’t do more than turn one of them stalk eyes towards him to blast another fucking laser beam (Astarion ducks).

This is stupid. This is so stupid, and you’re gonna die but y’all are gonna die if you fucking stand here—

“Hey! Fucker!” you say. Voice reedy, higher than a toddler, strained almost to a superhuman screech.

One stalk eye turns towards you. That ain’t gonna cut it. Which is why you grabbed the other bottle, the one Gale had called “arsonist’s oil.”

You lob it. The thing goes spiraling, misses by a good ten feet, and bursts in a ball of fire close enough to Shadowheart for her to dive out of the way. But you ain’t really aiming to hit it (well, you are, but you know it’s a goddamned long shot). The real goal was all them eyes focusing on you. It was the thing shuddering, spikes rippling along its back as it pivots to you, opens its maw, and howls.

“C-come on,” you stammer. Probably not audible. Don’t matter. The thing lifts over the fire. Passes through the column of black smoke. Drifts close and down, down, down over you.

You got one chance at this. And if you fail, your death is gonna be fucked up.

The monster shrieks again and it’s three different sounds twisted around each other, each one loosening bowels and turning limbs to pudding and brains to scrambled eggs.

Closer. Closer. Your hands don’t feel attached to your body. You got them tucked behind you now—don’t know if that fucker is sentient enough and can’t risk it.

Until you can’t wait no more. The thing opens that godawful mouth, puffs itself up, and you got to move.

You throw. A Hail Mary chuck. Except the thing sees it, starts to duck to the right.

One of the stalk eyes brushes that little void thing.

The void bulb detonates.

It’s too fast to track. A rapid wh-wh-UMP, faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Your ears pop so hard it hurts, and your sinuses damn near explode right outta your face.

The air shifts itself so hard it drags you forward and you fall to your knees (ah fuck! Your bad knee!). The crew shouts and curses, and then it’s over.

You missed. You’d aimed dead center. But it hadn’t mattered too much there in the end.

Damn thing created a void, alright. Sucked in everything nearby so fast and so hard matter collapsed in on itself. Part of the monster was within range. The rest wasn’t, and the implosion was so sudden and brutal, it ripped that flesh right off.

Half the UFO thing comes crashing down. Its right side is torn clean off, eyeball popped and shriveled like a deflated balloon.

The resulting silence is deafening. Until you catch movement: Shadowheart waving, her mouth moving, yet no sound comes out. All you hear is sharp ringing.

Oh cool. You gone deaf. Totally fine. Nothing to see here.

Except you start to stand and the dizziness puts you flat on your back. Which then makes it feel like you’re lying on a microwave plate, spinning around and around under that big, blue sky.

You close your eyes. Swallow a few times.

A shadow falls over you and there’s Gale with a potion. You don’t even ask. Just slam the thing back. Sweet burning, and pain spikes in your ears and the ringing goes shrill…and then quiets. Dirt crunches. Wyll grunts. Shadowheart murmurs for her jesus hands.

“’S everybody okay?” you say.

Gale helps you sit up. Your spine cracks in three places. Wyll lies prone, Shadowheart over him while Karlach hovers anxiously. Lae’zel stands next to the halved monster, staring speculatively. Then she shakes her head all disgusted (hard to make a trophy outta half a head and a popped-ass eyeball).

She turns that look on you. Her expression does not lighten.

“I think Shadowheart has Wyll in order,” Gale says. “And I don’t believe there were any other serious injuries. Are you alright?”

No. You’re a fucking useless goddamn liability.

“Yeah,” you manage. You don’t look away from Lae’zel, who spits out a gob of blood and dirt. She gives you a last, withering look, and turns.

“Good,” Gale says because he wasn’t paying attention and is now unaware of the internal catastrophe kicking off in your head (she’s done, she’s done with you, it happened, you made a bad call and she’s going to abandon you and this is how it starts). “Through this debacle, I think we may have found a suitable object for you.”

“What?” you say. It’s hard to pay attention over the internal screaming. But he, blessedly oblivious, holds up the evil potion jar (monster prison) with a flourish.

“I sensed a strong binding spell on this when you first picked it up,” he says. “And that magic remains. And if it can hold a spectator within, I believe it can hold one human soul.”

Evil jar with an evil face. He’d mentioned that before, hadn’t he? The blood potion was just to keep your soul from wandering off, a type of mystical toddler leash. But here’s something to stuff it inside long enough for you to deworm your brain and find a fucking way home.

He lets you take it, feel the cool metal and the smooth ridges of that fucked up little goblin face on the front. A soul jar, just for you.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[ihateapbiology]

Hits different

final parttttt part four there

You immediately blocked her number, blocked her on everything you could think of, hell you found her Gmail and blocked it. How could you be so stupid. Of course she wasn’t a one girl girl, of course she was just fucking with you, but why. You really thought you guys had something how could someone fake that. You were hungry and realized when you stormed out of your apartment you had forgotten your wallet. You wanted to go back and you had hoped that Julien had enough self preservation to not still be there. You came up with a whole plan in your head on what you would do if she was still in there. You would act all unbothered and nonchalant barely even address her. You opened up your apartment door and didn’t see anyone. You poked your head into the bedroom and saw the bed made and no one there. She was gone. You grabbed some stuff and went to the gym to try to get your head right. You blasted “Down Bad” by Taylor Swift and then the rest of your music shuffled. It wasn’t helpful when a Julien Baker song came on. “Hell no she’s not getting my 3 ¢” you angrily thought as you skipped the song.

You had never felt this way before after ghosting someone or having another spark fizzle out. Hell you guys had been dating for just over a month why were you feeling this way. You weren’t dumb. You knew why in the back of your head. You had started the process of falling for this girl, and to have her break your heart, it hurt you. But you almost felt a little proud of yourself, you opened up a bit, a minuscule amount, and you knew this wasn’t your fault.

Your phone buzzed and you assumed it wa your best friend, Georgia, who you had just told what happened but it was actually Phoebe. She texted “y/n I heard what happened I’m really sorry can we talk.”

You had nothing against Phoebe, Julien’s actions weren’t her fault and you didn’t want her to feel awkward or like you two had any bad blood so you responded “yeah, I have a packed day today but tomorrow?” You didn’t actually have plans today you just didn’t really wanna see anyone no matter who it was.

But you two make plans to see eachother for lunch the next day and you continue trying to work through your feelings. You actually allow yourself to process and it makes you kinda feel better.

The next day as 1pm rolls around you go over to the cafe and see the white haired girl sitting at a counter. “Pheebs!” You smile and wave.

As you get a couple feet away from her she stands and says “(y/n hey! Please don’t hate me” she then steps to the side and darts away. You clench your jaw as you see the person behind her. Julien.

“Are you fu-“ you exclaim.

“Please please please let me explain.” She begs.

“I got the idea looking at those DMs.” You snap.

“No you really didn’t” she insists.

“Fine whatever speak.” You sit glaring at her.

“Ok thank you” she smiles “Maria is my ex. I broke up with her more than a year ago but she’s wanted me back ever since. She cheated on me so obviously I would never. She’s been texting me a lot more frequently as of recent probably because like one of our mutual friends must’ve told her about us. I blocked her on messages that’s why she was instagram DMing me. I saw her three days ago, not to hookup but to give her a very very firm talking to and just being like stay out of my life. Because I knew I was gonna ask you to be my gf. I probably should’ve told you about it but I didn’t want something to come out of nothing. I also should’ve blocked her there, but I didn’t think she was crazy enough to keep going after I talked to her. I’m sorry and I clearly see how you interpreted it that way after seeing those DMs.” She finishes and sighs.

Oh My God.

“I am an asshole.” You say bluntly. Julien also hands you her phone so you can scroll through their texts. She’s telling the truth. “Wow I am a literal psycho.” You say.

“Hey hey no you were just doing the best you could with the information you had.” She assures you.

“I never gave you a chance to explain, it’s just i never let myself get close to people, never even get in relationships cause im scared to get hurt and i was super on edge cause I really opened up to you and then I didn’t really think logically but I promise you I’m not crazy like that.” You offer her a smile.

“I know you’re not crazy and I really appreciate you opening up to me.” She says.

“I should’ve let you explain god, I feel so stupid.”

“Well in your defense I should’ve explained who Maria was at least long before this happened and communicated everything better.” She says.

“I guess we know we both need to work on different aspects of communication.” You softly say.

“Will you have me again?” She shyly smiles.

“The better question is will you have me.” You laugh.

“10000%” she smiles.

This conversation is the beginning of your and Julien’s beautiful relationship where you both heal from your pasts and communicate better! Huzzah!!! (can you tell I don’t know how to write endings)

[whenyourlipstouchedmine]

Somewhere after the movie

There were many things Lydia got from her little trip back to Beacon Hills, but the most important of them all was a lesson. 

A lesson in holding on to the things and the people we love because it might be too late if we don’t. 

It was hard to be back, especially after the past year. To go back on those streets, the same places and with the same people she grew up with… well, almost. 

The most important person wasn’t there. 

She knew that she was to blame for that, that maybe he didn’t want to go knowing that she’ll be there. She also knew how hard he worked, so maybe he just got caught up with a case and couldn’t find the time to drive down.

Either way, Stiles wasn’t there. And it felt wrong. 

It felt wrong to be detectives without him, to tie a red string on a board and not have him fussing over it, tying it around his fingers anxiously as he tried to figure it out. 

But that was her fault, too. It was she who left, her who put a stop to what they had because she was scared. Scared of a nightmare that felt too real not to pay it any mind. And, after her record, she didn’t want to risk it. Not when it came to Stiles. She lost him so many times already. 

“Are you okay, Lyd?” Jackson asks. It’s been nice to have him around. The whole bringing-Allison-back thing was hard enough, she needed a support system if her usual one was gone. 

She’s glad at least that worked out, and maybe it was seeing Scott and her best friend get back together as if no time had passed, or maybe it was the fact that she had to catch Allison up with everything she missed the past fifteen years, and the memory lane wasn’t a fun ride to go down. 

“You don’t look surprised,” Lydia asked her best friend after she finished the re-cap of her story. 

“About Stiles? How could I?” Allison laughed. “Lyds, you kept denying it but I could see it from a mile away. Besides, I do remember that kiss. Even with everything that was going on, you two… you were meant to be.” 

The words still play in her head now as Jackson waves his hand in front of her. 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Lydia asks, turning to face him. He just rolls his eyes in annoyance. He really became a totally different person after he left Beacon Hills, but Lydia thinks he likes it better like this, funnily enough. 

“You need to talk to him,” Jackson blurts out.

“Talk to who?” She frowns. 

“Oh, come on, you’re the smartest woman in the world, I’m pretty sure you can figure that one out.” 

“I—I can’t, Jackson. I can’t go back. I don’t even know if he still—“ 

“This is Stiles we’re talking about. The guy’s been in love since… what, eighth grade?”

“Third, actually—“ 

“Even better! Trust me, he’s not… he’s still in love with you. It would be stupid of him not to.” 

“I just don’t think it’s fair. After all, it was me who left without a warning,” she sighs. 

“Fine, then wait until the next supernatural crisis hits and we can all come back here and make it awkward like Malia and Scott! What the fuck happened between those two, anyway?” 

“Beats me…” Lydia says. 

“I’m just saying, I think you should call him. Or show up at his doorstep and tell him what happened. He’d do that for you.” 

And Jackson is right about that, Stiles would do that for her. He’d do anything for her. Once, after they moved to San Francisco, her bosses were being dicks and not giving her enough credit and he actually conducted an investigation that got them in trouble for neglecting their workers. 

“I’ll see what I do, but thanks for coming and… for everything else,” she hugs him. It’s time for him to catch his plane back to London. 

“Of course, but remember—“ 

“No word of this to Ethan. Got it,” she chuckles. “Have a safe flight!” 

“Call him!” Is the last thing he says before he closes the door and heads inside the airport. Lydia sighs and holds the steering wheel harder, thinking. 

When she closes her eyes, he sees the dream again, so clearly, so vividly, Stiles on the floor, glass shattered all around him, and the car on fire. He’s not breathing, and all Lydia can do is scream, but nobody hears her. 

She shakes her head and starts driving back to San Francisco. It’s gonna be a long ride, but she hopes that she’s made a decision by the end of it. 

(…) 

There are few things Lydia missed about using her powers again, but the random blackouts weren’t one of them. 

That’s the only possible reason she can think of as to why she’s parked her car in front of Stiles’ apartment. Or maybe it was just muscle memory. 

Or both. 

Call him. 

“Fuck it.” She says and she gets out of the car, trying to make herself look presentable as if Stiles hadn’t seen her at her worst. As if he hadn’t loved her even when she was locked up in an asylum, with her head drilled open. 

As she heads to the door, her heart starts to beat way too quickly for comfort. 

Maybe this is a horrible idea. Perhaps she should’ve called. What if he’s not home? What if he’s got someone over? She probably should’ve texted first to make sure he didn’t hate her. 

“Lydia?” 

She doesn’t even get to ring the doorbell. 

But, of course, he must’ve felt the red string of fate pulling as she got closer. 

“Hi,” her voice barely comes out, which is funny for a Banshee. “I—“ 

“Oh, my God,” he drops the bags he was carrying and walks to her to hug her so tightly she can barely breathe. “You’re okay, thank God.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, how to act. It takes her a few seconds to hug him back, too startled. But this is the place she belongs in: his arms. 

“Scott texted and… I didn’t know you’d be going back, too. Beacon Hills was—“ 

“It was Allison, of course, I went back,” Lydia says. “It was… weird being there without you, you know? We all missed you, I missed you.” 

“Did you?” He asks, and Lydia knows that he has every right to be defensive, but she doesn’t want him to be. 

“Of course, I did. I—“ she sighs. “Listen, can we talk? Upstairs, maybe? Or if you don’t want to, I can come back another day or we can meet up somewhere else that doesn’t feel so personal, or you can tell me to get the fuck out and—“ 

“I would never do that,” he says, and it hurts that Lydia knows. Even when she’s hurt him so many times, he still wouldn’t. “Let me—I was on my way to take out the trash, so let me do that and then you can come up, sure.” 

“Cool, yeah, sure, do you need any help with that?” She asks, pointing at the bags, but he shakes his head, smiling slightly. 

“Wouldn’t want you to stain those boots. They’re your favorite, aren’t they? Or maybe you got a new favorite pair now.”

“I don’t,” she says, maybe a bit too quickly. The fact that he remembers makes something warm burn inside her. The same fire that’s been burning for over fifteen years and didn’t die even when they were apart. 

She watches him go down the stairs to the bins down the street and come back with his checkered pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt that Lydia knows he loves to sleep in. 

It feels like nothing has changed except it has. Many things have changed. Dead people aren’t dead anymore and people who weren’t dead before, are. 

“Alright, let’s go?” He asks once he gets back to her, and she just shyly nods before she follows him inside. 

She knows the way to his apartment by heart, and could probably get there with her eyes closed if she wanted to, but she enjoys the sight of him. His hair is a bit longer, much like it was when they were in high school. 

She feels like she just jumped on a time machine and they’re back to the days when discovering dead bodies around their town was the norm. Well, he still kind of does, but he always said it wasn’t as fun without the rest of the pack. 

“Welcome. I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really… expecting anyone,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as he moves to the side to allow Lydia to walk in. 

The fact that it still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here gives her a bit of whiplash. Only the pictures of them two are gone, but Lydia doesn’t blame him for that. 

At least the ones of the whole pack are still there. 

“It’s okay, I’m used to your mess,” she smiles a bit, hoping it wasn’t too much for her to say. 

“Yeah, after hanging out in my teenage bedroom, I’d say you’re good,” he chuckles as well and closes the door behind her. 

It’s a bit awkward as they sit on the couch in silence, and Lydia is starting to second-guess coming here in the first place. 

“What did you want to talk about?” He eventually asks, and Lydia is surprised that she founds herself at a loss for words. That’s never happened before. 

“I… These few days have been very intense. Going back there, seeing all the people from our past… Allison coming back and losing Derek was very hard. It showed me the importance of not holding anything back because it might be too late.” She looks down at her hands as she starts fidgeting with her fingers nervously. She always does that. 

“Hey, Lyd? It’s alright,” he reaches over and holds her hand the same way he always did. The same way he used to unwrap the colored strings they used for their detective maps, the same way he did when he put a ring on her finger. A ring she left behind when she left. 

“Is it, though? Don’t you hate me even a little bit?” She asks, now turning to look at him. “Because, trust me, I do. I hate myself. I hate myself for leaving you like that, but I didn’t have a choice,” she says. “I— I’m sorry that I left like that, so suddenly and without explaining. I couldn’t—“ 

“Do you want to explain it now?” He asks, as gentle as usual, just as patient.

“I had a nightmare one night… we were driving somewhere and suddenly, it all turned black, there was a crack on the window, and you… you were on the floor, surrounded by glass and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t reach you, but you weren’t breathing.” She gulps. “And I know that I’ve had nightmares before, we both have, but—It kept happening, every night I dreamed the same thing until the point where I didn’t know if it was a dream or if it was a premonition.” 

“Well, I’m not dead, am I?” He asks. 

“You’re not, because I left. I was there in the dream, so I thought that… if I left, then—“ 

“You have to be kidding me,” he says, standing up. “Lydia Martin, you—“ 

“I couldn’t lose you, okay? Not like that! I—I couldn’t face you dying, Stiles. I’m sorry, I know it was selfish, but I just—I couldn’t be the reason why you died.” 

“So losing me anyway was the best idea you had? Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“Because I was scared! I was terrified of triggering it, so I just—“ she sighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I had no business stirring up the past like that, you—you never deserved it.” She stands up and starts to head for the door. 

“Hey, hey, hold on, I never said that,” he reaches out to stop her, grabbing her arm. “I’m just saying… Lydia, I’ve been in love with you since the third grade. Even when you barely acknowledged my existence, I loved you. Did you really think that I stopped?”

“You should have,” Lydia says with a bitter laugh. 

“Yeah, well, I also should have stayed home that night that Scott got bitten, I should have studied more for my exams instead of going around the woods every night, and I should have made sure to keep my Jeep in top-tier condition so it wouldn’t keep breaking, I should have done many things, but we all know I never was too good at doing what I should, was I?” He says, a smile on his face. “So, tell me, Lydia, why did you actually come here? Just to tell me that? So that I could… find closure and move on?” 

“I came because I missed you. Because being back in Beacon Hills without you felt wrong and made me realize how much I wished that I’d stayed. How much I regretted letting that nightmare drive me away from the only thing that I’ve ever had. You—You’re the love of my life, Stiles. And every second I’ve spent without you has been torture.”

“I’d say we’ve both been tortured enough in the past, haven’t we?” And with a swift pull, Lydia finds herself colliding against his chest. “Let’s stop that,” he says before he presses their lips together. 

And even though she’s been back in Beacon Hills, this is her true Homecoming. She wraps her arms around Stiles’ neck and deepens the kiss, making up for all the time they lost. 

“I love you so much,” she whispers against his lips, feeling her own tears rolling down her face. 

“And I love you,” Stiles says back with a smile. “Next time you have a nightmare, tell me about it instead of taking off in the middle of the night, yeah?” 

“I’ll try. If I don’t, come find me.” 

“Alright, deal.” And he kisses her again, and again, and again, for all the times he couldn’t, for all the nights he wished she was still in her arms, for all the minutes of the day he’s spent thinking about her since he left. 

And, when they find their way back to bed, Stiles gets a box out of his bedside table and hands it to her. 

“You kept it?” Lydia’s eyes open wide when she sees the ring. 

“Always kept hoping you’d come back,” he admits, sliding the ring on her finger and kissing it after. “I’m glad I was right.” 

“I am, too.” 

And the world might still be a freaky place with werewolves, banshees, kitsunes, nogitsunes, dark druids, and people coming back from the dead, but in their little bubble, it’s just them. 

It’s always been just them. 

[moonlightndaydreams]

What's Your Fanfic Fantasy Part 2

Premise: OFC + Chan + Jisung 18+ fanfic. Stayce been friends with rocker Chan and his bandmates for ages. What happens when she goes on a work retreat with them and Chan decides to tease her about the smutty fanfic she reads.

Kind of an AU (the guys are in a rock band), set in a seaside mansion. It's an sample/ of my longer fanfic on ao3 called "What's your fanfic fantasy?"

Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), unsafe sex, threesome f/m/m , praise kink, anal sex m/m, orgasm, vaginal fingering.

Read Part 1 here

“What was that Hyung?” Jisung asks but his eyes are firmly on me. How long has he been standing there?

“I didn’t catch what you said.”

Chan doesn’t take his eyes off me as he repeats himself, this time loud enough for Jisung, or anyone who might happen to be walking by to hear.

“I was just telling Stayce here that you find it completely fucking annoying that she can’t imagine having your cock fill her up”.

Wow. How fucking blunt.

He breaks his gaze from me and looks up at Jisung who hasn’t moved. “Don’t you Jisung?”

Jisung nods.

Embarrassment floods over me now, dulling the dread just a little, but also I feel a pang of guilt. I realise I might be giving Jisung the impression that I don’t find him attractive, or that he isn’t fuckable. It isn’t him. I know plenty of people have the wildest fantasies about him. The problem is me. I am the one with some sort of fantasy cock block.

Ifeel awkward and out of place, out of my depth, but Chan and Jisung are giving off a dark, controlling and far from awkward energy. They seem to be quite fine with this, actually. It’s like time has slowed down for them. They are taking their time, silently planning their next move. They aren’t in a rush at all. It’s like they’ve caught their prey. Me. And they are playing with me. Dragging out my fate.

It feels like an eternity before anyone speaks. And when they do it’s Jisung.

“Can I show her?” I can’t see his expression properly as the light is too dim. But from what I can tell he is giving off a mixture of energies: pissed off, lust and a hint of timidness. The timidness being toward Chan who seems to be orchestrating this whole situation.

“Yes, she needs to learn what it is you can do to her, so that she can’t imagine anyone but you fucking her.” Explains Chan.

Wait. What? Breathe. I need to breathe.

What did he just say? He needs to Show me?

Jisung walks into the room…finally, and sits himself next to me on the couch about half a metre away from me. I won’t dare look at his face, instead, I tentatively look down at his shoes in a bid to compose myself. White sneakers. Okay. I slowly begin to run my eyes up his legs. Baggy jeans. You’re doing good, Stayce. I trace his legs a little further up. Shit. He is fucking hard too. Even with the baggy pants and dingy light it is plain to see. Shit, don’t stare. To avoid lingering too long on his crotch, I quickly look up to a more appropriate eye line and see he is in an oversized black tee. His entire outfit is loose and baggy. It suits him.

I don’t want to look at his face. I am too ashamed. Why ashamed? Am I ashamed that I am finding this situation kind of hot? Ashamed to admit it because then Chan and Jisung would know I am into this? Even though, clearly, they are relishing this.

I try to push my thoughts aside and focus my attention on the collar of the shirt where it meets Jisung’s skin. His tanned, slender neck and protruding Adam’s apple looks so inviting. My mind flashes to a vision of nibbling up his neck. Slowly. Taking my time.

Well, I can at least envision that, right?

Jisung scoots closer to me now so that there is no space between us. The sides of our bodies are touching. I can barely breathe as he takes my chin in his hand and tips my head up gently to force me to look into his eyes. I have been avoiding his eyes, and I know why. I am held captive by them and feel him looking into my soul, like he can read my thoughts. His eyes are so big and Bambi-like and there is a desperate look in them, but his movements are confident and intentional.

“So can you at least imagine me this close to you ?” his voice is soft and low, and he casts his gaze down to my lips, almost brushing his lips with mine.

I shudder. He is so close I can feel his breath against my mouth. It’s intoxicating and it’s so intimate, although I know Chan is there too watching silently. I like that he’s watching, it heightens my arousal.

“What about this?” Jisung’s hand moves away from my jaw and begins tracing a circle on my knee with his index finger. Delicately, slowly, gently.

My breath hitches, and I can feel myself losing all rational thought.

With the side of his face still close to mine, he looks down to where his hand is and watches his fingers circling my skin, then looks back up to me to gauge my reaction. He bites his lower lip, his teeth digging into the flesh. God his lips are so soft and I have the urge to kiss him. I want to feel those lips on mine. I want him to bite my lip too.

As though sensing my desires, Jisung ever so delicately brushes his lips against the skin next to my mouth. He doesn’t want to give me what I want just yet. It appears he’s taking his time, making me wait.

He stops tracing my knee and places his whole hand on my thigh. His grip is gentle but firm with no hint of aggression or force.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs softly, his eyes downcast on on my lips.

I don’t say anything but lean my face in closer to his, and our lips meet. Gently. Just like all of Jisung’s movements so far, gentle but intentional. His lips feel soft and moist, and I immediately melt into the kiss, as tingles shoot through all my nerves. I part my mouth slightly and Jisung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past my lips. His grip on my thigh tightens and I feel a sense of urgency and hunger rush over me.

I want him to kiss me harder so I bring a hand to the side of his face and deepen the kiss. He gets the point and matches me with his own heated energy. The hand on my knee now moves around my waist, bringing me in closer to his body. Our breathing becoming heavy as we gasp for air between kisses.

This is better than anything I could have imagined alone in my bed fantasising. I wouldn’t have ever been able to imagine the feel of his plush lips on mine, or his warm tongue, or the feel of his body pressed against me. The way it is making me feel. I wouldn’t have been able to do it justice in my mind.

He is so close and he feels so good. But I need him even closer. I forget where I am and that Chan is even here. Right now my whole world is focused on kissing Jisung, and how perfect it feels.

Until he pulls away abruptly. A little whine escapes me and I feel pathetic for giving away how I am feeling. Not that they can’t tell.

Jisung slinks down to the floor and kneels in front of me and I instantly feel both the urge to tense up due to how vulnerable I am feeling, and a sense of fuck it! I am going to let myself enjoy everything Jisung has to offer.

He places a hand on each of my legs and parts them, automatically hitching my skirt up to an indecent placement. This position allows Jisung to kneel closer to me between my legs.

“I need you to memorise everything I’m about to do.” Jisung looks up at me for a moment and then down at my legs. “I want you to memorise the feel of my breath and my lips as I kiss your inner thighs”. He leans down to kiss the top of my thigh near my knee. “I want you to memorise my tongue against your skin”. He kisses my thigh just a little further up. “Can you do that for me?” another kiss. Little gasps escape me with each press of his mouth. I can already feel myself come undone.

“Yes!” I respond, my breath raspy. I can feel a tension growing in my lower pelvis and my whole body is starting to feel like jelly. Right now I’d let him do anything he wants. Absolutely anything.

“Good girl.” Another kiss to my skin. Good girl? Yes, I want to be a good girl for him.

“Stayce.” Chan’s voice is gentle and kind. I look over to Chan and Jisung halts his kisses.

“Jisung and I need you to know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” I look at him blankly.

“That’s right” says Jisung nodding profusely. “If at any time you want to stop, just say ‘red’ and we will stop immediately. We can stop now if you prefer. Before…” he trails off.

I take a moment to process what they were saying. It’s up to me how far this goes. I can simply enjoy the parts I want, and say no to the rest. No pressure.

I look back and forth between the two men. They are waiting patiently for my answer. For my consent. And I don’t feel pressured in the slightest. Wow, this feels empowering. This whole situation feels all about me, like they are doing this for me and not simply for them to get off.

“Okay, I want to continue for now,” I answer “and...I want to memorise your tongue buried in my pussy” I add, just to see how Jisung would react to such a statement.

With that the mood shifts. Jisung growls and hooks an arm under each of my thighs and drags me closer to the edge of the couch, positioning me in a semi-reclined position.

He resumes his kissing of my right inner thigh, and holding my leg in place so I don’t start trying to close them. His other hand explores my left thigh, gently caressing and stroking the sensitive skin.

My breathing is heavy now, my chest heaving. I can’t take my eyes off of Jisung as his kisses approach my aching, wet pussy.

“You’re so beautiful.” he murmurs.

“She is, isn’t she?” coos Chan.

I glance over to Chan who is palming himself through his tight jeans. He’s fucking getting off on this too. It only makes me feel hotter, more aroused. Being watched like this, it was something.

I’m brought back to Jisung as he takes his attention to my other thigh now, again pushing my leg wider with one hand as he greedily delivers hot wet kisses to the delicate skin. He is a lot messier and urgent now. His right hand reaches the juncture of where my thigh meets my underwear, a dark red lace g-string.

Jisung’s mouth, his lips, his tongue are still giving my left thigh all the attention in the world as it moves up to meet the other edge of my lace g-string. His right thumb pauses at edge of my underwear. I need him to touch me.

“You’re such a good girl for us, Stayce.” Chan says, his voice sounds breathy and hoarse.

There it is again. Good girl. This is becoming too much. The situation, the gentle yet messy kissing from Jisung, laying here with my legs in the air, Chan watching. It is the most erotic scene I’ve ever been part of. I feel like I’m going to orgasm as soon as Jisung’s fingers slip under my underwear.

“Please.” I whimper. Jisung lifts his gaze to me. He looks so fucking seductive.

“Please what?” His voice is deep and full of lust. He looks like he wants to devour me. “Say it.” He demands.

“Please… I need you inside of me.” I mean it too. I feel like the world is going to end if he isn’t inside of me soon.

Jisung stops his kisses but his hands remain dangerously close to my pussy. I just want him to slide his fingers through my wetness and press his tongue on my clit. I need him to.

“Why?” he pushes.

Oh God. Why is he making me wait?

“Because,” my breathing is heavy and being so aroused is making it hard to speak. “I need to learn what it is you can do to me, so that I can’t imagine anyone but you fucking me.” I echo Chan’s words from earlier.

Jisung’s eyes turn even hungrier. “That’s right, that’s why I need to be inside you. You remember. Good girl.”

With that Jisung swiftly removes my underwear, sliding then down my legs and flicks them to the side on the couch.

“Let’s get this skirt off you too.” he proceeds to slip my skirt off too. It has ridden up around my waist and feels uncomfortable. I am glad to get rid of it.

Jisung hooks his arms under each of my thighs again, hitching me back into the position we were in before. With one last “are you ready?” look from him, he buries his face up against my pussy. I am wet and my lips are engorged, ready for Jisung’s mouth.

He begins to slide his tongue from the opening of my vagina up to my clit, and sucks it greedily before starting again. Jisung lets out a hungry moan, showing me how much he is enjoying this. The sensation is almost unbearable. I am so close to climaxing, with every languid stroke of his tongue bringing me just that little bit closer to the edge.

Perspiration begins to coat my skin and my breathing is rapid. I reach down with one hand and tangle it in Jisung’s hair, pulling him in closer. I let out a pleading whimper. I need him closer, deeper. I need him inside. I need him to fill me up and consume my entire being.

While his tongue is still delivering the most insane attention to my clit, I feel his fingers at my opening. I tense up in anticipation. Finally, Finally, he sinks two fingers deep inside of me and I feel my body relax with relief as I feel the stretch. I let out a long, low moan as I accommodate his fingers. Jisung exhales sharply, and Chan releases a shaky breath from the other couch. This is intense for everybody.

I’m so very close now. I slide a hand under my left thigh to hold it higher and wider to give Jisung as much access as possible. With my other hand still in his hair I hold on for dear life as he curls his fingers applying pressure on my g-spot. I squeeze my eyes tightly and I throw my head back as Jisung continues to hit that deliciously tender spot.

“Come for him, Stayce.” Chan’s voice is hoarse and raspy. Jisung’s pace quickens as he fucks me with his fingers and I begin to roll my hips and buck up into his face and hand. Harder. I need it harder. He gets the idea and fucks me harder with his fingers. I can hear the heavy and ragged breathing from the two men, my moans and gasps for air, and the wet, slippery noises of Jisung’s fingers in my pussy.

I can’t hold it any longer and my orgasm hits hard. I feel like I am suspended in the moment and time is standing still. My breath has stopped, and my body has frozen as I hit my peak. Then waves of relief melt through my body, oozing through my veins and out my fingers and toes and my muscles relax. Jisung helps me through it with a consistent pace, gradually easing as I come down from my climax.

Holy fuck. I rest my head back and try to catch my breath. Jisung pulls away and I groan at the emptiness. I close my eyes taking a moment to savour this feeling.

“Taste her, Hyung.”

I eyes dart open to see Jisung kneeling back on his heels, arm outstretched towards Chan, offering his wet glistening fingers to him. Chan sits on the edge of the couch and takes Jisung’s hand in his. They look into each other's eyes as he takes his fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking his fingers that are covered in… me. Chan takes his time, making sure he gets every last drop. Chan knows how I taste. Oh my God, Chan knows how I taste! This is so erotic. The two men look so - intimate in this moment, as though there is something more than friendship between them. I watch mesmerised.

“Shit. This tastes so good, Jisung. Do you think she will be able to forget you now?” Chan says.

“But Hyung, I haven’t shown her everything yet.” Jisung sounds mischievous, his eyes have a naughty look to them, and his pants are tented from his erection.

I can’t help it, I have to say something. “That’s right,” I begin, “I need to know what his cock feels like.”

Jisung looks at me eagerly and scoots back to his previous position kneeling between my legs. He wraps his arms around me and despite his eagerness, presses his lips against mine in a gentle kiss. He breaks away and leans his forehead against mine.

“Can I please fuck you?” he whispers. He kisses me again, this time slipping his tongue inside my mouth. I can taste myself on his tongue. All three of us have had a taste now.

Jisung’s breathing is heavy as he works his kisses along my neck while he waits for me to give the green light.

“Yes.” I whimper.

Jisung pulls away and gets up from the floor. “Chan, help me move the chaise” he removes the drinks and glasses from the chaise-coffee table and Chan gets up to help him slide the piece of furniture towards me. I lift my legs up onto the couch allowing the chaise to sit flush with it, creating a bed-like setup.

I look over to Chan whose tighter than tight pants can barely hold him in. He is certainly enjoying the show that's for sure. I wonder what he was feeling and thinking as he sucked Jisung’s fingers?

Jisung is on to top of me, sliding me down and laying me on my back along the newly configured furniture. Kissing me, caressing my cheek. “I’m not going to let you forget me.” He lifts my shirt over my head and eases me up to remove my bra. I sigh at freedom. Jisung sighs at the sight. Chan groans from the side and I can see him unbuttoning his jeans. Although I can’t see clearly, I do see him unzip his fly and release his erect cock. It’s big, and he begins to stroke it, his eyes fixated on what was unfolding.

I grab Jisung’s hair as I frantically kiss his lips, his face, anything I can get my mouth to. I rub my hands down his back to the hem of his t-shirt. I want it off. I want his bare body against mine. I tug his shirt up and Jisung breaks our kissing to remove it, tossing it aside with my clothes.

“After this you are always going to imagine my cock inside of you. You know that right? You’re not going to forget me.” He says confidently between kisses. He is so sure of himself.

He grabs onto my leg as he lowers his hips between them and I can feel how hard he is. I roll my hips against him, most likely getting my wetness all over his jeans. My hands explore his bare torso, running them over his muscles. His shoulders. Oh God. They are so toned. His whole body is strong and toned. So this is what he’s been hiding under his baggy clothes?

Jisung stops kissing me long enough to finish undressing and resumes his position and I part my legs as wide and high as I can. I need him as close as possible. He lays over me, propping himself with one hand. He uses the other hand to line up his cock at my entrance. His eyes are locked on mine. I swallow hard.

This is it. I am about to get fucked by Jisung!

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his face in so I can kiss him. As I do he pushes into me. Slowly. All the way in. We both exhale in relief as he stretches and fills me. He pauses for a moment and leans his forehead against mine. It’s like this moment is almost too much for him. He looks into my eyes as he pulls out just as slowly, almost the whole way, then pushes his cock back in. Slow and steady, pausing for a long moment each time he is buried all the way inside of me. He does this a few times before picking up the pace and thrusting a little harder and faster each time.

“You’re so good taking me like this.” He says between thrusts. “So. Fucking. Good”. He pulls out almost all the way again, and slams into me hard this time. Over and over. The sound of skin against skin filling the room. The leather upholstery of the couch squeaking as I am being fucked into it. Our moans grow louder. Jisung’s kissing and touching becomes less controlled, almost frantic, as his hips snap violently against me. Chan is rubbing his cock with a look of delight on his face.

Sweat covers Jisung’s body, a drop rolling down his brow. I bring my hand to wipe it away. This feels so fucking amazing. He his fucking me relentlessly and I don’t want it to end.

“Jisung,” I pant “you feel so good”. He grins at me, pleased, not slowing for a moment. I smile back at him and try to remember his expression for later when I’m alone.

“Jisung, make sure you fuck her good.” Chan reminds us he is still here. Still watching. I notice him stand up and walk around the back of the chase behind Jisung and over to my left. Is he going to get me to suck him off? But he doesn’t come any closer. Instead, he kneels on the couch to reach over to a chest of drawers and pulls out a tube of some kind. Lube? I think it’s lube.

Chan swiftly removes his shirt, tossing it to the growing pile of discarded clothing. He places a hand on Jisung’s sweat-sheened back, and slowly strokes his hand along his skin until he is standing behind him.

Jisung’s breath gets caught in his throat as he registers Chan’s touch. I watch Chan from underneath Jisung, and I see him squirt some of the tube’s contents into his right hand. Oh my fucking god it IS lube! I start to feel my climax build at the mere thought of what might be unfolding. Chan holds Jisung by the hip with his left hand and steps closer to him. I can’t see exactly what is happening, but then Jisung sucks his breath in hard and then moans. It’s the sound of being teased and stretched. I am sure of it. His thrusts become wobbly and then he stops altogether, staying buried as deep as possible inside me.

Then another sharp gasp and a look of absolute pleasure washes over his face. A second finger, perhaps?

“Jisung, you’ve been so good to Stayce, you deserve to feel extra good today.” I watch Chan with his eyes fixated on Jisung’s ass, biting his lip, hungry for him. He gently strokes and caresses Jiung’s hip and thigh, then the small of his back.

“Do you think you can make her come again?” he says as he thrusts his fingers deep into Jisung. Jisung moans loudly.

“Maybe we could get her there together?” Chan adds.

Jisung nods desperately. “Yes.” He manages to muster. His whimpers let me know Chan has removed his fingers, it sounds a lot like mine when Jisung pulled his fingers from me. I see Chan quirt a large amount of lube into his hand, and what seems to be him applying it to his cock. From this angle I can’t really see what he is doing with his lower half, but Jisung’s responses are giving me a good indication.

Chan presses himself up against Jisung and I can feel the pressure push Jisung against me. He must be pushing his cock into Jisung. From the look on Jisung’s face, the pressure against me, and the increase in volume in his groans tells me that that was exactly what is happening. When I think Chan is fully inside, I wrap my arms around Jisung’s neck again and pull him into another messy kiss. I am close. Really, really close.

“Jisung, you’re doing so good for me, I just need you to go a little harder for a moment”. I’m not sure if he has heard me but I know he has because he immediately picks up the intensity. Chan seems to be holding off taking things any further with him for a moment, instead guiding Jisung’s hips into a steady rhythm.

My orgasm washes over me this time. Pleasure coursing through my body. A flood of emotions overcome me and I feel like I am going to cry. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.

Jisung is still declaring how I will never be able to forget him, but his words are starting to become incoherent and jumbled. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his eyes have become unfocused. He is struggling to maintain control of his senses, especially because Chan is starting to move in and out of him now.

I glance over to Chan and our eyes lock. His gaze anchors me back to the moment, grounding me in some way as the man between us is a mess, falling apart, whimpering and moaning incoherently.

Our eye contact instigates some sort of unspoken agreement. We need to take care of Jisung. Make the next part all about making him feel good.

I break away from Chan’s gaze and turn my attention back to Jisung. My hands are still around his neck, so I guide his head to rest into my neck and chest.

“Jisung, it’s time to us take care of you now.” I coo, stroking his face. He is incredibly beautiful when he's a mess. “Can you let us do that?”.

“Mmm hmm… please” Jisung begs, still lost in all the sensations.

“You took care of me so good, Jisung. And you’re still so hard inside of me.” It is true. His cock feels harder than ever, and I can feel the jolts of Chan’s thrusts becoming harder and faster.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jisung” I whisper. I continue to hold and stroke Jisung, whispering reassurances to him. It feels like Chan is fucking him to death.

“I’m gonna come…” Jisung announces all of a sudden, and I feel his whole body tense up and his cock pulse as he releases himself inside of me.

Chan continues to thrust, his hips slapping against Jisung. Jisung goes limp on top of me, completely exhausted and I continue to hold him tightly.

“You did so good.” I whisper so only Jisung hears. I hold his gaze. His eyes well up with tears.

“I did?” Jisung sounds like he is in disbelief.

“Yes, you were perfect.” I smile.

“You really won’t forget me?” Jisung’s voice sounds desperate. What started out as an order, a confident declaration of how I wouldn’t be able to forget what it feels like to be fucked by him, has turned into more of a pathetic and hopeful question. It makes me feel a swell in my chest and I want to wrap him up and look after him.

Chan is still fucking him relentlessly trying to reach his own climax. He hadn’t been making much noise except for a few grunts here and there, when suddenly, without warning, he lets out a long low moan as he releases himself inside Jisung. He leans down and kisses Jisung’s back, then pulls out his cock gently. “I’m going to get some towels.” He walks off for a moment to gather the aftercare items.

Jisung pulls himself out of me, and lays against my side and I continue to hold and stroke his face. ‘Holy shit!” he says, “I didn’t know this was going to happen!” he lifts himself off me and props himself up on an elbow. He has pulled himself together slightly and he grins blissfully.

Chan returns with towels and he helps Jisung clean up, and Jisung helps me clean up. We don’t say much as we find our clothes and get dressed again, but we do share blissed out, freshly fucked grins and facial expressions. We are exhausted but feel amazing.

>>> Read Part 3 Here

@channieandhisgoonsquad this was part of that first story I wrote… Jisung with feelings (you find out later he’s in love with her)… needing praise… soft dom… 🥵

[kryptoniteheadcanons]

Thoughts on Black Christmas (2019)

Uhh....brief mentions of sexual assault. Spoilers I guess ...it’s Black Christmas 2019 I don’t think anyone cares.

- I don’t know if I'm going to make a separate post comparing the three of the movies, I might end up saying everything I need to say  in this review. 

- Once again, stop making remakes and sequels that have nothing to do with the original. 

- That snow angle shot was actually pretty cool, I like it. 

- This movie being set at christmas is just as arbitrary as the first one. 

- Yeah, that diva cup thing was pretty awkward. Why did there have to be complete silence while she was putting it in? You couldn’t have used that time for dialogue?

- Oh hi Cary Elwes ….didn’t expect to see you here. 

- God I fucking hate it when professors call on you even though you didn’t raise your hand.

- Also they make Cary’s character so fucking creepy that the first time I saw this I he  assaulted Riley.

- “He totally went off on me because I asked why there were no women, or people of color, or queer people on the syllabus.” Yeah that is weird, most classics lists i’ve seen for colleges, even in 2019, at least have like Frankenstein or a book by one of the Bronte sisters. You have to be trying to not have a woman on the list. (Also: I don’t think they ever mentioned any of their majors? I feel like that would have been a good thing for character building, at least for Riley) 

- Yes, Riley does need to take back her agency and learn how to live her life again, but I don’t think getting up on stage to sing and dance about what is probably one of the most traumatic experiences her life, in front of the person who assualted her, is really the healthiest or safest way to do that. 

- Also, am I the only one that thinks Kris petitioning to get the bust removed from the main hall and that actually happening sounds weird? Maybe it’s just because I went to community college so I don’t know how larger, more established colleges work but that sounds like she was probably petitioning to get the name of the school changed and they just did the bust thing as a ‘compromise’. 

- What did they steal for Kris for the pledges to know that she had to be killed too? 

- Nate, dude, I know you have a migraine or whatever but just leave the room or something. 

- I feel like a lot of real world discussions about feminism and equal rights end up like the one that happened in the kitchen so I think maybe this needs to be said: We do need men in the world, however what we don’t need is bigots and abusers. Misogyny negatively effects all of us, you can talk about the issues men face without having to put down women. 

- I find it really odd that this movie claims to be a more ‘feminist’ version of Black Christmas (I have no idea if the director or writer intended that, maybe it was just a studio or marketing team thing) but they cut out the women’s reproductive rights subplot? How do you even do that? 

- I kind of wish this movie was a full on psychological thriller of Riley having to actually process her trauma instead of being a qausi-slasher movie. 

- Referencing the point above, I feel like the ending is in this weird limbo where it’s not weird enough to clearly be an allegory but it’s also not normal enough to be like, believable. 

- Was Riley’s smile fading at the end because one (or some of them) got out alive or because she realizes that she just destroyed half of the evidence that proves she and Kris didn’t kill all those people?

- Do I think this movie is misandrist propaganda? No. Do I think this movie is great and everyone should see  it? also No. I think its a movie that tried to do something good but fumbled and wound up in a no woman’s land of cringe dialogue and ham fisted morals. 

- also in case anyone was wondering, my favourite character was Jessie, she reminds me of one of my cousins. 

[zaewriteshere]

Guardian of the Protocol

Fear

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After that, you went directly to Ling, who you knew was probably in the Infirmary or in the training area, following the orders of Liam. 

You remembered that Ryo would probably be there, too.

This was gonna be awkward.

In front of the door, you knocked gently, as if to not disturb the patient, but loud enough to be heard.

“Come in,” Sage’s gentle voice answered you.

You did as told, careful to not make sudden noises or movements. As you turned, you met eyes with Yoru, who was holding his throat, as if sore. His expression was unreadable. You didn’t waste much time on him, though, and decided to face the doctor of the group, apologetic.

“Chief told me to go to you to… Explain a bit more what I’m capable of,” You tried explaining.

“I will get to you once I’m finished with the patient here,” She replied, gesturing to the man, who scoffed. 

“Can I help ?” You questioned, eager to redeem yourself.

“Can you ?” She didn’t seem too convinced. You smiled softly.

“I can. It’s one of my abilities,” You explained.

Though, you guessed that they didn’t trust you just yet, since Ling probably has only heard Ryo’s side of the story, if any at all. So you walked up to the table and took a scalpel – not before asking if it was ok if you used it – and cut your palm open enough to draw blood. The healer gasped and took the knife out of your hands, about to scold you. You spoke before she could, though : 

“It’s fine, look.” 

And you summoned a healing well right where you were, showing your palm to both of them, which healed without any scars, only having drying blood left on your hand.

“Ryo, you might want to come here. I can’t do these often,” You turned to the injured, stepping aside. 

He reluctantly stood up, and walked to the zone, hesitating just a bit before stepping inside. The slight pained expression he was wearing seemingly disappeared to just leave his features neutral. 

“I also wanted to apologise. It was self defence, and I had no ill will towards you. You’re an annoying fuck, but you still have my respect. Just, don’t try that again, alright ?” You smiled at him, and his look turned from neutral to unreadable. 

“Whatever,” Yoru finally said, digging his hands in his pockets. He turned to Ling, who was silently watching the interaction, “Can I go now ?”

“I will need to make sure that you’re okay, first. Please sit back down,” She replied patiently. He groaned, but didn’t fight it. You simply turned away and headed to the exit, not wanting to make the man more uncomfortable than he already was. 

You went out of the room, leaned against the wall, and waited, crossing your arms. 

You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the door open and close. Looking up, you saw Ryo who met your eyes, before looking away with a scowl.

Fair enough.

Your gaze went down to his neck, and was relieved at the lack of injury there. 

It did work.

You didn’t say any other word to him, and he didn’t either. After another couple of seconds, he walked away silently, hands in pockets. 

You tried not to think too hard about that interaction. 

Ling called your name, and you entered the room again. You looked around, taking in the infirmary. You didn’t really have one back home, seeing as most people had ghosts.

It was clean and bright, with lots of beds. Well, bright because it had lots of neon lights, since the HQ was underground. Everything was neatly in place, and as you took a deep breath in, the distinct smell of rubbing alcohol met your nose. 

“That was pretty impressive,” Complimented the doctor, looking at you with a gentle smile. You politely returned the favour.

“It’s a warlock thing. We’re healers and buffers, but that doesn’t mean we’re incapable of fighting,” You explained as clearly as you could. “I can also launch a magic grenade-” Sage cut you off.

“Maybe it is best to be going to the training grounds, then,” She announced, already heading for the exit, and leaving you to be.

You nodded, but froze in place when you looked above the door frame.

What was this ?

It was… Creepy. It had so many legs and… Did it have more than 2 eyes ?? 

It moved to your direction and you screeched, your flight, fight and freeze instincts kicking in.

This time, you froze.

You screamed again when the door was violently opened by none other than Ryo, slightly out of breath, looking around for any threat. 

Seeing none, he looked at you, confused, then at Lynn, who was looking at this thing, unimpressed. 

“Can you believe that they have defeated literal Gods, but are afraid of a harmless little thing a few metres away from them ?” They spoke, more to themselves than anything.

You could only see his reaction out of your peripheral vision, not able to force your eyes away from this horrifying creature. It moved again, and you jumped back, knocking a few things on the ground and injuring your hands.

You barely registered the pain, however.

Your heart pumped in your temples, you were so afraid of what it could do, you’ve never encountered something like this-

Yoru crushed it with his bare hands. He turned to you, shaking his limbs.

“There. Because apparently you can almost kill a man within seconds but aren’t capable of taking care of a spider,” He muttered something in Japanese, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.” And just like that, he left you, allowing Ling to poke her head in, as well as KAY/O’s and Liam’s. 

Lynn sent you a reassuring aura, trying to calm you down from your panic.

“What happened ?” Questioned Sage, her tone filled with worry. 

“You okay ?” Continued KAY/O, stepping inside.

You tried dismissing the concerns by a hand gesture, but you hissed when you felt the pain in limbs, then realised you cut yourself numerous times when you knocked over some sharp objects. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I just got scared of a…” You took a moment to think of the word used by Ryo, “A spider ? Whatever that means,”

“Are you arachnophobic ?” Gently asked Ling, walking up to you and taking your hands into hers, looking at your cuts and scratches. 

“Arachno-what ?” You repeated as best you could, not familiar with this word.

“Afraid of spiders,” She explained, her attention focused on your wounds.

“If what I saw was one, I guess so,” You shrugged. You saw the robot and your superior enter the room quietly, as if to not disturb the doctor at work. 

“You don’t know if it was one ?”

“I’ve never heard of their existence until now,” You confessed. Everyone froze at the announcement, observing you with a puzzled look on their faces.

“You’ve never seen a spider before ?” Asked KAY/O, tilting his head.

“They’re not really a thing in my home,” You explained, sheepish.

“You have much scarier and bigger things, though,” He continued, unconvinced.

“I know what and who they are, as well as why they’re here and how to defeat them. Something new like this… I don’t know anything,”

“So you are more scared of what you don’t know…” Stated Liam, thoughtful. 

“Pretty much,” You confirmed, nodding.

“I think introductions are in order, then,” Your chief nodded, but at the glare that Ling gave him, he quickly added : “Once we’re sure that you’re okay, of course.”

You sighed, but nodded. You winced when she disinfected your hand and put bandages on it.

It was gonna be hard for your fingers to move around for quite a while.

[compassionatereminders]

A man who is working close by where I live who I have seen a few times now, but I have only spoken to three times (conversations only consisting of “hi, have a nice day” “thanks you too”) left a big bouquet of flowers on my doorstep this morning. In the flowers where a note where he said that he thinks I’m very beautiful. He apologizes for “stalking” me (which I think (hope) is meant more in a jokey way) and saying he hope that he hasn’t scared me.

Well.. he has scared med. Not that I feel like I’m in danger, but it feels like a very overwhelming and crazy thing to do for someone you don’t know! And he knows where I live (he hasn’t stalked me to find out, he has been working right around the corner of my house so anyone working there would know I live there). Also I have no idea about his age, he could be 10 years older than me for all I know (and that feels like a lot when I’m in my early 20’s).

I don’t fucking know what to do in this situation! I can’t take his flowers! I’m fucking scared of confrontations, and no matter how creepy it is, I can’t help but think that maybe he’s just a super awkward clueless man who don’t see that it’s a weird thing to do. Since he hasn’t left his number or anything on the note, I’m sure he’ll come by again to ask if I got his flowers and note…

Tell him that you appreciate the gesture, but that you're not comfortable receiving gifts from a stranger and that if he truly didn't mean to scare you, he needs to back off now. Because even if he's genuinely just an awkward, clueless man with good intentions, that doesn't give him the right to cross clearly established boundaries. So hopefully establishing a boundary will be enough to get him off your back