#also my clay wasn’t always too wet

[the-average-procrastinator]

Improving a little, esp after having my tutor time :)

Still having issues with trimming the rim without the wet clay tearing tho :/

[wthtorke]

Tiny read of things people like doing! (1/?)

Gender neutral reader x Yautja - 321 words - No warnings

Sculpting

  Not many yautjas pursued the field, even as a pass time. They were good with their hands, but anything that wasn't incredibly violent or combative in some way was rarely encouraged. Paya knew how they still had scholars. It seemed fitting for humans, though. He'd watch you work for hours. Sometimes you'd do ceramic pieces. He'd watch you wet your fingers before going back to the turning piece of clay on the wheel. There was just something entirely mesmerizing about watching your fingers work. He started off sitting and ended up laying on the couch, whatever tension melting from his form as the minutes went by. He felt molded by you, in some way. The ability you had to affect him so much. "Wrapped around the finger" was an expression he had heard once, when a human does whatever the other one wants, simply for being themselves. He understood it. He felt wrapped around your fingers like whatever you were sculpting. Never had he thought he would be in a situation like this. Never did he think he would be praying for the days to last forever, just so he could spend them like this. With you, and only you. "Purring is really the best work background noise, I think." His blinks. "Aw, don't stop! You always stop when I mention it, but can I help myself? It's so dang adorable." He scoffs, shifting on the too small couch to get comfortable again. Humans. Give them a little space and they walk all over you. "That cat next door ain't got nothing on you." He gets up from the couch, dragging his finger across the wet clay before smearing it on your cheek as you laugh. He points at the unfinished piece on the wheel. "Fine fine, I'll entertain you some more." You shake your head, wetting your fingers again as he sits down, sighing and getting lost in you again. --- This was posted SIX MONTHS AGO ✨Here✨

Also my commissions are -open-. It's $1 for every 100 words and the best part: anything I come up with over what you paid is on me 💖 Something like what you just read would be $3 for example ;) hit me up!

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 4 – First Changes (2 Months)

It’s happening! Slowly – but surely. I noticed the first small changes over the last few weeks. And, despite obsessively checking myself for changes every day, I found the first thing completely by accident.

I don’t bleed anymore. I nicked my finger while cooking, and nothing happened. Eventually there was a little blob of red goo there, but it wasn’t watery like blood, and after a while it seeped back into the wound. That’s what my blood is like now. It kinda makes sense that it would be the first thing to change, since it’s already liquid, and it’s what’s carrying the shifterising hormone around my body. I can’t feel it, I can’t control it, but knowing that I’ve got goo in my veins (what a thing to say) is weirdly validating. All those pills I’ve been taking are actually doing something! And I’d swear the cut healed faster than usual – though that might just be me seeing things where there aren’t any.

Speaking of seeing, my eyesight is changing. Or, maybe not the sight itself, but what my brain is doing with it. I’m noticing details more. It’s like how, sometimes, after meditation, I feel like I’m seeing things more as they are, rather than seeing what I expect to see. I imagine it’s what it’s like for an artist studying something they want to draw. Except now it’s happening spontaneously, and more intensely. For a moment, I can look at a tree and take in the whole thing at once, every leaf and branch, and remember it. It’s intermittent – more often than not I’m still seeing things the old human way – but it’s happening enough to notice.

Everyone always says shifters have a really good eye for detail. In all the human stories where shifters are monsters, that’s how they’re able to imitate and replace people so easily (assuming they don’t just absorb them, which also often ends up happening in those stories). I think this must be the start of it.

Some patches of skin feel different, too. There’s one on my leg, one on my stomach, and another on my back. They look the same, but the texture is slightly different, and I can tell where they are even without touching them. If I really focus, I can make them feel just a bit softer and squishier than normal flesh. Not quite like goo, not yet, but definitely different. I’m thinking these will be the first parts to turn fluid, eventually.

And one more thing: I bought one of those shifter art things. Maybe you’ve seen them? – a little bowl full of goo, with a button on the side that you twiddle to change the goo into different shapes. Or, maybe ‘putty’ is a better word – it’s a bit like wet clay that doesn’t dry. It’s a sculpting toy, basically – that shifters invented. I’ve wanted one for years, but never dared, because someone might see it and… guess what was going on in my head? Who am I kidding? – no one is going to see that and think maybe you want to be a shifter! If they even noticed it, they’d take one look, think that’s a funny little thing, and move on. Paranoia is… well. I don’t think paranoia is too strong a word for it. Everything I did had to be checked against would this make people suspect?, and that overrode everything else. Any sign had to be hidden at all costs. I still didn’t dare buy it in a shop – I ordered it online – but now it’s here, sitting on my shelf, and so far no one has called me a monster. I don’t think anyone’s even noticed.

Right now it’s in the very rough shape of a dragon. Well, OK, so it’s basically a blob with two little blobs that kinda maybe could be wings… and looks more like a mushroom… what you can do with the button is very limited! But the real appeal of these is that once I can turn fluid, I’ll be able to flow into it, mix with the putty, and sculpt it from the inside using my own shapeshifting ability. It’s no wonder shifters love these things. Some of the pictures I’ve seen online are amazing – almost as amazing as what they can do with their own bodies. What I’ll be able to do, eventually.

And so that’s it! Two months, and things changing already! I’m still taking my human hormones – I’ll have to keep doing that for a while – and I still haven’t told anyone (ugh, don’t want to think about that), but for only having been on this for such a short time, things couldn’t be better!

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[swifty-fox]

mmmmm gimme that 18 and 22

18. from that one WIP thats no plot just vibes

all my MOTA fic is plot but ive got an old wolfstar supernatural murder mystery i abandoned

Remus is dreaming. Or at least he thinks he is.

It’s the type of dream where he can feel the tips of his fingers and the weight on his chest and every single molar in his jaw. The type of dream where dread and horror and fear sit in his lungs and prevent him from drawing breath. 

He is buried alive. 

He can feel the rich fertile earth covering his body, taste the clay and silt in his mouth. Crawling, desperate, hungry things slither over his body. He can hear the sounds of their chewing in his ears and he wants to scream only if he opens his mouth that will let them in. His flesh rots, his eyeballs melt out of his skull. The skin around his lips turns wizened and desiccated, peeling back from his teeth like the pages of a book.

Remus is bones, is decay, the worms feed on his decomposition and snakes slither through the latticework of his sternum. He breathes, and his lungs fill with mushrooms and soft nesting things. Butterflies alight on his corpse and sip the sweetly soured decaying flesh. There is a buzzing in his mouth, a soft wet bumblebee struggling to get out.

He opens his mouth. Mud fills his throat. The bee ceases her noise and a giant black spider emerges, scuttling past his lips and into the forest. 

His parents are screaming his name, screaming for him. To run. To fight.

Fight it, fight it Remus, you have to fight it.

Remus opens his mouth. He opens his mouth and the spider escapes. He opens his mouth and the hungry things come pouring in, devouring him from the inside out. He opens his mouth and screams.

There is a bird who sits on a tower. With beady eyes so clever. Who sees the curling petal. Of every single flower.

A boy is staring at him. A boy with blue eyes and blue lips and blue, bruised, dead skin. His palms are stained and his body is bare, dehydrated and loose-limbed like a porcelain doll torn from its stand. He smiles at Remus with bloody, perfect teeth.

22. that is so blissfully indulgent

me hwne Gale angst and also he loves John

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.” 

He glances up at Bucky and it's the other man who averts his gaze this time, face paling. He sits down heavily across from Buck and rubs a hand across his mustache, still avoiding eye contact.

“I meant to.” He finally says then laughs sharp and bitter, “I musta put pen to paper a thousand times. But I- well. The words just wouldn’t come. Figured eventually I might as well drive out and fetch you back with me.” 

Gale's anger stutters and then goes out completely, leaving him hollow. Of course, of course he wasn't the only one with memories that nipped at his heels. And John, the man that he was, had decided to do something about it for the both of them. Who shouldered a sixteen hour drive because of course a letter wasn’t good enough, he’d already chased Buck into the heart of enemy territory, what were a few state lines?

“John Egan,” Buck drawls, “always to the rescue.” Bucky laughs, a genuine noise that sounds so foreign in the cold bare kitchen.

John was fake on the surface and all real underneath. Real bravery and real heart, a man who jumps on an armed German guard to save his friend. Who volunteered on the next mission out all because his friend had been shot down. And Gale, well he was just the opposite wasn't he? All real on the thin top layer and below that nothing much of substance. A good soldier, a good leader; good at being a man in all the ways that garnered approval and respect. He honed it to perfection, perfect responses full of bravado, not too harsh but not too intimate either. But below that…there was very little to behold. No matter how many times the other guys told him, he told himself, there would always be the fact that John faced down armed guards and Buck ran

[thelewdpokemanik]

Miu iruma, junko enoshima, or Kaede Akamatsu .

Which one is the most fitting of the "ultimate bimbo" according to makoto ?

Thank you @cowedeacumootsu for both the ask and the images! Love Love <3

"Ah well, I think it depends on what you're looking for in a bimbo, right? For example, Junko's got the style down pat."

"The make-up, the clothes, the hair, she's not the Ultimate Fashionista for nothing. I know she's always wearing that thick lipstick just to leave rings around my cock. But that's also a big flaw of hers for some people I would think. Very much a free thinker, forward planner, and go-getter kinda girl. Can't say I don't see the good in that myself, but some people think a good bimbo should be an obedient one, and I can understand that too.

Can't count the number of times my plans were waylaid because Junko ambushed me in a hallway, or was waiting for me in my dorm room.

If you prefer your bimbos more docile, then you'd probably prefer Miu."

"That girl won't be trying anything, and if she does, she'll fold if you so much as raise your voice at her. Manhandle her for a bit, and she'll melt. Give her a good spanking, and you'll have a love-struck slave on your hands for the next few hours.

I learned how to handle her the hard way if you will. Miu was a tease and a bitch when I first met her, or she was acting like one at least. She kept pushing me and pushing me, until I finally gave her what she was asking for.

A few hours later, Miu had learned that teasing me meant me being horny and that I wouldn't hesitate to put the slut in her place to satisfy myself.

That doesn't mean she doesn't still try, but we both know she's simply trying to rile me up to fuck her. And if I don't feel like it, or am busy with another slut, simply telling her to 'go masturbate in a corner' will have the blonde scampering to obey me.

But another issue that both those girls have is that I think they fail to be bimbos on a more base level. Oh, they might look and act like bimbos, but they don't think like one.

Both Junko and Miu are Ultimates. They may act like bimbos, or dress like one, but they will always be their Ultimate before anything else.

That’s probably why I would personally say Kaede’s the best bimbo.

When Kaede first entered this school, she was scouted as the Ultimate Pianist. She was known pretty widely as the Piano Freak, a girl who would regularly play until she passed out, either from lack of sleep, or hydration.

But the moment I saw her, I saw something special

With her determined attitude, her single-minded passion, and the way her tits strained against her sweater, I saw a girl who wasn’t operating at her full potential. And as her Senpai, I decided I had to help her out. Give her proper guidance, if you will.

A few hours later, Kaede was drowning in my cum, and her brain was like wet clay, ready to learn at my feet.

Later that same day, Kaede was walking into the headmaster’s office, begging him to let her change her talent to train and become the Ultimate Bimbo.

It’s been a few months now, and I’m pretty sure Kaede couldn’t care less about piano, unless you were talking about fucking her atop one. The only thing she cares about nowadays is cock and cum and sex. She’s been making good use of Hope’s Peak’s facilities to train both her body and mind to become a proper sex toy every day since we first met.

And, well, the results speak for themselves, don’t they?"

"Like I said, the girl’s driven. She knows what she wants, and she wants to do it until she physically cannot anymore.

Problem is, not just anyone can handle the new Ultimate Bimbo. Once, she invited her whole class, boys and girls, to an orgy, where she fucked all of them into the ground. Thankfully, the Ultimate Nurse was on site, or Hope’s Peak might’ve been in trouble with all the broken pelvises and dehydrated students.

Even luckier, I was close by to fuck the cow into unconsciousness before she could attack the nurse.

Though the experience did nothing to slow down Kaede’s training. If nothing else, the school was even more invested in seeing just how far she could push herself, and, well, now they also had a boy to keep her in check.

Can’t say if I really deserved the title of Ultimate Stud after that incident, but most everyone agreed, so I didn’t try and resist when they gave it to me. I think it’s mostly honorific until I actually begin making use of the training Hope’s Peak has offered me, though I don’t see much of a reason to do so.

I also didn’t protest when they moved Kaede to my room, for me to fuck into a babbling mess every night, lest she sneak into some unsuspecting victims’ room for the night.

And I can’t deny that Kaede deserves to be called the Ultimate Bimbo either. Usually, I have to go through two, maybe three, sometimes four girls before calming down enough to put my pants back on, but Kaede isn’t afraid to match me thrust for thrust.

By the time I fuck her to exhaustion, I’m feeling pretty winded myself. Not ‘tired’, of course, but still. Enough that some of the other girls are starting to feel backed up themselves now that I no longer need to go through half the student body every week.

All of them, Kaede included, whenever she’s coherent enough to speak actual words, have been asking me to go through the Ultimate Stud training Hope’s Peak is looking into. I haven’t been too interested, to be honest; I’m fine as I am, and while sex is fun, and great exercise, my libido is more of an issue than anything else.

But, I can’t deny that I might have to. After destroying all the girls of Hope’s Peak, it wouldn’t do to not take responsibility, and train until I could actually satisfy them all, even as Kaede’s own training allows her to keep going for longer and longer.

Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good idea; I need to make sure I can both satisfy the Ultimate Bimbo and all the other Ultimate sluts that are begging for my cock.

And, well, Ultimate Stud is probably better than Ultimate Lucky Student, right? Can’t deny that the benefits are a lot better, at least."

[toadallytickles]

Got to celebrate Valentine’s Day early and all weekend at the Super Bowl tickle gathering!! Tons of fun as always! ❤️🏈

- Clay and I did everything we wanted to do this weekend! Like playing with certain people! Meeting friends in-person for the first time! I watched my very first Super Bowl game!

- We also met a few fans of our content! That’s always super flattering and awesome! Happy we met some of you!! 🥰

- I was quite switchy this weekend, usually I lee, but this time I equally lee’d and Ler’d~. Definitely have special cravings for certain tickle boys hng~. 🍽️

- Got to be switchy with someone I usually play with at gatherings.. I love being tickled by them.. but wrestling them and tickle-dominating them was so much fun too.. especially when they’re bigger than you…. Their reactions .. so fueling unf im feral… I also got to introduce them to the position where their wrists are cuffed behind my back, so I have easy access to a ton of upper body spots~. 🥴💦

- also we got walked in on while they were sitting on my back tickling me ….. 🥴🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤💦 i love being caught~

- then Clay and them GANG TICKLED ME WHILE I WAS HIGH EEE!! (〃˘▽˘ ʃƪ)*:・ﾟ✧♡ (even tho I was actually really shy and embarrassed about this like it was so gross omg like 🙄 let’s not remember this please)

- A c t u a l l y, I Ler’d more than lee’d.. Clay got tipsy Friday night, I was high. He was curled up in blankets and I just felt like being mean to him 1. because I can, 2. I knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t fight back, so I tickled him into this ticklish lil ball.. he was extremely ticklish to light tickles.. his laughter was so high-pitched and giggly.. so funny, I couldn’t stop laughing at him and torturing him~ 🤭❤️

- oh yeah we found out there was a dispensary nearby so we got edibles~ :)c

- I somehow found the confidence to wear 2 different crop tops (in one day lol).. very shy about that but I got a lot compliments~ :)c ❤️

- And then no one can do anything more embarrassing during a session than me now, I’m still cry-laughing about it honestly: Clay and I were playing, he already made me cum once and then was overstimulating me with the Hitachi.. I have an amazing second orgasm but I wet-fart basically in his face during it, and then I actually squirt unexpectedly but it’s just yellow against the white hotel sheets (and I wasn’t drinking enough water) .. so I pretty much peed the bed…. our session ended after that LMAOO, but we’re both laughing, and Clay’s glad I’m laughing instead of crying. I clean myself up and then Ler him~. On the drive home, I think about how much of a green flag that is in our relationship and as play partners. Anyone else, I’d be mortified. But with Clay, it’s hysterical and now another fun memory~.

- Lastly, I’m just really happy with how this gathering turned out for me because I could apply my growth and what I have learned at past events and kink classes to curate my experience! It’s been a lot easier navigating kink communities when you know yourself, your boundaries, and what you’re looking for~. 🥰

[aiden-luchian]

Beautiful Adaptation of a Hobby | Q&A

Mitchell Romani, an Endicott College student hailing from Fremont, New Hampshire, has always had a keen interest in the arts, particularly drawings and paintings. However, despite his passion, he never progressed past the casual level of creation. That is until he was introduced to the world of pottery and ceramics, which he quickly fell in love with. With the help of his community, Romani was able to take his artistry to the next level and cultivate a talent he never knew he had. Since his initial experience with ceramics, Romani has been giving back to the community that helped him discover his new favorite pastime. He began by gifting his pieces to friends and family, but soon found himself selling beautiful vases and other items in his neighborhood. His success has allowed him to pay back those who helped him along his ceramics journey, from the teacher who first introduced him to the medium to the friends who provided support and encouragement along the way. Romani's dedication and passion for ceramics have sculpted an unknown hobby into a beautiful piece of his life. He continues to experiment with new techniques and styles, pushing himself to grow as an artist. For Romani, ceramics have become much more than just a hobby; they are a source of joy and fulfillment that he plans to continue cultivating for years to come.

A Q&A with Mr. Romani

(Q is Aiden asking a question, A is Romani replying). 

Q: How did you begin to be interested in pottery, and what inspired you to begin your “business”?

A: I started my senior year of high school. I spent a lot of time drawing and painting, but I got put into a ceramics class. I wasn’t very good at it at first, but the teacher offered to put me and my friends on the pottery wheel, rather than freehand sculpting, and so we started spending a lot of time using that tool. I didn't have a class at the end of the day during that semester, so we would have an extra hour to make stuff, and we got pretty good at it with that extra practice. It got to the point where we were making way too much pottery. I didn't want to have any more because it was building up in my house, so I decided that I should start giving pieces away and selling them in my small community. 

Q: Can you describe the creative process while making pottery?

A: Usually I like to begin with a project in mind, and I always try to make something new. It does take trial and error, but usually I’m able to get the new form I want to make, and those are the pieces I usually like to keep. But sometimes, for example, vases are my favorite thing to make, so since I enjoy creating those I find myself with a little more than my house really needs. Usually, like the vase example, I like to give away pieces that I’ve made before. It’s nice to have fresh ideas in my house, because repetition can make it a tad boring.

Q: So when you make pottery, you paint them, correct? 

A: Yeah of course, so you have to use a special paint called a “glaze,” and you use it after you fire the clay once. After firing the clay, it becomes solid so you can't manipulate it anymore like wet clay, and since it’s hard you can paint over it. You can make any kind of designs, and it's a lot of fun experimenting with different glazes because you can create a lot of different effects. Laying glazes can create different designs, so that everything can be a little different. 

Q: Where do you get materials apart from using the ones available at school?

A: There's a place in Maine, I think it's called  Portland Pottery Co. 

Q: Do you have it shipped after buying online or do you actually go to Maine?

A:  I go get it.

Q: So you drive all the way up to Maine?

A: Yes!

Q: So would you say that pottery is something you go out of your way to do instead of just a fun hobby?

A: Yes, even though it is a fun hobby it also is fun to dedicate your craft too. It’s always really satisfying when you get a new piece that you really really envisioned and its awesome seeing it come to life.

Q: Could you walk me through the typical clay making process? Like a vase?

A: So you start with a big block of clay and depending on the size you have to portion parts of it off.

Q: So you just pick it apart or do you cut it..?

A: Yeah, you cut it apart and weighing it based on how big you want the piece to be, then you wedge it, which is like forming it into a sort of torpedo shape and it gets rid of all the bubbles and inconsistencies in the clay, and make it easy to throw onto the wheel. 

Q: What's the wheel, exactly?

A: The wheel is a platform that rotates as you sculpt the clay

Q: Oh, so that way everything can be symmetrical?

A: Yeah, exactly. So after you put it on the wheel, you need tools and water, like sponges and scrapers so you can stylize the piece and shape it better. You have to wet the clay because it drags on your hands as it spins and it hurts a bit. You first make a hole in the middle and drag your fingers straight up, and after that you can manipulate it however. Then you have to let it dry, which usually only takes like a day, maybe even less. Then you fire it in the kiln, which usually takes a few days depending on the size of the piece. After that you get to choose glazes and patterns, and after you glaze it you fire it a second time. Then you have your piece!

Q: So you began this as a school/hobby thing, how did it turn into a sort of community business? A: Eventually, once I had so many pieces, we (his family) never used them since there were already so many pieces around the house. I even had extra to bring here to college, like bowls I use for my jewelry and a mug for coffee. Extra pieces were just lying around, and my aunts and uncles always asked me if they were for sale, so I was like yeah why not? I don't use them. So I decided to start giving some out. 

Q: So since this is technically not a “real business” and mainly a niche part of your community, how do people find out about your talents? How does word spread that Mr. Romani makes pottery?

A: So, in that senior year of high school, I was kind of infamous for being in the art and ceramics room all the time. I had multiple art classes apart from just ceramics, so sometimes I’d just do ceramics in my other art classes, with permission from the teacher. Everybody knew I was in the ceramics room though, and the teachers put up my pieces around the school occasionally. I also post a bunch of my pieces on social media, and in a small town just about everyone follows everyone, so word spreads quickly. Also family coming over was sort of self explanatory because they'd see it around the house. 

Q: So are there future plans? I know it's difficult to keep it up during college.

A: I would love to keep this going throughout my life, and not just at home, but at the moment home is about the only place I can do it. I'd like to do it more often, and it would be beneficial to me because practice makes perfect.

Q: Does being a student affect your pottery career?

A: Definitely. I'm not really able to make much here at college. There is a studio but I'm not sure if and when I'm supposed to use it. I've made one piece here but it's not even finished, and I don't know when the group is meeting again to finish it, but hopefully I can finish it before the end of the year. 

Q: What's your favorite piece you've made?

A: That's a tough question. It's probably a tie between two things. One of them was two pieces that I messed up, because when I was trimming, I poked a hole in the bottom by accident and I didnt know what to do. I didn't know what to do with it because obviously a vase with a hole in the bottom is useless, so I put it on top of one of my other pieces and formed it together so it combined into a huge tall vase and I think the glazes I used came out perfectly, like a blue and black which is one of my favorite combos. Black always works really well with other colors. And the other one is a little different. We used a firing process called “raku,” which is a different process. All it is instead of the big kiln, it goes into a different type of kiln where you take it out while it's glowing hot, and you put different stuff all over it, like copper and it melts onto the piece. So you take it out when it's burning hot and you can search stuff onto it, like feathers and stuff for designs. 

Q: So it's like branding kind of but the opposite way because the piece is hot instead of the imprint?

A: Yeah exactly. Then you put it into a barrel and put the lid over it, so the smoke and everything encapsulates everything. I made it have a really cool color too, like a turquoise blue gradient into a pink and it turns into literally gold by the end of it. 

Q: So that sounds super complicated, is this one of the more difficult things to do?

A: Yeah, the firing process is way harder and longer than usual and it's really easy to mess up. I really liked that piece because it was one of the only ones that made it all the way through the process. 

Q: So when you sell pieces, how do you base your prices?

A: So obviously I wont charge my family, but like when I sell it to my neighbors or people in my town it's usually between $25-50 depending on the size and the time it took. It usually never gets to $50, because that's super expensive for something I enjoy doing. It also depends on the materials and stuff, like any business. 

Q: Do you use your own pieces a lot?

A: Yeah I do, I use my mugs literally every day. Another piece that gets a lot of use is this whiskey glass that I made for my dad for fathers day. So he uses it obviously, not me.

Q: Were your teachers a main factor?

A: 100%. My ceramics teacher was a huge influence on me, and her encouragement was what kept me going from the beginning. Once, she wanted us to experience a factory type of day where we would make a ton of mugs in one day to see what real production is like. I think we made like 12 mugs and we gave them out to our favorite teachers. 

Q: That's so cool, and it kind of gives insight to how a business works?

A: Yeah, especially learning consistency, because that's huge in ceramics, but it's also cool knowing every piece is sort of unique too.

Q: Lastly, how do you deal with pottery you're not happy with?

A: So one thing my teacher did really well was teach us that you can't always get it right. When she didnt like a piece, she would literally smash it right there in front of us. This way, you can get your frustration out, accept that not every piece is going to be perfect, and you can always try again. 

Aiden: That's so cool! Thank you so much!

[dreamerstreamer]

A Terrible Tutor

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] He’s cocky, annoying, a total tease, has a laugh loud enough to shake the stars, and you hate him. But as luck would have it, he’s also your tutor.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: minor cursing

A/N: this is based on a classmate i had way back! (we did not fall in love. he was awful.) i’ve also never taken physics, but i tried something a bit new for the reader’s personality. i hope you enjoy :) <3

You glared down at your physics textbook, the open pages staring back up at you with beady eyes made of diagrams and labels. Off to the side, your notebook was strewn across your desk, a list of questions scribbled across the top line in a hurried rush. The handwriting was messier than you would have liked, but the thought didn’t irritate you.

What did irritate you was that it was nearly half past four, and your so-called tutor still hadn’t shown up.

You could still envision the concerned look on Mr. Craftson’s face as he held you back a moment after class, watching as the rest of your classmates poured out of the door with an anxious look. He had offered you a kind smile before pulling out your test from the week before, and you winced at the numerous red marks scattered across the front page alone.

“I know you’ve been struggling in this class,” he said, gazing at you almost pitifully.

You tried not to glower at the sight of his apologetic eyes trained on you, instead nodding your head slowly. “It’s been… hard,” you said slowly.

He leaned an arm on his chair, pushing your test toward you. “You ask questions in class,” he hummed, “and from what I’ve seen, you complete your homework diligently.” His smile fell. “Yet here you are me, with the lowest mark in my class.”

You wanted to shrivel up into a ball. Maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but he wasn’t wrong, either.

At your silence, he prodded at you. “Is there anything going on at home that might be hindering you, or…?”

You whipped your head up, your eyes wide. “No! Things are—things are great. It’s just…”

You swallowed, then sighed, fidgeting your fingers on your lap. “I guess,” you murmured, trying to quell the shame flaring up inside you, “I’ve just been really struggling with the material, and none of it’s really been clicking.”

Mr. Craftson’s face softened in an instant. “That’s alright. Thank you for being honest with me. If my teaching hasn’t been working out with you…”

He paused, rubbing at the blond stubble on his chin for a moment. Then, his face lit up and he leaned forward. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got a great student who I think might be able to explain things to you in a way you might be able to grasp a little better. He’s got the best marks in this class.”

Your eyes widened. The best in the class? He had to be a genius.

“I have a good feeling he can meet you tomorrow at four after school to help you out,” he continued, leaning against the arm rest of his office chair. “What do you say?”

You blinked, a thoughtful look passing over your face. Lord knew you needed the help—you were practically failing the class—but an uneasy stone settled into the pit of your stomach. You’ve never needed tis much help to pass a class before. The thought made you want to gag. Slowly, you opened your mouth.

“Do I have to…” You gestured vaguely. “Pay him or something?”

His cerulean eyes blinked at you for a second, then he laughed—the kind of deep-belly laugh only teachers seemed to be able to have. “No, no,” he said, waving his hand at you, “not at all. He’s a good kid. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

You bobbed your head, your insides crumbling. You didn’t want to accept, you really didn’t. Part of you guys wanted to believe that you could just work harder, study by yourself even more. You were a dedicated student, and you were doing just fine in all your other classes. Surely the content couldn’t get that much harder, right?

But as your gaze lowered to the red ink staining your test once more, you felt yourself swallowing the lump in your throat. Straightening your back, you let your stubborn pride seep out of your shoulders and onto the floor.

It looked like this was a sacrifice you were simply going to have to make.

“Thank you so much for the offer,” you said, letting your lips curl up into a genuine, grateful smile. “It—it really means a lot.”

Mr. Craftson grinned at you, an easygoing flint shining in his eyes. “Of course. You’re a bright student. Sometimes we all just need a little push.”

You could still remember shaking his hand in thanks before bundling your stuff in your arms and shuffling into the hall, tucking your feet between the pages of your textbook. That had been yesterday, and now, the same one was sitting on your desk, open to a new page full of jumbled words you could hardly decipher.

The chair across from you was distinctly empty.

He—whoever he was—was late.

You distantly wondered to yourself who your tutor even was, your gaze drifting down to your textbook. Mr. Craftson had said he was the best student taking the class. Would it be George? He always seemed like he knew what was going on, and he never really asked questions. But sometimes, he looked like he was just zoning out. Maybe it was Technoblade. He was smart. You paused, then shook your head. No, everyone knew he was one of those English kids.

The thought made you furrow your brows, wracking your head even more. The words on the page grew muddled and fuzzy as you thought even more. Just who was it?

Just then, you heard the classroom door swing open with the same loud creak every door in the school seemed to have. The sound of heavy breaths and panting filled the air, then a haggard voice spoke up.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

You didn’t look up from your page, letting a sigh escape your lips as you lifted your head. Plastering a polite smile to your face, you let your gaze travel toward your tutor. “Hi, it’s nice to me—”

Suddenly, your voice died in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. Towering over the desks with a duffel bag resting against his hip, his dirty blond locks were damp and matted against his forehead, his emerald eyes blinking at you. Something bitter and warm twisted in your gut at the sight, and the smile dropped off your face and into a scowl.

“Oh,” you said flatly. “It’s you.”

The smile he offered you was easygoing, but you didn’t miss the strain in his gaze. “It’s me.”

You bit on the inside of your cheek, your heart practically revolting against your rib cage with the way it was hammering. A million questions were darting around the inside of your skull, only making your blood boil even more with each passing second.

Of all the people you had expected to show up, Clay was easily the last.

The two of you had first met back in freshman year in your first science class—he had sat behind you and had the loudest laugh on the planet, or so you were convinced. You were quieter back then, but just as stubborn and snappish as now. Soon enough, one thing led to another, and you swore the two of you were suddenly enemies for life.

Although you couldn’t remember what had caused your little feud, you knew that he was the one who started it. He was loud and kicked your chair, he just loved to borrow your pens and never return them, and you could never figure out just why he loved to tease you so much. You don’t think you learned a single thing in that class, always distracted by the presence staring a hole into your back, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Naturally, that meant your teacher assigned him to sit behind you for the rest of the year. To this day, you were convinced she hated you, and you still avoided her in the halls.

To say that science class was your least favourite would be an understatement, and soon enough, everybody was in on your hatred for each other. Clay never seemed to stop pestering you no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, and you would never forget the day you finally snapped at him, whipping around to glare at him with your cheeks on fire.

“Will you please shut up?”

The shocked look on his face was still burned into your memory as it melted into a wide, proud grin.

“Only if you make me.”

Even years later, he always seemed to find a way to worm himself back into your life, and you hated it. You hated him, simple as that.

So, seeing him standing in front of you like this, it took every ounce of your strength to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“What took you so long?”

He patted his duffel bag before slipping it off his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “I just finished football practice. Coach ran a little long and I figured it would be polite to take a shower before so I didn’t smell all sweaty when I tutored you.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open. That explained his wet hair, you guessed. While you were vaguely flattered, you were distracted by something else. “You knew that you would be tutoring me?”

Clay nodded, pulling back the chair in front of you. “Yeah. Phil asked me.”

You gaped. “You call Mr. Craftson by his first name?”

His smile was a touch too smug for your liking, and you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Maybe. I was surprised when he asked, though.” He wrinkled his nose and shot you a teasing smirk as he sat down. “I didn’t think you would be failing this class.”

You glowered, that same bitter feeling bubbling up in your chest, again. “I’m not failing,” you snapped. “I’m just…” You paused, your cheeks growing hot. “…not passing.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then laughed. “That’s the same thing.”

You sent him a gesture that your teacher most certainly would have scolded you for if he was here, and he laughed even harder. You were suddenly reminded of just how damn loud his laugh was, sounding like fireworks in your ears. Slumping over, you hung your head in your hands.

“Ugh. I can’t believe you knew you were going to be tutoring me of all people.” You paused, then added, “I can’t believe you agreed.”

He tilted his head at you, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Did you not know I was gonna be your tutor?”

“No.” You frowned. “If I did, I wouldn’t have shown up.”

His eyes flickered with mirth as a smile stretched across his face. “Aw, am I really that disagreeable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, your gaze as sharp as a blade. “Without a doubt. A hundred percent. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

He whistled, feigning a wince. “Harsh.”

Wryly, you said, “You deserve it.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I wasn’t that bad as a freshman, was I?”

You gave him a hard, callous stare. “Do you really think I’m the one you should be asking that question?”

He thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, point taken.”

You dragged a hand over your face, then pointed at your textbook. “Are you going to teach me now or what? We’re already behind.”

He winced for real this time, and you almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Sorry, again.”

“Seriously,” you muttered under your breath, reaching into your back to grab your pencil case, “and to think that you have the highest grades in this class.”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I’m brains and brawn.”

You shot him a look that was nothing short of disgusted. He cringed a little at the sight.

“Okay, that was cheesy, but I’m not wrong. Besides, coach says I have to keep my grades up or else I’m off the team.” He leaned closer to you, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin. “You know I can’t let everyone down like that.”

You looked unconvinced. “Uh huh. Totally.” Whipping out a pencil, you tapped at the bottom of the page you had open. “Can you explain this to me, now? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

He quietly chuckled, and you hated how soft it sounded. Leaning closer to the textbook to read, his lips mouthed the problem silently. You tried not to stare at his mouth as it moved, your gaze tracing over the soft dip of his lips as his viridian eyes flashed with recognition. A moment later, he sat back and cocked his head at you.

“So, what exactly do you not understand?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Everything.”

He blinked, disbelief colouring his features. “Everything? Like, the whole thing?”

You scowled. “I thought that was obvious. All that stuff about velocity and the funny diagrams—” You shook your head. “—none of it makes sense.”

He raised a brow at you. “I thought you were paying attention in class. You really don’t understand a single thing?”

You bit back the urge to scream. “It’s not like you’re much smarter.”

Clay snorted derisively. “I am. That’s kind of the whole point.”

You groaned, letting your voice ring out in the quiet of the empty classroom. You caught a glimpse of his amused smile in front of you, and it only made you groan louder.

“You’re the one who ruined science for me, you know? I hated going to that class, and look at me now.” You gestured to yourself, using your finger to draw a ring in the air. “It all comes full circle.”

There was a brief second of silence. “I’m the reason why you hate science?”

You didn’t budge. “I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy knowing I was going to be stuck in a class with someone who never gave me my stuff back and kicked my chair.”

Another wave of silence washed over the two of you, but this one was tense—heavy. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“You…” His eyes swirled with something sad and honest. “You really hate me that much?”

He suddenly looked a lot like a kicked puppy, and a pang of guilt shot through your chest like a bullet. With a panicked gaze, your voice grew shaky as you spoke. “I—I don’t hate you. I just… I had a grudge, I guess.”

Your tone grew soft, and you lowered your gaze to your lap. “I… I really didn’t like you back then, but things have changed.” You offered him a small smile, but it felt shy. “We’re not exactly fourteen, anymore.”

He returned your smile with one of his own. Just like yours, it was small and tender, and it sent something stirring in the depths of your belly. “No,” he murmured, “we’re not.”

“I,” you breathed, gulping down the last dredges of your grudge, “was stubborn back then.” You raised a shoulder. “In a way, I still am. I have too much pride for my own good too, but I don’t hate you.” The look you sent him had a spark of mischief, and his breath hitched. “Strongly dislike, at best.”

Clay blinked at you, looking half-surprised and half-awed at you. You squirmed under his gaze before he snapped out of his stupor, almost bashfully ducking his head. “I’m… It’s definitely too late for me to say this now when I really should have said it all those years ago, but I’m sorry. Really. I was a dick.”

You snorted under your breath, fondly mumbling, “Yeah, you were.”

His face perked up at the sound of your bitten back laugh. “I really shouldn’t have teased you so much. My reasons were… dumb.”

You cocked a brow at him, almost as if to say, Oh? Do elaborate.

But instead, you watched as his ears burned crimson red and he flashed you a pair of bright, pleading eyes. “Forgive me? Please.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, something new and warm bursting along the seams of your lungs. You couldn’t possibly say no to a face like that. Even the toughest person on the planet would crack under a look as sincere as that, you tried to reason, ultimately letting out a sigh with a stammer.

“O-Only if you actually can get me to understand this unit.” Pushing down the heat creeping up your neck, you pointed at him with an accusatory look. “Until then, you’re on thin ice.”

The grin he sent you was beyond dazzling—you couldn’t have brought yourself to look away even if you wanted to.

(And you didn’t.)

“Gotcha.”

Clay finished scribbling a diagram onto the new page of your notebook, flicking his thumb back to reveal the hordes of previous pages you had filled with other practice problems. If you were being honest, you were a little envious of just how neat his drawings were. No one should be able to draw a line as straight as that without a ruler, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

What a show-off.

Feeling your eyes on him, Clay lifted his head to catch your gaze, turning the notebook to face you. You tried to pretend the stumbling of your heart wasn’t because of him—not at all. “Do you get it?” he breathed.

You glanced back and forth between him and your page, your grip on your pencil falling slack. “I think so,” you said slowly. “Mostly, at least.”

He hummed for a moment, then flipped your notebook around until it was facing him again and holding an expectant, open hand toward you. Without even thinking, you dropped your pencil into his palm, a spark running up your fingers at the slight brush of his skin against yours. Carefully, he wrote a string of words on a new line, circling the sentence when he was done.

“Here,” he said gently, pushing the pencil back between your fingers, “try this question. This was one of the harder ones from my test.”

Gingerly, you peered down at the page, and your mouth fell open at the sight. This question was far more complicated than anything you had been solving in the textbook before this. What was he thinking?

“If you get it right,” he said suddenly, casting you out of your thoughts, “you should be all set.” His lips curved up into a taunting, knowing grin. “But it’s okay if you don’t get it—it is difficult, after all.”

You stared for a second longer, then grumbled under your breath. How could he read your mind like that? You were going to prove him wrong, even if only to knock that smug look off his face.

Leaning down, you tackled the problem head on, your pencil flying across the page as you spelled out formulas and equations, doodling a diagram when you had to and pausing to think every other breath. Before you, you didn’t see Clay watching you with a soft, tender gaze, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted against your pencil when you stopped and how you chewed on your mouth when you got nervous.

You really were more endearing than you could ever know.

Suddenly, you let your pencil clatter against the table as you pushed your notebook toward him, eyeing your pencil scratches with a wary look. “Done.”

His viridian eyes gleamed with excitement. “Alright,” he said, plucking the paper from your desk with a practiced ease, “let’s take a look.”

His gaze scanned your work intently, his lips pressed together in focus. You folded your hands onto your lap, trying to focus on his analysis of you work. But the longer you looked, the more you felt your gaze trailing up to graze his cheeks. Did he always have so many freckles? You didn’t remember seeing him with this many as a freshman, but you also spent more time glaring at him than staring at him back then.

In a way, he was kind of... pretty. Handsome, even. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

You suddenly had a strong urge to reach up and trace feather-light lines between each of his freckles, but before you could even take another breath, Clay’s eyes were on yours again. Unlike earlier, the look on his face was grave, and a small grimace overtook his features.

“I have bad news,” he said dryly.

Your heart fell.

Of course you got something wrong. You were a fool to think that things would change just because Clay would be teaching you instead.

But then, his grimace curled up at the corners, and your jaw dropped.

“I have nothing left to teach you in this unit.”

Your eyes widened.

“I got it right?”

He turned the notebook back to face you. A large check mark had been scribbled in pencil along the side of the page, a tiny smiley face decorating the corner next to it.

“Perfectly.”

The gasp you let out sent you barrelling for your feet, and you nearly started jumping for joy in the middle of your seat. “Yes!” you cried, pumping a hand up in the air. Suddenly, you whirled to point at Clay, a pout forming on your lips. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me! Don’t do that.”

He chuckled, leaning back with his hands up defensively. “Sorry, sorry. I saw the opportunity and just had to take it.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stuck your tongue out at him. “You’re terrible.”

His eyes softened—sincere and sweet. “I know.”

Ignoring the sudden burst of warmth rushing through your veins, you huffed at him. “Well, at least I have two pieces of good news for you. First,” you said, sliding your notebook off your desk, “we can both go home, now.”

“And the second?” he prompted, looking at you inquisitively.

You folded your notebook shut, boring a hole into your backpack with the intensity of your stare. You couldn’t look at him right now, you just couldn’t.

“Second,” you nearly whispered, “I accept your apology.”

Slipping your textbook into your bag, you heard him take a sharp intake of breath. “Really?”

You reached for your pencil case, fumbling with the zipper. “Yes.”

There was another breath, but this one was gentler, less harsh. You peeked up at him from your bag, and your heart stuttered at the ecstatic look on his face.

“This,” he said, “is the greatest day of my life.”

You blinked wildly at him, zipping your backpack up all the way before slinging it onto the desk. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his smile never once faltering. “Are you kidding? I thought you were going to hate my guts forever!”

You shrugged, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I might have.” You paused. “Actually, I probably would have. But luckily for you—” You shot him a sincere look. “—not anymore.”

His grin grew impossibly wider, yet it somehow still looked natural on him. Deep down, a part of you wanted to bottle up his expression and remember it for as long as you lived.

“Like I said, greatest day of my life.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Weirdo.”

Pushing in your chair and gesturing for him to stand, you jutted your head toward the door. Clay didn’t need to be queued twice before he was rising to his feet, pushing the chair back to its rightful spot before heaving his duffel bag off the floor and onto his side. As the two of you headed out towards the door, a bought suddenly flickered across your head, and your lips began moving before you could even begin to think.

“One of these days, you need to tell me why you liked to pick on me so much. Like, seriously, why me?” You gestured to yourself as the two of you stepped outside into the school hallway. “I’m not exactly special.”

You hadn’t been looking at him in that moment, focused on closing the door behind you, but when he didn’t respond for a moment, you looked up and felt your lungs tighten. You had never seen Clay look so bashful in his life, with his ears flaring crimson red and a faint rosy tint dusting the panes of his cheeks. His freckles were only more noticeable with the pink background, and you nearly blurted something you knew you would regret.

“Maybe I’ll—” He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Before you could even ask what he meant by that, he was firing off once more. “In the meantime, if you still need help, I don’t mind coming in again next week or something.”

You nearly took a double take. Next week? He wanted to help you, again?

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” you asked, scanning him with wide, curious eyes. “Like studying your own stuff.”

“You’re important,” he said abruptly.

You choked on your spit, and by the way he went absolutely stock still in front of you, you had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That warm, fuzzy feeling from earlier was rising between your lungs again, only this time it sent your heart racing around your chest. Sucking in a deep breath, you nodded your head once, twice.

“Sure,” you managed to say as calmly as you could. “The, um, the next unit looks a little confusing, so I might need some help.”

Clay’s face suddenly brightened at your soft request for assistance, and you caught his shoulders slumping with relief as he smiled. “Awesome.” He paused, then waved his hand. “Not the part about you needing help, I mean.”

You laughed a little at that, your nerves calming a bit more. “I would hope not.”

He smiled back at you. “So,” he said, drawing out the syllable, “I’ll be back same time next week?”

You couldn’t help but reach over to elbow him a little playfully. “Try to be on time though, yeah?”

He flushed a bit, but cracked a crooked grin nonetheless. “I’ll try my best.” He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, and you suddenly realized you would be heading in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you around?” he murmured gently, brushing away his now dry hair from his forehead.

One of your hands tightened around the straps of your bag while the other waved back at him. “See you.”

With one last grin at you, you watched as he turned on his heel, striding down the hall with his duffel bag bouncing against the side of his hip. Just then, your eyes grew wide, and you cupped your hands around your mouth to call after him.

“One last thing, Clay!” you shouted, your voice echoing down the empty corridor.

At the sound of his name, he whipped around again, his brows knitted together. Breathing in deeply, you screwed your eyes shut and called out once more.

“Thank you!”

When you opened your eyes again, his emerald green eyes were blinking at you with wild abandon, his lips parted in what could only be described as a look of pure wonder. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wondered why he was looking at you of all people like that.

Swallowing, he sent you a lopsided, earnest smile and cupped his own hands around his mouth to shout back at you.

“Anytime!”

You kept waving at him even after he let his arms drop back to his sides and he vanished around the corner of the hall. Almost immediately, you bent over to bury your head into your knees, letting out a soft, muffled yell.

Why did your chest feel so warm when he looked at you like that? Why did you want to count his freckles so badly when he smiled? Was he always so nice, so helpful and kind? Why did he look so cute when his face flushed all pink like the way it did before? When did he become so endearing instead of annoying?

Did you like him?

You let out another muffled cry into your hands, feeling heat flood every part of your body like a tidal wave crashing into your system. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears like a bell that wouldn’t ever stop, and your toes curled into your shoes.

You had so, so many questions, none of which you knew how to solve.

Hopefully Clay could help you figure out the answers.

[dreamsfreckles]

[6:57p.m.] Whatever Idiot

~

Dream x reader

Fluff

Wholesome bf content 😌 - enjoy!

~

You furrowed your brows in thought.

As much as you loved watching him game with his friends, you got bored sometimes. It’s not like he left you out or ignored you, but today you were craving a little extra love from your 6’3 boyfriend. “Dream,”as his buddies called him, was playing minecraft yet again, just messing around in the SMP. You came to his house an hour or two ago and talked for a bit before he hopped online with the boys. You didn’t mind, of course. Sometimes you’d play with him, while other times you’d just watch; either way it was equally as entertaining. However, today felt super long, even kind of rough. All you wanted to do once the day ended was to fall into your wonderful boyfriend’s arms... But that was kind of hard to do when he was sitting in front of his desk, clicking away on his keyboard and mouse.

You debated your options.

You could bother him to attract his attention, or you could patiently wait for him like the good girlfriend you are...

After much reluctance, you simply decided to just lay on his bed and scroll through tiktok for the time being.

As you aimlessly pass by hundreds of videos... One of them catches your attention.

There’s a video of a girl setting up her phone on a surface to point at a boy who looks to be gaming on a computer.

That looks familiar to your situation...

She then proceeds to walk over to him, sit down facing him in his lap, and then hug him closely whilst he continues playing on the device.

Your heart flutters watching the video.

That was so cute... What would Clay do if you did that to him..?

Glancing up to him from your spot on his bed, you analyze his set up. Is there room for you to fit in his lap? Is there anything that you could potentially knock over? You sit up more to get a better look. He has space in between himself and the desk that looks to be enough space to crawl into... He also looks calm, so you shouldn’t be interupting anything special...

Deciding that this was your chance, you softly stood from your spot on the bed and padded over to the side of him.

“No, Sapnap, you can’t build that here, it’s-“ Clay spoke into his mic, probably ordering Sapnap around.

With a flushed face, you move to stand more in front of him, causing him to look from his monitor, up to you.

“Babe-“

You wordlessly swing your right leg over his thighs and gently sit yourself down in his lap, facing him, and then wrapping your arms around him. Clay froze, his face heating up as he processed what you just did. You relax into his embrace and nuzzle into the side of his neck.

Finally content with your guys’s proximity, you sigh out the four words you have yet to say to him that night.

“I love you, Clay.”

With his game already paused and mic muted, Clay wraps his arms around you and rests his head on yours. He was smiling, his heart filled with warmth. He didnt realize how much he missed being this close to you.

“I love you too.”

After hugging in silence for a few minutes, Clay’s curiosity got the best of him. “Baby?”

“Hmm?” You breathe out.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks softly.

“Huggin’ you.”

Clay chuckles, closing his eyes once again, and rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“You are being very cute right now.” He confesses, with a light smirk.

Your lips lift into a smile. “I know.”

Clay lets out a soft wheeze, running his fingers through your hair. “Was I ignoring you too much for your liking? You feeling clingy?” He asked jokingly.

You squeeze him a little tighter. “Lil’ bit.”

Clay chcukles, yet again, and crushes you harder into the hug, causing you to let out a strained squeak. “ClAy! tOo mUcH!” You mangage to yell out, successfully making Clay bubble into a fit of wheezes and giggles. Finally feeling merciful, he lets go of you and allows you to sit up and look down at him. Clay gazes at you with stars in his eyes. Every time he looks at you, a wave of excitment hits him. Being with you was always fun; even if you both were sitting in silence, scrolling through Instagram, or watching youtube together.

Clay’s mind started to wander to how you both got into this situation in the first place. You must’ve gotten a little bored while he was playing. You were usually quite content when he played. Maybe you weren’t. Were you always bored when he played? Were you getting sick of his gaming habits? Worry flashed over Clay for a moment. No... You would say something if you got bored... right? Clay didn’t think it was that deep. If there was a real problem, you probably wouldn’t be in his lap...

Right..?

“Clay?” You broke him from his trance. “Oh.” He blinked. “yeah?” You giggled at his dopey face. “You looked a little concerned for a second.” You admitted, bringing your hand up to his face to pinch his cheekbone. Suddenly, a thought washes over you. “Wait.” You panic. “Is there something on my face?” Clay almost laughed. Almost. He felt a wave mischief wash over him. “Yes, actually.” He smirks. “There’s a very tiny spider on your forehead.” Your eyes widen for a moment and it looks like you’re about to spaz out; but before you do, you realize the look on his face is most definitely cap. You immediately glare at him and smack his shoulder. “I hate you.” You scoffed, getting up from his lap. Clay giggles and tries to tug you back. “Wait, I was kidding!” He draws out, whining at your departure from his lap. You hop back into your original spot and scoff. “Yeah, whatever, go back to blowing George or something.” Clay’s jaw drops at your words. “WhaT DID YOU JUST SAY?” He starts to get up from the chair. You look up from your phone, knowing what’s about to happen. “Nope. Nope. Go back to your desk, I’m not starting this with you again.” You deny, shaking your head and directing him to sit back down. Clay stares at you in disbelief. “Wh-“ he looks back to his computer and then back to you. “What do you mean ‘starting this again’-“ he mocks in your voice. You burst out laughing, denying him from coming any closer. “I meAN-“ you say exhasporatedly. “We both know what the fuck you’re about to do and I CAN’T-“ before you could finish your sentence, you were already being thrown over his shoulder. “CLAY!” You screech. “I’M SERIOUS CLAY, I CAN’T-“ Clay shakes his head, already done with you. “Nope you got on my nerves, this is your punishment.” Clay walks out of his room, through the kitchen, and out the patio door, heading straight for his pool. “CLAY I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU-“ and with one final curse from you, Clay flings himself, with you over his shoulder, into his backyard pool.

Clay is already laughing as you rise to the surface of the water, a glare on your face. Clay is wheezing with laughter. You almost felt concerned that he wasn’t breathing. Almost. As his wheezing turns to laughing and laughing turns to giggling, he finally was to the point where he could function. You raise your eyebrows. “Done?” You ask. Clay lets out one last chcukle, walking towards your body half submerged in the water. “Not quite.” He states suggestively, walking up to you until you’re an inch apart in the middle of the pool.

Now, there’s no way you’re letting him back you up against the pool wall like some PUSSY. So you stood your ground in your sopping wet sweatshirt. If anything, YOU were the one who was going to be backing HIM up against some wall.

Clay stares at you expectingly, water driping from his wet hair. You stare right back at him, no sign of emotion. He looks back and fourth between both of your eyes, trying to make you break. However, your stare is much stronger and is quickly causing Clay to panic. You stare harder. ‘Break, break’ you chant in your head. Clays eyes squint. You follow suit.

Clay blinks.

“FUCK”

“HAHAHA IDIOT I WIN!” You rejoice.

Clay sighs, running his hands over his face. “Whatever.” He deadpans. “Lets just get out of here.” He mopes, walking to the stairs of the pool.

You giggle. “Someone’s a sore loser...” you poke, causing Clay to look back at you with a fierce look in his eyes. You laugh and swim up to him, latching yourself onto his wet t-shirt-clad back. “Stop giving me that look, you puppy. I know who you truly are.” You smile up at him innocently. Clay rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Whatever, idiot.”

Lol, hope you liked it! This was my first try writing with the dream team and I plan to write more! Let me know if you have any feedback! Also, I can take requests if anyone is interested :3 thx!

[apocalypticgargoyle]

the “we’re fake dating to make someone jealous but actually end up together trope” reminds me of drrreeeaaaammmm😇😇😇

-🧚🏻‍♀️

YES YES 🧚 ANON I LOVE UR IDEAS YES.

I also included these: WELCOME 🦀 ANON and as always, 🍭 anon I'm in love w u.

[𝐁𝐎𝐘]𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: dream x reader (dre™ my beloved)

warnings: vulgar language, mentions of sex, basically that one scene from Easy A, me lowkey trying so hard not to get carried away

You took a sip of your drink; your mind racing with Clay’s words as you debated his plea. You hated the idea of pitting yourself against someone else for an envy factor and meddling in the love lives of your friends, but you knew you’d do anything for Clay. He could mention needing to kill a president and without a word, you’d be by his side. It had always been that way, so why were you so shaken by his request. Then again, you had brought it upon yourself.

“See that girl over there?” Clay asked, barely nodding toward the kitchen as he slumped down to your height so you could hear him over the pulsing music. The smell of the cologne your cousin bought him one Christmas in the hopes that he’d ask her to marry him wafted towards you. You had noticed how he had attempted to clean himself up when the two of you met at the bus stop before traveling to this shindig, but you had brushed it off, knowing it was probably for some girl’s attention.

You peered over his shoulder, seeing the kitchen packed with females. You shrugged slightly. “Yeah, which one?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. “As if it’s not obvious,” he mumbled sarcastically after realizing what you were talking about. His hand moved to hold your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he angled your head towards one of the various women.

She looked up at the right moment, making eye contact with you and you pulled out of Clay’s grip, already knowing how idiotic the two of you looked staring at her as he blatantly was pointing her out to you. “Oh my god, she saw,” you whispered quickly and he drew in a sharp breath, the two of you freezing as if something were going to happen.

When she didn’t approach the pair of you, you went on like it hadn’t happened, Clay beginning to tell you about why he mentioned her. “We hooked up after calculus a few times,” he smugly boasted.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Why are you still in calculus? Aren’t you a jun-”

“That’s beside the point,” he added, crossing his arms. “She hasn’t texted me back lately.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, peering back over in her direction. It always shook Clay up when a girl didn’t vie for his attention. He was attractive and popular on campus, but there were always a few that would slip through his fingers. And it drove him absolutely crazy.

You wet your lips, exhaling as you thought. “Maybe it’s because you’re too available?” You spoke, thinking out loud and more to yourself than him. He tilted his head as if urging you to continue. You took a sip of your drink, also wondering what you’d meant. “Just start fooling around with another girl and she’ll come running,” you offered.

He nodded along as you spoke, leaning a hand against the wall behind you. “Wanna fool around with me?” He jested, making you snort.

“Oh come on now,” you broke, dropping your head back against the wall, nearly missing his thumb.

He sent you a cheeky expression. “No, you come on now. You suggested it!”

You lightly punched his chest as if to get him to hear you instead of just listen to you. “I didn’t mean me, idiot! Don’t you have like fifteen other people in your phone?”

His shoulders slumped. “Please! I’ve seen you charm the pants off Karl and Sapnap at the same time,” he begged. He straightened up as if he was about to reluctantly agree to something. “I’ll paint your kitchen like you’ve been asking,” he mumbled.

And that’s how you found yourself leaning against Clay’s side as the two of you talked to a group of his friends. His arm curled around your waist, fingers gliding beneath the hem of your shirt to settle against the skin of your hip. You willed yourself to think of something other than his fingers pressed against you, fighting every urge to blush at the contact.

The song switched to a stereotypical dance song and people began to move. You downed the rest of your drink to psych yourself up before eyeing the girl momentarily and standing on your toes to reach Clay’s ear. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder as you told him to dance with you, knowing she was watching the two of you with searing eyes.

You knew he was fighting to see her expression, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled him towards the mass of people by his belt loop. “This is going to be super cringey before the both of us, just pretend you like it,” you bit as you pressed your back to him.

His hands dropped to your waist, moving with you to the beat. “Maybe I will enjoy myself. Don’t be so bossy,” he chided, voice raspy and warm in your ear from talking over the music for most of the night. He was a loud guy, but he always seemed to lose his voice after a party.

You turned in his arms, his body close to yours. “Don’t get too excited,” you jested, pressing a hand to his abdomen as you kept up with him, letting him drop his head beside yours.

“Oh, bet. I’ll get so drunk and mistake you for someone else,” he mocked, his voice a welcome break as it penetrated through the heavy bass of the song.

You scoffed. “Like who? Your cousin?” You teased, making him bite back a laugh as he bit his lip. You felt a laser gaze digging into your back as his hands moved you pull your waist against him. Your hand moved to pull his face to the crook of your neck. You could see her at the new angle; glaring at you over her cup. You felt guilt twist in the pit of your stomach. You’d been at it for a few hours and you were ready to amp it up before she left without him.

“Dream, take me upstairs,” you mumbled into his ear. He pulled away from you, brows threatening to furrow at your words. “Trust me,” you gritted, slipping your hand into his and making it apparent you were looking for a room with him in tow. He was quiet as you lead the way. From where you were walking, you saw her move to inch towards the steps as if she was investigating what you were doing with him. You knew it was in bad taste to set anyone up for jealousy but Clay was your friend, and you really needed your kitchen painted.

You found an empty room, tugging him inside and locking the door. He looked at you with a red tinge to his cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment as if he’d been thinking about what the two of you would be doing in the room, or if it was just from the alcohol. “What now?” He asked.

You chuckled, grabbing his wrist. “Fuck me,” you stated, the words feeling weird with him on the receiving end. His eyes went wide and he awkwardly moved his hands as if he were going to touch you. You rolled your eyes, swatting away his hands before grabbing his wrist and pulling him up to stand on the bed with you after you kicked off your shoes.

You started jumping on the bed, but he just looked at you with a confused expression, making you gesture for him to copy you. He was always like that; you telling him to do something and without actually questioning, he’d go along with you.

You could hear talking outside the door and something clicked in your head. “Oh, that feels so good, Clay. Don’t stop,” you falsely moaned, glaring at him as he struggled not to laugh, the two of you jumping almost in sync as the mattress squeaked beneath your weight.

You motioned for him to add and he looked up to the ceiling, attempting to recover from everything that was happening. “You like that? Slut,” he matched your tone, making you roll your eyes and cover your mouth to hide your laugh at the degradation.

You moaned again, and he giggled quietly, moaning with you. The two of you had begun to loosen up, even timing your jumps so you could double jump and throw Clay off balance. If someone had told you a week prior that you’d be jumping on a nameless person’s bed with your best friend, pretending he was nailing you into tomorrow, you would have laughed. But it probably wouldn’t have surprised you.

The two of you slowed down, winded from the unnecessary exercise. You shrugged slightly, mimicking what you would sound like during an orgasm. It came out weak and Clay looked at you like you’d stabbed him in the chest. He mouthed, “Come on.” You rolled your eyes, wondering how you had found yourself in that position before moaning again, this time a bit too accurately.

You covered your mouth and Clay’s ears turned red as he laughed slightly. You’d been roommates with a friend of his in the past and it nearly dawned on you that he might have heard the sound from you before. You brushed the thought from your mind before it could completely sink in as you got off the bed. He plopped down on the edge of the mattress, catching his breath as you straightened your clothing, tugging your shoes back on. There was something hanging in the air between the two of you now, but you had quickly decided that you’d rather not address it.

After that night, you weren’t really sure how it had gone between Clay and the girl. You wanted to ask him about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to after you noticed the two leaving together. You had done your job, maybe a bit too well.

In fact, the two of you had been avoiding each other since then. It wasn’t until a week later that you were finally in the same room with him at a birthday party for a mutual friend of yours. The two of you glanced at each other awkwardly before you stood beside him, nudging his arm with your own.

“So, how’d it go with that one girl?” You asked, glancing up at him, your eyes then settling on the group spread around the room talking amongst themselves.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, yeah I ended up just driving her home,” he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip. You raised an eyebrow at him. “I just… I wasn’t in the mood anymore. I don’t know…”

You nodded at his statement, deciding that it was ridiculous for you to feel so weird around him for nothing. You knew it was all in your head and he wouldn’t be walking around on eggshells if you weren’t making him. This was Clay, after all. “All that work and for what?” You joked.

He sent you a smile, his shoulders relaxing. “I mean, come on. You had to have enjoyed that-”

You cut him off. “Oh yeah, grinding on you was literally the greatest time of my life,” you quipped sarcastically.

He grinned smugly. “I mean, it was the greatest time of my life to hear you moaning my name.”

You scoffed. “Hope you recorded it,” you mumbled, making him nod in agreement. You rolled your eyes playfully as everyone moved to gather around each other. Seats quickly filled up and Clay sent you a sly grin, patting his lap.

Just to prove a point, you took his offer, making him tense up as if he wasn’t expecting you to. He sat up a bit straighter to even the two of you out, making you shift on his lap. You moved again, setting your drink on one of the nearby tables and he groaned. You froze, hoping no one had noticed his hand press into your hip.

His lips were beside your ear; breath warm and inviting. “Stop moving,” he bit, voice barely above a whisper.

Your mouth curled into a smirk. “Why? Can’t control yourself?” You jeered, making his grip tighten on you.

“Don’t tease,” he nipped, making you smile wider. You moved again, this time pulling your knee to your chest and leaning back against him. With the new movement, you could feel him harden beneath you, and for some reason, you were into it. Your escapades in the bedroom had given you a series of oddly sexual dreams about Clay. Maybe this was your chance to relieve what tension had been built between the two of you.

His other arm moved to wrap around your knee, cementing you in place. “Cut it out,” he hissed, making your eyes settle on his. You could tell by the lust-blown look in his eyes that he was already thinking about you too.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You quizzed, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes danced back and forth between yours, searching your face for a hint of joking.

You could feel his heart skip a beat. “Really?” He asked, waiting for you to redact your words. You nodded. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as your mom and the pool boy,” you joked, instantly lightening the mood as he rolled his eyes, leaning forward and digging his face into the crook of your neck and making you laugh. You got off his lap, moving towards the birthday boy and saying your goodbyes with the claim that you had an upset stomach so Clay was driving you home.

When the two of you finally got out of the apartment building, Clay turned to you. He spoke with a clear tone now, “This is real,” his words coming out as a question in and of itself. “You’re not fucking with me?”

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing onto his jacket and pressing your lips against his, your body flush against him as his hands hesitantly wrapped around you. Your kiss quickly became hungry and passionate. You’d never kissed him before; usually opting to live vicariously through your friends. As your hands carded into his hair, his fingers fisted in your clothing, almost as if you would float away from him.

Clay broke away almost breathlessly, his lips moving to press against your neck. “I want you,” he groaned, making you moan in response. As he pulled you towards his car, you knew the two of you would finally be relieving some long-time festering tension.

[frenchtipacrylics]

My Routine for Doll Skin✨

i absolutely love having a thorough skincare routine. it makes me feel like a scientist, haha. i unfortunately have bad genetics when it comes to skin, so no amount of “drink water”, “cut out dairy and sugar”, or “manage what you eat” will ever help improve my skin. i simply need an effective routine, and here’s what works best for me.

the morning

in the mornings, i usually prep my skin for the day. this means i use products that protect my skin from the UV rays, pollution, makeup, and other nasty stuff that it’ll come in contact with. 

cleansing: in the morning, i do not use a cleanser. i just rinse my face with warm water.

toner: i don’t use witch hazel or any other astringents; instead, i use toners that hydrate my skin instead of drying it out. i love the kikumasamune sake high moisture toner and the pyukang yul essence toner.

serums: during the day i need serums that will adequately prepare my skin for makeup. because i’m oily, i use the ordinary’s niacinamide + zinc serum since it is great at oil control. i also have a 1% salicylic acid serum that helps with oil control as well as lightly exfoliates my skin, making it smooth and clearing my pores so my makeup has a great base. if i have recently had any acne, i use either a vitamin c serum or an alpha arbutin serum to clear up any dark spots. for those, i like the ordinary and the inkey list. 

moisturizer: finally, to lock in everything i put on my face i like to use a moisturizer. even if i have oily skin, i use a moisturizer or else i’m just drying out my skin. i use light creams or gels. my favorites are the ordinary’s natural moisturizing factors, the primera watery cream, and the iunik centella gel cream.

spf: every morning, my skincare routine ends with me putting on sunscreen. when using chemical exfoliation, it’s pertinent that you use an spf afterwards because if not then it undoes all your hard work; however, even when you aren’t using chemical exfoliants you always need to wear spf because sun damage makes your skin tone uneven and you obviously don’t want skin cancer. yes, even if you are darkskinned, when you’re inside if you have sun coming in through your windows, during the winter, when it’s raining. it’s also important to use spf 30 or above and be sure to reapply every two hours. for the initial application, my favorite sunscreen is the purito green level if i’m not going to be in the sun all day. for reapplication over my makeup, i use the supergoop spf spray.

at night

my skincare routine for the nighttime is focused on barrier repair and hydration. this is when i use products like chemical exfoliants because using them makes the skin more sensitive to harmful uv rays from the sun. i like to layer hydration here in order to balance out my morning routine which isn’t very hydrating. 

oil cleansing: i make sure to double cleanse by using an oil cleanser first and then following up with a traditional cleanser. if you wear makeup, have oily skin, or wear spf (and you’re supposed to wear spf every single day!!!), you need to double cleanse or you’re still leaving some makeup and spf on your face, which can cause acne. i like to use the farmacy cherry balm, but i also like the oat balm from inkey list.

traditional cleansing: for my traditional cleanser, i use gel cleansers because i have really oily skin. i like to dry cleanse, which is basically rubbing the cleanser onto your skin without water for about 30 seconds before wetting my hands and continuing to cleanse my face with water for the remaining 30 seconds. yes, i wash my face for 60 seconds and so should you. we’re supposed to wash our hands for at least 30 seconds to truly clean them, so why should our faces be any different? my favorite is the glow recipe blueberry bounce gentle cleanser, but i also like the simple micellar gel wash. i remove all my cleansers with a warm, wet cloth.

chemical exfoliation: this is truly how i get my skin together. i’m a bit advanced when it comes to chemical exfoliation, so unless you’re used to it do not copy me. your skin will hate you. bha 2 days a week, retinol/differin once a week, and azelaic acid on alternating days = doll skin, period. this combo gets rid of my skin congestion, clears my pores, smooths out my skin, and gets rid of any pimples with the quickness. i use the paula’s choice 2% bha, differin, and the ordinary’s azelaic acid (or paula’s choice if i want to splurge a little).

toner: again! i’ll admit it, i put my skin through a lot as someone who wears a full face of makeup everyday and has oily skin. however, it’s important to not be constantly stripping your skin of moisture. every other product in my nighttime routine is focused on keeping my skin barrier in tact and healthy. some people like putting their toner on a cotton round and wiping it over their face to get off excess dirt, but i cleanse my skin thoroughly so that isn’t needed. i always pour a bit of toner into my hands and press it into my damp skin like a serum.

essences: this is literally just for extra hydration. essences are like toners, but they can be thicker and are always hydrating, so they feel more luxurious. my favorites are the hadalabo premium hyaluronic solution and the cosrx snail mucin essence.

serums: at night, i only use hydrating serums. i love the ordinary’s niacinamide + zinc serum at night because niacinamide not only helps with oil control but it also helps with barrier repair. i also like to use their marine hyaluronics serum. my favorite barrier repair serum is the purito centella buffet serum; as soon as i put that on, any irritation is immediately soothed. krave’s great barrier relief and paula’s choice omega complex serum are both great if you’re willing to spend a little more.

moisturizer: because i don’t have to worry about keeping my makeup on all day, i tend to go for heavier moisturizers at night. during this time, i only use moisturizers that have ingredients formulated for barrier repair, such as ceramides, centella extract, and squalane oil. i use the one kind dream cream and the cerave moisturizer in a tub.

occlusive: an occlusive is what i put on my face during the night so i wake up with soft, plump skin and don’t suffer from tewl, or trans-epidermic water loss. if you wake up with skin on the dry side, you should probably put on an occlusive at night. i used to use a facial oil, but i found that it wasn’t occlusive enough for me. now i use the cerave healing ointment, but plain vaseline works well, too.

weekly

here are the things that aren’t needed more than once a week for me. these are all either addressing issues that i don’t have as often, for special occasions, or could even be detrimental if done too often.

face shaving: i do not do at-home dermaplaning, but i do use an eyebrow razor to tackle my mustache area and in-between my brows. i also shape/tweeze my eyebrows and tweeze wherever else needed at this step.

masks: depending on where i’m going or what my goal is, i usually use either a sheet mask, a hydrogel mask, or a clay mask. sheet masks are honestly just hydrating serums, and i like to do these in the winter when i’m feeling especially dry. i use hydrogel masks tend to target certain areas such as the under eyes or lips. when i need my makeup to last a very long time or i’m about to go on a really important event, i use clay masks to completely mattify my face. when removing clay masks, i like to use a hydrating spray (my toner in a spray bottle) to make the mask wet again so i don’t tug on my skin as much during the removal process. 

spot treating: i don’t get pimples often anymore, but when i do i like to get rid of them asap. i don’t pop my pimples because it’s unsanitary for a number of reasons, but i do understand the urge to pick at them. that’s why i put a spot treatment on them. i use zapzyt which is a 10% benzoyl peroxide acne treatment gel or the sulfur spot treatment from face reality. if my pimple accidentally does “pop”, i clean the area and quickly put an acne patch on it. i love the peace out acne dots with salicylic acid and the hydro-stars from star-face. 

lip care: especially now that winter is coming up, it is important to not have dry, nasty, cracked lips. i use a lip scrub to exfoliate all the dead skin off, then apply an overnight lip mask. the lip scrub i use is the seraphine botanicals orange + cream lip polish. my favorite lip masks are the tarte sea jelly glaze lip masks and the laneige lip sleeping masks. obviously, throughout the day i wear lip balm and while i really love the jack black intense therapy lip balm and the dior lip glow balm, i only use vaseline now for medical reasons.

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

[bruhlsbees]

kachow— (???)

okay, but, reader usually being extremely clingy and super lovey-dovey. and always calling Alex, or maybe Niki pet names, never by calling him by his name. and one day being distant and calling him by his name and he's just so confused??? and wonders wtf he did to upset her, but she's just playing w him and waiting for him to call her out on her attitude???

kachow || niki lauda x fem!reader

summary: after a week of being ignored you act out during a press conference to get niki's attention

pairing: niki lauda x fem!reader

word count: 2,519

warnings: smut smut smut, reader acts like a brat and niki likes it, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slight breeding kink, y'all this freak nasty what can i say, minors dni, 18+, nsfw

a/n: this is my first time writing for niki and i had a lot of fun!! makes me even more excited to write my niki fic!!

Niki Lauda was a serious man.

Things always had to be better than perfect for him, especially on the days where there was a race or press conference - those days, and the days leading up to it, it felt like a miracle if you could grab his attention for more than five seconds. He was so worried about making sure that he was in the right mindset for the race that he would forget about everything else, including you.

And this time was no different. The past week you woke up alone, went to bed alone, and most hours when he was free and home, the time he could’ve been spending with you, he was on the phone strategizing with Clay or someone else on the team about the track he would be racing on. So to say you were pent up was an understatement. Not only were you irritated over the busy week that left you alone, but you were also jealous - jealous of your husband’s career that let fans see him more than you - and to be truthful, you were horny as hell.

Were you thrilled when it finally hit that the love of your life was a formula one racer? That the tracks he raced on could be dangerous? No, absolutely not. You never thought that you would marry someone whose profession was racing, but it was Niki, and for some reason - the two of you clicked. But what kind of wife would you be if you took his passion away from him? Not a rather empathetic one.

But you had enough. A week was far too long and when it finally came to the day of the press conference, you decided that it was time for your husband to get the short end of the stick, to taste your anger.

Your attention had been fixed on the clock hanging up on the back wall for the past forty-eight minutes...drowning out the reporters, fans, and Niki, you sat in your thoughts to pass the time by, not bothering to keep up the doting wife facade.

It was noticed quickly, however, by those attending the press conference - although it wasn’t until Niki grabbed your thigh under the table causing you to jump that you realized they were talking to you.

Leaning forward, your mouth bumping against the microphone, the harsh ring from contact echoing the room. You shot back a little, adjusting the microphone before clearing your throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Laughter erupted through the room, causing you to smile weakly before listening to the reporter’s question.

“Mrs. Lauda, it’s been noticed that this week, and today especially, you have looked particularly down. Is there a reason for this? Is there a Baby Lauda on the way? Are there any issues in the bedroom or just in general between you and Niki?”

You, joined by Niki and the rest of his team that sat up in the front along the table all fell back in shock, surprised to hear such a bold question from a reporter.

It was a bad idea, you knew it, but you were so upset by the week, the reporter, everything that it just slipped out, without a second chance to stop yourself.

“I hate to be the one to say it, but it doesn’t look like Baby Lauda will be coming anytime soon,” When the murmurs began to pick up, you smiled glancing over at Niki who looked at you confused before continuing on, “As you all know my dear husband is incredibly busy with the season. He’s gone most of the day to make sure he wins and by the time he gets home I’m already in bed,” You paused again, smiling wickedly at the crowd before finally finishing. “There are no issues because there is nothing going on in the bedroom to begin with-“

“Alright, thank you Mrs. Lauda! I think that’s it for questions today. Thank you all for coming!” The mediator of the press conference rushed, standing now up at the main podium in the middle.

The awkward clapping picked up over the room while the rest of Niki’s team departed. You followed in suit, keeping in the back while the rest of the team went through the dressing room and out back towards the bus. Before you could take a step out of the dressing room, you felt a sudden tight grasp on your arm. Spinning, you looked and saw Niki in front of you, face red and seething.

“Are you ill? What the hell was that? Do you know how bad that just made me? I’m going to look like a horrible husband! Is there what you want?” He shook your arm violently, tugging you back towards him each time you tried to pull away.

“Answer me, dammit!”

You jumped back slightly from the sudden outburst that came from Niki. Of course you knew that it made him look back, but it wasn’t anything detrimental to his career…was it? He kept his gaze locked on you, waiting for you to respond. What Niki hadn’t been expecting though was the smirk that toyed on your face.

“I’m sorry, but I’m lacking the sight to see what is so funny?” His eyebrows were knitted right together, his nostrils flaring.

“Nothing funny at all, Niki. I was just thinking, you know, if you’re so worried about what the stupid press thinks, why don’t you prove them wrong?” Your free hand ran up Niki’s chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt before your eyes flicked up towards him.

At this point he didn’t look angry anymore, but pent up, frustrated with what had happened but also because it took two to do the devil’s tango - and he was missing you, whether he would admit it or not.

Then it hit him, what you were doing. Messing with him to get his attention. Niki had to admit, it was a smart move, but he was smarter and if you were thinking that you would get away with it and what you wanted, you were wrong.

His own smirk toyed on his face before he looked around the dressing room. Nobody was around and they had a few minutes to spare - because after the stunt you pulled everyone knew not to interrupt with whatever argument between the Lauda’s would spew. It wasn’t the most private, but he would make it work.

“Prove them wrong? Is that the image you are painting for me now? Niki Lauda the bad husband?” He tugged you closer to him, your face only inches away from him, you could feel the air that came from his nose hit you in the face, “Is that what you want?”

“What makes you think you weren’t already a bad husband?”

The only thing you heard was the ringing in your ears. It was deafening, the silence between you two after your joke. Your face slacked though after a while, thinking maybe you went too far.

“Niki, I-“

Before you could get your apology out, Niki grabbed onto your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks together before pulling you with him towards the couch. He turned you around and pushed back onto the couch, watching as you fell back with a huff. Niki grinned down at you before sitting on his knees, pushing your legs open.

“I’m a bad husband, yes? Bad husbands don’t let their wives feel satisfied, do they?” His thick accent was muffled in your ears by the sound of your own whimpers, watching as he reached his hands under your dress and hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear.

Niki pulled your underwear down your legs, growing frustrated when they got tangled with your heels before muttering something under his breath and tearing them into two, tossing the ripped fabric off to the side. Your mouth hung open, glaring now at him.

“Why did you- oh!”

You fell back into the couch when you felt his mouth on your cunt, his hands gripping onto your thighs to keep them open as you tried to close them around his head. Your hands were gripping the sofa cushions, moaning out as you felt Niki’s tongue swipe up and down.

As he continued to eat you out, sucking at your clit until your legs were shaking around him, your eyes began to fill with tears, feeling overstimulated with everything that was going on. Your hands sank down from the couch and down where Niki was in between your legs, your fingers running through his recently washed and styled curls.

“Niki...baby…” Your eyes rolled back into your head, whining as your climax began to rise. If you weren’t so high from the mind blowing head that Niki was giving you, you might have been able to get a cohesive sentence out.

Smirking against your cunt, Niki pulled away to look up at you, your own wetness dripping down his chin, hitting the spot on his chest that was exposed from where he didn’t button his shirt up. While he stared up at you, he took the time to slowly run his fingers along you, his thumb pressing down at your clit to rub in circles while his index and middle finger sank into you.

Hiding his grin from you, Niki turned and pressed a kiss to your thigh, biting down on the soft flesh before moving up, pressing his forehead against yours to keep your gaze locked on him.

“What does my pretty disobedient wife want? Does she want to cum around my fingers? Make a mess all over this disgusting couch?” His own ragged breath was picked up, his warm breath against your cheek as he moved his face to press against your ear, his teeth nipping at the spot behind your ear, listening to you moan and wither under him.

Your hips began to buck forward into his hand, desperately begging for more. Your hands were gripping at the front of Niki’s shirt, face pressed against his as you tried to listen to him. You didn’t want to cum around his fingers, but around his dick - his wonderful dick that you had missed all week.

“No, Niki...I want your...your…” Before you could get your words out your body flinched, toes curling as you felt your orgasm rise even more. You were so close, yet felt so empty at the same time. This wasn’t what you were thinking would happen, you were hoping he’d fuck you good, not tease you.

Usually Niki would help you out, finish your sentences for you, but he wanted to tease you good, give you a taste of your own medicine. He waited and listened, continuing to fuck you with his fingers while you desperately grabbed onto him, whimpering and whining out so pathetically.

“Say it and maybe I’ll give it to you...but only if you ask nicely.” He teased, kissing down your neck, using his left hand to open up the front of your dress, pushing your bra up roughly before latching on to your right nipple, sucking down hard.

At this point you weren’t sure how to get it out. Your words were stuck in your throat and he was overstimulating you at this point, but when he latched onto your other nipple, gripping at your right breast with his left hand, you finally had enough.

“Niki, please, oh please just fuck me already!”

Your desperate plea slowed Niki’s motions to a stop, his fingers coming to a standstill and his mouth pulling away from your breast, looking down at you.

“Am I a bad husband?” He asked, staring into your own eyes. You shook your head, your hands coming up to his face.

“No, Niki, you’re a wonderful husband...the best husband.” You breathed, leaning forward to kiss him. He didn’t kiss you back, not wanting to think he was so easily won over, but smiled against your kiss, feeling you pull away before he adjusted his spot above you.

“Say it again,” He demanded, beginning to pull at his belt and tug his pants down enough to pull his now hard dick out. “Tell me that I’m a good husband.”

You felt his dick rub against your cunt, his tip teasingly sinking into you before pulling out just as quick. Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you until his forehead hit yours again, you held his left cheek with your left hand, your right hand in his hair.

“Niki, you’re a good husband.” The quiet confession seemed to finally be enough for Niki to give you what you wanted. Snapping his hips forward suddenly, with one solid thrust he was in you, pounding you into the couch as he grunted, his hands at your hips to keep you locked onto him.

The feeling of his dick in you now was enough to send you over the edge. Clinging onto him while he rutted inside of you, the sound of his hips connecting with yours and your own wetness slapping against both of your skin filled the room along with the sounds of your moans and pants. It was rougher than usual, hurting only slightly, but you enjoyed it.

“Look at you, my pretty wife so drunk off my cock.” You heard Niki say, leaving wet kisses along your cheek and jawline, his own thrusts slowing as his legs began to shake.

You whined at the comment, moving your face to bury it in the crook of his neck while you came. Before you could sink your mouth onto his shoulder, he grabbed your face in his hand and pulled you back.

“No, you’re going to look at me when you cum. I want to see your pretty face while you cum around my cock.”

The tears continued to fall down, although you were not sad - you were hitting your breaking point, the tension in your stomach practically suffocating you. But you obeyed, locking eyes with Niki’s that were darkened by his pupils, his honey irises outlining his eyes.

He must have been close too, given how sloppy he was becoming. Niki kept his eyes locked on you as his pace quickened again, going faster than before until he let out a final grunt, cumming deep in you. You reached your own orgasm only seconds later, moaning as you clung to him, hugging him tight as your legs wrapped around his hips, shaking still from the intensity of your orgasm.

As you both came down from your high, Niki kept his position on you, not moving while he caught his breath. You pulled back from him when you felt him finally move, pulling out of you slowly, grinning down at the sight of you.

“I think we will have some news for those reporters here soon,” He said suddenly, your head tilted to the side in confusion. He shook his head, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before finally getting up to get around.

“I think Baby Lauda will be coming sooner than we expected.”

[rebelwrites]

Imma Take Care Of Your Body (NSFW)

Clay Spenser x Reader

A/N THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN REBEL IS IN A THIRSTY AS FUCK MOOD!!! Also this took me THE WHOLE FUCKING DAY to write please show it some love.

Warnings: PURE AND UTTER FILTH! Was gonna put warnings on this but there’s too much to list 😂

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Clay Spenser Masterlist

This Months Writing

Being one of the few females on deployment had its advantages, the main one being, you got a hooch to yourself. You didn’t have to bunk with the rest of Bravo. The one major downside was you couldn’t always fill that need on your own, and the rest of the team had no idea of your little arrangement with a certain blondie, well that’s what you thought anyway. You had a itch that was in desperate need of scratching but you had no idea when you and Clay could sneak off to have some fun of your own.

Walking out of your hooch, the warm breeze tickled your skin, it was the first night of deployment so everyone was chilling around the fire pit, beers on hand. Looking around you saw that every seat was taken, and you didn’t fancy sitting on the floor, the sand was a bitch to clean out.

“That’s it guys,” you laughed grabbing a beer from the cooler. “Take all the seats, it’s fine, I didn’t want to sit down anyway!”

“Why you always gotta be dramatic Y/L/N?” Sonny laughed.

“Urm because dramatic is my middle name, Sunshine.” You laughed, hitting round the back of his head. Before moving round the group, standing the stop between Clay and Trent.

“I got the perfect seat for you baby,” Clay said lowly so only you could hear, as he glanced down at his lap, his hand position perfectly, near his crotch. “You know this seat is always free for you.”

“Is that right Blondie?” You whispered as Clay pulled you down onto this lap, this wasn’t out of the ordinary for the two of you, so no one mentioned it.

It was like Clay knew what you were feeling, as he didn’t stop bouncing his leg, it also meant he was in a teasing mood.

“Quit wiggling would ya!” you laughed.

“Why, is it getting to you baby?” He hummed against your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin and you could feel his semi pressing right against the spot you needed him the most.

“Clay,” You said, meaning for it to come out at a warning but instead it came out breathless.

“What’s up babygirl?” He hummed, gently grazing his teeth against your skin.

“You know what, Spenser.” You said as you took a deep breath, trying not to show just how turned on you were right now, it was like a game to Clay. He always tried to tease you in front of everyone.

“Don’t know what you are on about, Princess.” He whispered as he moved his free hand to your thigh. “But you can’t hide how turned on you are , you know I know every inch of this body, and just how it reacts to my touch.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as his hand ran up and down your thigh.

“You know Imma take care of this body,” he whispered, “kiss every inch of this soft skin, teasing you, slowly running my fingers over your clit, before pushing my fingers inside of you.”

“Clay, please stop,” you breathed as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Princess, you know I never stop,” he laughed, as he slowly pressed his hard on against your core “I’m going to watch as you squirm in pleasure from just the feeling of my fingers, moaning my name, making you feel like no one else can.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you let your eyes flutter closed.

“I wanna feel your body pressed against mine, listen to you moan as I slowly push my hard cock in you, giving you what you really want.” He breathed.

“Oh god,” you mumbled, as he pressed up against you again.

“But you won’t get any of it baby, not until I hear you say it.” he whispered, gently biting your ear lobe.

“Fuck” you breathed. “I need you Clay, so fucking bad”

“That’s a good girl.” he smirked, kissing your forehead. “Who am I to deny you of what you need, let’s go”

You didn’t need to think twice, as you stood up without saying anything to anyone. You headed back to your hooch, with Clay following close behind you.

The moment you were behind closed doors, he pinned you against the wall, his lips crashing down on yours as he pressed his body against yours. You couldn’t lie you were addicted to him, the way he made you feel was like nothing you had ever felt before.

“Fuck, you don’t know how bad I want you right now” he breathed against your lips, as his fingers fumbled with the button on your trousers.

“I’m all yours to take,” you whimpered, leaning into his touch.

“You just know the right things to say to me,” he growled as he pushed your trousers down your legs, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you standing there in just your underwear, his eyes roaming your body before pushing you down onto the bed. “Damn you are so fucking perfect” he hummed as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor.

“Clay, please,” you whimpered, making him smirk “I need you so bad”

“Patience babygirl,” he smirked as he dropped his jeans and boxers, making your mouth water at the sight that was in front of you. “I told you how things are going to go!”

“Yeah well, change of plan,” you giggled, as you crawled over to him, leaning back on your heels as you kissed his thick thighs, his breathing getting heavier as you got closer to his dick. “You always focus on me, it’s time I returned the favour” without any warning you ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins against your tongue, slowly making your way to the head as his fingers knotted themselves into your hair, throwing his head back as you sucked slightly harder before taking him all on your mouth. It took a couple of attempts and some gagging, due to him being big and thick, but you weren’t giving up until you had all only him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Clay grunted, as his grip on your hair tightened, “You and that pretty little mouth of yours will get you into so much trouble one day babygirl.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, as you continued to make him feel as good as he makes you feel, his heavy breathing and grunts, spurred you on, feeling his dick twitch in your mouth. Before he pulled your hair, pulling you off him.

“Playtime is over, Princess,” he growled, as he managed to unclasp your bra with one hand, before pushing you down on the bed. His lips connecting with your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your skin, sending sparks through your body, Clay knew your body like the back of hand, so he knew just what buttons to press.

He slowly and agonisingly, moved down your body, placing hot, open mouthed kisses across your skin, he was in this for the long game and you knew after you would be exhausted, but it was so worth it.

“Clay, please stop teasing.” You cried as he slowly ran his fingers through your wet folds, smirking when he realised just how much he was effecting you. Without warning he pushed two fingers inside of you, making you cry in pleasure, arching your back as he curled his fingers finding your g spot. “Oh god,” you moaned.

“God I love hearing you moan my name,” he hummed against your throbbing clit, the feeling of his breath adding to everything you were feeling, the moment his tongue found your clit made you scream out, tangling your fingers in his hair, your whole body felt like it was on fire and was about to explode any moment, Clay also knew this as you felt him smirk before stopping everything he was doing, making you whine in annoyance, you were so fucking close. “I’m in charge, Princess, you remember that. And you cum when I allow it.”

Feeling him slowly pull his fingers out, you whimpered from the loss of feeling of him, but it wasn’t long before his fingers were at your mouth, without thinking you took his fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean, tasting yourself on him only made you hornier. You didn’t know what it was but Clay always managed to bring the inner slut out of you, doing things you’d never do with anyone else.

“That’s my good girl,” Clay breathed, as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Now where is it? And don’t bother trying to tell me you didn’t bring it because I know you did,” he laughed as he looked around the room. “I know you just can’t live without my cock baby.”

“Backpack,” you breathed, as he took his fingers from your mouth. The anticipation of what was coming was driving you crazy, the item in question was originally meant as a gag gift but now it was something you couldn’t live without.

“Got ya.” Clay grinned as he pulled the black box out, pulling the vibrator out, but this wasn’t your standard vibrator, this was molded from his own cock. “See I knew this gift would be the best thing ever.”

“Baby please,” you moaned as he turned the vibrator onto the fastest setting, holding it against your clit, making your squirm. “I just need you,” you breathed “need you so fucking bad.”

“Patience Princess,” he laughed, watching your breathing get heavier, grasping at the sheets as he kept the toy pressed against you. “Tell me babygirl, how often to you fuck yourself with this, wishing it was the real thing?”

“All the goddamn time,” you cried, bucking your hips against the toy, trying to get some sort of release. “Please Clay,” you whimpered “please just fuck me.”

“Well seen as you asked so nicely,” he grinned as he positioned himself against you, reaching up grabbing a spare pillow to put under your ass, both of your moans filled the room as he finally pushed his solid cock in you.

“Oh fuck,” you cried as you clawed at his arms, the feeling of his hard thrusts and the toy still pressed against you clit sent your body into a frenzy, your legs were shaking and your eyes were rolling back in pleasure. “Oh god, Clay.”

“Fuck baby,” Clay grunted as his grip on your hips got tighter. “Don’t you dare cum yet Princess, not yet.”

“I’m so close,” you cried.

“Soon babygirl, soon,” he moaned as he felt you tighten around his cock. “Fuck you are so tight.”

“Fuck, please, shit,” you cried, the pleasure was just too much for you, the overstimulation and his long hard thrusts were too much, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. Digging your fingers into his arms, you cried out, you didn’t care that the walls were thin and the whole base could probably hear you screaming Clay’s name as the most intense orgasm washed over you, your whole body was shaking as Clay continued to thrust, his grip on your hips getting tighter, and would definitely leave marks but you didn’t care right now, all that mattered was the connection you had with Clay.

Opening your eyes, you bit your lip as you got lost in his blue eyes, your heart was pounding against your chest, your breathing was heavy and it felt like you were floating as you road out your high as Clay found his own climax, his face screwing up, as he took his final thrust, moaning your name as he came.

The toy had now been turned off and tossed to the side, as he collapsed on top of you, taking his weight on his arms, resting his forehead against yours.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

“Tell me about it,” you breathed, resting one hand on his cheek and the other in the centre of his chest. “Think that’s the hardest you have made me cum.”

“Won’t be the last either,” he smirked, pausing in thought for a second, as he pulled out. “I want more Y/N.”

“Damn boy, let me recover first.” You giggled as he helped clean you up before laying next to you, pulling you into his arms, resting your head on his chest.

“No, I’m fucking spent right now.” He laughed “What I mean is I want more, don’t get me wrong the sex is mind blowing, but I don’t just want us to be each other’s booty calls. I want to be able to call you my girl.”

“Good job I want the same then.” You whispered running your fingers over his chest.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, his kiss said everything that needed to be said. Yes the lust was still there, but it was full of passion and love and once again left you breathless.

“I guess we better go rejoin the group,” he whispered against your lips.

“Mmm, ten more minutes,” you whispered, “I don’t wanna leave our bubble just yet and face the real world.”

“I mean if they didn’t know something was going on between us, they sure do now. You really don’t know how to be quiet, do you Princess? Might have to gag you next time.”

“Is that a promise, Spenser?”

@chibsytelford @mrsmarvelous1995 @supervalcsi @talicat713 @disasterfandoms @bravo-four-seal-team @jasonbabymama @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @lotsoflovefromlea @seik-o @ohitshanksgirlxo @velvetcardiganbucky @phoenixhalliwell @pancakeisreading @itsonautopilot @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @softi92 @abby-splace @withmyteeth

[amazingmsme]

Hot Boy Summer

AN: Here’s my fic for the @ticklesofcolor fic exchange! I wrote for @calmturquoise & I had a blast writing this fic for you! So sorry for the delay, I just finished up with my associates & I had to write 2 final papers. I hope you’re okay that I was liberal with your prompt, since I went with Zuko & Sokka it would kind of be hard for him to use his bending to tickle someone, but I still tried to incorporate it! I also completely threw in the towel with this title. I hope you enjoy it! Sokka & Zuko just play off of each other so well.

Zuko was hot. Like strictly temperature wise Sokka told himself. But firebending proved to be quite useful to him. When they were camping, he was the warmest to sit next to. Not to mention, he made great fires for roasting weenies and marshmallows. But Sokka's favorite thing about it was that it meant he was pretty easy to tick off, which made for good fun.

He would never actually get too angry, so he assumed he didn't actually mind it all that much. And the truth was, he didn't. Zuko never really had friends of his own, and the playful teasing, if annoying, was actually fun. The others picked up on the habits too. It ended up with Toph claiming Zuko as her body pillow to hug against while she slept.

"Hey, can you hold this?" Without waiting for an answer, Sokka shoved a wet clay bowl in Zuko's warm hands.

"Wha- uh- sure," he said, perplexed but not setting it down. Sokka's cheeks were puffed out like a frog from trying to contain his laughter. Zuko realized what he was trying to do and huffed to keep himself from chuckling along. "Hell no, go find a kiln," he said, shoving it back in Sokka's hands.

As annoying as it was, it made Zuko feel... accepted. Like he was actually a part of the group instead of the outcast he was so used to being. He thought that they would all hate him: fearing his flame and mistrusting of everything he did. But that wasn't the case. And it felt good. He felt like, maybe, he could return the playful teasing. Toph was surprisingly easy to embarrass when he mentioned how "hot" she must thing he is from cuddling him all the time. Coincidentally, an embarrassed Toph and an angry Toph we're pretty much one in the same, and a sharp rock had launched him several feet in the air.

Katara could see right through his attempts at teasing, at being friendly, but she was still not amused by him. Aang was too happy all the time to get a rise out of him, though it was still fun to mess with the young avatar. Sokka was the most fun however. He had a sense of humor, and even though Zuko's wasn't what you'd consider "good" the other boy could still recognize what was meant to be a joke or a tease and deliver one right back. He was dramatic, and therefore, very easy to evoke a reaction.

He couldn't help but notice how the rest of them were very physical. Like, they'd constantly be touching each other. At first he found it a little unsettling, but they had done a pretty good job of making him get used to it. And eventually, he began reaching out to them.

So when Sokka grabbed his wrist and squeezed a pressure point to make a flame shoot out to toast a mallow. He snatched his hand back and shakes a finger in his face to scold him. "Alright I've had just about enough of you using me as your personal lighter!" he admonished, the smirk on his face revealing his amusement. Sokka's smirk was even wider. More smug and full of pride.

"Why? It's not like you'll do anything," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Zuko glared at him. He was right, he'd probably just let it slide. Except he'd watched how they all play with each other and wanted them to know he could be fun like that too. He always hesitated to reach out, but he wanted to change. So they were both a little shocked when he shoved Sokka to the ground and sat on his legs, just above the knee. He blinked a few times then chuckled. "Nice try flambo, but it'll take more than just sitting on me to teach me a lesson," he sassed.

"I know," he said, looking down at him. He'd seen the others tickle Sokka to tears when he won't knock it off with the lame jokes, so he knew this method would be affective. Except, he didn't really know where to start. He'd never been in many tickle fights with his sister, and when he did he usually didn't win. But it had been years since he'd engaged with someone like this. But he'd watched enough, he was sure he could figure it out!

He gave a tentative poke to his belly, eliciting a quick squeak. Sokka's eyes widen and a nervous grin breaks out as he shook his head. Zuko placed a few more pokes to his stomach and sides before wiggling his fingers over the skin. Sokka was squirming and giggling lightly which... wasn't right. He'd seen the others get him, he should be howling with laughter. So why wasn't he?

"W-wohow you're really bahad at this," Sokka spoke fairly easily. Zuko huffed and shoved him against the ground and clambered away to stand. Sokka sighed and reached up, snatching his wrist. "Hey don't go, I was just teasing."

Zuko glared at the ground, lower lip jutting out slightly in a mix between a scowl and a pout. "Why not? It's true." When he didn't move to sit back down, Sokka yanked him to the ground, none too gently he might add.

"Ow! You didn't have to do that you know!" he complained, leaning to the side so he could rub his sore butt. Thankfully the grass cushioned his fall, but unexpectedly crashing down on your tailbone was never fun.

He shrugged. "I know, but it was the easiest way to make sure you wouldn't leave." He offered a softer, more genuine smile. "Besides, it's not your fault you don't know how. I doubt you had much time for goofing off like that," he said, his voice sympathetic. Zuko nodded shyly.

"Yeah, once mom was gone, things really picked up. And they were never easy before, but everything just got a lot more intense after that," he admitted. After keeping things bottled up all his life, it felt good to get it off his chest. Not all at once, but slowly; small things, like now.

Sokka seemed to mull something over in his head before deciding, "I can teach you if you want." Zuko blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I mean, I can't leave you all defenseless like that," he teased with a poke to his side. His lip twitched in a smile and he jerked away.

"Hey I can defend myself just fine! But um, who's our first target?" he asked slightly confused, staring out at the others spread around their small camp. "'Cause I think Aang'll be our best bet-" he rambled on, unaware of how Sokka was creeping up from behind.

"You are!" Zuko barely had time to process what he said before a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against Sokka's chest. He gasped as realization dawned on him and he tried to pry himself free.

"What? Why me? I-I can't learn like this!" he yelped. His friend only laughed.

"You will. You gotta know what different techniques feel like so you can get the best reactions. You gotta try different things 'cause certain things work better on some people," he explained. The way he was so casual about it just embarrassed Zuko even more.

"I appreciate the sentiment but I'm really more of a hands on kind of learner," he said as he squirmed. Sokka practically lit up.

"Then this is perfect! See? Hands-" he held them up for him to see before immediately diving for his stomach. "On!" Zuko practically screamed.

"Nohoho! Thihihis ihisn't fair!" he squealed through his laughter.

"What do you mean, of course it is! I'm giving you a lesson in tickling 101!" he chirped happily, kneading at his sides. Zuko cackled and doubled over, hands weakly prying at his wrists.

"Nohohot ohon mehehe!" he protested.

"Like I said, in order to tickle someone, you gotta know what different techniques feel like. There's light skittering," he said, demonstrating by spidering his fingers over his ribs. His laughter turned breathy and giggly, the squirming dying down as it became slightly more bearable. "Also quick squeezes," he said as he rapidly squeezed down his sides, making him squeal and twist back and forth. "Oh, and poking! But you seem to have that one down," he said, delivering quick pokes all over his torso.

"Ohohokahay I gehehet ihit! Stohop!" he cried out. Sokka shook his head.

"Not yet, the lesson's not over!" Suddenly, his hands shot down to squeeze his thighs. Zuko shrieked and kicked out, feet scrambling in the grass. "There's squeezing, oh! And kneading!" he said, switching tactics and demonstrating the new technique on his stomach. His laughter deepened as he desperately tried to squirm away, sucking in his belly and leaning away from the touch. This only succeeded in him pressing against Sokka even more, trapping him further in his hold.

"I can't believe I almost forgot one of the most important steps," Sokka said, managing to bring one arm up to smack himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

Zuko didn't want to know what he meant by that, but then again, he kind of did. Curiosity killed the cat. "W-whahahat's thahat?" he asked. Now that the other boy had brought it up, he simply had to know.

"Teasing of course!" he exclaimed. Oh no, he really shouldn't have asked. "Sokka nohoho dohon't!"

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head. "Are you too ticklish to handle it?" he asked, raising the pitch of his voice in a mocking tone. For some reason, that made the sensations even stronger and all the more maddening.

"Shuhuhut up mahahan!" he squealed, doubling over and pushing at his tickling hands. "You're really not in a position to be making demands," he said smugly. Zuko managed to growl through his laughter. Sokka chuckled at the noise.

"I can't believe it: even when you're giggling up a storm you still try to appear all broody and grouchy!" he taunted. His cheeks turned pink upon hearing this and he tried to hide his face in his hands.

"Sohohokka ohohokay! I gehet it nohohow!" he pleaded.

"Alright, last lesson. You know what raspberries are, right?" he asked. Zuko could remember how his mother would play with him when he was younger, sometimes blowing raspberries on his pudgy tummy or neck. His eyes widen and he shook his head.

"Don't you dahahare!" he tried to scold.

"Oh, I dare," Sokka said with a sly smirk, placing his lips on the nape of his neck and blew hard. A loud, wet fart noise filled the air along with Zuko's wild cackles. He arched his back as much as he could, squirming and thrashing in his hold. He managed to twist away and shoved Sokka's face back with a little more force than necessary.

Sokka's shit eating grin remained plastered on his face. "You're the worst," he spat out between panting breaths. He closed his eyes and shrugged, clearly pleased with himself.

"You're welcome." Zuko's blush burned brighter and he playfully punched his shoulder. "I didn't say thank you!"

"Yeah but you were thinking it," he teased further. "If you still suck at tickling then there's just no hope for you," he said, patting his back consolingly. A rare glint of mischief shined in Zuko's eyes.

"I think it's coming back to me... Only one way to find out." Before Sokka could react, he slammed into him with his shoulder, knocking him on his back. He wasted no time pinning him.

Sokka stated up at him in shock, already giggling with nerves. "C-can't we talk about this?"

Zuko smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Nope."

[loquaciousquark]

8th Justinian. Cool today for the season, which means I’ve only had to change undershirts twice from perspiration

The first entry in a new volume is always one of my favorites. Something about the uncracked spine, the smell of clean parchment not yet grimed along all the edges, the spell of wondering what might happen to fill the rest of it. I tucked the last one on its shelf this morning after I closed it out and stood a moment admiring the row after, two dozen lovely little leather bindings all lined up soldierly, red and gold and brown and black and even Kirkwallian orange, thanks to a particularly generous moment from Aveline after her captaincy ceremony.

I had a shelf like this in Lothering too. I started keeping journals when I was—oh, I hardly know. Thirteen, perhaps? Fourteen? Old enough to form cogent thoughts, young enough that my terribly enormous fears barely spanned the fields to the creek behind the house. Young enough that I still pretended to be angry when Carver looked through the pages, though I was secretly flattered by the jealous attention (much easier to admit in two decades of hindsight). Mother encouraged the habit, thought it might improve my penmanship. It did, as it happened, though it also improved my tendency to practice witticisms in print first before testing them on my siblings. Poor Carver. Poor Bethany. However did we make it out of childhood together all under one roof?

That shelf is ash now, I suppose. We saw the house burning from the road, saw the darkspawn slithering over the waterwheel Da had set up at the creek. I know the curtains Mother made were alight—I watched the yellow print go black with char. I can’t imagine the rest of the house didn’t burn with them. We took so little with us...

I wish I could read them again. Bethany lived in those pages, if nothing else.

But! Wishes and fishes and an infinite sea; Orana’s brought tea and the dog needs a walk. Third shirt of the day, here we come!

12th Justinian. Evening. Stifling as a Fereldan oven on a feastday, and just as thick with the inexplicable odor of turnips and gravy

Lovely morning, quiet afternoon for once. Had a few jobs out on the Coast, nothing terribly onerous; more wonderfully, the sea was cool and salty and the spray was marvelous on our sweating faces after we tipped over the last of the bodies. I offered for us all to go swimming, but instead we just sat on a low black cliff and watched the water for a while, talking of nothing in particular. Merrill was weaving flower stems together to make a little green net; Isabela took it after a bit and started tying seagrass to its edges for a fringe. It was bleached by the sun and a touch stiff, but it still drooped magnificently when I held it over Fenris’s eyes like a little veil, like the ones the sisters sometimes wear on Satinalia. He must have been in a markedly good temper; he tolerated it for near half a minute before brushing me away, and even then he was smiling.

I can’t remember the last time he and Merrill shared in a joke, even something as small as this. Maybe several months ago at Wicked Grace, when Isabela dropped her hidden Angel of Death card by accident while she was fishing out her raise from her bodice, and Merrill puffed a bit of magic at it before Isabela noticed to send it flying across the table. Fenris caught it and tucked it into his cuisse quick as lightning, and by the time Isabela realized it was missing we were three hands in and drunk enough to reveal the secret immediately. Even Fenris’s stoneface gave way like wet clay when I plucked it out of his collar.

Even Anders laughed. Raucous, too, throwing back his head and tears squeezing out of his eyes. Was that the last time I saw him laugh?

Later—early?

Woke up from a dream and couldn’t sleep again. Fenris is still out like a doused torch. His arm was so heavy on my waist I couldn’t lift it and had to roll away from the weight instead, like a little Fereldan sausage on a turning spit.

It wasn’t even a bad dream, just—one of those quiet ones that make you rueful nostalgic. The little house in Lothering, curtains and all, and Mother and Da were there, and Bethany, and Carver covered in mud for some reason, and we were sitting down to table when the front door opened and Fenris came in to join us. Snow blew in with him, and he stamped his feet (booted), and Bethany laughed as she helped him with his scarf, and Carver dished him a plate and slapped him on the back as he sat down next to me. Da was smiling over his glass, and he winked at me as Mother chattered about the journey and the roads and grandchildren...

Funnily enough, it didn’t hurt at all when I woke. I thought it would. I lay there waiting for the iron clench, and it never came. It was only warm, a little candle in a window you might glance into from the evening street, a glimpse of a life that might have been, once, but has long passed by, and then you walk on your way again, gladdened for having seen it.

Fenris has at last mumbled a protest at the magelight. I think I’ll try to sleep again.

15th Justinian. Hot and clear, not a cloud for miles and miles. I bet I could see Amaranthine from the top of the Chantry spire if I tried

I should very much like to take a shovelful of nug dung and liberally coat the front door of every gossiping noblewoman in this city. Have they nothing better to do?

Word has spread, apparently, that the Champion has taken an elf for a lover. One would think his semi-permanent residence at the mansion & his attendance at Pelarie & Jule’s wedding hand in hand with me would have been clue enough, but these have apparently been heretofore ascribed to mildly inappropriate servitude. A natural assumption, it seems, given his master is a Fereldan doglord with no higher aspirations than an herb garden which doesn’t wilt in summer and blood-stain-less pants. Lord Stinton Fucking Forrester and his hideous mother came today to tell me—in essence, anyway—that the entire neighborhood had somehow seen me kissing Fenris the other evening at the wall that leads down into the Hightown market square, the one all covered in ivy and turned at an angle from the main stairs. Frankly, it’s rather private from prying eyes, especially when one is doing one’s covert kissing in the dark as we were, so I’m not entirely certain how we were so acutely observed unless Stinton lurks more in shadows than he lets on.

Thank the Maker Fenris was out visiting Sebastian. I don’t think he’d have been angry; for all his occasional acrimony, he can be remarkably diffident when it comes to his own social defense, as if he’s never entirely sure what he’s due. Worse, he might have believed them, even for the briefest moment, and all the wroth of the Maker I upended over their entitled, mercenary, cruel heads might not have undone the wound.

Stinton cried. Little boy that he is, soft-handed and soft-brained, his head full of his mother’s stuffing. I pitied him at the end, though I didn’t regret the anger. Lady Audrey sat cold as marble, her eyes wide at my language (or my general coarseness, possibly, given I was still wearing the stained house-robe from last night’s midnight stew snack), and when I at last told her I would no more welcome her advice on my bedfellows than on how to slaughter a dozen men with fire and a six-inch blade without their noticing, since she clearly was so interested in speaking of things she knew nothing about, she sucked in her cheeks so hard she looked like one of those little eyeless dolls Xenon keeps at the Emporium to dissuade theft.

She told me I was poisoning the streets of Hightown. I told her I was about to poison her right off my sofa if she didn’t leave. Stinton apologized in a whisper on their way out, though he didn’t say for what. Orana looked almost angry as she shut the door behind them.

Hm. Magnanimous as I am, I can admit that it was the most impressive flounce I’ve ever seen. Even the de Launcets were never so Orlesian in their exeunt.

16th Justinian. Early, steaming hot again, light clouds

I told Fenris an abbreviated version when he got home. We then spent the rest of the afternoon refreshing the lyrium of his tattoos (I was right; it took me significantly less time this go-round. Or—it would have, at least, if I hadn’t stopped to lick most of the tattoos as I cleansed them) and the rest of the evening refreshing ourselves with each other. I think I can write without blushing that the toy Isabela suggested to us is an unequivocal success.

Aha. It seems the blush marches on impassively, regardless of my wishes. Well, so be it. I will not be ashamed within these pages that my lover brings me pleasure, and I take pleasure in giving him his.

I worried at the start, you know. Oh, all the usual things: the fears that I might somehow remind him of Danarius; that he might not recognize the difference between an enraged mage sapping the lyrium dry and a mage caught up in the throes of—well, something infinitely more pleasant; that Danarius might have embedded certain cruel proclivities deeper even than I could reach. Everything which comes with taking a man who was a slave as a lover. I was more than willing to try, because—well, Maker, look at him—but what if—what if—?

I asked him last night where he learned to be gentle. He was quiet a long time; then he said he wasn’t sure. He said Danarius could be gentle when he wanted, when Fenris had pleased him, though it was still a selfish sort of kindness with no consideration for Fenris in the offering, if that makes sense. He said he saw slaves, sometimes, with other slaves, despite that it was a temerarious thing and as prone to pain as his own, though for different reasons.

I asked if the Fog Warriors had been gentle. He said yes, and his eyes softened the way they always do when he speaks of them, and he fingered the amulet we’d found together in Orlais. Shameless, too, he added, and laughed. My heart hurt it swelled so quickly, and I asked him if he would show me someday what he saw. 

Someday, he promised, and then he kissed me and set the lyrium blazing, and I forgot quite everything else almost immediately. He knows so well how to distract me now, and I can hardly help but encourage it. I am in many ways a selfish lover myself, and I know he finds immense satisfaction in striking me dumb however he can.

Somewhere in these journals is our first meeting. It might even have been the start of the new set I began here in Kirkwall. I wonder—if I went back and read it now, could I know? Could I see all the ways it would wend together and apart again, all the ways it would be wonderful and all the ways it would hurt, desperately...

It was worth it. If nothing else, I know every moment was worth this.

25th Justinian. Still hot and flaring hotter, along with the tempers of every scorching templar and mage in this city

Orsino has written me. I wish he hadn’t. He wants me to come to the Gallows tonight and speak to him. He says Meredith has gone mad.

I don’t want to be part of this. Anders was with me when I read the letter and he hardly reacted at all; he’s been nothing but cold rage for weeks, and when I read the last line he gave only a bitter scoff. “He’s only just now noticed?” he said, and laughed. It was not a kind laugh, and it echoed on the rocks of the Wounded Coast like a bad copper that refused to disappear. Isabela just looked uneasy and Varric said we ought to get back to the city as soon as we could.

We passed a group of templars in Darktown on the way back. They all turned their heads in silence to watch us pass. They patrol now like guardsmen, though Aveline swears she stamps it out whenever she sees it and will not uphold arrests they bring to her. They watched us in silence, and I could feel the hostility in their eyes like the burn off ice.

I cannot describe in words how much I do not wish to go to the Gallows. This city is a maw, endlessly gorging itself on our pain, and everything in me says this meeting will tip a balance one way or another to feed the city further.

Fenris says he’ll go with me. Aveline, too, as she fears Meredith attempting to seize what’s left of the unclaimed power in Kirkwall. Varric just wants to watch it happen, I think.

There’s something tight and hot in the air, like a wire out of a forge drawn white as diamonds, and it’s been stretching and stretching for too long. For years, maybe. Something is going to snap tonight.

Well. What am I good for, if not helping people and killing people? Might as well see which will be most useful when Kirkwall comes collecting its due at last.

Later—

Elthina is dead.

Anders

The Chantry

Anders

I wanted to kill him.

I let him go. Sebastian left. He was enraged. I did that to him. He said he would

Oh, Anders, how could you have

We’re trapped in the Gallows with a dozen Circle mages. We ran through Lowtown and the docks—Carver is here—I would not slaughter the mages for her and Meredith is coming with every templar in the city to slaughter us instead. We’re just waiting—I want to go and meet them but Fenris says we’re more defensible here. She called the Right of Annulment. She

Fenris says

I can hear pounding on the gates

I don’t know what time it is. Near dawn. We’re on Isabela’s ship, sailing who knows where—away. Fenris is here with me, standing at the rail and watching the seas behind as I write because my mana’s sapped dead to ashes and there’s not a damned thing I can do for anyone but sit here and seep blood. Merrill is here too, and Carver, and Varric. Aveline stayed. Anders—Maker knows where Anders has gone. Sebastian is probably whipping a horse into a frenzy on some northward road to raise a Starkhaven army in revenge. He sang the Chant to me, held my hands when my mother died. He made pancakes for all of us that morning after Satinalia. He gave me gifts on the annums and told me he trusted me, and we walked Sundermount once arm in arm because it made him laugh

Meredith is dead. She went mad. Orsino went mad, and he is dead too. Kirkwall glories in its feasting tonight.

Anders

I’ve lost track of the days. Three we’ve been on the water, I think. Anders blew up the Chantry. The sela petrae, the drakestone—he used me. Used my affection for him, or at least for who he used to be. He killed Elthina and a dozen sisters preparing for evening vespers. Scarlet light blossomed into the sky when it happened and blew a ring of rubble into the city around us; I’ve no idea if others died in the wake. Probably so.

Meredith stabbed me as I fought her at the end. It reminded me of the Arishok, but this time I’ve no Anders to take the weight of the healing for me. Just my own blunt instrument and enough regrets to bend the back of a high dragon.

This is such a mess. What a burning mess I’ve made of all of this.

We’ve stopped in Ostwick for supplies and to post a few inconspicuous letters. The postmaster said it’s the 30th of Justinian. Five days since

Fenris has gone into town with Carver to see what news they can find. Merrill is in the galley trying to make something edible. Let me try to make sense of this.

We went to the Gallows. A mage there sent us to Lowtown, where we met Orsino and Meredith in high dudgeon and higher argument. They fought; I took sides; Anders intervened and said there could be no half-measures, no peace.

The Chantry exploded. Elthina died, and the sisters with her...

I told Meredith I would not allow her to kill every mage in Kirkwall because of the actions of one madman. Anders flinched when I said it, and I was glad it hurt him. She left to gather her army. Orsino asked me to deal with my mess, though not in so many words.

Sebastian was furious. He wanted to kill Anders in that moment; he would have, if I hadn’t stopped him. I think he only refrained because he thought I would do it myself.

I was going to kill him. I had the knife in my hand. He sat before me like a prisoner awaiting execution, and he told me he deserved it. He did deserve it. Sela petrae and drakestone, and my insipid bumbling distraction of a conversation with Elthina, no thought in my head that I was consigning her to death with every word.

I did not love Elthina. Not in the way Sebastian did. She let Petrice die, which I was glad of, and she gave Sebastian a heart when he needed one. She fed the poor and housed the homeless and led the pyreside service for Mother when she died. She stood aside and watched Meredith and Orsino tear the city apart and did nothing. She placated and soothed and murmured and did not act and—

Flames! This hardly matters, does it? She died, and any hope for peace died with her.

There can be no peace, he said.

I called him a murderer to his face. He agreed with me, and he was ready to die at my hand. He saved Carver’s life in the Deep Roads for my sake, and he played Wicked Grace with us and bought us drinks and saved my life a thousand thousand times over the years. He kept me alive after the Arishok. He helped the poor of Darktown for a decade. We danced the Remigold together on Satinalia. He was my friend...

I couldn’t kill him in the end. I tried. My arm would not move, and Toby came up and leaned heavy on my knee and whined, and I couldn’t kill him. I told him to leave and never come back—I never wanted to see his face again.

Sebastian shouted at me. It all fell apart so quickly.

Sebastian left in a black rage. He will return with an army to the city to—I don’t even know. To raze it to the ground, perhaps. To finish what Meredith began. To annex it into Starkhaven’s rule and come down with the iron fist upon all those unholy in its borders. What revenge would satisfy him? Even the Harimanns came up empty in the end, when we learned the demons were behind it and taking their lives became a hollow thing. I don’t think I’ll see him again without fury between us. I loved him, as I loved Anders, and I’ve lost them both.

Maker, if only I could lay this work at the feet of a demon. If only I could find one clear spark and say this, this was the cause, this evil and no other. Even Justice’s wrath is not enough to bear the blame alone.

Fenris is back. He says word of Kirkwall’s uprising has spread quickly. The Seekers are looking for me; there is a reward. We will take to the water again within the hour. 

A thousand sovereigns, I’m worth. Alive, at least. No word on the price for the dead.

1st Solace. A clear day, cool, with a southerly breeze

Carver has decided I have, in his words, moped quite enough about all this, and has taken me under his arm and rapped my head with his knuckles until I cried uncle three times. Fenris only watched, bastard that he is, and by the time Carver was satisfied I was red-faced and livid. Nice to feel something though—anything, to be honest—and when he pulled me into a monstrous bear hug after it was all I could do not to break down and burst into very soggy tears right in the middle of his fancy Warden blues.

I had no idea he’d been so worried.

Damn Anders. Damn them all! Damn Meredith and Orsino and the whole bloody Circle. This didn’t have to happen!

Fenris says I’m not allowed to write again until I can do so without tearing the page apart with the pen. Andraste’s pyre, teach an elf to read and suddenly he’s got Opinions about everything literary, I swear to the Maker!

2nd Solace. Light drizzle today, enough to cut the heat. I’m huddled under a tarp on the stern deck and very grateful for it

Everyone else is belowdecks besides Isabela, the cowards. What little rain ever hurt anyone? One drip off an eave and Fenris hunches like an angry bedraggled cat. He’d never survive a Lothering spring.

Isabela says we should reach Wycome this evening. Aveline is to have posted letters for us there, we hope. Any news would do me good at this point; I can’t stop thinking about Orana, and Bodahn and Sandal. We had plans for this, contingency ideas to make sure they were away safely, but until I hear from her and know—

Enough. Worrying is nothing but borrowed misery. My mother taught me that. Where was I?

We fought through Lowtown and the docks. Carver appeared in the midst of the fighting like a gift from Andraste Herself and told me that if I were to start any wars without him, he’d take me to task and no mistake. I won’t lie; if the ferry had sunk on the way to the Gallows, I wouldn’t have minded overmuch. But it didn’t, and we landed...

There were abominations everywhere, mages desperate and dying in scores. Templars too, who attacked on sight, and Varric took a resounding crack to the skull that nearly robbed him from us before the real fighting even began. Thankfully I had enough lyrium draughts on me to get him back into fighting shape and still be square after, and then we stormed the Gallows in a fury that would have made Anders proud, if he hadn’t become, you know, a riotous murderer.

(Is it fair for me to say that? How many have I killed over the years? Were they all as guilty as I hoped?)

We were pinned deep in the Gallows. That’s when I wrote the earlier entry, when we had nothing to do but distribute potion and wait for death to come. It was—dare I say—nice in some ways to speak to everyone at last, one by one, and say—well, not goodbye, but...thank you, perhaps. Isabela stayed with me and did not leave. Merrill wanted to know if it was all a dream. Varric said he wasn’t one for long goodbyes. Aveline said she never doubted me (almost never)—which was nice to hear since I was half-certain I was about to make Donnic a widower. Forgive the smear on that last word; the ship dipped in a trough and a great slop of rainwater fell from the edge of my tarp cover to the page. Still legible.

Carver said it was good to be at my side again, the way a brother should be. And Fenris

Fenris

I suppose I should just say that if Stinton Fucking Forrester had been there, he’d have had no doubt of our relationship left.

He stayed with me to help the mages, and I loved him for it. I asked, and he stayed. I never doubted he would come with me when I asked, and my heart aches for some inexplicable reason at that understanding.

I love him; I know he loves me in return. That’s all. That’s enough.

Later—pulling into the dock at Wycome, still cool from the earlier rain

I had to stop earlier for lunch, and then Fenris & Carver wanted to discuss our plans with Varric. We have some now—plans, I mean—which is more than before, and I’m grateful to them for taking the lead here. It’ll just depend on if Aveline’s been able to send word.

Anyway, Orsino lost his mind to blood magic and turned into an absolutely disgusting many-armed monstrosity that took a thousand years to kill. I don’t know why. I don’t know—we killed the templars that came so quickly, and we lost no one in the doing, and still when it was over he looked despair in the face and welcomed it, and he gave in. We killed him, and everything he knew died with him.

He knew of Quentin...he knew...

But enough. That’s done. I can’t change it now.

We fought our way out to the courtyard again, the Gallows cleared and what mages survived huddled in a pitiful pile behind Carver’s watchful back, and then Meredith came to meet us with curly-haired Cullen at her shoulder. He wanted to simply arrest me, he said—as if that would have been any better under Meredith’s gauntleted thumbs—and she pulled a gleaming red sword from her back and slung it towards me, and even from across that little distance I could taste the iron ring of red lyrium baked into every inch of that blade.

I heard Varric swear. I saw the madness take hold in Meredith’s eyes when Cullen defied her orders and relieved her of command, when she ordered them to kill me and they would not. I saw the power leap from the sword into the cobblestone of the courtyard and slither into the statues watching, the great guardians with their many faces and the twisted, tortured bronze slaves that Fenris misliked so many years ago.

There is something deeply and ironically funny about that. That a penniless Fereldan refugee who came to this city with nothing but the clothes on her back and half a dead family ten years ago somehow grew important enough that the city’s erstwhile ruler wanted her dead among all others. Is this what they call making it?

In any case, the statues came alive. We fought them, and they—died? Is that the right word? I do wonder how deep her reach ran, if the great Twins that guard the harbor mouth came alive too, and, since they’re fixed knee-down in stone, settled for throwing stones at passing ships until the chains were raised. They all died, regardless, and at the end it was only Meredith and the red mad light of lyrium as she quoted Benedictions and called on the Maker to smite me dead where I stood.

She

Why is this so difficult to write

She got me by the forehead, once, near the end. I’d been caught up in a fight with one of the great hulking bronze slaves, its faceless head bearing down on me like a tidal wave as it fell in death, and then next thing I knew I’d been snatched from behind and Meredith had my head in one burning hand and her other hand—or at least the sword she held in it—thrust right through my gut.

After all this time, journal, I will not lie to you. I was absolutely furious. After all I’d done for the city, after giving up a perfectly good kidney, how dare she take my other! How dare she give Fenris even an ounce more of grief? How dare she make enforcing the people’s safety even one step harder on Aveline?

(It occurs to me as I write this that perhaps I should have simply been angry she stabbed me in the first place, but—alas. Where our hearts go, so too do our sorrows follow, etc.)

But thank Andraste it was more a glancing blow, due mostly to one of Sandal’s precious runes reinforcing the armor, and instead of skewering me clean through she simply ripped out a bit of my side and went through fat and muscle only. Nothing vital. Not that Fenris was anymore pleased by this, considering how ghost-clear and blinding blue he went as he came up behind her and swung his sword down on her neck. Not quite the impartial observer of the Arishok fight this time.

It was enough. She dropped me; I turned my staff to the bladed end; I put it through her throat. She screamed, then, and cried out to the Maker, and she burned...

She burned. On her knees, screaming upwards, and then she died. The sword withered into nothing and was gone, as beautiful as the sparks off a bonfire and as brief.

Cullen let us go. He could have stopped us if he wished; I was hardly in a position to do anything about it. Fenris was bleeding heavily from a blow to his forehead that had one eye clenched shut, and Varric’s right shoulder was dislocated. Aveline’s shield had broken clean in two and dangled from her arm. He could have stopped us.

He didn’t, and we fled. Isabela collected her crew from the docks once the ferry landed, rousing them from hammock and brothel, and we boarded without once returning to Lowtown, to Hightown, to—to anything. They were already raising the chains in the bay by the time we slipped across them.

And here we are.

Wycome is lovely in the dark. I’m not allowed to go ashore per the various threats to my personage from various interested parties, but from the ship’s rail I can see the candles gleaming in windows and across the streets, hear the calls of dockworkers to each other and laughter spilling out of bars as they go home to their families. Green bunting hangs over most main streets, shining gently in the lamplight. A lovely town. A quiet town, at least so far. Carver hasn’t come tumbling out of some tavern with half the village swarming like bees behind him, so I suppose they must be succeeding in their goals. All I can hope for, now. I gave what I had to Kirkwall and it wasn’t enough.

Maker and his blessed Bride, how twisted is it that I still love that city despite its horrors?

3rd Solace. There is no entry for this date, only a series of letters, many times folded and unfolded, tucked into the crease. The first is from the captain of Kirkwall’s guard, assuring the reader that her household is alive and well and that guards have been posted around her home to defend it from looters and rioters, and that the city is in as much order as could be expected after such events. The second is from a household maid, insisting that the reader’s home is being kept in a state ready for her return, that she herself is happy and healthy and safe, and that she has many friends looking after her in the meantime. The third is from the reader’s uncle, recommending the reader stay away a little longer if she knows what’s good for her, lest her long nose get cracked for poking in places it doesn’t belong. All three letters have rippled stains along the edges, as if they have been dampened more than once.

6th Solace. A clear day, cool, beautiful, light clouds and a clean eastern wind

The parting’s come at last. I didn’t want it to. Varric is to go back to Kirkwall. Merrill, too, to assist with the alienage and the elves there, and Carver must return to the Wardens. He’s already lingered too long—he told me that helping start a war was one thing as far as his commanding officer was concerned, but being late to muster was something decidedly worse. Isabela will ferry them back to the city in a matter of days now that the worst of the fervor has been curtailed. I wanted to go with them desperately, but there are still flyers everywhere with my face on them. My name, and a price on my head. I told Fenris it was nice to be so wanted, and he only rolled his eyes.

He will not go without me. I should feel guilty, I think, that he has given up everything he’s built to stay here with me, but—I don’t. I love him, and I want him near me. Perhaps not quite as near as the hammocks on Isabela’s ship forced us (that, I think, would strain even the most harmonious marriage on the continent), but when I said I would stay ashore and travel northward, he said without a moment’s hesitation that he would come with me.

I wanted to ask if he was sure. I know he grieves the loss of (damage to?) his friendship with Sebastian. I wanted to ask if it was worth it...

But his eyes were strong, green as glass and just as clear, boring into me like the outstretched hand of the Maker himself, and I knew to ask would only hurt us both. So I just kissed him instead, and let him hold me with our foreheads together for a little while, until we could both breathe again and pretend the salt on our faces was from the spray the ocean threw against the side of the ship with every rocking swell.

We will go back, one day. I can feel it in my blood. For better or worse, Kirkwall is the forge that made me; it’s as much as part of me as my bones and my magic. When it is safer—not safe, because if I have learned nothing over ten years I have learned that city will never be safe—we will go back, because even if it is not safe it is mine.

For now we will go north. Not too near Starkhaven, just in case Sebastian’s rage still burns too brightly, but enough that the fires spreading out of Kirkwall are more likely to be embers instead. The Vimmark Mountains are eminently passable this time of year, and there are many small villages between here and Starkhaven where we might take shelter and rest. Wildervale, perhaps. Perhaps one of the hamlets outside the city, if we need be even safer.

Ten years we spent in Kirkwall together. Fenris and me, and Aveline and Merrill and Varric, and Isabela, and Anders and Sebastian. Even Carver for the first little while, and again, later, when he could be spared from his duties. How many nights at The Hanged Man can I remember? They all blur together in the memory of warm candlelight, terrible whiskey and worse stew, and laughter so loud it shook the rafters in Varric’s suite.

I leave my mother in Kirkwall too. The house she grew up in and the one she returned to as a widow, her ancestry marked out in browning portraits hung along every wall and spidering genealogies tucked into the library shelves. The books Fenris used to learn to read are there, and the last bottle of Fereldan ale Aveline gave me. Mother’s room, and her ashes...

I leave the foundry ash in Kirkwall. Darktown always smelled of it, especially in winter when the chokedamp rose. Lowtown, too, when the wind was high and the foundries particularly hot. There’s suffering seeded through every line of iron you ever made, and that I leave behind willingly and without rancor. The passage to Anders’ clinic and its sticky key will stay a memory for me alone, still precious for all the pain of it now.

Hightown I leave to you, Stinton Fucking Forrester, and Lady Audrey and your awful husband; and to Jethann and the Rose; and to Aveline and Donnic and the rest of the guard who’ll have to clean up after my mess. I’m sorry for the wreckage I’ve sown in my wake; if you give me long enough I’ll be back to claim it. Raise the walls again, Aveline, and brace the buttresses against Sebastian’s rage. There will be blood in those streets again, but if I have any say in it it won’t be Kirkwall’s.

Give my love to Orana, Merrill. Keep her safe, and Bodahn and Sandal, wherever they’ve gone. Don’t let any Orlesian merchants come and bully her. I’ll be back. I’ll bring her a new shawl when I come, and I’ll take her to another mummer’s show, if she wants. Merrill, watch over the alienage. They need you as much as the vhenadahl for your protection.

Sebastian...be tempered. Don’t let the anger swallow you whole. If nothing else, I know Elthina taught you how to move through grief.

Keep Kirkwall safe for me, Varric. You’re the only one I know who loves her as much as I do, and you’re the only one I can trust to keep things running while I’m gone. Take as much of a percentage as you like from whatever you need of my funds. Void, take all of it. You’ve earned it and more. Isabela will bring me when we’re ready. I know the ports she sails for during a storm, now.

Anders

Anders, be well. Maker, be quenched, if not happy.

And Fenris—

I have nothing left for you, my darling, but all myself. You’ll have to settle for me and be satisfied. My love is a brutal thing, more prone to killing than kindness, but you knew this when you took me on. Let the thunder roll down around us as it will; I can bear anything so long as you stand beside me.

I do love you, Fenris. You don’t even need to tear my heart out to see how deep you’re written in me. Call me avis every once in a while and you’ll keep me in love for the rest of my life.

All right. All right, that’s enough. The ship has raised anchor with a rush of green seawater and the gulls are screaming, and Fenris keeps trying to steal my pen so I’ll wave the Call off. A good day for a parting, clear sunny skies and a clean wind, even if Varric’s too short for the rail and Isabela won’t look back at me. At least Merrill and Carver are waving.

All right. We’ve coin and food and a plan. More than I had the last time I fled my home. Fenris is with me, and that’s enough. He’s smiling at me even now, infinitely patient as I finish these last few words. How grateful I am! And he knows it, too, if the curled smile is any indication as he leans over my shoulder to read the last bits along with me. Avis, he says to me as he reads that passage, a bit surprised, though there’s still open tenderness in his voice.

That’s enough. I’m ready. Whatever comes next, I’ll meet it gladly. 

I’m ready.

—

end.