#anyway yeah i had a specific mutual in mind when i wrote this (you know who you are 👀)

[peachykcqt]

imagining us going to a concert together, something high energy in a club or small ballroom where everyone's hot and sweaty and packed together. both of us loving the band so ofc we're screaming and singing along and dancing our brains out, getting high on the adrenaline as the crowd presses us closer together, the vibrations from the speakers buzzing through our bodies.

and then afterwards, heading back to your place or mine, putting on a playlist of our favourite songs and just continuing to dance, trying to hold onto that post-concert euphoria. getting more and more handsy as the night goes on, until we're both just as hot and flushed as we were in the pit, pulling our own and each others' clothes off—ostensibly to cool down, but mostly for better access to each others bodies.

getting distracted from our dancing as we touch, your hands cupping my breasts and ass while mine glide across your chest, down your stomach to your growing bulge. pulling at the waistband of your boxers—we're both down to our underwear by this point—until i can get a hand on your half-hard dick, squeezing and stroking it while we make out. both of us still feeling that same vibration we felt at the show, only this time it's coming from each other. growing more and more desperate for it until we're not so much dancing as rhythmically grinding against each other in the middle of the living room.

the music still playing as you finally push me down onto the couch, pulling my panties off and spreading my legs so you can kneel down between them and start eating me out, your hands holding my thighs while you eagerly lick and suck my clit. my hands in your hair, holding you in place while i buck up into your mouth uncontrollably. maybe you start fingering me too, one and then quickly two fingers when you feel how wet i already am for you as i throw my head back and moan, telling you how good it feels, how i need you inside me, but you keep sucking, inserting another finger and ignoring my pleas.

looking down and seeing your dick hanging untouched between your legs, achingly hard and leaking precum onto the couch cushions while my pussy is sopping wet and begging to be filled. tugging on your hair to guide you upwards until you're hovering over me, the tip of your cock gently nudging at my hole. us kissing, me tasting myself on your lips and tongue and growing so desperate to feel you inside me that i'm reaching down to grab your cock, holding it in place as i frantically thrust my hips up towards you.

you groaning as you sink in and start to move, slow at first, then quickly picking up the pace when i beg you for more, until you're pounding into me, my tits bouncing as i grip your arms. eventually, both of us realizing we're fucking in sync with the music and, laughing, deciding to make a game of it, speeding up for the faster songs, slowing down for the gentler ones, before abandoning any sense of rhythm at all in favour of just fucking each other senseless, our only concern getting closer to the edge.

wanting to take your cock even deeper, opening my thighs wider to give you more room, one leg braced against the floor while the other stays trapped between our bodies and the back of the couch. you, seeing this, grabbing it and hooking it over your shoulder, the slight adjustment just what was needed so that you can ram into my g-spot with every thrust. your fingers teasing my clit while i writhe beneath you, my breath hitching as i tell you that i'm close, so close; as i beg you to let me cum. you leaning forward, pressing the leg you're holding to my chest and your thumb to my clit as you tell me to do it, to be a good girl and cum for you, and your command tipping me over the edge, my back arching off the couch as my body starts convulsing. continuing to relentlessly fuck me even as my pussy clenches around you, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of me until i'm shaking and overstimulated, face screwed up with tears.

you, finally pulling out of me, dropping my leg as i start to fall limp, one of my hands absently squeezing my thigh, the other my breast, still completely lost in pleasure. grabbing your cock and giving it a few quick strokes as it pulses, thick strands of hot cum painting my stomach and breasts, then looking down at me as i moan softly, my eyes closed, hips still slowly rocking against your hand as the last of my orgasms fade, your pearly white cum glistening on my skin. dropping your now-softening cock and reaching for me, your thumb rubbing gentle circles into my hip while you tell me how pretty i look, how good i am, how proud you are of me for cumming so many times for you. reaching up with your other hand to wipe away the sweaty strands of hair that cling to my forehead, then cupping my face as you lean down to kiss the tip of my nose.

me opening my eyes and blinking slowly up at you, my arms going around your waist as i try to pull you down. you, obligingly, shifting to lay on top of me, trapping your drying cum between our flush bodies as i wrap my legs around yours. us kissing lazily, humming contentedly against each others mouths as the afterglow exhaustion begins to sink in. both of us being lulled to sleep by the music still playing softly in the background. 💜

[doctorho]

Neon lights pt. 3

Viktor x gender neutral reader, modern-ish au, no warnings

3.8k words

HI GUYS! HAVE A THING!

i know this story is stupid old but HEY we do what we want here. have a part three.

here's part 1 and part 2 in case you want a reminder of what happened in this story before (i sure as hell didn't remember and i wrote this shit)

this is....okay guys this is functionally just smut ok. i'm trying. i'll proofread this and re-evaluate my life choices in the morning, but for now...you're welcome. tags: @writingmysanity

The whole way to his apartment, you’re wildly aware of everything. Every passing heartbeat is a reminder of the moment you were in, and the steady rhythm of his steps next to yours only solidifies the feeling. The dizzying anticipation swirling around in your head trickles down your body, all the way to the tips of your fingers, making you feel like your blood was electric.

This was – in theory, at least – a very strange situation. You had gone from being strictly on friend territory to…something else, in the matter of hours. And he seemed to adapt to the new situation fluidly, calm and confident as ever, if still sporting the remnants of a blush. You couldn’t blame him – the kiss had left your body burning, too, heating up a lot more than just the skin on your cheeks. 

And now you were going to his apartment with…the promise that there’d be more. 

It was a very strange situation, in theory. This was Viktor – the guy you sat quietly in the library with, every fifteen minutes showing each other something really stupid you’d found in whatever you were reading. The guy you complained to when someone had stolen the good soldering iron tips from the lab, again. The guy you could always count on to want to try to find a solution to every problem, or at least study the problem with you and offer his own specific brand of humor to help. 

The guy that had, without any prompting, shared his tools with you when you needed something you couldn’t find. Who had started to keep a few extra soldering iron tips around when he figured out what kind you liked, so he always had something to offer when there were none to be found in the shared storage.

The guy you sometimes just sat silently with when you both happened to take a break at the same time, or when he was the only person in the room that you recognized and on top of that, liked. It's not like you'd been best friends, but you'd been…friendly. There's been a silent understanding about it. Sure, sometimes you bickered over the best way to take notes or wire something, but you'd still had this…wordless mutual agreement that you respected each other. You could count on each other, you know, if someone happened to need covering regarding some late assignments or borrowed equipment or dodgy lab practices that might be frowned upon. You had his back, he had yours. You were friends. 

And now you knew what he tasted like. 

Now, he was taking you to his apartment to…learn more. 

It hadn’t been explicitly discussed, but he’d said he wanted to touch you, and you had a good enough imagination to take it from there. Especially after that kiss. After hearing those breathless little sounds he’d made. After having him that close. After having felt his goddamn erection pressed against your ass. 

Yeah. That was more than enough for your imagination to get going. You weren’t exactly sure what he had in mind, but you were eager to find out. Very few things would leave you feeling disappointed right now; whatever he would offer, you would take, gladly. 

As strange as this situation was in theory, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

It just made you feel curious. Curious, and your limbs heavy with expectant desire.

This was a whole new side of Viktor that you’d never seen before. Not outside of your fantasies, anyway.

This was a whole new side of him, and you were dying to see what it was like. To see what he would do when the public eye was out of the mix. What he would look like, wanting something honestly, just the two of you in the room, alone, and with the whole night to waste away. 

You’d thought about it many times, what it’d be like to have him look at you like he wanted you. Like he wanted you, and he’d decided he was going to have you. 

And now you were very much on track to finding out what it would truly be like. 

The thought is almost too intense to bear, and it settles in the bottom of your stomach, heavy and thick and sweeter than the remnants of the caramel on your lips. 

Your mind flips through possibilities like a slideshow, giving you a glimpse of something before moving on to the next scenario only for half a second. How would he behave? Would he be confident and dominant and in charge, or would he let you lead? What about the sounds he’d make, would those be as delicious as you were hoping? You’d gotten a taste when you’d kissed him, sure, but you wanted more. You wanted to hear what he sounds like when there is nothing else, when it’s the only thing he can think about, when he isn’t thinking about it at all. You’d felt his hard-on earlier during the night, and you wanted to feel it again. Only closer. And with more…intent. 

He’d said he wanted to touch you, and you wanted, more than anything, to know what that would be like.

And you were going to find out.

He stops at his apartment door, and you try your best to behave like a decent human being, for the moment. You know, like you weren’t just busy thinking about his dick. 

“In advance – “ He says as he digs out his keys and sorts through them looking for the right one, “Sorry about the mess.”

You exhale a short, quiet laugh. “Viktor.” You say slowly, drawing out his name and leaning to the wall next to his door, “Do you really think that the mess is what I’ll be focusing on?”

He pauses in his movements for just a second, considering this. And then he licks his lips and swallows as he tugs the door open. “Fair point.” He agrees quietly, “I guess not.”

You smile a little in response, and he opens the door, holding it open for you as you lean off the wall and slip in. 

Inside his apartment, the situation washes over you like a wave – the background hum of people and city streets is gone, the colorful lights are reduced to a few dim streaks that the windows let in. 

It is quiet, and he is watching you carefully. 

"I meant what I said." He mutters, voice quiet and thoughtful. "Earlier." He averts his eyes from yours, "I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," You answer, the word slow, as you study his features in the dim light. "But what do you want?" 

He swallows – you can see it – and then he opens his mouth, just a little, but doesn't say anything. Instead, his eyes find yours again.

"Was that a difficult question?" You tease him, leaning back slightly. 

"No," He breathes, "just…unexpected."

"How so?"

He lifts his brows slightly. Licks his lips. "This is…not how I thought this night would end when I agreed to go to a pub quiz."

You smile a little, and hum through your lips, leaning a bit closer to him. "Is this better or worse than what you had in mind?"

He blinks. "I was thinking of testing out some of the circuit board models. Optimizing the layout."

"So…." 

He lets out a short exhale, and one corner of his lips twitches upwards. 

"So I think I would say that this is better." He lifts one eyebrow slightly, and his eyes trail down your body. It makes your whole body feel like it’s heating up again, and you almost want to shy away from his gaze. Almost. 

You smile a bit, and hum in response. “Good to know.”

He meets your eyes again, now more serious. “I meant it when I said I don’t expect anything from you.” He says again, “even if nothing else happens tonight, this will have been better than anything I was picturing for myself.”

You hum in answer again. You knew he was being serious – you got that. He was making sure you were on the same page about this. That you didn’t feel pressured. And you didn’t want him to worry.

“Picking up people from bars wasn’t what you had in mind?” 

He laughs a little, shaking his head a bit. “Not my usual practice, no.”

“So I’m special, then?”

He meets your eyes again. “Yes,” he answers, with enough sincerity that it surprises you. 

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just stare at him, for a moment. 

“Yes, you are.” He continues, more serious, and taking a slow step towards you. He stops just at the edge of your personal space, and holds your gaze. 

“Did you really think,” he starts, slowly, his voice quiet, leaning a bit closer, close enough that you could smell him, “ – that I would let just anyone that close to me, and then invite them home?”

You swallow, not sure how to answer. He smiles slightly, just for a moment, before he takes a breath, and his eyes drop away from yours.

Then, he exhales a small chuckle. “Those two know better than to invite anyone else to –” he starts, then pauses to take a breath, sigh it out, and shake his head slightly. “..sit in my lap.” 

He leans a bit closer again, and when he exhales you can feel his breath brush your cheek. You can smell the caramel, the cinnamon, the heat. 

"Do you have any idea," He mutters, pressing closer to you, his words quiet and soft, his breath brushing past your ear and making you shiver, "what it was like?" His voice breaks a little at the end of the sentence, and it sends a shiver straight down your spine, a pleasant tingling resonating at the nape of your neck. 

With a very slow movement, he places down the now-empty coffee cup, and out of your peripheral vision, you can see him flex the fingers of his now-free hand. 

"Having you there, so close, so warm and real, and trying not to think about it?" He says, the words dripping with something thick and heavy and sweet, "about having you closer?"

You swallow. “I think I have an idea.” you answer, tilting your head slightly. “Are you waiting for written permission to touch me, or –?”

He takes a deep breath, slowly. Then he meets your eyes. Licks his lips. 

Now, he was standing so close that it didn’t take much for his fingers to find your waist. His hand trails up your side, slowly, carefully, lightly,  and he sighs. You can feel that against your skin, too.

You just exhale a hum in affirmation, and lean into his touch. It’s all you can do, with his fingers skimming over your waist, lightly past your ribs, so gentle they’re barely there. It’s maddening, that he’s only giving you a ghost of a touch, like this.

"About–" He continues, the word brushing against your skin, and then he pauses, takes a breath. "When you asked if it was the good kind of torture," he starts again, quietly, "were you trying to drive me insane?"

You smile, just slightly. “Maybe just a little.” You trail a hand up his chest in response lightly. “Did it work?”

He takes a deep breath, and exhales it against the side of your throat. “You have no idea.”

You smile again, now mainly to yourself. “And what are you going to do about that?” you ask him, and you don’t even try to disguise it from what it was; a dare. 

An invitation.

Viktor is not stupid, and he takes it. Greedily. 

He takes a breath, and his grip on your waist solidifies as he tugs you against the closest wall. Half a step, and your back is pressed against it – and his gaze is burning through you, his eyes dark and hungry in the dim room, almost glowing as they reflect the golden-yellow lights coming in from the windows. 

He licks his lips. He doesn’t let the distance between you grow; he’s still so close that when he speaks, you can feel his breath on your lips. And you were willing to bet he knew that. With that damn knowing look in his eyes, you were willing to bet he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

“What would you like me to do about it?” He asks, throwing the dare right back at you. 

Yes, he was radiating that calm confidence you were used to, that I know exactly what I’m doing and I know I’m doing it well, and you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he didn’t already know you wanted it, but…he was still treading carefully. Making sure. 

You smile a bit, and hum thoughtfully through it. Wrap your fingers through the fabric of his shirt. “This is a pretty good start.” you answer, letting your eyes drop away from his. “You could also kiss me, now that there’s no audience.” 

He blinks. 

And then he kisses you. 

In the dark room, it’s like he envelopes you, filling your every sense. He still tastes like caramel, and now that there is nothing but the darkness and this, you’re able to smell him, too – and able to hear every soft little sound he makes. 

It’s intoxicating, having him this close. You get lost in it easily, burning every bit of it into permanent memory without even trying. The delicious pressure of him pushing you against the wall, the way his breath hitches when you open your mouth to him – 

When his lips drop from your mouth to your jaw, to your throat, you don’t even think about the moan that slips out of your mouth. Not until he groans in response, and you can feel it, and the low, deliciously heavy thrum of it drips straight down to the pit of your stomach. 

It makes you feel lightheaded and lead heavy at the same time.

He exhales against the side of your throat shakily, and leans away slightly, tugging at your waist. 

No words are needed for this; it’s pretty clear what he wants. 

To get you somewhere more convenient.

And that’s more than fine with you. 

His hand falls away from your waist just to slip into your hand, and pull you into his apartment properly. It’s not big, and even in the dim lighting, you could tell it was cluttered, but you barely make a mental note of this; that wasn’t even on your list of priorities right now. Besides, Viktor had never seemed like the kind of person who’d live in a clinically white empty apartment anyway. 

And you’re pretty sure that you’ll have time to inspect his interior decor choices later, if you wish. But right now, though – right now you were only concerned about one thing; where he was leading you. 

It turns out to be his bed, which, honestly, was exactly what you’d been hoping for. At the foot of it though, he hesitates, freezing for a moment. 

He was still nervous – still didn’t trust that you wanted this. Wanted him. 

You smile at him softly, and he opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t get it out. 

You lift up a hand to gently nudge him towards the bed, and he gets the message, falling to sit down on the edge. 

“Let me guess.” You mutter, leaning a bit closer, while he’s just watching you with his lips slightly parted. “You’re not expecting anything from me.” 

He swallows, visibly. “Yes.” 

You smile slightly. “Good.” you answer, “noted.” 

Nodding a bit, he just watches you. 

His breathing falters when you very carefully, slowly move closer and settle to straddle him. Keeping your hips in the air for now, you fold your knees on either side of his thighs, and watch his reaction. 

It is not disappointing; his breathing is fast, and his cheeks are rosy, his eyes half-lidded as he looks up at you. Waiting. 

“However,” you say slowly, trailing a hand gently up his chest, “I’d like to know what it is that you want.” 

He takes a very deep breath but doesn’t answer, so you continue by gently tilting his chin up with a few fingers, making him meet your eyes. 

“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Viktor.” 

He exhales a small sigh. “I know,” he answers, “I know.” Then, he licks his lips and swallows. “Just…having a hard time believing this is all happening.” He exhales a small chuckle, looks away, shakes his head a bit, “you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this.” 

You blink in surprise at the confession before settling back into the reality of the situation. That this was indeed happening. 

“Oh?” you say, keeping your voice sweet, “and what happens in your dreams?” 

Seeing Viktor get flustered might be your new favorite thing. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, then closes it, licks his lips. You can see the blush on his face deepen, and when he looks at you, his eyes are half-lidded, dark, and heavy on you. 

Delicious. 

“Viktor.” you drawl out, leaning a bit closer, “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make you feel good.” 

You smile when you see him swallow, see his fingers flex at his side again. 

“Believe me,” he starts, voice quiet and breathy, “that is…not a complicated task.” 

He glances down, and you follow his gaze to what was definitely an erection, before tilting his head up again and leaning closer to him again. Not close enough for your bodies to touch but close enough to let your lips brush against his ear, “That doesn’t mean –” you start quietly, savoring the way it makes him shiver a bit, “ – that it’s not a task that I would be interested in mastering.” 

In response, he sighs, and tilts his head back a bit, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss his neck. 

It feels like the most natural thing in the world, letting your lips fall to his neck like that. And when he seems to lean into your touch, that feels natural, too. 

When he moans, though – that, that feels heavenly. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, and it drips right down your spine and straight to the pit of your stomach – and lower – and you instantly memorize any spot that makes him do that. 

He swallows – you can feel it – and you smile against the side of his throat. 

You’ll take that reaction as encouragement.

“You can touch me,” you tell him quietly, muttering the words against his skin, “if you want.”

His hands find their way to your waist, and you roll your hips against his slowly.

And he gasps, tensing under you, and when you look up you find his eyes closed and brows furrowed in a delicious little frown. Curious about his reaction, you roll your hips again, and this time, he lets out a quiet, shallow moan, and his hand on your waist tenses. 

You hum in approval, and lean closer to smile against the side of his throat. “I hope you know those delicious little sounds you make are driving me insane.” you mutter, slowly rolling your hips against his again.

His grip on your waist tightens again, and you pause. 

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” You ask, your head clearing a little bit.

He breathes out a shaky chuckle, shaking his head, and that’s enough to dissolve your worry. “No, eh –” he swallows, “quite the opposite.” 

The understanding of what he’s saying melts into your body, slow and warm, and you relax against him.

He takes a deep breath, two, “No.” He says again, “I am…thoroughly enjoying this, just…I would stop doing that if I were  you, unless you want me to implode.”

You blink. Look at him, for a moment. 

“And what if I do?” you ask, keeping your voice sweet, slowly trailing a hand down his chest. 

His eyes find yours quickly, and you tilt your head slightly, waiting for him to answer. He just stares at you, and you stop your hand at the waistline of his pants, studying his reaction. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, waiting. 

“I –” He starts, immediately pausing to lick his lips, “No.” He answers, voice breathy, “No. But – “ he furrows his brows slightly, “Are you sure?” 

You smile at him softly, and run your other hand through his hair gently. “I wouldn’t be here right now if I wasn’t,” you remind him, leaning a bit closer to brush your lips against the side of his neck, “I want to make you feel good.” 

He exhales something that might be a curse, but you’re not sure.

“Tell me what you want.” You prompt him again, and after a heartbeat, he breathes out a groan and his grip on your waist tightens, and he tugs you closer. 

You follow the pull easily, and smile against his throat before kissing that spot that had made him moan before. He swallows as you press your body closer to his, slowly rolling your hips against his again. 

“Keep –” he says, his breathing faltering a bit, “Keep doing that.” 

You hum quietly, contemplatively, against his throat, knowing he could feel the vibrations of it and moving your body against him agonizingly slowly, fully aware that you were just teasing him now. “This?” 

In response, he stifles a groan and leans back his head. “Yes –” he breathes, followed by something that was definitely a curse. 

You smile at the reaction, run your hand up his chest again, and lean close enough that you’re sure he could feel your entire body pressed against him. 

“You can touch me if you want, Viktor.” You remind him quietly, letting your lips brush against his ear and your hips press against his again. 

He shudders a bit, breathing out a broken sigh. “Where?”

“Anywhere,” you answer, smiling against his skin when it makes his breathing hitch.

And then his grip on your waist tightens and he curls off the bed, closer to you, burying his face to your shoulder with a low, broken groan, his hips trembling as they jerk up once, twice. 

He breathes out a shaky sigh, before laughing quietly. “It would seem –” He says quietly, exhaling the words to your shoulder, “that just the thought of that is enough to do me in.”

You smile a little to yourself, and he snakes his arms around your waist, holding you close.

"Sorry." He exhales, voice quiet.

"Viktor." You start, leaning back enough to find his eyes into yours. Make sure he understands. "Do you have any idea -" you say slowly, "how hot it is that I got you to lose control like that?"

He blinks. Blushes. Averts his eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah."

He takes a deep breath, and, very carefully, trails a hand up your body. "Well then -" he mutters, taking his time to meet your eyes again, "how do you feel about continuing?" He asks, "Because I don't think I'm anywhere near done with you."

[coredrill]

okayyyyyyyy initial bravern finale thoughts. i think i will be thinking abt this show for the next 7-10 business years so more to come ofc but. AH!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ISAMI SINGING THE OP LET THAT BE DIEGETIC TOO!!!!!!!!!! AND ALSO ON SPOTIFY!!!!!!!!!!

isami off his Fucking rocker at that one point like Yeah you deserve it king go OFF LMAO. i found that quite satisfying :] real talk tho for as much as i call him baby rice cracker all the time i really love him as a protagonist? like he just feels so damn human in the way he struggles so much but tries his best and then gets hit AGAIN but keeps trying again and again anyways. it's really good! and his whole arc of like. learning that he Can rely on others and with that reliance brings mutual care..............sobs

i love that piloting these fucking things just makes your hair grow. LMFAO

okay i know i've been complaining abt the translation of "bang brave" or whatever tf smith keeps saying before he dies BUT the reveal that that is just ANOTHER thing he's doing bc he's a Fucking Freak and isami thinks it's weird too KILLED ME. smith: "brave bang :]" isami: If You Say That Shit One More Time You're Sleeping On The Couch Tonight". what is wrong with you lewis smith!!!!!!!!!!

i wouldn't be atall surprised if this show got the ssssg treatment and got four million random manga/light novel spinoffs especially considering it's consistently like the most popular show in japan lmao. the lulu-superbia spinoff sounds like a lot of fun so i'd def be interested to see more in that vein!!! i need to learn japanese tho cause no way they're getting eng translations!!!!

i feel like. there is a specific Vibe of mecha thing that verum vita fits which Also includes dissonanza backarrow and uhhhh idk the name but that one mf who pops up in ep30ish of gaogaigar and is just kinda like. observing? like verum vita is not a court jester like the other two and this analysis does not go any deeper than Vibes but. it had me leo dicaprio pointing like. another one!!!

i'm literally obsessed with the unhinged worldbuilding in this show. like?

population is nine billion???

the suez canal is still blocked????

if you're gay you can just. Do That ???

like i love that they don't explain this shit either it's so funny to me. LMAO

something something smith can only express himself and his love for isami as bravern not just bc it gives him as a character/person separation from his Human Self but also. bc i wouldn't be surprised if that was The Way to get the queer stuff so blatant, bc he was in robot form rather than one human man saying "i love you" to another and then glomping him in an explicitly romantic sense after all the talk of riding and him being inside him. LMAO. this isn't a complaint beyond a vague shake of the fist at Corporations and TV Censors, just smth i think is REALLY interesting and which i had a surprising amount of fun watching play out from a story perspective :]

i feel like my hottest bravern take is and will always be that i really don't mind the 12eps LMAO. like i thought it provided a fun variety of Situations with which to deal with the DDs and it didn't give it enough time for the gimmick or mystery elements to start to feel old. also i am just generally of the opinion that most stories would work better if you wrote them to be told in X amount of time and then had to trim off like. 40% of that. so i know it's a personal thing but i think it worked well for bravern!!

i do wish we'd gotten to see smith and isami hug if only cause i think isami fuckin needs it. LMAO. but overall i'm satisfied w their arc, especially bc i think the whole "beyond bang brave" thing works REALLY well w smith returning to his human body. like as soon as superbia kicked it i had a feeling that would happen, and obv it's textually referring to isami/bravern/lulu's massive super robot powerup, but i also think it can just mean like. what happens After? cause smith keeps saying "bang brave" or whatever tf when he dies but to go Beyond that is to come back to life and experience a life where he can receive love, too (i.e., via cooking and food AND ALSO via Literally being brought back to life from bravern's heart. who had just merged with isami on a particle level or whatever lmao). so i'm rly satisfied with how it played out in the end :]

overall i think my only real complaint w the show on the whole aside from the military propaganda was that the boys looked like such fucking DERPS in half their shots. lmao. like obviously i'm biased cause i'm a sakuga whore and i actually rly do like their more realistic style a surprising amount cause i usually don't go for that sort of thing but uh. there's a reason that lulu is the human i gif most often and it's cause she always looked better than them by a long shot FSKDLJH. her character animation was consistently the best & most expressive and she was always the most on-model which. FUCKING DESERVED BTW. her arc was incredible and i'm so excited to rly think about her some more and dig into her as like. a rei ayanami clone (maybe even specifically rebuild? w the "your hair grows long inside your mecha" thing) but who takes control of HER OWN STORY TOO and is able to grow wildly beyond being that story point. like i love that she's taken care of too. agh she's really such an amazing character maybe i'll have to cosplay her too FKLDJSHF i'm rotating her in my brain So Much

overall that was really good and i really enjoyed it and i can't wait for the blurays <333 i love it when robot shows are made by people who love robot shows!!!!!

[fanby-fckry]

🍭🎀 for the ask game!♡

Let's Get ((REAL)) fic writer asks

Thank you! <3

🍭 why did you start writing?

When it comes to writing in general, I’ve had a passion for story telling for about as long as I could write.

I remember there was an assignment in like 1st lr 2nd grade where my teacher had the class add “spider legs” to their stories, which were basically strips of paper that you could use to add more details to things without erasing. She used to call my spider legs “elephant legs” because I’d add line after line on every “leg.”

As for fanfiction specifically, I did it out of spite.

I saw someone say that RadioApple could never work because Lucifer likes to tempt people with sex (not canon but ok) and Alastor’s asexual. Plus the power difference would make it unhealth and wrong. :/

And in response, I wrote Tempting Entertainment: the precursor fic to UH3.

So uh, thanks random RadioApple anti from 2019. You changed my life forever, and now I have an ongoing series of RadioAppleSiren kinky queer platonic polycule fanfics that get an insane amount of interaction and comments from people telling me how much they liked my work/how wholesome the unholy 3 are/how my portrayal of Alastor’s aroace-ness.

Also, get fucked because UH3!Alastor sure isn’t.

🎀 give yourself a compliment about your own writing

I need to stop reblogging ask games that have this as a prompt, because beloved mutuals are insistent on sending it every time, and I’m going to run out of nice things to say about my work eventually.

Also, I sent one back to you as revenge but the nice kind. If I have to appreciate my work then so you!

Hmmmmmm what do I actually say about this? And what haven’t I said already?

Oh! I think I’m pretty good at noticing the trends that happen when my characters start “writing themselves” and acting accordingly.

I accidentally wrote UH3!Alastor with a bunch of my own Cluster B traits in addition to the implied canon traits. And while I tried to minimize them for a while for fear of The Discourse™️, eventually I decided it was better to double down and write with my own perspective as a person with a personality disorder in mind.

Recently I came to the realization that UH3!Alastor may have a gender preference for women when it comes to platonic and sensual attraction, which I had kind of assumed wouldn’t happen in this AU, but he did it anyway. I’m gonna be keeping an eye on that, and might be updating his microlabels.

He doesn’t know his own microlabels, but it helps me keep my writing consistent. Previously I’d had him down as panaesthetic, pansensual, and panplatonic but I think he’s actually bisensual and biplatonic. His aesthetic attraction isn’t at all based on gender; meanwhile while he can experience sensual, platonic, and queer platonic attraction to any gender, he seems to have a noticeable difference between women and everybody else.

I blame his father for this. I also blame him for a good portion of the Cluster B symptoms. Wow, I really wanna write some backstory about Alastor’s relationship with his father, because it’s hinted at in UH3 in several places, but it doesn’t come up a lot and I have so many things to say.

Uhh, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, my writing! Complimenting it!

Sometimes my characters write themselves, and I think I do a pretty good job chasing after them and taking notes. :3

[taegularities]

hi riddie!! I miss you very much and I hope you have been well and had a great valentine’s day! how did your date with the boy go?? will you have your own cmi soon?? 😂

I was just scrolling down your blog and stuff like I always do lmaoo and I realized it’s been so long since you’ve written for tae (pls do not take that as me pressuring you to start other projects I know you’re booked and busy!!)

but yeah I thought about that and it made me want to go back to some of your fics for him because I have always LOVED how you write him. so poetic and mysterious but still bringing in his fun and loving side. you really write him perfectly I think!

I’ve noticed that when you write tae the oc usually grounds him a lot, but when you write for jk he is usually the one grounding the oc? maybe that doesn’t make sense but somehow it does for me 😂

like even in real life I think jk is more self-assured whereas tae doesn’t mind being taken care of… so it makes sense that when you write them their oc fills the corresponding space. just an observation in how different all your ocs are bc I know you worry they are all similar.

buttttt I genuinely feel like i’m saying absolutely nothing in a whole lotta words so anyway !! I love deep-diving into your work so that’s where this came from ok BYEEE love you 😘

hi, my darling lyssie!! i miss you every day and i hope life's been treating you well and you're happy 🥺 lmaoooo well, i guess i won't have a fake dating/fwb tale myself, but i'm very much hoping for this to lead somewhere <3 we didn't have a proper date yet bc we're both busy during the week and were out on the weekend, but i know he wants to meet up with me. was very smooth about it lol!! so hopefully soon and hopefully i'll have good news then <3

i knowwww, it's been ages and i miss writing for him so much :( i do have 2-3 wips for him, like the howl fic, moonglade, cotton candy, etc… writing's been so hard and jk truly is the ultimate muse, it seems lol. but yeah, i want to dive back into tae fics bc my very real romantic feelings helped me capture his entire being in my stories. i remember ppl always saying i wrote him well and i feel so honoured 🥺

ohhh, that's not something i specifically noticed, but it's interesting. maybe it's truly just tae's tender nature seeping through, like i just know he likes to be spoiled. and i do love the fantasy of jk taking care of the oc (probably bc i want to be his baby, too askudhfkasf) but yeah, as you'll see in the upcoming chapters, the care will be mutual. especially in cmi13/14… <3 and i do worry, which is why your observation and thoughts mean the fucking world to me. ty for this lil analysis and i could read your rambles all day. ilysm :( 💓

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I’M HEREEEEEE I’M HERE

you know i HAD to cook up a lil letter for this one…… dipping my pen in ink and tracing the crinkled paper in front of me rn <333 MICKEYYYYY YOUR TASTE IS UNPARALLELED AS ALWAYS i had to go hunt down my own collection immediately pls bare w me :’3 i’m so excited rn i’m shaking like a scared dog

FIRST OF ALLLLLLLL portrait of fryderyk in shifting light my absolute BELOVED i think that’s my favorite in the whole collection but there’s some competition…. THE LINES YOU MARKED DOWNNNNN I’M BARKING WILDLY they’re so good ………. what can you know about a person? they shift in the light. what if i cried and exploded and also threw up. it always makes me think sm of geto/kenny too…. the dichotomy there. the life of the body is a nightmare. you get the vibes. my hand over his face, which isn’t his face anymore, revising….

IT ISSSSS SUPER DUPER IHTCTAOT CODED!!!!!!! :3 reading through the poem rn and i think these lines are soooo knight!reader/prince!toru coded too…….

+ some other general siken poem lines that remind me of ihtctaot :3333 (the green+pink annotations are from his other collection crush!!)

(mickey i need to know if you also lost your mind at the and this means your life is over anyway line bc i was literally flipping through crush looking for knight!reader in every poem and when i got to that one i fucking Exploded)

ANDDDDD THE WORM KING’S LULLABY MY BELOVED EVER that one makes me think of stsg too 😥😥😥 IT’S SO GOODDDDD also while we’re on the topic of stsg . pls know that every single poem from crush is stsg coded . siken wrote it just for them i’m convinced….

aaaa but !!!! i’m so happy the ones i sent you way back then r still your favorites !!!!!! T_T getting a good grade in Mickey…….. normal to want and possible to achieve…… self-portrait against red wallpaper reminds me SO much of knight!reader and ohhhhh the lines you pointed out. the apocalypse au … that’s so good ….. i think that’s what interests me most about an au like that. not the question of survival but the question of what happens after, yk? or between the gaps. even if you survive, what will you do? can you go back to the way things were? will you be able to love anyone anymore? and then ofc also just . the question of love and light and how much it really matters in a world that punishes you for it (it matters more than anything but these silly little emotionally repressed popsicles haven’t realized that yet)…. i’m sososo excited to jump into that world w you <3333

but ok back to siken… it rlly is The Poem ever i’m never not thinking abt it. never not thinking abt my blorbos as i read it. the final couple lines get me EVERY time and imo they’re very gumi coded…… i hate my friends. and when i hate my friends i’ve failed myself, failed to share my compassion. (…) i mean, maybe it’s better if my opponent wins. <- that’s Him. don’t even get me started on i clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. (…) it’s too much work. bc in context of the current megumi? in the manga??? yeah. sick and twisted.

AND TOJI TOJIIIII WE NEEEDDDD TO TALK ABT TOJI i’m gonna be honest mickey war of the foxes as a whole reminds me of the jjk villains more than the good guys . sukuna and toji and geto and kenny. etcetc. emphasis on toji. the lines you picked out makes me think of him sosomuch but also??? landscape with a blur of conquerors. the whole poem. every time i read it i think of him

ALSO this specific part of a primer for the small weird loves …. in crush ……. instantly thought of him the first time i read it like three years ago (normal abt him btw)

ANYWAYYYYY I THINK THAT’S IT …… i’m so happy you enjoyed the collection <3333 atp my goal in life is just to make my mutuals read it …. i’ve alr succeeded w you and io + kairo bought it a while back i think …….. mr siken everything i do is for you

i am back from the Outside. back from the Book.

anyway portrait of fryderyk in shifting light is very very very ihtctaot coded and it's making me sick i love them so fucking much

"he is looking at the wall and i am looking at his looking. difficult thing to be scrutinized for so long." // "my shadow falls across him and it doesn't go away." // "see me, not through me." // there wasn't much left but it felt like him, wild and scared."

+ and this part from the worm king's lullaby made me think of stsg i'm fine btw i'm so fine

@twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat hihi my sweet little iris i am holding your hand and tugging you over here to tell you that remember when you showed me siken's poems like a million years ago? the ones you picked out are still my favourite ones.

self-portrait against red wallpaper is my favourite favourite from the whole collection though. i just wanna thank you for showing me this one in the first place, life-changing honestly. i'm pretty sure i saw you post a snippet from it some days ago too i'm glad it's on both of our minds

"shame means you're guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you're better than we are. maybe you are?" // "disheartening? obviously. i hope it's love. i'm trying really hard to make it love."

"i clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. i'd rather quit. i'd rather be sad. it's too much work. admirable? not really. i hate my friends. and when i hate my friends i've failed myself, failed to share my compassion. i shine a light on them of my own making: septic, ugly, the wrong yellow. i mean, maybe it's better if my opponent wins."

i feel like this is also very fitting for ihtctaot but but but but also... for the toji apocalypse au i'm working on. ok this is just me rambling bc i haven't even really talked about it that much so u guys don't know anything lmao (u will u will)

the whole second part just makes me think about how hard it would be living in an apocalypse you know.. you'd want to try to make it work, to make it love, to be in the light but it would be so fucking hard, wouldn't it? and so much work. think about all the heartbreak and the pain, wouldn't it be easier to quit?

and the "shame means your're guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you're better than we are. maybe you are?" is toji. this is for toji. he's acting cocky and he's acting smug, like he knows everything about the world, like he's some immortal creature. like he knows better.

he doesn't. he is filled with shame and everything alike, he's as guilty as the rest of them. he's as bad as the rest of them, he's as good as the rest of them.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)

                  You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive.  It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.

If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them.  It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.

For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex.  But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand.  In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically.  He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family.  You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.

You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.

And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks.  Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.

Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again.  Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.

So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival.  Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.

The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English.  Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.

Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.

Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment.  You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.

The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different.  He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.

You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms.  Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.

“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.

He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him.  As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you.  No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.  

But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner.  His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.

“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.

“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side.  “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”

“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.

“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.

Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs.  Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.

Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap.  You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?

Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.

“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”

“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.

“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.

“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.

“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck. 

“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.  

“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder.  You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.

“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.

“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.

James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.

“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you.  “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”

The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.

“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued.  “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least?  Always by my side… like any good pet.”

A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly.  You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him.  But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.

James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.

“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal.  “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”

“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.

“You want more, don’t you?  Tako očajno…” he chuckled.  You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips.  “You want to be fucked, yes?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.

Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.

James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.

He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.

“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.

“Yes I do,” you denied.  “Because he told me to.”

Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip.  You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.

You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.

“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.

Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.  

You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.

“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.

“N-no, please,” he blurted out.

“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go.  You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.

“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”

“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him.  But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant.  “You find them attractive, don’t you?”

“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like.  And tasted like.”

Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).

You looked at Sam expectantly.  “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”

His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track.  “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.

“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”

His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into.  You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted.  “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”

Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.

Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.

“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.

“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare.  Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove.  “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.  

You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”

Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.

Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate.  And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.

He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.  

“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth.  “Fuck, can I come?”

“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.

You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.

“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples.  “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock.  I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”

As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.  

“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.

“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.

Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting.  “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two.  And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected.  “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance.  It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.

That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see.  Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.  

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.  

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side.  But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.

He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long.  “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”

“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.  

He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress.  “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.  

Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.

The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.

“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”

“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.

“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.

You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.

“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come.  You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you.  “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.

You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers.  “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.

Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste.  You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.

He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression.  They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.

"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.

"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.

All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option.  He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly.  Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?

“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.

“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.

“Good girl.”

But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep.  You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.  

“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.

“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned.  "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."

“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”

You felt him nod against the back of your neck.  “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you.  Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.

The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him.  He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.

"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?

"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.

It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years.  Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.

///

dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”

lutka = лутка = “doll”

draga = драга = “dear/beloved”

tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"

tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Self-Promotion Time ❤️

I was tagged by the lovely @eevvvaa ! Thanks so much, hon! 🥰🥰

1. What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Green is My Favorite Color Series

It's really hard for me to choose. They're all my babies!! 😜 and I wrote them all for very specific reasons. So, it's tough. But for me this one and my Dear Fucking Diary Series are very close to the top. But GIMFC was the first series I wrote and the VERY first story I've ever completed in its entirety, so it holds a soft spot in my heart. ☺️

2. What is your least favorite fic that you’ve written?

Time After Time

I think just because I'm still not confident in writing Sam Fics and I struggled a lot with this one.

3. What is your favorite fandom/character to write for?

Supernatural for sure and I definitely love writing for Dean more than anyone! Like. Ever. 😄

I'm branching out a bit with The Boys (Soldier Boy anyway) and I would really like to branch out more eventually, I do have a couple of fics over on fan fiction. net for the shows, Suits, (Harvey and Donna) and one (abandoned series) for Vampire Diaries (Damon and Elena) that I've considered bringing over and finishing. But...😬...I wrote them a couple years ago and I don't know how I feel about them now.

4. What fic do you wish had more notes/reads/comments?

Pretty much any of my Dean Series. GIMFC and my DFD series especially, but pretty much all of them have the least notes, and they're almost all likes. Now, don't get me wrong, I always have a big smile when I can tell someone is going through the whole series because I get a new notification every 10-15 minutes telling me that one person liking each chapter as they read it. 😁 That's always fun.

But I spent so much time on my series, especially GIMFC, and it would be awesome to get some more feedback about it. I'd love to know what folks think of it. But I get it, reading a series is a big commitment, and one shots and drabbles are much easier to fit into the craziness of our days! 😊

5. Name a fic you’ve written that did better than you expected. Name one that was worse than you anticipated.

Better: Learning About the Perks of Feminism

I was completely surprised by the reaction to this little Soldier Boy one shot. It's up to over 1,300 notes now - after a little over a month. Most of them are likes, but it also definitely has the most reblogs and comments of any fic I've written! I was surprised just because it seemed to spread rapidly, and blow up very quickly. Lol!! Very grateful! 😊

Worse: Time After Time

Yeah, this one only has 29 notes.

6. What keeps you writing and on Tumblr?

What keeps me writing is simply my inability to shut up the stories running around in my head. 😁 What keeps me writing specifically here on Tumblr are the incredible mutuals and followers that I get to interact with here. It's so much fun. I will be forever grateful for this place where I can be truly me, where I can talk incessantly about the things I'm passionate about and not only do I have people who are willing to listen to me, they very often join in!! 😍😍 It's why I'm constantly after more interactions, because it's my very favourite thing!! ❤️

7. Lastly, what fic by another author would you recommend your audience to read?

No. I can not recommend only one fic it is impossible. But I can link some Masterlists that I have spent a lot of time in! 😊

These were some that came to mind immediately, but there are SO many more!!

@myloversgone Masterlist

@waynes-multiverse Masterlist

@awkward-and-indecisive Masterlist

@talesmaniac89 Masterlist

@eevvvaa Masterlist

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone Masterlist

@avanatural Masterlist

@justagirlinafandomworld Masterlist

@there-must-be-a-lock Masterlist

@thinkinghardhardlythinking Masterlist

@deanwinchesterswitch Masterlist

@deanwanddamons Masterlist

[honeypiehotchner]

Normal (Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

I know this is def not my normal content because y’all know I’m a huge Hotch girl, but sometimes I slip back into being a Reid girl. It’s hard not to! I see a lot of myself in him and it led me to write this, so enjoy this (very real, actually) glimpse inside my head in the form of a fluffy Reid story xx.

I listened to “Normal” by AJR a lot while I wrote this!

Summary: Spencer has recently returned to the BAU after a short period of leave, and he comes back to find you, an agent-in-training filling his Resident Genius shoes. He admires you for who you are. You think he hates you. He tries to convince you otherwise.

DR. SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

At first, you thought it was because of the way you read books.

You’ll never forget the first day you met the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He had returned from leave for his injured knee (he was shot, you were told) and this was apparently the second time he had attempted to step foot in the office. The first time didn’t go over well when Hotch found Spencer’s file that said his doctor did not clear him for work yet.

Regardless, you were sitting in your desk chair, legs crossed underneath you, “like a human pretzel,” Morgan always teases. You were reading a book, one of your favorites, to pass the time when Spencer walked in.

You knew it instantly because Morgan’s loud and affectionate, “Pretty. Boy!” could be heard all over the BAU.

You didn’t get up from your chair or stop reading -- besides the brief moment when you looked up to see what the commotion was about.

You still remember your internal monologue. Should I get up and hug him like Morgan? No, no, I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to hug anyone today, anyway. Shake his hand? You remember your hand tensing at the mere thought. Okay, not that either. I could wave, but I can’t tell if I even need to. I’ll just keep reading.

You had heard of Spencer before this. Hotch made it abundantly clear to you and the team that you were not replacing Spencer when you joined. You aren’t even officially a member of the BAU yet. You’re on a bit of a trial run, so to speak. That’s how Hotch explained it.

Yes, you were and still are well aware that the timing looks awful. An agent who is vital and loved in the BAU is shot and out of work right as a new, younger, and less experienced but surprisingly intelligent agent steps in for a “trial run” (which no one ever does).

To anyone else, it obviously looks like you were sent here to replace Dr. Reid under the disguise of a short “trial run.”

But that isn’t the case at all.

You thought Spencer didn’t like you because of the way you read books. You immerse yourself in them. You use a pencil to track what line you’re on, so nearly every page has a vertical, light gray line in the margin where the tip of your pencil lead barely grazed the page. You underline keywords and phrases. You draw arrows. You write commentary in the margins.

You thought that was what annoyed him until you saw him highlighting a book and writing in the margins, too. He doesn’t even necessarily need to, especially since he can read so damn fast and remember everything.

That’s also what you suspected -- that he didn’t like you because you could read almost as fast as him.

Keyword here: almost.

You can scan a page and spit the information back out in layman’s terms, sure. But you won’t remember what you read in great detail the next day, sometimes even the next hour -- especially when you were sort of filling the Resident Genius shoes and you’d have to read through stacks of evidence every hour.

You had thought your speed was just another thing Spencer didn’t like because it was just one more thing pointing to the conclusion that you were hired to replace him.

But he doesn’t care. You gladly let him read the evidence and memorize it, but you’ll help him out sometimes by scanning something first to see if it might have what he’s looking for. If it might, then he goes through and catches the fine details.

He’s never once acted as he hates you -- even though you’ve had “friends” who hated your guts and you had no idea (true story: high school is brutal and you were always shocked when your childhood best friend told you how “fake” others were acting toward you). But you’ve tried to look for specific signs, and he shows none of them.

You’re grasping at straws at this point. You’re on a profiling team and you had to Google how to tell if someone hates you. It’s pathetic, truly.

He doesn’t avoid you -- but he also is a really private person like you who likes his time alone.

He doesn’t drop a conversation with you after it’s been started -- but he also rambles so much anyway that you don’t know if he himself is capable of dropping a conversation abruptly.

He doesn’t avoid eye contact with you -- but even that one is tricky because you’re still working on it yourself, and you definitely have some days where you avoid eye contact. Sometimes you can hold it too well, though, and you always wonder if that’s rude.

Going through the rest of the signs that you found on Google goes exactly like that. He hasn’t done it, but then again… There’s always a catch.

It’s exhausting.

It’s a straight week of this before you finally cave and go to the one person you know you can always trust.

“Morgan, does Reid hate me?”

Derek stops stirring his coffee and tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What?” He goes back to stirring before tossing the stick in the trash. “Kiddo, why would he hate you?”

You misread this, too, and think Derek is confirming that Reid has hated you all along. “I don’t know. Why would he? What did I do?”

Morgan pauses, staring at you for a second before he realizes. “Ah, alright. It’s not clicking?”

You and Morgan have this phrase for when things completely fly over your head. “It’s not clicking?” is all he has to ask and all you have to do is nod, and he explains things to you.

So, you nod.

“Okay, listen, he does not hate you,” Morgan says. “I mean that. He’s been struggling to get settled after being out, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s far from hating you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. You do trust Morgan, but somehow his words don’t ease your mind this time. “Should I talk to him about it? Or is that overstepping?” You pause. “I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“Kiddo, you’re never annoying,” Morgan smiles, raising his coffee at you. “I’m serious. And sure, if you think talking to him about it will help, go for it.”

“Okay… How do I ask him?”

Morgan shrugs. “Say you’ve felt like there’s been underlying tension and you want to clear the air.”

“Underlying tension and I want to clear the air. Got it,” you chant to yourself. “Thanks, Morgan!”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Fast forward an hour or two and you finally have enough courage worked up to confront Spencer. The first hour was spent rehearsing what you plan to say and the second was spent rehearsing what you might be asked and what you can say. And finally, you were ready to walk around the set of cubicles to get to Spencer’s.

Spencer looks up when he sees you walking over and he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, Y/N, I just found this really good book about the strategies of--”

“I’ve felt like there’s been a lot of underlying tension between you and me and I wanna clear the air,” you blurt.

Spencer pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” You try again.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Do you hate me?”

“What? No!” Spencer sets his book down on his desk. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

“Oh...okay,” you nod slowly. “That’s...that’s all then.”

As you’re turning around to go back to your, Spencer stands. “Wait, Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows in question. “Oh, right,” you chuckle nervously. “What book did you want to tell me about?”

“Oh,” Spencer looks down at his desk, then shakes his head. “I’ll tell you that later, I wanted to ask first if...if you wanted to get dinner later? There’s a reading downtown for this new poet and I thought you’d like to go.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Yes, I was actually already going, but yeah. We can get dinner.” You mentally rearrange things in your schedule as you speak.

“Okay,” he smiles softly. “Oh, the book. Here, you can--” He pauses and grabs a chair, rolling it over for you.

Derek watches from his desk as the two of you sit down and Reid starts rambling.

+++

You and Spencer leave straight from the BAU to get dinner before the reading.

One thing you’re grateful for that comes with spending time with Spencer is that you never have to worry about conversation. He carries it and if there’s ever a silence, he fills it. Or, like tonight, the two of you enjoy a mutual silence.

You opted for a table outside on the patio because the dinner rush was crowding the restaurant indoors, and it made the lights seem a little too bright. You could feel a headache coming on when Spencer asked if the two of you could sit outside.

It’s a little chilly outside, so you guys are alone, but you’re both always bundled up, so you aren’t cold. Spencer is always in some form of layers and a scarf, and you are, too. Minus the scarf, though, because some days it doesn’t feel right on your neck (and lately it doesn’t). But you’re always in a sweater and a cardigan.

Winter is your favorite season because of this. You can wear as many layers as you need and not suffer from a heatstroke.

After a quiet dinner (that you actually kind of needed, though you didn’t realize it at first), the two of you walk down the street to the small bookstore where the poetry reading is taking place.

“So, you said you were already coming,” Spencer begins.

“Hm?”

“To the poetry reading,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, unfazed. “Do you read a lot of poetry?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve always loved it, I think. I write some, too, but I don’t know how good it is. Probably not very since I’m in the FBI.”

Spencer laughs softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Do you write poetry?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Not often, but sometimes.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I like it. Not enough to do it for a living, of course. Actually, I almost got a Masters in Poetry a few years ago.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I can’t imagine being a poet,” he says, slowing his steps as you reach the bookstore. “But I guess that’s why I’m not one.”

You’re not sure what else to say, so you stay quiet while he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

Bookstores are your forever safe haven. The quiet stacks, the mutual agreement between everyone inside not to speak to anyone else unless it’s dire. Not to mention, being surrounded by words.

Even events like these are small. Every event you’ve been to, you’ve been one of maybe twenty people attending. It’s your Heaven. It’s the kind of social interaction you’re somewhat good at.

Spencer is surprised when you willingly sit in the front. He would’ve expected you to sit at the back, in the middle row, even, but not the front center. He doesn’t question it, though. He just quietly sits next to you.

You pull the poet’s book out of your bag and it’s a well-worn copy. You flip through the pages and Spencer catches glimpses of underlined words, commentary, everything that lets him know this must be your favorite.

“Do you um…” Spencer pauses, waiting until you tilt your head, showing your attention. “Do you come to readings here often?”

“Every month,” you nod. “It’s a weird routine I’ve had ever since I moved here. I went to readings almost every week in college, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“I don’t come to a lot for poetry,” Spencer says. “Mostly novels -- and mostly conventions for academia-based writings.”

“Those have always scared me,” you chuckle, only half joking.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh, just the idea of hundreds of people crowded in a hall. That kind of thing just isn’t my speed.”

“You know, if it’s too scary to go alone, you’re welcome to come with me,” Spencer offers.

“Okay.”

“There’s one next Friday,” Spencer says. “If we’re not out on a case, we can go together, right after work.”

“Okay, yeah,” you smile. “What time?”

“It starts at 7, so we could leave work at 5:30 and get dinner beforehand.”

You mentally begin piecing next Friday together in your head and you nod, thankful for his mention of specific times. “That sounds good.”

Soon the chairs around you are filled and you recognize a few people who smile at you, so you smile back. Before long, the manager of the store is stepping up to introduce tonight’s poet, and Spencer watches you eagerly crack open their book.

+++

Somehow, spending time with Spencer has gotten worked into your routine.

You go with him to academic readings, and he comes with you to your poetry ones. The two of you have dinner together most nights because it’s your routine to eat right after work, and most of the time he’s already rambling about something to you when 5 o’clock hits and you begin packing up your stuff.

Tonight is no different, only this time when you’re walking next to Spencer to the bookstore for another poetry reading, he fills the silence.

“Can I tell you something?”

You pause, but nod anyway, wondering why Spencer is asking this time when he hasn’t before -- not that you can recall.

Spencer takes a deep breath. “I know you thought I hated you, and honestly when you told me that, I couldn’t believe it. Because I don’t hate you and I never have. I...I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you let out a breathy chuckle. “I like you too, Spencer. I’m glad you don’t hate me and thanks for saying it again. Sometimes I need the reminder.”

He chews on his lower lip as he listens to you, and it’s obvious you didn’t catch what he is really trying to say. “Y/N, I mean...I like you. I have feelings for you -- romantic feelings,” he clarifies, watching your face intently. 

You’ve never made the most facial expressions, but when you do, they can be exaggerated. Which is what happens now.

Your eyes widen and you make what looks like a grimace with your lower lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, scrunching your nose. “Have these…have these all been dates?”

Spencer shrugs. “Only if you want them to be. I just like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” you smile softly. “You don’t hate me for not realizing, do you?”

“Of course not,” he laughs. “But I wanted to tell you because I like being honest with you and...if you feel the same, then...we can go from there, but if not, it’s okay. Like I said, I like spending time with you.”

“I do feel the same,” you blurt. “At least, I think I do. I don’t know. I might need to think, but I know I’m interested and...and I know I really like spending time with you.”

Spencer smiles. “Okay, uh...do you-- Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”

You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face in that moment, and you nod.

Spencer stretches out his hand and you take yours out of your pocket, hissing through your teeth for a moment at the cold air, but when Spencer’s fingers tangle with yours, you feel better.

Everything feels better when you’re with Spencer.

[septembersghost]

Jess, honey, hey! How are you?? I'm so happy you're back!!! ❤️

Your post about Kim popped up and I'm gonna say that... yeah. Actually the longer time passes, the less right the final episodes sit with me. I mean they TRIED to give us the most hopeful possible ending, and the first time I watched it seemed really good, but now I just don't know. It truly seems like Kim became the ghost of her former self, like she is gone and I don't know if she's ever coming back. I'm happy that both her and Jimmy are alive and, who knows, maybe they have a shot at rebuilding their relationship, maybe Kim will become a lawyer once again, maybe she'll find herself and shine in her true light, but we will never know. I just want her to come back. I just want her to become brilliant and dedicated and passionate and larger than life again, she's honestly one of my two MOST beloveds female characters EVER, and thinking about her arc and how she appeared in Waterworks especially makes me sad.

Which also makes me think (I'm sorry for going off-topic here) final seasons and specifically the endings are hard, and the more we love the story, the more we love and connect with the characters, the harder those endings hit and the more difficult it is for them to be truly satisfying. I got into one show a few months back (as in podcast), and I fell in love with it so much and especially fell in love with two main characters who are also in love with each other. They became my number one favorite OTP (kid you not, even more than Kim and Jimmy, which surprised me.) I'm close to the final season and the anxiety levels I have about this and the actual finale are going through the roof. I've never actually talked about this, but I do worry. What if they destroy my boys? What if the whole thing ends up in a big tragedy and that is it? What if it's never gonna be okay? What if the final episodes are just... bad? It's been STELLAR so far but I know how shows in their final seasons can get.

Like, so far I can name only two shows whose finales really, fully satisfied me, and the others were either just plain awful, or sort of okay-ish, but I have my issues with them (BCS is the latter.)

Anyway, sorry for this rant and I would really love to hear your thoughts about Kim (that is, when your wrist is doing okay and fully healed.) Btw, you can call me Ellie!

ELLIE!!! omg it makes me so happy to be able to use your name because i have been too shy ALL these many months to ask what you like to be called?! HI! ILU!!! and i always love your long messages, rants or otherwise! my hand/wrist are healing a bit and not as painful, though i'm still trying to be careful, thank you for asking! <3

i have had many emotionally overwrought private discussions about kim and the way she was ultimately treated, and it's a couple of mutuals who have had me wanting to mull it over and work through it a bit more recently too, because they've expressed some thoughtful criticisms that have hit me hard.

it's curious, because i think we maybe had a bit of an emotionally shell-shocked reaction to the amount of things they threw at us in S6B, and while i did express some feelings of hurt/being disconcerted at the time, it has also gotten worse for me the further we've gotten from the show. they tried, but they also kind of...didn't?...and it leaves us in this odd liminal space where it feels like they 1. were painted into a corner because of brba and could not find a creative way around that; 2. they forgot the key principles that the show was built upon because they, at that last hour, prioritized plot over character; 3. they wanted to have their cake and eat it too by serving us both wrenching tragedy and some sense of hope, so ended up with a lukewarm mix of both while not entirely serving either.

i'm going to quote @boboodenkirk because she wrote such astute replies that i don't think i can phrase it better, i hope she doesn't mind (bold is mine): "as for me i guess at first i felt such need for comfort from the show, that i just tried so hard to find the good and forget the bad about 6b. i liked the ending at first because from 609 on i'd been feeling like every new ep was…painful for pain's sake. the breakup was so messy and rushed, 611 to me felt like "propaganda" trying to convince you jimmy's a monster, 612 was heartbreaking, so i guess 613 at first felt like breathing again. but then i look back at it from a "safer" distance. and i realized that there were to many things that just seemed rushed, forced and contradictory to me. and as you said, as time passes, the feeling of disappointment just gets more and more intrusive. maybe i'll try and voice them? you've got a break up that somehow doesn't sit well with me, maybe because it was too abrupt, maybe because parts of the script in 609 just seemed a bit… melodramatic. but i could accept it, i guess, if that was kim running away from herself as fast as she could…but the divorce scene? that is angst p*rn ffs. why would she stick around? why would he "become saul" so quickly? i know this is my personal taste, but still…it feels different and worse. which brings me to the characters arcs being suddenly dictated by the plot and not vice versa. after the messy and rushed breakup (followed by a divorce scene that just seemed a bit sadistic), you've got them trying and trying to paint jimmy as THE villain. don't get me wrong, saul is awful and did plenty wrong, but this universe was never about balancing morality and choices with the justice system. it was about balancing those choices with yourself those you love, and those you hurt. in my eyes, they went on a mission to demonize jimmy so you'd feel okay with him being 86 years in prison. but i don't. the rampage he goes into after kim's phonecall makes absolutely no sense to me, because that's not him. they made him worse and worse and i think it was just so that his final good deed would look "cooler". while kim? kim annihilated herself. and 612 is another perfect example of pain for pain's sake. and instead of, dunno, having her trying to figure out how much she's """responsible""" for jimmy's becoming the worst version of himself (which is something i'd have loved to see) and dealing with guilt, vince said hey!!! let's make her bf a misogynistic asshole but somehow funny!!! let's turn doubtful consensual sex into a meme!!! and, eventually, she almost felt like a means to an end. she was there so jimmy could "repent", but where was the depth of her new storyline? you can't show that level of complete and utter self loathing and sabotage and think that "yeah, but see? she's volunteering at a legal aid center now" will somehow be the right answer to all of the deep questions her annihilation raised." <- i legitimately feel like she plucked this from my brain.

one of my biggest problems was, and continues to be, the way they very quickly tore the characters apart and then tore them down, in a way that vilified one and utterly destroyed another, for...misery? to prove a point about morality? part of the strength and even genius of these shows was that they never moralized AT us, they were so brilliant and intelligent and challenged us without talking down to us in regards to the justice system, in regards to human failings, in the deep, murky gray of destructive choices and hurt/harm and the interplay of that with empathetic connection, and how those terrible actions and downfalls happened, and what the legacy left in the wake of that was. where the humanity could possibly remain. how "justice" doesn't necessarily lie in a system, and isn't equated to revenge. how certain amends can never be made, but where the decisions lie within that tragedy, and what one can do (if anything) to change, to look at those shifting sands and make something of them. it's why the end of breaking bad works so well - there is no absolution for anyone, but there is the heavy consequence and the hope of slowly building something else.

they were aiming for that in a way with bcs, but it didn't quite get there. all of us know logically that hope is absent in those 86 years, but we keep trying to convince ourselves it's there and a release is possible. we get hardly anything with kim because she is utterly stripped of her agency and her strength and she barely speaks. (as i've said, it's beyond my understanding why kim doesn't even get a flashback when she is literally the center for jimmy. we get those scenes between all the main men that verge on the cynical and yet...nothing with her to provide some realized meaning? really?) which is what makes her depressingly feel like a means to an end - they built up this incredible, empowering female character only to CRUSH her, force her to annihilate herself and run from everything she was, surrender her agency (which was the key to her character's existence), and never return any of her power to her. she's left to her silence and her paralyzed inability to decide anything and then to jimmy's whims - even though what jimmy conclusively does is for her and a kind of reclamation, she has no say in the matter, no ability to affect it. she's barely recognizable, but in a way that doesn't work for me. it just...it makes me ache a bit that such a brilliant, wonderful, complex female character was diminished in such a staggering way. that she's basically a plot device, when she was NEVER that. her existence boils down to being the catalyst, abandoning jimmy to force him into the final descent of becoming saul, and then having no power or arc of her own to lead to the ending. she deserved to be more than a ghost. she deserved to be an active participant, like she always was. and i can't get over the fact that it feels like a uniquely female punishment, to silence and make her smaller the way that they did.

It truly seems like Kim became the ghost of her former self, like she is gone and I don't know if she's ever coming back. I'm happy that both her and Jimmy are alive and, who knows, maybe they have a shot at rebuilding their relationship, maybe Kim will become a lawyer once again, maybe she'll find herself and shine in her true light, but we will never know. I just want her to come back. I just want her to become brilliant and dedicated and passionate and larger than life again, she's honestly one of my two MOST beloveds female characters EVER, and thinking about her arc and how she appeared in Waterworks especially makes me sad. <- you also could've taken this directly from my thoughts. :(

endings ARE very hard, no doubt! and i have immense respect and regard for vince and peter and these actors and this creative team, and deep, abiding love for this show, which is another thing that's made it hard to criticize. it's not a violent shock and horrific wound in the way certain other endings have been (you KNOW what i'm referring to). it's difficult to get a story to a right and fulfilling conclusion - i can think of a handful of shows that managed it and all are shining little exceptions to the rule (ironically, i still maintain brba is undoubtedly one). far more often, they're either disappointing, saddening, or utterly ruinous. it's challenging to get them just right, and maybe it's nearly impossible to satisfy everyone when our connections to stories are so subjective. sometimes we're forced to accept sort of okay-ish because at least it's better than irreconcilable pain and destruction, but i feel like we still have the right to criticize things that don't ultimately sit well with us. it's been harder for me to process with bcs because i did trust peter and vince so much and it was hard to realize how let down i felt, and because i just wanted to cling to the comfort i got from the show and the way i loved it, but the more i've stayed quiet, the more discomfited i've been and that hurt has festered a bit.

the more we love and connect with the characters, the harder those endings hit and the more difficult it is for them to be truly satisfying. agreed.

never apologize for your thoughts and rants! tbh i could talk about kim forever, and despite what happened, it doesn't take away how vitally important she is to me. i truly hope your show ends well and is satisfying and doesn't take anything away from the characters you love. let me know!!! *hugs you tight* 💙💙💙

[lackadaisicalnereid]

oho!! there's a bunch of intriguing things on your list, feel free to pick one if this is Too Much: evil annie/abed, girlhood is like godhood begging to be believed, vanessa blair, amy ainsley AU, elizabeth / sansa, and jenny/blair wedding dress?

ok *pulls sleeves up and gets ready to type*

Most of these there isn't too much of, so I can speak briefly about them and share some excerpts, no problem.

evil annie/abed

this is 100% because you and @bohemicns wrote those excellent fics for the mutually assured destruction ficathon, what can one do.

I'm not exaggerating when I say there's little content for some of these. This is all I have for this fic:

evil annie, which he takes to calling her, is a creature whose sole intent is to mesmerize. this is the only way he manages to make sense of how he feels when she looks at him.

I don't care about a plot, when have I ever, what I do want to see is Abed's attempts to ~narratively explain to himself his attraction towards Evil!Annie.

girlhood is like godhood begging to be believed

This is one of those things that doesn't have a single word to it, it's just an idea. I am a big Dangerous Liaisons fan, and am not opposed to indulging in Greek myth, let us say, so I thought to myself, why not both? *El Dorado gif*

I wanted to take the whole cast of the four siblings and add some adjacent dumbasses (cassandra, ok, any excuse to add cassandra is a good excuse). So we have clytemnestra, castor, pollux, helen & cassandra. We have a dangerous liaisons AU. That is all.

(Also, I was a big fan of Castor and Pollux in the original Sailor Moon anime. Make of that what you will.)

Now when I look at all this, I'm not even sure how this title got here. Maybe from a ficathon? *shrugs shoulders*

vanessa blair

The world would've been a better place if we could've gotten a Vanessa/blair friendship. I want basically Dan/Blair, but with Vanessa. If no one else writes it, I will have to.

Vanessa walks into the woman soon be known as Blair exactly like the sleep-deprived freshwoman (thank you very much) disaster she is, looking over some shots of the yard taken on her phone yesterday when she was considering shooting her next video there.

That is literally all I have.

amy ainsley AU

Now, this I have more of. Maybe this was for an exchange or sth? I know I never posted it, or finished it. Amy is Amy March from Little Women, transported into The West Wing to annoy & make Ainsely fall in love with her.

This one has more meat on its bones, but not sure how I would go about continuing it.

Ainsley, as a rule, hates being prejudiced, but she's also not come where she's come without using a few mental shortcuts on her way from there to here, and from where Ainsley's standing both generally in life, as a Deputy White House Council, a black sheep of a Republican in a Democratic administration, and specifically, on this staff meeting, well - Amy smells of Massachusetts, her stated home state, amongst other things; reeks of it even, a poster child of inadequate driving skills (telling a tale of hitting a lamp post in Boston, albeit discreetly, but Ainsley overheard it anyway), nursing what Ainsley knows is the cheapest and by far the worst coffee in a one-mile radius, skipping over some of her Rs, though not all of them, and last but not fucking least there is the mind-shattering liberalism obvious from -- well, maybe it's not obvious in the usual sense of the word, and maybe Ainsley will have to concede her brain's jump-to-conclusionness, but yeah, it's not like Ainsley to be wrong about these kinds of things.

elizabeth / sansa

best crossover ever. @kwritten wrote one once and it was glorious. what i had in mind was elizabeth swann as the pirate king, and sansa, after she jumps off the cliff in whatever season it was.

It - he - she - Elizabeth cannot tell yet, is a castaway. She thinks she saw the shape of a dress, but it might not have been dress. What she definitely has seen - and this is impressive - and Elizabeth does not impress easily these days, is that the dress-carrying-the-for-now-genderless being jumped off the top of the cliff. Elizabeth's done crazy things in her day, her day being yesterday and also tomorrow, but she's never jumped off a cliff this high. It's impressive, this person is impressive, and Elizabeth is impressed, still, when she steps into the rowboat herself, telling Gibbs to man the ship and wait for her for an hour.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon."

Gibbs nods. If he is dissatisfied, he does not show it, and this pleases Elizabeth, who does not wish him to show his feelings always when he has them.

jenny blair wedding dress

"Hello, Blair. I hear you need a kick ass seamstress."

"And clearly, God hates me, because what I got is you."

"Charming, Blair."

"Do you have something to wear for the wedding?"

"Please little - please Jenny - this is Serena's wedding we're talking about, I had the outfit picked out before your brother decided to man up and propose."

I originally wanted this to just be fun shenanigans. I don't know what I want anymore. It's supposed to be Jenny dropping by to make Serena's wedding dress, on Blair's orders. And then, shenanigans.

Done! I'd love to hear your thoughts on any/all of these!

[junhuiste]

twice twice baby (preview)

pairing: jake x gn reader x sunghoon

word count: 2200

tags/warnings: fluff, slight angst, college!au, hockey player!jake, ice skater!sunghoon, sports med assistant!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, cursing, slightly suggestive scenes

a/n: this is just a preview of the bigger piece i plan to publish much later, so it pretty much only has jake, sorry hoonists! also gonna address it here while we’re at it, but i wanna apologize to everyone who sent requests in! i have them all plotted, most drafted and written, but i didn’t realize when i moved back home how busy i would be with work, summer classes, and looking for an apartment! i will have them published before the end of summer though! this piece is coming out before only because i wrote it well before finals week lol

taglist: please let me know if you wanna be part of the taglist!

Being in a parallelogram (or was it a dodecagon? A triangle? whatever) with the two notorious ‘Ice Hotties’ at your college, Jake Sim, the captain of the hockey team, and Park Sunghoon, the world class figure skater, is easy. Geometry isn’t that complicated...right?

As you entered into the arena, a cold blast of air struck, prompting you to jump slightly in your tracks, cursing that it was men’s hockey season and not basketball anymore. Albeit arms shivering, knees wobbling, and barely being able to make any strides at all, you weren’t distraught and to some extent trembling because of the ice rink or the ice packs inside the pouch seemingly glued to your waist, or hell, even the unnecessary air conditioner giving its all. Really, did they need to keep that fucking thing on when it was already polar-arctic-adjacent inside the arena? Probably to keep the rink from oozing into water and having Atlantis actually come to fruition...whatever, fuck the cold!

“Y/N, let’s get on it. We’re a bit late.” The head athletic trainer indicated, speed-walking a little too quickly for your liking, but what were you to do when your chest was heaving upon arrival at the ice center? Suck it up? Collapse and crawl into a ball?

Nodding, even though she was practically scurrying and leaving your curtailing ass in the dust, you heightened your pace despite the fact that your legs were about to give out at any second. Weren’t cold spaces supposed to make a solid more rigid, not turn your legs to jelly?

The both of you finally reached the area where the players were situated to greet the head and assistant hockey coaches.

“This is Y/N,” your trainer (whom insisted you just skip the formalities and call her Mina) motioned to you, slightly yet noticeably panting, “a first year, but they’ve done men’s basketball, women’s soccer and some gymnastics last semester. They know their stuff!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” The head coach reaches out to grip your hand firmly.

“Pleasure to meet y—“ once more today you jump, this time not shaken by the frozen tundra or by the vehemently boisterous buzzer, though it was much more thundering than the buzzer at the basketball court for some reason, but by the announcers cheering, “first year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim!”

And the crowd? They didn’t just go wild, no, they were literally cacophonous, the ground beneath and the arena stands rumbling, practically rivaling the San Andreas fault. Craning your neck to look around the oval shaped space and just how many students from your school, clad in university regalia, were present to see guys battle it out with plastic sticks on frozen water, even that, the entire scene wasn’t what had your heart nearly palpitating out of your chest.

First year, number three, co-Captain, Jake Sim. Now that was enough to warrant a blood pressure monitor...and possibly a defibrillator.

Almost giving yourself whiplash from turning around too quickly, it was hard not to gape at the boy coasting across the ice, waving at the all too excited crowd. And even through his helmet and from across the rink, you could make out his dark, glimmering irises, like how the sun’s edges would peak through from behind during an eclipse. It was kind of charmingly sickening actually, that someone could be as radiant as he was, under all the bulky gear, even despite the temperature. It wasn’t convenient actually that it had to be men’s hockey this time, that you, as the athletic trainer’s sports medicine intern had to attend the games for. Yeah, it was for credits. Sure, it was for intern experience...but what was the point if you only expected to make a fool out of yourself trying to tend to Jake and his teammates’ possible injuries?

It wasn’t fair, actually, that you were hopelessly in like with Jake Sim and that he didn’t even know your name when you were in the same physics class. To be fair though, it was a class of about 400, an infamous weeder course that crushed the poor souls of innocent underclassmen, so to have him direct any sort of attention your way, even a mere glimpse, would be laughable. That was what happened when you sat in the back, though.

Of course it just had to be Jake Sim that completely bewitched you, and he didn’t have to twirl any fingers or fixate any potions to have you just so damn spellbound. All he had to do was show up to freshman orientation with that stupid inviting grin of his, and that dumb glint in his eye that no one else seemed to possess. No, of course he just had to show up and be almost too cordial to everyone in your orientation group, even though all the other students, including you, could not give a single damn about the campus tour. And yes, of course, he just had to have the masses absolutely enamored with him, both upper and underclassmen alike.

Consider all of that, with Jake’s insane schedule, not that you knew anything specific, just that he had games on Tuesdays and Thursdays, coupled with daily practices, but you were only privy to that information because Mina always gave you the athletic teams’ agendas for the month. So yes, trying to garner any attention from Jake was like floating right smack in the middle of the Pacific, sending some sort of signal through a marine radio, and getting no response back. Not a hint that anyone was coming. No helicopters whirring above, no boats sent out ashore. What would he want to do with the first-aid kid, the person that sat in the back, the person that was paying attention to something else at the moment, and not the fact that they had to observe players carefully for potential injuries?

Well, sorry to Jake’s teammates and Mina, but you just couldn’t pry your eyes off of number three. How he skated in such an agile manner while simultaneously defending assertively was certainly an image now seared into your mind. The way he commanded the court was just so—“You paying attention? Are you okay today?” Mina snapped you out of your nonsensical trance.

“Yeah, yeah of course! Always on my toes like you said...” your eyes told a different story, and deceived you at that.

“And there’s number three, Sim, with the first goal!”

Jake skated backwards to high five his teammates and to prepare to defend, and it was definitely a sight to see him so animated, feeling right where he should be in his domain.

“Ah, I see. Number three is it? I heard he’s a beast on the ice,” Mina nudged and winked slyly at you, “anyway, pay attention ‘cause if your little ice boy gets hurt you know we gotta move quickly.”

It was already enough to have your friends taunt you about your silly adolescent infatuation with Jake, now to have your mentor in on it too? Mina was right though, you were here to wrap ankles and tend to bruised hips, not ogle at the team captain.

“Gotcha. On my toes!” you winked back at her, semi-ready to do your job. If you could predict injuries before they even happened during the basketball and soccer games you should be more than capable of caring for the hockey players. Whipping your head around to finally and legitimately focus on the members, you really wished you hadn’t.

There he was, number three, adept and dodging the defensive players, with the puck sliding in tandem with his stick. Then, it happened all too quickly, in a tenth of a second, too much for everyone spectating to comprehend.

BAM.

Suddenly, Jake was on his back after he and the opposing player too combatively collided into each other. You blinked once and now he was supine on ice, clutching a leg to his chest. His teammates and the referees hastily surrounded him, but you could not watch anymore, you had to do what you were here for.

Running past both the coaches, lamenting what the hells and go go go! at Mina, you dashed to the edge of the rink, about to enter and slip on the ice, but stopped yourself, because you didn’t have skates on. Fuck. Mina and you always ran to the scene of the injury, and you’d only dealt with hardwood floors and grass fields, but never ice. There was no reason for you to just stand around though, as Jake was being lifted by the referees. As much as you wanted to glue your eyes to the catastrophe, you sprinted to the locker room to fetch the cooler.

“Everyone, move!” You shouted at the towering players standing in your way. Setting the cooler on the floor, you directed some of them to assemble a few of the chairs they were sitting on for a makeshift cot for Jake to rest his leg on. Nervously yet rapidly, you dug into your backpack for a splint, pre-wrap, and medical tape.

When you stood back up, Jake and the referees were at the rink’s entrance, with Mina extending her arms to steady him once he transitioned from ice to linoleum. And through all this he maintained the same tender-hearted curve on his face, beaming at Mina and thanking the referees.

One of Jake’s coaches and Mina propped Jake around their shoulders as he hopped on one foot to your nearby station. Assisting them in getting Jake to sit down, you were shaking slightly out of feverishness and hormones, even though it was the perfect temperature for snowfall, but forming a resistance to doing that was almost impossible.

Christ, you weren’t like this when Taehyun tore his ligament last semester at the basketball semi-finals, or when Yuna sprained her toe out on the field, yet it was due to that certain someone that you just could not find it within you to operate as you usually did. It was imperative that you got out of your own head; Jake was merely another athlete you had to tend to and someone you, quite frankly, had to get over, like now.

Once Jake was seated with his right leg propped up on the opposite chair, he took his helmet off and handed it to his coach standing guard next to him.

“Mina, you guys got this?” The coach hesitantly asked your trainer.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about, Coach Kim! We’ve seen worse than this; we’re good, right Y/N?”

You gave Coach Kim a measly thumbs up and he rushed to get back to the rest of the team to continue with the game, deliberating who would substitute in now that their best player was on the sidelines.

While Mina undid Jake’s skates and kneepads, you assessed him before you could get started, asking him what kind of pain he had in his leg, how much it hurt on a scale of 1-10, and if he could wiggle his toes.

Sharp and kind of aching, I think. 8.5-ish, actually maybe just 8. Toes wiggling.

“Um, okay. Good that your toes are still intact, which means you’re gonna be okay, but is there any other part of your body that hurts?” You tried not to sound like a complete buffoon, trying to enunciate your words properly like you did with several other injured athletes; Jake shouldn’t have been any different. He was, though.

“Yeah, I feel like there’s a bruise on the right side of my body somewhere,” he said, motioning to his abdomen.

“Okay...I’m gonna take your shoulder pads off and you have to take your jersey off so we can ice it, is that cool with you?” Your brain was bouncing off the walls at the mention of “take” and “off”. Come on, this wasn’t fucking NASA, although it might as well have been, as he was a universe and a half to you (in a melodramatic way of sorts).

“Yeah, yeah—for sure. Thanks.” Jake flashed an acknowledging smile, to which your cheeks heated up at. There was an injured boy in front of you—no time for shits and giggles and teenage elation.

As you aided Jake in removing his shoulder pads and jersey, he winced a bit, while trying to hide it at the same time. 

“Are you good? I’ll get some ice on that soon, I promise.” You gradually eased into your ‘medic’ mode, trying to expel as much of your nerves as humanly possible.

“Yeah I’m okay, just hurts a bit. Thanks again,” he could not stop giving you that demure yet brazen demeanor, and to be around a smiling Jake meant a tense you, regardless if your subconscious plan to initiate Nerves Exodus was kind of working.

When Mina stood up, all finished with undoing his skates and knee pads, she asked Jake to repeat what he stated about his pain earlier to you back to her. Before walking to where the coaches and other players were, she chaffed at you, with a mischievous lilt to her words, “you can handle it from here right? The star player’s in your hands.”

Audibly, you ‘mhmmed’ her, and when you were out of Jake’s sight, rolled your eyes, making sure she noticed that. You were glad though, that Mina was your trainer and not some old, stern fart like she had when she interned in your same position; it made for much more “effective” mentoring and communication, especially because she left you alone with the athletes, so you were able to think of what to do next for yourself, and if there were ever any mistakes—which there were none of to date—she would help you work through them.

Holy shit, Mina left. It was just you and Jake.

[elysianslove]

Hello! I know this may not be your thing but I decided to give it a shot, if not no biggy!

I was wondering if you would be interested in writing Gojo and/or Sakuna with an asexual lover? (One that doesnt feel sexual attraction but doesnt mind kissing and cuddling etc and loves physical affection but nothing beyond that?) And like, how a relationship with that kind of person would come to be?

Because Sakuna and Gojo both give off *he totally fucks* vibes.

So how they ended up with an asexual lover would be interesting, maybe the MC rejects their advances because fear of being hated for being Ase? Because they know that the other person definitely fucks.

How would their relationship work? How would the guy react/comfort the MC.

(Maybe it ends with a epilogue with no sex(as in penetration and blowjobs to be exact but mc later in a relationship would be willing to do things like handjobs and other hands on/Using toys to pleasure their partner because they cant in that way) but lots of passionate makeout sessions/kissing/sucking and worshiping the mc's body? Especially the collar bone)

If you arent into it that's cool! I totally get it!

This is pretty self indulgent after all ahahaha it's hard being an asexual in fandoms lmao.

hi my love!! okay to start off, i’m really honored you sent in this request to me. idk just the fact that you’re trusting me with it is really sweet hehe. i’m fairly knowledgable about sexuality but i don’t like to write about things i’m not 100% sure about because i don’t wanna risk doing anything wrong or accidentally offending you! but!! thank you for going into detail with the request, and i hope this is what you were looking for, and that i didn’t do any mistakes <3

i wrote headcanons so i can go into detail and write for both!! 

some nsfw under the cut, my loves! <3

ryomen sukuna 

i’d say, to begin with, it would take a small while for sukuna to even be accepting of his own feelings towards you. nothing having to do with your sexuality, just you in general, specifically that you’re human and so different from him. i don’t think sex ever crosses his mind, at least at the start, because he’s too busy being really angry over the way he can’t seem to control his reactions to every little thing you do. so he himself won’t actively work at starting a relationship with you.

but he will realize, over time, that you’re not doing anything either, even though he’s been noticing that you’re not pushing him or his advances away. like any act of protectiveness that involves him physically touching you intimately, you don’t reject, and you’re always ready to retort at any quip he had. he could tell that these feelings he had for you were mutual, he was just so confused as to why you weren’t doing anything about it.

sukuna’s a thousand year old cursed spirit. he does not know shit about sexuality. i think the way he’d look at it is fuck who you want and fuck who you like. i feel like nicki minaj’s said that before, has she? he doesn’t like thinking too much about it, you know? 

his confession would probably be a kiss because words? he doesn’t know them. when he feels you return the kiss he’s, deep down, elated, really, and this is simply because of his naturally sexual personality, he starts hinting at more, until you stop him. he’s really confused because you just kissed him back? you’ve been kissing him for so long why do you want to stop now? he can see the fear steadily growing in your eyes and he’s even more confused now he’s just. humans are so weird. 

when you cautiously tell him, “i don’t want to go further than this. is that okay?” you look like you’re waiting for the world to erupt in your face. he just frowns and shrugs like, “yeah but that’s not the point. do you not want me?” 

it takes about an hour and a half for sukuna to properly process what you’re saying. at first he’s so thrown off by it, not by you! he just can’t process the fact that someone doesn’t feel any sexual attraction towards someone or doesn’t crave sex at all. it’s not that he’s rude about it, it’s just a really foreign concept to him, you know? when you add that it’s just sex, and you’re okay with a lot of other things, the gears in his brain finally start working again and he just goes. 

*shrugs* ok. 

literally lmao. like i said earlier, sukuna doesn’t give a shit like whatever do what you want. 

because of the rush of emotions he’s feeling towards you, and the fact that this in itself, a relationship, and a relationship with a human too, he doesn’t really focus on the fact that he might want more from you. he’s easily satisfied with a lengthy make out session, and he admits it to you every time he sees you get a little anxious or unsure of yourself. 

however, his needs do grow with your relationship. it’s kind of clumsy, your transition into a proper long term relationship, especially with sukuna, but you two make it work. 

you agree to try different ways to pleasure him, even if he kinda rushes through them because he’s generally just excited to have your hands on him. at first he’s content with anything you’re offering, but it makes him feel kinda useless when you won’t let him touch you and you have to remind him that your needs are different than his and that you’re sated differently.

i see sukuna as a curious and experimental guy, so he would definitely let you use toys on him. nothing too extreme, because he still needs that sense of control, but you do use some toys like a fleshlight or a vibrator to rile him up. he likes using your hand too, because it’s always so soft against him and it feels a hundred times better than any toy. he learns not to overstep any boundaries though, and not to do anything that might make you uncomfortable even if it takes him a little longer. like i said, the whole idea is just different to him, so it takes him a while to understand, and he’s still learning as he goes!

he loves your make out sessions, especially after you establish your boundaries and your limits and what you’re willing to do for him. he absolutely adores leaving your skin a sky of blue, pink and purple it sends chills down his spine marking you like that. he’s always touching you all over, and just loves to grab and knead at your skin. 

in the proper long term, he doesn’t mind it at all tbh. the two of you develop a system, and he’s okay with it. the same way you would never cross his boundaries and force him to do anything he doesn’t want, he’d do for you too! it really never truly mattered, and it truly never will.

gojō satoru

different from sukuna, i think gojō would definitely be knowledgable about things like this. idk he just seems like the kind of guy that’s innately so aware of everything around him, and can read people exceptionally well.

he probably picked up on the fact that you weren’t comfortable with sex, or just didn’t experince sexual attraction, on his own, but never really brought it up because it was never his place. but the same way he picks up on that, he picks up on your obvious crush on him. he pays both details no specific attention until he starts to realize his own feelings for you, and begins on his subtle advances.

he tried to make his advances as sfw as possible, you know? just in case his suspicions were confirmed to be true. he was just extra flirty, sometimes touchy but never in an inappropriate way. very subtilely like always having your shoulders or knees touching or dusting of your jacket or feeding you a piece of his food. cute little things like that.

he gets super worried when he notices you start to distance yourself from him, because he can’t imagine what he might’ve did to push you away. he overthinks a little, worried that he overstepped his boundaries or made you uncomfortable in any way, but he isn’t afraid to approach you about it, to make sure he doesn’t repeat his mistakes, especially with someone like you, who he’s slowly growing more and more infatuated by. 

when you admit to him you’re asexual, he realizes he was right, but then he’s like, “and? did i do something?” and now it’s your turn to be confused because here you were worried about rejection but here he was worried about you? 

this specific incident is what makes you let loose and finally just freely admit your feelings for him. he’s ecstatic about it, seriously! all that’s on his mind is that he gets to go on a date with someone he really likes. sex is the last thing on his mind, and yeah, you’ll eventually have to talk about it, but not for now. it’s for later, when things get a little more serious. 

they do get serious, to both your delights, but the dreaded moment is approaching you. gojō definitely sits you down and says, “we’re only having this talk so i know never to do anything outside of your limits. everything about this relationship is 50/50, and i want to know ways to make you feel good, too.” 

please sir your hand in marriage.

i definitely believe gojō’s a kinky guy, and is more than willing to try out literally any sex toy you pull at him. genuinely, he’ll try anything you wanna try. if you ever offer a handjob, he’ll ask a million times over if you’re sure. usually, he likes to just do it himself, but have you there next to him. he won’t touch you, but your hands will be in his hair, and you’ll be kissing his neck, or just murmuring how much you love him in his ear, just spurring him on. he knows the last thing on your mind is anything sexual, but there’s just something about being under your watchful, almost bored gaze as he fucks himself.

anyways before i get too into it lmfao, he loves kissing you. loves loves loves it. not even full blown make out sessions, just gentle, serene kissing. he can kiss you for hours. 

he is also incredible at body worship and praise. paints your pretty collarbone pink and purple, whispers about how you’re perfect for him, describes all your features to you like poetry. he’s an incredible lover, really. nothing can make him fall out of love with you, absolutely nothing. 

[sidespart]

For the fic title thing: Make Up Your Mind/Catch Me I’m Falling

Make Up Your Mind (this seriously got away from me and became basically a whole string of conscious fic whoops)

Logince, Bakery/coffeeshop AU Mutual Pining/ Not-Actually-Unrequited love, + loceit friendship

So Janus owns a Bakery (struggling to think of a snake/lie based bread pun for the name but ehh). He is the head only baker and sends most of his time in the basement kitchen blasting the phantom of the opera soundtrack and kneading dough. 

Logan is his childhood friend. Janus hired him as cashier after Logan dropped out of collage but then he never left and is now basically manager/ accountant/ hbic of this whole operation.

So one night as Janus is leaving he’s casually like: ‘oh by the way, a couple are coming by tomorrow for a wedding cake consultation’

And Logan blocks the door and is like: ‘Janus. We don’t do wedding cakes. We don’t even do cake. You only make weird artisanal bread. it took me 6 months and 8 powerpoint presentations to convince you to sell banana loaf’

Jan, his eye enormous: ‘but Logan, you should have heard this guy on the phone. They only want to use LGBTQ businesses for their wedding, they want to support the community that’s supported them for so long. He spoke so passionately and eloquently about why it just had to be us I couldn't say no’

Logan, his eyes not enormous: did you tell this man we make wedding cakes just to make the phone conversation end?

Janus: I was going to miss the murder, she wrote marathon, Logan 

So Jan manages to escape, and Logan rolls his eyes but like. This is nowhere near the worst ‘cleaning up after Janus lied to get out of a situation and made everything more complicated for no goddamm reason’ incident that he has had to deal with during the course of their friendship so, whatever: he can tell the couple there was a miscommunication when they show up in the morning. 

Next day, the guys arrive. Virgil, who barley introduces himself and then stays hunched in his hoodie not speaking for the whole meeting, and Roman. 

Roman does not have a problem speaking. Roman has lots of ideas.

Roman has a binder. 

Somehow in the course of this conversation Logan goes from ‘we don’t make wedding cakes’ to ‘I’LL SHOW YOU, WE’LL MAKE THE BEST GODDAMM WEDDING CAKE THIS TOWN HAS EVER SEEN’

Maybe it was the passion of Romans argument. Maybe it was the slightly disdainful look on his face when he looked round the shop. Maybe it was the ridiculous amount of money he was prepared to pay (see: Janus insists on only making specific, weird bread as to why the shop’s always on the brink of collapse). Maybe it was the power of the binder (Logan is like 80% sure Roman hit him with the binder at one point). Maybe its just Logan hasn't had a full blown passionate argument like that since high school debate club and the rush of adrenaline made him dumb.

Whatever the reason - they’re now fully committed to making this 6 tier, purple and blue, Disney inspired, multiflavoured wedding cake

(Janus, who skipped out on the meeting because he is Like That: But Logan....we don’t make wedding cakes...this was really irresponsible of you...

 Logan: I know where you sleep. I could kill you at any time) 

Which would be doable (the weddings a while off, and Logan is ready to RESEARCH) except Roman keeps. Coming. Back. 

With new ideas. And tweaks. And suggestions. All of them seemingly designed to make the cake less structurally sound. 

Basically every time he comes in they end up having a blazing row, first about Romans inability to make up his mind about the cake and then about...literally everything. One time they spent 25 minuets arguing about whether or not Shakespeare wrote all of his plays, which somehow turns into ‘who was the best host of blues clues?’ which then turned  into ‘how would nationalised healthcare best be implemented?’ (the loudest arguments were during the blues clues section).Logan had even fewer customers then normal that day.

(Logan: I hate that guy so much! He shows up at 2pm every day and now my blood pressure has started going up at 1.55pm in anticipation of the fight! He’s causing me actual medical distress because he’s so stupid!

Janus:...you’ve memorised some guys schedule and your heart starts racing whenever you see him?

Logan: yes! because he is my enemy!

Janus:...

Janus: mmKay.)

ANYway, one day Roman turns up and is like: Can’t fight today. Need caffeine. Must Study. and sequesters himself on one of their two rinky dink tables and starts pulling enormous textbooks out of his bag. Turns out Roman is in law school, he’s back home for the whole summer to help with wedding prep and has been neglecting his summer reading. He wants to be an environmental lawyer and, ideally, singly handily prosecute every oil company and give a speech at the UN whilst wearing an immaculately fitted Italian suit. 

Logan has a panicked moment of OH NO HE’S SMART (he doesn't need an oh no he’s hot moment because Roman’s been hot the whole time). Very carefully he does not think about how upset hearing Roman mention the wedding again made him feel, and then shares a bit about his own anxiety during college which led to him dropping out.

Roman says degree or no degree its obvious Logan is one of the smartest, most capable people Romans ever met.

Cue: blushing, stammering, Logan standing up to quickly and knocking half a pot of coffee over etc etc all that good fluff. 

And after that their conversations are less confrontational (although they still debate like. everything.) and more friendly.

They have one (1) more conversation about the wedding wherein Roman apologises for being so stressed and snappy over all the preparation stuff but he just wants everything to be perfect for Virgil. (Logan, awkwardly: you must love him a lot. Roman, himbo-ly: Yeah!) aaand then Logan changes the subject to the best rhyming structure because Romans big sappy grin is making his heart do awful twisty things-

And eventually, Roman asks Logan to go out with him outside the bakery.

Logan: hahaha this is friendship, we are great friends, we are going out as friends. I am not going on a date with a man with a fiancé because that would be the actions of a crazy person.

 So they go on their date. It’s amazing. Roman leans in for a kiss at the end and Logan is delighted!

And then devastated.

He pushes Roman away, yells some creative insult (malodorous centurion?) and flees. Spends the next week basically hiding in the kitchen area, refusing to see any customers and working on the wedding cake.

(which is looking perfect by the way)

So after a week of Logan moping round the kitchen Janus finally blocks the door to stop him leaving and demand he tells him what the hell is wrong. And after a few minuets of filibustering Logan ends up telling him everything.

“In any case, the very fact that he is the kind of man who would cheat on his fiancé means he’s not the kind of man I thought he was. Therefore any alleged feelings I may have developed towards him would now be null and void” says Logan, looking like the worlds sadist accountant

Janus: So...wait. You’re saying wedding cake guy and hot lawyer guy are the same person?

(Logan: you need to come out of the basement more often Janus: YOU need to tell me what’s going on in your life more often. (they have had this conversation many times in the past))

So Janus sincerely tells Logan he’s sorry...and that he’s even more sorry that he needs him to help him deliver the cake to the venue tomorrow.

(this thing is way to big for one person to carry and there’s no way Jan would trust any of their occasional teenage cover staff to do this and ‘we’ll go round the back and you wont have to see anyone anyway comon Lo’ you basically built this monstrosity you should see it home)

So, reluctantly, Logan goes. And they go round the back as promised, and get this enormous cake settled, and then get told to wait there one sec cus one of the grooms is going to come sign for it and before Logan can throw himself out of the widow (get OFF me Janus we’re on the ground floor it’s FINE)  from behind them they hear squeeing.

There’s a curly haired dude in a pastel blue linen suit who Logan has never seen before in his life looking at the cake and cooing over ‘all the little details! its perfect! oh Virgil is going to love this! You know he was so embarrassed about asking for a Disney themed cake he had to ask Roman to go with him to -”

“Who ARE you?”

The man blinked at Logan, who realised dimly that he still had one foot up on the windowsill and slowly returned it to the floor. 

“I’m Patton” said Patton.

“And I’m Janus” said Janus, removing his arms from where they’d still been clamped around Logan’s waist and stepping smoothly towards Patton, clipboard held aloft “A pleasure to meet you, if you could just sign here...”

“BUT-” Patton paused, hand still raised to accept the clipboard, and looked over again at Logan who found himself mumbling:  “but - but the groom is supposed to sign for it?”

And Patton just smiled at him looking a bit bemused and goes ‘I am the groom? And who are you kiddo?”

Logan says he’s Logan. Patton suddenly looks a whole lot less friendly. 

“Oh.” says Patton. “You.”

And since Logan’s mind is currently refusing to take in the information in front of him Janus is the one who ends up stepping in between them and going “so just for 100% transparency - you are Patton. 

“yes?”

“and today you are marrying the love of your life: Virgil?”

“Yes!”

“And are either of you, at any point today, also planning on marrying one Roman Sanders, caffeine addict and terrible communicator?”

And Paton burst out laughing and says “ROMAN? Virgil’s big brother Roman? He’s my best man but I don’t think we’re planning to take it any further...”. And because Patton is apparently much quicker on the emotional uptake than Logan he gives him a vey soft, if slightly exasperated, look and says:

“Roman - who again, is my future brother-in-law- is helping set up in the main hall.”

And Logan likes to think he said thank you before he took off fucking RUNNING through the building but he can’t be sure.

So he gets to the hall, where a load of people are setting out chairs, putting up flowers etc,  and skids to a stop at one end of the aisle. Shouts: “ROMAN.” (Roman and Virgil, who were standing at the other end arguing over a flower arrangements, both look up) “YOU’RE NOT MARRYING YOUR BROTHER.”

“um.” Says Roman “No?”

Explanations are given. Virgil, who is a lot more talkative now that he’s not on 7th wedding appointment of the day burn out, is ready to physically fight Logan for breaking his brothers heart. And then once he understands the full story is ready to kill both of them for being such dumbasses.

Roman: But I s2g I told the guy on the phone that it was the groom and best man coming??? Logan: Yeah he might have lied and said you were a couple for a joke, or he may have just straight up not listened to you. Either way, he is just Like That.

Logan: WHY DID YOU NEVER MENTION VIRGIL WAS YOUR BORTHER?? Roman: I WAS TRYING TO GET TO KNOW YOU AND ALSO SEDUCE YOU WHY WOULD I WASTE TIME TALKING ABOUT MY LITTLE BROTHER??? Virgil: Yeah...he does like talking about himself, sorry he’s just  Like That.

Anyway it all ends fluffily, Patton and Virgil get married. Roman cries. Logan and Jan hang around for the wedding. Roman and Logan hold hands throughout the speeches and dance during the reception. Roman has to go back to law school soon but they agree to call each other every day at 2pm to catch up and argue. 

Janus gets off with the moustachioed DJ. 

And Roman and Logan get another chance at their first kiss.

[roger-that-cap]

jack pendleton

summary: moving into an apartment to get away from your last relationship was fun all fun and games until you met your extremely attractive across-the-hall neighbor, who makes awesome cookies and even better novels.

author!bucky x reader

warnings: no legitimate warnings besides swearing, it kind of moves just a weensie bit fast but i think it’s cute, minimal angst, I WROTE THIS IN ONE DAY and that is a warning tbh so expect mistakes in this hunk a junk-

word count: 6.2k!

Searching for your new apartment was a terribly long and boring process, but even you couldn’t deny that finally moving in was heavenly. 

It was the first thing that you did by yourself after having a mutual break up with your boyfriend, and you would be damned if it felt anything but good. He confessed to you that he had fallen in love with a man that he met online. Not only that, but an Italian man that he was teaching English to over a website. He was brave enough to tell you as soon as he realized that he loved the man, so the heartbreak was minimal. 

You never told him, but honestly, you sort of respected him for that. So, with your hidden respect and gratitude, you wished him well and knew that you were going to be the one to find a new place. 

 So there you stood, right in front of your new place with a singular box in your arms, all the others in the smallest U-Haul available to rent that you drove there. You stared at your door for a moment, which read an embroidered C7, and then you fiddled with your keys to unlock it.  

  You had a lot of work to do. 

§§§

By the end of the fourth day, mostly all of your things were put away. You didn’t think you had much to begin with, but unpacking made you realize that you had more than you thought. So with your ambitious mind, you got everything done on your own, even the decorations that you had at your last appointment were on the walls. 

 By the seventh day, it was starting to feel like home again. And that called for a celebration. You got your purse and your car keys, your mind already in the shopping mall. 

  As you stepped out of your door, the door directly across from yours opened too. You didn’t pay them much mind besides flashing a smile and turning around to lock your own door, not even looking at whoever it was properly enough to see them. But when you did, you definitely did. 

 A man with long, brown hair and clear blue eyes was staring at you like a deer in the headlights, and you would have thought that he mistook you for a celebrity if it weren’t for the wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. The first thought that came to your mind was that he was as stiff as a board, and that it was almost comical. The second thought that came to your mind was that this man was very handsome, despite the way that he was looking at you like you had just said the dumbest thing known to man. 

 “Um, hello,” you said, not even having to be loud because you were just a few feet apart. You were tempted to be a smartass and say something rude about his incessant staring, but instead, you reminded yourself that you were going to have to deal with the consequences of your smart remark later on. Humiliation and awkwardness every time you saw him was not what you wanted. “Have a good day.” 

  You turned to your left and walked down the stairs, thankful that you lived on the edge of the hall and could just run down some steps to get away from whatever that “encounter” was. 

§§§

The mall was utterly packed, but that didn’t matter to you at all. You were there to browse for something that was going to make you even happier after your move, and a few people in line weren’t going to bother you. You went in and out of clothing stores, buying a few things here and there, and then on your way out, you passed by a bookstore. 

  You liked books, you really did. But you were avoiding that store like the plague. For you to go into a bookstore with so many options available, you knew that the safest route for your budget was to know what you were getting from the second you walked in. You stood in front of it for a second, debating on going in without looking online beforehand or just coming back another day. Your own feet answered the question for you, and then you were entering the huge book store.

 The shelves were high and wide and sturdy, dark brown and creating isles. Fantasy, Young Adult, Spiritual, Languages. The genres went as far as you could see. And that meant that if you weren’t wise, you could be buying a book from every aisle.

  You counted the number of shelves, seeing that there were almost thirty as far as you knew, and then took out the two dice that you took with you everywhere, for reasons like this. You were indecisive, and two little cubes with black dots on them were as sure as it could get. They were your Decision Dice. They had never steered you wrong before, and today wouldn’t be the day. You were going to roll twice, and if the sum was a number less than ten, then you would multiply it by two, which was your lucky number.  You liked to make things difficult. 

You saw a woman staring at you with cautious eyes as you bent down and shook your closed hand, and you heard her chuckle when she saw the two little cubes roll out of your palm. 

  “Four,” you murmured once you saw three dots on one and one on the other. You picked them up and shook your hand again. “Three. That makes seven, and seven times two makes aisle fourteen.” You picked up the dice (that you would never admit came from your grandpa’s set of Yahtzee) and walked past the still laughing woman in the science fiction aisle.  

  Of course, aisle fourteen was the aisle that you probably had the least business in. Romance. You almost walked away and went for the fifteenth instead, but then what would the point in rolling be? What would stop you from denying the Decision Dice in later situations? You sighed for a second after your own dramatics and looked the shelves up and down, trying to find a title that grabbed you. 

 You walked up and down the aisle, slowly combing through until you saw a book on the bottom shelf by some Jack Pendleton. You frowned. It wasn’t often that you saw men’s names in the romance section, and when you did, you hardly liked what they wrote. The love interest was always flat or too out there to be believable. The female love interest in men’s books always had to be “not like other girls”, and it was worn out. For some reason, you reached down for it anyway, ready to see what you had already seen a million times before. 

  What you really ended up seeing shocked you. 

It was about a man who served in the army oversees and came back an amputee, and became locked in a love triangle between his physical therapist and his best friend, all the while dealing with his sexuality. 

  That was a lot of man versus self. You wanted it. 

You stood up and without second thought walked to the counter, handing the cashier the book and getting out your credit card. 

§§§

You cracked open the book the second you threw your fast food trash away in your trash can. You made yourself comfortable on your little couch and put some light music on in the background, just so that it wouldn’t be completely silent. You didn’t do well with silence at all. 

 It took all of four pages for Jack Pendleton to surprise you again. His writing style was gorgeous and smooth, and you cold tell that he meant every word that was printed on the pages. His diction was brilliant, his descriptions even better. He didn’t give too much or too little, and you were already falling in love with it. 

  The main character, Elijah, was likeable but flawed. Within the first thirty pages, you could already sense that he was gaining feelings that he didn’t even know about for his best friend, Will, who wasn’t named until about forty pages at Elijah’ first physical therapy appointment. Will hadn’t even shown up yet. 

You had blown through nearly half the book when you realized that it was eleven at night, and that you had work the next morning. You swore to yourself and put a smaller piece of paper in your book this time, looking at it longingly and patting it on the spine before leaving it on the small coffee table. 

§§§

Work was horrible. It was boring, and you spent the whole first part of your day with a man who was mad at you specifically because you ran out of a special type of shoe that he needed to wear the next day. The store that you worked at wasn’t even really a shoe store. Then, he asked to see the manager. You were the shift manager. He got so pissed that he threw a hanger at you and stormed out, and all you could do was laugh. 

 You were so tired of retail, it wasn’t even funny. 

 You were a little more than a hundred and twenty pages in when there was a knock on your door, and it came right as you were about t flip the page. You resisted the urge to scream, completely and utterly fed up with the public for the day. There was no use in trying to ignore the knocking that already yanked your mind out of the fictional world, and so you left the book on your couch, sticking a piece of paper in it quickly to save your page. 

You swung the door open, expecting to find someone who wanted you to fill out a survey or maybe even someone from maintenance making sure that everything was okay with your apartment. You certainly didn’t expect to see your beautiful neighbor with a pie in his gloved hands and a pink flush on his face. 

  He spoke first. “Hi, I live across the floor,” he pointed towards the door that you knew he lived behind. “I was just coming to bring you a welcoming gift.”  

  You were stunned. The man who stared you down and didn’t even say a word to you was at your door with what looked like a homemade pie, and wow, was that a turn of events. It was something straight out of that cheesy romance section that you were in at the bookstore. “Wow, thank you. You made that?”

  The pink on his cheeks graduated to scarlet. “I-yeah, I did.” 

You couldn’t contain the grin that stretched onto your face. “That’s really kind of you, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.” You gently took it from his hands and smiled up at him. 

  “It’s also an apology, for staring at you like that when you were leaving.” You noticed his subtle accent and fought the urge to swoon. He was so adorably shy. “No one’s lived in this one for years, and I didn’t notice you moving in. Kinda scared me.” 

 “You didn’t see the moving truck?” You asked teasingly.

You saw the small grimace on his face, and your smile faltered. “I don’t really go outside much,” he said vaguely, and you felt that you hit a nerve. 

  You shrugged with the pie still in your hands, lips turning upwards at him. “It’s okay, I don’t, either.” 

  You were both smiling now. 

“Well, um,” he started to say, and you nodded your head at him, already knowing that he was about to go. “I have to finish something. I’ll see you later?” 

 “There’s a pretty good chance that you will,” you said, and he gave an awkward wave before turning around and walking away, right into his apartment without another look back. You cursed softly when he shut his door, and you looked down at the pie. 

You didn’t even get his name.

§§§

You realized after five days of nothing (and cleaning out the pan of delicious pie by yourself) that you weren’t going to see your neighbor by chance. You hoped that you would, more than you hoped for anything else before. But he was right. He didn’t go outside much. The doors in the building were all so loud that it was nearly impossible not to hear them opening or shutting, and you never heard his once. 

You had to do it yourself. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to see him again without it being incredibly weird, but you had a plan. In your eyes, it was pretty foolproof. Your mom’s chicken parmesan could never go wrong, and everyone liked to eat. You went to the grocery store without even having to roll the Decision Dice and got started on it the second you got home.

***

When it was done, there was a thin line of sweat on your forehead. You put a note to yourself in your head that the kitchen got insanely hot when you cooked, and you vowed to remember it next time. You took off your fancy apron and the chef’s hat that you wore for fun when you cooked and set it on the countertop. Now, the hard part came.

How were you supposed to get brave enough to bring a plate over to his place? Were you supposed to hope that he hadn’t eaten yet? Or, were you supposed to let him in to eat? Shit, that sounded too much like a date.

With all those thoughts in mind, you walked up to his door, C6, and knocked on it. You realized last minute that you forgot the plate on the table, so dinner was over at your apartment by default unless you did an awkward dash across the hall. The sound of boots coming towards the door were loud and clear, and then the door opened, barely giving you enough time to swallow your anxieties. You got a panging irrational fear that he wouldn’t remember you, but were relieved when he smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you said, sounding more like a telemarketer than a neighbor. “I made chicken parmesan.” It was silent for a few seconds as you both tried to make sense of what was happening, and you kicked yourself on the inside. “I made a plate for you because um, I wanted to thank you for the pie. It was really good.”

His face lit up, and it was like you were given a new burst of life and hope simultaneously. “Oh, thank you! That’s really sweet, thank you,” he repeated, his words getting slightly jumbled up the more and more he spoke. He was so cute. 

You realized that the both of you were just staring at each other, standing with smiles that were increasingly leaning towards more than polite by the second. “I can, uh, bring it to your door if you want.”

“I can come over, if that makes it easier.” Both sentences were spoken at the same time, and it caused you both to apologize once again at the same time. “No, no, I’ll come back with you,” he said when you two finally spoke your own sentences. 

You tilted your head. You were sure that he was shy, you could have bet money on him wanting to eat alone. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he gave you a small smile and stepped out of his apartment, and suddenly, you were aware of how he smelled like a bakery. Flower, sugar, apples, cinnamon, the whole nine. Your eyes widened when you smelled more of it when he shut his door. It smelled amazing. You didn’t want to be greedy, but whatever he had in there, you wanted a slice. 

   Your apartment smelled good, but in the opposite way. It smelled like sauce and spices and chicken, like a good kitchen. You almost laughed when you saw his eyes widen after he caught a whiff. His eyes scanned the table that was already set up for one, and he saw all the food in the middle and only grew more surprised. 

 “You did all of this yourself?” 

You didn’t think it was a big deal. You knew how to plate food and you knew how to cook it fine, but it wasn’t too special, in your opinion. It was second nature because of your mother, but you could always go for a nice compliment. “Yeah, I have fun cooking.”

  “It looks amazing,” he said softly, and you smiled at him. 

“Let’s hope it tastes as good.” 

It felt oddly domestic. You got his plate for him and watched him make his first because he was the guest, and you warned him about touching the hot pan, even though he didn’t seem worried about it with his gloves on. You asked him if he wanted wine, water, or soda, and he got his own glass of water after saying that he felt bad making you do it. By the time you sat down and started twirling your fork in your spaghetti, you were starving. 

 You heard him take his first bite more than you saw him do it. “Holy-” he put his hand in front of his mouth. “You made this here?” 

You laughed. “Mhm.” 

“Are you a chef, or something?”

You were flattered. “No, but my mother is,” and man, was she a cook. She could cook anything and make it taste good if you gave her a flame. Always, she had pressured you into knowing how to make a meal, because making a meal meant providing for yourself and everyone else in your family. You watched him cut into a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, smiling when he gave you the “food look”. “She taught me everything I know.” 

“Well, I’m about to call her and thank her,” he joked, and you giggled, twirling your own fork and getting some spaghetti in your mouth. You tilted your head. It was pretty good. 

  “And what about you? You can bake,” and there he was, all shy again, and you loved it. “Where did you learn?” 

“My father’s a baker,” he said, and a slow smile spread across your face. 

“Well, would you look at that,” you said, nodding your head in thought. He smiled back. 

 “Would you look at that.” 

For a second, just like the two of you had done many times before, you were stuck in a world where there wasn’t anything else, not even the food. It was just his smile and yours, and the fact that somehow both of you knew that the moment was genuine. 

  “I’m so sorry, what’s your name?” He blurted, and you frowned. 

“My name?” A flame of embarrassment and shame shot through you. You were fawning over a man that you didn’t even know the name of yet. You sister would be disgusted with you. “Oh, have we really not said our names yet?” 

 “I guess not...” he said, voice trailing off at the end. 

“Well, good thing names aren’t that important.” 

He gave you an intrigued look. “Names aren’t important?”

“They can be, but sometimes they don’t mean a thing. You can learn so much about someone before learning their name, and when you do, nothing changes what you already know. I cook and I like spending money in book stores, and you bake and stay inside. That doesn’t change after we learn names.” 

 He looked like he had just reached cloud nine. “You like books?”

“Of course I do,” you said, and your eyes trailed over to the book that was sitting on your couch. “I actually took that little name bit from what I learned from a book, so I won’t take credit for that.” 

  “What book was so in depth and interested with names?”

“I don’t even think that the main focus was the name, I think it was the opposite. His name didn’t matter because all that mattered were the emotions that came with him.” You took a second to think. “And I also think that saying his name made it real for the main character, so the dude’s name didn’t come up until he was in mid conversation.” 

  At first, you were worried that you lost him. But you hadn’t. “He was in love with this person?” 

“Madly. But he was his best friend.” You were so excited. You were really talking to a man who liked to read? And one who liked to analyze what he read? This must have been heaven. “For a while, all we hear about is how amazing the person is that he fell in love with and about how he struggled with loving him because he was a man. We knew everything about him before his name was even said and before he was even present, and that’s probably what I like most so far about the book.” 

   Through your rambling, you failed to notice that he was looking more and more panicked. “Um, what’s the book called?” 

   “Here, I’ll just go get it,” you said, standing up and walking over to your couch, pulling it off and walking over to him. You set the book down, and watched his eyes grow so wide that he looked cartoonish. “Have you read it?” 

  He blinked at the cover. “Y-yeah, I’ve read it.” He looked at his watch, swore so emptily that you swore it was acting, and then gave you an apologetic look. “Um, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  So, you did scare him off. You hid your frown with a polite smile, and tried to remind yourself that even though it felt like one, it wasn’t a date. It was you paying him back for making you something in his own kitchen. “Oh, alright. I hope you liked it.” 

 Maybe he heard something in your voice that you didn’t, because he stopped frantically putting his jacket on to look you in the eyes. “It was amazing, I mean that. And it was very sweet, thank you.”

  This is crashing and burning. What the hell happened? It was going so well! “Well, I’ll see you later,” you called out, and you watched him wash his own plate with a shocked look on your face. “Thanks,” you whispered, and he nodded at you, a tight smile on his face as he wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and left. 

***

Maybe you hadn’t scared him away, after all. 

You had full intentions of leaving him alone until he came to you, if it was ever even going to happen. You only left for work and debated on finding something simple to bake for him to extend another olive branch, but then you decided that you would let the universe control what happened, if anything was even meant to happen in the first place. There was a knock on your door, and there he was, with a pan of cupcakes that had blue icing perfectly swirled on top. 

  Alright, so you hadn’t. 

He gave you the cutest smile, and you couldn’t help but to give one back. “Hi, I’m Bucky.” You gave him your name, too. 

From then on, you two were practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t at work, he was over with you, watching a movie and talking about foreshadowing or how good the book version would have been if it came first. He was also one of the only people you knew who had actually read Tarzan, and you got a kick out of it. You got so close that you even met his little quartet of friends, Steve, Natasha, and Sam, who all liked you after the first meeting. You fit in with them like a glove. 

 Speaking of... “Why do you wear gloves?” You had asked him one day, and he stiffened up like a board. 

“I get cold easily on my hands,” he explained coolly, and you let it go. 

There were little things about him that you questioned every time after he went back home. You questioned how he never left his apartment but made enough money to keep it. You asked yourself how he was so busy in there, and what exactly he did. You wondered why he got so funny when you mentioned the book, and how nervous he was to talk about it when you finally finished it. All of those things slightly worried you, but they had nothing on the one, huge thought that loomed over all the others. 

 You were falling hard and fast for Bucky Barnes. A part of you could admit that you were already on the ground. 

  If started off slowly. You admired his mind and his smile and the way that his eyes shined when he taught you how to bake a perfect cake without all the fancy, expensive supplies. You loved the way that his cheeks glowed when you complimented him or touched his hair or his nose. You loved that he started calling you “darling” and the way that his Brooklyn accent left out the last letter. You loved the way that things with him already felt so natural, like you cooking dinner and him helping you wash and dry dishes after. You were in for the long haul before you could even reach for the door handle of the speeding car, and you didn’t really want to. 

   There was a knock on your door out of courtesy, and you called out for him to let himself in. You were way past knocking, but he was polite. You were tapping away at the keys on your laptop, humming to yourself as you looked into Jack Pendleton. 

  “Watcha doin’, darlin’?” He set down the items you two needed for homemade lasagna and his father’s recipe for some simple pumpkin bread on the counter. 

“I’m trying to find more books by Jack Pendleton,” you muttered, sighing when nothing else came up. “I can’t find anything.”

 “Why do you like that book so much, anyway?” You were far too into your laptop to hear the tremor in his voice. 

 “Because it was raw, and real, and it hurt my feelings.” 

Oh, and it had. Bucky witnessed the result of you finishing the book first hand. He walked in right as you got the first sob out and looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but he came to you anyway. How were you supposed to know that the therapist, an equally important person in the main character’s life, was going to pass away not even days after he and Will got their happiness? 

  You remembered how he held you the whole time, and that for some reason, he whispered a very heartfelt, “I’m sorry.” 

  “If it hurt you so much, why would you want to read something by him again?” 

“It was brilliant, that’s why, cowboy.” You said, looking up and pointing at him with your fancy little stylus. He broke out into a smile at the name, like he always did. You called him that one time because you caught him watching The Longest Ride, and it stuck. 

  There was a stretched, tense moment as the sound of your typing filled the room. “I don’t think he has anything else out right now, darlin’.” 

“And how would you know, rancher?” 

He gave you that same deer in headlights stare that he gave you when he first saw you in the hall, only less confused. Then he sighed. “What’s in a name, anyway?” 

 You rolled your eyes, but you both knew that you were on the edge of laughing. You could never be serious with him. He was just so full of light. “You’re not going to get me quoting Shakespeare right now, I just asked you a dire question.” 

 He inhaled deeply, his face already boasting a rich scarlet. “How would you feel if I told you that I wrote that book?”

  Your world crumbled beneath your feet. You knew he wasn’t lying, because you knew that he had no reason to lie. His aversion to talking about Jack Pendleton and everything surrounding it made you believe what he told you right as you heard it. You gasped, and then saw him grimace. “Bucky, Jack stole your work?” 

  His face fell. “What?”

“Have you taken legal action yet?” 

  “No,” he said slowly, and then he took in another deep breath, preparing from something. “I don’t need to, because I am Jack.” He said slowly, a small and guarded smile resting on his face. You noticed that he looked the least comfortable you had ever seen him. “It’s a pen name.” 

  Different kinds of humiliation were coming in large, mean waves, and you bit your lip to prevent from talking. You had really gushed over a book right in front of the author the whole time? It was so horrible and embarrassing that you couldn’t even stop thinking about it. You felt like an idiot. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop talking?” 

There was a quick, hesitant intake of breath between the both of you. “Because I don’t want anyone that I know in real life to know about that.” 

You froze. There was no way that he was implying that what was in the book actually happened, right? 

 He took off both of his gloves, and beneath one of them was a silver appendage, very clearly a prosthetic. He was breathing heavily, like he had just lifted a weight off of his chest that was double his own size. You looked at it with a wild expression of your own, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

 “Almost everything in that book really happened.” You closed your mouth. “Some things are exaggerated, but nearly everything happened. Elijah is based off of me.” 

  Oh, fuck. That meant that he was actually bisexual, that he actually fell in love with his best friend, that he actually got his arm amputated after getting a grenade launched at him. His therapist actually died. You had no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry.” 

 “The main thing that didn’t really happen was the semi-happy ending for Elijah and Will. He and I broke up years ago. This all happened years ago.” Your heart broke again for him. “I put it under a fake name because it’s something very personal to me, but I felt like it should have been shared. Thought that it would maybe help some other kid who was going through it.” 

You knew exactly what it was. You had gone through it yourself. If you had read the book when you were much younger, you were sure that you would have been able to find some sort of peace in the turmoil that you caused yourself. Now, you were much better, and you loved the fact that you were part of the LGBT community, but that didn’t mean that the book didn’t mean something to you. 

The book was so raw that you should have known that it was real. There wasn’t a word that didn’t mean something, not a sentence that wasn’t thought out. It was such heavy material with realistic ups and down that you caught yourself relating with Elijah, not knowing that the real “Elijah” was right in front of you the whole time.

“But, um, I write science fiction under my real name, though.” You were too busy thinking about how you gushed about someone’s actual life story, and how that someone just so happened to be your super cute neighbor that you fell in love with. You gushed about his terribly sad life story right in front of him. “That’s why I’m always inside. I’m a hermit writer.” 

You didn’t even get into the science fiction aspect of the conversation. “I would have never read it in front of you or talked about it in front of you if I knew that, I swear.” 

“I know.” He slowly took his jacket off, and then you were seeing his arms in all their glory. It truly was a beautiful prosthetic, and from how much he used his hands, you knew that it was reliable and practical. “I just needed to tell you that.” 

You could sense his unease, and it made you feel wrong. It felt like you were taking steps back. “If this is about you being bisexual, I don’t care about that. That would never bother me.” 

 For the first time since his confession, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I know. And I know you are, too.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen the bookshelf in your room. No straight person reads that many books written by and for the community. And you cuff some of your jeans.” You shrugged, a small smirk on your face. He got you there. “I need to tell you something else.” 

You didn’t know if you were ready for it, but if he was, then there was no way that you were going to stop him. “Of course, go ahead.” 

“First, I should start off with telling you again that all of that,” he pointed towards her computer, “was about eleven years ago. I’m not healing, not recovering, none of that. Yeah, I’m sad about my therapist every once in a while, but I don’t feel anything for the man that Will is based off of anymore. That’s all gone.”

You swore at yourself for feeling butterflies of hope. You squashed them all down and made yourself pay full attention to Bucky, even though your mind was starting to have stupid little fantasies about picnic and stargazing with him. This is what you got for reading romance novels. “Okay, Buck.”

“I’m telling you all of this because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.” Your mouth hung open, and before you could even get a word out, he was all over it again. “I have been for a while now, and I think now is the best time to tell you.” There was a pause for you to cut in, but you couldn’t form a word. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way or if you’re weirded out by my story-” 

“I love you too.” You blurted, watching his face become shocked. “I’ve been dying to tell you that, you know?” 

He sputtered, trying his hardest to form a coherent sentence. “Now I know.” 

You felt a smile slide onto your face as both of your racing hearts stilled to a normal, content rate. In that moment, you swore that if someone came and checked, that your heartbeats were alternating, taking energy from each other to make one long beat. You just, clicked.

“It- none of that bothers you at all?”

“If anything, I feel bad. I feel like I intruded.”

He scoffed. “You didn’t intrude, Y/N, I’m the one who published it.”

“I’m going to hug you now,” you warned, and then you two met each other half way. Your face was in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. You smiled when you felt him gently brush your forehead with his lips, and all felt right.

You stood there together for what felt like forever but two seconds all the same, swaying a bit subconsciously. “Are you- are you sure about being okay with all of this? I know it’s a lot. And I just kind of sprung it on you.”

There he was. The shy Bucky. You knew that he could be insecure, and you knew that he was insecure about being that way. But luckily, you felt for him so much that you could assure him for the rest of both of your days with no complaints. If it took a thousand times a day for Bucky Barnes to know that you loved him and Jack Pendleton and Elijah Harris, you would do it two thousand times.

 “Out of all the books in the store, I unknowingly chose yours.” Your voice was shaky, but you meant every word you said and were about to say. “And out of all the people in the world, I intentionally, without doubt choose you.” 

***

If someone had asked you three years ago where you thought you were going to be in life in the same amount of time, you would have told them that you were probably still going to be working in retail. That wasn’t the case at all.

  Your mother gave you a loan when Bucky persuaded you to take your talent and passion for cooking and turn it into a business. You had a medium sized restaurant that you let your mother in on, and you cooked side by side often times. It felt just like it did when you were back in the kitchen of your childhood home, but now you were getting paid for it, quite a bit. 

  Across the street from your restaurant was a bookstore that held a number of books that were written by Bucky yourself, but your favorite by far was the cook book that was technically a baking book, full of all of the recipes that he felt like giving away. 

  You didn’t expect any of that to happen within three years, at all. But what you hoped to happen most of all did, and it was proven by the simple diamond on your finger that Bucky had given you. You wanted him to think that you were surprised when he popped the question, but you weren’t. 

  After all, you could see the outline of the box that he carried for three weeks straight. 

[broadstflyers]

A/N: Welp, inspiration struck me, felt as though it quite literally hit me over the top of my head at like 1am, so I proceeded to write this at...1am. It was fun, honestly. It was meant to be a shorter blurb, but I guess it grew into a longer one. I have been experimenting with different writing styles to see which one fits me the best, so I gave the main character a name this time, Alessandra. Also, I was a slight idiot and on my first tag list, I made it specific to the other series I am writing. If you like this piece and the other Mat piece I wrote and you want to be tagged when I post any writing at all, the tag list is here. The semi lowercase thing I've got going on is purposeful. As always, feedback is appreciated, and if you like it, give it a like, reblog, or pop into my asks. Thanks! :)

Warnings: Cursing, angst, mentions of anxiety

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: When an ex comes back in a moment of weakness, you have to make a tough decision.

you say nothing as you approach the black haired boy sitting at a table in your english class. you sit down next to him. he looks up at you, and you lock eyes. no words are spoken, only a mutual understanding. one that only you two could define. you suddenly inch closer to him, continuing to lean in until your head is resting on his chest. you rest your arm next to your head, and he wraps an arm around you.

home. warm. it was.

you could feel his heart beating out of his chest. your heart fluttered with joy. it was instant. it was marvelous. it was beautiful.

“I love you, Alessandra.”

you lurch forward out of your bed, heart beating so fast you are shaking. you pant heavily, tears stream your face, startled. your eyes dart around your room to ground yourself through watery eyes. you hold up your trembling hands, something that has refused to stop since he walked out of your front door for the last time two months ago.

“please don’t visit,” you choke out. you find the strength to turn around and grab your pillow. your chest pounds with pain, every movement is agonizing. you squeeze your soft pillow against your chest to try and alleviate the self-sustained blow. you pretended the pillow could somehow suck the heavy feelings out of you, the way he used to use his hands of healing magic, the way he used to place them with gentle care on your chest to somehow suck the anxiousness out of you onto himself.

you mindlessly rock back and forth, waiting for the waves of mind numbing pain to recede back into the endless deep abyss of despair.

“please don’t visit,” you repeat in a weak voice. not that he could hear your begging, anyways.

he didn’t hear your pleas to love you how you loved him- with every bone in your body. he held a knife in his calloused hands and carved his initials into your soul. every inch of your soul belonged to him, and you let it.

how can you break a bond that felt as though the angels themselves used their delicate touch to hand-tie the gold string you once believed held you two together?

maybe that explains why this feels like hell.

you flinch as you hear a sharp knock at the front door. you should probably get that, but you instead settle back into your hazy gaze out into your room.

a second knock rings throughout the apartment, faster, with a sense of urgency.

“please don’t visit,” you croak.

“Alessandra,” a voice croaks back. “open up.”

your blood freezes cold, eyes grow wide in panic. fire spreads through your veins. hot and cold sensations rip you apart limb from limb. your voice feels broken. no sounds come out when you open your mouth.

I guess I should move.

so you do. you stand up a little too quickly, and your vision goes black. you place your palms down on the bed and wait for your vision to return. you tip toe over to the door and place your palm on your chilling door. goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“it’s Mat,” his once soothing voice whispers through the door.

“Mat,” you quietly repeat back.

“yes, it’s me,” he says with a sigh of relief that you answered him.

his voice of familiarity is catching you in a stint of anxiety where you just want something- anything that’s familiar. you know this. when you used to gaze into his kind, brown eyes, you would see the boy you met in eighth grade, not the man that walked out that door just two months ago.

you went to move the locks, and you unlocked both of them, until you pulled back with hesitancy. “I can’t, Mat, I can’t,” you breathe out, “I can’t see you. please,” you plead, “hear me. I, I can’t. you didn’t hear me all those months I pleaded with you. hear me now.”

you can hear him place his head on the door with a soft thump.

“I still love you, Alessandra,” he mumbles.

and that was it. you just about exploded. the emotions you had kept at bay were unleashed. you began to sob and you sank to the ground until you could hug your knees. you still faced the door. you knew he shouldn’t walk in, but you almost wanted him to. you wanted him to put an end to this, but was it a good idea?

no, it wasn’t. and you knew that.

you began to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. “it’s unlocked,” you hear yourself say in the distance. you didn’t immediately regret those words like you thought you would. you had scooted yourself away from the door so you wouldn’t get hit.

he slowly opened the creaky door, and glances down to see you blankly staring at your knees. what else could you do? it was awkward enough.

he doesn’t say anything. the apartment is dead.

he carefully sits down across from you, far enough where he isn’t in your face, but close enough that you could extend your legs and they would touch him.

you both sit in silence for a moment, trying to adjust to being in each other’s presence again. his presence felt so natural, yet so nerving. you weren’t used to feeling so on edge around him. so hurt.

“time,” you sniff and break the unbearable silence. “I need time,” you reaffirm.

he nods slowly. “I understand,” he whispers. “I know I hurt you. I know I fucked up. I fucked up badly.”

you don’t move a muscle from staring at the seam on your sweatpants. you take a shaky breath. it’s now or never.

“Mat, do you know how painful it is to have to practically beg someone to not treat you like shit one day and then to decide the next day I’m the fucking greatest human being on this planet?” you start to find your voice again.

“I had to beg my boyfriend to treat me with respect. the person I gave my soul to. do you know how much that fucking killed me?” your voice was seething with anger as you remembered the end of your relationship. feelings of betrayal and hurt overtook you.

you push yourself off the floor. he follows you.

“you don’t love me,” you assert. “you ‘love’ me because of when you met me. I’m just familiar to you.”

he makes a taken aback face, his eyebrows furrow. “hey, I know what I feel okay? and yeah, I was a fucking asshole. I realize that now. I shouldn’t have acted out on you like I did. I shouldn’t have made you beg for basic human respect. I’m sorry.”

you look into his eyes again. those brown innocent eyes were once filled with sparkling joy. you see 13 year old you dancing around with his favorite flower in your hair. you see hundreds of dates, each one more special than the last.

you see innocent you. it’s just familiarity. you know it is. you’re too hurt, mind too foggy to really sort through your feelings to figure out if you love the mat standing in front of you.

“I’m going to need time, Mat. I am still feeling too much hurt to decide how I feel.”

he swallows hard, but eventually nods. “okay.”

with a heavy heart, you walk him to the door. before he can walk out, he stops, turns around, and looks down at you one last time. you gaze up into those endless eyes of his, heart shattering because you know you have to send him on his way. it’s for your own good.

he opens his mouth to speak and you gently shake your head. he closes his mouth, and you offer him a nod as in, it’s time to go. you can see his body exhale. he steps through the door frame, this time you sending him through there yourself. you don’t wait to see if he will turn around. you don’t want to see if he turns around. you want to close that door knowing you are the one who sent him away, and that was all you wanted to remember in the future. and so you do.

you lock the locks with every ounce of you left, pressing your fingers down to make sure the door was actually locked. you just wanted to keep everything out. every weird feeling, any remote desire to go back to him.

you paused to touch the door one last time, letting a single tear flow down your cheek before turning to crawl back into bed and sulk for the rest of the day.

you knew deep down that was the last time you would ever see the face of your teenage love.

he won’t be visiting anymore.

------------

again, here's the link to the tag list, and my asks are open if you want to talk about this piece! I hope you...well...enjoyed it, I guess? lmao