#because goddamn if i lose that i've lost it all

[queer-reader-07]

just out here reminding myself that the core of my belief system is faith in the human story

[starry-bi-sky]

FUNNIEST fucking shit that comes with making Danny eleven years old when he had his accident in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" is the implication following, that everything that happened in the show did too. And I fully intend on (mostly) keeping it like that. There'll be some changes (of which I need to figure out) but for the most part??? Yeah relatively the same.

Like I FULLY intend on keeping Dark Danny occurring 6 months post accident. Do you know how fucking HILARIOUS that is??? That Dan got his ass kicked by a goddamn FIFTH-SIXTH GRADER?? I'd never show my face ever again. Homeboy spent the last ten years being a one-man mass extinction event, only to get his ass beat by a kid who hasn't even lost his last baby tooth. That's hysterical. I'm losing my mind just thinking about it.

AND PARIAH DARK TOO. Imagine being an eons old tyrant capable of dragging whole towns down into your dimension, and you get singehandedly shoved back into your coffin in less than 48 hours by a kid whose bedtime is still 8:30. You didn't even have the time to expand your army! You were still trying to take over the city the kid came from!

And he just!!! Shoves you back in!! Insane! This kid hasn't even been dead for a full year yet! He's still growing in his ghost fangs! And he just knocked you flat on your ass in an oversized mech suit. What the fuck! It's like looking down and seeing a four week old kitten meowing very indignantly at you and trying to bite your feet, except that kitten is also actually a black-footed cat and they have a 60% kill success rate, and oops! Now you're dead. You took too long laughing at the kitten trying to attack you that it clawed up your pant leg and ripped out your throat.

COULD I, realistically, span these episodes out over the course of 2.5 years prior to Danny's family dying?? Yes I could! Do I think it's hilarious (and horribly traumatizing, which makes it twice as fun) to shove all of this into the span of (roughly) a year instead?? Yes. Because the show has such a skewed timeline that I've always just assumed that at the end of the show, Danny was starting his sophomore year in high school. So fuck it, lets go for it!

[traumacodedtransbitch]

I don't like going home a lot now because I'm on my own and afraid I'll not be able to curb my self destructive impulses because being alone with your mentally ill traumatised thoughts is the worst nightmare imaginable

[httpsserene]

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞: 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

summary: tonight, innocent and virgin!reader will be defiled, deflowered, tarnished—whichever word you prefer. from the moment she told them she was ready to lose her virginity, they’ve been carefully planning out a special night, for her. and shockingly, there’s not an ounce of fear, anxiety, or doubt in her mind—max and charles have gained her complete trust. they haven’t given her a single reason to believe that they wouldn’t treat her right. she couldn’t have asked for better men to take her virginity—if this is corruption, she’s delighted to experience it. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. safe sex. penetrative vaginal sex. corruption kink. oral sex. cunnilingus. multiple orgasms. fingering. handjobs. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. sweetheart charles leclerc. sweetheart max verstappen. word count: 3.1k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: wet dreamz • j.cole

preface: word to my mother, i've gained 400 followers from this series alone and that terrifies me. because it means a 2k special is coming soon, and this was a crazy experience, and me thinks i'm not ready to do it again so soon. thank you for the love on this series, and i might do little snippet pieces for it in the future, but goddamn do i need to sleep for a few days to make up for the sleep i lost getting this done lol. enjoy loves, send me plenty asks about this series and i'll respond when i have the time!

prev 1k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents ↻

your thighs are mottled with bruises and bites, some sensitive enough that you can feel the skin throb. charles–who’s came twice–looks deliciously delirious in between your legs. his green eyes are wide and glassy, solely locked onto your cunt. his parted lips are swollen and flushed red from his generous treatment of your inner thighs. his hands have a tight grip on the tops of your legs, his veins popping at the force of his grip as they keep you spread open enough–your heart stutters as you realize he’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints and palms on you too. you see the muscles of his shoulders and biceps straining to reach your tantalizing warmth splayed out right in front of his face but, he’s held back with max’s hand firmly keeping his head pulled backwards. 

“charles, give her at least two. you’re welcome to use your fingers.”

max releases his grip, and charles rushes forward to taste the wetness that’s already leaked from your pussy. the monegasque’s moan is muffled against you, but it still manages to be the same volume as the shocked moan that escapes you. eagerly, the younger man drags his tongue through your folds, relishing in the plush pinkness he never wants to leave, and shifts to suckle on the hood of your clit. you cry out, back arching at the focused pleasure–and max sighs. he sees the drool from charles’ overeager perusal leak out of the corner of his mouth; he’s glad he put down the towel you told him to get. sure, max is well aware that you tend to drip like a broken faucet but, charles can tend to get a little…messy, when he’s using his mouth.

charles pulls your first orgasm from using all of his energy dragging his tongue across your labia frantically, pausing either to draw rapid circles against your clit or tease the entrance of your cunt without pushing his tongue in. you shudder forcefully, hands flying down not to pull the monegasque off of you, no, but to keep his mouth on you. it’s not like he needed the help—he wasn’t going to pull off until max tore him away. regardless, he is mindful of your oversensitivity, and slows the assault of his tongues to slow swipes, humming deeply at the gush of wetness that seeps into his mouth.  and when your thighs stop fighting against his hands keeping you spread open, when he feels the tensed muscles go dormant—he pushes his tongue into you, happy your orgasm caused you to relax and allow him to slip in.

and, this is when you lose your mind.

his tongue is dexterous, firm, and unyielding, his plush lips brush against the outside of your cunt and only causes more bolts of pleasure to rocket up your spine. he’s unrelenting–he moves with the overwhelmed bucking of your hips, you’re not sure if you’re trying to move away or move closer, and it doesn’t matter because charles follows you without the solution of his moth slipping away once. he whines highly into your pussy, and the vibration only has you making sounds to mimic him. your tummy undulates, tensing and relaxing with every thrust of his tongue, and he shifts one of his hands away from your thigh to push down on your navel. he changes the angle of his head and his nose bumps against your clit from the force of his jaw working against your entrance.

the combination of the clit stimulation and the pressure on your navel, causes your eyes to roll back with a heaving chest, the orgasm dancing somewhere on the back of your eyes. 

“such a pretty girl,” max adds from where his eyes are stuck on your cunt, and you cum.

the towel underneath you has a wet spot spreading, and charles allows your thighs to shut around his head as your hips push up dragging your pussy on the lower half of his face to ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. this feels twice as intense as the first, and based on the way you can hear your blood rushing in your ears, and feel your heart beating in the back of your knee, you know you’ll never settle for riding a thigh again.

you attempt to squirm away from his mouth, hips twisting desperately to try and escape the pain-tinted pleasure of charles’ talented tongue, but the man follows every shift of your motions, with his half-lidded eyes giving the expression of him being entranced. it does end up taking max forcing charles away from you when the tears gathered in your waterline spill down your cheeks. and the sharp flare of pain from max tugging at his hair, clears the haze in charles' eyes and the cotton stuffed in his ears.

if his lips were swollen before, you don’t know what to call the state of them now. you screw your eyes shut to avoid looking at the pleased glimmer in his eyes, it only makes a surge of arousal peek out again. 

“schatje, i said you could use your fingers too,” max prods at charles’ shoulder with a pout on his face.

“i,” the man says airly, “didn’t need to. i made her cum twice, like you wanted me to.”

“ah, well, move out of the way, cha,” max hums throatily, “if you didn’t use your fingers, i guess i’ll have to,” your eyes fly open as you look at max in surprise, “do you think she can handle a few more?”

the monegasque pulls back, allowing max to fill the space without arguing, and looks away from him to pierce you with a lustful glance, “she knows what to say if she wants us to stop. let’s find out her limit tonight, maxy.”

they’ve broken you. max and charles said they got you to five orgasms that night, but you don’t really remember anything after the fourth. you vaguely recall charles eating you out while max rubbed at your clit (it was a hot image, there’s no way you’d forget that), but anything over four orgasms you can’t expect to process.

however, the night was such a pleasure even if you can’t remember the last half of it—they’ve absolutely erased your fear of oral. or, sex in general. you say they’ve “broken you,” because they actually have, it feels like your eyes have been peeled open wide from how they’ve indulged you. you thought it was bad enough when you gave yourself a friction burn when you were humping them like a dog in heat, but this is objectively worse.

charles emerges from his gaming room after his stream to refill his water bottle and you drop to your knees in the middle of the kitchen to give him head. max makes a comment about how addicting you taste over dinner and you shove the plates to the side to climb on the table and let him eat you out like a buffet. charles is losing a game of fifa to max, so you gave him a hand and stuffed a hand down max’s pants to give him an advantage (he still lost, so it was just a convenient excuse to get the dutch off). 

most recently, you and the men were laying in bed, letting your breathing slow down and the sweat cool after you let your legs fall open for them wordlessly. 

“it’s clear i trust you both with my entire being, right?”

charles and max pause their quiet chatter and turn to look at you, “oui, “ “of course.”

“ok, well: i want you to take my virginity,” the two gape at your blunt words, “it’s what this has been leading to, and i said on the very first night that i was ready to have sex with you. i trust you guys, and i’m ready.”

max, for all he likes to run his mouth, is silent. charles picks up his slack.

“thank you for trusting us, mon coeur. having your trust to allow you to perform the most intimate and vulnerable actions with you is something we thank you for. give us time, mon amour, we want to make the night special for you, a perfect night that you deserve, yes?”

you smile wide, and nuzzle your face into max’s bare chest who only chokes on his agreement with charles, and respond, “a night that i deserve. i like the way that sounds.”

the night that you deserve, comes two weeks later, in a week and a half-gap between race weekends. you have mixed feelings about flying air-max, but privacy is something that you can’t beat. they’ve promised you five days in a private villa in mallorca (after a few recommendations, courtesy of carlos), just the three of you. and it’s beautiful, the villa, the land, your boyfriends. 

you questioned why the vacation needed to be five days long, when they only needed a night to have sex with you. charles raised an eyebrow at you, unsure if your question was of a serious nature. max answered, “do you think one night will satisfy us?” your brown-skin lit ablaze, and you didn’t feel the need to answer the question.

the three of you fall straight asleep once you arrive in the villa—and you don’t know why there was a slight twinge of disappointment swirling around your mind. it’s not like you expected your tired boyfriends to fuck you after a greuling weekend; you’d rather them be properly rested and well energized for that activity. and in the morning, you’re woken up by max peppering kisses along your neck and charles tracing unknown patterns across your waist, and a brief smidge of nerves floats across your consciousness before disappearing. the nerves weren’t needed anyways, because when you try and deepen each man’s morning kisses, they slip out of bed and scold you for trying to ruin their plan. while your cheeks flame at the warning, your heart warms at their seriousness—they made a special night just for you. 

they feed you breakfast in bed, coax you into a mid-morning nap, join you for a shower, let you lounge in a hammock while max embarrassed charles in football, they join you in another nap in the shaded cabana, and by the time you wake up it’s settling into the evening, and the boys rouse you into preparing dinner with them.

the evening belongs in one of the rom-com movies max claims to hate but secretly loves. charles is playing romantic french songs quietly through the sound system, max steals bites of ingredients right out of your hands, charles is firmly kept away from any knives and his only job is to shred parmesan for the carbonara you’re putting together, and max pops open a bottle of wine with a date so old you fear to learn its price tag. 

dinner simultaneously crawls and flies by. the anticipation for tonight’s dessert has you nearly vibrating through the chair and you can see the amused smiles on the men’s faces. the minute dishes are set to wash, they lead you to the bedroom.

it’s like the first night all over again.

max sits at the foot of the bed, and charles helps you sit on his lap. the desperation tonight isn’t present; the men are thorough, unrushed, and plentiful in taking their time exploring your body again. max undresses you on his lap, his eyes not falling to look at the length of your body and charles is focused on peeling off his own clothes. the dutch guides you gently to lay on your back, and only with your permission do the two let their eyes wander.

and everywhere they trace with their eyes, they follow with their lips. from your forehead, to your brows, to your temple, to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips, to your jaw, to your pulse, to your throat, to your collarbone, to your shoulders, to your arms, to your chest, to your ribs, to your wait, to your navel, to your hips, to your thighs, to your calves, to your ankles, and back up to your cunt.

charles has the pleasure of relaxing you with his tongue, while max follows after him with his fingers. when max removes his three fingers, deeming you prepared, the nerves are back. when you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper, the nerves build. when you hear max hiss at the feeling of charles’ hands rolling the condom on, the nerves amplify–and you panic.

“waitwaitwait,” you rush out, sitting up and pulling your thighs clothes. the men freeze, and quickly reach out to soothe you, murmuring words of reassurance and reminding you they won’t move any further without your consent.

you laugh, embarrassed, “i-i’m nervous…”

charles coos, and sits at your side to pull you into a hug, while max rubs a hand on your waist tenderly.

“liefje, being nervous is normal. i know we’ve talked about how it’s going to feel multiple times, but i understand that’s incredibly difficult from experiencing it. if you want to stop, we won't be mad, answer won’t mind waiting longer,” max says, making sure he holds eye contact with you so you are aware that he’s being honest with you.

you pat and charles so he’ll loosen his grasp on you, and lean back flat on the bed, “will you hold my hand, cha?”

charles bites his lip for a second before he chokes out a “oui,” and locks hands with you. max has to let his eyes shut for a few seconds before he allows them to open again. the innocent lilt to your voice has not lost it’s attractiveness, your inexperience clearly showing and it still sends them both reeling.

max pulls your legs around your waist, and guides the head of his cock against your entrance. he leans down to lock his lips with yours, waiting for you to relax again, and it doesn’t take long. your cunt gives way at a little pressure from max, and the pop of the tip of his dick within you stops your breathing. charles shushes your whine, brushing stray curls out of your face and kissing the back of your hand. your breathing resumes when max presses more within you, and your face tightens and the stretch—it’s not painful in the way you thought it would be, it’s uncomfortable, with a slight twinge of pain you expected, but the fullness makes up for it. 

when max bottoms out, the two of you moan brokenly into each other’s mouths. max sees the uncomfortable look on your face and remains as steady as he possibly can, dropping his head to paint new marks across your neck while you adjust to his size. the two men are probably running their mouths, chattering away their praises at you, and even though you are already too gone to register their words, they turn your brain to syrup and one of max’s “pretty girl”’s you grind your hips forward. 

max hums at the movement, and carefully shifts forward to meet you, his eyes reading your expression carefully. your eyes are glazed over, and they dance loosely around his face before settling on his eyes, and he smiles sweetly, chuckling a little at the embarrassed tint that he knows rests underneath your brown skin. his hips slowly start to turn into a rock, and he brightens at the sighed moans of pleasure you begin to fill the room with. 

charles slides his hand in between your bodies to drag a firm thumb against your nipples, and the two men relish in the sharp squeal you let out–max choking at the even tighter grasp of your pussy. max shifts to rest kneeled between your legs and his next thrust within you at the new angle, has your body trembling against the sheets while a near scream escapes your chest, with toes-curling, and tummy tightening. 

the dutch coos, “oh, that’s the spot—right there—isn’t it, liefje? you’ve been so good for us, pretty girl, yeah? you deserve to feel so good, baby. take it.”

your whines, moans, cries, and whimpers only increase in frequency and volume as max keeps his precise assault on your g spot as his thrusts work up to a faster speed. the sound of your absolutely soaked cunt being speared open by his cock will never leave your mind—the slaps and squelches too enticing. your cunt flutters around max’s cock sporadically, and he turns to charles with a pleased smile, “she’s going to cum already, schatje. it’s a good thing we have a few more days here.”

you whine, taking your free hand and pulling max face back to look at you again, “‘wanna cum! please, maxy—i wanna–”

charles hand that was previously playing with your chest, slips lower and rubs tight and quick circles around your clit, and the surrounding shriek and tightens, has max shaking above you. he hides his face in your neck and his thrusts are movingly quickly now, deep and short movements filled with power that you can hear from the slap of his skin against yours.

your grasp on charles’ hand tightens, and your other reaches mas to dig your nails into his shoulder for purchase, and with staccato breaths, whited-out vision, and drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, you cum—and real pleasure coasts over you in waves. 

max slows the forceful rolls of his hips to slight grinds, pressing deep within you and relishing the way your cunt fluctuates around him, and with pure will he staves off his own orgasm while you come down. he pulls his head away from your neck, and searches your face.

your babbling nonsensically, words mushing together in a murmured fashion, with a blissed-out smile dancing across your lips.

“oh–,” max hums, “you’re so gone, sweet girl. haven’t even fucked you for real, and you’ve forgotten how to act.”

charles tuts, flicking max on the hip, “max. be nice to her—your dick tends to make people lose their train of thought.”

“i think she’s lost a little more than her thoughts, tonight,” max snorts, “i’m going to pull out, and you slide in, yeah?”

when the older man pulls out of you, you claw at his shoulders trying to get him to stay on top of you and back inside of you. none of their words soothe you, and max is very glad he’s an athlete and that he’s turned your limbs to jello with your first orgasm to make you malleable. charles is quick to press his wrapped up cock inside you, and moans deeply at the hot and soaking wet channel. your whines and tears at your previous emptiness cease, and you buck your hips up to have charles deeper in you quicker.

“max~,” charles moans highly, the call of his name slurred and clumsy, “putain–ah–she’s too tight, how did you not come?”

“years of fucking you, charlie,” max laughs, pressing a kiss to the monegasque’s temple, “make her cum pretty boy, and then i’ll fuck you too.”

1k special taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri@inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea@dreamingofautopia @jayswifee @megatrilss1885 @nanamilkbread @sophia12345678 @benstormy @userlandonorris@xxniallxxsworld @starfusionsworld@hangmandruigandmav @spicybagel14 @itsmiamalfoy @ineedafictionalman @everythingabby101@valent1na-ferrari @dark-night-sky-99@svinzlec @angelfreckless @gg-trini@tallrock35 @angelbunny222 @spideybv28 @iloveyou3000morgan

© httpsserene2023

[xoluvx]

lunch; b.eilish .˚₊✩ part two ✩₊˚.

i could eat that girl for lunch 

part one

"Are you nervous?" you asked closing the door to her room. This was happening. Like actually happening. You were in her room. The door was closed. All things that had happened before, but now...you'd agreed to help her feel what it's like to be with a girl and goddamn were you nervous.

"Not one bit. I've watched porn," she smiled big and you scoffed rolling your eyes. Yeah, she was trying to lighten the mood but you were far too deep in your head to laugh.

"Oh honey, you're going to find that's not realistic," you placed your hands on your hips and Billie bit her lip sitting up in bed.

"So show me realistic," she teased scooting to the edge of the bed.

"Before we go any further, sign this" you reached for your tote pulling out a piece of paper. You'd typed it out the night before. A contract of sorts.

"I will not fall in love with you. I will not ruin the friendship. I will not use my new found skills for bad, only good..." Billie did that thing where she laughs but it's only a loud noise, then she ran a thumb over the corner of her mouth, and nodded. She signed the paper sloppily before handing it back to you.

"Thank you," you grabbed it putting it back in your bag.

“Okay so now we fuck or what?” There was a hint of teasing in her voice but you knew deep down she was asking a genuine question. There was no guide book for what the two of you were doing. Maybe because you weren't suppose to be doing it.

You chuckled and shook your head.

“Not yet. I just-“ you grabbed her arms looking down at her seriously now. “-I just want to make sure this is really what you want.” You stared at her waiting for that reassurance. You didn't want to be the reason you had a fall out. You couldn't lose her.

Billie’s face softened and she smiled nodding.

"Okay, so why now? Why experiment now?" You were curious. She'd displayed gay tendencies. Hell, her outfits alone wouldn't have made you second guess her sexuality. She had girls drooling over her every where she went.

"I guess I've always been curious. I've just never done anything about it," she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Why not? You're Billie motherfucking Eilish. Do you know how many girls would be lined up right now to give you all the experience?" You chuckled slightly when you saw her blush. She looked down wiping the corner of mouth not knowing how to respond because yeah she could probably have any girl she wanted.

But something made her want you.

"Can I show you something?" she asked reaching for her phone.

Your brows furrowed as you waited patiently taking a seat next to her.

"I was watching a video," she cleared her throat. You side-eyed her knowing what she meant by video. Porn. She'd been watching porn. Just like she'd said earlier.

The melody filled the room and you nodded to the beat. Then it stopped. She played a voice recording. Her voice echoed through the room.

She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, "Bring that over here" You need a seat? I'll volunteer

Your chest tightened as you listened to the words, but then a smirk formed on your lips.

"Oh my god, you're so gay" you beamed in a totally not offensive 'that's gay' way, but in a 'damn you're actually gay how did you not know' way.

Billie blushed chucking her phone somewhere. She didn't look at you. She played with her hands as you spoke again.

"When did you write that?"

"A while ago, but I’ve been working on it," she admitted finally looking at you. Her eyes were sincere and her lips were forming a small frown. You felt her pain in your heart.

"And you didn't tell me? I'm your best friend, why didn't you tell me you were having these feelings?" you scooted closer trying to provide some sort of comfort. Instinctively, your fingers brushed against her cheek.

"You're so open about your sexuality, I didn't want you to think I was just hopping on a trend or something. Especially after Lost Cause," her voice trailed off on that last part and you nodded understandingly recalling the backlash.

"Well, your experience is your experience. Everyone else can suck it," you pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and your breath caught in your throat when she looked up at you with her full blue eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked sheepishly. You balled your hand in your lap, fingers picking at your skin nervously because it was happening. It was happening.

"Yeah," you whispered, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Every fiber of your body felt chills.

Billie leaned in to kiss you. Your noses brushed for a brief second before your lips touched. It was a soft and short kiss. When she pulled away she smiled. You cupped her face and she dove in for another kiss. Your fingers gripped the back of her head as she rested her weight on your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

"How do I touch you?" she whispered against your lips and you froze. Right. Right, how could she touch you? That was your job. You had to teach her.

Oh dear god, it was happening you were going to fuck your best friend. This was not a drill.

"Take off my shirt," you whispered trying to keep your composure. Billie nodded reaching for your shirt. When the tips of her fingers touched your skin, you bit your lip. She pulled the shirt over your head staring at your breasts.

"Did they get...bigger?" She goofed squeezing the air furrowing her brows in an 'I'm totally helpless' way.

You laughed pulling her in for another kiss. This time, she pressed her body on yours feeling your naked skin on her fingertips. Her hands ran up your arms and under your bra straps. She pulled away to search your face for approval.

"You can touch them," you assured.

She let the straps fall down your arms, fingers pulling on the fabric covering your breasts until they were free. She marveled at the scene. The way they moved each time you breathed. The way she could physically see your nipples growing harder just from the cool breeze.

She traced the curve of your breast with her index finger and could see the goosebumps forming on your skin. You followed the movements of her hands now squeezing them softly like she didn't want to break you.

"Lay down," she whispered breaking the silence. Following her instructions, your head hit the pillows, arms reaching under trying to grip on to something. Anything, because her lips were hovering over your breasts and oh my god she was licking your nipple.

You looked down at her, mouth open. She was looking at you. She'd been looking at you the entire time. She watched the way your brows furrowed as she licked, then sucked. She watched the way you gasped when her mouth left your nipple and found the other one. The cool air brushing over the areas where her tongue once teased.

Holding your breasts, she kissed down your torso. Her lips barely touching your skin, but burning every point she encountered.

"Can I-" she started talking, tugging at your shorts.

"Yes," you gasped and cleared your throat. "Yeah, you can take them off," you confirmed trying to collect yourself.

The air struck your thighs when she pulled off your shorts. She stared at your covered pussy before looking up at you. You weren't sure if going all the way was the right move today. Especially since she was looking at you like a deer in headlights.

"We can stop," you spoke propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better view of her.

"No," she shook her head staring into your soul.

"Are you sure?" you didn't want her to feel pressured to rush into anything.

"I've never been more sure of something," she tried to chuckle at the corny remark, but was unsuccessful. She wasn't joking.

She felt an adrenalin rush when she first heard you moan. It was the hottest thing that filled her ears and she was the reason for it. She'd inserted a finger tentatively and watched the way your head tossed back at the gesture.

“Right there, Billie,” you moaned as she worked her finger into your pussy again watching your face for signs. She watched and waited for every time you moaned or arched your back. You were looking at her now. She watched the way your lips parted when she pushed in another finger.

"Is this okay? How many fingers?" she asked and you shrugged still filled with pleasure.

"It depends," you informed. It really did depend. Two was fine for now.

"Is this good?" she asked again as she sped up a little. You nodded biting your lip, groaning when she curled them upward. Something she'd read about the night you told her you'd teach her.

"Are you going to cum?" her eyes were big as she looked up at you waiting for any signs of a possible orgasm. You just chuckled and shook your head.

"No. Not yet. You'd know," you reached down to push her hair back so you could continue seeing her face. She looked so cute and lost, but determined. She furrowed her brows still pumping her fingers. Should she put another in?

"How?" she asked resting her head on your thigh. The whole moment felt pure somehow. You hoped she felt as safe as you did right now.

"I'd feel tight," you touched her cheek now resting your head on your arm serving as an additional pillow. "Have you had an orgasm?" you asked and she instantly blushed looking away, biting her lip.

"Only when I've touched myself and I bust in a few seconds," she confessed as you held her jaw forcing her to look at you.

"Sometimes I want to cum right away, but it feels good to hold it," she looked at you questioningly. "The orgasm is so much stronger," you hum. She nodded storing that information for later.

"So what do you think about when you touch yourself?" you asked never breaking eye contact as she continued fingering you.

"Lots of things. Porn. Sometimes," she shrugged a little.

"You," her voice small now.

"Me?" you laughed a little and leaned back to look at the ceiling.

"Yeah, sometimes. You're hot," she chuckled and you nodded your head approvingly. That was quite a confession she'd made. It made your heart soar and your pussy flutter.

Billie kissed your thigh and you shut your eyes. Her fingers slowed as her thumb tried searching for your clit. When you gasped and tugged on her hair, she smiled triumphantly. Her thumb rubbing circles on your sensitive bud.

"You're learning," your voice playful and high pitched, head still tossed back on the pillows as she pushed her fingers deeper.

She hovered over you, eyes searching yours before kissing you. It was a feverish kiss that mixed with the pleasurable heat between your legs making you see stars. You moaned into her mouth and she trailed kisses down your jaw and on your neck.

The moment felt a lot more intimate now.

This couldn't be good.

You pushed the uneasy feeling aside finding her lips, fingers tangled in her hair.

It'd be okay. Totally totally okay. You'd signed the contract.

part three

.˚₊✩ masterlist ✩₊˚.

[archiveofvirtue]

RECKLESS ⸻ sam winchester

content / sam winchester x fem!reader, bf!sam, angst, established relationship, sam being overprotective, fighting, lots of blaming each other, mentions of dean being in hell, some fluff, 1.9k words

summary / in which an innocent grocery store run ignites a fire in sam, spiraling him into panic and anger, leading to a heated argument between the two of you fueled by both worry and misunderstanding

You slipped out of the motel room as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake Sam. You had been driving for days, hunting a wendigo near the outskirts of Iowa. But the hunt wasn’t even the hardest part—it was the weight of everything else. Ever since Dean's deal, since he was dragged into Hell, Sam had been on edge, more protective than ever. And you could feel it creeping into every part of your lives.

You glanced at Sam one more time as he lay sprawled on the bed, finally catching up on some sleep. He deserved that. Still, you knew you needed more supplies. You were running low on salt, and in the need of a few essentials Plus, you figured a little food wouldn't hurt.

The grocery store was only ten minutes away, so you grabbed the keys and your bag, telling yourself you’d be quick. On your way inside the store, you checked for your phone—"dang it", you cursed, you must've left it at the motel.

So you quickly breezed through the aisles, grabbing salt, herbs, and a few sandwiches and snacks for Sam. You loaded everything into the car and started heading back, happy to know you’d have Sam’s favorite food waiting for him.

But while you were on your way home, Sam was already panicking, pacing around the motel room.

He’d woken up to find you gone, no note, no message, just your phone lying there. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario. Every minute you were gone, his worry grew until it twisted into anger. Losing so many people did that to a person, and Sam had lost more than enough.

He couldn’t loose you too.

When you finally walked in, expecting Sam to be asleep, you were met by the intense sight of him, eyes locked on you the second you opened the door, and tension radiating off him.

"Where the hell were you?" Sam's voice was filled with frustration and disappointment.

"I... I went to grab some salt from the market. We were almost out," you answered, confused by his reaction. "Why? What's the matter?"

Sam rubbed over his face in frustration, walking toward you. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, as if ensuring you were in one piece. Even though you were back now, his heart was still racing.

"Heck y/n, I woke up and you were just gone. Do you know what that feels like after everything? I thought something bad had happened to you." His voice was shaking with distress.

"I was literally gone for half an hour! I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't want to wake you," you explained, fumbling with your words. "I wanted to be quick in case we needed the salt. It took me longer because there was this huge crash on the highway—"

"Wow, that's a perfect excuse." He cut in. "And you didn't think of a way to call me? Let me know you'd be gone longer? No, no... the only thing on your mind was getting some damn salt."

His words stung, more than you expected. "You need to calm down." you replied, trying to pull yourself together. Was he really so distrustful? "I know I should've told you before leaving, but look at me—I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. "Goddamn it, I don't care if you're fine right now. It's the principle, y/n. You do shit without thinking, and I can't stand it." He took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. "There are so many things that could've happened to you out there. How can you be so careless?"

That hit a nerve, and your frustration bubbled over. "Oh, so you think I can't protect myself? After everything we've been through—after all the times I've saved you and Dean—you think I can't handle something as simple as a grocery run?"

Sam's face darkened. "This isn't about your skills. I know you're a good hunter. But you're reckless, y/n. You don't understand what it's like to see someone you love get torn away from you because of one mistake, one slip-up. And then to wake up and think it's happening again..." His voice broke, some vulnerability showing.

You softened slightly, realizing how deep Sam's fear went. But you weren't going to let him accuse you of being reckless. "I do understand, Sam. I know how much losing Dean broke you. But I'm not him. I'm not going to disappear, but you also can't suffocate me because of it."

"I'm not trying to suffocate you. Fuck, you really don't get it, do you?" Sam's voice rang in your ears, and for a second, he just looked at you with disappointment in his eyes. "Just forget it y/n."

The sudden intensity of his words, the way he yelled, startled you. Sam wasn't the type to lose his temper like this—not with you. Sure, you two had your disagreements, but this was different. He was on edge, and you could tell that this wasn't just about the salt. It was about everything that had been weighing on him since losing Dean.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, seeing his fists clench like that scared you, so the only thing you could do right now was walk away. Your voice was quieter now, the fight draining you. "I'll take a walk, clear my head."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you turned to leave the room. The last thing you wanted was to fight with Sam, especially not like this. But before you could reach the door, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, pulling you back.

"Wait." His voice was softer now, the anger replaced by guilt.

Sam pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if letting go would somehow mean losing you again. You relaxed into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The warmth of his arms and the sound of his breathing helped calm you both down.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was as if both of you needed that quiet, the space to breathe and let the tension resolve. And after a few moments, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were softer now, and you could see he felt bad for snapping.

"You know," you said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about losing me every time I step out the door. But you also have to let me breathe, Sam."

Sam let out a long sigh, his hand moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know," he murmured, though his voice still carried the weight of doubt. "I just... after Dean, I've been going nuts. Every hunt, every day, I'm constantly thinking about what could go wrong, what I could lose next. It's like I can't shut it off."

You reached up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing gently along the stubble on his jaw. "Sam, I understand. I really do. But you can't live like this—constantly on high alert, constantly afraid. It's not fair to you. And it's not fair to us."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort of your hands on his skin. "I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly.

"I think it's always going to be there," you said softly. "The fear. But you don't have to let it control you." You paused, searching his face for a moment before continuing. "I'm strong, Sam. I know how to handle myself. And I promise you, if I ever feel like I'm all up in my head, you'll be the first person I call. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Sam opened his eyes, looking down at you, and for the first time that night, you saw a flicker of relief in his expression. He nodded, though you could tell it wasn't easy for him. "I can try," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking," you whispered, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

For a few more moments, you stayed there in his arms, the tension easing itself. Finally, Sam spoke again, his tone lighter but still a hint of guilt in it. "I guess I owe you for getting the salt."

You chuckled softly, leaning your head back against his chest. "Yeah, you do. I went through a lot of trouble for that salt."

"Next time, maybe wake me up before you leave," he said, a small smile on his lips, “Or at least don't forget your phone."

"Deal," you agreed with a playful grin. "No more disappearing acts. But you have to promise me something, too."

"What's that?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity.

"You have to promise to stop worrying so much. At least a little. You're going to give yourself a heart attack at this rate."

Sam chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. "I'll do my best," he promised, “but no guarantees.”

You smiled, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I'll take it."

Sam kissed you back, slow and soft. When he pulled away, there was a warmth in his eyes, a quiet appreciation for the way you understood him, even when he didn't always know how to explain himself.

"Come on," you said, tugging him toward the table. "I got your favorite sandwiches, you need to eat."

Sam hesitated for a moment, glancing at the filled grocery bags. But then he let out a sigh and nodded, he definitely needed these sandwiches now.

"Thank you, baby." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing the plastic bags and putting everything away.

The room still felt heavy with the weight of what you were both going through, but at least you were in it together. You were safe. He was safe. And for now, everything was okay.

kinda need to fight with Sam just for him to be all soft and cutesy with me after and make up..

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @nuemanfilms @beausling @angelicjackles @sammyluvr @samwinchesterswifu @sampilled @seasons-of-death @starkeysprincess @rubyvhs @deansenvy @ribbonprincess @mxltifxnd0m

[chvoswxtch]

Court baby i've waiting for this moment! I have this idea for a fic living rent free in my head. Its Frank x fem!reader. They were in a very cozy and confy moment when the snap happened and reader was blipped! You could write how Frank deald with those five years and with reader coming back. With a lot of angst moments and flufly and maybe spicy after she comes back. I would love if you accept this request! Thank you, I love you ❤️

i'm not gonna lie to you, the blip is my least favorite marvel storyline, but I love you so I put myself and frank through it just for you 🖤

I would say sorry that i'm about to emotionally wreck you but in my defense, you did ask for this so...enjoy or don't

warning: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, guns, & alcohol, heavy angst, very brief allusion to suicide (blink and you miss it) word count: 4.1k

the blip.

A split second. That’s how quickly Frank lost you. He turned his back for a second to refill his mug of coffee, and when he turned back around, you had vanished seemingly into thin air. At first he thought maybe you had gone back into the bedroom to grab a sweater or something. It had been a bit chilly in the kitchen, and you were always cold. But then a few seconds turned into a few minutes, and Frank didn’t hear any shuffling or soft footsteps. He didn’t hear anything at all. The crisp silence had an icy sense of dread trickling down his spine, and when he didn’t hear your sweet voice responding to his cautious calls of your name, he went into a full blown panic.

You were gone.

Year One.

This wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be. There was no way he had survived losing Maria and the kids just to find you, to let your endless patience and irrevocable empathy fill the gaping void in his chest, only to lose you too. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. Frank didn’t consider himself a good man; he was well aware of and acquainted with his demons. But he didn’t deserve this.

Did he?

It was forty-eight hours before anyone even knew what happened. One giant asshole snapped his fingers, and half the universe’s population ceased to exist. Frank had stopped believing in God a lifetime ago, and he certainly didn’t believe in aliens or otherworldly creatures. He had seen first hand during his time in the Marines that mankind was the real monster. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t believe in it, because it happened, and not even the fucking Avengers could stop it. Hell, half of them were gone too.

Two weeks after the snap, news broke that Thanos had been killed, and that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying to come up with a way to bring everyone back. For months Frank was glued to every news outlet, frantically waiting for even the smallest of updates. Anything was something. He refused to believe that the snap was permanent. The Avengers were going to find a way to bring everyone back. They had to. 

Your pillowcase had stopped smelling like your shampoo, and Frank found himself using it and your body wash just to keep your scent on the sheets. He burned your favorite candles and read your favorite books. He wouldn’t stay gone longer than fifteen minutes in case you finally came home. He wanted to be there when you did. Frank kept himself busy with little projects around the house, things that you had mentioned changing or updating that he had promised he would get around to and never did. Frank swore to himself when you came home, things would be different. 

He would take that trip you wanted to go on. He’d take you to the shelter to pick out a dog like you had been talking about. Maybe you two would finally start a family. Whatever you wanted, he’d give you. He’d find a way to give you the goddamn moon and every single star in the sky if you wanted them. 

As soon as you came home.

But then a year went by, and nothing had changed. The anniversary of the snap came and went, and everyone seemed to give up hope on bringing everyone back, or they just decided to move on and accept that no one was coming back.

But Frank couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe you were really gone.

Year Two.

The worst part about the snap was that Frank couldn’t collect his vengeance in blood like he had with his family. The one who took you from him was already dead, and even if he hadn’t been, Frank had no way of reaching him. Thanos was a Titan, someone who was revered as a God to those that followed him, and Frank was just a man. A man poisoned with rage and an insatiable thirst for revenge. So, he did what he was good at. He punished. Even though half the universe’s population was gone, that didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters left on Earth.

Frank killed without mercy or prejudice. There was no sin too harmless for his wrath. His fists collided with skin and bone until there was nothing left but ivory fragments tainted crimson and torn flesh. He didn’t stop, not even when his destructive blows caused his own knuckles to crack. It had gotten to the point where he hardly reached for a gun anymore unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use his hands or serrated steel. He wanted to inflict every ounce of pain that he felt inside on whoever was stupid enough to get in his way.

It was like he wasn’t even mentally present anymore. His conscience had been shut off somehow, and all that was left was a relentless killing machine. Whenever he ran out of targets in the city, he moved on to hunt in the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He lived primarily out of his van, or whatever dingy motel he came across on the road. He hadn’t stepped foot in your home in almost a year. He couldn’t. It was haunted by your memory, and he couldn’t desecrate the home you two had made together with what he had become.

You would be ashamed of him. You would be disgusted and horrified by the things he had done. That thought echoed in his head as he watched the water continue to run red while he stood under the weak spray of the shower head. He didn’t know what town or even what state he was in. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, or what month it was. He didn’t care. All he knew was that you were gone, and he had nothing left.

Nothing left but the white hot fury that infected his veins and had him seeking out blood like water in the desert.

Year Three.

Frank couldn’t visit you, not like he could Maria and the kids. He couldn’t even have the closure of burying you, because there wasn’t a body. There was no final resting place for you, and he didn’t think that was fucking fair. Today was your birthday, and Frank had been drowning himself in whiskey trying to dilute the painful memories that played in his head like a haunting home movie. 

The angelic sound of your voice as you read him whatever book your nose was buried in that week, your fingers slipping through his dark tresses while he laid his head on your chest and listened in pure content. The feeling of your soft lips on his heated skin and delicate noises of pleasure as your bodies connected like they were made for each other. Your melodic laughter, the silkiness of your skin, slow dancing in the living room with the moon acting as a spotlight. 

All the words he never said. All the promises he didn’t get to keep. All the dreams that wouldn’t come true.

Somehow Frank found himself in a church. He couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot in one. Maybe it was Sunday school back when his parents still forced him to go. He had stumbled in, his heavy boots thudding along the aisle, the only other sound coming from the amber liquid sloshing around in the half empty bottle in his hand. He stopped when he got to the front, looking up at the stained glass depictions of angels, until his weary eyes landed on the savior that was nailed to the giant cross.

Frank glared at him for several minutes before hurling the half empty bottle right at the head of the statue, causing a firework explosion of shimmering shards of glass to rain over the altar and various candles that had been lit for loved ones that had passed on. His rough voice boomed throughout the empty space.

“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you take me, huh? Why not me? She ain’t never done a goddamn thing wrong. I’m the one you want. I’m the one that deserves it. I’m the goddamn killer here, huh? I’m the fuckin’ Punisher. So you bring her back, and you take me!”

Frank started grabbing bibles from the pews and hurling them at the statue with all his strength. In his inebriated state, some of them flew right past the statue and knocked over other small figurines and candlesticks. He let out a guttural war cry every time he threw a new one, and by the time he ran out of steam, he was panting heavily, and tears had formed in his eyes.

Dropping to his knees, he looked up at the melancholic face of the statue that matched his own, and he did something he hadn’t done in years. 

He prayed.

“Please. Please, just bring her back. I’ll take her place…I won’t fight…just…just bring her back. I’m beggin’ you…I’ll do whatever it takes, alright? Just…you can’t…you can’t do this to me again. You can’t. I may deserve it, but she don’t…okay so just…just…”

Frank was tired. Three years without you was too long. He hadn’t been able to find the peace that he had found after Maria and the kids. He spent a year waging war on everyone, and it did nothing. He spent the last few months drowning himself in booze, and it didn’t help. Nothing helped, and there was nothing to keep him going. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back, so what the hell was he still getting out of bed every morning for?

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Frank pulled out a revolver and stared down at it. There was only one bullet in the chamber, and it wasn’t meant for anyone but him. If God wouldn’t bring you back, then he would go to you.

As soon as he cocked the hammer, a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“You don’t wanna do that, Frank.”

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Frank squinted his blurry eyes before turning back around, shaking his head with a dry laugh.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Half the goddamn universe gets wiped out, and I get stuck with the fuckin’ altar boy.”

“Frank-”

“Mind your fuckin’ business, Red. Just cause there’s only one bullet in this chamber don’t mean I won’t handle your ass.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few cautious steps towards where Frank was on his knees in front of the altar.

“You’re drunk-”

“And you’re fuckin’ relentless. Go home.”

“Look, whoever you lost-”

“Whoever I lost? I lost everyone, Red!”

Matt didn’t flinch when Frank suddenly rose from his knees and stormed over towards him, his loud voice booming in the silence as they stood barely an inch apart. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, his lips pursed as he grit his teeth.

“You think you’re the only one that’s lost everyone you’ve ever cared about, Frank?”

“Then what the hell are you waitin’ on, huh? You too much of a fuckin’ pussy to do it yourself, huh? That it? You need me to do it for you?”

Matt carefully reached out to place his hand on Frank’s arm, lowering the gun that was in his hand while he spoke in a calm voice.

“I don’t want to die, Frank. And I don’t think you want to either. You just want the pain to stop. But if you do this, it’s permanent, and you’ll never know if she came back.”

Frank shook his head and blew a puff of hot air out of his lips, his dark brows scrunching up in pure annoyance and frustration.

“She ain’t comin’ back-”

“You don’t know that. She’s not dead, Frank. She’s lost. Maybe she’s with Karen and Foggy. Frank, someone came down from another planet and wiped out half the universe. Is it so crazy to think that could be undone?”

The anger that was simmering inside Frank from Matt’s intrusion seemed to be burning through the alcohol in his system, and Matt’s question was igniting a tiny ember of hope that Frank wasn’t prepared to tend to. His body physically deflated as he dropped his head between his broad shoulders. There was a heavy tide of tears on his bottom lash line threatening to flood at any moment.

“Don’t do that.”

“You have to have faith, Frank-“

“I don’t, Red.”

“I do.”

Frank didn’t know when Matt managed to slip the revolver from his grasp, but he didn’t feel the weight of a permanent decision in his palm anymore. Matt had planted a tiny seed of hope, and what if’s were taking over Frank’s brain like wild ivy. 

What if there was a chance you could come back? Matt had a point, you weren’t dead. Not really. Even if the probability of it happening was one in a million, didn’t Frank owe you the same unwavering patience you had always shown him?

“Look Frank, just…give me a year. One year to show you things can be different. If you still want to make that call in a year, I won’t stop you. I’ll leave you alone. But Frank…you’ve gotten through this once before. You can do this again. If not for yourself, just try for her.”

A year. A year was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Frank had already been without you for three years now. 

What was one more?

Year Four.

Matt’s apartment was fucking obnoxious due to that goddamn billboard across the street, but it was better than the shitty motels Frank had been staying in. He still couldn’t step foot in the home he had shared with you. It had been three years now, and even though he wasn’t fully convinced you could come back, he couldn’t let it go. Everything that was you was there, and if he sold the house, that meant every trace of you and your existence was gone.

Matt had one rule for Frank staying with him; no killing. For a week, Frank lounged on the couch trying to figure out what to do with himself. He would start to read a book, but could never get more than a few pages because he remembered how much you loved to read, and then he would get stuck staring at the pages while memories of you played on loop in his head. There wasn’t a TV because Matt didn’t have use for one, and Frank didn’t care to watch anything anyway. It didn’t take long for Frank to go stir crazy. He had never been good at staying idle.

While Matt was out making the world a better place, Frank had managed to find a construction job. Busting down walls all day long allowed him to get his pent up anger out while not breaking Matt’s golden rule. Most days it felt like Frank was on autopilot. He woke up, went to the job site, smashed a sledgehammer through a wall until his hands bled, came home, tried to sleep, inevitably had a nightmare about losing you, and laid on the couch staring blankly up at the ceiling until the sun rose.

Every single day was a repeat of the last until they started to blur together. Frank didn’t speak to anyone at the job sites. He didn’t speak to anyone at all. Between Matt’s busy court schedule and his nightly patrols, they didn’t see each other often, and even when they were home at the same time, Frank still hardly spoke to him. He wasn’t sleeping, he barely ate, and on the days he had off, he didn’t leave the couch. He felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

Matt knew what he was going through. Hell, he had been there himself after the second time he lost Elektra. He knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in this world, and that had happened to Frank twice now. He did his best to be patient, but after four months, he couldn’t take it anymore. Matt was fortunate that he’d had people that helped him combat his depression to find his way back to himself, but Frank didn’t have a soul in his corner.

Except for Matt. 

And even though Frank wasn’t shy about not wanting Matt’s help, Matt didn’t care. Frank could be stubborn, but he didn’t have the energy or the drive to match Matt’s stubbornness, and Matt used that to his advantage. He was relentless in pushing Frank to participate in life again. He purposely antagonized Frank, even if it meant being reduced to a human punching bag, because that meant Frank was still in there somewhere.

Matt started small in getting him out of the apartment, like guilt tripping Frank into joining him on trips to the grocery store.

“You’re not gonna help your blind roommate get groceries? You know, a lot of items don’t come with braille labels. So when I die because I accidentally put bleach in my coffee instead of creamer, you have to say nice things about me at my funeral.”

“You don’t need labels, Red. You got that goddamn bloodhound nose. Would you stop lookin’ at me like that? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, fine. Get your fuckin’ jacket and let’s go.”

After a while, he even managed to get Frank to join him at Fogwell’s from time to time.

“No wonder you became a goddamn lawyer. All you know how to do is fuckin’ argue, makes sense you made a livin’ outta it.”

“I’m not arguing, Frank. If we got in the ring, you would lose. That’s a fact. You don’t know how to box, you just know how to run at people and slam them into things. And you’re too bulky to move as fast as me. None of that is an argument, it’s a simple observation.”

“Why don’t you observe your ass in that ring so I can shut you the fuck up, Red.”

The more time they spent together, and the more Frank put in an effort to move forward one step at a time, the less empty he felt. The nightmares still came every so often, and there were days where the weight of your absence was too much for him to bear, but for the first time in four years, he didn’t feel so hopeless.

He could think about you without breaking down. He could see something that reminded him of you, and it warmed his heart instead of ripping it out. He had finally reached a point where he had slowly crawled out of the deep pit of grief that he had been digging for the past four years.

As much as he hated to admit it, Matt had helped him find a semblance of peace.

Year Five.

The sound of a dog barking caught Frank’s attention. He pulled his head out from under the hood of his truck, looking over at the grey and white pitbull that was standing a few feet away from the front door of the house you and Frank had lived in together that he’d finally moved back into six months ago. He glanced between the front door and the dog with his thick brows furrowed.

“What is it, Daisy?”

The dog turned her head when she heard Frank’s voice, the movement so fast it made her long velvet ears flop. She turned her attention back to the door and continued to bark. Something inside had caught her attention. Eyeing the front door warily, Frank rubbed his grease stained hands off on a small rag and walked over towards where Daisy was, kneeling down beside her to gently scratch that spot between her ears that she loved.

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mon now, what’s got you so worked up, huh? What do you think is inside, huh? You smellin’ that-”

The sound of the front door opening caught Frank’s attention, and he instantly snapped his head in the direction of it. All of a sudden, his warm brown eyes went wide, and time seemed to freeze in that very moment. 

“Sweetheart?”

His quiet whisper was dripped in disbelief. There you were, looking exactly the same as the day you had vanished, looking between Frank and Daisy with an expression of surprise and perplexment.

“Frank?”

God, your voice. It had been five years since he had last heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed that this was real. You were real. You were really home. 

Without wasting a second, Frank stood and ran over towards you, tears filling up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your frame and hugged you as tightly as physically possible. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage, and he was terrified this was just a vivid dream, but then he inhaled the scent of your shampoo intermingled with your perfume, felt your hands gently pressing against his back, and heard your soft angelic laughter.

“Frankie��baby…you’re crushing me.”

Frank pulled back only slightly, bringing his large hands up to cup your face to study your features, taking in every single inch of you. He caught the way you frowned softly, looking up at him in pure concern when thick tears streamed down his cheeks. You lifted your hand to delicately brush them away with the featherlight touch of your fingers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Baby, why are you so upset?”

As you ran your hands through his long grown out curls, a crease of bewilderment nestled in between your brows when you took in his appearance.

“Wait…what happened to your hair? It was just short five seconds ago…and you didn’t have a beard. How…how did you do that? And when did we get a dog? Frank, what-”

Five seconds ago. 

Is that all it was for you? Frank could see the visible disorientation on your delicate features, and he had a lot of questions of his own, but right now nothing mattered but you. He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every emotion he had felt in the past five years into it. He kissed you like the world could end at any moment, because for him it did the day you vanished.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a deep exhale of relief.

“You…you were gone, sweetheart. You were gone a long time…a long goddamn time.”

“Gone? What-”

“I’ll explain everythin’, I promise. Just…just give me a minute, please. Just let me hold you for a minute, can you do that for me, baby? Please?”

Frank had always been able to read you like a book, and he could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t just confused. Hearing you had been gone for a long time infused you with a sense of panic and uncertainty. But you trusted Frank, and you knew whatever hard truth he was going to tell you, he wouldn’t let you go through it alone.

“Okay.”

As Frank embraced you again, you suddenly felt a pair of paws on your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the happy dog wagging its tail while looking between you and Frank. Reaching down, you gently pet the side of her face with a soft smile.

“Hi there, precious.”

“Daisy.”

Glancing up at Frank, your lips parted slightly when Frank told you her name. A soft smile covered his lips, the first smile to do so in five years. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear slowly.

“You always said if we got a dog and it was a girl, you wanted to name her Daisy.”

Tears welled up along your bottom lash line as you looked up at Frank, a gentle smile covering your lips. After a moment, you glanced away from Frank to look at Daisy again, letting out a soft laugh.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Daisy.”

Frank gave your waist a light squeeze, leaning in to press a soft lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And we’ve been waitin’ a long time for you. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[bunnwich]

It's Supposed to Be Fun

(a letter to my friends in the twst fandom)

I've been wanting to make this post for a while and these thoughts may seem scattered but I’m gonna try to express them. 

Lately, I have seen many friends and moots that either are leaving the fandom or feel guilty over not having posted in a while or losing interest in twst. On the other side, I also have friends being harassed.

This a reminder to remember why you joined this community to begin with. I know that keeping up with the fast-moving pace of fandom and comparing ourselves to others, can skew our perspective on these things.

It’s supposed to be fun. 

Why do we post art or write? Sure, partly for recognition, there's no denying that. But, why do we create, I mean really? For enjoyment. Not for others, not to be “popular” FOR JOY.

So, whether you’re dealing with people critiquing you or feeling guilty about not creating. My question is this: Why waste so much of your time on something that makes you miserable?

Did it stop being fun? Why? Haters? Loss of interest?

To my friends who feel guilty for not creating and not sure if they lost interest in twst: 

Don’t feel guilty. At one time, the creation of your twst content was natural. It's what you did for fun with friends or for yourself. Revisit that mindset and think - if creating twst content now will bring that same joy it did before.

If the answer is no, then maybe it’s time to pivot. It’s okay for interests to fade. It doesn’t mean that time, memories, or the friends you made are lost. Connect with your friends, we will understand! We still love you! It's not a race there's no time limit, just pick up were you want to. Draw fanart of old events or OCs.

To my friends who have been harassed: 

I say this with sincerity…. People who harass others over fictional characters are fucking losers.

Like… There’s no other eloquent way to encapsulate it. I’m starting to not care for the reason anymore - If you harass or be shady to others over a ship or fictional character. CONGRATS! YOU ARE A LOSER.

We all join fandoms as a hobby, for fun. We’re all just kids in the sandbox playing pretend again… and if you are the type of person to go up just to “kick the doll out of someone’s hand" or make commentary on how “their way of playing is wrong." You’re a loser. I have a life outside of twst, we all do. Someone saying my ship is wrong or cringe is just so laughable to me. We have to make fun of these people more for being so goddamn lame.

Imagine being so unhappy that when you see someone having fun you HAVE to comment on it. By all means, if it gets you through the day...talk shit to close friends or even post about it on your own blog. (THAT WAS ALWAYS ALLOWED.) Don't bother creators directly. Don't be a loser. I sure see tolerance leave people’s bodies when they see a fandom opinion they don't like. (And this is coming from someone who has lots of opinions on these things! But that's why I always put the disclaimers that, hey this is just MY opinion.)

Discussion is one thing, unhelpful comments are another. We shouldn’t give these people the time of day. Curate your online space. Yes, when you post things online you are subjecting yourself to scrutiny. But, we as creators need to stop letting these people have power over us. Period. We do this for free!! FOR FUN. The best thing you can do is create shamelessly.

Delete weird replies, block whoever you need to do to rid yourself of these people who have nothing better to do. Keep your peace. It’s supposed to be for fun. You don’t owe anyone a response.

The twst fandom is like a little family to me and I guess I feel protective over the people in it?  I have made many friends and memories because I joined it. And even dispite a handful of the negative experiences (AKA: A couple of “losers" that I’ve had to deal with.) I’ll always look fondly back on this time.

The key for me has always been to just…create for myself. I originally made bunnwich for me and one friend to make fun little arts about our Yuu’s and now I get to have lots of friends to share it with! I’ve transitioned from an OC blog to probably more of an Oc x Canon blog…but I don’t care tbh. I just…draw what I feel like. I know there are people who probably dislike me for that or feel strange about my content and that’s fine. I’m still gonna keep drawing it, loser.  

And I just want you guys to do the same, twst or not.

I can’t forget that all my followers and friends are a bonus, if I had never joined tumblr I’d still be drawing the silly shit I draw in peace. And while yes, I do want to grow as an artist and sell more merch and keep growing... I can’t forget my initial excitement for this silly little game. I like to talk about it. I like to write about it. It inspires me.

It’s supposed to be fun. Please remember that. I know it can be discouraging to have others being shitty to you. Or going through a creative drought. But, try not to let this stop you from creating what you love.

[chocsra]

yknow tht chuuyas friend got killed during the dragon head conflicts, right?(source dead apple) yea, wht if reader was one of them. letter fics reader confessing her love to chuuya and him finding it after she died.

"Tainted With Sin, Weakness Comes From Love."

16! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

summary: chuuya finds your letters to him after your death in the dragon head conflict

content: angst, heavy mentions of death, swearing

There, the boy remained victorious.

Others would furrow their brows, feel their heart clench into an impending drop. The utter and impeccable fear of such a small body, a young boy who yearned for nothing but a reason - a purpose, holding such power. He was as if he was sculpted by a passionate artist, a woman who presented herself as a 'mother' - soft orange locks, the ever glow of his skin that never left his face, and a harmonic assortment of features, those features that made him special. A child who was stringed together like a melodic harp by a mother is every child, and that was Nakahara Chuuya. He too, was a child.

At least, he felt like one.

"Chuuya," A tall, ginger woman speaks solemnly, clasping her hands together elegantly, as always. "here - [Y/N]'s stuff." Kouyou passes a large cardboard box to the boy; items like notebooks, pens, photos, and sticky notes. It had only been 14 days after the Dragon Head Conflict, and yet, the world's lost all sense of art: skies have been less blue, birds more or so melodically sing mantras of sorrow, rather than blissful chirps. Maybe it was because of his comrades who died, maybe it's because you were one of them, or maybe, it's his brain using his frustration with the world against him. In this box, consider it pandora's box of humanity - perhaps the sight alone brightened the sky, awakened the birds. You existed, and so, he longs to feel your existence once more. Be it through letters.

Chuuya runs his fingers along a folder of letters you've written. He'll close his eyes and pretend it's your skin - he'll close his eyes and make out each indent of each thought, each question you held for the universe on that paper.

Dear Chuuya,

Happy Birthday! You finally turned 16, loser. You're all over the Port Mafia, you know? Double Black is so goddamn popular I've been approached by people I don't know asking if we're friends. So ahem, here are my birthday wishes for my boy best friend - the only one I share my gossip to that isn't a girl.

You get taller.

You find out what the hell happened before you were 8.

A girl would finally like you or something - rare, I know.

You finally get a dog. PLEASE shut up about it :)

Thank you for being my friend, even though you lose your shit when we play UNO with Albatross. Get good, kid.

Sincerely,

- [Y/N].

The redhead can practically feel himself scoffing, even though it was more like a chuckle, before sealing the letter once again; a small smile tugging on his lips even though he finds himself wiping a bit of tears from his cheeks.

"Why did it have to be you?.." Chuuya chuckles, swallowing thickly to cover the strain of tears spilling out. Crystal tears were never a threat to the boy - once again, such things like a heart doesn't suit him - yet, he finds it ironic. Maybe you had it all along.

The boy, molded by the hands of divinity, stringed together by an otherworldly being, was nothing divine. Nakahara Chuuya reigned from torture, yearned for retribution, and became an artist - one acquired dazzlingly with revenge. He took the vessel of himself he loathed and despised it with his entire being. Arahabaki was no divine being, nor a mother who lovingly caressed and loved with dainty hands. He was a monster, Chuuya was too. But from the rippling shackles he's restrained himself to, there was an angel, sacred and divine, who chided him for his hatred, his sorrows, his regrets. You too, knew how it was like to lose, to betray and be betrayed, and yet, you would never bring those to him again, but it seems once again, you've failed.

You were an angel, his angel, a light in the sky that he never failed to follow. And yet, you too fell from heaven's gate. Chuuya, who has been by your side for years, never dare touch you - Nakahara Chuuya may taint you with his sin, ruin the wings that guide him through the light. But shit, as an artist of revenge - he'll repaint it with regret.

To grow from a child, child of hatred to man of soul, touch will remold him to his feet. Rebuke his despondency. Chuuya regrets, for his only reminder of your skin was your life slipping through his fingers like ash.

To be Chuuya's angel was to lace his hair in between your words.

To be Chuuya's angel meant you were going to be immortalized.

To be Chuuya's angel meant that was only going to happen once he's lost you.

Yet he still flips the page.

Dear Chuuya,

I like you.

I thought love was foolish. A four letter word, and one syllable of absolute bullshit. Love is only a fixation in TV shows and movies. Love is a weakness, and contrary to popular belief - love cannot save you.

But you saved me. Countless of times.

The first being when I botched an assignment miserably. I was about to sacrifice myself before you kicked all the enemies' asses! You even took the blame for me.

The second was when I ate too much during a celebration and you had to bring me home safely.

The third was when you didn't say anything after I farted in a closed elevator.

Maybe you're stronger than love, then. You're Chuuya Nakahara, the strongest ability user in the world. But, even if I fell for you - it's not because of your strength, or protection. I genuinely like you, Nakahara Chuuya, not the strongest ability user, but the boy who sought a past, the boy who longs for a wine collection, the boy who cries watching dog movies, the boy who thinks chokers are a fashion statement.

Don't think because you define yourself as Arahabaki I will too. You're so much more than that.

But eh, who cares anyway, its not like you know how to read or write.

Love,

- [Y/N].

The boy who sought a past, felt himself shatter, because now he actually he had one. A best friend of his memories. An angel only in his dreams. A desire he could only do so much but reminisce. But contradictory to your previous statement, Nakahara Chuuya could read, even write now.

All because you taught him.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR PEOPLE WHO REFUSE TO LET ANYONE CARE ABOUT THEM *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

i don't need your help.

i can handle myself.

everyone leaves.

you can't do this alone.

whatever they did to you back then... i'm sorry. but i'm not like that, and i won't abandon you like they did.

you've got bigger things to deal with.

i've been alone all my life. it's nothing new.

don't come over. i can handle it.

please let me care about you.

would you just stop?

i'm used to this.

i tried to help you.

whatever they said about you, they were wrong.

i'm not worth dying for.

suit yourself. you'll regret it tomorrow.

i'm not putting anyone else's life in harm's way.

people care about you. people want to keep you safe.

i don't want you to get hurt over me.

if you die, it'll be my fault.

i love you. you're worth fighting for.

i'm not gonna just sit here and let you do this by yourself.

i'm not worth it, okay?

i don't want you to die.

leave me alone.

this is nothing new.

thanks but no thanks. i don't need your help.

i can't lose you again!

don't make yourself an island.

don't you understand? i can't lose you!

you're not patching this up alone. let me help.

i'm not used to this. being cared about.

you'll just suffer because of me.

i'm not like the rest. i won't leave you.

everyone leaves. maybe it's better that way.

i can handle it just fine, thanks.

i don't need your advice.

stop pushing me away. it won't work.

this is all i've got left.

i'll get over it!

it's better if i just go alone.

let me protect you.

i'll just keep coming back, you know.

it's easier to make people hate me.

if something happens to you, i'll never forgive myself.

i've already lost so many people.

i can patch this up myself.

you've obviously got more important things to deal with.

everyone i love ends up leaving me one way or another.

what if something happens?

this wasn't supposed to go this way.

stop risking your life for me.

i work better alone.

it's safer to just stay away from me.

eventually you'll see i'm not worth it.

every single time i let someone in, they end up disappointing me.

trust me. i know this for a fact.

just leave me be. i'll figure this out myself.

you should go.

you're all i have left.

people around me are always getting hurt.

it's better if you just leave me here.

i can't trust anyone. not anymore.

why do you keep fighting for me?

you have no idea what this is like.

i know you think i'll leave, but i won't. not now. not ever.

you matter to me. i'll say it a thousand times until you understand.

please just let me take care of you.

i work alone.

that won't work on me.

no one's ever really loved me before.

you need help.

so that's it? you're just gonna push me away again?

what's it gonna take for you to realize i want to be here for you?

i don't want to see you hurt.

you can't just push away everyone who loves you.

you'll never be able to beat this alone.

you expect me to just sit here?

i love you, goddamn it!

you want to be alone? fine. be alone.

i'm not strong enough.

i really thought i could help you. turns out i was wrong.

i wish you would listen to me.

i came all this way to help you, and this is the thanks i get?

you are worthy of love, you know.

how many times do i have to tell you? i'm fine!

stop pushing people away.

it's easier to just make you hate me.

i don't hate you. i could never hate you.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Sam tried to think of a way to backpedal, tried to figure out exactly what he'd said or done that had that inferno raging in your eyes and your chest heaving in those furious breaths.

"What, did you think I chose this life because I lost something? That we've all got the same, sad, tragic back story? Did you think you'd just come along and do your heroic Sam Winchester act and fix everything and I'd suddenly realize life without hunting would be so much better? I didn't ask to be saved, Sam. Not by you, not by your brother, and not by whatever god or gods keep this universe revolving and expanding. I'm perfectly fine with my choices. Thanks. I've been hunting my entire life and I don't need you or anyone else to inform me of the stakes or costs. I've got plenty of goddamn scars to prove it."

Sam's mouth was hanging open. He wished his brain would work faster, work better. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Save it. I'm done with this conversation. If you deflate your ego overnight, you know where to find me."

"Y/N! I'm—I'm sorry! Wait!" he called after you, but the apology was punctuated by the slamming of your car door.

Dean suddenly stepped around the corner of the motel and let out a low whistle. Sam closed his eyes and his jaw tensed as he ground his teeth together. "Damn... That did not go well." "Thanks, Dean..."

"Can you keep me posted on the deflating ego? I'd like an update on that too." Sam shot him a glare and Dean shrugged and gave him a half-smile. "Sammy, you win some, you lose some. Let them cool off and we'll—we'll try again tomorrow... It's gonna be okay."

Prompt: "What, did you think I chose this life because I lost something? That we've all got the same, sad, tragic back story? Did you think you'd just come along and fix everything?"

[roses-for-rosalyn]

Hey sweetheart, I have this idea about cop!Ellie and cop!reader I've never shared bc I'm so shy to ask, but if you are open to write about it here it is.(sorry if something doesn't make sense inglish is not my first lenguage)

Well Ellie and reader are work partners and they don't really like each other because Ellie is kinda mean?(she is the director btw) but there's a tension between them anyways. So they have a night shift together and on the way in the car the reader begins to flirt, like touching ellie's thigh, and she stops in a field and fucks the reader brains out<33

-💌

This took forever but I hope I did your idea justice!

a/n: sorry I haven’t written anything in so long, life is crazy

Ellie x reader

Wc: 3k (roughly)

Minors dni 🔞 (I will jump through your screen and poke you in the eyes I stg)

CWs: police officer! Ellie and reader, play girl Ellie, fem reader, cop stuff idk, enemies to lovers (ish?), thigh riding, overstim, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), multiple orgasms

—

As a small town cop things rarely became dangerous, so on the rare occasion things did go awry no one was really prepared. You got a call about a car speeding through town at about 90 miles an hour. It quickly becomes a chase with Williams at the wheel. Before she even starts catching up to the car you both begin bickering on what roads to take to catch up and who can read the license plate better. The world becomes a blur as the car picks up speed, the roaring of the engine and the sound of the sirens make it hard to hear anything.

You attempt to shout over the noise, “Williams we might be able to catch them if we take-”

“Shutthefuckup I know what I’m doing!” She yells back even louder, more irritated because you dared tell her what to do. She didn’t even let you finish and she missed the turn that would have taken you ahead of the car to block their path.

“Williams we’re gonna lose ‘em.” You couldn’t convince her, you’re not sure anyone could have. The car takes a sudden turn and she misses it, she quickly reverses and turns down the dirt road only for the car to disappear from sight. She tries to make a few turns but it’s useless, these roads went in every direction with thick woods surrounding them. Even townies got lost in there.

She slows the car down eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the road and quietly mutters “Fuck.” under her breath.

“Maybe you should have listened to the directional advice from someone who was fucking born here instead of trying to do everything yourself.” You can’t help but notice you scolded her like a primary school teacher, but she makes it so hard when she acts like this.

“Please I don’t need a fucking ‘I told you so’ talk right now.” She huffs.

“I hope you know this is completely your fault, I can’t fucking believe-”

“I swear to god if you keep talking I’m going to kick you out of this goddamn car.” She turns and looks at you straight in the eye, challenging you. Her tone is eerily calm. You narrow your gaze but say nothing, turning to look straight ahead. And with that she drives you both back to the station, defeated with only half of the criminal's license plate.

- -

Patrol partners are supposed to be friends- Or at least friend-ly. That’s what anyone would assume, you have to spend every day together, not getting along would just result in various inconvenient miscommunications and misunderstandings.

Yeah, well you weren’t that lucky. Your patrol partner is Ellie Williams aka “Williams” according to her various male coworkers. Her female coworkers tended to lean more towards nicknames like “whore” or “slut” considering she hooked up with a couple of them and then acted like she barely knew them at work the next day and did it all over again. She had to start finding hookups outside the station last month because all her go-tos had refused her unless she wanted something serious. On top of that the few that she got with turned the rest of the girls against her, all she had left was you and all the guys at the station- and you didn’t really count since you were forced to be with her. This meant recently she was particularly irritable considering she couldn’t find a lot- if any- women to relieve any of her tension, so patrolling with her for the past 30 days has been hell.

On a more positive note it made gossiping with your coworkers over coffee the best part of your day. They would talk about their hookups which would inevitably lead back to shit talking Williams- which you would enthusiastically participate in considering how she treated you on the job. However they all agreed that they tolerated it for as long as they did because the sex was good. And you believed them because they had to put up with some crazy bullshit from her. A tiny part of you yearned for them to explain just how good it was, but you’d never ever give in to that curiosity.

Williams- on the rare occasion she would say anything- was mean, she would make snide comments all the time no matter what task you were taking on. She had some sort of superiority complex because she was- admittedly- very good at her job. She had transferred from some big city to your small town station and she had much more experience. She was incredibly skilled at taking people down when she needed to. However, compared to her old job, barely anything happens here. When something did happen she would insist on taking over the task almost every single time, the only thing she couldn’t trump you in was de-escalation. She was terrible at communication and that was most of the job. Calls would mostly be noise complaints or welfare checks, so you took the lead for those and it drove her crazy. She couldn’t stand being inferior to anyone, especially on the job. So you were squabbling constantly.

And for some reason tonight she was in a particularly bad mood. You’re stationed on the side of the road, keeping watch for anyone disobeying any road safety laws and Williams is silent. Not particularly unusual, but her body language was odd, she was weirdly tense. She sat fidgeting with her hands, picking at her cuticles, occasionally glancing up if she heard a car. Nothing in you wanted to show you cared at all for her, because you didn’t, but at this point you were so bored you didn’t care if you started one of your usual squabbles.

“Something wrong Williams?” You tentatively ask.

“ ‘m fine, just tired.” she says, still not glancing up.

“You seem offly tense for a tired person.” You try to push her a bit.

She finally looks up at you, her expression remaining neutral “Considering your observations, you really think now’s a good time to test me sweetheart?” God you hated when she called you that, she refused to refer to you by your last name, always resorting to some condescending nickname.

You roll your eyes, just as you were about to respond a staticky voice interrupts, asking for anyone available for a call about a noise complaint about two minutes away. Ellie picks up the walkie and calls in saying she could take it and starts the car.

You drive there in silence and to no one’s surprise it’s Mrs. Taylor. She frequently calls at night whenever she hears her teenage neighbors so much as talk loud enough for her to hear. And every time she would make you both walk over to them and ask them to quiet down.

This time though when you got out of the car you could hear muffled music coming from the neighbor’s all the way from Mrs. Taylor’s lawn. You walk up to her door, Williams following silently, and knock gently a couple of times. You hear soft shuffling, a lock clicking and then the door opens revealing the grumpy old woman’s tired face. She’s wearing a long dusty pink robe, striped pajama pants and ratty slippers, clearly she had been recently woken up by the noise.

“Hello Mrs. Taylor.” You smile politely.

“Hello dear.” She smiles back at you, but falters for a moment when she spots your partner, refusing to acknowledge her presence. She used to babysit all the kids in the neighborhood, you were always her favorite. She treated everyone else like they were some sort of pest, especially outsiders.

“Neighbors bothering you again?” You already knew the answer, but you felt the need to be polite.

“I can’t sleep with all that ruckus, rotten children they are. Too bad too, they used to be the sweetest when they were little.” She shook her head.

“Alright we’ll get it all sorted out, you can go back to bed.” You nod your head.

The old woman smiles before reaching forward and pinching your cheek while saying “You’re so good to me dear. Come over for dinner some time so I can make it up to you.”

“Just doing my job ma'am.” You reassure her.

“Well, goodnight. Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll sort something out.” She begins shuffling backwards, and grabs the door handle.

“Good night Mrs. Taylor.” You wave at her and she closes the door.

“God you’re unbelievable.” Ellie scoffs from behind you.

“What?” you turn around to face her.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me like that once in a while?” For the life of you you could not figure out where this was coming from.

“You have to earn it.” You retort, while beginning to walk to the neighbors house. Ellie just huffs and jogs a bit to catch up to you, god forbid you get ahead of her in any way.

You make your way to the house, the bass rattling your teeth by the time you're on the front stoop. Ellie takes her usual spot behind you and you knock loudly, bashing your fist against the door. Hopefully someone hears so you don’t have to make a scene, they weren’t bad kids. Sure enough the music turns off and the door opens slowly revealing a set of scared, round eyes.

“Hey Kelly.” You knew her well from the past complaints, she was pretty polite especially for a teenager. The poor girl was practically shaking. “You probably know why we’re here.” She nods slowly. “Ok, so just do us a favor and turn your music down so we don’t get another call from Mrs. Taylor alright?” you say gently, knowing when you’re in uniform everything about you was intimidating enough without you having to yell.

“Th-that’s it?” She asks, her whole body shaking with adrenaline at this point.

“Yup, just make sure this doesn’t happen again. Shouldn’t have the volume that high anyway, it’s bad for your hearing.” You smile, “Probably don’t want to go deaf by the time you’re 20.”

Kelly just nods again “O-ok thank you. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Alright have a good night, stay out of trouble.” You turn away and Ellie does the same.

The walk back to the car is silent except for the steady hum of cicadas. You’re about to put your seatbelt on when Ellie says “So what do I have to do?”

You pause your movements, “What?”

“What do I have to do to earn it?” When you still look confused she elaborates “You being nice to me. What do I have to do to earn that?”

“I don’t know. With the way you treat me it’s almost like you enjoy me being mean to you.” You let out a dry laugh.

She slowly leans towards you, “Oh, I do.” She says, her tone changing completely, her voice becomes raspy and deep, almost like a whisper and a smirk tugs at her lips. “I love making you mad, but something tells me you’re even more delightful when you’re all sweet like that.”

“Williams what-” She leans even closer, inches away from your face and suddenly you forgot everything that wasn’t Ellie. You couldn’t utter a word if you tried.

“Tell me.” Her eyes flicker from yours to your lips. “What.” Her lips are so close you can almost feel her words. “To do.” You let out a sigh and give in, abandoning all logic you press your lips against hers. She stiffens but then her hands automatically move to cup your jaw so she can deepen the kiss. Her tongue swipes across your lips, inviting them to open. You can’t really move, unable to completely process what’s happening. She’s so warm and soft and everything you didn’t expect.

She starts making her way down to your neck, exploring your reactions as she kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin. A small whimper escapes from your lips, and Ellie is sure she’s never heard something more intoxicating.

“Williams-” She finds a particular spot behind your ear that causes you to let out a quiet moan, making you forget how to speak for a moment.

“W-we can’t do this here, you know that.” She stops and moves her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re right, we should probably find someplace where we don’t run the risk of teenagers or Mrs. Taylor finding us.” That wasn’t what you meant but it was probably the first time she had ever agreed with you the entire time you’ve been partners.

--

She pulls off the road into a field and as soon as she parks she immediately starts where she left off. Somehow she knew exactly how to reduce you to a whimpering mess in mere moments. In between kisses she whispers “Take off your belt.” Her tone was so sure and dominant it sent a wave of arousal straight to your center. You do as she says, you forgot you had put on your utility belt for the call, but she clearly took note. You try not to move too much as she continues marking up your skin. She stops again, “Now get in the back.” She doesn’t wait for your response before taking her own utility belt off, leaving it in the front seat and opening her door. It was a little more work in a patrol car considering there were bars separating the front and backseat, but at this point neither of you cared much.

Ellie is first to sit down in the back and shut the door behind her, you do the same and crawl over to straddle her lap. “You feelin a little eager, sweetheart?” She looks at you with that obnoxious smirk on her face, but this time it didn’t annoy you as much as it usually did. You kiss the grin off her face before moving to her neck, listening to her little sighs and moans as you press your lips to her soft skin. The noises she’s making send arousal straight to your aching center and you begin to grind down on her lap, desperate for some kind of relief. She starts taking off your belt with trembling, eager fingers and throws it off to the side. You reach for hers as she untucks your shirt and begins unbuttoning it as quickly as she could, leaving you in your tank top. Your lips meet hers and the kisses grow hungrier by the second, each of you becoming more and more eager to undress the other.

As you begin to unfasten Ellie’s shirt she sighs in frustration, “Jesus christ all these fucking layers are driving me crazy.”

You laugh and say in between kisses, “Gotta make you work for it Williams.” With that she rips off your tank top, and immediately begins groping your breasts over your bra. You moan into her mouth and begin to grind down onto her even harder. Ellie notices and spreads her legs a bit, moving your leg in between hers so you were straddling her thigh. Relief rushes through you as you lower down onto her muscular thigh and begin moving your hips back and forth. She reaches behind you to unclasp your bra leaving your top half bare for her. She can’t resist breaking the kiss to move her focus to your chest, taking your nipple in her mouth with a satisfied hum. A soft whine escapes your lips as her warm tongue circles your sensitive nipples. Her hands have a steady hold on your hips, encouraging you to move against her thigh, harder and faster. Yours have found a home in her hair, tugging harder and harder as your pleasure builds on itself causing Ellie to groan as arousal begins to pool in her boxers.

“Get up.” Ellie commands in a hoarse whisper that sends butterflies straight to your cunt. You climb off her and lean against the car door. The sight of you in the dim moonlight, topless with spread legs and unzipped pants, a fucked out expression on your face almost has Ellie coming right then and there. She unties your shoes and gently removes them, before grabbing the hem of your pants and tugging them down in one swift motion. She crawls between your legs and wraps her arms around each of your thighs, gently kissing a path to your dripping cunt. A wet spot had formed on your panties causing your face to become hot from embarrassment, but Ellie seemed to have a different reaction “God you’re so beautiful, it’s driving me crazy.” She begins teasing you over the fabric of your underwear, running her fingers up and down your slit. A whimper escapes your lips as a silent plea for more, but she continues teasing. She finally pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and takes a moment before gently blowing on your soaked folds.

“Please-” you manage to whimper as the cool air from Ellie’s lips hits your warm center sending a pleasurable shock through you. You would expect for her to make you beg for it, but she immediately obliged, licking a line from your dripping entrance to your clit. You gasp and grip on to her hair, searching for anything to hold on to as pleasure overwhelms every one of your senses. Ellie groans at the feeling as she begins gently licking at your clit, teasing you. The sound sends vibrations through your lower body and you moan at the feeling, now losing any control you had over the volume of your voice. She begins moving her tongue in circles over your sensitive bud as she teases your entrance with a slender finger. You let out the loudest moan yet, encouraging Ellie to plunge her finger further inside you. It slides in easily, arousal practically coating your thighs at this point. Suddenly she hits the spot causing a desperate whiny “Oh fuck,” To escape from your swollen lips as you clench lightly around her finger. She adds a second, the feeling of her two fingers causes a satisfying amount of pressure to fill your cunt. She hits a spot that you swear sends white light through your closed eyes and keeps hitting it with every rough, slow thrust of her fingers. Your hips begin to move, trying to get her to fuck you harder but she only pins your down by your waist with her free hand forcing you to endure her painful pace. “Ellie,” you whine, “please- I-“ you cut yourself off with a moan.

“What do you need sweetheart?” She pauses briefly to look at your fucked out expression and your arousal has dropped all the down her chin. The very sight almost does you in.

“Please,” you beg her in hopes she’ll spare you the humiliation of asking her.

“Mm mm,” she lightly shakes her head “words baby.” That was a much better nickname, the way she said baby made your cunt flutter around her fingers

“P-please-” you sigh before finishing “-fuck me harder pleasee.” You think that’s probably the most pathetic you’ll ever sound but Ellie obeys. She sucks your puffy clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hypersensitive nub before moving her fingers faster. She picks up speed until you can’t think about anything but Ellie’s mouth and fingers. The pace was practically inhuman, you tilt your head back as a silent scream rips it’s way through you before you moan “fffuuckk,” in a high pitched tone. She continues moving her hands rapidly in and out of you curling them at just the right angle. You begin to flutter around her fingers and she knew you were close.

“Almost there baby?” All you can do in response in moan, she has you practically incapacitated. She giggled a little “Good, come for me.” As her words reached your ears your pleasure finally hit it’s peak. You begin writing against Ellie’s fingers as you roughly clench down on them. Your pleasure rips through you in overwhelming waves, moans uncontrollably leaving your lips as Ellie’s fingers continue their brutal pace. She doesn’t let up though, she keeps going as your clit grows more and more sensitive. You tug at her hair but she doesn’t move, she continues as your hips begin bucking against her arm that was pinning you down.

“Ellie it’s too much I can’t-”

“You can take one more can’t you sweetheart?” She asks sweetly as she fucks your sensitive hole with no mercy. You just nod and she continues sucking and licking at your clit, occasionally moaning which only enhanced the overwhelming pleasure. This time you were more tightly wound up and faster. It didn’t take long before you approached the edge again, the feeling twice as intense. You almost worry as it begins to build and build, just as you thought you had reached your peak it kept going. You finally topple over the edge as Ellie’s teeth lightly graze your clit, the feeling sending you into overdrive. You tugs Ellie’s hair harder than you ever had before as you make a mess all over the seats and Ellie’s mouth and fingers. She laps it all up contently, actually backing down when you pushed her away this time. She leans back into her knees and tries to catch her breath.

A smirk grows on your face as you begin leaning towards her, “it’s your turn.”

—

Idrk how I feel about this but at least I finished it 😀👍

Reblogs and notes are always appreciated and encouraged 💕‼️

Hopefully I will start updating more but I can’t really promise anything lmao

[noirscript]

dropped call.

Yandere Hotline: 2/?

featuring: nonchalant darling, implied kidnapping | src

note: i've added this series to my ko-fi commissions! Will try to post another one later. For my birthday! Anywayssss enjoy!

It started with a drizzle, but ended with heavy rains and flooding. Some of your workmates tried to leave, but working in a company that values their clients and their employees, the guards prohibited everyone from leaving the establishment.

"It's for everyone's safety" they said, but they didn't mention anything about staying on your floor, still accepting calls from your frequent clients beyond your work hours.

You glanced at your left while waiting for another phone call to come. They were one of the newbies who were probably swayed by the expected salary and benefits from the job posting.

Their eyes were already teary and their lips was quivering as they listen to one of their clients. They probably didn't know how to handle the client's fantasy. Perhaps it was too much for them. You'll never know.

Because before the call even ended, they bolted towards the door—sobbing while wiping their tears away.

From your seat, you could hear the loud voice of a yelling man from her headphones. You shook your head before turning your attention back to your own monitor.

For some reason, there was something eerie with your line being available for almost half an hour.

It wouldn't be odd for some of your frequent callers to pester your phone with their shittiest and weirdest fantasies.

So, you decided to check your work email and internal chat. Perhaps something came up and ended disrupting your telephone line. But why is it yours alone though?

You glanced at the headphone dangling next to you. You assumed that it's no longer running, but you felt it vibrate. You turned to the screen and saw the 15-minute long phone call that's still ongoing.

As much as you want to end the call with the client, the company prohibits stealing a client of a workmate. It would disrupt the "connection" established by the previous agent.

You wanted to call the attention of your supervisor, but they always disappear just when you need them.

Running out of options, you decided to attach the jack of your headphones in her splitter.

"DO NOT IGNORE ME!"

"Hell—" You paused when you heard an all too familiar threat and voice. Beads of sweat started to form on your forehead. Of all clients, why is it him? And why is he calling another agent? That's against the rules!

"How dare you allow them to sit near you?" He asked, making your forehead crease. "Haven't you learn any lesson, huh? Why do you think nobody ever sit next to you?"

You kept your lips sealed while watching the time turned 12:00 PM. You are suppoed to leave on the dot. But you can't simply leave him hanging. He's been on the line for almost an hour at that point.

"Yulian—" you sighed, trying to keep the storyline going. "They didn't do anything wrong. They're my friends, of course I gotta help them!"

"Tch. Have I been too lenient on you?" He sighed, or perhaps puffed a smoke. The sound a tin can hitting a hard surface echoed. "I'm done."

Your eyes widened. You can't lose him! He's one of the only clients you have who's been far too generous towards you.

"S-Sir! Please!" A loud thunderclap echoed in your floor followed by the entire building being swallowed by darkness.

That's awful. You lost another client because of a goddamn power outage!

Or at least, you thought.

Because not even a week later, nobody could even remember that once there's an agent called Y/N L/N.

Incuding the administrators.

[thefallenangelsgang]

I'm losing my fucking mind

Or: I just saw Lord of the Rings the Musical at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater and my brain chemistry has irreversibly changed

I'm too genuinely scrambled at the moment from travel to make a solid post (I am multiple states away from Illinois and I hate city driving) but I cannot shake the life-changing experience that was.

SPOILERS AHEAD

(Spoiler free tldr: story is changed sometimes severely to make a sub-3hr runtime or to simplify, but the message doesn't get completely lost. Tolkien fan approved)

First issue I can see everyone having is how much the story changes because it does change a lot. Rohan and Gondor being merged is probably the most glaring. I think it works because the show is more focused on the Hobbits (specifically Frodo and Sam). Personally I can look past it. My one issue is the missing Sam monologues (mount doom is a rather swift sequence, I'd have liked to see Sam give his devotion speech and his speech about the shire while waiting to die) those would have made insane songs but alas. The ending still was a gut punch though so it's more a personal preference thing.

First thing that blew me away was the technical aspect. The lighting and set design was GORGEOUS and EVOCATIVE. There were multiple times lighting alone drew me to tears.

The puppetry is immaculate. The nazgul chase is singularly some of the most beautiful choreo I've seen and I'm a slut for puppetry

The cast play all of the instruments live on stage, sometimes while doing choreography (nothing will prepare you to see Legolas holding a fucking trumpet or Boromir strapped into a goddamn accordion)

The costuming is more accurate to the original editions' illustrations which I found endlessly charming. One difference is, for safety (probably OSHA), all the hobbits (and Gollum) wear Sandals. This is never discussed. I love that.

BOROMIR IS KILLED BY HIS OWN SWORD WHICH I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW PERFECT THAT IS NARRATIVELY

GOLLUM PLAYED BY TONY BOZZUTO IS NEARLY INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM ANDY SERKIS

(I am not joking about this. Somehow he has mastered Andy's physicality and voice work. It truly was a sight to behold.)

Saruman/Elrond's actor (dressed as a hobbit) was hanging out in our section during preshow and was having a grand old time.

Bilbo and Frodo were in the main audience bothering people. Frodo was playing a stick and ring game and got absolutely shown up by some 10 year old he invited to play.

The Entmoot took literally 2 minutes (the way I had to stop from HOWLING at that)

I was SOBBING at the end, like actually.

Somehow this production managed to keenly make me feel the ending of Frodo leaving for the Grey Havens more than the movies did. The Irony of Frodo leaving being both a hopeful prayer that there is a place where people bound with trauma and wounds too deep to heal can live in peace without pain and also a grim acceptance that sometimes people cannot recover was STARK

Frodo and Sam really push the narrative of this show up until the end and it hits HARD. God bless this cast with steady work, they all deserve it.

[passivenovember]

Billy's leg hair is soft. Like peach fuzz.

Steve touches it when Tommy convinces them to hop the pool's security fence one sweltering night in August even though Steve has a goddamn pool.

"Fuck off," Tommy says.

"Don't be a pussy," Tommy says.

"Leave him alone," Billy snaps, so Tommy does. Whatever Billy says. Always and forever.

So they go, even though Steve's got a pool and a baggie of Colorado weed at home. He thinks it might be a way to prove some sort of point, just for the thrill of it, and he almost says no, almost pussies out, until he sees the bright big smile on Billy's face, and. Well.

Steve's never claimed not to think with dick, so.

Billy's the first to go over. All teeth and bright blue eyes when he says, "I'm the one who fuckin' works here, I should scope it out first," and Tommy agrees because Billy's the pied fuckin' piper now. The King.

"You're a pal," Billy claps a hand on Tommy's neck. Squeezes. "Who's gonna get me over the ridge?"

"I will," Steve says quickly. Too quickly. Showing his ass a little, but. Fuck it. Tommy gets the smiles for operating as Billy's little fuckin' lapdog, but he doesn't get to touch Billy, Steve decides. "I'll lift you."

Billy smiles at him. Small and secret and just for them, "Alright, pretty boy. Gimmie a boost."

Tommy gets to hold Billy's cigarette and suck on the filter where those cherry red lips have been, but Steve gets to fold on one knee. Gets to feel the balding sole of Billy's sneaker press into his thigh. Gets to tangle is fingers in the thatches of hair along Billy's calf and just under the hem of his tiny green Hawkins High Phys Ed shorts, and.

Tommy's green with envy. Like Billy's shorts.

He chickens out just when Billy hoists himself onto Steve's leg, his perky little ass at eye level so they can both watch it jiggle while Billy tries to jam his sneaker toe into the chain link. They stare. Salivate. Catch each other staring and realize that they're competing for this. For Billy. Just like they did with Connie Mitchell in the first grade, and point guard all sophomore year.

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Billy may be the king now but that's only because Steve lets him. Only because Steve thinks of his dick first and only and seceded the throne in order to get at Billy's cock. Threw in the towel, y'know, small losses.

Point is, at the end of the day, Tommy's gone toe-to-toe with Steve Harrington enough to clock a lost cause when it presents itself, so.

He chickens out.

Billy gets his toe into the chain link and calls Tommy a pussy, treats them both to the fuckin' ace view of one ass cheek peeking out from the hem of his shorts before Tommy ducks across the parking lot with his tail between in his legs.

Once he's gone, Billy hops over the fence and lands grinning. Gorgeous. "Damn, been a while since I've climbed anything other than a pair of legs."

Somehow, his shirt is already off. What's left of Steve's brain goes out the window.

"Could use a swim," Billy says. The cicadas are loud as hell.

Sweat makes Steve's jeans stick to his legs. His mouth is dry. Can't goddamn take his eyes off the pink, tender swatch of Billy's nipples. "Totally," He says, lost.

"Hot out here."

"Mmm," Steve says. Losing his mind.

"Tommy took the hint. Nothin' to keep tabs on anymore," Billy tells him. He ducks, trying to catch Steve's eye. When he finally does Billy grins, slow and terrible. "You comin' over the wall, pretty thing?"

--

A skinny dip isn't the most sexual thing Steve's ever experienced, all things considered.

It's the before. The build up. Steve watches Billy undress, like a fuckin' creep hiding in the shadows with his eyes glued to the tanned curve of Billy's ass. He tugs his shorts down and Steve gets that he was commando that whole time.

Damn.

Steve mourns what could've been if Billy's balls had slipped out of his shorts instead of his ass cheek ten minutes ago, pouting until Billy turns and says, "Race me?"

Before Steve can respond Billy's tucking his knees up under himself, slamming like a canon ball into the deep.

Steve struggles out of his clothes and runs toward the water, the soles of his feet burning on the pavement where it holds desperate to the heat of the day.

And the thing about Billy is that Steve's met his match finally. Has known since that first basketball practice last year, when Billy wouldn't stop frustrating the hell out of the other players.

It's like. Everything Billy does, everywhere he goes and everyone he meets is forced out of mediocrity. Forced to be better.

So, they play horse in the darkness. They dunk each other. Race back and forth across the entire length of the pool until Billy wins, even though Steve kept grabbing his ankle to slow him down.

"Damn, princess, that was tragic" Billy giggles, hoisting himself to sit on the edge of the pool and Steve gets a peek at his cock, soft and thick between his legs. "Lucky it was just me and the cicadas here to witness that. Anyone else would laugh you outta town."

"Who would boost you over fences?"

"Tommy Hagan."

Steve snorts, "Tommy Hagan is made of hamburger meat and boxed jello. He's all mass, he'd get too excited about finally being allowed to touch you and you'd fall right through him."

Billy giggles at that, again. High and bright like a church bell, and.

The thing about Billy is that he's gorgeous. Looks like one of those old ass Greek and Roman statues, slick with water that only makes him glow incendiary in the moonlight.

Steve paddles around just for something to do. Probably looks like a fuckin' dork and Billy will never let Steve touch him again--

"Shit, you're cute when you're jealous," Billy says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Grins when he notices Steve watching him, "Could use a cigarette, Bambi. You got one?"

"No," Steve paddles toward the edge of the pool. "I think I killed a lung, anyway"

"Or two," Billy teases, spreading his thighs a little when Steve gets close enough, and.

That does nothing to help the situation. Steve's out of breath and hard at the way Billy's curls turn into lazy ringlets when they're full of chlorine. Hard at the obnoxious cut of his Superman abs. Hard at the way Billy's looking at him. So.

He can't catch his breath. His lungs burn.

Billy watches him for a moment, thoughtful, before he says, "I don't like Tommy Hagan at all."

Steve laughs. "Me neither."

"Why do you hang out with him?"

Steve shrugs, gripping the wall next to Billy's legs. "'Cause you do."

"Now that's just pathetic. Aren't you supposed to be the King around here?" Billy watches him so more and then grins, slow and terrible, "King Steve, right?"

"Ugh, shut up. I hate that."

"What, you're bored of your crown? You don't want it anymore, baby?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "No."

"What do you want then?" Billy asks. His gaze rests, heavy as a boulder, on Steve's face. His eyes burn a line down the bridge of Steve's nose, all but cutting his skull in half with their intensity.

Steve swallows. Thinks. They're sitting around naked at the public pool, for Christ Sake. Says, "I want you, Billy." and prepares for the sky to cave in around them.

Steve holds his breath.

Somewhere, behind the lifeguard station, an air conditioning unit disrupts the lazy summer air. Steve wills himself to keep steady, to stand his ground and hold Billy's gaze while a million different expressions shutter over him like sunlight.

Finally, Billy cracks. "Are you fucking with me, Harrington?"

"No," Steve says. Too quickly. Showing his ass a little but Steve thinks they may be beyond that, now. His knuckles turn white on the tile lip of the swimming pool, trying to keep the rest of him afloat, "I think. Ever since you got to town I've. Wanted you."

"Wanted me how?"

"I," Steve kicks his feet in the water, stomach swooping with lust and, fuckin'. Embarrassment. "I want--"

Billy cocks his head, considering. "Don't look like you've ever sucked anyone off, sweetheart."

"I haven't," Steve says. Feels a little like a school girl in a porn tape, looking up at Billy through his lashes while he admits to being a virgin, or something. Needing to be shown.

The thing is, Steve probably could've sucked guys off before, now that he's thinking about it. Tons of guys. Every guy on the basketball team, probably, but.

He doesn't say that.

The only guy he wants to suck off is Billy.

So.

Billy smirks at him. Mean. "No shit?" But his cheeks are pink. Strawberry.

"No shit," Steve tells him. "I want to try, though. I want--"

"--You wanna suck my cock, baby?"

Steve flushes bright red, feels flame licking at his skin. No one's ever spoken to him like that, no one's ever--

Steve nods. Wets his lips, and. Billy tracks the whole thing, leaning back on his palms so his abs jump and strain. Fuckin' asshole.

"Say it," Billy demands, voice gruff.

Steve blinks, "Say...?"

"Tell me what you want," Billy tells him slowly, "Ask. And maybe I'll give it to you."

Steve's palms slip on the tile, slick with sweat. "Can I suck your cock, Billy? Will you show me?"

Billy exhales, sharp and fast, "You want to?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Why should I let you when Tommy Hagan would--"

"Tommy Hagan would use too much teeth," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, eyebrows raised, he huffs, "Look, I said I've never sucked a guy off, not that a guy has never--"

"--Tommy Hagan sucked you off?"

"All summer between junior and senior year," Steve tells him. "Small towns are boring."

"That makes me a little jealous," Billy hums, "Why should I let you suck my cock? How do I know I'm not payback?"

"What, for Tommy Hagan?"

Billy shrugs. And Steve knows, alright? He gets it. Being an asshole is Billy's version of foreplay, but he snaps. Desperate. A little bit of a whore, but. Who gives a shit.

"Look, Hargrove, you want me to spell it out for you or something? Let me suck your dick, you fuckin' asshole, I'm not getting any younger--"

"--Gonna come in my pants if you keep talking like that, baby."

Steve swallows. "You're not wearing any pants."

Billy's smirk turns into an awful grin. He stares down at his thighs, spreading them until his cock bobs free, flushed head nodding at the moon. "Well. Would ya look at that."

It hangs in the air between them. Figuratively.

Literally.

Billy grips the base of his cock, thighs spreading until his peachy leg hair grazes Steve's pinky finger, and Steve smirks. Kicks his feet. Swallows. Kicks his feet. "Ask me nicely and maybe I'll give it to you."

Billy exhales a laugh, "You're such a bitch."

"I'd let you come inside me."

Billy groans, "Fuckin' brat."

"Guess you're gonna have to shut me up, then," Steve says, more turned on than he's ever been in his life when Billy tangles his fingers in Steve's hair to pull him through the water.

"Jesus Christ," Billy breathes, shoving his fingers in Steve's mouth and pumping them in and out, in and out just to watch his lips blow fat around the digits. "I'm gonna fuck your face," Billy says, matter of fact, "Tap my thigh if you want me to--"

"Jesus Christ, are you gonna fuck me or not?"

Billy laughs again, a little winded, and forces Steve to take him to the root. And. Okay. Steve's never taken a cock down his throat before. It's nice, Steve likes the pressure and immediately he's addicted to the way it cuts off his air supply. He relaxes around Billy's length which is a fuckin' feat, because.

Look.

Steve doesn't remember this hanging between Billy's legs at school. He focuses on breathing when he can. Some poor pool boy is gonna have to use the net to scrape his come out of the water in the morning for $3.50 an hour.

He hopes it's Billy.

Thinks he'll have to use his father's name and make some calls to get it to happen.

And. Judging by the sounds Billy can't hold in, looks like he's met his match in Steve, too.

[tacroyy]

losing my shit about the two times vimes gets slapped by a woman in the guards books (night watch and snuff; spoilers for both below). terry pratchett is completely goddamn brilliant.

both times, it's near enough to the beginning of the plot that vimes is partially convinced he doesn't know what's going on and is still information gathering (so, working a little on autopilot, although thoughts are starting to coalesce). the women he encounters show up after a watershed moment—major transformative plot points on both occasions—and both help him and help move the narrative along with the information they provide. and this is my favorite detail—he's tired both times, too, and just needs to think, because of the amount of new information he's processing.

from night watch:

"I think perhaps I lost my memory when I was attacked," he said. That sounded good, he thought. What he really needed now was somewhere quiet, to think.

"Really? Perhaps I'm the Queen of Hersheba," said Rosie [Palm]. "Just remember, kind sir. I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you, although I'd admit to a macabre fascination about how long you're going to survive. If it hadn't been a cold wet night I'd have left you in the road. I'm a working girl, and I don't need trouble. But you look like a man who can lay his hands on a few dollars, and there will be a bill."

"I'll leave the money on the dressing table," said Vimes.

The slap in the face knocked him against the wall. /end quote

and from snuff:

She [Felicity Beedle] turned to Vimes. "It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I"ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I've got a class to teach."

Vimes tugged at Feeny to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, "What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?"

The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. /end quote

vimes makes mistakes. he makes mistakes all the time, and he knows this, and pays attention to them. vimes spends a lot of time thinking about thinking (engaging in productive, internally motivated metacognition well within his zone of proximal development, my master's in teaching insists i say). he thinks about his thinking, and he thinks about other people's thinking through the lens of his own.

in both instances, vimes is coming to realizations about the true nature of things.

in night watch, this would initially seem to be more surface than deep: he's getting to physical grips with exactly when and where (and who) in the past he is; he's learning the ground, mapping, figuring things out—but vimes is also trying to settle himself back in to what he knows, and what society is in these different times, to see if that fits. plotwise, in vimes's present, the seamstresses have a guild, rights, safety, standards, rules, regulations, and even societal respect—although certainly not close to what they deserve, it's much more than what they had before vetinari made their guild a reality. but in the past, where vimes is now, the seamstresses don't have this level of security, and are subject to violence (although it is shown to be societal and legal violence [being arrested for working during their profession's peak, etc] rather than interpersonal or sexual violence [the agony aunts exist and, it is clearly stated, dispense the same justice that they do in the future, specifically to individual clients rather than to larger institutional structures]).

so, when vimes puts down rosie by making a disparaging joke about her profession—oh, you're actually not important to me or to men or to society at all; your labor is not to be respected; i got what i needed from you and will of course pay you, but in the most insulting way possible—he's not only communicating what society thinks, but a moral issue of the novel as well. night watch, after all, is about revolution: who gets to be in power, and who gets to control who gets to be in power? it's frankly revolutionary for pratchett, a mainstream english author, to treat sex workers and sex work as positively as he does (of course, his depictions are not without flaws). he makes it clear that, after all, shouldn't we view sex work as physical labor? isn't it true that anyone who is employed is engaging in physical labor? how is a seamstress really different from a "seamstress"? (it's the power dynamics and misogyny standard to western/european/american/christian society: women and sex must be controlled by the patriarchial majority, kept small and afraid and in chains.) pratchett legitimizes the seamstresses in vimes's present. in vetinari's ankh-morpork, the seamstresses have just as much power as the merchants, the armorers, the assassins—and vimes knows this, but he did grow up in the past he's in now.

in snuff, vimes's approaching anagnorisis is more obviously manifested. brilliantly, pratchett begins vimes's encounter with the goblins by talking about vimes's childhood teacher, mistress slightly, who "taught [him] how not to be afraid" and made him blackboard monitor, "the first time anyone had entrusted him with anything;" vimes thinks he'll put a bag of peppermints on her grave if he gets out of this alive. all positive, and in fact clearly transformative, praise from our hero. but vimes is in a goblin cave, and pratchett has brought up mistress slightly because vimes is remembering his first (educational, not physical) encounter with goblins. this paragraph is worth quoting in full:

"[Mistress Slightly] had one book in her tiny sitting room, and the first time she had given it to young Sam Vimes to read he had got as far as page seven when he froze. The page showed a goblin: the jolly goblin, according to the text. Was it laughing, was it scowling, was it hungry, was it about to bite your head off? Young Sam Vimes hadn't waited to find out and had spent the rest of the morning under a chair. These days he excused himself by remembering that most of the other kids felt the same way. When it came to the innocence of childhood, adults often got it wrong. In any case, she had sat him on her always slightly damp knee after class and made him really look at the goblin. It was made of lots of dots! Tiny dots, if you looked closely. The closer you looked at the goblin the more it wasn't there. Stare it down and it lost all its power to frighten. 'I hear that they are wretched, badly made mortals,' the dame had said sadly. 'Half-finished folk, or so I hear. It's only a blessing this one had something to be jolly about.'"

a near-perfect depiction, unfortunately, of the educational experience. encounter something that scares you and makes you uncomfortable, examine it with the help of a pedagogist, examine it on your own, take it apart so that you are not afraid anymore, and instead understand what it is and how it is made: that's the experience from the first word of the quote all the way until "Stare it down and lost all its power to frighten." and then, a heel-turn: your teacher shows that they completely misunderstood the lesson they were teaching—and that you, the child, understood both parts of the lesson perfectly: you absorbed the critical thinking skills and that this existing societal prejudice is, in fact, totally correct and should not be examined using the skills you just learned.

thus, pratchett has vimes, our hero, our moral center, spout the violent, ingrained, dehumanizing, incitement-to-genocide nonsense of the society in which he has been formed. vimes does this tiredly, without thinking, without making the connection between how things are and how they ought to be, missing the direct relationship of that required moral reevaluation to the case and situation at hand. and pratchett throws that directly back in vimes's face, physically. both times, pratchett says: even if you're tired, even if there's shit going down, even if your worldview is being turned upside down, even if you're in the dead middle of processing everything you've so recently learned, you cannot make the mistake of dehumanization/depersonalization. and you, of all people, have to know that, vimes. not one drop of alcohol passes your lips, not one minute after six goes by without you reading to your son, not one arrestee is subjected to even small or casual police brutality. and not one person—seamstress or goblin—is to be insulted and discriminated against and excluded from deserving to live. to do so, to make that mistake even once, is to face the immediate physical consequences of it from someone deeply and fundamentally in the know. you need the sense smacked into you.

from night watch:

"Consider that a sign of my complete lack of a sense of humor, will you?" said Rosie, shaking some life back into her hand.

"I'm... sorry," said Vimes. "I didn't mean to... I mean... look, thak you for everything. I mean it. But this is not being a good night."

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's worse than you think. Believe me."

"We all have our troubles. Believe me," said Rosie. /end quote.

from snuff:

It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeny take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.

"You are the gods' own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I'm not teaching them to be fake humans, I'm teaching them how to be goblins, clever goblins! Do you know that they have only five names for colors? Even trolls have around sixty, and a lot more than that if they find a paint salesman! Does this mean goblins are stupid? No, they have a vast number of names for things that even poets haven't come up with, for things like the colors shift and change, the melting of one hue into another. They have single words for the most complicated of feelings; I know about two hundred of them, I think, and I'm sure there are a lot more! What you may think are grunts and growls and snarls are in fact carrying vast amounts of information! They're like an iceberg, commander: most of them is where you can't see or understand, and I'm teaching Tears of the Mushroom and some of her friends so that they may be able to speak to people like you, who think they are dumb. And do you know what, commander? There isn't much time! They're being slaughtered! It's not called that, of course, but slaughter is how it ends, because they're just dumb nuisances, you see. Why don't you ask Mr. Upshot what happened to the rest of the goblins three years ago, Commander Vimes?"

And with that, Miss Beedle turned on her heel and disappeared down into the darkness of the cave with Tears of the Mushroom bobbing along behind her, leaving Vimes to walk the last few yards out into the glorious light. /end quote.