#he sounds annoyed and goes like 'okay i get it lol. rules are rules. whatever.' signs it. sends it back.

[multi-lefaiye]

sorryyyy gonna vent under the cut

torn between "this customer knows nothing about me and i know nothing about him and i'm not going to assume that there is malice in his actions because i have no reason to" and "i need to sit this man down and explain to him in detail the consequences his actions are having for me specifically and also i hate him"

(elaborating in tags)

[babyboibucky]

Project V

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You ask Bucky a favor of a lifetime.

Word Count: 4,233

Warnings: SMUT hehehe

A/N: This was supposed to be short but I enjoyed writing their banter wayyyy too much. And oh, this isn’t a friend to lovers trope lol and I have no plans for a second part to this. It is what is is for these two ;)

Edit: Will be doing ficlets for this AU every once in a while! Check out the first one linked below!

Project V Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

“You want me to what?”

Your best friend, Bucky choked on his own spit upon hearing your question. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at you in disbelief, you didn’t even know his eyes could get that big.

The sun was high up in the sky, it was barely noon and the two of you were simply walking into the campus when you asked him such favor. Bucky almost wondered whether you were drunk to even think of that.

“You want me to what?” Bucky repeated when you didn’t say anything, his elbow nudging your side as the two of you continued to walk along the pavement.

Letting out a sigh, you shrugged and repeated your favor with utter nonchalance.

“I want you to take my v-card. You know, my virginity?” You said, annoyed that he couldn’t seem to comprehend your simple request.

Bucky stopped in his tracks and tugged your shirt, pulling you back when you didn’t stop walking. His face was the epitome of confusion with his forehead creased, brows furrowed and lips open agape.

“Is there no other way for you to say that without making me cringe?” He asked.

Rolling your eyes, you groaned. “What did you want me to say? ‘Bucky, deflower me with your magic stick’?” You said sarcastically.

Bucky gagged at your words and shuddered. “But why? Why the fuck would you even consider that?” He asked. He simply couldn’t understand why.

You continued walking ahead and slowed down your pace until Bucky decided to catch up. “We’re graduating from college in less than a year and I’ve heard you boast about your bedroom skills. I don’t wanna leave college without getting fucked, Bucky. And since I’m still single and probably will be for the next few months, I put two and two and voila!”

Bucky snickered, “You gotta be kidding me.” He said.

“Why? Scared that I might find out that your dick ain’t working well?” You teased, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

He snorted, “Umm excuse me, this dick is the best dick that you’ll ever have. I just don’t want to ruin other guys for you.” He boasted, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then do me the favor.” You said, as a matter-of-factly.

Bucky turned to you with a smirk, the kind that made any girl on the receiving end, bend down on their knees for him. You were going to admit it, that look made your insides churn. In a good way.

“Oh, I’ll do you alright. When do you want it to happen?” He finally asked.

You stopped walking again and fist pumped in victory. “Friday night. At your dorm. And please, don’t make it weird with romantic gestures. I just wanna get fucked real good.”

“Well, if that’s the case then it’s a deal. Let’s shake on it to make it official.” Bucky said.

The two of you did your signature high-five to seal the deal.

-

You knocked on Bucky’s room and let out a sigh when it took him quite a while to open it. Although it was going to be your first time, you weren’t really nervous about it. Besides, you trusted Bucky and if there’s any guy you won’t regret having sex with, it would be him.

There were a few noises from inside that made you roll your eyes. The door finally opened, revealing a flustered Bucky with an awkward smile plastered on his face.

“The fuck took you so long?” You huffed out and stepped inside, surprised at how neat his dorm looked like.

His roommate Steve had always been organized but seeing Bucky’s side of the room all neat? It was a sigh to behold. You looked at your best friend with a stoic look, “Why’d you clean?”

Bucky closed the door and locked it, running his fingers through his hair as he shrugged. “I just wanted to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine, I cleaned. I didn’t want you to think I’m disgusting.” he reasoned out.

You stared at him pointedly, “I don’t care about that shit, I’m just here to get fucked. Besides, I’m used to your mess. I said don’t make it weird, jesus.”

Bucky groaned, “You asking me to fuck you is weird in its entirety. How can I not make things weird?!” He complained.

You sat on his bed and unzipped your jacket, revealing a bottle of tequila hidden beneath. “This is how we make things not weird.”

Two shots later and Bucky was finally loosening up to the idea of being the one to take your virginity. He prepared for this to be honest, forced asked Steve to stay over at Peggy’s for the weekend and worked out immediately right after formalizing the deal.

“Do we have rules?” He asked.

“We’ll stay best friends after this. No weird feelings or whatever.” You told him to which he nodded in agreement.

“And just please do your best to make my first time good.” You whined.

Bucky craned his neck and stretched out his arms, “Alright, okay. I got this.” He said. “You ready?” He asked you.

You inhaled and let out a long breath, “Yeah, okay let’s do this.”

Bucky started by leaning in, placing a hand on your neck as he did so. You were ready for a kiss but he immediately stopped before you could even close your eyes.

“Do you know how—“

“I’ve made out with guys, Bucky. Jesus christ, I’m not that inexperienced.” You explained before looking at Bucky expectantly, urging him to continue.

“Should we drink again?” he proposed, obviously still feeling awkward.

“Fuck no, I don’t wanna do this drunk. I want to remember my first time, idiot. Can you just...” you groaned. “Just kiss me?” you asked, well, more like commanded.

Bucky apologized before deciding to just go for it. Snaking his hand back to your neck, he leaned in and kisses your lips. He started off slow and gentle, trying to get a feel of how you liked to be kissed. Bucky was definitely weirded out for kissing you, his best friend that he had known since first grade. Surprisingly, you were good at kissing, like really really good and this spurred Bucky to level up by taking your lower lip in between his teeth.

A small whine escaped your parted lips, allowing Bucky to slide his tongue into your mouth. You let out another whimper when you felt his tongue on yours, your hands falling onto Bucky’s thighs for leverage.

Just as when the kiss was starting to get heated, Bucky pulled away slightly before gazing down at your chest.

“Can I touch your boob?” He asked breathlessly.

And there goes the momentum.

“Oh my god, Bucky. You sound like a fucking virgin. And that’s coming from me, an actual virgin.” You said with disappointment.

“I’m sorry! It’s just... it’s not that I find you unattractive. You’re my best friend and I just don’t want to disrespect you!” He reasoned out.

As much as you wanted to get annoyed, you found Bucky really sweet for considering that. But good god, you’ve been wanting to get fucked and respect was the last thing on your mind right now.

“By all means, Bucky...please disrespect me and fuck me because my pussy’s been wet since this morning and I’m about to explode if you still don’t do anything.” You said exasperatedly.

Your vulgar words were all that Bucky needed because as soon you were done complaining, he wasted no time to grab your face to kiss you. This time, it was all teeth and tongue and you weren’t complaining. This was the kind of performance that you were expecting from Bucky and finally he was giving it to you.

One of his hands moved to cradle your head while his other slide down to your waist, moving you to straddle his lap as he sat on his bed. You let out a soft squeal when you felt the tent in his pants rub against your crotch, causing you to grab onto Bucky’s wide shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re already hard.” You panted against Bucky’s lips.

“Yeah well, I just realized you aren’t wearing a bra.” He responded before fisting the hem of your shirt, bunching it up until you lifted your arms up so he could remove it.

Bucky wasted no time to bend forward, taking a nipple into his mouth making you moan out loud.

“Hoooly fuck, Bucky. That feels so good.” You pant, pushing your breasts forward as you thread your fingers into Bucky’s hair.

Your body trembled from pleasure as Bucky continued to lap at your breast, his hand coming up to palm the other before tweaking your nipple in between his thumb and index finger. Unknowingly, you started rutting your hips against Bucky’s crotch, seeking friction to relieve the growing throb in your core.

Bucky lifted you up off from him and laid you down on his bed as he left kisses from your neck down to the valley of your breasts until he reached your stomach. He unzipped your shorts and pulled it down together with your soaked underwear, groaning at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Fuuuccckkk...” he rasped out, nipping the insides of your thighs as he pressed them down with his palms, opening you up to him.

“Have you ever been eaten out?” He asked, nudging his nose onto the skin of your bikini line.

You swallowed hard and shook your head, chest heaving as you anticipated for Bucky’s next move. “No.” You answered breathily and threw an arm over your eyes.

“Hold tight.” It was the last thing your brain was able to comprehend because Bucky immediately licked your entrance up until he reached your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue making your toes curl.

“Ohhhh my god...” you moaned, your back involuntarily arching from the bed.

You felt Bucky’s lips curl into a smirk against your sensitive folds, almost wanting to smack his head for his cockiness. But then again, this was the reason why you wanted your first time to be with him. You’ve heard your friends share stories about how their first time went and majority ended up being either a huge let down or downright scary. You didn’t want your first time story to be like theirs so it was only right for you to ask Bucky a favor of a lifetime.

And so far, you weren’t regretting it one bit. Well, save maybe for what could happen afterwards. Whether this would affect your friendship with Bucky but right now, all you could focus on was how his tongue was skillfully fucking your cunt.

Your eyes popped open when you felt a finger prod at your entrance, your hand quickly grabbing Bucky’s wrist to stop him from further pushing a finger in.

“Wait, I’ve never been fingered.” You admitted, bringing your body up and leaning back against your elbows.

Bucky looked up at you and the scene was straight out of those female POV porn you’ve watched. His hair was sticking up in different directions, face in between your legs and his lips glistening with your juices. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head at the sight.

“You mean you never tried fingering yourself?” He asked, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss onto your thigh.

You shook your head, “I tried but it kinda hurts?” You told him meekly.

Bucky grinned before crawling up your body until his face was inches away from yours. He pressed a soft kiss on your lips. “Lay back.” He said, voice rough and low, leaving goosebumps in your wake.

Following Bucky’s order, you lay down on his bed and relax as he positioned himself on his side. He began kissing your ear, sucking your lobe as his hand went down to your pussy, spreading your lips open.

“Just relax, okay? Can’t fuck you with my cock just yet, gotta make sure you can take it.” He whispered into your ear.

Bucky started rubbing your pussy, spreading your wetness around before slowly pushing a finger in. You winced in pain, grabbing Bucky’s wrist to slow him down.

“You can take it, just relax.” He coaxed and you nodded, turning your head to kiss him.

Bucky returned the kiss, helping take your mind off of the way he was pushing in his finger until he was knuckle-deep into your pussy. There was a slight sting but bearable enough for you to let him continue with his movements. You felt his finger slide out and then back in with ease, the pain slowly transforming into a different kind of pleasure as he went on. Next thing you know, your hips were already moving to meet Bucky’s finger.

“Gonna add in another one, okay?” He breathed into your lips before biting your lower lip.

“Ow, ow, ow!” You cried out and slapped Bucky’s hand away from your pussy when he tried to insert another finger without even slowing down.

“The fuck, Bucky! Slow down, sweet jesus...” you snapped, frowning when Bucky responded with a chuckle.

“Sorry! I’m losing my patience here, I want to finger fuck you so bad.” He admitted, whispering another apology against your lips.

You relaxed and let Bucky rub your pussy again, gathering your wetness and pushing a finger in. A few more pumps and he carefully inserted another finger, swallowing the whimpers coming out of your mouth.

You stiffened a bit, biting your lip as you tried to ignore the stretch that you were feeling. “You good?” Bucky asked, waiting for you to nod before fully pushing his fingers in.

His movements were slow and careful then, helping you adjust to the stretch of having two of his fingers pump in and out of your pussy. Soon enough, you were moaning against Bucky’s lips as he increased the pace of his fingers. You could hear how wet you were and you never really thought it was possible for you to be this soaked. All the times you touched yourself, you got pretty wet...but not this wet. When Bucky said that he fingered like a god, you laughed at his face but now, fuck. He really wasn’t lying about it.

“Fuck, so tight. Can’t wait to slide my cock into your pussy.” He grunted and moved on top of you, pulling his fingers out making you whine.

He sucked his fingers while maintaining eye contact, making you blush timidly at the lewdness of his action. But god, you were so right for giving Bucky the honor of fucking you because his fingers alone brought you so much pleasure. What more if he actually started to fuck you?

“Gotta fuck you now. I’m so hard I feel like I’m about to bust a nut anytime now.” Bucky said, sitting up to remove his shirt, followed by his jeans.

He was in the process of unzipping his jeans when he suddenly stopped and looked at you, sprawled on the bed looking utterly fucked when he hasn’t even been inside you yet.

“Will you still suck my dick after I make you cum?” He asked hopefully.

You laughed out loud at his question, “You look so worried right now.” You teased. “But yes, fine. I’ll suck your cock later.” You reassured before sitting up to help him remove his pants.

Bucky then slid his boxers off, revealing his cock that you may or may not have seen in the past. It was an accident though and you didn’t meant to barge into his dorm while he was dressing up. You gotta admit, your best friend was blessed with a huge dick. And now said dick, will be the first one to enter your virgin pussy.

“Like what you see?” Bucky teased when he caught you staring as he put on a condom.

You smirked, “Actually I do.”

Bucky licked his lips as he laid on top of you, supporting his weight using his forearms as he positioned himself in between your legs. You kept your eyes on him the entire time, nodding and lifting your head up a bit to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Okay, I think I’m ready.” You whispered.

Bucky nodded too and nuzzled his face into your neck, “You sure?” He asked again.

You hummed, “Good luck and don’t fuck it up.”

Bucky lifted his head and looked at you incredulously, “Did you just...”

“Quote RuPaul before having sex for the first time? Yeah, I did.” You quickly answered.

Bucky scrutinized you, “You planned that didn’t you?”

You made a face, “Maybe.” You said, before the both of you broke into huge smiles.

Bucky laughed before kissing you again, “I fucking knew it.” He said before his face turned serious. “Ready?” he asked.

You nodded your head again, taking in deep breath as Bucky reached down to rub his cock against your pussy, making you whine. Kissing you again, Bucky lined up his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing in until you gasped out in pain.

“You wanna keep going?” He asked worriedly, seeing your frown.

You closed your eyes and nodded, “Yeah. Just...just do it slowly.” You said.

Your hands went to grip Bucky’s back, nails digging into his skin as he pushed and pushed, until he was balls deep inside you. The pain wasn’t that bad, but it did feel like you were being torn apart. The veins in Bucky’s neck started to bulge out from the way he was holding himself back.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Squeezing me so good, I think I’m gonna cum if I move.” He grunted, nosing the skin beneath your ear.

“Please don’t make this embarrassing for both of us.” You said. “You can move now.” You added.

Bucky slid all the way out, leaving the tip inside of you before pushing back in slowly. You let out a moan, both from pain and pleasure. His thrusts started off slow, helping you adjust to his girth and gauging your reaction.

One particular high-pitched moan gave it away. It was at that moment that the pain turned into nothing but pleasure and a few more languid thrusts later, you were chanting Bucky’s name and begging for him to go faster.

You felt so full and you simply couldn’t explain how good it felt getting fucked like this. Bucky kept on whispering praises into your ear, spurring you on as he thrusted in and out of you. The bed started to creak, the headboard hitting the wall as Bucky quickened the pace of his thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning his name as you felt your abdomen tighten. You could feel it coming, an impending orgasm that you’ve only been imagining. Not even your fingers rubbing your clit made you feel this way, like there was electricity running through your veins.

“Bucky, fuck...I think...” you panted, hands sliding down to grab his ass, pulling him further to you.

“Can feel it, can feel you pulsating around my cock.” Bucky panted.

Your body stilled, toes curling and vision blurring when Bucky thrusted into you at a certain angle. Just like that, you let go and moaned out loud as Bucky continued to fuck an orgasm out of you. Biting onto his shoulder, you rode out the remaining waves of your climax before laying your head back onto the pillow, watching Bucky as he followed after you, spilling his seed into the condom after a few more thrusts.

“Holy fucking shit...” he breathed out, letting his body fall onto yours.

There was a moment of silence as the both of you recovered, your pants echoing in the room. Bucky was the first to move, sliding his softening cock out of you and sitting up as he removed the condom. He went into his bathroom and disposed of it before walking back to the bed with a wet wash cloth in his hand.

“Are you still going to suck my dick?” Bucky broke the silence as he casually cleaned you up.

You lifted your head up, “Are you still hard?”

Bucky shrugged, “I can be if you want me to be.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” you simply responded.

“So, how did I do?” Bucky asked, continuing to clean you up in between your legs.

You bled a bit, but not to the point of staining his sheets thank god. When you didn’t respond, Bucky worried that you might have regretted this but instead, he found you grinning up at the ceiling like an idiot.

“The fuck you looking like that?” He asked, unable to hold back the smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed and closed your legs, wincing a bit at the soreness but quickly recovering. “I can’t believe we just had sex.” You said.

Bucky set aside the towel and laid back next to you, “I certainly hope I did not fuck that up.” He said.

You turned to your side and smiled at Bucky, “You didn’t. Thanks, Buck.”

There didn’t seem to be any tension nor awkwardness between the both of you after. It was pretty normal actually. After taking a bath, you both decided to order pizza for late dinner. More conversations took place until you both fell asleep on the same bed.

-

A series of knocks stirred you and Bucky awake. He was spooning you when you woke up, his arm wrapped around your waist while his face was pressed on the back of your neck. You thought you were dreaming but the knocks continued and a familiar chorus of voices made you and Bucky sit up in panic.

“James, honey? It’s your mom. Open up!”

You and Bucky looked at each other, “Why the fuck is your mom here?!” You whispered and frantically searched for your clothes.

You slept in one of Bucky’s shirts and a pair of panties and for some reason, you couldn’t find your clothes from last night. Bucky frantically ran around the dorm, grabbing your bag and throwing it under Steve’s bed.

“I don’t know why she’s here! She didn’t text me!” He whispered, checking his phone for any unread messages.

“James, come on now. We want to visit Y/N too so we can all have breakfast together.”

You knew that voice all too well, it was your mom’s! Bucky’s eyes widened when he heard you mom’s voice. He just took away her daughter’s virginity last night, how the hell was he going to look at her in the eyes after that?

Bucky grabbed your arm and pushed you into the bathroom, warning you to stay quiet. You were about to protest but Bucky quickly slammed the door shut. Pressing an ear against it, you listened as Bucky hurried over to the front door, opening it.

“Mom!” You heard him say before greeting your mom.

“Sweetie, did you just wake up? You look like a mess.” His mom said.

“What are you guys doing here?” Bucky asked nervously.

There were a few movements that were too near the bathroom, you almost readied yourself for a grand reveal. Fortunately, Bucky seemed to have blocked the bathroom and tried to distract his mom.

“Well, we thought of surprising you and Y/N. We missed you both. Go get dressed so we can pick her up from her dorm.” You heard your mom say.

“Ohhh I uhh...why don’t you both head out first and I can go pick her up? We’ll just meet you both somewhere.” Bucky suggested.

“Oh sweetie, I wanted to surprise my daughter at her dorm.” Your mom said.

Fuck. You were so fucked. Your mom’s gonna find out that you’re no longer a virgin and that it was Bucky who took it. The same guy she entrusted you to upon moving out for college.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t tell her we’ll be meeting you. She’s uhh...I think she might have slept over at a friend’s actually. To do a project. So she might not be at her dorm. I’ll just pick her up.” Bucky quickly explained.

Sleepover at a friend’s? That wasn’t entirely a lie. The project? Well, the task of giving up your v-card could be considered a project. So no, Bucky wasn’t lying to your mom at all.

Silence. A few more shuffling and movements here and there. You heard the front door creak. Finally.

“Oh alright, James. We’ll go ahead. Meet us at the new breakfast place two blocks away from the university, okay?” His mom said.

You heaved out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be there.” Bucky said and from the sounds of it, he seemed to be pushing both your moms out of his room.

“Make sure to pick Y/N up. I know she tends to skip out on our breakfast dates. Make sure that she’ll come, James.” Your mom warned.

True enough, you tended to bail out on your mom’s breakfast dates. Not because you don’t miss her, but because it was too early! You’ve turned her down a couple of times now so you knew what she meant. But Bucky, god. He just had to make everything into a double entendre.

And without shame, he looked into your mom’s eyes and offered her a charming grin as if he wasn’t balls deep inside her virgin daughter last night.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she does. I’ll make her come.”

-

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[poisonouswritings]

Hello, this may be a specific one and i hope that's alright for you, i apologies if it's not; but can you write headcanons for the Main3 (Felix, Sage and Anisa) with an MC who is not a native english speaker but speaks it fluently please ?

So they have a rather heavy accent (something like a french accent) and sometimes it can be hard to understand them when they pronounce certain words or even insert words of their native language when they forget how to say it in english, so it goes something like:

"have you seen ze.. how to say ? ...Le tome magique ? You know, ze book i waz readeeng earliair ?"

(also like to insult anyone that annoys them in their mother tongue, so Rime or Escell the person don't understand them but know it's probably an insult or something lol)

Thank you !

Hehe funny props to you for that anon this is a really creative one. Good job.

GN!Reader, Colored Bullet Rule (Felix, Anisa, Sage), I'm learning German so I'm gonna use a German accent

I just think it's even funnier if Astraea does not have any accent similar so every single time you speak everyone around you is like 'what the actual fuck are you saying'

You come into the dining hall "I haf been practicingkt zis damn spell fur ze last two hours-" "MC are you doing an incantation right now?" "Vhat? No, uff kourse nicht-" "It doesn't sound like any spell I've ever heard." "Did I nicht chust say zat I'm nicht-" "Should we be ducking for cover or something?" "Fick dich (fuck you)"

German curse words!

Felix is micromanaging your spellcasting and you look back at him and go 'Erbsenzähler' (aka someone who obsesses over tiny details, literal translation is 'pea counter') (affectionate) and he's just like ??? Huh????

Anisa is being woefully dismissive of Orion's shady acts and trying to defend her and whatever and you're a little frustrated with her and you go 'Anisa, schlatz ('gem'), you must schtop beingkt a gehirnverweigerer ('brain denier') (affectionate) about zis' and y'know what? She is so distracted trying to figure out what word you just used that now you guys aren't even talking about Orion. You're talking about your language.

Okay chapter 1 where Sage is being a flirty idiot in the tower instead of being like 'no wonder you have that reputation' you just mutter 'lustmolch' (someone who is sex-crazed, literal translation is 'pleasure newt') (affectionate) and he just kinda rolls with it because I think he gets called foreign cuss words a lot when he flirts with people so. Par for the course.

You could also call Sage a Schluckspecht (someone who hits the bottle too often, literal translation is 'guzzling woodpecker') but platonic and he'd agree.

You and Felix are just hanging out and being cute and Escell kinda scoffs and you look over at him and snap 'Stinkstiefel' (grouchy person, aka a 'smelly boot') (derogatory) and he's not really sure how to respond. Felix doesn't know what it means either but he's been around you enough to know it's an insult so he snickers.

You burst into the study where everyone is hanging out 'Vhat iss ze vort for... um... zat ein zingkt mitt ze kolors? Der kuchen?' "Come again, dear?" 'It iss a dessert. A, a pastry I zink? It iss ze ein you always haf fur parties.' "A pastry for parties?" 'Da.' "Cookies?" "Do cookies count as a pastry?" "Well they're from the bakery." "Not everything out of the bakery is a pastry." "What? That's the point of a bakery what are you talking about?" "There's different things. Some bakeries sell sandwiches." "Felix why in the seven hells would we be talking about sandwiches-" "It's a common bakery item!" "No it fucking isn't!" 'It's nicht a sentwich, it's-' "No a cookie is a pastry." "What?" "A cookie is a pastry. Sage is correct. For once." "For o- fuck you!" '... None uff you are beingkt helpful.'

You were trying to find the word 'cake' because it's Stella's birthday and you want to make her a little salmon cake but ultimately you just give her some smooches while the Starsworn continue arguing about whether a sandwich should count as a pastry or not because hey it has bread.

[derangedangel]

Kiss Interrupted - Klaus Mikaelson

Summary: Almost kiss, but interrupted for @idkhaylijah’s 3k followers challenge

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 3,663

Author’s Note: Watch Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist which inspired this fic... okay it’s literally the base of this fic. Also, I didn’t realize until half way through it should be under 2k... sorry lol. Also the dress description I tried to give is the dress from Anastasia when she goes to the ballet. I haven’t posted in almost a year so be gentle please. 

It was a quiet afternoon in the Mikaelson home and you were enjoying a lunch with Rebekah. These moments where rare and few. You told your friend you didn’t feel like going out so she had lunch brought to the two of you. The dining table was set up beautifully so you still felt like you were dinging at one of New Orleans’s finest restaurants. Elijah was off to the side, enjoying a new novel. 

“Dear sister, why didn’t I receive an invitation to your lunch,” Klaus asked making his presence known as he entered from his study. 

Rebecca sighed placing her raspberry lemonade down before she acknowledged her annoying brother. “Nik, if you want to go on a lunch date with Y/N, just ask her yourself,” she quipped then smirked at Klaus. 

Your eyes grew as you paused mid-fork lift at Rebekah’s statement. 

Klaus replied quickly, no one noticing you get flustered at the thought of Klaus and you on a date. “I just wanted to bond with my little sister.”

“Oh, rubbish,” Rebekah said.

After you regained your composure you spoke up. “Would you care to join us, Klaus? There’s plenty of food.”

Rebekah spoke up before Klaus could respond. “Don’t offer him anything, Y/N. He’s just trying to bother us.”

Ignoring his sister Klaus smiled at you and said, “Thank you, love, but I’ll pass.”

“See, you don’t have to be nice to him,” Rebekah said, taking another sip of her drink.

“I like your family, Beks,” you replied, smiling at your friend. “In fact, I was thinking about having a dinner for my birthday next week if you would all like to come,” you asked looking at each of the Mikaelsons in the room.

Rebekah looked at you in shock. “Your birthday is next week?! How did I not know this?”

“Well, we’ve only know each other for a little over a year and last year when it was my birthday you Mikaelsons were having one of your... wars in the quarter,” you answered Rebekah but eyed Klaus at the last part of your sentence. 

Klaus raised his hands up in defense. “Don’t blame me. Blame the witches.”

“No friend of mine’s is just going to have a bloody dinner for her birthday,” Rebekah protested.

“Rebekah, I’ve had 49 other birthdays before this one. It’s no big deal,” you said nonchalantly before you took another bite of your meal.

“You’re turning 50,” Rebekah practically screeched. 

“Yeah. I’m a vampire, birthdays really don’t mean much anymore. I’m fine with a quiet dinner. I don’t need a lot of fuss over it.”

“Oh poppycock, Y/N. Fifty is a huge deal, regardless of the fact that you’re a vampire now. I’m throwing you a party. End of discussion,” Rebekah said then wiped the side of her mouth with her napkin and preceded to get up.

“You really don’t ha-,” you began to say but Rebekah interrupted you.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. The party is already in motion. And you deserve it.”

Elijah finally spoke up from his quiet corner, flipping the page in his book as he spoke. “There’s no use in fighting it, Y/N. Once my sister has plans for an event in her head, there’s no stopping her.”

You sighed, “Fine, do what you must Rebekah.”

“Fantastic,” Rebekah said clasping her hands together in joy. “And you won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll start planning right now.”

                                                        ~.~

A few days later, you were once again at the Mikaelson home. It started to feel like you were there more than you were at your own place. But as a vampire, you had nothing but time and wanted to spend it with people you cared about. 

You sat at the kitchen counter while Klaus poured you some blood.

“How’s the party planning going,” Klaus asked making eye contact with you as he finished pouring. 

“I wouldn’t know. The only thing Bekah asked me about was a guest list and colors. She told me to come over this morning and that’s all I know.”

“I suppose she’s staying to true to the part about you not having to worry then,” Klaus said. He poured himself a glass of blood as well, but was standing on the other side of the counter. You were happy with the distance. For the past few months, something was brewing between you and the hybrid. You tried to ignore it. It was wrong. Klaus was Rebekah’s brother. He had a daughter to worry about and a city to rule. Not to mention, you knew he was trouble. It was best just to be strictly platonic with Klaus.

“I wish that were the case. From what I’ve seen, she’s going all out. A huge ball, which is completely unnecessary. And, no offense, but I’ve heard whenever you Mikaelsons throw a ball, something bad goes down.”

Klaus took a sip from his glass and titled his head. “In our defense, when we through a ball, it’s usually a ploy to find out what the wolves, witches, or other vampires are up too, or stake our claim in a new town.”

“So your record of successful, nondeath having balls would be?”

Klaus paused and thought for a moment. “None.”

“See,” you shouted pointing out the potential problem with your birthday party. 

A small smile graced Klaus’s face as he shook his head. “I’m sure your birthday will be the exception to that record.”

“How do you know,” you asked worried. Klaus began to move closer to your side of the counter. 

“No one would dare ruin a ball in your honor,” Klaus answered in a slightly serious tone.

“Okay, but how do you know that? Things have been pretty good for your family lately. And what would be a better time to strike than at a ball?”

“I wouldn’t allow anything to ruin your night. I’ll make sure the entirety of New Orleans knows not to try anything on Saturday night. They can burn down the city on Sunday for all I care, but I’ll rip their throats out if they try anything on Saturday,” Klaus replied. Somehow in your worriedness over your party, Klaus ended up right in front of you. 

You chuckled at Klaus’s statement. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.”

The two of you stared at each other in silence. Klaus could hear your heart pounding in your chest and you knew it from the way he smirked. He glanced down at your lips and you swallowed out of nervousness. He began to lean in slowly and you knew what was coming. You wanted this to happen. You had imagined how Klaus’s lips would feel against your own and it was finally about to happen. Forget your hesitance about why you should just be friends. You wanted him.

Your eyelids fluttered closed but then the two of you jumped apart at the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Y/N,” Hope shouted excitedly. 

“Hope,” you replied just as excitedly trying to ignore the pit in your stomach from almost kissing Klaus.

“Aunt Beks told me all about your party and I was wondering...,” she started then lingered hoping you would get the hit before she even had to ask.

You nodded smiling at the teenager. “Yes, Hope, you can invited whatever boy you have in mind.”

“Thank you,” she said eagerly as she hugged you.

“Boy?” Klaus perked up from where he now stood behind the counter again. “What boy?”

Hope looked to her father, but you spoke up before things had to get awkward between the lovestruck teenager and her overprotective father. “Oh Klaus, let the girl bring a date. It’s my party and I’m allowing it.”

“Well she’s my daughter,” Klaus replied.

“And it’s my party,” you said, eyes gleaming at Klaus. You had a sort of confidence at the fact that Klaus was going to kiss you. A boost in your ego if you will. “You wouldn’t deny the birthday girl what she wants on her birthday, would you?”

Klaus leaned over the counter smirking at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled back knowingly at him. 

You were a little lost in Klaus’s eyes so you didn’t initially notice when Rebekah entered the room.

“Alright, we’re already getting a late start. We’ve got to get moving, Y/N,” Rebekah said.

You turned away from Klaus to face your friend. “A late start on what, Bekah?”

“Dress shopping,” Rebekah said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. We have to find you a gown and have a seamstress tailor it to you. You have to look absolutely flawless on Saturday. I want it to look like you were born in that dress.”

You sighed closing your eyes to prepare yourself for the long day you knew you were about to have. Granted, you loved an extravagant gown and didn’t usually have a reason to wear one. But you knew Rebekah in party planning mode wasn’t going to be easy to deal with. “Fine, let me grab my bag and we can go.”

“Can I come too,” Hope asked looking between you and her aunt.

“Of course,” you smiled, happy to bring a buffer between you and Rebekah. 

                                                        ~.~

You were currently in your fourth dress. “Rebekah this is Hopeless.”

“I’m literally right here,” Hope said being cheeky.

You scowled at her joke and turned in the mirror. “I’m not loving any of these dresses. And this is our second store!”

“Be patient, darling,” Rebekah said as she went though another rack of dresses. “The prefect dress is here somewhere. Well, at least the perfect last minute dress.”

“Oh and speaking of last minute,” you said, stepping off the podium that was in front of the mirror, “I don’t have a date. How am I supposed to go to my own birthday ball dateless?”

“With the party I’m planning and the guest who will be trying to schmooze with you, you won’t even have time to entertain a date. And I’ll be busy on hostess duty so when I’m not with Marcel, you can dance with him.”

“Oh joy,” you said sarcastically turning on your heel. 

“And I’m sure one of my brothers will be loitering around somewhere. You can dance with one of them,” Rebekah said nonchalantly. Good thing she was busy looking at dresses or she would have seen your checks grow hot at the thought of dancing with Klaus. 

You walked over to another rack of dresses hoping to find the perfect one for your party. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it. The perfect, show stopping, all eyes on you dress you had been searching for.

“Beks... I found it.”

Rebekah approached you and saw the dress you were holding so delicately in your hands. “You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

“I don’t need too. I already know.” You held the dress up to your body feeling the velvet material against your skin. “You think this is how brides feel when they find their wedding dress?”

Rebekah sighed, “I wouldn’t know.”

                                                            ~.~

After what felt like the longest week of your life, it was finally the night of your party. Rebekah made sure everything was taken care of, including having someone to do your hair and makeup. She even pulled out some old diamonds to go with your outfit. She mentioned something about a duchess owning them once, but your were to busy being blinded by the extravagant necklace to care. 

“Alright, the guest are starting to arrive,” Rebekah announced as she came into her room witch was your designated dressing room for the night. 

“Great! I’m ready,” you said standing up from your spot in front of the vanity. 

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere yet.”

“Why not,” you asked highly confused.

“You have to make an entrance! And you can’t do that with only ten people here,” Rebekah answered like you were out of your mind for even considering going down stairs.

You sat back down sighing. “So how long do I have to wait?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“What? But I’m ready now and-,” you began to say but Rebekah cut you off.

“No buts. You’ll thank me for it later when you see all those adoring people fawning over how incredible you look.”

“Fine,” you said crossing your arms over your chest. “Whatever.”

Thirty minutes later exactly, Rebekah returned and told you it was time. You left her room then waited for her to properly announce you before you made your way to the top of the stairs. She was right. It felt good to have everyone awing at how amazing you looked. You began to descend the stairs careful not to fall. Once you made it a few steps down, you saw Elijah ascend the stairs. Once he reached you, he held out his hand to escort you the rest of the way.

You smiled to the partygoers but spoke to the noble Mikaelson. “Thank you, Elijah. I was nervous I would tumble down these stairs then have to abruptly end the party out of embarrassment.”

Elijah kept his eyes forward as he lead you down the final steps. “You are more than welcome, Y/N. We couldn’t have the birthday girl enter her own party without a proper escort.”

You turned and smiled at him once you reached the bottom of the stairs. “We couldn’t,” you said then reached up to peck Elijah on the cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw Klaus scowl at his older brother. 

The party was going smoothly. Rebekah did an incredible job and was a great hostess. Every passing minute, you worries about a potential Mikaleson threat ruining the night faded away. You danced with Marcel twice, and Elijah excused himself from Hayley to dance with you. Hope was having a wonderful time with her date, and as far as you could tell, Klaus hadn’t threatened the young man at all. Speaking of Klaus, you hadn’t seen much of him the whole night. 

The live band Rebekah hired switch to a new slow song and you quickly recognized the instrumental ballad they were playing. 

“I love this song,” you said softly to yourself. 

“Pardon me,” you heard a low accented voice say from behind you and you turned.  

“Would the birthday girl care to join me for a dance,” Klaus asked, his hand outstretched to you.

You tried to control you smile, but it grew wide and bright. “I’d love to,” you answered, then placed your hand in Klaus’s.

Klaus walked you to the dancefloor then slowly wrapped his hand around the small of your back and raised your join hands together.

“It’s about time you spoke to me tonight,” you said, being the first to break the silence. “I was beginning to think an enemy crashed my party and you were handling it.”

“I spent the past week threatening every supernatural creature within a 500 mile radius so that very thing would not happen,” Klaus said. 

Klaus was light on his feet. Elijah danced very formally. His steps were calculated. Marcel’s steps were more on the modern side. He danced to more upbeat songs with you. Saving the slow ones for Rebekah, so he could hold her close. Klaus was... smooth. You could tell he had the same classical dance style as his older brother, but he wasn’t as focused on making the next perfect step. He was graceful, but carefree. 

“Please forgive me for not finding you earlier to tell you how ravishing you look,” Klaus said making you blush and look away from his piercing eyes. Although it felt like Klaus was ghost for most of the night, his eyes didn’t leave you wherever you went in the room. From the moment you entered the party, his eyes were glued to you. He was jealous he didn’t get to help you down the stairs. Your navy dress fit you like a glove. The sparkles on the cape-like feature always hit the light just right so you couldn’t be missed. He wished you weren’t wearing gloves so he could feel the velvet soft skin of your hand against his.

“Thank you. It was all Rebekah honestly,” you said then looked back up into Klaus’s eyes, “she put all this together. I just picked out the dress.” 

“No,” Klaus said softly shaking his head at you. You tilted your head in question at his response. “Do not give my sister the credit. Yes, she may have helped with your hair and the makeup, but even without that, you would still be breathtaking.”

After that compliment you were sure you would have a permeant smile on your face for the rest of the night. You didn’t know how to respond to Klaus’s sweet words. Your hand that was placed on his shoulder gently went to the nape of his neck. You moved in closer to him so your chests were now pressed against each other. Klaus’s grip around your waist tightened. There was a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. He began to lean down and your eyes fluttered shut.

“May I have everyone’s attention,” Rebekah’s voice boomed around the room without the need for a mic in her hands.

The bleak feeling of disappointment overtook you and Klaus as you pulled apart. Your hand glided down his arm, wanting to remain touching him in some way. 

“If the birthday girl would please come to the front so...”

                                                         ~.~

The party was basically over now. Just a few stragglers left. Everything went off without a hitch. You couldn’t have asked for a better night. Well, there was one thing you could ask for.

“Klaus?”

Klaus was alone on the balcony. Typical dramatic Mikaelson. 

He turned when you called his name. Your silhouette was perfect against the night sky. “Shouldn’t you be inside entertaining guest,” Klaus asked.

“I’m all party-ied out now,” you said then chuckled. A short breeze came by making you shiver as you reached Klaus near the railing.

“Here,” Klaus said, taking off his suit jacket and placing it over your shoulders. His hands lingered on you arms. “You should be inside.”

You tried to ignore the thud of you heart against your rib cage so you could speak. “You should be inside, too,” you pointed out, seeing as he was outside before you.

“Thousand year old hybrid here, love,” Klaus said smiling down at you. His hands left your arms and were now in his pant’s pockets.

“Fifty year old vampire here, Nik,” you stated being a smartass. 

Klaus shook his head as he laughed. “I think I may have you beat by a few hundred years.”

“Yeah, well, I should be fine out here as long as you’re here,” you said turning to the balcony, no longer looking at him.

There it was again. That warmth he felt when he was around you. It was like sunshine after a long and dark snowstorm. He felt light, at ease with you.

“You will be,” Klaus said. You turned your head to look at him and he was smirking at you. 

You felt nervous and giddy at the same time. Like a high schooler texting a new crush.  “What,” you asked smiling at him.

“You...,” Klaus said, his eyes trailed over your body. “You’re remarkable. I’ve done a countless amount of horrible things, but somehow, I’ve gotten the chance to know you... and you’re incredible.”

Your nerves were getting the best of you. Once again, you tried your best to control you smile, but you face was getting hot. “Klaus...,” you mutter, his name coming off your lips like a secret you wanted to keep for yourself. You nudged him lightly with your hand in a playful matter, but he grabbed it. His eyes serious on you.

He pulled you in closer. Your eyes searching his face for an answer to the thousands of questions that were going through your head. Suddenly, he let go of your hand and walked away. You were shocked to say the least. Blinking back utter confusion. 

Klaus walked up to the balcony doors and shut them. He turned around and faced you, a devilish grin on his face. “So we don’t get interrupted this time.”

Your shoulders relaxed as you smiled. Your sudden confusion melting away and turning to joy. “Good thinking.” 

Klaus took wide steps towards you, meeting you most of the way as you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulders once he reached you. His hands gripped your waist. His lips finally collided with yours. No interruptions. No worrying about what other people would think, or reasons why this could be a bad idea. Just you and him.

It was a good thing that the two of you were already dead, because the kiss was heart stopping. You removed your gloves earlier in the night, so your delicate hands were roaming through his hair as the kiss grew more intense. 

A flame ignited in Klaus’s chest from your touch. Your kiss was intoxicating and he knew he would never get enough. Why did he wait so long to do this again?

Klaus pulled back just as breathless as you. His hands rested respectfully on your lower back, while one of your hands was on his chest and the other in his hair. 

“Happy birthday, Y/N, ” Klaus said softly. 

In you post kiss daze you replied, “huh?”

“It’s after midnight,” Klaus explained. “You’re party was on Saturday, but now it’s Sunday. So it’s officially your birthday.”

A warm feeling grew in your tummy. This man already knew you so well. “Thank you,” you said gleaming up at him. You were already in deep with Klaus. There was no turning back now.

“You’re welcome, love,” Klaus replied. His hand now cupping your cheek as he gazed into your eyes. 

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

[clumsyclifford]

ok hello i absolutely love all ur fics, you’ve just got a certain quality in ur writing that is just… mmm. yeah so anyway, do you have any advice on how to improve or just how to write?? (especially fic cause personally i struggle with that more than original stuff??)

hello!! that is very kind of you to say thank you <3

advice on how to write. oh boy. oh man. well i can try. i will do my best. i will also try to be brief but we all know how that song goes

update from having finished answering this: alright. okay. this is not only long, but decidedly english teacher-y. i’m sorry that i am the way that i am. this is what you get for asking a leo for writing advice. am i joking? maybe. maybe not. anyway. this post got away from me in a big way so here’s a read more. warning: LONG post under the cut.

1. study your characters. for RPF like the band stuff i write, that literally means watching interviews, watching them perform, seeing how they interact with each other, picking up on their mannerisms (behavior) - what they do with their hands, if they repeat themselves or stutter when they talk, the quality of their voice when they're talking about different things, and so on. also keep track of things they mention a lot in interviews especially about each other - for example jack has mentioned before that alex has an annoying habit of twirling his hair when he zones out. that kind of thing. IMPORTANT NOTE!: you don’t have to use all of this information. just like studying for anything, you collect all the information you can and then you parse through it and use whatever you think will contribute or be relevant to your story.

2. remember that characters are people. or at least they’re representing people, which is an important distinction (see #3). still, considering that your characters are people can be a helpful way to get out of your head. see, characters are supposed to be archetypical, and fulfill a role, and say certain things in certain ways and never really deviate from that. but people are highly unpredictable and behave in random ways for random reasons and have thought processes that are unfathomable. people will just do fuckin’ whatever. if you’re worried that your characters aren’t behaving in a believable way, keep in mind that you’re trying to make your characters represent people, and people’s behavior is justifiable any number of ways. people just do shit.

3. remember that characters are not people. sike! no but seriously, this is just as important to remember. unfortunately, no matter how hard you try, characters are never going to be people. that’s a good thing for stories, though. characters can pick up on nuance in senses that people can’t - they can distinguish between different facial expressions, different smells, different sounds - BUT ONLY INSOFAR AS IT MOVES THE STORY ALONG. in other ways, characters are ridiculously oblivious. you can use this to your advantage. in fact, a lot of the time, you have to. if your character notices right away that someone is flirting with him, then you can’t write a 30k slow burn, for example. characters don’t do that thing humans do where they go “what?” but then halfway through the re-explanation they register what’s been said. pretty much everything characters say has meaning. (by this i don’t mean semantic meaning, i mean significance - characters don’t really just say “what?” because they didn’t hear what someone said, they say “what?” because they can’t believe it or they don’t understand it or they refuse to understand it. characters never seem to run into the didn’t-hear-them problem. must be nice.)

characters can do whatever you want or need them to do, because you’re in charge of them. (sometimes this doesn’t feel true - mine do all kinds of shit and i just have go “well alright then” - but it is true.) they are gears in a story. you decide when and how they turn.

4. dialogue is your friend. i am super super biased here, because i looove writing dialogue. if you talk to sam about this i’m sure she would say that description and narration are the ways to go. but you came to me, so i get to say that dialogue is god. i don’t want to say that dialogue is the only method of communication (i know nonverbal communication is real), but dialogue is the fastest and most effective method of communication, and by extension, the most effective way to advance relationships between characters. now. obviously there are exceptions. if characters are kissing, they’re probably not doing a lot of talking. if they’re trying to be undercover or discreet, they’re more likely to rely on gestures and facial expressions than speaking. if you’re writing a very peaceful scene, you might not want to undercut it by adding a lot of chit-chat. but i maintain that dialogue is the best way to move a story along, for a few reasons. 

first, at least for me, too much description is just tiring. depending on how skillful the writer is (sam), i can read a fair amount before i hit my limit, but unlike in mean girls, the limit DOES exist. you don’t want to over-describe the world (see #5). second, i find that dialogue is a really really good indicator of a person’s character. this is especially true and relevant in fanfiction, which is a lot more character-driven than original fiction in many ways. also, in a sec i’m gonna talk about showing [not/and] telling, which is every english teacher’s bitch, but dialogue is a really good way of showing who a person is and also a good way to establish facts about the universe. you could just narrate and be like “Jack hated waking up early,” and that works and in many cases it’s perfectly legit. but you could also do something like this:

“What the fuck,” Jack mumbled, still half asleep. “You better have a really fucking good reason to be waking me up this early. Like someone better have fucking died.”

and sometimes that’s just a more fun way to say it. (for the record you can also show AND tell here! there’s no reason why you can’t have this line of dialogue and then a line in the narration confirming how very much jack is not a morning person!)

the last reason why i am particularly fond of dialogue is because i am also particularly fond of communication, which is a preference thing. let’s face it, guys: characters aren’t gonna communicate if they’re not literally actually talking to each other. dialogue means talking to each other. talking to each other means solving problems, fixing (or creating) conflicts, understanding each other better. i love communication, ergo, i love dialogue. And You Should Too. 

5. describe the world, but don’t over-describe. i opened this fic earlier and it was like “jack was excited to wake up to go to his first class at the university of baltimore” and i just. i was like is this really relevant. do i really need to know this. and i never found out because i closed the fic but in my defense it was on wattpad and i had only opened it out of curiosity. look. there are three ways to use details in fic. (a) introduce them right away (b) introduce them when they become relevant or (c) don’t introduce them at all. let me give you some examples. 

(a) say your character A (i’m using jack because i’m used to him) wakes up. he’s in his room in his house off-campus. character B (rian) walks into the room. this might be a good time to explain that rian is his housemate. to that point: “show not tell” is a good rule, but sometimes “show and tell” is just as good. e.g.: 

Rian walks in, holding Jack’s Green Day shirt and looking irritated. That’s really nothing new; Rian looks irritated at Jack roughly once a day. Being housemates for a year will do that to a friendship.

boom, now you’ve let everyone know they live together without throwing it in their face, and you’ve also told everyone that these two guys are friends and have been friends for at least a year but probably longer. you showed it by having rian walking in holding jack’s shirt - usual housemate behavior - but you also told it in a subtle way that established the relationship and some kind of history between these two. well done.

(b) sometimes you want a certain detail to make an impact. this is the kind of thing you hold onto and don’t specify, and in certain cases you leave the reader wondering, “well what about x?” and then when you finally explain x they go ohhhhhhhhhh. yknow. the italicized oh. consider the following:

(A)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says, referring to Jack’s ex-boyfriend of last year.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

Rian gives Jack a look. “First of all, that’s not true, he’s incredibly smart. And second, I’m telling you as a courtesy, because I thought you might not want your ex-boyfriend hanging around our house after he broke your fucking heart.”

(B)

“Alex is in my bio class,” Rian says.

Jack frowns. “So? Why should I care?”

“He’s my lab partner,” Rian says. “I have to spend a lot of time with him.”

“I don’t care what you and Alex do,” Jack says. “But you should know he sucks at bio.”

Rian gives Jack a look. “First of all, that’s not true, he’s incredibly smart. And second, I’m telling you as a courtesy, because I thought you might not want your ex-boyfriend hanging around our house after he broke your fucking heart.”

the only difference between these two excerpts (which i just wrote lol they’re not from anything real) is that the second one doesn’t explain who alex is right away. that makes it way more interesting when rian reveals who alex is a few lines later. magic.

(c) take this college au that we’ve established here. where does it take place, you ask? easy answer: it doesn’t matter. you don’t need to say what school they’re at. this will make your job easier, because then no one can fact check you, and it also means you don’t have to decide what school they’re at. but even if you do decide, it’s not usually necessary to say. believe me, you can go thousands of words without ever needing to specify what school they’re at. you know why? because it doesn’t matter. and no one cares. and as soon as you specify in canon that they’re at a particular school, you are bound to be accurate to everything that school does, and that makes your job way more difficult than it needs to be. as hazel once said, work smarter, not harder. 

6. adverbs are also your friend. (yknow, words that describe verbs, typically ending in -ly, like “loudly” or “angrily” or “smoothly”.) ESPECIALLY when it comes to dialogue tags. (dialogue tags are the things you add to dialogue to say who’s talking and how they’re talking - like “he said” or “he whispered” or “he earnestly explained” or whatever). a lot of the writing advice you’ll see nowadays will usually guide you away from overusing dialogue tags other than the classic “says/said” and i STRONGLY concur with that advice. things like yelled, cried, mumbled, snapped - these are very good in moderation, when you’re really trying to emphasize the way a person is speaking. the more you use them, the less impact they have. in most cases, a simple “he said [adverb]” will do. instead of “he snapped” consider “he said curtly/sharply/coldly.” instead of “he mumbled” consider “he said quietly/clumsily/softly.” I WANT TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THESE ARE NOT DIRECT SYNONYMS. every word has a nuanced and slightly different meaning and that is the BEAUTY of the english language!!!! all i’m saying is that in many cases, a verb can be replaced with an adverb to achieve roughly the same effect, without making the reader feel like they’re scanning a thesaurus.

and speaking of a thesaurus: it’s not cheating to use outside resources like thesaurus.com to help you come up with words. i fuckin love thesaurus.com. i use that shit all the time for everything. i use it when i’m writing emails. i used it just now to write that last paragraph. thesaurus.com is your BEST friend.

7. grammar. (and spelling but that’s really a given.) unfortunately if i tried to teach you all of the essential rules of grammar this post would exceed tumblr’s previously-nonexistent word count limit. so i’m not gonna teach you any of them. this is just a general point to suggest that if/when you’re writing, have someone you trust, with a good grasp of grammar, look over it. of course it doesn’t have to be perfect or AP style or anything like that. readers will overlook a certain amount of grammar mistakes and every reader has a different threshold. but in general, as a grammar geek and former journalism editor-in-chief, i have a duty to my grammurai code to preach the importance of grammar in writing. good grammar does not necessarily mean good writing and vice versa, bad grammar does not necessarily mean bad writing, but bad grammar makes good writing a lot harder to read, and in some cases will even obscure your actual meaning. so please, have someone read it. for the record this is me offering up my services. i am very good at fixing grammar. i have lots of weaknesses in writing but grammar is one of my strengths. please prioritize grammar. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

***

okay so now that i’ve said all of this shit and pretended to be an expert and embodied everyone’s tenth grade english teacher, let me add one very important disclaimer:

none of this is always relevant.* writing is an art, not a science. you are never going to be following all of the rules, all of the time. you shouldn’t. it’s good to know the basics of constructing a plot, establishing a character, showing and/not telling, moving the story along. but a lot of this advice is really subjective and heavily influenced by my writing experience and habits and tendencies and preferences, and those are simply not generalizable to the world. i am a sample size of one and science dictates that that means my results cannot be statistically significant. i am just some guy. earlier i said you don’t want to over-describe the world. but maybe you do! maybe you’re really into worldbuilding and you want people to know what they’re getting into. maybe you’re like sam, and you just don’t feel as confident in your dialogue skills but you love painting word pictures. i said that adverbs are your friend, but maybe you just prefer to use verbs. maybe you don’t want ANY dialogue tags and you want the reader to interpret the dialogue based on context and content. i said that characters aren’t people and they won’t behave like people, but maybe you’re trying to write hyper-realistic characters. maybe you’re just going for believability over narrative. WHATEVER. the point is, rules are made to be broken. no one is going to have The Answer for How To Write Good because there isn’t just one answer. every single writing rule has exceptions and you can be that exception as many times as you want.

*except grammar. grammar is fucking always relevant.

i hope any of this advice was helpful to you, even though i english teacher-ed the fuck out of it. and for what it’s worth, i approached this as if you were a relatively novice writer, but i know absolutely jack shit about your writing prowess and experience and habits. so maybe you already know all of this and none of what i’ve said is helpful at all. if you have a more specific problem, i would be happy to try and help. if you’re hoping for more specific feedback, i’d have to read something of yours first - but again, happy to try and help. i don’t know if you can tell but i loooove writing and english and grammar and all of this shit and it would be my honor. i have now spoken so long that james madison himself is begging me to shut up so i’ll stop here but thank you for coming by and giving me the opportunity to expatiate a shit ton. and GOOD LUCK i forgot the most important advice of writing which is HAVE FUN LOVE WHAT YOU WRITE AND WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE OKAY BYE

[leapyearkisses]

For the director's cut: Could you do Nice Work If You Can Get It? (Eliseo/Padgett)

That fic... Changed me. I'll never forget it TBH.

Yes, I'd be happy to! This one was really fun to write, and it was the beginning of two OCs I am very fond of now (and who I am happy to know made an impression on quite a few people!).

(If anyone enjoys this director's cut thing and wants to see one for another of my stories, ask away. I had a lot of fun!)

Commentary in bold below the cut! NSFW, mess, deliberately sneezing on people, m/m

This story started from a prompt about one character hiring someone to get them sick. An intriguing idea!! But it was one I actually struggled with finding a groove for when I started out. I actually started a few different scenarios with different character dynamics before I figured this one out. I have a 2600-word WIP of a different version of this in my "unfinished" folder.

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

I can't really write fetish porn without including actual porn lol, so from the beginning it was sexy even without the snz. In this version, the POV character is Eliseo, who is the "naive" character in a way. I pretty much write pairs where one character has the fetish and their partner does not but is indulgent. The one with the fetish is usually embarrassed about it or somehow naively realizing they like this weird-ass thing. Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek.

Padgett is the confident character, and he brought the humor to this scenario! Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. Padgett surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and he almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" he said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah--

"A ghost in the window" eehhh this is kind of overworked. I like to write descriptively even when it isn't necessary. "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it.

I had never written anything quite this scandalous as it were. There hadn't been a lot of snzfic I had read where there was direct, purposeful contagion like this or quite so much mess description directly on the skin, the face even. So I was sweating while writing this lol. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?"

CONSENT IS THE SEXIEST THING. We get this instinctual edge of revulsion from Eliseo because he has not acknowledged to himself that he likes snz yet and also he has never allowed anyone to do this to him before because why would anyone do this? Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing one more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly.

I think artists often point out how funny it is that when they're drawing they mimic the face of the character. I do this with sneeze sounds (IF I'M ALONE). I tend to like softer sounds for my characters, so a lot of sibilance creeps in. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony.

Eliseo is a card. I love him. Of the two of them he is much more my preferred "type." He is similar to my mage character Llewellyn but less fussy. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing. What absolute drivel.

There's a little "my lord" up there before, but this is kind of where the setting is characterized - Eliseo is a noble and this is a time and place where nobility matters. However, it's also anachronistic, because germ theory is a thing. They're kind of in a pseudo Regency/Victorian world where I just write whatever feels like the most fun. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough. Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it."

People with shitty immune systems are my jam. Even if it's really unlikely, I love it. Sometimes especially if it's unlikely. Like mister high elf Llewellyn, or if they're a god or angel or something. Or in a world where if you had that bad of an immune system you probably would have died of diphtheria or pneumonia by now. "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was. Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help."

After consent, MESS is the sexiest thing. That's just how it goes. I don't make the rules. Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look.

I wasn't sure where this came from either. But suddenly they were in love and I was cool with it. Eli btw is pronounced like the name (Ee-lye) but Eliseo is pronounced Ell-ee-zay-oh in my mind. It's of Latin origin and means "God is my salvation" according to that authority Babynames.com lol. Padgett means "attendant" so that was chosen partially because he's Eliseo's employee but also because Padgett is just a SUPER English-sounding name. I really enjoy looking up name meanings and representing different traditions in my characters. I tried to give Eliseo's family members Latin names, too, although they're not mentioned here. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah-- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze.

Sometimes you just have to stop writing for a second and drink some cold water or something. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp.

Fingers tightening fitfully in a sheet is a thing I love to describe. If you binge-read everything I've written, you will find that I write snz and sex in a very particular way over and over. Because that's what I like! And I'm super glad readers like it as well! But I can basically only find the motivation to write what I enjoy (when I write at all... .__.), which is why I only write m/m or nb characters and such. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air.

SCANDALOUS "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air.

Wow, lol. I have a great imagination. I wish I could make myself write more often. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers.

Also the first time I wrote anything like this, but Eliseo was like go big or go home, so. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again.

Huahaha Eliseo can have an unrealistic refractory period. I don't really give a shit how accurate this stuff is when it would get in the way of the enjoyment. Not to the point where people are just going in without lube or something crazy like that, but being willing and able to go again is just sexy, so that's fine. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

And then they DEFINITELY banged. I hadn't conceptualized their specific history together at this point, but Eliseo and Padgett were FWB while younger, so the "surprise" at meeting again like this in a sexy fashion is more like "Oh, are we doing this now, as adults with drastically different social standing?" and less "Hey, are you into me??"

I got more than one request to write the direct sequel to this, but I dunno. I usually prefer one character in the pair to be the one who is sneezing, and writing Eliseo sick isn't as fun. Partially because I'm much, MUCH more interested in the shy/embarrassed/"voyeur" dynamic, so someone who gets off on their own sneezes really does nothing for me. I do have a WIP of Eliseo sick that is a direct sequel to Carriage Shenanigans, but I have no idea if it will ever get finished.

Thanks so much for the request for this very fun exercise!

[lizhly-writes]

i do not have anything very new for you this week.  i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite.  i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her.  to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long. 

Why’s it so fucking loud.  Who’s screaming bloody murder in here?  Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better.  If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed?  You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair.  It better not be vomit.  Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me.  “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes.  Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really?  Wow!  Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.  Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar.  Did I get run over by a carriage or something too?  I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.  

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that.  Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it.  The aesthetic here is… really something.  Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now.  I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over.  No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right.  If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me.  Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something.  Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is.  Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose.  Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice.  Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face.  The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes.  Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull.  It’s a wonder he still has them!  Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt.  Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him.  But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid.  You might have a concussion.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.  A lot.”

…Hmm.  

“Am I?” I say.  I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah.  My fingers come away red.  

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound.  Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed.  Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say.  “Lil later, then.”  After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch.  Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though.  He ain’t wrong.   I know how head wounds work.  But those rules on what to do with them?  That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please.  Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.  

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of.  So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever.  Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?  

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand.  Real fancy, real nice to look at.  Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to.  Nice little add-on, this.  I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power.  Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do.  That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.  

The face he’s making is probably hilarious.  It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that.  If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm.  How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin.  And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.  

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth.  “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot.  I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it?  It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order.  The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear.  Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying.  There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for.  It should be gone.  Is it not physical damage, then?  What, is it psychosomatic or something?  That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking.  “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest.  He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently.  “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university.   Not even close.  Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up.  Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear.  Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here.  Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No.  I should have noticed that before, too.  I don’t pass out.  Alcohol fucks me up, sure.  But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious.  I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now.  I didn’t go out drinking last night.  No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me.  I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead. 

But I didn’t get to that part.  The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing.  That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something.  I know I am.   It’s pissing me off.   

That fuckwad.  What did he do?  Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight.  If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor.  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know?  You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please.  Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say.  “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth.  Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth.  It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked.  But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing.  There’s a name he whispers: Allison.  But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece.  I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where?  It doesn’t matter.  I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building.  Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country.  An entirely different world.

How long was I out?  Am I missing memories?  What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started.  He can’t have just coincidentally run into me.  He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up.  It doesn’t matter which.  Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet.  And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on.  Say it.  I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen.  I’m looking forward to it, actually!  Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness.  How pretty.  How valuable.  Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color.  Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

[red-hood-redemption]

SO I know I’m like, super late to the party, but I finally got my hands on Robin 2021 and there is literally no one for me to talk to about it so now I’m just screaming my thoughts into the void ✌

First off, before i even bought the first two issues, I read through a lot of other people’s opinions on it to kinda get an idea of where it was going characterization-wise for Damian, and because of all the mixed reactions, I figured I should just read it myself and find out. Now I am the FURTHEST thing from a comic book authority, so like, this is truly just an opinion piece but if it convinces anyone to give the run a chance, then yay!!! Honestly, I’m really glad I gave it a shot because I’m genuinely hooked! I’m actually excited about this series (and it scares me lol)!!!

I'm gonna separate my thoughts into two sections: characters, and story, mainly for my own ease, but also if anyone cares more about one thing or the other it's easier to distinguish. But,  the line is a little blurry so if I end up getting a little too much into the characterization in the story section, just bear with me lmao. OH and I'm going to try and keep this as un-spoilery as possible but we'll just have to see. SOOOOOOOO

Characters

I think it goes without saying that Melnikov's art is absolutely gorgeous, and really does show how much Damian has grown up. It makes me want to sob its so beautiful, everyone is so pretty, even the guy that looks like a washed up, high as fuck Tony Stark lmao. But moving on to the actual characters,

Rose Wilson

I honestly don't know too much about Rose, I haven't read enough about her to say anything about her characterization and how it compares to her other appearances, or whether or not she is OOC, but so far, I'm enjoying her taking up the "big sis" role, like, immediately lmao.

I don't know how much I trust her yet, but I definitely get the vibe that even if she does betray Dami in any way, she's probably gonna stick her neck out for Dami again and he's probably gonna do the same.

I'm really intrigued about her motivations for being here. Obviously, Respawn has something to do with it, but I want to know what's up with that. I've seen a lot of theories and I'm so excited. Also side note, that Black Swan chick is hot, and I can't wait to see more of her in action!!!

I feel like Ravager knows a WHOLE lot more than Dami does about the interesting things going on on the island, mainly because she's been doing a lot more sitting and waiting than he has as of yet, but I'm hoping to see more of the two of them doing detective-y sleuthing together. We love a mysteryyyy

Flatline

Okay but real talk, why does she look like a character straight out of Monster High

Honestly tho, I dig it. It's cute! She's cute! She isn't annoying (yet) but I don't know if I care too much about her other than she would make a cute friend for Dami.

I think the problem with DC is that they know people LOVE Harley Quinn and they try so hard to make characters just like her but it always falls short, so honestly I am a little wary of her character development in this run, but I'm willing to give her a shot since her little coffin purse on the cover of the second issue is so damn cute. I'm a slut for character design, okay?

Oh speaking of Flatline and Dami, I don't ship it and I don't want them to force a romantic relationship into Damian's "coming of age"/"soul-searching" moment okay? Because that's what this run is about, at least to me! More on that in the story section!

They're literally 13/14 years old. That's 8th-9th grade, babes lets think about that for a minute

Also let's stop the whole "lets introduce a female character just to make her a love interest!" bullshit okay?

Basically, Flatline is interesting, or at least has the potential to be, but I don't want to get my hopes up because DC is notorious for disservicing their female characters 😕

I think the mixed reaction to her is valid, I don't think she's had much time to make a solid impression yet, so I guess you'd have to read it for yourself. Personally, I don't understand why people immediately hate her, especially because she's like, 14, and what kid that age isn't annoying? like at least a little bit lmao! But, yeah. I don't trust her either but literally everyone on this island is sketchy at least and a murderer at best, so hey 🤷‍♀️

Damian

His new outfit lmaoooo at first I was like "WHaT is this child wearing? You'd think Dick would have rubbed off on him and taught him what good taste looks like" but then I saw the later outfit, with the gold patterning and those sleeeevessssss ugh and I take it all back. A Fashion Icon TM. Truly stunning. A sight to behold. So proud, look at him go 😪

I think there's a lot of different opinions on Damian's characterization in this run, and I can definitely see where its coming from, but I disagree with the notion that Damian has been done dirty and reverted to a blood-thirsty, feral child.  And I have a LOT of opinions on the whole "feral" thing regarding Damian period (but that's for another time).

I don't think of Dami's rampage as a regression for his character. He's letting of emotions right then and I think its very similar to him venting. Its just not verbal, its physical and he knows he's not going to have to grapple with the consequences of his actions on the first kill. He knows he's technically not doing anything wrong.

He is clearly upset at Bruce and his failure to protect Alfred, and while Dami and Bruce are really often described as being very similar personality-wise, they are still distinctly different individuals who came to their current moral codes in vastly different ways. Bruce came to his "no killing" rule on his own; he made that decision for himself. It wasn't taught to him, it was a moment-of-truth kind of situation. Damian, on the other hand is in a vastly different situation.

Dami is, I think, at the beginning of the climb to his own moment-of-truth. He is in his rebellious phase like Dick, where he's gone off to spread his wings. It's not his conscious intention (at least that's not the vibe I got from reading the first two issues), but its directly underlying his "mission".

Damian is growing out of the expectations of his parents and into his own person. We all know he's been thrown from one moral code to another, both drastically different from each other. I don't think its a regression for him to lose his way a little, because realistically, he's going to have to in order to find it, specifically a moral compass that he forged on his own. He's just what? 14? Like hell a kid his age wants to listen to any form of authority. He's as stubborn as it comes. Damian needs to come to his decision regarding the path he takes in life on his own. It can't be made for him. He's seen and lived both sides of the coin, and I don't think he should be forced just yet to choose a side or pave a middle ground, but I do think that he should get the opportunity to see and experience all the gray areas on his own.

I think I'll transition from characterization to story here, because let's face it, this story is about Damian dealing with his confused emotions right now, in the wake of losing Alfred, a man that kind of acted like a grounding presence, a voice of reason, or a moral compass for him (and honestly Bruce and the rest of the bat crew if we're honest).

Story

So there's a lottttt going on in the story that is really enticing and exciting, and I'm really interested to see how it all plays out.

All the rules to the tournament are so, sketchy? Like they don't sound like they are meant to be sketchy, its basic safety and guidelines or whatever but with all the glowy green shit and the stakes of the tournament? Yeah, you can bet your ass its the "no fighting at night" and other shit is gonna be broken, and that's likely when the fun begins *insert evil laughter*😈

I was slightly put off by the whole "let me teach you to have fun" thing with Rose, because it's not like Dick, Steph, Jon, and like the Titans haven't done that with him too, but eh, not something I'm too concerned about. It's definitely just a segway to get us introduced to more characters that might become Damian's friends which will be interesting considering what Mother Soul said about fraternizing.

And that's another thing! I want Damian to make some friends! I know he already has some, but here's the thing: I think he's already been struggling with belonging, and he's definitely been feeling the disconnect between his life and other kids', whether they're supers/vigilantes or not. I think it'd be nice to see Dami have the experience of meeting people who he at first thinks are just like him!! and then realizing that maybe he doesn't really fit in here either, and that it's okay to feel like you don't belong, as isolating as it may feel at times. It just means you have a set of values. I want him to realize that its not always a bad thing, and you learn more about yourself and your own heart this way.

And from there,,, lets talk about the thing that stuck out to me the most in these two issues! GUILT!! It's mentioned SOO many times already, and I think its going to be a really fun, heartbreaking, and interesting aspect to explore about Damian. Is it guilt about his actions? Leaving behind family? Not being able to save Alfred? Not being a perfect example of Robin? He may call himself Robin but he doesn't sport the OG look or symbol like before. I love that his guilt takes on the form of Alfred though, or at least his conscious. I think it'd be really interesting to see this conscious disappear when Dami strays too far from his center, and when he finds it again, it reappears.

I really think that seeing Damian's actions in this run as a failure of character development is an unfair assessment, though. You can't do everything right in order to grow! You have to screw up, lose your way, experiment with life to find your fit, right?

Something tells me he doesn’t care for the tournament itself, but the end result, and the people behind it and more about WHY it was hidden from him. I mean he finds out the tournament TRULY begins once everyone has died once and tHEN he kill everyone? Felt to me less like a “killing spree” as everyone put it to a calculated decision to get the tournament going. He literally cuts Mother Soul off in the middle of her speaking to start fighting at the beginning

Anyway, just my thoughts lol. I do have some issues with the past two issues, and I might make a separate post about that, but honestly not enough for me to dislike Robin 2021 so far. I mean, besides the very obvious white-washing in the second issue, because DC can absolutely do better. And they should. It’s like they thought we wouldn’t notice???? But besides that, story and characterization-wise I’m looking forward to more. Here’s to hoping it stays that way, just with a better colorist!

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas​ donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

*

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

       rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

               teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

       rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

       rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

             teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

    rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

         bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

          bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

*

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

*

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

*

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

        bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

     rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

    rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

[austennerdita2533]

Hey!

I love Penelope Douglas for sure check her out! She writes some of the best smut tbh. I’m working my way through her devils night series right now-I’m on book 2. It’s good so far, definitely dark though. I’m interested to see how she goes about a redemption arc for the character Damon right now I don’t think he deserves one but I hear such good things about his book, Killswitch, but that’s book 3 so I will see how it goes. I definitely recommend Birthday Girl from her though I loved it and the couple from it are my favorite age gap could I’ve ever read. I find myself still re reading some of their best moments.

I am slightly embarrassed by Credence though so I hope it doesn’t bother you too much if you read it. Just so you know before going into it, it is about her and her step uncle/cousins. To be fair they are not blood related and very distance to the point she didn’t even know about them. But she does call him Uncle Jake during a sex scene, and the two others call her cousin during one too. There’s also a MMF scene with her two cousins. But on top of that there is a sexual assault scene (it does get stopped but the intent is there)-personally I wasn’t a fan of how she inwardly dealt with that scenario it felt like she was blaming herself for it instead of holding the other character accountable. Uncle Jake also does kiss her when she is still 17. So if any of that makes you uncomfortable don’t read it.

I’m so happy you liked the atlas six as much as I did. I can’t believe we have to wait until next year for the sequel to see what happens. It’s too long!! I also liked Callum the least, I still appreciated his character though and what he brings to the story I just wasn’t a fan of his, probably because of his problems with Libby/Parisa. Plus his powers terrify me-as someone who likes to have full control of my emotions the fact that someone could just change everything scares me. I also loved Nico he is my typical character that I love the whole I’m an asshole but soft and caring for the people I love gets me every time. Parisa is my queen though I’m obsessed with her. Like I’m literally in love with her, I wish she was real so she could be with me instead. Not that she would because I’m broke have 0 magic or power to give to her, but still. But I have a thing for power hungry women so I was gone the second I met her. But anyway if she was real she could destroy me or do anything she wanted to me and I would say thank you. Reina I also love and agree she could destroy the whole planet and one day probably will. I just love how she is there and wants all that knowledge but also doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else. Tristan also grew on me I’m still not completely sure how much I like or don’t like him yet he gets annoying sometimes because he is constantly in his mind about his alliances but I also love how loyal and caring he is. Libby is my girl!! I also relate to her as well since I was an outcast and battled inadequacy and all that (you and I must have some stuff in common!) Out of all the characters I relate to her the most and am rooting for her so hard-also because the author made her from Pittsburgh and I’m also from the area so I felt personally attached. But Olivie just did an interview and said Libby is getting a corruption arc and I am so excited about it!!

Okay ships- so I will be honest and I think it’s an unpopular opinion but oh well-I am a nicolibby stan. They have every single dynamic that I love in a ship and they could potentially be my favorite book couple of all time if that is the road they are being taken. Honestly I was obsessed with them from their first interaction so i have it bad for them. Obviously I know they were not romantic in this book but the potential (at least for me) was there especially in some of their quotes in the end. I fully believe they are soulmates though-even the author said they were born on the same day and feel like their other half is missing in an interview once-whether that will be platonic soulmates or romantic soulmates I have no idea and I could see either happening. My heart will break if it is platonic but it’s okay I can just live in my own little head about their potential.

But I get the idea and also like both libbytristan and NicoGideon and could see those happening instead of nicolibby too. I wouldn’t say I would be mad about it either-I do like both just to me the potential of nicolibby works more for me! My only thing about libbytristan though is I’m not sure how much of their tension/feelings are real (like did any of it exist before Parisa put the idea of the other person in their thoughts to lead to all the feelings.)

Weirdly enough since they probably my least favorite characters I also adore Tristan and Callum together. Their dynamic just works for me.

And I love Parisa and Dalton too and I’m so interested in how that relationship pans out because they have some stuff to figure out. But they work well together and honestly they are just so sexy together so I’m down for it. Although I do ship myself with Parisa more than her and Dalton but I’m biased.

Honestly though all the ships are wide open though so I’m curious to see what ends up being endgame. But omg yes the twist I was not expecting it-I’m so excited for the rest of this trilogy!!!

In other news though I finished up the ravenhood series. I know you said you either read it or it was on your tbr. But god I loved it. That series broke me and then put back all the pieces. If you haven’t read it and want to feel both heartbreak and happiness I highly recommend it!

Oh and don’t apologize for babbling as you can tell I also babble!!

-ACOTAR anon

Hiiiii sweets!

I've been sifting through a bunch of summaries of Penelope Doulgas' work on Goodreads and there's a bunch of stuff there I think I'd enjoy. I'm all about good smut. I didn't realize she had that many books. I'm excited! Thanks so much for the rec! I love dark romances/erotica every now and again so I'm also going to have to dive into the Devil's Night series at some point.

Oh, and idk if you know about it/read it but a couple of my friends told me about the Crossfire series by Sylvia Day a while back. It's BDSM, like Fifty Shades, but supposedly loads better. I don't know if you're into that but I figured I'd just throw it out there anyway. The smut is supposed to be steamy. I haven't read it yet but I do have the first four novels on my Kindle (where they've been sitting, unread, for about 2 years now)...so that's something haha.

And please don't be embarrassed about Credence. Seriously, the most wonderful thing about reading is you can go wherever tf you want in your imagination. No one can stop you. There are no rules. No restrictions. You can be whomever or whatever you want to be for a while, morality notwithstanding. One of my favorite things about books is that I can experience the most bonkers, outlandish out-of-this-world stuff that I'd never dream of wanting/liking in real life. It's liberating!

Thank you for the trigger warnings, though. I appreciate that. None of them sound off-putting enough to keep me from reading it. (Tbh, I want to read it more now.) I've read loads of books where characters marry or have sex with their cousins or siblings *waves at ASOIAF, the Secret History* so it doesn't bother me. I've also read most of Lolita and all of My Dark Vanessa by Kate Russell, which both romanticize pedophilia in disturbing degrees, so it takes a lot to put me off. If curiosity could kill then I'd be long dead by now. Hell, sometimes I will purposely read things I know will upset me to my core. What can I say? I'm a weirdo. 🙃

I DON'T WANT TO WAIT A YEAR FOR BOOK 2 OF THE ATLAS SERIES, EITHER. AHHHHH. How am I going to make it that long? It seems so far away!

Callum is the most terrifying of them all right now, imo. I think that's why I disliked him the most. Like you, it shook me to my core to imagine someone like him being able to toy with my emotions. I have a tendency to detach, to keep my emotions pressed close to my chest so that I can't be manipulated or hurt, and the idea that someone could have power over them, over me in that way is...no freaking thank you! I would put as much space between him and me as possible. Most of the Atlas crew had the right idea there. He does bring a lot to the story, though, like you said. I have a feeling he's going to be one of those characters I "love to hate" as the series progress. I might even grow to "hate to love" him, idk. He's just such a shady bastard! And so judgmental/mean to the girls.

I'm with you on Parisa, by the way. She's the kind of conniving, ambitious siren of a woman I can get behind. She has a similar vibe as Katherine Pierce on TVD. I mean, there's nothing in her arsenal she won't use and I love how she weaponizes her beauty. It's delicius. She's unpredictable. Definitely the type of character who inspires "scared and aroused" energy any time she walks into a room. Like, she could choke you and instead of crying you'd just ask her to do it again...harder lol.

Reina has the same kind of "no fucks given" attitude I have because I genuinely don't care what people think of me, either. I'm just here to do my thing. Be nerdy. Learn. Whatever. And Nico is my fave for the same reason as you--the asshole who only has soft edges for those who matter to him. *heart eyes*

Omg, Libby is going to have a corrupted arc? AHHHHH. That's going to be amazing, I cannot stinking wait! I was sort of hoping she'd go dark so now that it's confirmed I'm even more pumped. Also, I think you and I have more in common than either of us realized. I'm from the Pittsburgh area, too! How wild is that? Maybe there's something in the water here and that's why, like Libby, we've both felt inadequate and like outcasts at different points in our lives? Olivie might be onto something here...🤔

The thing that's been so cool for me about this series so far is that there are a bunch of potential pairings I could get behind. And I kind of like that it's not clear cut right now. Most series I know who I want together or who will be together like halfway through book 1. I like that I don't know have firm preferences and am still open. That's novel. Not to mention fun!

I don't blame you for shipping Nicolibby so hard, though. They're definitely one of my top contenders for a romantic pairing. They have that enemies-to-lovers element with witty banter that I always gravitate toward. And you're right about Libby/Tristan. I don't know how much of their connection was manufactured because Parisa intervened, either. That'll be fun to puzzle out moving forward. And Callum/Tristan should NOT be a ship I like but they have a palpable something that I can't put my finger on. I've got my eye on them, for sure.

The Ravenhood series is still on my tbr. I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed it so much, though! It's rare to read something that just ticks all your boxes. The next time I'm the mood to binge a series I'm gonna have to pick that one up. :-D

I've been trying to clear out my backlog of ARCs lately. (Not possible because I'm getting more on the regular - as in constantly haha - but I'm trying.) I just finished Wish You Were Here by Jodi Picoult, which has a Sliding Doors premise that is set during the pandemic where the main character has a parallel life experience (one, where she's in the Galapagos Islands on vacation when the shutdown hits so she's stuck there with strangers, alone, not speaking the language; the other, where she's in Manhattan with her surgeon boyfriend and recovering from COVID). It's intense but so, SO good! Picoult is such a good writer. Anything I've read by her has been moving, with rounded and real characters. I haven't been disappointed yet. I so recommend her.

Oh, and if you're into nonfiction/biographies at all I finished The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson not long ago, which is about Winston Churchill as well as those around him, and it was fantastic! Read more like fiction. I loved it. I am no longer surprised it was on all the BEST lists for 2020.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Hello favorite Tumblrist? Lol .

Can I please get a romantic +nsfw matchup ?

To start off I'm a 19 years old girl from Germany(my English sucks I'm sorry). I'm also a Gemini. My pronouns are she/her and I'm into guys.

I have shoulder-length black dark brown curly hair and brown eyes.

I'm 5'7 and more on the girlier side when it comes to style and clothing but not the type of girly everyone thinks I'm more chill with it but I do love wearing skirts and dresses and floral stuff etc.

My hobbies are reading , studying (rn medical stuff bcs i wanna be a nurse ), cleaning and cooking , watching movies, being on my phone and playing games.

As for my dislikes i hate loud and annoying people and also meeting new people . I have a hard time warming and trusting people so most people tend to forget about me quickly because I guess I'm hard to deal with but it also doesn't bother me that much.

I was raised in a kinda conservative by my asian parents :/ but honestly I do love taking care of people and i think I'd also love to take care of my bf if I had one yk doing domestic(?) Things like cooking and cleaning but I also love being taking care of like protecting me.

As for the NSFW part i am a HUGE sub and unfortunately still a virgin but I do know that I don't like being a Dom.

I like rougher sex and maybe semi violent. I also have a degradation kink and maybe a size kink too.

But sometimes I also like someone to baby me and praise me. So I guessing it's just about how I feel on that day but i like variety.

I hope this is enough if not I'm sorry :c

Anyways love you and your work 💖

Your matchup is… Eyeless Jack!

Read more because of NSFW :}

In general:

• I promise it’s not the medical thing that did it, like okay maybe that was a factor but immediately after reading this I got strong EJ vibes. Like always, it’s the kinks that solidify it. So, let’s just get right into that!

What he likes about you:

• I have a bias towards Geminis so Ofc, I’m gonna treat y’all right and do too is EJ! Your hair is absolutely gorgeous to him!! Let him run his clawed fingers through it and play with the curls PLEASE. Your eyes are also sweet pools of chocolate to him. He’s just gonna fall head over heels. Your style is also SUPER pretty to him. He just adores it. Also likes your hobbies! Reading (not always medical stuff lol), being cleanly because he is a super cleanly guy, cooking is super cute to him too. I’ll come back to that though,,,,,,,, he will watch movies with you! Depends on the games you’re into but I guarantee he’s probably gonna get interested in them just because you’re into it. Your dislikes seem to like up with him as well as he feels the exact same way.

General cute things:

• I like to think EJ can eat human food but it doesn’t really do anything for him? It’s like a nutritional value of 0, so junk food, but he likes it regardless. He’s gonna love your cooking tbh. Just wants to see whatever you’re up to, will eat it. Will like it. Will ask for more. He’ll help you study! Finds your aspirations in the medical field really sweet. Will also clean with you. He will compliment you physically, emotionally and mentally. It honestly sounds like poetry when it comes from his lips. You being a caretaker is actually really sweet to him because he honestly needs it but I’ll come back to that. I feel like movie dates need to be a thing between the two of you, I just think it’s super cute. Will also play games with you as long as you explain them to him.

You two as a couple & NSFW:

• you and EJ just get along really well. I don’t know how else to explain it, but he gives me such a strong protector vibe and will absolutely protect you. He’s like the perfect man what else can I say. He’ll step in if you’re uncomfortable with new people and stuff, will also make sure you’re never too stressed. The man is super, super perceptive so like hey, let him take care of you. He will never think you’re too hard to deal with or to warm up to. Literally never. He’s drawn to you for a reason. He also understands certain households are more conservative than others so he’ll move at whatever pace you want him to and go by any rules and boundaries you lay down. He’s pretty respectful ngl.

• it’s always the kinks that do it so, EJ is a literal demon. I’ve written it here before, but I think the man is absolutely FERAL when he fucks. He’s rough. Like, rough rough. And he’s also kinda violent? Depends on what you consider violent so honestly just talk to him about it and he’ll get it. He’s big on marking, he’s possessive and a little jealous, like he’s just good for a really rough fuck. No one can degrade you like EJ can. I swear. Sometimes,,,,,, sometimes he goes a lil far but just tell him to stop and he will or to lighten up and he will abide by your rules. He likes that you’re a sub because he likes telling his partner what to do. It’s a control thing <3 dude is also like 7’ ft. Tall so like you got your size kink. He’s fucking hung, good luck trying to get that thing in there lmfao. And yes, EJ can be good at sweet, caring, sex. He can be so soft and praise you like you’re a goddess. Just tell him.

Closing Thoughts/Other Things:

• Hi love bug, this was such a cute ask to open up. Sorry it took me a hot minute or so to finally get this one done. Also apologies for formatting, I did this one on my phone! Also also, your English is really great! Don’t worry about it. You sound like such a lovely person. I don’t think it’s ever fair to call someone “hard to deal with” if they just value personal space and privacy—and if they forget you because of that? They suck highkey. You deserve people who love you, are patient and just get you on that level. Also nothing wrong with being a virgin, virginity is a social construct. EJ is just going to adore you fully. Protect you, all that cute stuff. As always, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed!

[takemebacktowheniwassane]

Oh, Incorrect Quotes Generator

-

Alana: Anyone d-

Connor: Depressed?

Jared: Drained?

Evan: Dumb?

Alana: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people...

-

This one's a bit more?? Um?? Non-kid friendly TTvTT

Zoe: Guys, is having a penis fun?

Connor: It has its ups and downs.

Evan: It's gets a little hard sometimes.

Jared: IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS!

Zoe: Jesus fuck, you guys.

-

Evan: You're a loose cannon, Jared.

Jared: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon, maybe. But a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Alana: I think you play by your own rules.

Zoe: No way, he thinks rules were meant to be broken.

Evan: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Jared: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Connor is the real loose cannon.

Connor: *Smashes a chair*

-

Evan, trying to convince Connor to join the group: You know... I just thought it'd be good to have someone to come along who's... strong!

Alana: And loud!

Zoe: And grumpy!

Jared: And oblivious to reality!

Connor:

-

Alana: What did you guys get in your yearbooks?

Zoe: 'Prettiest smile!' :)

Evan: 'Nicest personality!' :)

Jared: 'Most likely to start a bar fight.'

Connor: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one.'

-

Zoe: Bridge the generation gap by combining old and new slang into one!

Evan: Tubular AF!

Alana: Mood to the max!

Connor, annoyed: Groovy, I hate it.

Jared, just as annoyed: If she breathes she's a square.

-

Evan: You KIDNAPPED Connor?! That's illegal!!

Jared: But Evan, what's more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing Connor, or destroying our dreams?

Evan: Kidnapping Connor, Jared!!

Zoe: Evan, listen, whatever I may think of you right now- these people need you to inspire them!

Evan: What, to KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!

Zoe: To work together!

Evan: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE!?!?

Jared: Evan, I thought we both agreed, a stoner is not a people.

-

Alana: Evan, stop! This isn't you! You've gone mad with power!

Evan: Well, of course I have.

Evan: Have you ever tried going mad without power?

Evan: It's boring.

-

Evan: .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--

Jared: What was that??

Evan: Remorse code.

Jared: I'm even angrier at you now.

-

Connor, high off his ass: I'm at least 10 times funnier and sexier than you.

Evan: But 10 times 0 is just 0.

Zoe: Then I guess the jokes on you, because he can't do math.

-

Jared: I can explain.

Evan: Can you?

Jared: If you give me 30 seconds to think of a lie.

-

Jared: If you were to vacuum up jello, it'd make a neat noise.

Evan: I beg to differ.

Jared: Then beg.

-

Jared: This is such a bad idea.

Evan: Then why are you coming along?

Jared: One of us needs to be able to talk the cops out of arresting us when this all goes terribly wrong.

-

Connor: *Accidentally hits Jared in the face*

Connor: *Can't decide between saying 'I'm fucking sorry', and 'Are you okay'*

Connor: ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY??

Evan: What is wrong with you?!

-

Evan: This is bothering me.

Jared: Well, you are digging up a corpse.

Evan: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

-

Jared: You're the love of my life, and my best friend. I would do anything for you.

Evan: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.

Jared: Absolutely not.

-

Jared: I was arrested for being too cool.

Connor: The charges were dropped due to lack of supporting evidence.

-

Jared: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I'll wait.

Evan: You and me.

Jared, tearing up: Okay.

-

Jared: God, give me patience.

Connor: I think you mean strength.

Jared: If God gave me strength, then you'd be double dead.

-

Connor: I prevented a murder today.

Alana: Really? How did you do that?

Connor: Self control.

-

Jared: I am not out of control! I am a law abiding citizen!

Evan: Name one law.

Jared: Don't kill people?

Evan: That one's on me. I set the bar too low.

-

Alana: Whaddaya call a fish with no eye?

Jared, not looking up from his phone: Myxine Circifrons.

Alana:

Alana: A fsh

-

Evan: I turned out perfectly fine!

Zoe: This morning you thought a ghost made your toast!

Evan: I DIDN'T PUT THE BREAD IN, Y O U DIDN'T PUT THE BREAD IN-

-

Jared: WHAT'S YOUR TYPE

Evan: Anything, honestly. But nerds especially.

Jared, desperately as Evan bleeds out: YOUR B L O O D TYPE

Evan: Oh! B positive.

Jared: DON'T TRY TO CHEER ME UP, JUST TELL ME YOUR BLOOD TYPE

Evan:

-

Evan: It's dark in here...

Jared: Don't worry dude, I've got this

Jared: *Stomps his foot on the ground*

Jared: *Heelies light up*

-

Evan: Treat spiders the way YOU want to be treated!

Jared: Killed without hesitation.

Alana & Evan, simultaneously: nO-

-

Miguel: Let's watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Connor: Okay?

Miguel: And make out during the scary parts.

Connor: The-

Connor: The scary parts-

Connor: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl?

-

Evan: Can you PLEASE be serious for 5 minutes??

Jared: My record is 4, but I think I can do it.

-

Evan: So that's my plan.

Jared: Are you fine with constructive criticism? I don't want to sound mean.

Evan: Sure, go ahead.

Jared: It fucking sucks.

Evan: That's not constructive criticism.

-

Jared: Fuck.

Alana: We've got to work on your cursing.

Jared: Why? I'm pretty good at cursing already.

-

Connor: Lol heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this lmfao

Evan: What did you do-?

Connor: A MISTAKE-

-

Larry, with his back turned: I've been expecting you.

Connor: How did you do that without turning around?

Larry: I'm gonna be honest, the first couple of people I did that to were not you.

-

Evan: How petty can you get??

Jared: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

-

Jared: Today is a day of running through hurdles.

Alana: Aren't you supposed to jump OVER hurdles?

Jared: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.

-

Jared: May I sit there?

Evan: That's my lap.

Jared: That doesn't answer my question, Evan.

-

Jared: So.. are we flirting right now?

Connor: I'm LITERALLY stabbing you.

Jared:

Jared: That does not answer the question

-

Aftermath of the last one- lmfao-

Evan: I'm begging you, please go to the hospital-

Jared: Oh, i'm sorry, is this OUR stab wound? Stay out of it.

-

Jared: Do you have any skeletons in your closet?

Connor: Do you mean literally or figuratively?

Jared: The fact that I have to specify...

-

Evan: Jail is no fun. I'll tell you that much.

Connor: Oh, you've been?

Evan: Once. In Monopoly.

-

Evan: Your right.

Jared: That's... an unusual phrase for you. Did you just learn it?

-

Jared: Petition to remove the 'd' from Wednesday.

Connor, high: Wednesay.

Jared: Not what I had in mind, but i'm flexible.

-

Alana: Man.. I only ever see you awake. Don't you ever shut down or stop running?

Jared: Oh, i'm always running.

Jared: The question is from what.

-

Evan: Top 30 reasons why Evan is super sorry! ..Number 5 might surprise you!

Jared: Top 30 anime deaths. Number One: YOUR FUCKING ASS RIGHT NOW!!

[astralsweetness]

I can’t be honest (but neither can you) || Changkyun/Reader (m)

➣ I cannot believe this is my first contribution to Monsta X, this is really how I’m entering the writing side of this fandom OTL Also hello idk how to write short summaries?? I proof-read this at 4:30 AM so please tell me if I missed something lol. Fair warning I switch P.O.V.’s often in this and with absolutely no regard to any writing rules

➣ Changkyun/Reader | Angst[?] with a surprisingly happy ending that I didn’t mean to write | Showcases some bad coping mechanisms from both he and the reader | Mentioned Wonho/Reader, but it’s purely platonic in a sexual way | Smut warnings include: mentions of choking, pegging, fingering, mentions of a ruined sexual scene, sort of self-imposed edging if you squint, hair-pulling, facesitting

➣ It’s been almost a year since he called off the relationship and your name still tastes like a mixture between sugar and ash on his tongue when he says it, your picture is still saved in his camera roll, and he’s taken the plunge these last few months to reach out to you to be friends again. His hyungs tell him it’s a bad idea, and he tells them he knows, because he does, really, he swears he does. It’s just that his heart soars when he gets to talk to you and he can’t remember why he was ever scared of letting you in past that last wall he’d put up, and he’s going to your place and he hates himself because instead of “I love you” he says “please fuck me” and even now he can’t be honest to you about his feelings.

“I want you to fuck me.” He’s standing at your door, speaking in English with that deep voice of his, and you just blink blankly at him - he hadn’t called or texted to say he was coming over, and to be completely honest you hadn’t seen him in over a week. The silence is uncomfortable, but his eyes are intense, and he refuses to shift shyly under your blank stare.

“..well, come in I guess.” You invite him in with raised eyebrows - he goes easily, knowing your apartment like his own home. It’s been almost a year since you two broke up, but he hasn’t forgotten anything. That same stupid plant he hated was still on your table. He had no idea how it was still alive.

“So.. we aren’t together anymore, we haven’t hung out in a while, but you decided I’m the person you want to fuck you. Suddenly.” Your tone of voice conveys your lack of belief - this sort of feels like some very strange joke, but you have no idea who’d ever come up with one like this.

“You fuck Wonho-hyung all the time, and you aren’t dating him, so why can’t you fuck me?” His words are said in a rush, the first sign of nervousness, and you cross your arms and cock a hip. It’s your default power-pose, lets you feel like you’re in control when you have no idea what’s going on.

‘Is that really all it is?’ you want to ask, but you stay silent. He doesn’t seem aware that when you’re with Hoseok it’s more for the other man’s emotional well-being than it was just to get laid. Sometimes people needed to be broken apart and pieced back together lovingly just to feel okay. For Hoseok, you were a friend he trusted enough to let break him and then take care of the pieces that remained shattered on the floor.

“If you tell me why then maybe.”

“I’m not doing shit for a maybe.” He fires back instantly, gaze narrowing. His shoulders have tensed and he’s widened his stance, an unconscious reaction to the way your own body language had changed. Whether he actually felt it or not, at a subconscious level he believed he was being threatened.

You step forward and snag him by the forearm - the fight goes out of him instantly, replaced by pure innocent confusion as you lead him to your bed. He notices dully that you’ve redecorated your bedroom - though it makes sense considering he was the one who had helped you liven it up before.

“Sit - and try to relax. All the muscles in your shoulders are tensing up.” Your words have the opposite affect you wanted them to have - he tenses more, seemingly thrown off by your care, your notice of his minute actions.

You watch the way his gaze drifts over your room – it catches and lingers on a group picture of you and the rest of his group, tucked safely into the frame of your vanity mirror.

It’s a nice picture, though you really don’t remember taking it. You’re fairly certain everyone was drunk though, since you’ve got your arm thrown around Minhyuk’s shoulders in it, pressing your cheek against his.

It’s cute, even if looking at it is bittersweet. You can see the question on his face, the ‘why did you keep this?’.

“It’s not like I stopped being friends with them just because we broke up.” You feel defensive over your choice, face heating – you weren’t even near him in the picture, on completely opposite sides in it. He just murmurs a soft “oh” that sounds dejected, and you desperately don’t want to think about it.

“Anyway –“ You’re desperate to move on at this point, and he seems to feel the same because his attention snaps back to you. “You’re not really in a position here to argue and make demands, but fine -“ It was just sex, right? For you, anyway. “I can’t literally right now, I have a class in 30 minutes, but if you tell me why then we can negotiate.” You feel like some sort of fucking dealer.

He seems vaguely surprised you’ve agreed so easily, but he works his jaw and tries to figure out how to explain his reasoning to you - whatever it may be. You let him think and go in search of your computer bag. Online classes were a pain, especially those that required attendance in the form of a webcam. The bag has been thrown into a corner of your room, and you sigh and bend down to begin your annoying search.

“Well, we’re not together anymore, so..” You crane your neck to look at him, even as you continue to rummage through your backpack for your computer cord. Damn thing was in there somewhere, you knew. “I don’t have to worry about what you think of me anymore?”

He finishes his statement with an accidental upwards inflection that turns it into a question, and your hands pause before you turn back around and continue searching, mulling over your word choice carefully. ‘You never had to worry’ sits on your tongue, something that is desperate to be said, but you swallow it back down. He wouldn’t believe you and it’d cool the current mood.

“I see.” You finally settle on, standing and popping your vertebrae back into place as your prize - the fucking charging cord - dangles from your hands. Your two words could convey many meanings, and you can see from your peripheral that his brow has furrowed. It’s not the answer he was expecting, though you think he probably didn’t know what he’d been expecting in the first place. “Then - what is it you want?”

“For you to fuck me.” He answers again, and then swallows as he notices your blank stare has returned.

“I know that, you said that. I meant what specifically are you looking to get out of this?”

“I want it to hurt.” His words make your breath catch in your throat, emotions swinging between vaguely turned on and worried. Sure, he’d had some masochistic tendencies in bed before, but - “I mean - I don’t – not physically -“ He’s switched to Korean in the wake of your silence, a comfort language, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s done it.

“Okay.” You respond simply in Korean back and he stops his rambling, just blinks at you. You see the tension finally start to drain out of his shoulders and switch back to English purely for your own sake, because it was easier, definitely not because you wanted to be able to hear his voice speaking your native language. “So long as you promise to use safewords, I won’t ask. I’m not your therapist and I’m not -“

“My girlfriend.” He finishes your sentence quietly, back to English as well, and your mouth goes dry.

“And I’m not here to judge you.” You remedy - you weren’t going to mention anything about your past relationship, and he looks away quickly at that realization. “You mentioned Hoseok -“ His hand twitches at his side when you call his hyung by his real name, but you mercifully don’t call him on this. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you’ve gone this long purely on the denial that he regrets breaking up with you, and it’s too late to stop that now. “- so I’m going to treat this situation exactly like that.”

“Okay?” Changkyun has no idea what that means, his fingers curling into your bedspread. You check the time - 20 minutes until class.

“I’m your friend, and I want to help you. This doesn’t change anything between us, this doesn’t add some extra dynamic, some extra layer.” Your voice has gone business mode and he’s stiffened his back at it, an ingrained response from being in the music industry for so long. “I’m not doing this just because I want sex - if you are, that’s fine, but I’m just doing this to help you out. Is that clear?” He nods once, eyes wide. You think he’s cute. You’ve always thought he was cute, and it reminds you of how cute turned into smitten and smitten turned into perfection and perfection turned into love and love - well, he ended love. “Changkyun - do you promise this is just about sex or release of some kind and nothing else?”

Your tone had softened, and he’d been let out of whatever thrall your no-nonsense voice had put him into. The question hangs in the air heavily, dripping of a nectar so sweet it’s sickening.

“Yes. I promise.” His voice is hoarse, cracking and quiet - and you think he’s lying.

But you’ve held on to your denial for so long. He had said before that the spark was just gone - and what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t his fault; people fell out of love all the time. You could barely believe he’d ever been interested in you from the beginning and you refused to believe you were worth falling in love with for a second time. The fact that you had managed to remain friends is more than you could have ever hoped for.

“Okay.” You repeat his assurance, more for your own benefit than his. The room is quiet, and thunder rolls in the distance. Fuck - a storm meant spotty WiFi for your class.

You check the time again - 15 minutes.

“We can use the stoplight system -“ His gaze has blanked so you take the time to roughly translate it into Korean, explaining until his brow smooths out, and then you’re back to English. “Aside from that, though, I need to know what you’re interested in, what you want to happen or don’t want to happen. You can hang out here if you want during my class, or leave, I don’t care - but take the time to think over what it is you want in this session.” Your words are too clinical, you know this, but you can’t keep yourself from doing it that way. You know most of the things he’s into and not into, but if you don’t take this route then it all feels too intimate. Besides, he’d always kept a very careful hold of how much control he’d let go around you before, never wanting to slip too far into subspace, always wanting to seem in command, even when subbing for you. You wonder if that’s changed. You certainly don’t remember him ever blatantly asking outright to have something done to him before.

Memories flash across your mind eye, his back covered in your scratch marks, the way he moaned brokenly when you pulled on his hair, the way he came when you pressed your fingers to his throat. But he never asked for any of it - you had to ask if it was okay to do to him, and he always brushed off any of your attempts of aftercare.

You swallow again, feeling vaguely sick. Things had been broken in your relationship long before he called it off, but neither one of you wanted to admit it. Your heart hurts for multiple reasons, but when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye you know the biggest one: ‘I hope I didn’t hurt him by not talking about it’.

But he didn’t talk about it either. Did he care about whether it hurt you?

“Is that okay?” He’s been talking to you, and you startle out of your thoughts - a half-formed little smirk dances at the corners of his lips, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. He knows you well enough to know when you’ve been drifting. “I said, I’ll stay here if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine - sorry, was just.. thinking.” It doesn’t really surprise you that he’s decided to stay - he’s confident to a fault, it’s true, but there’s a slash of shyness that strikes through his character, and you know that if he left he might not be able to come back. The thunder rumbles in agreement.

You half-watch him as you set up your computer on the coffee table – he’s looking around your apartment with thinly veiled curiosity, though you don’t really blame him. It didn’t really look anything like when you two had been together, and yet.. you felt it still had his subtle touch all over it. You wondered if he noticed that.

The class is boring, as it usually is – you’re watching the screen but your mind is far away, listening to your admittedly enthusiastic professor talk about the hyoid bone and articulations while your focus is on Changkyun. He lingers around you with a nervous type of energy, clearly not feeling allowed to roam around your apartment (it’d be kind of weird if he had, you admit) but also not feeling comfortable enough to sit on the couch next to you, even if he would have been off camera.

It’s almost like it was before, and you half expect him to sit down next to you anyway and throw his arm around your shoulder, always just off-screen, sitting next to you during your classes while he amused himself with his phone, just so he could be near you.

You’re just about to be able to feel the phantom warmth from the memory of his arm around you before he coughs and you startle, eyes snapping to him – he looks back wide-eyed, not understanding your surprise but murmuring a quiet apology anyway.

God you were so fucked.

.｡..｡.

“So?” The instant your class had ended you’d snapped the computer lid shut – you hadn’t retained a single thing said, what a complete waste. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d skipped and focused on Changkyun in the end after all. “Did you decide on what you wanted?”

You’re so flippant with your question that he feels like he’s being asked about what it is he wants to eat instead of how he wants to have sex – the entire hour of your class he’d been nervous, and those nerves had by now tightened into a very tight ball at the base of his spine that periodically sent white-hot flames licking along his muscles.

“I –“ His mouth is so fucking dry and he hates how small he suddenly feels – he’d never felt like this around you before, but usually it had always been you asking if you could do something to him, hadn’t it? “I said it earlier. I want you to fuck me.”

He watches your reaction with pin-point precision – the small widening of your eyes, the way your gaze darts to the side like it always did when you were thinking something over – it wasn’t like you hadn’t ever fucked him before, but he’d never asked you to do so, and you clearly hadn’t expected him to come out with something like that so easily.

Why the hell could he say something like that and not something as simple as ‘I love you’, or even ‘I miss you’?

“Okay.” You’ve wrested your thoughts back under control – it wasn’t fair of him to say something like that, looking so utterly and effortlessly attractive. “As long as there’s no kissing I’ll fuck you any way you like, Changkyun.” You were over him and he was over you and this was just sex.

If you said it enough you’d start to believe it, right?

Changkyun just nods at your terms, looking a bit despondent – you can’t help the strong surge within you that says to fix it, fix whatever upset him, but you have a feeling you knew already. He’d always been a bit fixated on kissing you, but you knew if you let him this time then it’d all be over.

“I don’t remember you ever falling this far into the ‘submissive’ side of things, Changkyun.” You’re desperate to regain the upper-hand, and he flushes a bright red at your comment, grumbling out a weak “shut up” that has you smiling.

“Have you been experimenting?” You’re still teasing him but he bristles at the insinuation that he would have been with anyone after you – you had no reason to think he hadn’t been but the mere thought of being with anyone other than you makes him ache deep in his chest, in his soul.

“No.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but it wavers still and he digs his fingernails into the soft leather of his belt, pausing. “I haven’t been with anyone since –“

He can’t say it, but you understand regardless – he doesn’t like how surprised you look, ducks his head and lets his hair obscure his view of you as he refocuses on undressing. It’s not that you’d been wrong to be surprised with his decision for today, either – before you, he’d never really definitively considered himself particularly dominant or submissive, happy with having the choice to be either at the drop of a hat. That changed with you though – you had been so uncompromising with your power, beautiful and self-assured, and he knew without a doubt that if you so much as even hinted at it he would be on his knees for you every single time.

Not that he had ever told you that, of course. He’d never told you anything he really wanted to. Even now, with you looking at him softly, trying to see if you’d crossed a line with your little teasing jabs, the words ‘I’m happy being this for you’ get stuck in his throat and all he can do is tug his shirt over his head wordlessly, fingernails clicking nervously at his belt as he undoes it. You pretend not to notice the way your heartrate accelerates as he reveals his body bit by bit to you, slender waist but powerful figure, beautiful skin, beautiful body.

“Well, then – lie down.” You gesture to your bed and he swallows down the stupid fucking butterflies he gets at the gesture – he’d been on your bed before, he’d been in this position before, there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

And still, despite his nerves, a pleasurable chill runs down his spine when he hears the cap of the lube being clicked open, and he forces himself to exhale as he shifts and tries to get comfortable on a comforter he no longer recognized, in a room that had no trace of him in it anymore.

You look at him with a level gaze, always so calm, and he ignores the erratic beating of his heart and nods his assent for you to begin, immediately shifting his gaze to your ceiling.

Why the fuck was he so goddamn nervous?

(He tries to forget the way he instantly whimpers when he feels your finger, slick with lube, probing at his rim, tries to forget the way he gets hard in under a minute from your heavy gaze and one finger alone, and god he aches for more, aches for anything you’re willing to give him.)

“You’re taking this awfully well.” The teasing comes out unbidden, spilling past your lips before you can even think about the words – but it’s true, for someone who had claimed to not have been with anyone since you he was taking your fingers incredibly well.

“My own hands – fuck – exist..” His snarky response turns into a shaky moan halfway through when you decide to carefully – but quickly – add a third finger. There’s something erotic (and interesting) to you about that, thinking over the fact that Changkyun had been finger-fucking himself ever since you two broke up.

“You look good like this.” It’s an attempt to make up for the previous teasing but all it does is cause him to groan and throw a forearm over his eyes, legs spreading wider when you hit that spot deep inside.

“Fuck, jesus – fuck..” It’s a broken sob instead of an actual sentence (though he manages to stick with English), a familiar feeling already building deep in his gut. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s been so long since he’d been fingered by someone else or if it’s because it’s you doing it, complimenting him while doing so, or if it’s a combination of everything, but his back arches against his will and he knows he is seconds away from coming undone already.

“Stop – stop, oh my god –“ At his desperate plea you stop moving completely and he wants to sob as the pleasurable feeling slowly ebbs away, an almost painful drag as it settles back into a dull burn. He’s gasping, tiny whimpering sounds as he sucks breath back into his lungs, chest heaving – his eyes are wide, fingers curling into your comforter. He looks frantic, frightened almost, and even if it wasn’t your responsibility you knew you’d be desperate to fix it.

“Changkyun, ar –“

“I’m fine.” He bites it out angrily, doing his absolute best to look like he had been anything but moments away from an orgasm five minutes into.. whatever this was. He’s shutting you out again, before anything even begins, and it fills you with such an irrational anger that you have to suck in a breath of your own to keep from lashing out, taking gentle care to extract your fingers even as your blood boils.

“Stop fucking lying to me.” You can’t keep the ice from your words, even if you manage to control the volume and pitch – his dark eyes snap from the ceiling to you in surprise. There’s a panicked feeling bubbling up in his chest, because he really doesn’t know if he can handle you calling him on his true feelings for you right now, doesn’t want to have to admit he still loves you while he’s naked and so vulnerable.

“I’m not –“

“Stop it.” His mouth shuts with an audible click of his teeth, so sudden is your cut-in. Your brow has smoothed out, no longer angry, instead immensely sad, and he’s not sure this is any better. “You said you wanted to do this because you didn’t have to worry about my opinion. So why are you still doing it?”

He can’t breathe, and the lube is drying sticky on your fingers, and for a moment neither of you are aware of the position you’re in, the way the thunder has become your constant background music – he’s looking at you unblinkingly and you’re staring back, and it’s too intimate, too much, but neither of you look away.

“Please stop.” He speaks and it’s barely a whisper, the sound of someone’s heart breaking louder than his voice. You don’t know what to say but open your mouth anyway.

Lightning flickers outside your bedroom window and then your apartment is shaking from the resounding thunder, the power flickering and then plunging the two of you into darkness. Suddenly you can breathe again, and you’re quickly trying to slide out from in between his legs because he said ‘stop’ and he was fully coherent even if he hadn’t said ‘red’, because he said ‘stop’ and you have only ever wanted him comfortable.

“Wait –“ He is frantic, grabs your forearm with frigid fingers as he leans half off your bed to catch you from retreating too far. It’s hard to see him but you get flashes from the light outside your window, electricity reflecting off his dark eyes in starbursts.

“You said to stop.” Your voice is broken and you feel so powerless, sick inside because while you rarely manage to ruin a scene it still tears you up inside each time, and Changkyun wouldn’t let you try to fix it with aftercare and you don’t know what to do anymore.

“I meant –“ Stop talking, stop laying me bare and open, just fuck me and make me forget everything, stop being you so I can stop loving you. “I just want to be ruined.” He says instead, and his voice is so low but so weak that you barely recognize it.

“I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” Your clean fingers curl around his and gently pry them from your arm – but then you keep holding them, and you want to let go but you can’t remember how to tell your body to do so. “Will you let me, Changkyun?”

The air is still and silent aside from the rain slashing angrily at your windows – there is no thunder, your own heartbeat loud enough (or maybe it was his, you didn’t know anymore).

“I want to.” He answers instead, voice quiet but a bit stronger than before, and your eyes have adjusted so you can see the features of his face vaguely now, follow the line of his brow to his cheek to his lips, and you’re leaning in and you hate yourself because you had promised this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.

“Let me wreck you then, baby.” And oh that nickname was a mistake but you’d said it anyway, a ghost of a whisper against his lips, a proposition and a plea all in one. He moves forward the last centimeter and connects your lips as an answer, a sound that is almost one of pure relief being ripped from his throat.

It’s like he’s been waiting years for this moment, doesn’t even fight as you grip his jaw lightly and angle him into a better position so you can scope out the inside of his mouth with your tongue, relearning things you had known long ago but had thought were forgotten.

There’s a flighty feeling in his chest, one of nervousness and expectation – he doesn’t want to give you control so easily, he doesn’t want to be opened and laid bare in front of you, he doesn’t want you to see something you dislike in him – but more than anything he wants you to touch him and keep kissing him and god he fucking misses you, has missed this. He’d asked you to ruin him, you’d asked to wreck him, but he knew he was already both ruined and wrecked just from being near you again, from having your lips on his own.

You try to slide your hands back down his body but he stops you, continues to kiss you as his fingers curl around your own, and the act is so intimate it almost feels wrong.

“Just – hurry up, I’m ready enough.” He manages to say scattered between four different kisses, never apart from your lips for more than a few seconds. You hate yourself for not even trying to stop him, leaning into them each time.

“You can stretch yourself some more while I get ready.” You have to pull away from him completely to say this, and he follows you like you’ve got some magnetic pull on him before you’re off of the bed and the connection is broken.

Even with your eyes adjusted it’s hard to properly get the harness on, fingers fumbling with the straps but managing in the end. You can hear him breathing harsh, anticipating – you can tell from the sounds alone that he hadn’t taken your advice, but you’re not surprised. Always your little pain slut, even if he had never wanted to admit it.

When you approach him again his eyes are wide, brow furrowing as he notices you’re still fully clothed – he keeps his mouth shut tight though, gaze darting in the dark. The storm still rages on outside but neither of you even notice it anymore.

Your fingers on the inside of his thigh startle him – he jumps, trying to close his legs, but you force them back open again. Something about that simple action makes a moan trickle into his throat, but he swallows it back down stubbornly.

He can’t conceal the next sound he makes when you press the blunt tip of the strap-on to his opening, though, a rasping whine as you push in slowly, so fucking slowly. Even with all the lube he knew you’d slathered over the toy it still takes a bit of work to get it into him, and every slight stretch makes him grit his teeth in a masochistic type of pleasure, feeling so full by the end that it makes him so painfully hard his head spins. It hadn’t taken long to get him worked back up, but he’s not really thinking about that right now.

All he knows is that he wants to be close to you, wants to feel good, wants to make you happy – he wants so much that he doesn’t think he can even begin to put any of it into words. It always ends up at ‘I love you’ and he already knew that was a phrase that lodged in his throat like knives.

“Please.” This he can say – you don’t know what he’s begging for but he’s begging all the same, the word ‘please’ becoming a chant that slowly shifts back into his native tongue when teeth mark his throat, fingertips pressing insistently into his hips as you fuck him hard and rough. He hopes, distantly, that it bruises. He wants to be able to remember this for as long as possible.

If he was present enough in the moment he might have been embarrassed by the sounds he was making – his naturally deep voice has transformed completely into high breathy whines, all trace of his ‘savage rapper’ persona gone when you bite his lip hard enough it throbs before you’re flipping him, pushing his shoulders down into the bed with one hand.

The feeling of your palm, small but blindingly warm on his back, makes him weak enough that his thoughts stutter, head a chaotic mess of fractured thoughts and sensations. His eyes are open but unfocused – it’s dark in the room anyway, but he’s unaware of it, cognizant only of your presence and his, that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest competing with the white-hot fire you were stoking lower in his pelvis.

You want to cry at how beautiful and perfect he is for you, the way he arches his back instinctively, presents himself as your own personal plaything – but he wasn’t yours, you had to remember that, remind yourself over and over that this was just sex. (If you repeated it enough it started to stop sounding like real words, and that was equally as dangerous as forgetting them in the first place.)

The head of the strap-on teases his entrance and he groans, clenching his fists into your pillow – you’d taken it out when you’d flipped him and he was fighting against every fucking urge and want and need his body was screaming at him to just take the plunge and force himself backwards. (But another part of his brain is telling him to wait, to make you happy, to draw this out as long as fucking possible because he has no idea if he’ll ever get to experience it again.)

“Can you tell me what you want?” Your voice is soft as silk, quiet, and a fluttery feeling rises up in his stomach at the sound, at how you’ve modified an order to be a request. He doesn’t know how he feels at the realization that you were taking it ‘easier’ on him verbally, that you had at some point come to understand he was having trouble letting go completely.

“I –“ He tries, he really fucking does, but like always the words get stuck in his throat. He just can’t seem to bring himself to admit what he really wants out loud and it is destroying him. One of your hands smooths down his side, lingering at his hip, and he feels like you’ve left behind a line of pure fire on his skin, almost burning away the shame and hatred he feels at himself for his fucking inability to be vulnerable, his cowardice.

“Just fuck me.” He says instead, defeat coating his words – and he can feel you hesitating, because it was obvious he’d meant to say something else and hadn’t.

He opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what, at the same instant you decide to slide the strap-on back into him. Whatever he’d been planning to do is gone from his mind instantly, his world reduced to just the dull burn, the frustratingly slow drag against his innermost walls, the way you manage to somehow brush up against the spot that has him trembling and dropping to his forearms. He curses in a strange mixture of Korean and English and you laugh softly at the sound, even as you slide out and thrust back into him hard enough that he jolts forward.

He feels, in a sense, like he is being broken in all the best ways – all he can focus on is you, all he can feel is the way you’re fucking him, grabbing at his hips. His breath is caught in his throat and he just knows he is going to ache later, bone-deep and satisfying.

But it’s not enough, never enough – you’re not asking to do more to him like you had in the past and he can’t manage to tell you what he desires most (though, at this point, he’s not totally sure he could say anything coherent anyway). He reaches back with one hand, groping – your fingers wrap around his and he drags them up to his hair, a wordless plea. He hopes you understand what he’s asking for.

A broken moan is ripped from his throat when you fist your hand in dark strands and pull backward, forcing him into an arch – his mind has blanked into varying shades of white, electricity on his skin and molten lava running through his veins, your heat against his back overwhelming.

You know it’s a bad idea before you do it, but you lean down and press you lips to his shoulder anyway, teeth scraping over feverish skin – the hoarse whine he gives at the feeling makes wetness pool between your legs, uncomfortable and wrong because this was just sex, this was just supposed to be for him.

The urge to mark him up is so strong it’s almost distracting – your hips falter in the bruising pace you’d set as your mind drifts, Changkyun groaning at the sudden shift in speed.

“Let me –“ He’s gasping, feels like he’s been running a fucking marathon or drowning (and oh, he has, drowning in you, in his expansive and terrifying feelings for you) but he knows your hips have to be sore by now and to be completely honest he is just downright greedy, wanting to feel you deep inside, wanting to –

He just wants so much. He reaches back to press at you gently and you let him move you instantly, trying to figure out what had bothered him – as soon as you realize he just wants a change in position you’re grabbing at his hips again, tugging him over your legs. His cock drags against the fabric of your shorts and he nearly sucks in a breath, trying to focus on lining himself up instead of the way it throbbed (or the way you were looking at him, hair splayed out on the pillow and yet so in command still).

He thinks he should feel more in control like this, on top of you, hands braced on your shoulders – but he doesn’t, not at all, and he knows instantly that he isn’t when you snap your hips up to meet his and he falls onto you, moan vibrating against the skin of your neck. He can feel your fingers in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, can feel the infuriatingly teasing way his cock is rubbing up against your fucking shirt you never took off. It’s gone untouched for so long that it’s absolutely aching by now and he thinks he might actually be able to orgasm like this – but he doesn’t want to, not yet, even with how border-line painful its become. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to have to go back to a world without you in it.

His hips stutter on top of yours when you tug on his hair again, grinding hard against the strap-on, and you lift his face high enough you can press your lips to his, all hot breath and panted moans. He tastes of honey and heartbreak and you want nothing more than to make him cum and fall apart, trembling, on top of you.

“Am I ruining you properly, baby?” Your voice is dark red and sinful, and he trembles at the sound and tries to seek out your lips again, a whine lodged in his throat when you tighten your grip on his hair and keep him in place, rolling your hips languidly up to meet his frantic movements. “Tell me.”

“Fuck..” He responds instead, deep and rough in his chest – it cracks into a high moan when you punish him with a harsh upwards thrust, fingers curling into your shoulders. Your soft laugh, amused or delighted he’s not sure, makes a feeling like electric butterflies break out across his skin. If you had let go of his hair he’d have buried his face into your neck again to hide his expression – but you haven’t, and he knows you can see everything, every part of him, every expression he makes.

He thinks he must look stupid, embarrassing – but all you see is pure beauty. His brow has furrowed and sweat drips down to his collarbones, bruised lips parted slightly, glistening from where you’d kissed him earlier. Hazy eyes try to look anywhere but your face failingly, allowing you to see the foggy galaxy residing in their darkness. You’re not sure if what you’re seeing is his pupil or iris, but you find it gorgeous all the same, intoxicating.

“I’m going to make you cum, Kyunnie.” He shakes at your dangerous words, your knife-sharp gaze. You’re aware he never responded to your last question. “You’ll fall apart up there, ruined, just like you asked to be.”

Your words wrap around him, coiling tightly like chains – he feels caught, trapped, and he wants nothing more than for you to make good on your word, even if it sends a sharp trill of fear through his stomach.

The grip on his hair lets go suddenly and he sags forward, as if your pull on him had been all that was keeping him upright. He’s left a mess of pre-cum on your shirt, flushes a dark red when you drag your fingers through it thoughtfully.

“Messy boy..” You muse, heat spreading through you when you see the way his cock jerks at those two simple words, so red and aching, so fucking beautiful and desperate.

Fuck, you wanted so badly for him to be yours.

One of his hands flies to your wrist when you finally wrap your fingers around him – more of his weight is on you now but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not with the way he’s breathing hot and wet against your neck, the way he doesn’t stop you when you move your hand, just clings to your arm desperately like he’s not totally sure he wants to be touched yet.

A choked sound leaves his mouth, lips bitten bloody, and you turn your head so you can breathe against his ear, let him press his face further into your neck. “Such a little whore..” You murmur, and he sobs open-mouthed against your skin and thrusts weakly into your fingers and then back onto the strap-on, unsure of which feeling he wanted more of. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

A part of him feels like he’s dying, unsure if he was really okay with being so vulnerable with you – but another part of him, the larger part, feels like he is fucking soaring, like this is all he had ever wanted and more. There are flames licking at his body, coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last like this.

“You can fall, Changkyun.” Your voice is in his ear, like the sound of silk sliding over skin, fingernails tracing lightly along the back of his neck. He hates the way he reacts so viscerally to it, climax surging forward at the sound, at the way your fingers slide wetly over the head of his cock pinned in between the two of you. “It’ll be okay, you can fall to pieces. I’ll catch you.”

He orgasms with a wail that makes him flush a dark red, and he would have been mortified at the sound if every nerve ending in his body wasn’t currently sparking, his muscles spasming as he tries to keep thrusting into your fist even as the lightning bolt sensations turn from overwhelming to painful. He doesn’t even realize tears have slipped from his eyes until he feels your lips kissing them away, and he is hit with such a wave of emotion that he can’t breathe all over again (and it is just pure emotion, he couldn’t identify a single one of them if he tried).

After you slowly pulled out and settle him on the blankets he watches, distractedly, as you slide the straps down over your hips, leaving it on the floor to be dealt with later. Impulsively he reaches out to catch the edge of your shorts when you try to head to the bathroom, tongue sliding over chapped lips when you turn that powerful, beautiful gaze of yours on him. One of your eyebrows has raised, appraising him as he slowly tugs you back to the bed until you’re resting on your knees next to his waist. Sweat is drying sticky on his skin and he’s trying not to feel like he’d done something wrong, reacted in some undesirable way that you’d remember and relate to him for the rest of your life - but above all that, he wants to taste you. It’s the only consistent thought running through his mind, more prevalent than the lingering unease at having bared so much of himself to you.

“Please.” Again, it’s all he can say, eyes so dark and wide, pleading – his fingertips rest lightly on your hip, over the waistband of your shorts, lips parted ever so slightly. It’s so obvious what he’s asking for, and you want to say no. You’re pretty sure you need to say no. “Babe –“

You surge forward to cut him off mid-sentence with a brutal kiss and he gasps – you didn’t want to hear that, and you can tell from the way he’s frozen that he hadn’t meant to say it, even as his body returns the kiss on pure muscle memory alone. This entire experience had been a mess, a mistake, and yet –

“Okay.” It’s more a breath against his mouth than a word, but the way he smiles at your soft agreeance makes your heart hurt. You were in so deep, had fallen so far – how foolish of you to think you had been over him. How fucking stupid you’d been.

He wastes no time, pulling your shorts and underwear down like he’d done it hundreds of times before – because he had, you note dully – fingers wrapping around your thighs. When you sink down onto his face a tension drains out of his body that neither of you had even noticed was still lingering.

All he can smell is you, all he can taste is you – you surround him and this is all he’s ever fucking wanted, to be possessed by you, to be as close to you as possible. He’s not even totally sure what he’s doing aside from the fact that he’s putting his absolute all into it – he’s just trying to taste every inch of you he can, tongue delving as deep as possible before switching to suck on your clit. There’s no rhyme or reason to his method and it has you letting out a quiet sigh that borders on a gasp. He tries to memorize the sound instantly – any sound he could get out of you was a treasure in itself, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear them again after this.

There is no particular build-up to your orgasm – it’s at first lingering briefly bone-deep and then suddenly it is upon you in streaks of lightning, hips grinding against his face but mouth stubbornly shut. You can’t let this be any more intimate than it already was. (And yet you instinctively reach down and lace your fingers with his, and his thumb smooths across the back of your hand as he continues to mouth at your cunt, drink up your fluids. You are so utterly and completely stupid, your heart in your throat.)

There is a moment you want to carve out afterwards, a small bubble in time where the two of you could just bask in the afterglow and pretend like nothing had changed from a year ago – but you can’t let yourself do that, pushing yourself up off the bed even as every fiber of you begs to remain beside him for a moment longer. His fingers remain holding yours a moment too long before dropping to your bedspread, defeated.

Your heart suddenly felt like it was three sizes too big for your body, filled to the brim with love for a man you knew you’d have no second chance with, and you clench your teeth tightly to keep it from oozing out between your teeth like bittersweet sugar.

He’s still panting when you return with a damp cloth, reaches for it as if he really expects you to make him clean himself off. You scoff and catch his hand with your own, setting it back down on the bed as you begin to clean off his face first. Whether you wanted to avoid intimacy or not there were things you simply refused to throw to the wayside just because you wanted to remain distant, and one of those was taking care of him after sex. (He’s more receptive this time than he used to be, not fighting you and claiming he was fine, letting you dote on him with a sort of hesitant and soft acceptance. It makes your heart hurt all the more, the pure ache and want almost unbearable.)

“You’re always so messy..” It’s meant to be a light comment but the two of you accidentally lock gazes when you say it, your hand stalling in its motions. He looks like he wants to say something, lips parting – your breath catches in your throat, waiting, but he ultimately just shuts his mouth, gaze darting away from you. Your breath leaves you in a small burst. “Just relax, Kyun, I’ve got you.”

It’s the typical words you say to a sub after an intense session (with an accidental affectionate nickname that you bite the inside of your cheek for), but you mean them, and you don’t want to, but you do, irrevocably. You know that if he needed it, if he asked for it, you would let him stay here for as long as he wanted. You knew that tonight you wouldn’t be asking him to leave. And for that you are so, so incredibly fucked. (You wonder if he is too, judging from the way his eyes widen at the nickname and his breath stutters – but you crush that thought instantly, don’t dare to get your hopes up.)

He’s surprised that you take the time to clean him up, bring him water and a change in clothes – they aren’t his but they’re clearly a man’s, and he wonders if they belong to Hoseok considering the size. Something deep in his chest hurts at that thought. He’s even more surprised when you pull on an oversized shirt instead of telling him to leave – he faintly realizes that he recognizes it, a soft violet that hung down to your lower thighs and always felt soft against his chest when he’d hold you – crawling into bed next to him after changing into it, though he’s automatically moving to accommodate you, perfectly content to throw the thick comforter to the floor to be dealt with in the morning.

“Is.. this okay?” Your voice is quiet, so tentative and soft and hesitant, and all he wants to do is tell you yes, this was more than okay, this was everything he had ever wanted.

“Yeah – I mean, it’s your bed, so..” He hates himself for the way he responds, swallowing hard but taking the initiative to slide his arm over your side, nose in your hair. He can feel the way you tense, but you don’t say anything against it or try to pull away. “And.. this? It’s okay too?”

“…it’s okay.” It’s a small response but he inhales deeply in relief, drinking in your scent half by accident. It’s the same smell he had missed for so long, the one he’d dream of and wake up thinking there was a chance it still lingered on his pillow, heart dropping through his ribcage when he realized it wasn’t.

Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach you fall asleep fast, mentally drained and physically exhausted - his fingers trace the line of your shoulder, head pillowed on his own arm as he watches you sleep. There is a purely warm and happy feeling trying to spread through his body, but it doesn’t make it very far before the remembrance that you still weren’t his and he still wasn’t yours freezes it in its tracks. He feels like his heart is melting, dripping through his ribs and oozing into his stomach and making him sick.

He’s shaking your shoulder before he even knows what he’s doing, and you’re half-awake and groggy but so fucking beautiful and every single one of his nerves feels like a live wire underneath his skin, buzzing and loud and painful, and he is so scared, but he is also tired. Tired of hurting, tired of missing you, tired of the way Kihyun will be talking about you but stop awkwardly when he notices Changkyun listening, tired of the way he smiles so big his cheeks hurt when the two of you talk on the phone, tired of how he swallows down the words “love you” every time you hang up – and he’s fucking tired of being scared most of all.

“Changkyun, you better be fucking dying..” You’re angry, always angry when woken suddenly, and he just wants to kiss you.

‘I love you, I’m stupid, I was scared, I always loved you, I never fucking stopped, did you know I would dream of you? Did you know that you were the only thing on my mind? On plane rides, in the vans, backstage, all I could think about was you and my hyungs all told me I was just hurting myself and I knew that but I still hoped that somehow you and I would end up happy together.’

Like always he can’t say any of it. It sits on his tongue and he just utters a quiet ‘fuck’ instead, throat tight. Why couldn’t he fucking do this?

“..Kyun?” He’s sitting up now, and you are too, side by side – your expression is open, sleepy but worried, and he has a sudden urge to take your face in his hands and kiss your eyelids.

The scariest part of telling the truth, of laying yourself bare for someone, of letting them in, was that they could take one look and never come back. And maybe he’s not afraid of loving you – maybe he’s never been afraid of loving you, with your eyes that hold the only stars he ever wants to look at. Maybe he’s been afraid of not being loved back.

He swallows hard, reaches for every bit of confidence and courage performing has ever given him, forces himself to be brave the way the industry has taught him to be. Moonlight filters in through the window and he thinks your eyes might actually house the milky way in them somehow.

“I love you, still – always. I never stopped.”

He can’t breathe because you’re just looking at him, stunned and disbelieving, tears collecting on your lash-line but not falling, never falling, and he feels like the fucking worst for telling you now, this way, this bluntly – but he knows if he didn’t say anything he would have never said anything, and he’s not sure he could have survived that, so the words had fallen from his lips hard and heavy and desperate to be said. (And a part of him is still surprised he even managed to say them at all, rushed and frantic as they were.)

“I –“ Your brow is furrowed and your voice is thick, but when he reaches to brush your tears away you let him and his lungs start to tentatively fill themselves with oxygen again.

When you smile it is watery and weak but it is there, and he feels like sunlight has reappeared in the lining of his skin, bright and blinding and warm.

[ofdreamsanddoodles]

if you don't mind me asking, how do you deal with consuming content with 'problematic' aspects? for example, i see you reblog posts criticizing things like racism in tma, and you can still make content while being able to recognize those things. it's hard for me to continue enjoying something when it has even 1 thing slightly bad in it, but i know that's not a healthy way to consume content. is there anything you keep in mind when interacting with a given series? u don't need to answer ❤️ ty

also a note on my ask -- of course you don't need to answer, and you aren't a therapist & etc. i just admire your ability to both recognize flaws in works but still enjoy them, and thought since you seem to have critical thinking skills you might have a perspective that you could offer. being on tumblr from a young age seems to have affected my ability to separate things in my mind, lol. thanks so much for reading even if you don't feel comfortable answering.

I mean... you’ve kind of answered your own question? The only way to consume media is to remember that everything has flaws. My brother came by while I was typing this up and told me the answer is to “just vibe” because everyone is more or less terrible in one aspect or another but obviously, that’s not the answer you’re looking for.

I guess the short answer is just... you have to learn how to trust your own set of morals and understand that you shouldn’t feel guilty if a story you like betrays you. And yes, that’s hard, especially when you grow up surrounded by very rigid rules on what’s “okay” to watch, but if you’re just looking for some tips, here’s a list that I hope will help:

Find people you trust and see what they think of the situation. Think about whether or not they’re coming from an informed place. A friend of mine asked me if I knew about a Jewish tradition a while back. I had no idea what they were talking about. Turns out, it was something popular with German Jews. None of my family is from Germany. Sometimes, just being Jewish doesn’t mean I’m the right person to ask.

Find people who are complaining & see why they’re upset. Think about who is annoyed by this and how many of them there are. Think about what they think the proper response is, if any. Think about whether you have the right to wave off their concerns. Think about how those concerns are treated, both in-fandom and by creators. I saw a lot of people in the tma tag complaining about twitter “overreacting” to MAG 185, but if Jonny felt the need to issue an apology and specifically say that he realizes he’s crossed a line, chances are, the complaints were probably warranted (a thing I’d like to add is that apparently, RQ also issued an apology for a fluff episode they released, which I thought was kind of silly, because the episode was essentially just joking about martin forgetting a word. But also, as a neurodivergent person who sometimes struggles with speech, I do understand why that might upset people. not all apologies have to about incredibly important topics, but even the ones who aren’t show a lot about the cast behind it. Alternatively, if RQ had only apologized for this episode, and not MAG 185, that also says a lot about where there priorities are, and what fans they care about keeping)

Think about what will happen if you continue watching/reading etc. It’s not so much “is it okay if I keep watching this?” but “if I continue to watch this, will I convince myself that this problematic aspect isn’t actually a big deal? Is it so ingrained in the show that I can’t watch an episode without seeing the problems in it? What will I say to others, if they want to watch this?” For example, if someone sees you’ve reblogged a scene from a show you like and asks what it’s about, how many excuses are you going to give? How many trigger warnings are there, and can you justify them? There’s a difference between a piece of media having a character say homophobic slurs, and a piece of media saying a gay person should have homophobic slurs thrown at them.  Also: If you think you cant justify getting someone else interested, you probably shouldn’t justify contributing to the show. This might be obvious, but there’s a very big difference in pirating a tv show and buying its merch. 

Think about the fandom. If you continue talking about this, who are you surrounding yourself with? Like, there are a LOT of weirdos making content for kids shows, but that doesn’t always mean the show itself is weird. What it does mean, though, is that you should be careful navigating your enjoyment. Sometimes, the only way to enjoy something is to talk about it with a select few friends. Sometimes, it’s to enjoy it by yourself. I do believe it’s possible to enjoy a show in spite of the canon, but at the same time, if you’re watching a show that’s attracting a lot of racists, think about why that might be. 

some more thoughts under the cut, because I already wrote them out before I realized I could just make a list.

The thing about consuming media is that it’s very subjective. I know a lot of people who have given up on tma recently and while that’s not wholly because it’s “problematic,” it definitely plays a part in it. People have different meters for what they can excuse in media. The important thing to remember is WHY they left, and if you’re able to keep that in your mind while also continuing to engage in contact with the media. Will you be able to remember that Daisy traumatized Jon more than any other avatar if you consume context calling her Basira’s hot murderwife? Can you talk about the Flesh and acknowledge the racism in the creation of the Haans?

Personally, I don’t think you can produce positive content about Daisy and also acknowledge the harm she causes. You can’t point at a character and say, yes, she has committed actual police brutality, but I think she deserves a cute lesbian romance anyway. That’s not really a thing tma has done wrong as much as it is a problem with the fandom, but like, at the end of the day, it’s all just a matter of critical thinking. Who is being hurt by these portrayals of the characters? How? Most of the problems with tma aren’t things that are, like, baked into the actual worldbuilding and for a lot of people, that’s enough for them to still justify making content for the show.

If your complaints sound like “oh, if only they didn’t do xy, this would make for a good show,” then you’re probably fine. But if it goes into “i like this, but only if I can ignore (major plot point)” think about why you feel the need to keep watching. There are shows I’ve stopped watching based on principle. There’s manga I read that I only talk about with my brother and no one else, because I don’t want to be exposed to the fans. It doesn’t have to be as simple as “well, this artist did a bad thing, so now I’m going to ignore it forever.” If you think the creators of something are bad people, don’t support them. You can still pirate it or whatever, but if it’s something like hetalia, where the point of the show is just “let’s put all these stereotypes in a room and see how they react” then yes, for your own sake, you should stop watching because this is how stereotypes become normalized, and no one should be consuming media where nazi germany as the protagonist.

Really, at the end of the day, it’s just a matter of becoming media literate and that’s a process that takes time. Remember that being interested in something that isn’t 100% doesn’t make you a bad person, and listen to the people around you. Try and be a safe space for the people who do have complaints and remember not to place your enjoyment of something over the comfort of others. Other than that, just... do your best, I guess?

[ranboounlabeled]

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink?  Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria: 

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok???  Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning!   Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls*  Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface]  Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day]  Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

[sunsetinmyvein]

CLOSED (for now)

All right, all right, ALL RIGHT. PEOPLE. For the first time, I am taking requestsssss (so, let’s see if this goes well or not lol). @aphxsia‘s taking requests, @dot-writes is taking requests, everyone is taking them and I just felt a tad left out, y’know? I’ve chopped up a bunch of other prompt lists to throw together this lovely prompt list below at the suggestion of Dot. My general idea is: send me a character, and one prompt from the “dialogue” side as well as one prompt from the “context” side (or more if you have more that fit together in an idea, I suppose. But I need one of each to get a VibeTM) and Iiiiii’ll do my best to make it work within a character x OFC/Reader sorta thing. Oh, and send me an album era for added flair, if you’d like. Deets below the cut.

 I’ll write for:

-          The boys of Fall Out Boy

-          The boys of Panic! At the Disco (we’re talkin’ Ryan and Jon days)

-          The boys of The 1975

-          And, if you’re incredibly ambitious, also willing to give Alex Gaskarth of All Time Low a whirl

 Rules:

-          Can’t do smut (sorry, it’s just awkward and clunky for me to write and nobody wants that)

-          Won’t write characters under 18

-          Won’t write slash

-          I just kind of reserve the right to be like “I dunno what to do with this, sorry” (But I’ve curated this prompt list, so I should be okay lol)

-          I’ll get around to them when I get around to them - I’ll be writing them around The Radio Station being posted as well, so you won’t be starved for content.

  Dialogue:

·         “You’re not in love with them, are you?”

·         “I could literally strangle you right now and no one would stop me.”

·         “It’s not as bad as it looks.” - “You’re not very convincing.”

·         “You need to relax.” - “Relaxing is for the weak.”

·         “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” - “A week?”

·         “How the fuck are you still alive?” - “It’s a special talent of mine.”

·         “Can you please just listen to me for once?”

·         “I think this is a bad idea.” - “You think all of my plans are bad ideas.”

·         “You should really listen to me more.”

·         “Do I even want to know?”

·         “You have the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.”

·         “Just take care of yourself, okay?”

·         “Please don’t use cheesy pickup lines on me.”

·         “I like it when you’re romantic.”

·         “I’m going to be pissed if we get murdered.”

·         “How could I resist?”

·         “I’m sorry, I don’t speak dumbass.” - “Real mature.”

·         “You’re worth every scratch.”

·         “I could name about 110 things I love about you.” - “That’s oddly specific.”

·         “We can raise hell together.”

·         “Partners?”

·         “Don’t get too cocky now.”

·         “Fuck me.” - “Really?” - “No.”

·         “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

·         “Do you trust me?” - “Should I?”

·         “Do you have any idea on how frustrating you can really be?”

·         “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

·         “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” - “You think so?”

·         “I don’t think that cancels out.” - “It does in my book.”

·         “You’re being dramatic.” - “I’m not being shit!”

·         “Take a break.” - “I don’t need it.” - “You look like a fucking zombie.”

·         “Then we’ll leave. Just you and me.”

·         “Do you need help? - “No… yes.”

·         “I hate you.” - “I love you too.”

·         “You have something in your hair, umm… Do you want me to get it out?”

·         “It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”

·         “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

·         “Would it be too cliche if we matched clothes a little?”

·         “My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk about how sometimes.”

·         “Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”

·         “Quit smiling at me, I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

·         “What are you smiling about?”

·         “What’s in it for me?”

·         “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.”

·         “You’re an idiot.” “But you love me.”

·         “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

·         “You come here often?” “Well considering I work here, yes.”

·         “Are you blushing?”

·         “Your hair is really soft.”

·         “You’re really warm.”

·         “You owe me.” “Fine, whatever you like.”

·         “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 

·         “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I loved you.”

·         “It’s pouring rain why are you here?”

·         “Is that blood?” “Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

·         “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” “You drink to everything.” “Cheers!”

·         “Why is there a deer in the room?” 

·         “Is that vodka? At 7 in the morning?”

·         “Wake me up when it’s over.” 

·         “Why is arson always your first answer?”

·         “Are you flirting with me?”

·         “Are they really ‘just a friend’?”

·         “Is there a reason you never say my first name?”

·         “Shh… listen… that’s the sound of me falling in love with you.”

·         “I have to tell you something really important and if I don’t tell you now, I won’t get the chance.”

·         “Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying!”

·         “I play a mean air guitar, if that’s what you’re asking.”

·         “I thought you knew?”

·         “We can, y’know, go together? If that’s a thing you’d like.”

 Context:

·         I remembered it was Valentine’s Day late on my way from work and the only place still open was McDonald’s, is bringing you a cheeseburger acceptable?

·         I accidentally punched you in the face when I was too overexcited about something

·         The library’s pretty empty save for you and me and, OH that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere

·         You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking you the fuck down

·         You give me a different fake name every time you come into this coffee shop and I just want to know your real name because you’re cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino

·         We live in the same block of flats but haven’t ever talked and Sunday morning we were both doing the walk of shame and had to stand in the lift together

·         “My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)”

·         You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you

·         It’s my high school reunion and I need a hot date so I can rub it in the faces of the people who hated me

·         There’s a person who won’t stop bugging me will you pretend to be my partner so that they’ll fuck off?

·         I wanted to go on the Ferris wheel but there has to be two people to a cart come on random person let’s go – oh, wait, are we stuck at the top? Fuck

·         It started to snow and I’m the only one of our friends who would go outside with you – I soon found out why none of the others would go out in the snow with you when you shoved a handful of snow down my back and declared snow war

·         It’s nowhere near Christmas it’s literally still November would you calm down about Christmas wait no why are you getting the tree out – no, stop, please stop

·         You were waving at your friend behind me but I got confused and waved back at you and now I’m dying of embarrassment but you think it’s cute

·         I’m a waiter at this wedding and you’re a drunk guest who will not stop hitting on me please I’m trying to work no I can’t dance with you omg let me find you some water

·         You’re pretending to be your friend’s lover for the sake of the friend’s family. But, I’m their sibling. And I know you’re not dating.

·         You had an assigned seat next to them at a wedding for a mutual friend.

·         You accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you opened the lid the wrong way.

·         They mistook your bowling ball for theirs in the shared ball return.

·         They caught you when you slipped on ice and nearly fell over.

·         Accidentally stepping on their heel in a crowded room.

·         Tripping while getting into your seat in the theatre and spilling your popcorn on them.

·         Accidentally opening a door on their face.

·         They cover the small amount of change you are short on for a purchase.

·         They see your ice cream drop to the ground and buy you a new one.

·         You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

·         Sharing an umbrella at a bus stop as it rains.

·         You help catch their dog when the leash slips from their hand.

·         Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

·         Getting paired up on an amusement park that requires even numbered riders.

·         A friend of a friend needs a place to crash because they got evicted

·         You’re so sunburnt you can’t even more, do you need help?

·         I admit that sleeping on the beach wasn’t the smartest idea but someone buried me in sand please help me

·         I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3am and when I asked you what the hell you were doing, you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet. Fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now. What the fuck is your name.

·         I always see you eat breakfast on the train and you always offer me some

·         I’m waiting for the train and the only open seat is on a bench next to you. Okay, sure, I’ll sit down next to the very cute person and I JUST SPILLED MY DRINK ALL OVER YOU I’M SO SORRY.

·         I don’t know you, but I fall asleep on the train every ride home and you always wake me up because we have the same stop, but we’ve never actually talked. Then one day you’re the one falling asleep and I got so excited for my comeuppance I made us get off at the wrong stop.

·         My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.

·         We’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad. Let me look after you

·         Did you actually just blue shell me on our date you fucker

·         I beat you at Mario Kart and now I’ve been banished to the couch for the night

·         I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. I mean… sure? I guess you can come down here but- okay…

·         I asked a staff member and they said you’ve been coming to the pound every day to play with the dog I’m taking home today and that’s why you’re getting weirdly emotional

·         It’s my turn to open up the café today and you were sleeping under one of the tables when I came in, and I don’t know what to say so I’m just awkwardly sweeping around you

·         I’m drunk on public transport and you’re high and we both keep looking at each other knowingly.

·         You’re mowing your lawn at 5am and that is completely unacceptable and I’m going over to your house to yell at you about how unacceptable that is.

·         It’s like 3am and my roommate locked me out of the house and I forgot my keys and I’m really drunk and please take pity on me and let me crash at your place for the night o’neighbour of mine

·         We decided it would be fun to go camping and now it’s raining and we can’t figure out how to set up the tent.

·         I know it’s probably poor taste to ask you out during your relative’s funeral but I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so…

·         It’s raining. I’m walking home in this downpour and have no umbrella. I’ve taken shelter on a random porch in the hopes that the rain will let up, but the door behind me had just opened

·         You’ve got a big, lush pool and I overheard you say you were going out of town, so I snuck over to use it but you came home early

·         You’re having a BBQ in your backyard and it smelled really good so I crashed the party

·         Not trying to make a scene here, but you took the last pool floatie and I want it

·         This is a big beach, why do you have to build that sandcastle right next to me?

·         You tried to grab the exact Halloween costume I want and it’s the last one and I want it.

·         I pranked the wrong person on accident, I’m so sorry I thought this was my friend’s car.

·         We just wanted to do one of these awful, fake ghost hunting shows but now shit is happening and we don’t know what to do.

·         I tried to take a shortcut and ended up stuck in this damn fence and you just happen to pass by and after poking fun at me for a million years you finally help me.

·         Two strangers locked inside the store at 3am together.

·         I accidentally broke your nose in a moshpit, sorry.

·         You’re the bastard who keeps parking in my spot so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me

·         This is a long plane ride. You’re stuck next to me, and apparently afraid of flying.