#i am hesitant to even tag these because of how incredibly low effort they are

[dreamingdeadly]

what dya know! more shitty p5 sketches while i work on comms

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

what happened the first time Wes tried to crack open the Danny is Phantom conspiracy did he like, confront Danny first or was it all behind his back like, maybe hoping ground zero would be lost among the gossip and that Danny wouldn't find out who spilled the beans once everyone knew

I mean it obviously wouldn't work because nobody believed him and the gossip didn't take off very far beyond a few people talking about Wes being kinda weird

I should absolutely write a fic about this.

I am absolutely going to write a fic about this.

I AM RIGHT NOW GOING TO WRITE A FIC ABOUT THIS.

----

"Hey Fenton! Fenton!!" Dash came bounding over and threw a meaty arm around his shoulder.

"Jesus Dash! What?!" Danny buckled under the weight (pretended to anyway) as Dash gave him a surprisingly lighthearted punch on the arm.

"You haven't heard?! Wes has this total batshit insane theory, it's hilarious!"

Dash was in a genuine giggle-fit, Danny didn't think he'd ever seen him this merry, he was also starting to suspect he was going to leave this conversation being the butt of the joke somehow. Wait-

"Wes? Who the heck is Wes?" Danny asked, it wasn't like he knew everyone in school, like Dash seemed to.

"He's on the basketball team, you know, tall guy, red hair, threw a sick move at least month's game! You know, WES!"

"I didn't watch that game."

"Oh," said Dash, flatly, "Oh yeah, almost forgot you're a total nerd. Anyway, like I was saying!"

Dash grabbed Danny by the shoulders and nearly lifted him off the floor.

"Wes thinks," he could barely speak through his giggling, he even snorted a few times, "Wes thinks your secretly PHANTOM."

Dash dropped Danny back down as he doubled over laughing.

"Could you imagine?! You! You're not even DEAD!" Dash honest to god slapped his knee in mirth.

Danny went through an incredibly swift array of emotions in the span of about five seconds.

The first was fear, clear and bracing, then came confusion, how did he know? Had he seen something? Then there was hope, Dash didn't believe it, and if DASH didn't believe it, maybe nobody else believed it either. Then relief, he could roll with this, he could TOTALLY roll with this! Dash was right! It was absurd, it was ridiculous, it was hilarious, him being Phantom? What utter nonsense!

Sam and Tucker had been standing by his side at a Dash-safe distance, looking absolutely horrified. Sam looked ready to jump in and lay down a swift defence, but Danny gave a quick little low wave for her to stand down. He got this.

"Oh my god SERIOUSLY?" Danny busted out a slightly hysterical laugh, okay so he wasn't completely over the initial terrified anxiety.

"How could I- I mean what- WHY does he think I'M Phantom?! I mean how does that even work I don't-"

Dash clapped him on the shoulder, this was probably the most contact he'd ever had with him without being physically assaulted.

"I know right?! Like apparently he thinks you look alike? And he's all like 'But I've seen his eyes glow green' and 'they're never in the same roo-hoo-hoom." Dash wheezed and started hacking and coughing.

Danny carefully constructed a look of offence.

"Hey I mean, it's not THAT funny. Why couldn't I be Phantom! I know how to use a Fenton Thermos! Look I even HAVE one right-" he torn open his backpack and pulled one out, making sure to fumble it in a terrific display of fuck-uppery and drop it noisily on the cafeteria floor, he dropped to his knees trying to grab it but knocked it under a table.

A few girls standing nearby who'd been listening in started tittering, one of the guys sitting at the table snorted milk through his nose and Dash was just about on the floor in hysterics.

Even Sam and Tucker covered their mouths in an attempt to look like they were holding in laughter. Tucker muttered to Sam, just loud enough for people around to hear.

"I mean, he's our friend and we love him, but god that was painful to watch. He knows he's terrible at ghost hunting! He's got like, nothing but thumbs."

Danny climbed under the table, grabbed at the thermos and lifted it up as he crawled back out.

"See! See! I have a thermos! I could TOTALLY be Phantom!"

Sam walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay bud, I think you'd be a great Phantom." her voice was thick with her usual sarcasm, soaked in pity though it were.

Danny's ears burned in embarrassment, he might have been humiliating himself on purpose, but it was still humiliating, watching everyone laugh at him for being so weak and incompetent. He was grateful to his friends for pushing through their discomfort and keeping up the act, it was still painful, but it came with a wash of pure unadulterated relief.

Nobody believed this Wes guy, nobody thought it could be even remotely possible. People would talk about it for a little while, have a laugh, maybe there would be a few memes and in-jokes, but eventually it would drop off. People would forget all about it and it would be just another notch on the gossip mill belt.

Even if someone DID believe it, they could never admit it for fear of vicious ridicule, for once in his life peer pressure was his friend.

And then Wes walked in.

Once Danny saw him he realised that he did recognise Wes, he'd seen him hanging around Kwan a few times, and chatting with Star, he was also in Danny's english class. That was about as familiar as he got with the guy, they'd never spoken a word to each other.

Wes had a terrifying expression of seething fury ripping across his face. He was glaring at Dash.

"It's NOT. FUNNY."

Dash was completely unable to stand, it was honestly overkill, Danny almost thought he was hamming it up on purpose, but maybe not, his face was turning an alarming shade of red after all.

"Wes don-" Dash gasped. "Don't do this to me man, I can't brea-" Dash was gasping for air, trying desperately to hold down the giggles.

Danny could almost see steam rising as Wes seethed. Then suddenly that furious stare was shooting daggers straight at him. Danny shrank into himself, looking as small and helpless as he possibly could.

"Uh hey Wes, um, I've heard the news." he joked tacking on a nervous laugh for emphasis. "Uh, soooo," he tossed the thermos from hand to hand, nearly dropping it again. "Is this like, just a joke or do you really-?"

Dash continued to wheeze, Kwan was holding him up by the arm, muttering about getting some water to cool off.

Wes strode over until he and Danny were face to face, he was taller by a good couple inches, even more so with Danny making a conscious effort to appear small.

Wes jabbed a sharp finger into his collarbone.

"Don't think I'm fooled by this pathetic act you've got going on, I am ONTO you, Phantom." he spat.

Danny glanced sidelong at the table beside him, silently begging for assistance, they only watched in silence, strained faces trying not to laugh. A glance the other way to his friends, they simply shrugged.

"Um, okaaay," Danny started backing away slowly. "Uh look Wes I am honestly really flattered but, do we really look that alike?" Danny ran a hand through his hair and then pointed up at Wes. "I mean we BOTH kinda have Phantom's haircut."

Sam deadpanned from the sidelines, "Maybe they're BOTH Phantom."

"We should start marketing that haircut." Tucker muttered to himself, tapping something on his tablet. "We could make a fortune, are you any good at hairdressing?"

Sam shot him a look of disgust and did not dignify the question with a response.

"Don't play dumb you two," said Wes, flipping his focus, "You're definitely in on this!"

The entire cafeteria was awash with giggles by this point. Just about everyone had heard about Wes' theory, but were mostly convinced it was some kinda joke. Now? Now they knew Wes was straight up fucking delusional.

He glanced around as people laughed, at him. At HIM.

"It's not funny!" he yelled over the crowed, the tittering increased in volume. Someone across the room yelled-

"Hey if I get the haircut, can I be Phantom too?"

One of the goths stood up on her seat.

"I've GOT the haircut! Mom says it's MY TURN to be the Phantom!"

There was a fresh round of mirthful laughter, some kids wheezing as hard as Dash had been. Another few kids piped up above the cacophony, throwing jokes of their own.

"I've got a soup thermos so I'm Phantom now, sorry sweaty I don't make the rules."

"If I wear a Phantom shirt does that make me Phantom ALL the time or am I only Phantom when I'm wearing it?"

"I have an ass, Phantom has an ass. Conclusion: I am Phantom's ass."

"Tag yourself I'm the thermos."

"DO THE BUTTS MATCH?"

Wes had been trying to scream over the din, infuriated, desperate to find SOMEONE who would listen.

Danny gave him a pat on the back.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, The Guys in White once hunted some guy down because he had white hair, if a government agency can fuck that up then-"

Wes slugged him.

It wasn't a particularly solid punch like Dash's hits, it was quick and precise, Was wasn't a brawny guy, but he was lean and fast and had good aim.

Danny whuffed out a heavy breath as Wes' fist collided with his sternum and he collapsed to the floor.

Everyone in the cafeteria lost their shit, a few people screamed and one table of football jocks all stood up chanting, "FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT."

Tucker ran over to him as Sam stepped up and without hesitation slammed a fist straight into Wes' nose.

The footballers lost their minds, one of the goths stood up on their table screaming "REPRESEEENT!!"

Wes backed up immediately, crying out from the sharp pain blossoming across his face, he'd never been hit before and couldn't pull his thoughts together quick enough to throw a punch back at her, so he was taken by surprise once again as Sam placed a solid roundhouse kick to his stomach.

He had certainly not been expecting that kind of brute strength from her, she had incapacitated him swiftly and effectively, barely having broken a sweat.

One of his teammates hollered over the crowd and came barrelling down on the goth, she dodged without batting an eye and darted nimbly out of the way, giving the guy a quick kick in the pants to throw him off balance as she rocketed for the cafeteria door.

As Wes took a deep breath through his mouth, his nose dripping blood, he realised that Danny and Tucker were gone. The fight had lasted only seconds but Sam had run distraction well enough for the boys to take off without anyone noticing, a glance around showed Tucker supporting Danny about to exit through the cafeteria doors.

The doors opened to an out of breath Mr Lancer on the other side.

"'The Light Fantastic!' WHAT is going on here?!"

Oh they were all so fucked.

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 02 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 02

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 8.7k

warnings: honestly not much. sex jokes n references, dolley simping for james, broke college student meals

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Dolley, holy shit; please tell me you're already home." Y/N's words were breathless as she hurried across the quad, muttering under her breath into her phone. She'd darted out of her lecture hall the moment they'd been dismissed, having no desire to stick around for the confrontation she knew was inevitable.

"I'm just getting out of class, dear," Dolley responded, but when she continued, her words were teasing. "What sort of trouble did you manage to get yourself into while I was gone?"

"I cannot begin to explain." Y/N let out a huff, glancing over her shoulder and ducking her head as she whispered, "but it's not good."

"Oh, good lord, Y/N; I was joking." She could hear the genuine worry begin to creep into Dolley's voice and couldn't help but wince.

"Yeah, I wish I was, too." She chalked the subsequent rush of static through the line up to Dolley's sigh. "Where are you right now? Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Want to go to dinner?"

"Too broke for that."

"Packaged ramen from the drugstore on the east side of campus?"

"Now you're speaking my language." Y/N grinned, and she could only picture Dolley rolling her eyes from wherever she was. "I'll be there in a few."

"You'd better. I can't wait much longer to hear what sort of nonsense you've been up to."

-                              

"You slept with a professor?!"

"Shh, Doll; not so loud," Y/N hissed, pulling her back into the soda aisle and frantically checking for any prurient eavesdroppers. Her voice was low when she added, "It was the guy at the bar last night. I had no idea he was a professor here."

Dolley let out a dry, disbelieving laugh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is... a mess."

"You're telling me."

"So, what's the plan going to be?"

When Dolley folded her arms, raising an amused eyebrow (a little too amused, in Y/N's humble opinion), but Y/N furrowed her brow. "What d'you mean, 'what's the plan?'"

"What are you going to do the next time you run into him?" Dolley asked. There was a pause; Y/N hadn't thought that far. "You don't really think you can make it through the semester ignoring this, do you?"

"I... Maybe? I don't know!" Y/N let out a frustrated huff. "That's what I need you to help me figure out. What else are you here for?"

"Oh, you make an excellent point," Dolley sighed. "All I do is pay half the rent and help you get laid at bars downtown."

Y/N scowled. "You helped me get laid by a professor. Just help me."

"Mmh, I don't think I heard a 'please' in there."

"Please, Dolley, my white knight to whom I owe my life," she pleaded, clutching her roommates arm and sighing wistfully. Dolley's lips were pressed into a line, but that didn't stop her smile from showing through. "I would be nothing without you; just please, do me this one final favor."

"Alright, alright," she conceded with a huff, shaking free from Y/N's grip. "Drama queen."

Y/N shrugged shamelessly. "I bring excitement into your life. Don't be ungrateful."

"Whatever you say, dear." The defeat in her words made Y/N grin. "So back to your excitement, then."

"I'm so lost," Y/N groaned, finally emerging from the soda aisle with shoulders slumped in defeat. "If the sex hadn't been so good, I'd probably just pretend it never happened."

Dolley creased her brow. "Was it really that good?"

Y/N turned to her with a serious demeanor, a hand on her shoulder as she looked her in the eye. "Dolley. I am covered in hickeys from my neck to my hips. That man damn near threw my back out. I won't bullshit you; there's no way I'm gonna be able to sit comfortably for—"

"Okay, alright! A 'yes' would've sufficed," Dolley cut her off, pushing past her to the shelf of instant noodles. Y/N looked disproportionately self-satisfied when she followed. "That's about enough details for one evening."

"You asked!"

"But you can't spend the entire semester ignoring him, Y/N," Dolley continued, ignoring her words. "That class is notoriously difficult — the only people I know who didn't frequent his office hours were the ones who got 'C's."

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples as her roommate pushed cup after cup of beef ramen into her basket. "So then shouldn't I just put this whole thing behind me? I can't really start asking him to help me analyze Kant if I open the conversation with, 'hey, good to see you again, you're almost as good at teaching as you are in bed.'"

Dolley laughed at her dry tone. "I don't mean that, of course."

"Then what do you mean?"

"If you never agree to put this all behind you, I think it's going to be on both of your minds for the rest of the semester," she said matter-of-factly, hesitating when the freezer at the side of the room caught her gaze. "Should we pick up pizza rolls, too?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course we should," Y/N scoffed, brushing past her toward the Totino's section. "But if he and I both just ignore it, wouldn't that be an easier way to put it behind us?"

"Oh, grab a bag of the cheeseburger flavor, would you?" Dolley leaned in to look over Y/N's shoulder, ignoring her words altogether, and she glanced back with a raised eyebrow.

"Can you focus for five seconds?" She dropped three bags of pizza rolls — pepperoni flavor — into her basket with a huff. "Anyway, the cheeseburger flavor is disgusting. Get some taste."

"Don't discount the nostalgia of it!"

"Dolley." Y/N fixed her with a pointed look, and she sighed.

"We both know ignoring it is a poor idea, even if it is the easier option." Dolley didn't waste a second in pushing right past Y/N when she stood, grabbing a bag of the cheeseburger pizza rolls (an oxymoron in itself, as Y/N would've told her) before the freezer door could fall shut. "Just talk to him after class one day. Don't make it take more than five minutes."

"I don't even know where I'd start with that. I've dealt with awkward fallout from one-night stands before, but never with a professor." Her footsteps stalled within the last yard of the frozen section. "I've just gotta ignore it and focus on the coursework, Dolley. Wanna get some Ben and Jerry's?"

"Are you trying to distract me with a pint of chocolate fudge brownie?" Dolley asked incredulously, before adding, "Because it's working. Let's get two."

She grinned. "Excellent."

Y/N figured that was the end of it, that two pints of ice cream and an incredibly vague game plan would be enough to satiate her friend for the time being, but after they checked out, trying to figure out how many meals they could extend one pack of ramen to (because, really, if you just add more water, doesn't it make the servings bigger?), Dolley felt the need to return to it as they walked through the sliding glass exit doors, her words holding an air of finality.

"If you really want to insist on not just communicating with the poor man, Y/N, then fine." Y/N raised a quizzical eyebrow, not yet following where Dolley had abruptly turned the trajectory of their conversation. "But after his lecture on Wednesday, when you realize that leaving the subject untouched just makes it more unbearable—" ("'When'?" Y/N muttered dubiously.) "—then I need you to agree to go talk to your professor."

Dolley didn't wait for her response, squinting at the nutrition facts on the ramen labels as her focus drifted elsewhere (sure, it said two servings, but she was fairly sure that only the bourgeoise couldn't have stretched it to three), but Y/N let out a surrendering sigh.

"Wednesday's going to be just fine," she said, realizing but not caring that Dolley was no longer listening. "But if it isn't, I'll talk to him."

-                        -         

Wednesday was not 'just fine.'

Y/N spent the entire class on edge, trying futilely not to let her thoughts drift back to the other night in the bar, then on the street in front of her building, then in the elevator, in her living room, even in the kitchen— but no, she was getting off track. Little did she know, Thomas was having precisely the same issue.

She jotted down his words almost robotically, the meaning of them going into one ear and out the other, more focused on the sound of his voice than on what he was actually saying.

Only once did she manage to focus for long enough to actually process a thought, but when he was fielding questions about the material, Thomas conveniently managed to miss her having raised her hand from where she was seated. She supposed she'd just positioned herself too far back and thought no more of it.

Despite how 'not fine' that day had been, she dismissed it as a fluke, showing up the next Monday with her head on straight, her readings prepared and annotated, and took a seat several rows further forward. Her motivation may have been misplaced, leaning a bit too far toward wanting to impress her professor and not far enough toward a desire to understand the material, but she was familiar enough with the content to feel comfortable giving her input on the questions he posed to the class throughout the lecture.

Again, her efforts bore no fruit. Her notes were better that day, so that was certainly something to count as a plus, but she left feeling put-out by the fact that she hadn't even had a chance to participate. Usually, she wouldn't have been so perturbed by this — sitting through a Socratic seminar playing tetris on her laptop was no unfamiliar experience — but this class accounted for six of the twelve credit hours she still needed for her chosen major. She didn't suppose that it'd be a good look to have the class dragging down her GPA to be the same one she was supposedly most passionate about; generally speaking, that wasn't what graduate schools were looking for.

Besides, she liked the subject, too. Surely that had to count for something?

And that was how she kept pushing off the inevitable conversation with Thomas — sorry, Professor Jefferson — and coming up with increasingly creative excuses as to why her efforts were being so plainly ignored, not only that following Wednesday, too, but also the Monday and Wednesday after. She'd made it through three weeks of classes before she could finally work up the nerve to confront him.

Unfortunately, that task proved to be no easier than her previous one.

Thom— her professor was always the last one into the lecture hall and the first one out, leaving no opportunities for chatter, or in her case, a supposedly inevitable clash she'd already begun arming herself for. She'd nearly caught him in the halls at various times, but he always seemed to have somewhere he urgently needed to be. The same doctrine followed in his office hours; apparently, another student had scheduled a meeting with him three minutes after every single time she arrived, without fail, so could she please just come back another time? Surely, another time would be better for both of them.

That time never came.

It was near the end of the fourth week that she was entirely fed up. They'd moved from Kant to Machiavelli, and so far, The Prince had her ready to tear her hair out. It didn't help that they'd all just finished the book, their first paper of the year on it due the next Monday.

She was far past lying to herself about her motives being purely academic while she continued to privately just want his attention — no, by then, she was hopped up on forty ounces of sugary coffee and just a touch of RedBull, and she hardly had a thesis for her paper. She'd read the same passages time and time again — she likely could've recited them word-for-word by the time she demanded feedback — and any shallow, vain desires for recognition were the furthest thing from her mind. She needed a professor, and she was pissed that Thomas didn't seem to have any interest in acting like one.

It was late Thursday evening when she marched across the green from the library to the building that housed his office in a fury. Yes, it was the last week of January; yes, the entire city was still coated in snow, but no, she could not bring herself to care about the very real possibility of frostbite as she trudged through the snow in sweatpants, slippers, and a tank top. Practicality wasn't her priority. Finishing her paper was.

Thomas's office hours were from 7 to 10 PM every evening, a schedule he stuck to religiously. It was 9:24 when Y/N began tracking snow through the bottom floor of his building, and 9:31 when she finally managed to locate and reach his actual office.

It was reluctant when she finally knocked, struggling to resist the urge to simply bust in and rip him a new one, but to her relief, it was simply met with a 'come in.' That was when she threw the door open in a fit of annoyance.

"You've been avoiding me," she said, eyes narrowed and tone accusatory before he could so much as react to her presence.

"Y/N, I—" His eyes were wide; he seemed to be at a loss for words as his eyes drifted down to her sweatpants and Hello Kitty slippers. He couldn't have convinced her it wasn't a dignified look even if he'd tried. "What are you doin' here?"

"We need to talk." She dropped her bag into one of the chairs in front of his desk, though she chose not to take a seat, instead glaring down at him, arms folded.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and though his head was down, his shadow of a grimace told her everything she needed to know: he'd been dreading this conversation far more than she had. "Look, right now really isn't a great time. I've got—"

"Don't bullshit me, Thomas."

"Professor Jefferson," he corrected her, the words hissed through gritted teeth, and she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"My bad. Don't bullshit me, Professor Jefferson." Y/N scowled as she took another step towards him. "Your office hours don't end until ten. There's no way you have time for a meeting between now and then if you haven't already started one."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Alright. Alright, fine. And I know what you're gonna say, but—"

"Do you really?" she challenged him, head cocked to one side. "Because the fact that you haven't given me one chance to speak to you in almost a month tells me pretty clearly that you don't. Generally, you find out what people have to say by listening to them."

"We can't have this conversation here. You've gotta come find me some other time." The urgency in his voice only served to infuriate her further. What right did he have to be dictating this when he'd tried to stop the conversation altogether?

"Oh, believe me, I've tried," Y/N huffed. "I'm done accommodating. If you wanted to talk about this some other time, I would've been happy to, but we're well past that."

He held her burning gaze warily for another moment, but she didn't let up. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. Say your part. I'm listenin'."

"You've been completely freezing me out. You haven't been answering my questions in classes; you haven't been letting me contribute to discussions; you, most recently, haven't let me talk to you for more than five seconds, hence why I'm here." She launched into an irate monologue without any further encouragement, and to his credit, Thomas at least had the decency to look guilty. "You've been turning me away at your office hours; for fuck's sake, Thomas, you haven't even answered any of my emails!"

"I know, I know," he said, and though she could see the exhaustion written across his face, she didn't let him continue. "But you've gotta understand—"

"I'm not done," she cut him off, and it was then that he raised an affronted brow. "Anyway, I get why you're keeping your distance. Really, I do. And honestly? I can't really blame you for it."

"Well, great, so—"

"But with that said," —she gave Thomas an expectant look as she continued to speak over him, challenging him to try and interrupt— "You've been doing more than keeping your distance. You've been outright ignoring me, and that's where I'm drawing a line in the sand. Refusing to engage with me doesn't help either of us."

She let out a heavy breath when she finally reached the end of her rant, and though he was certainly taken aback, Thomas looked unimpressed.

"May I speak now?" he asked mockingly, and she scowled. "Or are you just gonna keep cuttin' me off?"

"Depends how much bullshit comes out of your mouth."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure." He put his pen back into the cup on the edge of the desk before drawing himself up to the fullest height he could reach in a rolling chair. With how he was looking at her, with how cross his tone was, Y/N may have backed down in another context, but quite frankly, she was beyond having anything to lose. "I understand that you're hurt, Y/N, and for that, 'm honestly sorry, but—"

"I'm not hurt, I'm ticked!"

"Y/N." That time, his hard voice, his barely-contained anger, did make her shrink away, just a bit. "You've gotta realize that what happened is in the past. It was a mistake. I didn't know you were a student here — you even told me you went to school in Chicago."

"I did, for two years."

"Doesn't matter. Moral of the story is that you've gotta leave that in the past. I'm your professor now, and that's a boundary that can't be crossed. We both need to stop dwellin' on it." His saying 'we' rather than 'you' certainly didn't go unnoticed, but Y/N deemed it not worth addressing.

"Great. It's behind us. Can you stop ignoring me now?"

"Come on, Y/N—"

"Seriously? You're gonna argue with that?" She threw her hands up in a huff, beyond exasperated and crossing the line to indignance. "You wanna remind me that you're my professor? Then stop acting like I don't exist. It's that simple, Thomas."

"It's Professor Jefferson. And I'm not tryin' to ignore you," he defended. "But don't you see the position this puts me in? My job's at stake here. This can never happen again!"

"And who said I wanted it to?" she bit back immediately, and for just a moment, Thomas was rendered silent.

"If that's not what you're lookin' for, then what are you here for?" His voice was quiet, his gaze searching, and Y/N sighed.

"Seriously? I haven't made myself clear enough?" She raised an eyebrow, but his blank look told her all she needed to know. The tension in her shoulders dropped; her combative stance went neutral when she reached into her bag, pulling it from the chair in front of his desk. "You're the one who keeps emphasizing that you're my professor — and that's what I need you to be right now."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly lost as she withdrew Machiavelli's The Prince from her bag, beaten up and slathered in colored tabs around the edges. She added in a small voice, "I've been struggling with the reading. I did it all, but there are just a couple passages that... I need help with."

Thomas — no, Professor Jefferson (god, was she ever going to struggle with getting that down) — looked stunned, plain and simple. Y/N had expected all of his assumptions for why she'd shown up there. Two weeks earlier, they may have also been accurate ones, but ultimately, she was still just a student. He'd really had to have had a big head to think he'd take priority over that for any extended period of time.

His eyes were wide. He continued to look toward her, but his gaze was blank, slowly drifting to his desk, until finally, he sighed. "Well, shit. I, uh... I'm really sorry, Y/N. Really." If the growing guilt behind his shock hadn't been clear enough in his demeanor, it was woven tightly into his voice. His stare flickered back up to her, and despite her lingering irritation, the apology in it softened her. "I got so caught up in my own problems that I didn't even consider. I didn't mean to assume that you... y'know."

"Came here to try and get dicked down?" Y/N supplied, voice dry as she watched him expectantly. He cracked a sheepish smile.

"Somethin' like that."

"As though it'd be worth the effort," she snorted. "There are, like, thirty frats on campus, and I have a paper due Monday — in case you'd forgotten. If I wanted to get laid, I'd do it much more efficiently."

"Mm, but would it be as good?" At the clear ego in Thomas's playful stare, Y/N's eyebrows shot toward her hairline.

"Now who's crossing boundaries?"

Despite the skepticism in her voice, Thomas laughed. "'M just kiddin'. Promise."

"Hilarious." Her small, persistent smile undermined her sarcasm, and his gaze was soft.

"Alright, alright, come take a seat. Show me which pages you're strugglin' with."

"Yeah, so it's less full pages and passages than it is key phrases I just can't seem to connect to the rest of the work." Y/N lowered herself into the chair that wasn't already holding her bag as she flipped open her book to her third pink tab, turning it to show him. "Like, here. Chapter 19."

"Mhm."

"I understand what the whole page is getting at, but look at this..."

They sank easily into the text, despite being focused more on one another's voices than on the writing itself. Ten PM had long since come and gone, but as the night stretched on, the pair only continued to pass Y/N's book back and forth, bouncing from passage to passage, idea to idea as though no time had passed at all. Neither of them bothered to check any sort of a clock until Y/N let out a loud, drawn-out yawn. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"You gettin' tired?" Y/N gave a halfhearted shrug as he finally checked his watch, and his eyes widened. "Shit, it's past eleven. We should get you outta here."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Her voice was weary as she lifted herself out of her seat, tucked her book back into her bag. "I've got everything I need for my paper, anyway."

"Glad to hear it." Thomas reached for his coat as she made her way to the door, but she paused when he asked, "You're not thinkin' of walkin' home, are you?"

She glanced back over her shoulder. "What if I am?"

Thomas furrowed his brow. "Tell me that's a joke. That's gotta be a joke." Y/N shrugged, and Thomas groaned lightly. "In that outfit, you freezin' and gettin' abducted are equally likely, you know that?"

"Aw, thanks for letting me know! Now I feel so much safer," she said, plastering on a mocking smile.

"Lemme call you an Uber," he offered, and Y/N quirked a brow.

"Are you that much of a one-trick pony?"

"If makin' sure women get home safe is my only trick, I think it's a pretty good one to have," he said matter-of-factly, and Y/N had to laugh.

"I can appreciate that. An Uber would be great." Y/N pulled her bag up her shoulder as she returned to his door. "I'll see you Monday?"

"Mhm. Your driver's named Amy, and she's drivin' a blue Camry, by the way," Thomas informed her, and Y/N smiled. "G'night, Y/N."

"Night, professor."

             -           

From then on, Y/N began frequenting Thomas's office hours, only hesitantly at first. While her motives were genuine, all of them being centered around getting into grad school, she didn't want to become overbearing, especially with the one night, the sixteen stolen hours that still hung over their heads. She stopped by twice the following week, neither time staying long as other students began to trickle in, peeking nervously around the corner toward his office, knocking so quietly at first that neither Thomas not Y/N realized someone was there. She didn't need him any more than her classmates did, so she yielded her time gracefully.

Moreover, she knew that only very little of the time he offered to students wasn't already occupied, and while the reason for that was certainly clear to her, she wasn't sure whether it'd gone over his head. It wasn't until the fourth time she went to meet with him that she found he was every bit as aware as everyone else.

"Hey, Thom—" Y/N cut herself off with a wince. "Professor Jefferson, you around?" she called down the hall to his office, nose still buried in the email from the anthropology department that she'd pulled up on her phone (apparently they were having a bake sale on the east green; Y/N didn't bother to read further and learn why once she saw they'd have caramel brownies). She only glanced up when she didn't receive an answer, instead hearing chatter drift down the hall, and her footsteps slowed as she neared his doorway. Her eyebrows shot up.

Y/N recognized the woman seated — well, hardly still seated, at that point — with her back to her as Lucy Hart, who sat front and center during every single one of their lectures, who was now all but draping herself across Thomas's desk, leaned onto her forearms and with a pen between her teeth.

Though she seemed to find whatever Y/N had just missed to be hilarious, Thomas's amusement was forced, uneasy as he eased his hand away from where hers had fallen to cover it, holding the book open by one of its ends.

"Alright, Miss Hart, we'll see." Whatever the question was, Thomas wasn't about to give her a straight answer, but Lucy seemed to take that as a challenge. Her cleavage finally spilled back into the neckline of her dress when she sat back in her seat, but she traced one finger up Thomas's forearm.

"I guess we will," she replied. She hadn't seemed to have caught on to how wildly uncomfortable she was making him — Y/N could only assume Lucy had decided she'd left him 'flustered.' She reached for his copy of Hobbes's Leviathan, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing over his as she did so. "Now, where were we?"

Ahem.

From the angle they were seated at, neither Thomas nor Lucy had noticed Y/N standing in the doorway, an eyebrow raised — when she cleared her throat, though, they both jumped. Their reactions to her presence couldn't have been more disparate. The relief written deep in Thomas's tiny smile was obvious, but Lucy was looking her over with a scowl.

"Hey," Y/N finally said, taking a step forward. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"'Course not." It was Professor Jefferson who answered, tone formal and body language neutral, but how quickly he'd answered, overtly cutting off Lucy, told Y/N she wasn't misreading the situation. "What can I do for you, Y/N?"

"Yeah, Y/N," Lucy furthered, eyeing her dubiously. "Why are you here?"

Y/N's gaze flickered between the pair of them, the tension in Thomas's shoulders subtle but clear as he inched his arm further from Lucy's. "Last I checked, Professor Jefferson, we had a meeting scheduled for right about now."

Her smile was genuine despite how Thomas knit his dark brow; she hadn't yet moved past finding the ordeal wildly entertaining. "Do we?"

"I thought so," she added with a shrug, and when her pointed gaze fell to Lucy, who still looked irate sitting in the small tufted chair across from him, Thomas sighed, and Y/N felt confident it'd been a sigh of relief. He seemed to have realized the escape rope she'd thrown into his lionness's den. "Unless I got the time wrong? It could've been tomorrow evening, I—"

"No, no you're in the right," he cut her off a little too adamantly, and though she'd already begun to dig through her phone for the nonexistent calendar event, she looked up with her eyebrows raised. "'S my bad. I took the timing down wrong."

Y/N had to bite down her self-satisfied smile. "Are you sure? Because really, we can reschedule; I'm also available—"

"No. Now's just fine," he assured her, and the indignant look Lucy shot him had the beginnings of a smile creeping past Y/N's innocent mask. "Made a promise, and it'd be only right to keep it, wouldn't it?"

"It is your responsibility to model integrity, professor."

"Then I guess I've gotta make sure I don't give anybody the wrong idea."

Y/N wasn't sure whether the words, 'the wrong idea' were pointed at her or at Lucy, or whether they were even pointed at all, with her simply reading too far into a nonexistent subtext to take them at face value. She didn't dwell much longer.

"Well, thanks for stoppin' by, Miss Hart—" Vindication flashed in Y/N's eyes when she noticed his electing not to use Lucy's first name. "—I hope all this discussion's deepened your understandin' of Hobbes's view on human nature."

"Oh, I've learned quite a bit about human nature," Lucy said as she stood, and Thomas's discomfort hadn't faded. Y/N was struggling to comprehend what about her words possibly justified her tone being so suggestive. "I hope I can come back another night for you to teach me a little more of it, Thom— oh! I mean, Professor Jefferson."

She glanced bashfully at Y/N with her final few words, her sheepish front fooling no one. Y/N wasn't sure to what end, but this was a clear ploy for her jealousy — she'd been around the block once or twice. Y/N genuinely struggled to contain her amusement as Lucy shot him a wink before turning to leave, exaggerating the movements of her hips. The door fell shut behind her.

It wasn't until Lucy's footsteps were out of earshot that Thomas let out a heavy sigh, sinking down in his chair, and Y/N let out the laugh she'd spent the past ten minutes swallowing.

"So, Lucy Hart, huh? That's who you've been spending all your alleged 'office hours' with?" she started, and Thomas's glare was weak.

"C'mon, Y/N."

"Is that why your door's locked half the times I show up here? Today wasn't very subtle, you know."

"Y/N." His voice was hard when he gave her a pointed look, but with how tired he looked, she didn't push it further, just smiled.

"Relax; I'm just kidding." She shrugged off her jacket. "I know that if you were to sleep with a student, it wouldn't be Lucy. Don't worry."

He raised his eyebrows at her audacity, her smug grin, but he couldn't prevent the amusement that showed through to his expression. "Really? You're gonna go there?"

"Go where?" When she knit her brow, plastered on a confused frown, Thomas had to swallow his laugh. "Now, I'm just not sure what you're implying, professor. Do you plan on sleeping with Lucy?

"Hilarious, Y/N." His rolling his eyes left her undeterred. "In all seriousness, though, I think she really believes she is bein' subtle."

"Unfortunately, I'm well aware," Y/N sighed. "I've seen her at a few too many parties to have any illusions about what a painfully tactless flirt she is."

"You're tellin' me."

"Has it been like this all semester?" she asked. Sure, Y/N had seen how shameless Lucy was during lectures, leaving no stone unturned to draw attention to herself, but this seemed a new level of egregious. Yet, Thomas nodded.

"Once a week, every week. Least, when it isn't more than that."

"Sometimes it's more?" Y/N let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, and Thomas nodded his solemn confirmation. "Jesus. So this is why you look pissed every time she participates in class. I figured you just hated the sound of her voice as much as I do."

"Believe me; I've been startin' to."

"That's so harsh!"

"Aw, c'mon, and you wouldn't?"

Y/N shrugged, pursed her lips, but her eyes glinted with hubris. "Well," she said, "It'd depend on how hot the student was. I mean, in my opinion, if Lucy was me, it just might be a different story."

Thomas couldn't bring himself to look annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. Alright," he said, shaking his head at her words. "You think you're fuckable. I get it."

"Glad we agree." Y/N's lips quirked up into a smug smile, but Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"Hang on, now. That's not quite what I—"

"But if she's really bothering you," Y/N continued, altogether disregarding his protests, and Thomas sighed. "You know you could just, like, talk to Lucy about it, right? You're the one with the power, here."

She couldn't put her finger on exactly why he winced at the latter sentence.

"Guess so, I just... I dunno. 'S really no big deal; I'm just gettin' fed up with all that." He gave a halfhearted shrug that made her raise an eyebrow. "But don't worry 'bout that. Why're you here, if not for the meetin' we've supposedly got scheduled for tonight?"

His tone was light, playful with the question, but Y/N was still stuck on what he'd started with. "Hold on; you can't just deflect that easily."

"Deflect from what?" He furrowed his brow, but Y/N just huffed, walking toward the near side of his desk.

"From whatever you're getting 'fed up with all of,'" she said, and when she eyed him skeptically, his fatigued sigh told her she wasn't imagining things. "Can I sit?"

"Yeah, sure, join me." Thomas beckoning her toward his empty chairs was almost absentminded. "But really, it's nothin'."

"No offense, but I don't know if I believe you." As she sank down into one of his guest's seats, a conflicted look flickered across his gaze, building further on the concern in her words. "What's up? C'mon; talk to me."

He hesitated. "'M serious, Y/N; it's not—"

"Thomas."

He raised an eyebrow, but it took her a moment to notice her own error. "Excuse me?"

"Professor Jefferson, I mean. Of course." Her smile was sheepish, but it just made him chuckle.

"Alright, alright. 'S nothin' serious, anyway, but 'm just gettin' sick of not bein' taken seriously."

Y/N's words were hesitant as she raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? People take you seriously."

"Mm, but do they?" He sighed as he sat back in his chair. "I'm the youngest professor on campus; half my office hours are taken up by undergrads hittin' on me. It's hard to feel like I'm gettin' a lot of respect when you don't even treat me like a professor."

"Hey, come on, I respect you," she defended, and he shook his head.

"I don't mean you, specifically, Y/N. Just... your whole class. I'm already hardly old enough to be teachin' at a university, but it also kinda sucks to see how many people pretend to care about learnin' just to get my attention," he said, and his voice was soft. His quiet sigh made Y/N frown, especially as his absent gaze wandered through his own office.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he glanced back over to her. "Keep in mind, though, you made the first move on me. Not the other way around."

Despite her having been entirely serious, her words made Thomas laugh — a full-bodied laugh, too, one that couldn't help but make her smile in return. "Thanks for lettin' me know," he said, and though she rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, she was glad to see him lightening up. "Sorry to say it, sweetheart, but not everything's about you."

Neither noticed his casual term of endearment. "What a shame," Y/N sighed.

"Mm, I'm sure. I guess I just..." When he trailed off, Y/N raised a brow, and the concerned look in her eyes was what prompted him to continue. "I know I'm smart, 'n all, but it never feels great to feel discounted. Especially bein' new to the faculty."

"I hear that," Y/N said, her tone light but gaze solemn. "For what it's worth, I do come to your office for help because I know you can and want to provide it, not because I have some ulterior motive."

"Glad to hear it." Though his tone almost suggested he may have been being facetious, Y/N could tell that he wasn't making fun. "But on that note, thanks for givin' me an out with the Lucy fiasco. What'd you need, comin' here?"

Y/N's smile was small, all but apologetic as she unzipped her bag after pulling it into her lap. "Right. So, I know this isn't your job, and all..."

When she trailed off, Thomas eyed her suspiciously, especially as her lips only seemed to stretch further into a grin. "What's this about?"

"Is there any chance you'd be willing to read over my paper for my constitutional law seminar?" At the hopeful look she wore as she withdrew her printed essay from her bag, he had to laugh.

"Really? You're not even here for somethin' about my class?"

"Yes or no, professor?" She raised a brow, waving the packet back and forth expectantly.

"And why'd you decide to come see if I'd look through it? What makes you think I'm gonna?"

"You read over my French paper last week!" she pointed out, and Thomas sighed.

"Yeah, 'cause I speak French."

"You speak English, too. And you worked in government." Y/N shrugged, putting the paper down on his desk regardless. "So, please? I'd ask my roommate, but she's studying business, and you must know how that goes."

"You trashin' on business majors?" Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"If I was, would I be wrong?"

Her deadpan stare made him laugh. "Can't argue with that. Give it here."

He held his hand out for the essay, and she gave it to him with a wide grin. "You're the best."

"What else is new?" he asked, and despite how dry his tone was, his eyes were teasing. "You wanna go through it with me now, or should I get it back to you some other time?"

"Any chance we can go over it now?" she asked. "It might sort of be due in two days."

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you tellin' me I'm some kinda last resort?"

"Of course not!" she defended, but she hesitated before continuing, "Just an eleventh-hour supplementary resource who's going to help me get a diploma."

"I'm sure," he said, and the skeptical look he gave made the corners of her lips twitch. "You owe me, y'know that?"

"Really. I should start paying you, one of these days."

"To be fair, you do pay my salary."

"Mm, maybe some students do, but I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you."

Thomas furrowed his brow, confusion permeating every aspect of his expression as he looked back at her. "What, you 'n Elizabeth Warren linked up in a personal campaign for free college?"

"No, but the president of financial aid and I did." She shrugged. "Honestly, they saved my ass. Sorry I'm not raising your salary, or anything, but I hardly pay to go here."

When he slowly nodded, she could see the small, subtle smile tugging at his lips. "I'll try not to hold it against you. 'M glad you ended up here anyway."

Y/N's grin was exaggerated, a fact she did nothing to conceal. "Aww, professor, I knew you secretly liked having me here."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile mirrored hers. "I meant that I'm glad that money isn't holdin' you back from gettin' a good education."

"I'm sure you did."

Thomas cocked a brow. "D'you want me to read your paper or not?"

At his words, Y/N had to bite back her cocky grin, and she nodded. "Yes, please."

"Then get off your high horse 'n listen." Despite his words, amusement sat heavy in the way he was skeptically eyeing Y/N.

"Of course, professor."

-                         

"It's been shockingly chill."

Y/N was sprawled out on the carpet of her living room, a styrofoam cup of ramen in one hand and chopsticks in the other, while Dolley sat curled up at the end of the couch flipping through Netflix on their TV.

"No lingering sexual tension?" Dolley challenged, glancing down to where Y/N was slurping her noodles (she'd asserted that ramen on the couch was too high of a stain risk). Y/N shook her head, and Dolley raised an eyebrow. "Really? No secret desire to end up bent over his desk?"

"Okay, listen, what I want and what I act on are two very different things." She pointed her chopsticks at Dolley accusatorily. "I can have it both ways."

"So you're still looking for another night of fun?" Dolley raised a playful eyebrow, and Y/N only grinned.

"Are you offering?"

"I could be convinced, dear." The wink Dolley sent her made Y/N laugh, broth sloshing down the side of her cup that she didn't hesitate to lick off of the back of her hand.

"Mhm, because my sex appeal is through the roof, I'm sure."

"Alright, I'll confess. I am only joking, after all," Dolley sighed, a wistful look in her eyes as she scrolled through the Netflix TV dramas category. "But only because things with James are going better than I expected."

Y/N's eyes widened; she spun in her spot on the floor. "Dolley, oh my God, spill! You've been holding out on me."

"There's not much for me to spill, really." She shrugged, and the smile she wore was coy. "He and I have just been getting on well. Nothing more to it."

"No. Uh-uh." Y/N shook her head, setting her near-empty instant ramen onto their coffee table. "You're gonna give me more than that. You have to. Clearly something's been happening."

Dolley bit her lip. "So, would we rather watch Stranger Things or The Good Place?"

"Don't you dare change the subject!"

"Alright, alright," she finally sighed, and her gaze was soft when she finally met Y/N's eyes. "So, we've been seeing each other more often. Getting coffee, grabbing lunch between classes. He's even had me read over different drafts of his thesis."

"Aww, he's using you as an editor? How romantic!"

"Make fun all you want, but he trusts me with it. Isn't that worth something?"

"Of course it is, Doll." Y/N smiled, unable to tease Dolley further when she had such a sappy look in her eyes. "But if you've been dating, why am I just finding out?"

She didn't meet Y/N's gaze, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves. "We haven't been going on dates, really."

"Oh yeah? This is how you talk about hanging out with everyone else you aren't dating?" The challenge in Y/N's tone made her scoff, roll her eyes, but they both knew she had a point.

"It's nothing official."

"But do you want it to be?" Y/N quirked a brow. Dolley's smile was faint.

"Maybe a little," she said quietly, and Y/N's grin broadened.

"That's adorable. I'm thrilled for you," she said, but there was a heavy pause before she hesitantly added, "but be careful with him."

Dolley furrowed her brow, finally turning toward where Y/N sat. "What d'you mean?"

"You have a habit of quickly getting attached to men who turn out to be terrible for you. Remember Henry?"

"Knox or Clay?"

"Either. You're making my point." Y/N gave her a knowing look, but Dolley didn't seem overly offended. "You're just too quick to give people the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone deserves it."

"But that's what you love about me, dear."

"Don't you turn my undying love and affection for you against me!" Y/N protested, and though she rolled her eyes, Dolley appeared to be entertained. "I adore you for what a sweetheart you are, but it's also what men take advantage of."

"Yes, I know; you've given me this talk before," Dolley sighed. "But really, I think this time might be different. I really like James."

Y/N pursed her lips. "It'd better be. Otherwise he's gonna have hell to pay."

"I'm not too worried."

"I am."

"Would you feel better if I gave you a chance to screen him?" Y/N raised an interested eyebrow at Dolley's words. "Because I invited him to come over Wednesday night for dinner. If you'd like, it'll be a prime time for you to interrogate him."

She sighed. "I dunno, Doll. I don't want to third wheel."

"You live here. You won't be third-wheeling," Dolley pointed out. "And you wouldn't have to stay! You could just pop in, say hello, and either leave or just go wait him out in your room."

A small smile grew across Y/N's lips at her words. "And you'll seriously let me interrogate him?"

"Have at it."

"I'm in."

-                                  

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: James is coming over in five minutes, so get home whenever

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: unless of course you've decided to grant him your tacit approval

Y/N sent: be home soon 😪

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: see u 😘

"Y/N?"

It was Wednesday evening, around 6 PM. Y/N's political philosophy seminar had just been let out, but she'd really spent most of her focus over the past three hours on figuring out exactly how to determine whether or not James was a piece of shit. Apparently he was bringing takeout to her and Dolley's apartment for all three of them, which she saw to be a point in his favor.

However, as her classmates filed out of the lecture hall, Y/N stood idly, taking hesitant steps forward out of her row as she tried to multitask, neither eager to stop texting Dolley or to trip all the way down the steps to the front of the room. It was Professor Jefferson who knocked her out of the reverie that'd been induced by the promise of James delivering what she imagined to be the best food she'd had in weeks.

She looked up with a brow raised, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "Hey, professor."

"You have a second to talk?"

"Oh, um..." Despite her deep-seated motivation to get home before dinner was cold, she supposed it could wait just a little longer. She nodded. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

She pulled her bag onto her shoulder as she stepped out onto the hall's staircase, maybe three rows up from where Thomas stood at the bottom floor.

He leaned nonchalantly against the first row of desks. "So, the TA I've had since first semester's leavin' in a week or two. He's goin' abroad to South Korea for the fourth quarter, 'n he's decided to resign from bein' my assistant at the end of this week, so that he can make sure he's got everything in order for the next three months."

She frowned. "That's too bad. I'm sorry to hear it." She folded her arms, paused before adding, "So what, you want me to break the news to the class that we aren't getting those papers on the Enlightenment back anytime soon?"

At her quirked brow, her playful smile, Thomas had to give a light laugh. "Mm, I'm hopin' it won't come to that."

"You should probably get to grading instead of keeping me from dinner, then."

"Oh, 'm sorry; how dare I, really?" He responded, a hand over his heart, and she had to bite back her entertained smile at the irony in his indignance.

"Honestly. I can't imagine why I put up with it."

"I'll make it up to you," he said dryly. "But seriously, 'm not just tellin' you that for the sake of small talk. What I'm sayin' is that I have an openin' to find a new TA."

"I see," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And where, pray tell, do I come into all this?"

It wasn't that his train of thought was hard to follow, nor was his implication, but until he said it outright, Y/N had no desire to make any sort of an assumption.

He smiled. "You have any interest in becomin' a TA?"

"Seriously?" She furrowed her brow. "I mean, I appreciate it, but why?"

"First off, your work's consistently at the top of this class," he said matter-of-factly. They both knew she was well aware of this, after the hours in his office she'd spent grilling him on the historical context of every one of Voltaire's assertions and the implications of every early revolution. "You're a good writer, 'n you're more than capable of reviewin' other students' work. You've also already taken most of the other classes I teach, so you're familiar with all the material."

She nodded slowly, folding her arms, and though her expression would've conveyed that she was deep in thought, she couldn't suppress her growing smile. "I see. So it doesn't have anything to do with how attractive or charming I am?"

When she raised a playful eyebrow, he laughed outright. "Whenever your charm can start gradin' thirty ten-page papers a day, I'll start takin' it into account."

"Don't underestimate it."

"Alright, alright, I'll keep it in mind." He shook his head, and his lingering smile made the corners of her lips twitch. "'M serious, though. If you've already got enough on your plate, and you don't wanna take on another commitment, that's cool 'n all, and I can always ask someone else. But would you want the position?"

She pursed her lips, eyed him hesitantly. "Will I need to apply for it?"

"Nah," he said. "By the university's policy, you've gotta send me your resume and transcript, but if you wanna be my TA, you've got it. So?"

When she bit her lip, his eyes flickered down to her mouth so briefly that she almost didn't notice it. "I don't know, Thom—" He raised a brow. "Professor. Is there any chance I can think on it and get back to you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course. I can give you 'til the end of the week, if that's enough time?"

"That'd be great." As she held his gaze, she couldn't help but ponder exactly what she was being asked. She was sure his motives were pure; she couldn't imagine for the life of her Thomas giving her a job with the intent of breaking down professional boundaries so he could sleep with her, but that was where her mind was going regardless. "I'll stop by and let you know on Friday."

"I'm countin' on it." He wore a wide grin that shouldn't have and usually wouldn't have put her on edge. Her mind had fallen down the rabbit hole of fixating on just how much more time she'd be spending with him as his TA — he saw enough of her during his office hours, but she was of two minds with that. On one hand, what would a few more hours change? However, on the other, all she was hearing was that he didn't mind spending a few more hours with her. "I'll see you then?"

When he raised an eyebrow, she finally realized she'd spaced out for a solid minute, and she fixed on a smile, though it was tense. "See you then."

She left without another word.

James proved to be a nice guy when Dolley had him over; he brought burgers and milkshakes for all three of them. However, Y/N knew she'd only find herself on Dolley's bad side however many hours later. As much as he was talking, Y/N didn't retain a single word he shared about himself, despite having promised she'd use the evening to formulate her opinion on him. So much for protecting Dolley.

Instead, Professor Thomas Jefferson occupied every one of her thoughts.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

~^~

Sunday, 14:07

Song: Sam Smith - How Do You Sleep

Lucas feels a little ridiculous, smiling dopily at his phone while he sits at the kitchen table, but it’s impossible not to. He always smiles at messages from Jens—has done since first meeting him—and now his joy is only doubled.

I think Jana is suspicious

suspicious how?

Lucas scrolls back up to the message Jens had sent him earlier while he waits for him to respond. Lucas had woken up to it—an image of Jens still in bed, pouting into his pillow. The accompanying message had simply read ‘not as comfy as yours’.

He scrolls back down when Jens replies.

she’s giving me that look. the suspicious one. all knowing and smug and shit

Lucas smiles, giving a tiny shake of his head.

maybe you should stop texting me and actually spend time with her then? don’t forget it’s your last chance

why thank you. now I’m sad :(

okay. I’m gonna ignore you now but know that I don’t want to </3

dumbass. you can text me later

Lucas hesitates a moment, and then sends one final message.

<3

“What are you smiling at?”

Lucas looks up at his dad and hastily places his phone on the table. He’d forgotten he wasn’t in the room alone, that his dad is only at the sink, washing the dishes. He’s looking over his shoulder at Lucas in amusement, and Lucas crosses his arms on the table and shrugs him off. “Nothing, just the guys.”

“The guys as in Kes and Jayden, or new guys?” Hugo asks.

It would be very simple. Lucas could just say Kes and let the conversation drop. He wouldn’t have to explain anything. He’d be asked the easy questions; how are they doing, does Lucas miss them. It might be the best segway into organising a trip home soon.

It’s also clear that his dad is trying, and Lucas decides it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing to put in the same effort.

“New.”

Hugo hums approvingly as he leaves the last plate aside and turns off the tap. He grabs a towel before turning around, leaning back against the counter as he dries his hands. “Anybody special?”

Lucas works very hard not to blush and give himself away, because the truthful answer is yes. Jens is incredibly special—the word doesn’t even seem sufficient to describe him.

But Lucas isn’t about to tell anyone else that, much less his father.

“No,” Lucas groans, rubbing a hand over his face for emphasis, hoping that’s enough to get past the subject.

“What? Smiling like that, what am I supposed to think? You know you didn’t even make a single snide comment during lunch?”

“Did you want me to?”

That earns him a withering look. “Lucas, come. Tell me about it. Your friends, at least. I let you out to that Halloween party and you haven’t even told me who you were with.”

“I didn’t know going outside came with terms and conditions,” Lucas mutters.

His father merely raises a brow. “When you were originally grounded, it does, yes.”

Lucas relents by letting his shoulders slump.

“Did you smoke?”

“I didn’t, actually.” Lucas resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he’s disappointed that this seems to have turned into an interrogation. For once, for some reason, he’d thought it would be better. They’ve been more amicable over the past week, casual with each other, with Hugo actually making it home in time to have dinner with him on occasion.

“That’s slightly impressive,” Hugo allows, moving to sit down with him at the table. “And did you have fun?”

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, it was fine.” It was better than fine. It was the night he and Jens had almost kissed.

But, again, he isn’t about to tell his father that.

“You’re really not gonna give me anything, huh?” Hugo nudges his arm. “What about Saturday then? Where’d you disappear to that night?”

A smile flits on to Lucas’s lips. “Trick-or-treating.”

“Ah, well, now you’re just making fun of me.”

“No, I’m serious,” Lucas protests. “I went trick-or-treating with Jens and his little sister.”

He’s confused for a moment as to why his father brightens, but he quickly lets Lucas know what he’d latched onto. “Is that finally a name?” Lucas’s smile drops as his dad leans towards him, urging him on with a wave of his hand. “Jens, tell me about Jens.”

Lucas absolutely cannot do that. His pulse spikes, but he quickly tamps his fear down. His father has no reason to expect anything beyond friendship. He’s just asking Lucas to tell him about his friends. Lucas can tell him about Jens without giving him any of the...details.

“I don’t know. He’s Jens. I met him at—“ Lucas quickly cuts himself off, remembering that he’d snuck out to that party after his father had gone to his room. “I met him at school at the end of my first week. He kind of got me into his friend group.”

Hugo nods, pleased, but not entirely satisfied. “What’s he like?”

“He’s...cool. He skates, he’s chill. He kind of reminds me of Kes, I guess.”

“I’d like him, then?”

Lucas has to admit that he hasn’t thought about it much, but now that the man has put it out there, he likes the idea. It’s not really something he’d ever looked for, before—his father’s approval. He supposes it’s different, now that they’re on their own. He’s been worrying about what the boys will think, trying to figure out how to tell Isa, wondering what Jens’s friends will say. He has thought about telling his mother.

He hasn’t really considered his dad much, beyond how best to sneak Jens around him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I think so. He’s a good guy.”

Hugo smiles. “I wouldn’t expect you to pick anything less.”

Lucas can’t help but find a deeper meaning in the words, for just a second, and feel his heart warm. Then he crushes the idea and comes back to the matter at hand, and decides he can’t give anything more away. “Should I tell Jayden you think he’s good, then?”

“You’ll do no such thing. I love the kid, but it’s a tough love.”

Lucas snorts, shaking his head slightly, surprised again at how at-ease he feels. Maybe he is misjudging, just slightly. Maybe he should try a little more.

He’s even more surprised when his dad gives his hair a fond ruffle as he rises, standing next to Lucas with a hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t have any plans today, you wanna watch a film with me?”

Lucas’s brows raise slowly. “What film?”

“Your choice.”

It’s a good offer that Lucas doesn’t really have a reason to refuse. Trying, he reminds himself. “Sure.”

Hugo grins and pats his shoulder. “Good. I’ll go set up the TV and you can get us the ice cream.”

“You got ice cream?” Lucas asks, disbelieving, as his dad makes his way out of the room.

“I know my son. Of course I got ice cream.”

Lucas finds himself grinning after him, shaking his head to himself in an attempt to snap out of it. He doesn’t have to, he realises. He should take this treacherous peace and allow himself to enjoy it. Maybe things are simply going right for once.

Maybe the universe is on his side, after all.

He picks his phone back up before getting the dessert, seeing another notification from Jens, but this time in the form of an Instagram post. Lucas clicks into it and finds an image of him and Jana. They’re both pouting, eyes closed, and Jana has her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pressing their cheeks together. Jens has simply captioned it, ‘miss you already’.

There’s a low thrum of jealousy in Lucas’s stomach, at first, but the longer he looks at it, the easier he finds it. Eventually, it draws a smile onto his face. He remembers what Jens had told him, the night of the Halloween party, and what Jens had told him yesterday, and he merges it all together and reminds himself of how Jens had kissed him, over and over, going so far as to ask Lucas if he could stay forever.

He smiles to himself as he likes the post, then slips his phone back into his pocket before going in search of the ice cream.

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Haikyuu!! Week 2020 | Day 3 』

· Sept. 27th → Irresistible Force ·

Characters: Karasuno team

Prompts: A. favourite team + B. crossover/AU

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), PG, fluff, crack, a teensy bit of angst (because who doesn't love a sad superhero backstory), headcanons, AU, superheroes, HaikyuuWeek2020

A/N: Again, I love all the teams and didn't want to pick, but life is cruel, so here I am. This is headcanons about my fav team (Karasuno) in an AU (superheroes). I was thinking of a Hero Association, kind of like in 'The Boys'? But less corrupt... Maybe more like in 'One Punch'? I think you get me.

All of my Haikyuu Week 2020 posts will be SFW, but I have NFSW content on my blog if that butters your biscuit. Feel free to check it out! Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ Imo~

Karasuno / Superhero Association AU

×

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Powers: nigh invulnerability, super strength, enhanced healing

If he's not the ordinary cop that somehow befriends the heroes I was tempted then he's definitely the leader of the superhero group

Kind of like Superman in the old-school Justice League, just not as OP lol

Looks damn good is spandex those thighs *sweats*

Cape!! so ✨majestic✨

Probably wears dark-ish, neutral colours with a dash of blue

A bit serious. Not the kind of hero to go around making quips all the time, but will make light of his own suffering like Captain America

Takes younger heroes under his wing like the true Dadchi he is

Strong moral compass. Unbreakable

Won't hesitate to lay down his life for others

Who am I kidding. He's basically Captain America with a cape

Poster-boy for the Hero Association

×

☆ Sugawara Koushi ☆

Powers: telekinesis

A soft, pearly aesthetic with his suit, hair and skin. Lots of white and silver

A favourite among the ladies he's just too pretty, damm it T T

Very plucky and adorable

People in the vicinity will literally faint when he goes all serious to concentrate and use his powers

Has a duo move with Daichi where he literally throws him like a missle YEET

Has the most followers on Twitter and TikTok and his fans can be pretty nuts

Has a perfume line named after him and models for the adverts

Will smile like an angel right before bringing a building down on top of you fuck, I find this one really funny

×

☆ Azumane Asahi ☆

Powers: regeneration, enhanced stength

Kind of like Wolverine or Deapool but, like, much, much softer on the inside uwu

Wears green and black

Messed up big time back in the day and dropped off the grid out of guilt some people died :(

Was convinced to come back when his old teammates finally found him again because they needed his help in a crisis

Literally shed tears of relief when heroes and citizens alike welcomed him back instead of hating him mah heart *sniffs*

Can withstand seemingly anything and fully heal within a matter of days

Doesn't know the full extent of his powers himself. How exactly do one test it? 🤔

Still has to psych himself up for a fight, though big softy, really

×

☆ Shimizu Kiyoko ☆

Powers: electrokinesis, flight

Powers like Storm from X-Men, and kicks ass like Wonder Woman

Refuses to wear a revealing suit, but looks bomb af anyway

Kiyoko = absolute queen

One of the most powerful heroes, but doesn't throw her weight around unless she's kicking bady-guy booty

Stella gynamast, and has mastered several martial arts

Can literally throw a guy three times her size, all without any strength powers Tanaka: 👁👄👁

Somehow has perfect hair all the time secret superpower??

Is active on the political stage as a human rights activist, headlining women's rights yes, yes yes

Will strike you with lightning for sexual harassment

Comes up with really good mission plans

Is a soothing balm for Tanaka when he loses it

Black and gold aesthetic✨

Asymmetrical cape! super fashionable

Poster-girl for the Hero Association

☆ Tanaka Ryuunosuke ☆

Powers: fire generation and manipulation

Tanaka brings the heat literally

A bit of a chaotic-good, but what's new there?

Can get out of control if he loses his focus, so his friends have to keep him grounded Kiyoko is a literal angel when that happens

Kiyoko: Sun's getting real low...

Bonus points if you get the reference

Is terrified of hurting innocents if he gets out of control

It rarely happens, but if he loses his self confidence, his powers don't seem to work

Shouts cringy lines at the villains before roasting their asses lmfao

Wears a black and orange flame-retardant suit, and actually looks pretty fine in it 😌👌

Literally head over heels for Kiyoko just imagine it. Biggest hype man

×

☆ Nishinoya Yuu ☆

Powers: animal metamorphosis, enhanced speed

Think Beast Boy from 'Teen Titans', but less green he's more likely to be yellow or orange, lmao

Handy in lots of different situations. Very versatile

Incredibly cheeky and joins in with Tanaka's cheesy jokes and one-liners

Absolute maniac, but the people love him, especially schoolkids lmao

Has his own energy drink flavour, and he's STOKED about it

Yellow and black suit, kind of like his hair

Has a surprisingly large following of fans

Laps up the attention, but it doesn't really go to his head

Quiet and serious when he's on a mission/fighting

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Powers: self replication, super speed, levitation

His powers took a while to properly manifest, which left him feeling isolated as a teen

Was pretty lost until Ukai helped train him

Got into a fight with Kageyama in an alleyway when he first met him MET HIM IN THE STREET, LMAO

Argues with Kageyama a lot at headquarters, but they work together like a dream when taking down bad guys

Has a heart of literal gold precious baby

Is contantly amazed when he helps significantly

Was inspired to become a hero by his idol, the Little Giant and it's his dream to inspire someone else 😭😭

Uses his replication ability to confuse the bad guys ULTIMATE DECOY

Levitates around the room when he's excited like Aang from ATLA, hahaha

Wears an orange, white and yellow suit with little wings on his heels cuuuute

×

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Powers: water/ice generation and manipulation, breathing underwater, superhuman reflexes

I was tempted to give him fire/ice powers like Todoroki, but I didn't want to detract from Tanaka

Has problems focusing his powers, and can be quite turbulent in the heat of battle

Finds it hard to work well with others initially, but really makes an effort

Has hurt people close to him by accident before and never wants to do it again it would tear him apart

Becomes a power duo with Hinata when Ukai helps train them, even though they don't seem to get on well at first

Broody boi on the surface, but a cinnamon roll deep down

Wears a dark blue and deep purple suit that has fins to assist in underwater escapades which are his forte

Freezes Hinata's feet to the floor when he pisses him off or anybody's feet, tbh

Can dodge almost anything because of his reflexes don't ever try to punch him. You'll look stupid

Is surprised by the number of people in his fan club especially the number of women asking to marry him??

×

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Powers: telepathy, superhuman intellect, mind control on weak-willed individuals

Prefers to outwit his enemies rather than getting into a brawl

But his self-designed gadgets and tech help him out if he has to a bit like Tony Stark, wink wonk

Sometimes makes you question if he's really a hero or not Tsukki, please

Doesn't take orders well

Baits villains by insulting them and getting the better of them with his words it's hilarious

Comes up with good plans, but improvises well with whatever he's got

Probably wears suits over his spandex most of the time fancy shmancy

Is prepared to die to protect Yamaguchi waahhh

×

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Powers: invisibility, force fields, teleportation

Susan Storm with added teleportation, lol

Often finds it hard to value his powers because they're not as visually strong and impressive as other people's

Rather than squaring up to a battle, he often has to 'hide' from it by literally going invisible

But he gradually becomes aware of how vital his powers can be, and learns to control them and make them as advantageous as possible

Is a highly important and valued member of the team

Soft bean that gets nervous and throws up before a fight

But he's hella determined and won't back down

Honestly, just wants to protect Tsukki and make him proud PROTECT HIM

×

☆ Yachi Hitoka ☆

Powers: size manipulation

She can shrink and enlarge herself and objects she touches at will, including other people

Sometimes shrinks really small to avoid social situations she doesn't want to be in samez, honey

The clumsiest and least experienced on the team

But she tries her best, gradually getting to grips with her powers

Sometimes uses her powers by accident, like when she's nervous

Once touched a watermelon slice on the refreshment table and accidentally blew it up to the size of a car Hinata, Kageyama and Noya fully dug in with their faces 😭😭

Nearly passed out when Daichi, the literal god of the Hero Association, told her she had great potential

Don't worry, Yams teleported and caught her

☆ Ukai Keishin ☆

Powers: laser vision, metal mimicry

The has-been hero who lost his enthusiasm for hero-ing and retired some years ago

Was really cool back in his hayday. Big hot-shot with a fan club

Has been working as a convenience store attendant to pay the bills and is bored out of his mind but refuses to admit it

Was convinced to get back in the game when he found Hinata and Kageyama fighting, both struggling with their abilities. He broke up the fight and agreed to coach them

Doesn't do much of the flashy hero stuff anymore, but will occasionally get stuck in when he's needed must protecc his children

Is only, like, ten years older than the other heroes, but they treat him like some fossilised sensei out of Natuto, or some shit

Tbf, he has the back problems of one 😭😭

×

☆ Takeda Ittetsu ☆

Powers: power absorption

Transferred from being a hero to hero management after having having issues with the effects of his powers he has a conscience :(

He felt guilty and responsible for permanently taking the powers of others, even if they were criminals

It was like removing a piece of their souls it kind of broke him

These days, he makes sure nobody knows about his powers, so it can't be used against him

He helps in any other way possible

He would only use his powers again in dire circumstances he knows he'll eventually have to

Is generally chipper and good natured, though

If he was ever captured by a villain, they'd probably send him back because he talks too much omg, hahaha

Helps gather info for the team and direct them on missions and in fights

Gives bomb inspirational speeches ✊

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[hongism]

would u rather dom a whiny taehyung or dom a bratty jin?

pairing: sub!seokjin x dom!reader

genre: slice of life, smut, fluff

rating: Mature

summary: seokjin keeps trying to take control and you really need to show him who is really in control.

word count: 1736

warnings: dom/sub themes, handcuffs, penetrative sex, slight bondage, size kink, slight choking

a/n: wow okay anon pulling out all the stops and really laying it on thick. how am i supposed to choose? the only reason i chose jin is because i rarely write for him and he deserves. tagging my beautiful lovely amazing incredible wonderful baby ellie moo @hobisbeautifulass​ bc i know she has a love/hate relationship with seokjin when she definitely adores him a TON. also @honeymoonjin​? enjoy some bratty sub seokjin ily :3

“Honey, I’m home!” You announce as you step through the door. The apartment is dark when you enter, and Seokjin is nowhere in sight. “Jinnie?” It’s not like your boyfriend to be so quiet when you come home. You are typically greeted with a lovely good afternoon, a kiss on the cheek, and perhaps a sneaky tongue filled kiss that sets the mood for the rest of the night. To be frank, you are wanting that sort of mood yet he isn’t around to provide that. You frown at his absence, moving further into the apartment, and glance around for any sort of indication of Seokjin’s presence.

“Boo!”

His sudden presence behind you and the hot breath on your ear nearly scares the shit out of you (literally and figuratively). You spin on your heel, hand already extended to slap his arm. Seokjin grabs hold of your hand with his own. He grins, eyes disappearing as he smiles.

“Hello, love. You came home a bit early, didn’t you?” Of course you can’t stay mad at his little pranks for long, not with his gentle words. “How exciting, no?” Seokjin spins you around and brings his arm to your waist. Lips touch your neck.

“Se-Seokjin, hold on, hol–ah,” you cut off with a moan when Seokjin’s teeth nip at your neck.

“Shh baby, just let me take care of you.”

“Getting in the mood early, aren’t you?” You bite out between gritted teeth. His fingers slip down between your legs with zero regard for your pants. You don’t even have time to breathe before the pads of his fingers are dancing across your sensitive bud. “J-Jinnie, I–”

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” Seokjin laughs against the shell of your ear, then his tongue slips out to caress the skin there. “Or is it me?”

“Someone is being a bit proud.”

“Oh? Am I?” You smirk at the tone in his voice. “Guilty as charged, my love.”

“I mean–” you pull his hand off you and spin around. He glances down at you, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

“What? What do you mean, my dear?”

You push against him, hands pressing him back until he hits the wall. “I mean that you someone is trying to take control when we both know that’s not how things work.” Seokjin’s eyebrows raise at your words. One of your hands slides down his shirt and cups his groin. He stifles a groan at the contact, and you giggle, tongue darting out to play with the corner of your lips. “That’s more like it, baby.”

“Ha,” Seokjin exhales. “Wouldn’t be too sure about that, my love. Let’s not forget how many wonders my fingers can work.” Within an instant, he’s pushing you back, hands cupping your ass and pulling you closer.

“Oh, someone is getting a bit confident.” You let him slide his hands across your thighs and draw them around his hips. “Kinda hot,” you whisper as he lifts you. Seokjin doesn’t respond; instead, he just gets to work on your neck and drags his tongue across your skin. One hand on the back of his head, you keep him in place as he blindly guides the two of you to the bedroom. “It’s so cute when you think you’re in control.” Seokjin follows up your words with a particularly harsh bite to your neck. His hands find their way under your shirt.

“You’re wearing that pretty lace number I got you, aren’t you?” You pull Seokjin’s head back and grin down at him. Without responding, you lean down to reward him with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Gotta give you a good show.”

“That you are, princess.” Seokjin laughs against your lips. Your back suddenly hits the wall. “I think we should pull out the cuffs tonight.”

“Oh? Want to be tied up a bit?” You fiddle around behind you, grasping blindly for the door handle until you pop the door open. Seokjin stumbles into the bedroom somehow maintaining the same grip on your ass.

“You’ll be the one tied up this time, love.” Seokjin tosses you onto the bed with little effort, and you squeal at the force, quickly scooting back on the bed. You flip over to reach for the nightstand and wrench the fur-lined handcuffs out of the drawer. When you turn back to Seokjin, he’s stripping down, shirt already gone and pants on their way.

“Oh, how exciting.” You place the chain of the cuffs between your teeth before crawling over to the edge of the bed where your lover waits. He’s still tugging his pants off when you tug him onto the bed. You bring him down to your chest, pressing his face against your breasts, and it’s a good enough distraction to keep his focus off you. You twist his body until you’re able to wrestle him under you. Pulling off him, you sit back and strip your shirt off to reveal the lacy number underneath. Seokjin whistles at the sight above him, hands tracing the curve of your breasts, and you are quick to yank his hands off. It’s not long before you’re pressing them against the headboard with one and using the other to press the handcuffs around his wrists.

You laugh to yourself when the click resounds, lean back to admire your handiwork, and planting your crotch right atop Seokjin’s.

“Not so powerful and in control now, huh?” Seokjin tugs at the cuffs. “My good little sub,” you coo against his ear as you drag a finger down his exposed chest. The words have a visceral effect on him and cause him to jerk under you. “Stay put, my dear. I don’t want you to go anywhere.” You roll off of him, feet hitting the floor a moment later. After a bit of fiddling, you let your pants fall to the floor then move around the bed to stand near Seokjin’s feet. He’s staying perfectly still like a good boy, not so confident and brash as he was mere minutes ago, and you grab hold of the pants that are still lingering around his ankles.

“B-Baby, please,” Seokjin whines.

“Please what? Use your words, love.” You yank the pants down, leaving him to be in his underwear alone. A preying smile creeps across your lips as you crawl onto the bed.

“No,” he says once you’re straddling him. “Figure it out yourself.” You press your crotch against his own, following the curve of his cock with your core. Seokjin brings down his cuffed hands and grabs hold of your hips. The span of his hands spreads across your skin and dances across the lace.

“No no no, lovely. That’s not how things work. You tell me exactly what you want, and I deliver. You know why, Jinnie?” Seokjin whines when you rub against him. Your tongue dances across your lips at the sight of him so desperate and needy for your touch. “I asked a question, love, are you going to answer it?”

“Be-Because you’re in control.”

“Yes, love, good job!” You lean down to lay a kiss on his lips. “Not so bratty now, huh?”

“N-No, am not.”

“Exactly, and since you’re being such a good boy, we’re going to get straight to business.” Sitting up straight again, you reach down between Seokjin’s hands and your legs to tug at the band of his underwear. You hesitate over his hardened member. The heat from his skin reaches your hand. “Do you want me, baby? To fill up your tiny little baby? Hah, I bet you get off at the thought of your tiny little baby girl being in complete control over you.” You gently squeeze his cock, fingers closing around him and drawing a prolonged moan out of him.

“Please, I want – I want you, I really want you. I need you. Please, Y/N, please.” You laugh at the whine in Seokjin’s tone and bring his cock up to tease your folds. Seokjin got you this lingerie set for a very specific reason: to fuck you in it. The lovely crotch-less set gives him the perfect access to your pussy.

“Begging becomes you, Jinnie.” You sigh in content as you sink down on his cock, the stretch filling you up as you bury his member inside you. “God, you’re so big I can barely fit you all in me.” You laugh to relieve yourself of the slight sting.

Glancing up at Seokjin’s face, you try to catch his eye but he’s far too busy staring at the junction where his cock meets your pussy, sweat beading on his temples. You grind down on him. A low whine leaves his lips. Despite having his fingers on your hips, he doesn’t dare control your movements or pace. You’ve managed to put him in his place and quell his bratty side as you always do.

“Do you want me to take the cuffs off now, love? You’ve barely had them on.”

“No, keep them on, I-I ah please keep them on.” You grin down at your lover and his closed eyes as he enjoys the feel of your pussy stretching around him.

“Of course, my dear.” With that, you begin to bounce up and down on Seokjin’s dick, feeling the tip of his member hits your sweet spot with each thrust. “F-Fuck,” you exhale as you take his cock. “Holy shit, Seokjin, you’re so big.”

“Y-You’re just really sm-small. So so tiny around my big cock. Fu-fuck, you take me so well.” You can’t resist bringing your hand down to his neck and close your fingers gently around it. Seokjin moans in response.

“Hah, look who’s talking big again.” You drop down on his dick particularly hard, and the man under you writhes at the contact, rewarding you with a beautiful wanton moan.

“No-Not my fault, yo-you’re so tight and small fuc-fuck.” Seokjin throws his head back, hips bucking up to fuck into you. “I’m al-already close.” His hands falter on your hips, slipping down to your core, and he presses two fingers against your bundle of nerves.  

Your free hand slips down to grab Seokjin by the handcuffs. You yank his  hands off you with a little click of your tongue.

“Oh no no no. We aren’t even close to being done. We’re gonna have lots more fun tonight, love. You aren’t cumming anytime soon on my watch.”

[ink-and-flame]

Outright Blanket Thievery

Pairing: HumanF/OrcgreM/OrcM [Reader/Gorrim/Gorvok] Rating: GEN  DC (Diabetic Coma Alert)  Tags: Silliness, Comfort, Cuddling? Word Count: 3313 

[Authors Note: I am not going to lie, your prompt gave me the giggles something awful, but I appreciate you giving me time to finish nano and deal with my pneumonia. Sorry this took so long but getting back in the groove has taken some time.I was also inundated with enough work projects for 3 full-time employees and have been consistently pulling 12 hour days. Your patience is a blessing.]

@monster-bait

As beautiful as winter could be, sometimes a person just wanted it to be over. Despite the heat being on you were still freezing. Sitting on the couch under a couple of blankets and shivering slightly while trying to focus on the TV. Binge watching Netflix alone wasn’t nearly as much fun as it was when your roommates were around, but you were bored and didn’t want to do anything that would require you to move out from under the blankets. Your cocoon of warm was slowly beginning to work and you were just not willing to ruin all your effort even to get up for a drink.

When you had initially found this place on Ulric’s List there was the feeling of it being too good to be true. The location was incredible, as was the building. The area was one of the more expensive ones to live in but the rent was reasonable. You would have roommates but they were professionals that were not home as much. That was why the rent was low, it turned out. They were looking to rent to someone that would be willing to take care of the place while they were gone, and they would be gone often. You would have your own bedroom and bathroom, but all other areas were shared. Despite the lack of private entrance, and your own kitchen, it was simply too good to pass up. 

Agreeing to an interview and wanting a chance to view the apartment and check out the area, you decided to meet them there on one of their days off which was in the middle of the week. It wasn’t the greatest of accommodations but with their schedules it was the best that could be done. When you first met them you weren’t sure who was more surprised, you or them. They had not expected a human to respond to the ad, and you had not expected your roommates to be the largest, meanest, most aggressive looking people you had ever seen. One, Gorvok, was an impressively large orc, who was the biggest orc you had ever met, and somehow the other, Gorrim,  was taller. You had never met a half orc half ogre before, in fact you had never seen an ogre up close but now you were pretty sure they were massive and terrifying. 

It had been a mistake on your part, not realizing that when you brought up the results for the apartment hunt, that you did not filter the results meant for humans. What you had done is filtered out the human results instead. It had been your intention to apologize and be on your way, but Gorvok had stopped you. He believed that this arrangement could work out. As a human, the bedroom would be more space than you would get in a human sized apartment. It would allow you to have separate spaces in your room and afford you more privacy. Also, being human would not impede your ability to look after the place, it really wouldn’t take much. 

There was still the issue of your comfort. Both males were worried that you would be afraid of them, but you realized that to do so would just perpetuate existing stereotypes, which you weren’t too keen on despite your initial surprise and hesitation. Also you were never going to find another offer like this. It was more than affordable, and nicer than anything you would be able to find on your own. Pushing your anxiety aside, you took the offer and moved in two weeks later, and honestly it was still one of the best decisions you had ever made in your life. 

You had the whole place to yourself more often than not, and all those worries about having male roommates and them being creeps was unfounded. You were pretty sure they were actually a couple to start, and if they weren’t well that didn’t matter. Neither had done anything to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, the opposite in fact. Both were eager to make sure your comfort level was maintained and had even stepped in when one of the neighbors got too friendly with you. More so than you had ever felt in the past, you felt safe. 

In all honesty you had thought the best part of the arrangement would be how often you had the place to yourself, but you had become surprisingly lonely. Especially after the first few times you actually hung out socially with your roommates. Despite a few awkward moments and cultural misunderstandings, you discovered that they were surprisingly fun to spend time with. They were warm, friendly, a little mischievous but not in a mean way. Gorrim in particular was fond of gentle pranks, never anything mean or potentially hurtful. Mostly just silly stuff that made everyone laugh. While Gorvok was a fan of puns, to the point that both you and Gorrim would sometimes boo him out of the room or ground him just to make him stop. 

Overall, you were happier when they were around and that made the nights apart both harder and yet easier. The only reason it was easier was because you realized, after almost a year with them, that you had begun to genuinely care for them both. You worried for them, and wanted to take care of them as best you could. The shock came when you realized that you had developed a rather embarrassing crush on both men in turn, and alternated between which one you fantasized about, though lately the fantasies had taken a bit of a turn and you no longer had to choose, both were there and somehow that made it worse.

Thus far you had managed not to embarass or out yourself and kept your desires secret. It was more than physical, you knew that, but there was still a physical element. Part of the problem was over time you had all become comfortable with each other, so much so that you realized that there were some cultural modesty differences, mostly in that modesty seemed to not exist in orcish culture. Nudity was not seen as obscene or even sexual. The first time you walked into the kitchen to find Gorvok nude had been an experience that had you hiding in your room for days and Gorvok being somewhat upset for much longer. Eventually you got over it, but you couldn’t tell him the real reason you were upset. You just blamed it on your humanity and apologized. 

Though if you thought Gorvok cut an impressive figure, then catching Gorrim working out had almost broken you. Both males had strong, muscular bodies, but not like bodybuilders. They had solid forms with some softness. They were also both impossibly hairy, Gorrim more than Gorvok, but that was the Ogre in him. Ogres were known to be quite hairy, some had fur, and most had horns. Like orcs they had tusks, but Ogres had two sets and sometimes their tusks grew large enough that dental intervention was required to prevent permanent damage. Never in your life had you felt such a strong attraction to anyone, but these two did something to you that you simply couldn’t explain. 

Now you had to fight back your own wants and desires for everyone's sake. They were your roommates and if they weren’t dating each other you assumed they were gay. Not because of any thing specific they had said, but because you were positive you heard them fucking on more than one occasion yet it was never addressed or even mentioned. You weren’t sure how to bring it up and didn’t want to upset anyone by asking the wrong kind of question, so you just pretended you heard nothing. 

So there you were, curled up on the couch freezing despite the blankets and the fire going. You were alone and a little miserable. Not just because of the cold, but because you were lonely, lonely and bored. Sure it was easier on your labido when they weren’t around and it helped avoid any potentially awkward moments, but that didn’t change the fact that despite your attraction to them they were also your friends. It just wasn’t as much fun without Gorrim’s pranks or Gorvok’s terrible puns. Ok, so maybe you could live without some of his terrible puns, but still. 

You knew Gorvok was going to be gone longer this time. He was visiting his family, some emergency involving his brother. You hadn’t even known he had a brother until he was getting ready to leave. The look in his eyes still haunted you a bit. Orcs were close with their family and clans and it was clear his brother was someone important to him, you were afraid to ask what was going on and why he never mentioned his family before but you left it be. 

Gorrim was supposed to be back sometime this week, but you weren’t sure when. So for now you were just stuck alone, cold, bored, and lonely. You had other friends you could hang out with, but you wanted your roommates home. It was a different feeling and it made you melancholy to think about it too much. Sinking further into the couch you sighed, you were still thirsty. 

Lost in your malaise of misery and mummification in the blankets on the couch that you missed the sound of a key in the door and Gorrim coming in. He was usually a loud individual and you normally wouldn’t have missed it, but he was being surprisingly quiet. You didn’t even know you were no longer alone in the apartment until you heard his deep gravelly voice from behind you. 

“I did not realize humans had a cocoon stage.”

You screamed and fell off the couch in a tangled heap of blankets, struggling on the floor as the sound of booming laughter filled the space. Of course after the initial panic you recognized Gorrim’s voice and just layed in a small heap on the floor and waited for him to stop laughing and help you. Thankfully it didn't take long and soon you were lifted into the air and and set gently on the couch. It took a bit longer for you to unwind yourself from the blankets but you managed and just glared up at the still chuckling Gorrim.

“Was that really necessary?” You asked as you wiggled out from under the blankets. 

“Probably not, but it was funny. I had no idea I would scare you so much.” He smiled and sat down on the couch. 

Despite the laughter he looked tired and like something was on his mind. You glanced over at him and wavered between asking and just sitting there pretending to be angry about it. You weren’t really upset, it hadn’t even hurt and it was kind of funny. Looking away you stared at the fire not really realizing what it looked like with you just sitting there, no TV or anything on, just wrapped in a blanket on the couch. 

“You hear from Gorvok yet?” Gorrim asked after a few moments.

“No, you?” You glanced over looking hopeful only to see him shake his head looking solom.

You were both quiet for a bit, just sitting in silence until Gorrim got up and headed toward the kitchen. You turned around on the couch and called out to him to get his attention. 

“Hey, while you are up, can you get me drink?”

Gorrim stopped and turned around slowly with a curious look on his face. “Did falling off the couch make you thirsty?”

“Nope!” You smiled. “I have been thirsty for a while. Just didn’t want to get off the couch.”

Gorrim started laughing again, and hard. He was shaking his head  and just giving you this look.

“What? I was comfortable and it is cold!” You pouted, sulking a bit but it was clear he was going to do as you asked. 

He came back a few minutes later carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. His was significantly larger, and when he handed you yours you could see the tiny marshmallows floating in the drink. It was kind of sweet and adorable. It was also one of the many reasons you liked him so much. Gorrim was thoughtful and kind, even if he was a bit of a punk sometimes. 

“Thank you.” You took the drink and sipped it. Having to let go of the blanket and let it slip down. 

The hot chocolate went a long way to warming you and you were distracted by not only the sweet drink but the warmth filling you that you didn’t notice the blanket inching off of you slowly. Humming quietly you pulled the cup to your chest, eyes closed as you let the warmth fill you. It wasn’t just the drink, having Gorrim back made the room seem warmer somehow. When you finally opened your eyes and set your drink down you noticed the blanket was now only half on your lap and over by Gorrim, who for his part, looked innocent as usual.

You looked him up and down, then at the blanket, then at him again. You weren’t sure if the blanket had actually just slipped off you or if he had something to do with it. Leaving it for now, as you were a bit warmer, you went back to your drink and the silence. This was a much better silence than before. It was a comfortable silence and not a lonely one. Lost in thought again, worried about Gorvok, you didn’t notice the blanket inching away from you again.

By the time you did notice, the blanket was no longer on you at all and somehow was now on Gorrim who looked perfectly pleased with himself as you just stared at him.

“Ahem…. That was mine.”

“Technically. It is a communal blanket.” He countered.

“Yes, but, I was using it.” 

“And now I am.” 

There was something about his smug, matter of fact delivery that fueled your bravery. You set your cup aside, noticing his was on the table, so spills would not be a problem. Reaching over you tugged at the blanket, but it would not budge from his iron grip.

“Why are you trying to take my blanket?” Gorrim asked ever so innocently

“Your blanket?” Your voice pitched up. “I thought it was a communal blanket?” It was hard to keep a straight face but you did your best.

“Mine now.” He quipped and had the audacity to snuggle further into the blanket with an over exaggerated sigh.

“Oh that is it!” 

Launching yourself at him bodily you tugged at the blankets with all your might. Of course Gorrim didn’t have to do much to fend you off being about 4 times your size and stronger than anyone you ever knew. It was like trying to wrestle a statue. He wasn’t moving, even a little. How ever you did notice the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

“FINE! If you are going to be a selfish blanket hog, then I will have to improvise.” 

You weren’t sure what fueled your bravery at this point, as there were lines that had never been crossed by you. This was your roommate who was potentially in a relationship with your other roommate. None of that mattered in this moment as you tugged the blanket up instead of to the side and crawled under it and up into his lap. Wiggling and struggling until you popped up from under the blanket with your back to his chest and the blanket pressed tight to you as you made yourself at home on his lap. 

“Maybe next time you will stop hogging all the blanket and this wouldn’t happen, but since you are being an absolute child about it, now you have to share!” You hrmfed, glad that he couldn’t see your face as you could just feel the heat in your cheeks. 

This was the most sustained physical contact that you had ever had with him. There had been physical contact in the past, you guys had lived together for over a year. Hugs happened rarely but they happened. There were plenty of other small instances, but never anything like this. You were in his lap, you could feel the warmth of his body, the softness of his stomach, the hard muscles of his chest, hell you could feel his breath on your head, stirring your hair a bit. Wiggling slightly you leaned back harder into him and made an exaggerated sigh just like he had. 

Your whole body shook with his laughter as you felt his massive strong arms wind around you as he leaned down and rested his chin on top of your head.

“Well, alright then.” He continued to laugh but it died down after a minute. “I was wondering if you were ever going to warm up to me.” he added softly.

You were silent for a bit, not sure what he meant. Slowly you turned a bit so you could look at him, the confusion clear in your eyes. You felt him shrug as he looked at you.

“You’ve been a perfect roommate, you are wonderful. You just seemed like you’ve tried to keep your distance. I get that half breeds have a reputation and I know how frightening I look.” He paused for a moment as you seemed to struggle to find words. “I mean you are friendly enough with us and I always enjoy socializing, but you seem to keep us at arms length, so I wasn’t sure, that's all.”

You were quiet for long moment. “I just.. I wasn’t sure where the line was. I thought you and Gorvok were. Um… well.. I mean.. Not to make assumptions but.. See…” You were struggling and the face journey you were going on must have been something because Gorrims smile just got bigger and bigger and you just knew something dumb was going to fly out of your mouth. “I heard you guys.” and there it was.

Gorrims booming laughter almost shook you right off his lap, but he had a pretty good grip on you so you weren’t going anywhere. 

“I see.” He rumbled close to your ear.

To your credit you managed to stop the full body shiver that would have given a little too much away. “I… didn’t want to say something insensitive or anything like that. So I just. I wasn’t sure because you guys don’t always act like a couple.” Throwing up your hands you started over explaining. “Not that there's anything wrong with that. Every relationship is different and I am fine with any sexuality. OHNO! I am in your lap and this must be so awkward for you!” As deep embarrassment filled you, you tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he was holding quite tightly to you.

His voice was back against your ear, and you could swear you felt the brush of his lips against your neck, but that must have been your mind playing tricks on you. “If only life were that simple. My relationship with Gorvok is complicated, we don’t really do labels all that well if I am being honest. While we are airing things out, I think it is only fair for you to know that both Gorvok and myself don’t have any gender restrictions in the lovers we take and the relationships we build.” 

You froze, your mind trying to piece together exactly what he was saying when you felt that warmth against your neck. This time the pressure wasn’t something you can ignore when his deep voice washed over you. This time it vibrated you straight to your core. 

“When it comes to someone special, we like to share.” 

[outroshooky]

my pretty sleeper | ksj

⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢  warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).

part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.

“the woods are lovely, dark and deep,   but i have promises to keep,   and miles to go before i sleep,   and miles to go before i sleep.”

⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost

Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.

Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply. 

It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.

Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.

The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.

Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.

Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.

It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.

The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.

The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.

The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.

 Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.

You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback. 

Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.

No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all. 

Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.

With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.

The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.

With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.

Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.

“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own. 

“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”

“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”

“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”

“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”

“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”

Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”

In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead. 

A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”

You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.

Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.

You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.

He had never cared that you were only his maid.

You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.

He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.

You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.

Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home. 

With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.

It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with. 

A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.

You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.

His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.

The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch. 

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.

You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.

You hold your breath for one moment, two.

He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.

Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.

Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.

With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.

The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.

Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?

Horror.

Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime. 

There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.

Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.

You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.

The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.

For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.

The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army. 

The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.

The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.

With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.

In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.

It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.

“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”

“And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”

“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”

But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”

The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”

It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne? 

The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.

In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what. 

The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.

Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades. 

No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.

“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.

For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.

You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.

And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”

Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.

“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”

“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.

You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.

“My lord?” The attendant steps forward

“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”

“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”

It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.

Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.

“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.

“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”

“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”

He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.

“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”

“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.” 

“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.

“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”

“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.

The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”

“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”

The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, my lord.” 

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“You as well, my faithful servant.”

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 23)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: the biggest lemon yet 

Word Count: 1260

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Did ya’ll like the cliff hanger from last night? I know ya’ll are ready at this point! LOL. This is the second to last part and I’ll be posting the last one in a few minutes. Try not two dwell on the impending end, for now just enjoy the most lemony lemon yet. 

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 567 8 9 10 1112 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 23

Bucky takes a shuddered breath considering your words. “You sure, doll? We don’t have to do anything unless you’re really ready.” 

“I’m ready. Really, really ready, Buck. Are you?” you begin stroking his erection, teasing him. 

Bucky arches his neck, straining for control. “Fuck. Yes, I am. Oh god, doll. I’m so ready. Do you have rubber?” 

“Shit. No, but I have a birth control implant so I can’t get pregnant and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean as a whistle because of the serum. If you’re okay with it so am I.” 

You squeeze his throbbing cock in your hand, “Get inside me, Barnes.” you command.

“Yes, ma’am.” he says in a rush, moving over top of you. His right hand drops to rub against your still wet sex and he positions himself right at your entrance. Bucky takes a moment to meet your eyes, ensuring there’s no hesitation, and you give him a quick nod. With one gentle push the head of his cock is inside and you’re gasping at the intrusion. He’s so hard and burning hot as he moves painfully slow until he’s fully seated within your walls. You’re both shaking and panting, and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle. Bucky looks down at the sound, “You’re incredible.” you manage between gasps. 

“So are you, doll. You ready?” he asks, wiggling his hips. 

You bite down on your lip and nod quickly. Bucky starts moving inside you, dragging his hot velvet length in and out until you’re barely coherent. He places wet kisses across your neck and breasts as he moves, wanting to lose himself completely in you. His endless stream of endearments start up and your body is ignited by his affections. Bucky’s pace quickens and he’s spurred on by the soft breathless moans you make in return. You can feel another orgasm forming, coiling low in your belly as his cock hits just the right spot inside you with each deep thrust. You’ve never felt so incredibly stretched before and you’re grateful for how well your body accommodates his size. 

Keeping your eyes open as your pleasure builds is no easy task but the sight of Bucky on top of you is well worth the effort. His body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his long hair sways with each thrust, tickling your over sensitized skin. You are desperate to kiss his mouth as it hangs slightly open from the exertion and you lean up to capture it with your own. Bucky moans against your mouth, his own climax starting to rapidly build. He’s frantic again, wanting to prolong the pleasure but catapulting towards his release. He slips his right hand down to rub quick circles against your clit, determined to take you over the edge first. 

You are delirious under him as he continues his rhythm and the mindless ramblings of appreciation. You’re right on the edge and Bucky can feel your walls beginning to tremble. “That’s it, doll.” he murmurs, his forehead resting against your breasts as he focuses his efforts, “Just come apart for me, sweetheart. You’re so perfect around me. Please, doll, come for me.” he pleads. Your mind is lost but your body obeys and you shatter around him, your world momentarily going white as you climax. You’re shaking all around him, nails digging fiercely into his back as you cry out wordlessly. 

Bucky thinks he’s died as you clench around his cock, your muscles squeezing him so tightly that he falls over the edge of another orgasm. Your walls continue to pulse around him as he comes, his body jolting from the force, and he cries your name over and over until he’s spent. He’s thankful that his vibranium arm holds most of his weight as he collapses on top of you. Bucky is overwhelmed when emotions more intense than he’s ever felt before rise up. He struggles to reign himself in but you’re so sweet and perfect beneath him that he’s losing the battle. He doesn’t care that he’s known you for less than a week. He feels like he’s spent a lifetime with you, having felt more alive in the past three days than he had for the previous eighty years. Bucky knows without a doubt that he loves you and it scares the hell out of him.

You feel dampness on your chest and reach out to brush Bucky’s hair back to locate the source. The tears falling from his eyes are the last thing you expect and you scramble to get a good look at him, leaning up and collecting his hair in your hand at the nape of his neck. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” you ask, trying not to panic.

Bucky sniffles, unable to articulate his feelings.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” you are trying to stay calm but you can’t decipher his expression and the tears continue to slowly fall. 

Bucky realizes he’s freaking you out and manages to reply, “I’m okay.” he sniffles harshly, “Just need a minute.” He lays his head back down on your pillowy breasts and slowly gets himself back under control. “I’m sorry, mouse. I didn’t mean to scare you.” he says finally, his voice mostly steady.

You’re still playing in his hair soothingly and you only stop when he moves so he’s facing you. “I’m more worried about you right now.” you say honestly.

“I’m good. Just got carried away there for a minute. I care about you so damn much, mouse, and it’s overwhelming. You’re so perfect, and that was... that was incredible. I never thought I would have something so perfect in my life. I just… I…” words fail him as he fights back the urge to tell you he loves you. He knows it’s too soon and he’s not willing to risk scaring you away. 

You see the emotion behind his shining blue eyes and know he’s fighting the same feelings burning in your chest. “I know.” you reassure him with a kiss. “I know, Bucky. I feel it too.” 

Bucky feels like the wind has been knocked out of him and he collapses on your chest, refusing to start tearing up again. He sends up silent prayers of thanks to Steve, his ma, his sisters, and whoever else might be listening for bringing you into his life. He’s relieved you don’t make him say the words just yet but acknowledge that the feeling is there and mutual. You continue to thread your fingers through his hair, hoping it gives him a little comfort while he processes everything that’s come up in his mind. Finally pulling himself together again Bucky lifts his head up to kiss you tenderly, the taste of his tears still fresh on his lips. “You gonna be okay if I move, doll?” he asks. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” you tell him. 

Bucky slips himself out of you and you can feel the product of your joint orgasms pooling on your thighs. “Let me get something to clean you up.” he begins getting up but you grab hold of his hand, stopping him. 

“We could just take a shower. Together.” you suggest.

“Even better.” Bucky pulls you up and into his arms. He kisses you again softly, he can’t keep his hands off of you despite having just been inside you only minutes ago. 

You chuckle against his lips, “Come on, you.” you lead him by the hand into your little bathroom and he follows silently enjoying the sight of your ass bouncing as you walk. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (10)

A/N: asdklgasldf logan is the second main character at this point, i realize. i dont have any Qualms with that but also there’s gonna be whiplash once he starts being not-super-main. also meet the artist, more!!! he’s a very interesting one

WARNINGS: arguing, yelling, knife, threatening, death threats, food/food mention (i should have tagged that in chapter 8 — gonna fix that ASAP it’s written on my arm :’D) — if i missed anything too, please let me know!!! 

Words: 6325

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil 

General: @jemthebookworm​

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3  <3 

Logan woke up first.

He rubbed his face, not changing his position just yet. He noticed that the room’s ceiling was red, with baby pink clouds floating along. Perhaps this reflected on the weather outside, or the sunrise? Either way, it was pretty.

He sat up, putting his glasses on fluidly. Patton was still fast asleep, light snores drifting  from against the bean bag he was spooning. The Child seemed to be a rambunctious sleeper, as his legs were bent over the bed’s edge, blanket covering his face.

He hadn’t forgotten their revelations from the previous night, not at all, and a small, content sigh escaped his lips when he saw that both of his companions were asleep sound. It was a well deserved rest.

According to his internal clock, it was definitely past sunrise, a fair 7:12 a.m. It occured to Logan that “after sunrise” was the most nondescript timestamp he could have placed on their reunion with Deceit and Virgil, but he didn’t have the energy yet to worry about that. After all, he doesn’t function well without coffee. He also should have been concerned about the Artist downstairs. Surely he has to sleep, too, though? And it was unlikely he’ll attempt violence this early in the morning.

Most important, however, is the fact that Logan needs coffee.

Carefully, he stepped around Patton towards the door, taking his cloak with him. He took care to move slow down the stairs, letting the wooden steps creak slowly instead of in loud snaps.

The ground floor hadn’t changed since the previous night. Paintings and art equipment were still strewn about in an organizational method probably only understood by the Artist himself. The man in question was splayed out on what seems to be a small couch — in front of the easel from last night. Along with that, the stool had disappeared. It wasn’t a healthy practice, but Logan had to admit that it was efficient to simply change one seat for another as bedtime rolled around.

Coffee time.

He walked around the couch, still careful about his footsteps, and entered the kitchen. There was a coffee machine in the corner that Logan immediately put to use. Now, with a warm mug in his hands, he squinted around at the setting.

He should make breakfast for everyone. He had the time, and food would greatly sustain himself, Patton, and probably the Child for their future endeavors. Perhaps the Artist would also enjoy a meal? Yes, the Artist reportedly doesn’t like them, but it would be against Logan’s nature to take that sort of statement at face value without running his own experiments.

First, he had to know what he had to work with. Logan opened the refrigerator — why were there modern appliances in a medieval setting? He would have to ask….someone — and found it sparse but useable. There was a full carton of eggs, and milk.

After water testing each egg, Logan set a pan over one of the stove burners. He would have to ask about consistency in setting because, um, a stove? He wasn’t about to not use it, but he was judging the “historical accuracy” that the Playwright had harped about.

Speaking of the Playwright. Logan leaned on the counter with his butt and took the Playwright’s book out of his jacket pocket. In all of last night’s hassle, he’d forgotten to check the “Author’s Notes” section, and there had to have been even more updates since then. He nearly flipped the cover on instinct but a distinct golden glow caught his eye.

The ribbon decal was still adorned on the front, though it was noticeably less impactful than the golden circle in the center. The sun of Roman’s crest. The Child. Logan ran his thumb over it, watching as it actually exuded a warm yellow glow around his finger. If Logan was still willing to trust the Playwright’s explanation, then that meant they’d won the Child over. That he trusted them.

He squinted at the cover. The ribbon was a divot in the cover, like leather pressing. Probably to mark the book, maybe even to fool the Sides into letting him go without argument.

Even lighter on the cover, though, was the outline of the crest. The leather was a dark red color, but closer to the center was a lighter red, more matching of Roman’s sash, and there was a light indentation marking where the crest’s border would be. Perhaps it was because they had met more figments? Or maybe Virgil and Deceit had met with another part enough to make a mark? Either option was promising.

The former seemed to be the case, because the Table of Contents had extended to include….multiple more Romans. It seemed that Virgil and Deceit had been busy. Below the Playwright and the Author Notes was now “The Child,” “The Thief,” “The Artist,” “The Bard,” “The Dragon,” and “The Damsel.” That was all seven. Transfixed, he began flipping to “The Dragon.”

There were bullet pointed notes, but no sketch like there had been for the Playwright. Perhaps it would update with more once they’d found him.

“- Lives in the castle

- Wants to kill everyone

- Would not hesitate (bitch)

- Captured and tortured Damsel

- I cannot stress this enough — DO NOT ENGAGE”

Logan raised an eyebrow. A villain. A very cliche villain, too, given that he was a dragon. He wasn’t necessarily inclined to trust the Playwright’s warnings, though. Surely there wasn’t really a form of Roman who would want to kill all of them? Perhaps throttle, but not murder.

“You’re not Teacher Dude, are you?”

Logan nearly dropped the book. He snapped it shut and whirled around, ascot flapping into his face. The Artist stood in the kitchen’s entry, sleep still evident in his eyes behind the same glasses Logan wore. He squinted at Logan as though daring him to lie.

Which, of course, he did. Logan straightened his posture and fixed his outfit, carefully sliding the book back into his jacket pocket. “I am. Cur of you to say that,” the Teacher Dude smiled, right? He was a little more of a funny man. Logan smiled.

The Artist winced. “You sure as hell aren’t an actor. Dad Guy wakes up first. Teacher Guy’s has a trash sleep schedule, since he procrastinates on grading papers. You’re Logic.”

Logan….supposed that was valid. He didn’t know enough about the Teacher’s character to refute that claim. He cleared his throat and turned back to the pan, beginning to crack the eggs for the scramble.

Hang on. Was his smile that unnatural?

The Artist took his silence as a yes. He nodded to the coffee machine. “Mind if I take some of that?”

Logan nodded, stepping away from the machine. “Of course.”

The Artist nodded back and began fixing himself a mug. He stood beside Logan, who pushed the half-cooked eggs around the pan in an effort to maintain some air of regularity. He only felt a little awkward, considering the Child’s warnings and the yelling match he had with Playwright the night prior.

It didn’t seem that the Artist cared, though. After he poured himself coffee, he stayed in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and watching Logan cook.

“The Child brought you, right?” The Artist sipped his coffee, watching Logan’s shoulders hike up when he spoke.

“Yes. He did,” Logan said.

“So Padre’s upstairs, too.”

“Yes,” Logan exhaled slowly, “Do you want any breakfast?”

The Artist looked at the eggs. Logan really just made them breakfast, huh?

“I don’t eat. We don’t need to,” he looked back up at Logan’s face, squinting, “Wouldn’t that be illogical?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. Okay. Maybe he was a little scared, but Logan wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to point  out that he was being a petty baby.

“Well,” the Artist rolled his eyes as Logan began to explain. “Roman typically eats meals with us, so everyone maintains an even circadian rhythm. While unnecessary in the literal sense, breaking from that routine has likely damaged your stamina, resulting in phantom hunger cramps. My current hypothesis is that that’s what you’re feeling, or….that you don’t want to eat because I’m here.”

There, he said it. Logan could see the hostility in the Artist’s eyes. There was more, something heavier and deeper, probably a nuance he wasn’t picking up on, but the bitterness was indisputable. Or was it simply sadness? Nevermind that.

The feeling in his chest was tight now, not like the fluttering he’d pondered last night. This was more upsetting. It felt like the thing gripping his lungs had a tighter hold, almost threatening. Why was this such a surprise? He knew that the Artist didn’t like him. He should stop developing preconceived opinions of these different Romans, because it wouldn’t benefit him if he continued entering these situations with fallacious speculations.

The Artist averted his gaze, and then turned around. A quiet concession, it seemed. He opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of hash brown patties. “I’ll make hash browns,” his voice was low, almost a whisper.

Logan didn’t want to let it go, though. He had to know. “The Child mentioned that you dislike us.”

Oof, maybe he was being too bold, because he winced at his own words. The Artist was also taken aback; he probably didn’t think Logan would bring up the room’s incredible tension.

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, unsure of how to continue. The Artist recovered first, with a sharp shake of his head. “I don’t,” he said, even quieter.

He opened the bag and took out another pan, heating some oil. Logan took a step back, setting the eggs down on the counter.

“So you do like us? Us being myself and my compatriots.”

“I mean. I don’t not like you,” the Artist began flipping the patties, “Doesn’t mean I like you.”

Logan frowned. “Can you elaborate?”

The Artist cast him a wary glance, then looked back at the hashbrowns. “I’m indifferent. I don’t need you, and you don’t need me, so we’re at a comfortable numbness.”

Comfortable numbness. What was that, a call back? Logan leaned on the wall, watching the Artist cook quietly.

It seemed that the Artist quickly forgot his presence, too, as he began to hum. He flipped the finished patties one by one onto the drying plate. A little airheaded, perhaps? But he had been quite astute earlier. Or maybe Logan just was a really bad actor — he didn’t know. He did know, however, that the tightness in his lungs was softening.

Logan cleared his throat, and the Artist didn’t react. “What are your….plans?”

“Paint,” he responded simply.

“....anything else?” Wow, it was hard getting this one to talk. The Child had been so ready to explain everything to himself and Patton the night prior.

The Artist seemed to consider his question for a second, as though contemplating if it were worth his time. It seemed to be. “Kick you all out. You, Pitterpatt, and Child being here is puts a target on my house, Professor Binns. I would prefer to not draw Dragon’s attention.”

That was understandable. Logan let his shoulders relax — he definitely hadn’t been worried about an argument or actual physical confrontation, given how the biting the Artist had been the night prior — and he followed the Artist in arranging a plate.

They worked in silent tandem, though once the Artist was finished, he set his plate aside and opened the cabinet overhead. He pulled out a toaster, then a loaf of bread, and finally, to Logan’s surprise, a jar of Logan’s berry Crofters jelly.

The Artist caught a glimpse at Logan’s expression and met him with a tired shrug. “It’s a good flavor,” he turned back around once the slices of toast popped up. Logan’s face mustn’t have changed, because the Artist squinted at him again, suspiciously, and added, “What are you, the jelly police? Fuck off.”

Logan blinked, then turned back to the eggs. He stepped back again, now feeling out of his depths as the Artist toasted eight slices of bread and set all but two aside. Those he took for himself, spreading each with a thick layer of jelly. When it looked like he was done, Logan stepped forward, but the Artist just turned toward him with a stoic expression.

“I’m going to start painting. Don’t,” the Artist pointed the spreading knife at Logan, voice dropping to a threatening tone, “Interrupt me. After you’re all done eating, I want you all out of my house.”

It seemed that he really cared about his work. Logan fixed his glasses, lowering the jelly covered knife with his finger.

“Of course,” he said, licking his finger clean of jelly.

Oh, fuck yeah, that was the good shit.

The Artist, happy with his response, nodded and swiveled the knife around. Logan took the handle and they rotated, the Artist walking away to his easel and Logan to his jelly. It occurred to Logan, then, that if he had a question he should ask it now. Before it became a safety hazard to ask.

“Wait.”

The Artist, just about to sit, looked up at him with a frown. “What?”

Logan looked around at the piles upon piles of paintings. They had intrigued him since the night before, but he’d wanted permission before inspecting.

“May I look at your art after breakfast? I assure you that I will not damage any of your works.”

The Artist looked around, too, and pinched his brows. His hands came up to run through his hair.

Logan shifted his weight awkwardly. It was a fairly simple question, but the pregnant pause implied some deeper worry.

Well, it was Logan. While he wasn’t a big fan OF Logan, he and Virgil were the least likely to physically damage them.

He loved Patton, but the man would probably drop a few of them without realizing the damage that’d do to the canvas. And Deceit….he wasn’t a big fan of fake compliments.

On the alternative hand, Logan was most likely to critique them.

The Artist was sure he couldn’t take that. Not right now, not with this ridiculous art block and murder game interfering with his creative process. On any other day, he would be able to bear the brunt of….no, no. He probably couldn’t take any criticism. That sort of mental processing went to another facet of himself.

But, when Logan PRAISED him….it felt like the world. It felt like the sunset casting a warm glow upon the summer’s night. Like a bird training to fly who’d fallen from a nest only to take off and soar. Like glimmering flashes across a lake at sunrise.

Oh, it felt like heaven.

Was it all worth that one possible compliment?

“Sure,” the Artist found himself saying, hands resting on the back of his head, “Knock yourself out.”

Logan frowned. “I assure you, I do not plan on making myself unconscious.”

The Artist waved his hand, suddenly more distracted looking as his eyes flew around between his current work-in-progress and the other paintings. “It means go ahead. I’m going to begin painting. Tell Pat-in-the-Hat and Child not to disturb me.”

He screwed his eyes shut, drew in a breath, and….summoned a sketch pad and pencil. Logan watched as he began repeating the same hand movement over and over across the blank page, an art warm-up.

For a second, he was honestly proud that Roman remembered his suggested warm-ups. He’d been worried, once Roman first took up sketching as a means to jot his ideas down, that the creative side’s erratic nature would mean less self-care, so he researched a few ways to prevent hand cramps when drawing. Adequate art warm-ups was one of those ways and was a way to prevent one’s hand growing stiff.

Well. This whole morning was definitely a shift from the snappy, angry Artist from last night. Logan briefly wondered what the change may have been.

No matter. He should probably eat before engaging in any of the art; he would hate to dirty it. He also didn’t want to get in the Artist’s way. The Artist had just put his plate down beside the stool and immediately begun working, and to be honest, that didn’t bode well for the food. But it was too late for Logan to bring that up, especially with such explicit instructions.

For someone who disliked order, the Artist followed his personalized organizational methods to the dot.

Logan stayed in the kitchen, watching him paint from afar, letting his eyes wander over the other pieces. Slowly, he sat on the ground, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall. It was peaceful

Okay, well, that was interrupted by pounding on the steps above. Logan turned just in time to see Patton peek out from around the stair’s bend, hair still fairly disheveled and glasses lopsidedly resting on his nose.

“Well, good morning!” he said with a grin.

The Artist didn’t react, continuing in his warm-up routine, but Logan waved. “Good morning, Patt,” he said.

“It’s nice to see you, Roman!” the Artist rolled his eyes, but stiffened immensely when Patton hugged him from the side.

He didn’t loosen when Patton let go and moved on to Logan, still leant on the counter, hand resting on his chest, emotional outburst behind him. Patton had hugged him.

“Good mornin’, Logarithm!”

Okay. Logan drew in a small breath. That nickname? “Did you just call me logarithm?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

He was a little astounded that Patton knew what a logarithm was. Patton nodded, still chipper as ever. “Yep! If you write logarithms in their regular, no numbers-form, it’s your name!”

Logan squinted.

Holy fuck.

While Logan ran that pun through his mind, Patton went to the kitchen. “Did you both make breakfast?” he asked, ignoring that Logan was still trying to figure out how he hadn’t discovered his own name-pun and that the Artist hadn’t un-frozen yet from his hug.

Despite the lack of response, Patton continued, making himself a plate. “You’re so sweet! I’m glad you were working together this morning, then!”

Logan smiled a tiny bit. They had worked fairly well, hadn’t they? He stole a glance at the Artist, who was still frozen. He was looking at Patton with a weirdly choked expression, though. A cross between anger and something else.

His eyes flicked down to the Artist’s food, mostly eaten. He must have eaten it while Logan wasn’t paying attention.

“Logie, did you eat?” It seemed that Patton hadn’t noticed how stressed the Artist looked.

“Yes, Patt, I did. Thank you for your concern. I am going to do my and the Artist’s dishes now,” Logan picked up the Artist’s plate from the ground, not looking at him as he took them both to the kitchen. “Has the Child woken up yet?”

Patton shook his head, leaning on the wall behind the counter while Logan began to clean the dishes. “Nope! He’s out like a light!”

He looked over at the Artist, who was still as a statue, and turned back to Logan in a more hushed voice. “Is he okay?” he asked.

Logan glanced at the Artist, then looked back at Patton. “I cannot say. He was fine earlier,” did Logan want to mention that he stiffened only after Patton hugged him?

Yes. It was better to not hide these things. “He hasn’t moved since you hugged him,” Logan whispered, “Maybe he is a touch-averse Roman?”

Immediately, Patton was regretful. Gosh, he hoped he hadn’t upset the Artist. Roman was usually the only Side okay with spontaneous hugs, and he’d been too sleepy to remember that the multiple Roman situation meant every Roman might have different boundaries.

Should he apologize? Probably. That was the good thing to do!

Patton spun back around and walked up to the Artist, who was still frozen. “Sorry for the hug, kiddo,” Patton said, rubbing the back of his head, “I, uh, hope I didn’t paint myself in any bad light!”

The Artist blinked, then looked up at him, mouth pressed into a firm line. Patton actually flinched from the confused anger in his gaze. The pun couldn’t have been that bad. Could it?

He opened his mouth, irritation clearly mounting, but then clamped back down and bit his lip. He looked away, not reacting to Patton’s bewilderment, and simply starred at the painting he’d been working on. It hadn’t been ruined, oh, no, he hadn’t even started yet. His mind had just been abruptly yanked away from the Zone.

“It’s okay,” the Artist spoke through gritted teeth, “I already talked to Delbert Doppler over there. Please leave me to my work.”

Patton stepped back when the Artist extended his hands, conjuring a paintbrush and the palette that they’d seen him using the previous night. And then he set to painting.

It’d be a lie to say Patton wasn’t a little hurt, despite the already-negative impression the Artist had left. But he was hoping that’d been a late-night kind of fluke! A little moment where the Artist was just too tired and stressed! And he’d heard Logan and him working together well earlier….

“Patt,” Logan’s voice drew his attention back to the kitchen.

He was holding a plate fully set with eggs, hash browns, and two lightly-jammed slices of toast. Logan met Patton’s surprised expression with a small smile. “Breakfast?”

“Oh!” Patton took the plate and plastered on a smile. “Thank you, Lo!”

Neither seemed sure of what to do — did either remember the events of last night? After a few awkwardly quiet moments of smiling at each other, Logan cleared his throat and stepped back. “I am going to look around at the paintings that Artist has done. I would recommend staying in here,” he gestured to the kitchen, “As Artist is….fairly serious about not damaging his work. And not being disturbed.”

“Oooh, gotcha. That’s probably why he’s been a lil’ snappy, right?” That made sense in Patton’s mind! If the Artist wanted to not be disturbed, and Patton had unintentionally disturbed him, it made sense that he’d be a little peeved but not too mad or sad. Smad, if you would.

Logan nodded. “Perhaps. Either way, it would be better if we don’t disturb him,” he looked around at the art and picked up the first painting.

While Logan parsed through the different works, Patton sat down cross legged in the kitchen, munching happily on the eggs. Logan must have made them, he really did make the best eggs! The perfect level of juicy and cooked.

….It made him miss Virgil. The routine was to do famILY breakfasts, with Virgil, Patton, Logan, and Roman all sitting around the kitchen table. Patton leaned back on the wall and let out a small exhale. A small part of him wondered if they’d ever get to do that again, if Roman was going to be so changed after this. The Playwright hadn’t actually taken their words into consideration. He didn’t know how much they loved him.

How much Patton loved him.

Because, yeah, he could admit it. Patton was in love with EVERYONE. Virgil, Logan, Roman, even Deceit — it felt like swimming in honey, thick and goopy and wrapping around him in a warm embarrassment whenever Roman yanked him into a dance in the kitchen, or Virgil leaned on him during movie night. Whenever Logan read him a favored part of whatever he was reading, or when Deceit would trade puns and one liners with him.

He was floored, surrounded by this bubbly love that felt like a celebratory champagne.

Probably. It was probably love. Sifting through emotions may have been part of his job description, but that didn’t mean he was good at it. And he didn’t know if anyone felt the same, if anyone loved him back. Logan’d said something the other night, but…. And it wasn’t his job to sift through HIS emotions. Just Thomas’, technically.

Wait, was this just a different take on Thomas’ self-love?

Either way, the fluffiness he felt, the warmth at the tips of his fingers and the tingling in his cheeks when he smiled at seeing his lovely boys….It was nice.

It was all nice.

Just as nice as those paintings.

Logan had peeked through two stacks and found a lot. First, none of them were finished. Whether it simply lacked depth, or was literally half-painted, or only had base colors, none of these paintings were remotely completed. Every single one that Logan had seen was a work in progress.

Beyond that, he’d found multiple scenes of himself and the other Sides. There was one in particular he was….quite fond of, in all honesty. He’d looked it over for a few minutes. It was a half-finished painting of himself, sitting on the couch in the Mind Palace. And the only “finished” part was himself, fully colored in a semi-realistic impressionist warming glow.

Was that how Roman saw him? He knew that the impressionist movement emphasized the perception of events and movements, taking care of the lighting in environments to reflect not only upon the realistic light sources, but also on how the artist perceives such moments. It seemed….

Well, he didn’t much believe that the Artist was disliked them. Not after seeing these. But it unnerved him that so many were unfinished and unfocused. What was Roman lacking? Was it just an art block?

Patton stood up and patted Logan’s side. “I’m gonna wake up Child,” he whispered, glancing sideways at the Artist, who was painting now, “Get him some breakfast so we can be on our way.”

Logan nodded, putting a painting of a simple house down. “Very well. As soon as he is ready, we should leave. The Artist expressed a desire for all three of us to leave.”

Patton’s brow furrowed, and looked at the Artist, who wasn’t paying them any mind. The Child had to leave, too? Patton just wanted to say goodbye, he didn’t think that they’d be taking him with him. Wasn’t it dangerous outside?

“Wouldn’t it be safer for him to stay here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Logan now.

Logan pursed his lips.

Patton was probably right. It….was logical, that the Child would be safer hidden here, between multiple failsafes. “The Artist didn’t want him to stay here,” Logan murmured, “I am unsure why.”

“Well, how about we ask him!”

“Ask who what?”

Patton and Logan looked up to see the Child standing in the stairway, rubbing his eyes, yawning wide. He smacked his lips and grinned at them as they stood in the kitchen entryway, watching with slightly stricken expressions. If he saw anything wrong with that, though, he didn’t say.

“Awh, is that breakfast?!” the Child bounded down from the stairs and launched himself from the base, sliding his socked feet along the smoothed wooden floor.

He slid straight into Patton, who caught him with a “Woop!” This Roman was much more of a hugger, as the Child wrapped his arms around Patton’s hip and squeezed him tight.

Love

The Child snuggled his face into Patton’s side, until he caught a whiff of the eggs. “Oh my God,” he leaned back, though kept his hands balled in Patton’s shirt, “Did Loga–Did Logic make eggs?”

Okay, Logan honestly had no idea his eggs were this popular. “I–um, yes, I did,” he stepped back into the kitchen, “Are you able to make your own plate?”

“Um,” the Child rubbed his chin in thought — Patton was going to die, right here, in the Imagination, because Roman as a kid was so adorable. Just, the cutest. Curse the natural dad instincts — “I think I can!”

He hopped over to the counter, which he could barely peek over, and grabbed a plate. Carefully, and Logan watched just in case, the Child loaded up a plate of eggs, hash browns, and toast. And the whole rest of jelly jar.

He shot Logan a squinted, suspicious look, and held the jelly jar closer. “This one’s mine,” he hissed, “You jelly fiend.”

Logan didn’t know whether to be offended or pleased that that was his reputation. Like….this was a child. But also, he was a serious man with serious problems to attend to, and being labeled a “jelly fiend” was detrimental to that reputation.

But he was talking to a child, THE Child. He may as well play along. He looked to Patton for help, but only found the moral side with his fists pressed up to his cheek, figurative stars in his eyes while watching the Child spoon the jelly out of the jar and consume it.

Logan put his hands up in defeat. “I will not take your jelly,” he said.

“Promise?” the Child asked, pointing the spoon at Logan accusingly.

Alright. He’d admit it. The Child was a positive influence. “I promise.”

The Child raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Evidently placated by Logan’s promise, he licked the spoon.

While Logan dealt with the Child, Patton moved closer to the Artist. He hadn’t let go of the whole you’re-letting-a-child-lose-in-a-murder-situation thing and really, nothing anyone said was going to make him let go of that.

And, yeah, sure, Logan and the Artist both said not to bother him. But it couldn’t be that bad! They’d be out of his hair as soon as he said he’d let the Child stay. Patton didn’t understand the harm in a quick interruption. “Artist?”

No response.

Patton frowned. He didn’t want to touch him — Logan’s comment about him being touch averse still lingered in his mind — so Patton just stepped around and stood behind the painting, waving a hand and hoping to attract his attention.

“Hey, Roman!” he said. “Artist!”

Finally, the Artist acknowledged him, in a quick “Mhm.”

“Look at me?” Patton asked.

“Mhm.”

Okay, so the Artist wasn’t paying attention. This was a really important topic, and Patton, sadly, needed his full attention. Patton grabbed his shoulders, and the Artist stiffened again.

Careful of the painting, Patton pulled the easel back, squatting in front of the Artist so they were about equal height.

Uh oh. The Artist looked stricken, staring at Patton with eyes as wide as the moon and a mouth slightly open, slackjawed and confused. Behind them, the Child babbled to Logan about stars while Logan responded gently about constellations. Neither seemed to know of what was going on.

“Hey, Artist,” Patton smiled a little, trying to ease whatever tension there may be, “I’m sorry for bothering you! I just wanted to ask, um….” he bit his lip, it’s okay, just ask, “Would it be okay if Child stayed here?”

“What?!”

Hearing his name, the Child looked up. He and Logan both starred at Patton and the Artist, finally realizing that Patton had done the one explicit thing that the Artist had been adamant that no one do.

And, well, to be fair. Patton wasn’t usually one to press boundaries. He would be okay with letting the Artist paint for however long he wanted, so long as he took healthy breaks and ate a lunch and dinner eventually. But this was a dire situation. The Child had someone hunting him! Someone who wanted to hurt him.

Letting him hide, stay out of trouble, that was the right thing to do. Roman would understand, surely.

“No,” the Artist said.

Well.

Patton frowned, running his hands along the Artist’s upper arms and gently holding him steady. Maybe he just had to explain?

“Well,” he said, “It’s deadly outside, and we don’t want him getting hurt, right? Don’t you wanna keep him safe?”

The paintbrush and palette disappeared from the Artist’s hands as they slowly curled into fists. His lip was twitching, too, revealing a barely-contained anger.

Patton had done the ONE thing….

The Artist sucked in a breath. “....I don’t give much of a fuck, Dad. I told you all to leave.”

Someone yanked Patton back, causing him to let go of the Artist. He turned around, ready to reprimand Logan, only to find that Logan was nowhere to be seen.

The Child tugged Patton back a little more away from the Artist, teeth pressed together into a wide grimace. He shot Patton a small look, terrified and distressed, and pulled him toward the door.

“We’re on our way out, Arty!” the Child said, running around Patton and giving him a sharp push toward the door, “ I’m sorry, I didn’t tell Pat to say that, we’re gonna head out—”

Logan ran down the stairs, holding Patton and the Child’s cloaks in his arms. He handed the Child’s cloak to him, letting him put it on himself.

He wasn’t entirely sure why they had to leave so soon, but after Patton said the Child’s name, he’d turned to Logan with a petrified expression and whispered that they had to leave immediately. While Logan was certain that there was more to the Artist than a quick temper, he wasn’t confident that the Artist wouldn’t lash out.

It seemed that Patton was pretty confident, though. After all, why WOULD the Artist do anything?

He shook his head when Logan offered him his cloak and turned back to the Artist.

“No, no we’re not leaving,” Patton marched right back to the Artist, still sitting on his stool, hands trembling in his lap. “I thought you cared about protecting everyone. Why can’t he stay?”

The Artist stood up, causing the Child to jump back in fright, though Patton didn’t flinch. He just stood nose-to-nose with the Artist, who glared right into his eyes.

“He’s a distraction,” the Artist spoke slow, quietly, though the trembling of his hands and the twitch in his eye betrayed  It’s bad enough you’re all here. I don’t like distractions while I’m working, and you in particular keep distracting me—”

“Is that why nothing is finished?” Logan asked.

The Artist stepped back, as though he’d been slapped. Logan came up behind Patton, carefully putting a hand on Patton’s shoulder.

Patton gave him a small smile of relief. He wasn’t sure he could argue this well enough without him. While attacking the Artist’s art probably wasn’t the best method, he was glad that the responsibility of reigning him in wasn’t all just on Patton.

Having back up was nice.

That, and they still had to get information. Perhaps Patton’s opinion that the Child should stay here was logical and morally right, but that didn’t mean the Artist would abide by it when angry. They had to be strategic.

Logan cleared his throat, continuing with a gentle after the Artist’s lack of response. “All of your paintings. They all seem to be in some state of incompletion,” he gestured around the room, hoping to redirect the Artist’s focus. He didn’t want to come off as overly critical, though. They were wonderful, truly, but….well. You cannot blame him for having curiosities. “When you are distracted, do you not finish?”

The Artist just kept staring at him. He didn’t move, barely breathed, mouth hanging open a tiny bit. He did seem a little slow on the uptake, with lethargically slow movements and reactions.

His shoulders slowly hiked up as he drew in a breath. Patton perked up, and Logan‘s grip on Patton tightened.

“....Get out.”

His voice was cold as ice. A palette knife was summoned into his hand and his knuckles paled quickly from his tight grip.

Oh, dear. The Child hissed something behind the two adult Sides, but neither paid him any mind. They were acutely focused on the Artist.

“It’s an honest question,” Logan said, “I’m sorry if I offended, but—”

“I don’t have to answer it. Get out.”

Patton big his lip, eyes darting to Logan before he continued. “Roman, please—”

“I just want to create without you all getting in my fucking way all the time!” the Artist exploded. “And none of it’s good enough anyway, if it were good, I’d finish it, but nothing’s fucking good enough for you yet!”

He ground his teeth together, body stiff, hands curled at his sides.

It was bad enough he couldn’t finish a piece at all. The art block was bad enough. The fact that parts of him wanted to kill other parts of him and wanted to kill him him was bad enough.

He just wanted to create and wanted it to be good enough for their astronomically high standards.

Maybe the Thief was right. Wanting only made it hurt more.

“Roman—” Patton started again, only to be immediately cut off again by his shout.

“OUT!”

The Artist’s yell was loud enough to shake the house. Or perhaps that was because he wanted them to perceive it that way.

Either way, it was clear that the atmosphere wanted them to leave, whether they got an elaboration or not. The Child grabbed Patton’s arm and, with more force than Patton knew children to have, yanked him out. “We’re leaving, Dad,” he hissed, tugging Patton along.

Where had that outburst come from? And those tears? The Artist — he looked so upset, face twisting into picturesque disappointment and anger, lip curling and nostrils flared.

Patton couldn’t just leave him, no, he had to talk to the Artist, something. Anything.

The Artist jerked forward, shouting “OUT!” once more as he lifted the palette knife to point at them.

The Child threw open the front door and pushed Patton out. There was a time and a place, and this was neither.

He motioned for Logan to follow. “Don’t make me grab you, Logic,” he snapped, half scared, half frustrated.

Logan, blinking away his confusion, followed.

They left the Artist alone with one hand gripping a palette knife and the other his own shirt, over his heart.

[stargazerdaisy]

11 Questions x 3

I was tagged by @kyliafanfiction, @trinitea-fics, and @skyeward-otp forever ago, but there’s no way I can come up with 33 questions.  So I’ll answer the 33 and come up with a new 11.  Theoretically.  We’ll see.

From Kylia:

1.) Favorite Trope To Subvert?

One of my favorites that I (think I) pulled off was in Please Don’t Make Me! , where Skye is all whispering in Ward’s ear about them sneaking off and finding a way to ~entertain~ themselves, and it certainly seems like sexy times are about to happen.  And then...it’s Mario Kart.  I love twisting people’s expectations for the sake of comedy and fun.

2.) Favorite Trope to ‘Play Straight’, as it were?

Bedsharing.  I am weeeeeeak for bedsharing.  GImme gimme gimme.  I want those  punks to wake up spooning and entwined and then the awkward to set in, but actually push them to deal with their feelings.  Yes please I need it now.  

3.) What is that one character that, no matter how much you might like to be open minded about other fans having their own opinions and whatnot, when you see people defending them, you just cannot stop rolling your eyes and being at the very least somewhat angry, if not raging?

Melinda May and Phil Coulson....

4.) Favorite Thing To Put Ketchup On?

The garbage can.

Haha, just kidding.  I’m not a huge ketchup fan.  I prefer bbq sauce or ranch for most things you’d use with ketchup.  But ketchup on a burger or hot dog works well (if bbq sauce isn’t an option).  

5.) Cake or Death?

Cake.  

6.) Is there a Spoon?

47 of them to be precise.

7.) What is the Average Airborne Velocity Of An Unladen Swallow?

African or European?

8.) Did you get the references in questions 5, 6, and 7 without having to look them up?

5 sounds familiar, but no.  6, not even in the slightest.  7, my answer should explain that one.

9.) Silliest name you’ve ever heard for a person/thing/group?

Oh, oh, oh, I know I have some doozies of nicknames, but I’m drawing a complete blank right now.

10.) What is a book series that is nominally completed that you’d like to see more installments of?

I’m a big fan of the Jack Ryan books by Tom Clancy, but well, Clancy died a few years ago, and none of the co-writers can match his original style and quality (honestly, neither can his own later books).  So while that verse could easily accommodate more stories, and I could love them, it’s not going to happen with the quality I want, so I wouldn’t want people to try and subsequently fail.

11.) Song you both hate but sometimes can’t stop listening too?

There was an *Nsync song back in the day that I hated.  But I listened to it enough times that I ended up learning all the lyrics and singing along with.  That’s happened with a few others too.  There are some One Direction songs that I like and it pisses me off that I like them.  

From Trini:

1. A song you are listening to on loop right now

Actually no, I’m not this week.  Which honestly is kinda rare.  Then again, I’ve been listening to a couple of playlists with The War on it and that song always gets to me, so it’s back in my mind again.

2. What is a popular show/book/movie/podcast could you not get into/have no interest in?

I’ve never gotten into Supernatural.  Just never had that much interest, despite having a big fondness for Jensen Ackles.  

3. What is the last movie you watched?

Thor: Ragnarok

4. Opinion of Valentine’s Day?

It’s nice to have a day where you make an extra effort to show your love for others.  It’s just as lovely to do so with family and friends as it is with a romantic partner.  And I definitely prefer, low-key, thoughtful gifts/activities.

5. A show, book or movie that you consider “Your childhood”

Inspector Gadget was one of my absolutely faves when I was a kid.  Also, totally loved Ghostwriter and wanted to start my own crime-solving group.  Alas, we did not have a ghost to aid us.  Magic School Bus was also watched a lot and I can still remember the ending bit with all the kids making phone calls.

6. Favourite Youtuber/what you do watch on Youtube?

I mostly listen to music on YouTube.  I don’t follow any particular person.  I’ve been enjoying mashup videos lately.  Imagine Dragons are great for mashups.  (There.  Happy Megan?)

7. What do you need to buy?

A new battery for my laptop.  It would be nice to use it when it wasn’t plugged in.  After all, that’s a big part of the whole laptop thing.

8. What merch are you close to impulse buying?

At this moment, nothing really.  But I had strongly considered buying Chloe Bennet’s Fight Like A Girl shirt.  If I had had the money at the time, I probably would have.

9. What’s the weather outside?

Right at this moment, overcast, grey, cool (low 40s), but happily, not raining.  Typical late March weather in this area.

10. A thing that you recently accomplished that you are proud of?

@mframe and I spent a good chunk of a day (or was it a couple days?) and built a form within the test environment of our database.  Built it from the ground up, adding groups, creating custom fields, making them calculated fields, setting up a bunch of codes in order to make them calculate correctly, etc.  And it works really well.  I really like it.  Now if only the assholes that I work with would shut the f*** up and get on board, we could actually use it.

11. Movie/book/Tv show/podcast coming out soon that you’re excited for

I NEED TO BUY MY TICKETS FOR INFINITY WAR.  Also, The Incredibles 2.

From Gilly:

1. If you won $1,000,000 dollars, what’s the first thing you’d do?

Pay off debt.  

2. A movie/tv show that you always go back to whenever you’re bored or don’t know what to watch?

Friends, Community, Brooklyn Nine Nine are all great standbys for when I can’t decide on what I’m in the mood for.

3. Most meaningful book you’ve ever read.

That’s an excellent question.  To Kill A Mockingbird is one of those books that’s always stuck with me.  I need to re-read it again, in fact.

4. Have you ever gotten anyone to get hooked on a tv show? How did they feel about it?

HAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH.  Yes.  I mean, nothing on the scale of Megan getting me hooked on AoS.  But I’ve convinced a couple friends to try Doctor Who, I got @evieoh to watch Community, and then she and I ganged up on @airaze-blog and made him watch all of Alias.  There was a lot of screaming.  We won’t talk about Orphan Black.

5. Has anyone ever gotten you hooked on a tv show? How did you feel about it?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Yes.

As referenced above, Megan was the one that really pushed me to try AoS again.  (I’d watched the first 3 or 4 episodes when it first aired, but lost interest and was always having to watch it later b/c of committments those nights.) There was another friend of ours at work, who pushed along with her, and my bff watched it as well and encouraged me.  I was kind of hesitant, didn’t care a whole lot, but I was getting into the MCU as a whole, so I decided to give it a shot again.

Amazingly enough, while I knew Hydra comes out of the shadows and about Jiaying’s evil turn, Double Agent Ward wasn’t spoiled for me.  I was SHOCKED at that.  And I’m so glad, because it was SUCH A GOOD TWIST.  

But yeah.....that may have just slightly, dramatically changed the trajectory of my life.  I wouldn’t have had an Aussie live on my couch for the last 6 months and that would have truly been tragic.

6. Where’s your dream vacation?

Croatia.  I’ve been dying to go there for years and it gets more intense every day.

7. Favorite social media app/site.

Tumblr.  I get the most interaction and the widest range here.  

8. Dream job.

Stay at home mom would be my preferred occupation.  For a profession, lactation consultant is my dream.  We’ll see if I ever get there.

9. Favorite genre to read/write.

Uhhh.....in terms of fanfic genres/tropes, I love enemies to friends to lovers (on any scale).  

10. Favorite genre to watch.

I love spy shows.  Gimmes spies anyday.  

11. Favorite quote at the moment.

CHICKENS!  (just for you, Evie)

My questions - sorry dudes, only doing 11.

What is your favorite season?

What are your feeling on A.I. (the concept, not the movie)?

What is the oldest piece of technology in your home?  Do you use it?  Do you know how?

Hummus.  Thoughts?

Tell me about a favorite birthday or holiday present.

What pair of shoes do you wear the most?  Are they your favorite or just the most functional or something else?

What’s your dream fanfic?

How easy is it for you to unplug?

What is a hobby/activity/something that you have an absurd amount of supplies/tools for?

What is your guilty pleasure snack food?

Are you more a dialogue or song lyrics referencer?

I tag: @evieoh, @mframe, @agenthaywood, @airaze-blog, @helloimthedoctor, @agentsofsunnydale, @queermageddon, @livesindaydreams, @orlissa, @vesperass-anuna, and @in-the-moving-castle

[ainsley-corcoran]

Hold Your Breath || Ainsley & Spencer

TAGGING: Ainsley Corcoran & Spencer Evans ( @spencerfevans )

TIME: Tuesday, June 12th

LOCATION: The Pond

SUMMARY: Bingo Event; 1b: Breathplay || 3c: Scene Involving the Pond

Ainsley could feel her heart racing in her chest as she made her way over to meet Spencer by the pond. While she wasn’t afraid of the scene they’d come up with, per se, she was definitely anxious about the whole thing, even if she did know she was in good hands. Slowing her breathing to help calm herself, she smiled widely as she came to stand beside Domme, her hands fidgeting by her sides in an unusual show of nerves. “Hello, Miss Spencer.”

She glanced up when she saw the girl and offered her a small smile. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Spencer knew that submitting wasn’t something that Ainsley was fully comfortable and so she was going to take that into consideration throughout the scene. She wanted her to feel safe. She stood up and glanced at the pond. She had tested it and found that it wasn’t super chilly and she was grateful for that fact.

Stilling her restless fingers, Ainsley gave a sincere- if somewhat weak- smile. “I’m doing well, Miss. A little nervous, but also excited for our scene today.” And it was true. For as anxious as the whole thing made her, she truly was looking forward to getting another scene as the submissive under her belt. She bit her lip as she watched the other woman test the temperature of the water, not quite sure if she should continue talking or stay silent and wait for further instruction from the Domme.

“It makes perfect sense that you’re a bit nervous, Ainsley. I was always a bit nervous before having to submit as well. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. But it’s good that you’re taking some steps to make yourself more comfortable. That way presentations come a bit easier to you.” Spencer offered, giving the girl a smile. “Now, I’d like for you to tell me your limits and your safeword. And then I would like you to strip down to your bra and underwear.” The Domme stated, kicking her feet in the water slightly.

Nodding, Ainsley’s smile came a little easier as Spencer spoke. “That was my thinking as well, Miss. My limits are scat, vore, and watersports, and I use the stoplight system.” She said before following the rest of her instructions. A slight chill ran down her spine as she felt the light breeze on her skin, but the sound of the water helped relax her. If nothing else, between the fact that she trusted Spencer to look out for her, and the fact that she was an incredibly strong swimmer, it became a little easier to let go of her worry and focus on being a good Submissive.

“Good girl. Thank you for that.” She said with a smile, watching as the Switch slipped out of her clothing. “I promise that the water isn’t too bad. I’m not going to make you freeze.” She said with a soft wink before tilting her head. “Come on into the water for me, Ainsley. Get used to the feeling of it against your skin.” She didn’t want to jolt her into it by jumping right into the breathplay, knowing that that would probably be fairly dangerous.

Ainsley’s smile came a little easier as Spencer spoke, and she nodded as she stepped onto the water with a more confident “Yes, Miss,” this time around. The water felt cool against her heated skin, but it she’d always prefered it that way, anyway. When the water was too warm, she tended to feel drowsy, whereas a bit off cold help wake her up and reenergize her. “It’s a good day for this, I think. The air’s not too cold, and the water’s not too warm,”

She nodded her head in agreement. “I think you’re right. I’m glad the weather seemed to work out in our favor.” She dropped her hands into the water for a moment and then playfully flicked some water at Ainsley before letting out a breath. “You’ve got to trust me okay? There are going to be moments in the scene where you might think that it’s too much...But I am going to be watching you very carefully. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. But of course...if you need to stop, please use your safeword. I’d also like a safe gesture just to cover all of our bases.”

Laughing at the playful gesture, Ainsley could feel herself slipping into her more submissive headspace as she listened to Spencer speak. She was still a bit nervous, but the Domme exuded a subtle confidence and an air of authority that helped calm her, reminding her that she didn’t need to worry and that she would be entirely safe. “Yes, Miss. I do trust you.” She said without an ounce of hesitation. “What would you like me to do for safe gesture?”

“Good girl. For your safe gesture, I would like you to hold up this sign.” She gestured the sign for her, her two middle fingers down with the two outer fingers pointed up. “Make sure you lift it high so that there is no ways that I would miss it okay?” She licked her bottom lip and then rolled her shoulders before nodding her head. “We’re going to start off slow, but I’m going to push you a bit further and further each time.” She stated, offering her a smile. “Now, how do you feel about a sexual element to the scene?”

“Yes, Miss. I can definitely do that” The sign was easy enough, though she took an extra moment to commit it to memory, just in case. Biting her lip, she nodded. She knew it would be difficult, but she was never one to back down from a challenge. Not before giving it an honest try first, at least. At Spencer’s next question, a grin came to her face, “I would have absolutely no problem with that. You’re absolutely stunning, Miss,”

“Perfect. Good girl.” She winked playfully when Ainsley said that she was okay with it and she nodded her head. “Perfect. I’m glad to hear that.” The blonde said, rolling her shoulders slightly and then reaching out to grab Ainsley’s waist. She rubbed her thumb into her skin and hummed softly. “By the way, you’re pretty gorgeous as well. Incredibly so, Ainsley.”

Ainsley felt a slight flush creep up her neck, but smiled at the praise, enjoying it more than she thought she would. Biting her lip, she took a step forward, the cool water ironically helping to ground her as she moved closer, her hands coming up to play with the ends of Spencer’s hair. “That’s quite a compliment, coming from you, Miss. Though I must admit, I’m pleased you think so.”

She hummed as Ainsley played with her hair, a smile planted on her features. She was content to just enjoy the time that she had with the other girl. And hoped that they could perhaps spend some more time together in the future. She dragged her hands to Ainsley’s lower back and scratched gently before drawing her into a brief kiss, her fingers teasing along her skin.

Ainsley grinned into the kiss, unconsciously leaning into the other girl’s touch, the contact blaze hot trails down her back. She was caught off guard realizing how worked up she was from that alone, but she definitely wasn’t going to question it. Unable to help herself, she let her hands slide over strong shoulders to lace lightly behind the blonde’s neck, shifting closer in attempts to gain more contact, losing herself in the sensations as she settled into a submissive headspace.

Spencer smiled against Ainsley’s lips as the girl slipped her arms around her neck, humming at the touch to the back of her neck. She was glad that Ainsley seemed to be comfortable because that would make sliding into the breathplay section of the scene that much easier. She pulled back from the kiss and nipped along her jaw, humming softly.

Ainsley felt almost light headed as the blonde pulled away. If just kissing the other girl left her gasping for breath, she had no idea how the rest of the scene would play out, but she was almost surprised to realize she was excited to find out. Eyes slipping closed as she let out a soft moan, Ainsley couldn’t resist the urge to pull Spencer back for another breathtaking kiss, unconsciously rolling her hips in attempt to get closer.

She hummed softly when Ainsley began to rock her hips against her and crashed their lips together once more, squeezing her waist and then letting out a soft laugh. “If you’re good, you can get more kisses okay?” She murmured gently as she pulled away before kneeling in the water, keeping one of her legs up. “Come rest your back here.” She said, patting her leg, wrapping her arms around the Switch.

Ainsley gave an uncharacteristic pout, but nodded all the same. She always did better when there was a reward waiting for her, and she had no doubt this would be the same- especially when the reward would be such a sweet one. “Yes, Miss. I think I can handle that.” Biting her lip, she only hesitated for half a beat, before doing as instructed. The sensation of the cool water on her heated skin helped calm her and she leaned back into Spencer’s strong hold.

“There you go. I’ve got you. Just relax for me.” She murmured, offering the Switch a smile. She brought her free hand down to press between the other girl’s legs and smirking softly. “I want you to rock your hips into my hand. You are not to stop unless I tell you too.” She said with a hum. “Start now.”

Exhaling deeply, Ainsley did her best to relax, an effort that was derailed a moment later when she felt Spencer’s hand settle between her legs. Feeling an uncharacteristic flush creep up her neck for the second time in under an hour, she bit her lip before nodding. “Y-yes, Miss.” She stuttered out, rocking her hips forward, the motion quickly becoming instinctual as she felt a heat settle low in her stomach from the contact.

“Good girl.” Spencer said, nodding her head, watching as the girl began to follow her order. “Now take a deep breath.” She waited for Ainsley to do as she had asked before lowering her into the water and holding her there. She kept her eyes on the girl, keeping her eyes focused, wanting to catch any sign of things going wrong; bringing her up after ten seconds.

Inhaling deeply, Ainsley tried to focus on the pleasant sensations she was experiencing to distract from the anxiety of what was to come. The water rushed around her and she fought the urge to tense up as she was fully submerged. She was grateful that Spencer only kept her under for a few seconds to start, easing her in, though she was pleasantly surprised to find the terror she was expecting to feel was absent.

“Take a few more breaths. On your third breath, I want you to hold it again.” Spencer said, watching and counting in time with Ainsley’s breaths before pressing her under again. This time, she jumped up to thirty seconds, keeping her eyes on the Switch and exuding the confidence that she was feeling. She had done similar things before. She could handle this and she would take queues from the girl as they continued. She pulled her out after thirty seconds and smiled softly. “There you go. You’re doing well.”

Careful to stay calm and keep her breaths even, she inhaled deeply on the third as she was dipped under once more. She wasn’t sure how long she went this time, but it was long enough for her to notice her lack of air, despite being a practiced swimmer. The between the pleasure between her legs and the comforting familiarity of the water, however, she actually started to enjoy the strange sensations she felt as her body was slowly denied oxygen. Despite the slight dizziness, she smiled at the praise as she breathed heavily. “T-thank you, Miss.”

“You’re very welcome.” Spencer said with a soft smile. “I want to see if we can get you to a minute, okay? So we’re going to put you under twice more and we’ll see how long you can hold your breath for. Don’t feel bad if you can’t do it, I’m just pushing you a bit to see how well you can do.” Spencer said, enjoying the look on the Switch’s face. “Five breaths, hold it on the fifth okay?” She adjusted her hold on the girl and then let her slip under the water once again. She planned to hold her there for forty-five seconds before moving on to the final test.

Ainsley tried to level her breathing out like she had before, though the extended time underwater made it more difficult. The idea of holding her breath for a full minute felt daunting, but she was certainly willing to try. She was already the type of person who wanted to make people happy- even if her methodology was more forceful than most really wanted- but in her Submissive headspace, that desire seemed to increase ten fold. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded instead, taking deep breath before sinking underwater once more. Time seemed to slip away as she stayed submerged, the only thoughts in her hazy mind focused around not inhaling and seeking more contact from the firm hand that her hips kept seeking out as she tried to override her body’s natural instinct to inhale, holding out for a few seconds after the hand holding her down was lifted.

Spencer pulled her out of the water again once the forty-five seconds were up, allowing her to catch her breath and then even it out again. If she was going to put her back under the water for a full minute, she didn’t want her to already be fighting for air. “That’s a good girl. You’re doing well. Just breathe for me. There you go.” She murmured, smoothing Ainsley’s hair back and pressing her hand between her legs a bit more firmly. “Just relax. I’ve got you and you’re being so good.” She pressed a kiss to her cheek, giving her a bit of affection through touch before beginning to lower her. “Okay, here we go. One minute. Trust me and trust yourself okay? Just relax. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.” Spencer said, waiting for her to take a deep breath before lowering her under the water for the final time.

It took a bit longer for Ainsley to regain herself, but it wasn’t too long until her breaths came with a bit more ease, and she appreciated Spencer’s patience with her. So far the Domme seemed pleased with her, though, and she thrived off of that approval. It energized her and made her even more determined to try and impress the blonde. Taking one last gulp of air, she let herself be guided into the water, reminding herself that she was in good hands. Once again, it felt like time slipped away almost instantly as her body began to crave oxygen, only to be denied it. Air slowly slipped out between her lips as stars began to dance behind her eyes. Yet, despite the nerves it ignited in her, she refused to move. She reminded herself that she needed to be good, that her body- in that moment- wasn’t her own, but Spencer’s, and that she had been given direct instructions. It was freeing, in its own way, and almost surreal, as her body was flooded with pleasure and pain at the same time.

The bubbles that floated to the surface of the water allowed Spencer to know she was letting the air out of her lungs and would need to replenish soon, luckily though by that point they were nearing the minute mark. She kept her eyes on Ainsley, wanting to keep the connection that they had and assure her that she was okay. When it hit the minute mark, she pulled her up again into a sitting position, keeping her arm wrapped around her. “Easy does it. Slow breaths. Don't try to put too much oxygen in your lungs at once. That's it. Good girl, Ainsley. Good girl. Lean against me and just relax for a moment.”

The last ten seconds were the hardest, but Ainsley pushed down the bolt of panic, barely resisting the urge to push against the hand on her chest. Gasping as she reached the surface, Ainsley coughed a few times, trying to clear her airway of an obstruction that wasn’t there. She kept her eyes closed as she listened to the sound of Spencer’s voice, her words soft and comforting. Her head was spinning, but the words of praise floating in her ears helped more than she thought they would. Once the her breathing began to even out and the rush of her blood in her ears faded, she let her eyes slip open, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Did I do okay, Miss?”

Spencer watched her closely, looking for any warning signs but there didn't seem to be any there. “You did very well. I am so proud of you.” Spencer said in response, a smile on her face as well. For someone that wasn't super comfortable with her submissive side, she was pretty darn adorable in it. “so well that I think you deserve a reward.” She pressed a kiss to her cheek and gently moved her hand between her legs. “I told you you would get more kisses if you were good.. So you will. But I also want you to know that you can cum when you need to. That is your reward for being so good for me.” She smiled softly and then pressed their lips together, her hand moving with a purpose as her eyes fell shut.

Perking up slightly at the praise, Ainsley couldn’t have stopped the proud smile that came to her face even if she wanted to. “I’m glad I met your expectations, Miss.” At the mention of an award and the feeling of Spencer’s hand back between her leg, the fire that had cooled in the last few minutes seemed to blaze up, a moan escaping her as the Domme spoke, more than happy with the reward she was being given. Ainsley’s hips rolled and bucked in a desperate search for more friction, and one hand came up to tangle in her hair as she moaned into the other girl’s mouth. She was dangerously close, after such an intense experience, and she knew it wouldn’t take much to have her coming entirely undone.

Spencer held her arm around Ainsley to ensure that she didn’t drop back into the water, sighing in contentment at the kiss. Kissing people was just so nice. One of her favorite things to do, especially because everyone had a different way of doing it. The response from Ainsley when she put her hand back between her legs had the blonde smirking and humming in satisfaction. She loved getting to reward good girls by making them cum. “That’s it...let it come to you, gorgeous.” Spencer murmured against the Switch’s lips, her fingers rubbing a bit more firmly.

Ainsley was thankful that Spencer had given her permission to cum when she needed to, because she was fairly certain she couldn’t have stopped herself even if she wanted to. And between her mental and physical exhaustion, she didn’t really have it in her to try. Instead she let herself get lost in the sensations, letting out a sharp whimper against the Domme’s lips as the pressure between her legs increased. Slipping her free hand just under Spencer’s shirt, she stroked the soft skin she found, needing the contact more than she could explain. Her spine arched as her orgasm raced through her, a low moan rumbling in her chest as she pulled the other girl closer, kissing her languidly as she came down from her high.

Spencer didn’t mind at all when Ainsley’s hand slipped under her shirt, holding her a bit more tightly and let her ride out the waves. She kept their lips pressed together for a few moments until Ainsley’s hips stopped rocking toward her hand. She moved her hand that had been between her legs and rested it on her waist with a smile. “Such a good girl.” She gave her a few moments to rest and then carefully moved them both into a standing position. “Let’s go get you warmed up, sweet girl.”

“Thank you, Miss. Thank you.” Ainsley murmured, breathing heavily as she finally let her eyes flutter open. The pleasant warmth slowly melting away as her body began to cool, and she appreciated Spencer’s cognizance as she was helped back to her feet. Her hand unconsciously sought out the Domme’s under the water, not quite ready to break contact entirely after such an intense scene, at least, intense for her as as a Submissive, anyway. But while her limbs felt heavy and her mind a bit cloudy, overall she felt unexpectedly content as they made their way back to the grass.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous.” She said with a soft smile, grabbing the two towels that she had brought, wrapping the first around Ainsley and rubbing her arms to bring about some warmth before she wrapped a towel around herself as well. “Come now, we’ll go back to my suite and hang out for a bit before I send you on your way.” It had been fairly intense and the last thing she wanted to do was send Ainsley off without the proper aftercare. She wrapped her arm around the Switch’s waist and then led her towards her suite.

[captainjellyroll]

my first time at an ER.

i... wasnt exactly planning on posting this anywhere besides a quick story on my snapchat & instagram, since i wanted it to be deleted in 24 hours. it isnt anything too major to worry about, but after thinking it over for a while; i finally kinda know what i wanted to say.

im posting about this not to worry anyone, or get pity. i genuinely feel like this might help someone who might need it.

[[ tw; heavy suicide mentions, mental illness talk, hospital stuff. ]]

all of it is under the cut, including one picture i took of my hospital wristbands so y’all dont think im lying or smth. its a long storytime, but it has a moral, and i think its useful to those struggling with intrusive or suicidal thoughts. thank you!

let’s start with my mental illness.

i was diagnosed with severe depression, anxiety, and ADHD almost 2 years ago. i was on medication, going to therapy, and feeling a lot better once i got help. everything was getting better, and i was happier.

until last year, when i moved.

my medical care was back in California, and they couldnt follow me to Minnesota. so, i was without medical help for almost a year. this past year has been a struggle on me mentally, and i relied on certain “drug dealers” to provide me with any leftover anti-depressants i could get my hands on. but, soon i ran out of resources and there was no where i could turn.

it took me months to get motivated and even attempt to get MN state insurance for medical care. yesterday i had my very first appointment in Minnesota to go get meds.

it is very very very bad to be off your meds for even a day, but i was off my meds for a year.

as soon as i finally sat down to talk to someone about getting me back on medication, i was very open about my mental health. i told the doctor about how recently ive been feeling unmotivated, low on energy, and...

how ive been suicidal.

she gave me this very shocked look; possibly because of the way i dress very upbeat and how i am in person. but, she listened and asked me more about my recent suicidal tendencies.

i told her how this was all very recent, and that it was usually very spur of the moment. i could be overwhelmed, glance at a bottle of pills, and a voice in my head would say “you know, you could take all of those right now and it would be painless.” or i could just be walking my dog, and an intrusive memory would attack me, then a voice in my head would tell me "just be a little more careless with crossing the road this time”.

she asked me “how often does this happen?” and i answered “almost daily.”

she nodded and frowned at me, then proceeded to go get another doctor. it took a while, but when i was left alone my eyes started to water but i told myself not to cry. she finally came back and told me if i wanted to go to the ER.

i was very confused, and i asked why i would need to go. and she simply explained that she didnt want to send me home with new medication, and make a bad decision when im alone with those pills.

and then i started to cry.

deep down, i knew i wouldnt actually follow through, because i knew i was finally getting help. but, in the moment, i was very doubtful of my capabilities and own strength. i was very concerned about myself, and i kept on telling her “i dont know” and how ive never been to and ER before. when im in pain, im too scared to even call an ambulance because putting a dramatic situation on someone as little as me seemed silly to me. but, the doctor was very convincing. she even said i might have to stay overnight, which scared the heck outta me.

she recommended i go via ambulance, but Katie ended up taking me instead. they were very strict that Katie take me straight to the hospital-- no detours.

i was shaking the entire ride there, but we finally arrived and we checked in. they did not hesitate to tag me with wristbands. i had to tell several officials that i was there because the previous doctor i saw told me to come to the ER due to “suicidal tendencies”.

every new person i saw asked me the same exact questions and sent me from one scary room to the next. i got my blood pressure checked no less than 3 times, and i signed a couple things along the way. until i ended up in a room with a bed, a couple chairs, a TV, and scrubs to change into.

i somehow ended up in a hospital patient room.

i changed into the hospital scrubs, and they took away my belongings to sanitarily seal them, and then locked them up in a safe along with my cell-phone.

i was quarantined as an actual patient.

katie eventually came to join me, having her belongings taken away from her as well, and she was tagged with a bright orange “visitor” badge.

i was very shaken and scared, and i didnt know i was going to get to this point. katie was confused, but very supportive and comforted me the entire time.

we saw several nurses and staff members, who interviewed us and checked up on me. there was a very long wait until we finally saw the social worker that my doctor told me to talk to, but in the meantime i just talked with katie to clear my head and feel a little better. (i was resting my head on her lap, but then a security guard came in and told us we were not allowed to do that, which sucked.)

at this point, after waiting for so long and going through this entire process to talk to someone of importance-- i felt much calmer and i was all out of tears. i was more clear-headed, and after talking with katie and experiencing what the ER was like, i realized...

i dont need to be here.

the social worker finally arrived, and we talked about why i was there. it didnt take that much effort to explain the situation and get things straightened out. she was very understanding, and she called the doctor that sent me here and she got me on new medication!

from checking into the first clinic, to being checked into a hospital 5 hours later- i finally got my anti-depressants. it wasnt that necessary to get me into hospital scrubs and quarantine me, but... here’s where the lesson comes in.

i know now what i should do if i get too suicidal.

i didnt know what would happen if i went to the ER, i didnt know what even happens at the ER. i didnt know you could check yourself in, or that mental health stuff such as suicidal tendencies would be allowed at the ER.

once you walk in, and tell the front desk that you are having suicidal tendencies-

they will not hesitate to tag you and send you somewhere safe. as soon as i said “suicidal” they printed off a name-tag and the lady smiled and said “i’m glad you didnt do it and decided to get help.” and immediately sent me off into the maze that is the ER.

i dont know if the experience is different based off your insurance, but i applied for the Minnesota state insurance for low-income people through MNsure, and everything mental health related was free. i didnt pay for visits, i didnt pay copay, i didnt pay for meds- the only thing that was paid was parking for katie’s car at the hospital.

but yea, it was a crazy, wild ride, and at the end of the day im glad i got to experience it. some people might say it was a waste of time, or a misunderstanding, or unnecessary-

but im glad it happened, because i know what to expect if i do ever feel suicidal.

and, i hope someone who is reading this knows what to expect too. i know its easier said than done, but honestly-- there is more help out there than you think.

if you are ever feeling suicidal, go to the nearest ER. they want to help you, and they will get you somewhere safe. they’ll work out the details later, but if you need help ASAP, they will provide it for you, no matter what. at least, thats what i think happens. i hope thats true...

anyways, thank you for reading this incredibly long and personal story, and i hope you learned something like i did.

i am on new anti-depressants now, and dont worry- i wont overdose on them.

thank you everyone who gave me kind wishes, and im sorry for the scare. i wasnt trying to worry anybody.

i’ll keep on fighting. 💕💕💕

[revolutionary-pirate]

Historical Figure Tag Game

Tagged by: @little-lion-rampant  and @sonofhistory Thanks for the tags!!  1. Who’s your historical person?

I honestly... don’t have one? I like too many people? But the first that come to mind are Richard Kidder Meade (because that’s who I’m known for and am writing a biography for) and John Paul Jones (because that’s who I last read about and am basing my graduation project on). I mostly think in groups, though. The Aides-de-camp and the Continental Navy are my historical faves in general. My bio on Meade is just a part of my grand project to one day complete a full and fleshed out account of all of Washington’s aides-de-camp (especially the lesser known ones). I suppose I’ll simultaneously talk about Richard Kidder Meade and John Paul Jones cuz I can’t decide between the two. [I’m probably one of the only people on earth that knows Meade well enough to do something like this for him now that I think about it xD]

2. What is it about them that draws you to them like a magnet?

For Meade, it’s his obscurity. He’s a mystery. There isn’t a whole lot about him out there, but a lot more than I was lead to believe there might be. But even despite everything I know about him, It’s hard to know him. I can tell you what he was involved in, but I can’t tell you what he specifically did while involved with it or why he became involved at all. I can’t tell you what he thought about things and what was going on 98% of the time. I can speculate about his beliefs and reasons all day by looking at the people he surrounded himself with, but, in the end, I still know nothing because They’re not Him. I might know his story but it’s impossible to actually know him and that is frustrating as all hell. He’s A puzzle that’s missing 90% of its pieces. John Paul Jones is one of the most mythologized figures of the American Revolution, second only to George Washington himself. He is also a magnet for misfortune. I’m a sucker for tragedies and rags to riches underdog stories and Jones is both of those things at once. He was able to rise above his circumstances to fame and riches but plummeted back down into obscurity - never achieving his life goals. He’s also a walking contradiction, a man always at war with himself, who he was vs his ideal image of himself and who he wants to be and I find that to be fascinating. The misfortunes of his life also draw my attention. So many things went wrong in his life and looking at the whys is simultaneously fascinating and frustrating. To tangibly see how he changed over time because of these failures, wrongs, and slights is an intriguing study. His life, in general, is just interesting and dynamic to me. There are constant highs and lows and you never know just what to expect when first reading about him.

3. Favorite thing about them?

My favorite thing about Meade has to be his kindness, patience, consideration, and genuineness that’s balanced perfectly by a dry/condescending sense of humor that I wish there were more examples of. My favorite thing about John Paul Jones has to be his persistence. In the face of repeated slights and backstabs, he kept pressing forward. He believed so much in his vision and in the cause of the Revolution that he refused to hesitate or back down in the face of his misfortunes. His endless pursuit of a better version of himself and his attempts to correct his flaws sits in the same vein as that. Every time he stumbled and reverted back to his incredibly flawed self, he picked up and tried again. Granted, a part of his persistence lies in the fact that he wanted to be remembered for something. “My desire for fame is infinite” he once wrote. He wanted fame because without it? He was no one. He was a Scottish servant boy living a false life under a false name and trying to be someone the world told him he couldn’t be. So he had to be persistent in order to stay ahead of the looming fear that he would die a forgotten man.

4. Least favorite thing about them?

My least favorite thing about Meade would be the fact that he owned slaves, but that feels like a cop-out answer to me. So another one of my least favorite things about him is that he hardly ever wrote things down. He seems like he never wrote about his opinions on paper if he could avoid it. Too many times have I read what was, in essence, “I’ll talk about it when I see you next.” He was incredibly prudent when it came to the written word, knowing that there was always a chance that a letter could be intercepted or read without his consent. He also, admittedly, wasn’t a fan of writing letters. So, he either kept his opinions to himself or only voiced them in private conversation. This, of course, means that I know next to nothing about his opinions, beliefs, and experiences. Then again, not many of his letters have survived in general. Some of the ones that I have found were lengthy and honest, like his letter to Hamilton in January of 1781. Or his letters to Theodorick Bland and his brother, Everard after the battle of Great Bridge. The latter two, however, were written before he was acquainted with the intrigues and politics of war and the former was written after he’d already left the army and wasn’t sure he’d ever see Hamilton again. So it can be argued that his prudence extended only to his time as an aide-de-camp. Regardless. He rarely wrote things down and I hate it. But the slave thing again. If Meade could fucking afford to give away so much of his money to charity and to help all the poor and needy in his community and lived like he himself was poor and made everything on-site instead of purchasing it, he probably could have fuckin afforded to manumit his slaves and then hire them to work for him if he was so concerned about them finding work in Virginia or getting forced back into slavery by some asshole who decided to claim they were a runaway. I don’t care that he never made them do anything that he himself wasn’t prepared to do alongside them and that he continued to work with them every day until his body started to fail him - he still fuckin owned them. That’s not cool. The least he could have done was tell his wife to manumit them when she died (she wrote in her will that the slaves were to be allowed to choose which of the children they wanted to go to. I have no idea which they chose. Hopefully, it was one of the kids that went on to free slaves and be an abolitionist). He treated his slaves so well that his daughter, Anne, didn’t realize slavery was a disgusting institution until she married a man who owned 400 which is, like, bravo on Meade’s part for being so great to his 19 but also somehow shittier because his kids didn’t think that there was much of anything wrong with the institution and he never taught them otherwise. Meade was an abolitionist(TM) and needed to be an Abolitionist.

My least favorite thing about John Paul Jones is his Brittle Ego and the fact that he got to a point where he stopped making friends and only took lovers because he could no longer trust anyone. He had felt betrayed so many times that he gave up on people ever being genuine with him and that’s just... it’s sad. He got so paranoid and convinced that everyone was out to get him that he pushed everyone away because of it. The only person he ever trusted, the person he considered to be his best and only friend... betrayed him and turned his back on him (and it wasn’t even his only betrayal. Jones never learned that his ‘friend’ was a British Spy feeding the enemy all of Jones’s plans and schemes from the beginning and was probably never his friend at all) and that was one of the last straws for Jones. Even the people who were genuine with him ended up hurting him in some way and he was unable to forgive them for it. Even if what they did was an effort to look out for him, was something outside of their control, or was just them trying to do what was best for him, he saw it as a complete and utter betrayal. Like it was them turning their backs on him just like everyone else. It was that tendency of his that I hate. His fragile ego, large but haphazardly built. He was insecure, constantly in need of validation, and always spinning the story in his favor in an effort to save face. He was constantly complaining about this thing or that thing (he also offered solutions to those things he was complaining about that everyone ignored because they didn’t care) and he was honestly an exhausting human being to be around at times. The thing about him, though, is that he was aware of that. He was aware of his faults and he was sickened by them but, try as he might, he could not overcome them. Benjamin Franklin once wrote him a scathing letter telling him to shape up and get over himself. Jones was hurt by it at first, but he ultimately took it to heart and tried. Tried so fucking hard because Franklin was like a father to him and he trusted his judgment... but he'd always end up back at square one: hurt, tired, miserable, brooding, and alone with all of his inner demons. Jones needed to stop blaming everyone for things that were outside of their control, blaming other people for things that were his fault, give credit where credit was due, and calm the fuck down and learn to let some things go. (And he tried. tried all of those things. made efforts to do all of those things... but people made that pretty difficult when they didn’t return the favor).

5. If you could fix one thing for them?

The one thing that I would fix for Meade would be him getting to see Alexander Hamilton at least one more time before both of them died. Ideally, they’d get to see each other frequently... if not all the time. The Meades and the Hamiltons would get to go on double dates together like they joked about. Anne and Philip would get together and maybe even get married someday like they hoped they would. Betsy and Molly would get to be best friends. I, just, UGH. I think about those letters all the time and I just want a happy Hamilton and Meade post-war friendship just like the one that they dreamed they could have. Gaaaaah. For Jones, I just want him to be happy. John Paul Jones x Happiness is one of my OTPs. So I'd give him a ship - a fast ship, not a crank ship like all the ones Congress gave him, but a fast ship to sail into harm’s way with and that ship would come with his best first lieutenant, John Rathbun. His perfect balance. The man was a skilled First Lieutenant who knew what he was on about, smoothed out all of Jones’ harsh edges, calmed Jones’ temper when it began to rise, and also served as the perfect mediator/buffer between a captain like Jones and his crew without ever putting Jones’ authority into question. I’d make sure that, no matter what, Jones never lost Rathbun again because while Rathbun was there... Jones was happy. So if I can’t give him a ship... I would still give him Rathbun and, through Rathbun, Jones would have a mostly cooperative, loyal, and content crew and that’s all I ask for. Jones reflected that the happiest time of his life was when he was sailing aboard the Providence with Rathbun and their crew, which was the best he’d ever had, and I just want him to have that back. 

6. If you could change their history, would you? If so, what?

This question is pretty in-line with the previous one. Are we talking about childhoods? I’m going to assume childhoods as being like their ‘history’. With Meade, nothing comes immediately to mind. I don’t really know enough about his childhood, really. But with Jones, I would change the fact that his father locked him inside of a glorified shed with no explanation or real reason to do so aside from wanting to make a sarcastic jab at their master about symmetry? Like, what the fuck? Little J.P. Jr. did nothing wrong??? He had no idea why his dad did that to him??? He was so confused????

If we’re talking about life in general. I would tell Jones that he needed to be nice to John Adams and that John Adams was not, in fact, out to get him like he was convinced he was. And then I would tell John Adams that he needed to be nice to Jones and that Jones was not, in fact, plotting against him like he was convinced he was. And then I would make them be friends so that they could build a navy together because they were pretty much the only two people in the entire god damn country that gave a shit about building a Navy in America and if they would have just, you know, worked together maybe Jones would have achieved his dream of playing a part in America becoming the naval power of the world in the near future and of becoming an admiral. WhICH IS ANOTHER THING? The fucking Jackass!!!! The guy who was #1 on the Navy commission list!! James Nicholson! That Asshat who did nothing to deserve or maintain that position!! I would prevent him from learning that Jones was lobbying to be made Admiral of the Continental Navy (which was a rank still unassigned) so that he wouldn’t be able to walk into congress one day, tell them not to do it because Jones was x.y.z. and causing Congress to nope the fuck out of there because they didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a feud between captains. And then maybe give Jones a commission as Admiral. But, in the end, the way it worked out was probably for the best? Because Jones probably would have made for a shitty Fleet Admiral. He did not have the temperament for it. But it’s what he wanted? So now I’m torn. John Barry was a better option than him, really (which is why Barry became the first Admiral of the U.S. Navy) Regardless, changing history is a no no in any situation because the ripple of those changes may cause some unforeseen changes down the line. So. yeah.

7. First thing you would say to them?

I’d probably say a greeting of some sort. Break the ice. Work my way to becoming a level 4-6 friend so that I can unlock their tragic backstories and gain access to the inner working of their minds. Learn about all of their hopes, dreams, fears, anxieties, desires, etc. from their own mouths and learn why they did the things they did and all of the fun stories. 

8. Bring them to 2017 with you... what does that look like?

With Meade? I honestly have no idea what that would look like. With Jones? He’d be thrilled that the US has the navy of his dreams, the naval academy of his dreams, the everything about the navy of his dreams because someone finally believed in him. Also, I’d tell Jones it’s okay to be Bi in 2017.

9. What WOULDN’T you tell them about the future?

I wouldn’t tell Meade that I’m writing a biography about him, that would be uncomfortable and awkward. I wouldn’t tell Jones that it took almost 200 years for America to appreciate him and that his fear of being forgotten and dying in obscurity came true. All he needs to know is that he’s a naval hero now.

10. Favorite story about them.

Meade was worried that his trusty black mare wouldn’t be able to hold up to the more rigorous riding duties his new station as aide-de-camp required of him. He decided that he would need another horse to rely on for sudden riding missions that required speed just in case because he didn’t want to push her too far. So in September of 1777, he asked his brother to send him one of his younger horses and requested a specific one that he believed should be good for the job, but then it takes almost a year for him to get this horse and he wrote his brother a couple times being like “...horse??????” When he finally got news that a man would be arriving with his requested horse in July of 1778, he got super excited and was anticipating the man and the horse’s arrival every hour. The horse finally arrived but it was injured/lame and sickly. He then spent time nursing this horse back to full health and taking care of it and it’s injuries himself until they were healed. Meade was not impressed with this new horses’ attitude, though. He ended up sticking with his trusty black mare, who had been able to get him out of many dangerous pinches with ease despite his former fears that she wouldn’t be able to handle it while he’d been waiting for the younger one to arrive. After years of war together, his old mare was handling the rigors of his position as aide-de-camp just fine so he continued to stick with her until the end of the war.

One of my favorite stories about Jones is the fact that he was the most wanted man in all of England and he just... walked into London? The guy he was traveling with was like “...I don't think this is a good idea. You know that everyone in England wants to see you hang, right?” And Jones was like “Well I have some secret letters to deliver to John Adams and I think I'll be quite alright.” So the guy reluctantly agreed and dropped Jones off in England.... and no one recognized him. The newspapers had distorted the image of “The Pirate” John Paul Jones so much that when the real man walked into London undisguised not a single person recognized who he was. They didn’t even realize he’d been there until he’d already left and arrived safely in France.

11. Reblog with a picture or painting or depiction of them.

There is nothing depicting Meade that has survived to this day (and potentially nothing ever made depicting him at all. Which is weird because both his older and younger brother had portraits done when they were 8-9 years old), but here’s a portrait of Jones painted in 1904 by Cecilia Beaux. His waist coat was actually White, not red. But I still really like it.

And here’s a copy of the bust of John Paul Jones made in 1780 that was the closest to capturing his likeness of anything else ever made of him during his lifetime and is the only thing that he was 100% satisfied with and wanted to flaunt to everyone. In the early 1900s, we were able to use the copy of the bust that he’d gifted to Jefferson to compare with his mummified corpse in order to confirm that the body they’d dug up from underneath a laundry mat in Paris was, in fact, John Paul Jones.

I’d tag others but I’m pretty sure that everyone I’d like to tag has either already done it or has already been tagged to do it. If you want to do it and haven’t been tagged, then feel free to claim that I tagged you and have at it! 

[lenaluthorlipbite]

Super Date

It’s finished, edited, and ready to be read. Enjoy, guys!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Maggie Sawyer, Alex Danvers Additional Tags: lots of flustered kara, First Date, realizing sexuality, Fluff, the fluffiest bitch, lena doesn't know that supergirl is kara Summary:

Lena Luthor finally gets the courage to ask Supergirl out on a date. Kara Danvers is determined to give her the most amazing date of all time.

Rooftop dates and candlelit dinners.

The moon hung low in the National City sky, undisturbed by clouds on the clear summer night. The metropolitan wind was balmy from the San Diego Bay breeze, and blew the scent of sea salt past the tall, glittering skyscrapers. Kara inhaled the briny air as she flew through the night sky, her thoughts on Lena Luthor; the L-Corp CEO had requested Supergirl’s presence earlier that day, but remained cryptic when Kara had asked her why. Lena hadn’t seem particularly worried about anything, and the DEO had reported no unusually dangerous activity in the area, so Kara tried to remain unconcerned about this request. However, she couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong; after all, people don’t request Supergirl’s presence unless there’s a problem to be solved.

She slowed her flight and landed gracefully on the wide balcony of Lena’s office. Lena turned at the sound of Kara’s feet hitting the wood and a smile broke out across her face. “Supergirl!” she exclaimed, standing to greet her as Kara strolled into the center of the office. Kara’s eyes darted around the room to make sure they were alone before turning to face Lena.

“Kara Danvers said you wished to speak with me,” she said in an assertive tone, placing her fists on her hips in her usual confident pose.

“Ah, yes,” Lena replied, taking a step towards Kara. She smoothed out her dress, a sleeveless black vestment that accentuated her figure, and looked down at her fidgeting hands. Kara glanced down at the delicate pale fingers intertwining with each other; she could tell when Lena was nervous.

“What seems to be the trouble, Miss Luthor?” Lena looked up; she appeared slightly startled, and a faint pink glow tinted her otherwise flawless porcelain complexion. Her red lips parted to speak, then closed again without saying a word. She bit her lower lip. “You know you can speak to me in confidence, I will try to help in any way that I can,” Kara reassured her, a pit of worry growing in her stomach. What could be causing the confident, self-assured Lena Luthor so much concern?

Lena’s eyes met Kara’s and did not break contact, as if willing herself to be bold. “I have to admit that my calling you here was more selfish than a matter of public safety,” she began. Kara hesitated, taking in the admission, then nodded, her eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty; she wasn’t sure where this was going. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and while I didn’t want to upset our professional relationship, I also knew I would regret it if I didn’t take this opportunity while it presented itself.” She walked past Kara to the pitcher of water sitting next to her shelf. She poured herself a glass and took a long drink as Kara stared at her in confused expectation. Lena took her time to put the glass back down before saying almost hurriedly, “Supergirl, I was wondering if you would let me take you to dinner tomorrow.”

Kara’s eyes widened. Before she could say anything, however, Lena said in a rush, “I understand if you can’t, of course you need protect to your public identity as a regular citizen, but I couldn’t help but feel like we had a connection, and if I was mistaken about that please correct me, but of course they say you don’t know unless you try, and we don’t even have to go to a restaurant, we could go somewhere private so you wouldn’t have to risk anyone seeing you or me knowing your secret identity, unless you’re ready to tell me but of course I would never pressure-”

“Hold on!” Kara exclaimed, and Lena instantly quieted. “Do you mean…like a date? Miss Luthor, are you…asking me out?”

The red tint in Lena’s cheeks deepened and she nodded, waving her hands anxiously as she continued, “To be honest, I’m still not completely sure if you’re…interested in women. But there really wasn’t a subtle way for me to find out without asking you, was there?” Lena ended her sentence with a nervous yet nonetheless dazzling smile.

Kara was at a loss for words; Lena Luthor, her dear friend and powerful ally, was standing in front of her asking for a date. Kara knew she could be oblivious at times, but she had no idea that this had been something on Lena’s mind; she had never brought it up to Kara when they’d gone to lunch or hung out. She’d never once mentioned an attraction to the hero of National City, nor expressed anything except for professional respect and admiration for Supergirl’s good deeds.

Kara’s mind moved at a thousand miles an hour; she truthfully had never considered the possibility of dating Lena. Of course, she knew that the L-Corp CEO was unbelievably beautiful and captivating; Kara remembered catching her breath and losing her train of thought multiple times during their first meeting. There was no doubt in Kara’s mind that the connection they shared felt like something more than friendship at times; Kara would do anything to protect her friend, and she knew Lena felt the same way. Kara loved how soft, how compassionate, how smart, and how incredibly human Lena was, with all her confident strutting and deep insecurities. She loved all these things about her. But…did she love them like that?

Lena’s smile faded gradually at Kara’s silence, and she walked back to her desk, shaking her head dismissively. “I am so sorry I put you in this position, Supergirl. Please forget I said anything, I don’t want there to be any-“

“No!” Kara blurted. “I’d…I’d love to, Miss Luthor. You’re right, I can’t easily go out in public, but I’ll figure out a way for it to work. Um…meet me here in your office at 7:30 tomorrow night. We’ll go from there.”

The corners of Lena’s rouged lips pulled upward in another one of her breathtaking smiles. “Great! Lovely! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Her green eyes twinkled with elation and she held her hands together near her stomach in an effort to not gesture out of excitement. Kara couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Lena’s beaming expression, and she felt butterflies flutter in her stomach.

“It’s a date.” Kara’s heart skipped a beat and she felt her cheeks flush; it was strange saying those words with Lena in mind. She walked back to the balcony, looking back only once to say, “Goodnight, Miss Luthor.”

“Lena, please.”

“…Lena.” Kara smiled before taking to the air as Lena watched in wonder.

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

“A date.” It was not so much a question as it was a statement of fact. Alex was above surprise or shock; her voice conveyed sheer disbelief. As in, she didn’t seem to believe at all that Kara would be going out with Lena. Maggie, on the other hand, was beside herself.

“So let me get this straight,” the NCPD detective wheezed, nearly doubled over. She leaned on Kara’s kitchen table to support herself as she shook with laughter. “Supergirl is going on a date with Lena Luthor, but Kara Danvers is still just the supportive best friend who is probably going to hear all about it the next day?”

Kara blushed, but before she could respond, Alex cut in, still confused. “Don’t you think it’s a little…misleading, to make Lena believe that Supergirl is gay when she, and by extension you, are not gay?” She leaned back in the dining area chair, facing Kara. “Why would you say yes to that?”

Kara’s blush deepened and she put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the kitchen island. “I don’t know…I don’t know! You know she’s got those piercing green eyes, sometimes I don’t even know what I’m saying when she looks at me with those damn eyes.” Maggie and Alex exchanged a knowing look, the former smirking mischievously. “What?” Kara asked innocently.

“That’s almost exactly what I said about the first girl I had a crush on in middle school,” Maggie responded, biting her lip to keep from grinning.

“Kara…” Alex started hesitantly, her eyes wide with anticipation. “I know we never really talked about it, but…do you have feelings for Lena?”

Kara sucked in her breath. The question, when put so simply, was slightly off-putting. She knew she was attracted to men; she had had boyfriends through high school and college. She knew that Kryptonians matured biologically more slowly than her human peers, thus a revelation about her sexuality at 25 years old was not unheard of for her species. Still…

“I don’t know!” Kara exclaimed again, throwing her arms out exasperatedly. “I know she’s one of my closest friends and that we have a really special connection and…and she’s absolutely gorgeous and, I dunno…I wanted to say yes.”

Alex stood and wrapped her sister in a hug, holding her safe in loving arms for a long moment before pulling back and smiling warmly. “How can we help?” she asked.

Kara smiled gratefully, appreciating the change of subject. “Well, I don’t really know what to do for the date itself. She’s expecting Supergirl, so I have to be Supergirl; if I wear anything other than the suit, she’ll know it’s me. So that means we can’t go out to eat anywhere public because people will recognize me and see Supergirl out on a date and blah blah blah.”

Maggie crossed her arms, her eyebrows drawing together thoughtfully. “You could have dinner at her apartment. That way it’ll be private and in a place where she’s comfortable.”

Kara looked offended. “I’m not going to just invite myself over to her apartment, that would be so rude!” Alex rolled her eyes, moving back to stand next to her girlfriend. “Come on, she’s going on a date with Supergirl. It has to be a super date, something really special, it has to be something where she’ll tell me at brunch the next morning, ‘you will not believe the date I went on last night.’”

The three women fell silent, each processing different options in their head and ruling each impossible before they could verbalize them. After a long pause, a smile drew across Alex’s face. “What’s the weather like tomorrow night? Is an outdoor date an option?”

Kara narrowed her eyes, unsure where her sister was headed. “Why, what do you have in mind?”

Alex’s eyes sparkled impishly. “How is CatCo’s after-hours security?”

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

The next night, Kara found herself once again flying towards the L-Corp skyscraper, her heart rate quickening with each passing moment. As grateful as she’d been that she didn’t have to zoom back and forth from her closet to the mirror looking for the perfect outfit, her super-suit felt vastly underwhelming when it came to an event like a date with the brilliant, beautiful CEO of L-Corp.

She approached Lena’s office balcony, seeing the woman herself leaning on its railing expectantly. Lena’s face lit up as she saw Kara come into view. As she landed on the balcony, Kara took in her date’s outfit. "Wow, you look...incredible," Kara said as she ogled Lena's dress, a skin-tight sleeveless black garment with intricate white flowers patterned randomly throughout. The neckline dipped dangerously low, and Kara found herself fighting to keep her eyes on Lena’s face.

Lena blushed and smiled nervously at the compliment. "Thank you, I...wasn't exactly sure how to dress, I didn't know what the plan was."

Kara's eyes widened and she shook her head, trying to reassure her embarrassed date. "No no no it's perfect, you're perfect." Kara blushed at her accidental wording. "I mean, what you're wearing is perfect for tonight."

Lena laughed lightly, visibly relaxing. "Okay, good. So...what is the plan then?"

Kara's heart fluttered in excitement. "Um, it would be easier to just show you, but, uh...I've gotta take you there myself." She held arms out, gesturing awkwardly in a carrying motion. "May I?"

Lena raised her eyebrows but nodded. Kara moved closer to her, so close that Lena’s perfume fogged her senses and made her head spin. She shook her head slightly in an effort to clear it before sweeping Lena into her arms bridal-style in one fluid motion. “Oh!” Lena exclaimed.

"Hold on tight," Kara warned playfully before launching herself into the air.

Immediately, Kara felt Lena's fingers tighten around the back of her neck. In response, Kara held Lena closer to her. She knew she wouldn't drop her, but she didn't want there to be any hint of doubt in Lena’s mind that Supergirl wouldn’t keep her safe. Kara flew through the air towards the towering skyscraper that was the CatCo magazine headquarters, angling herself upwards gently so as to put them on a course for the roof. She carefully controlled her movements to reduce any turbulence or jostling that Lena might feel from the flight. Glancing down, she saw that her date's eyes were shut tight, lips pressed into a hard line. A pang of guilt stabbed Kara in the stomach and she gently increased their speed towards the roof of CatCo.

Kara slowed down gradually and lightly landed on the rooftop. Lena's fingers did not relax. "Are we there?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"Yes," Kara responded, gently letting Lena down. She kept a hand on Lena's arm reassuringly as she said, "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot about your experience with the helicopter and falling off the balcony, flying must be so scary for you, I'm so sorry-"

"Supergirl, you're fine," Lena reassured her, her eyes soft with compassion. "Of all places to be when it comes to flying, I'm pretty sure you're the safest." She smiled and Kara felt her heartbeat once again quicken. Lena's eyes focused behind Kara towards the center of the roof and her lips parted in surprise. Kara turned around and smiled, seeing what had gotten Lena’s attention.

Hundreds of tea candles lay densely scattered all across the long, rectangular rooftop. The only bare area was a lengthy walkway from the two women, over the helipad, to the far edge of the roof. The candles illuminated the rooftop in a romantic glow that flickered with the light wind of the summer National City night. In the distance, the bright L-Corp logo shone brightly from its headquarters and the sprawling metropolitan before them sparkled brilliantly with the lights of National City like stars in a sky beneath them. Romantic and mellow music played softly from an unseen speaker. Lena walked a little past Kara, her eyes glowing with wonder as she looked over the dreamlike scene. She turned back and smirked. “Had I known we’d be dining alfresco, I might have worn a jacket,” she joked.

Kara laughed and walked forward along the unlit path, Lena at her side. “This is…absolutely incredible. Actually, incredible is an understatement, I don’t have a word for what this is,” Lena said, her voice filled with awe as she continued to take in their spectacular surroundings. “Did you light all these individually?” she asked incredulously.

“One of the perks of heat vision,” Kara said, smiling. “I know it’s a lot, but you’re a woman who deserves a really spectacular date, and seeing as I couldn’t give you one of those at some fancy restaurant… This was the least I could do.” Knowing that Lena’s delighted astonishment was her doing put a smile on Kara’s face that was impossible to remove. Lena turned her gaze back to Kara and, seeing her smiling and watching her, blushed and looked down. They reached the few steps elevating the helipad and Kara went up first, offering her hand to Lena for support as she ascended the steps in three-inch pumps.

“Didn’t realize I’d be walking across a rooftop tonight,” Lena said good-naturedly as they crossed the helipad. The end of the walkway came into view when they descended the far-side set of helipad steps; a few feet from the roof’s edge was a round patio table with two cushioned metal chairs on either side. A red tablecloth hung from the table, matching the cushions of the chairs, and on top of it sat an ice bucket with chilled champagne, two table settings, and a short pillar candle in the middle. Lena stopped in her tracks and sighed blissfully at the sight. “This is something out of a romantic comedy,” she laughed. Kara grinned, more than proud of herself, and led Lena to the table, pulling her chair out for her before taking a seat herself.

Pulling a picnic basket out from under her chair, Kara announced in a maître d’-esque fashion, “For tonight’s meal we’ll be starting with a kale salad with balsamic dressing, pine nuts, and parmesan, followed by chicken caprese sandwiches on French baguette and-” Kara hesitated before pulling out a note card from the picnic basket and squinting at it. “-carrot chorizo blini.”

Laughter once again bubbled from Lena’s lips at the pretentious-sounding dish. “I didn’t know that cooking was one of your superpowers.”

“Oh Rao, it’s not,” Kara scoffed at herself, removing a lidded metal mixing bowl from the picnic basket. She put the basket back on the ground and removed the lid, revealing a dark-leafed salad and tongs. “I definitely needed friends’ help on this one.” The truth was that Kara had originally wanted pizza, but Maggie wouldn’t hear of it. “She is a high-class woman and she is going to have a high-class meal!” she’d exclaimed. After deciding the menu, Kara had tried to help cook, but Maggie was certain that the moment Lena’s tongue touched anything that Kara had made, she would immediately cease all contact with the superhero. She’d smacked Kara’s hand away and continued to chop vegetables furiously, and when Kara had looked to Alex with hurt puppy eyes, the DEO agent had simply shaken her head and taken her little sister to watch Netflix while Maggie muttered angrily over mozzarella in Spanish.

“Well, it looks absolutely lovely, thank you,” Lena said, serving herself some of the salad into her place setting’s bowl before handing the tongs over for Kara to do the same. After serving herself, Kara reached over to the ice bucket and pulled out the bottle of champagne, pulling the cork out effortlessly before pouring the pale gold liquid into each of their glasses. As she did so, Kara couldn’t help but watch as Lena took a bite of her salad, focusing on her delicious red lips as they closed over the fork. “Mm…” Lena hummed, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor. Kara felt heat rush to her cheeks as she almost overflowed her glass. How did Lena manage to make eating so…suggestive? “This is delicious,” she said after a moment, opening her eyes again. “My compliments to the chef,” she smirked, seeing the red tint in Kara’s face even in the candlelight.

Realizing she had yet to touch her own food, Kara quickly forked some into her mouth, biting her cheek so as not to cringe; Kara had not willingly eaten a leafy green vegetable in her life. On Krypton, her mother and father had been very particular about keeping a balanced diet, and of course, as a child, who was she to argue with them? On Earth, the yellow sun made her cells perform at peak performance using the barest of nutrients, and she had taken advantage of that fact spectacularly (that is, when she was old enough to not have her meals controlled by Eliza and Jeremiah). Referred to by her as “Supergirl’s Food Pyramid,” she thrived on a diet composed of Chinese food, ice cream, and various baked goods. But that was Kara Danvers’ preferred foods; she was on a date with the sophisticated genius Lena Luthor, and their sensational date had to have high-class food to match. No matter how gross high class food was.

“So, do you do this for all your dates?” Lena asked amiably, her green eyes fascinated by the woman in front of her. “Are you singlehandedly holding up the tea-candle industry in National City?”

“Oh, no,” Kara laughed. “Absolutely not. I don’t actually…date, all that often. For obvious reasons.”

“Oh?” Lena lifted her glass to her lips, kissing the glass delicately as she sipped the effervescence. She set the flute down, and Kara saw the rich crimson hue of Lena’s lipstick imprinted on the rim of the glass. The sight was artfully beautiful and gave Kara butterflies.

“Yeah,” Kara affirmed. A moment of silence passed between them, their eyes locked on each other.

“You don’t have to tell me about it, of course,” Lena said, letting the moment pass. “I realize you have to protect your identity and you don’t need to feel obligated to share anything that you don’t feel comfortable with.”

Kara waved her hands in front of her dismissively. “Oh, no it’s fine. My…alter ego, I guess you’d call it, gets asked out occasionally, but they don’t know about me being Supergirl, and if I’m on a date and trouble strikes…I can’t really choose to ignore it. And I can’t tell them the truth about why I have to leave. So…yeah. It’s hard to date. I usually don’t even try.” Kara’s eyes glanced down at the lipstick stain again.

“I see.” Lena leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on Kara. The Kryptonian squirmed under her intense gaze, yet she couldn’t take her own eyes off of the dazzling woman in front of her. “So, what makes me different?” Lena asked.

Kara’s eyes widened. “Well, um…”  The truth was that that was a question she had still not figured out the answer to. She didn’t know what had compelled her to say yes, and not Alex nor Lena could coax the answer from her before she was ready. Luckily, she found a suitable substitute answer before the silence became awkward. “Well, I mean, you asked out Supergirl, not my…alter ego. So you’ll already know that, if I have to bolt off really quickly, it’s because I have to go…stop a bank robbery or save a cat or something. Y’know, the usual,” she laughed nervously.

Lena’s eyes softened and finally broke contact with Kara’s by looking out at the city, much to the latter’s relief, mixed with regret. She couldn’t tell anymore. Seeing Lena’s salad bowl empty, she reached down in the picnic basket and pulled out the main entrée. Silently thanking Maggie for her expert cooking skills, she handed her date a beautifully-plated dish with an artfully simple sandwich and two small pancake-like blinis. “Fancy,” Lena commented teasingly.

They continued eating, the sounds of the city and the relaxed music filling the space between them. “To be honest, I was terrified to ask you out,” Lena said. Kara looked up from her plate. “I know that no word in any National City tabloid can be trusted for a moment, but any speculations of your…romantic inclinations, were just that; speculation.” She avoided Kara’s gaze, carefully focused on her food. “Even if I wasn’t unsure about your interest, I haven’t had the best luck with dating in the past either. Though your reasons are much more noble than my own; women are generally not too interested in the younger sibling of a criminal madman.” Lena smiled as she talked, trying to show that the topic was not one that she was sensitive about, but failing. “I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t lonely…You know, being a Luthor.”

Kara watched Lena sadly, wishing she knew the magic words that would make everything better, or that she knew what it was like to have her family name tarnished by actions not of her doing. Kara reached across the table and gently squeezed Lena’s hand, careful not to hurt her in the small act. Lena looked up and their eyes met in a tender moment.

“I know I could ever really know exactly what it’s like, being a Luthor.” Kara bit her lip, thinking about how to word her next phrase. “But I know loneliness. I know it’s not the same loneliness…but I know loneliness. It’s easy to feel completely alone in a place like National City, where the people are good but…so afraid. It’s so difficult to earn their trust and so easy to lose it. I’m Supergirl, but to them I am first and foremost an alien…I’m not one of them.” She swallowed, feeling her mouth suddenly going dry. “This city doesn’t make itself a home for you, and I know you of all people know that it never goes easy on you. I can never forget who I am and where I came from, but…the first thing that made this untrusting place feel like a home to me was the people I love. When I’m with the people I care about-” Kara’s words caught in her throat. She paused, searching for something hidden in Lena’s eyes before forcing herself to continue. “I almost feel like I belong.”

Lena gazed at Kara. A smile began to spread across her face, a smile filled with marvel. “Amazing.”

Kara found herself smiling in response. “What?” she asked.

Lena shook her head, chuckling to herself. “Nothing I just…you really are super, aren’t you? And not just physically.” Kara felt herself smiling uncontrollably and had to stop herself from nervously adjusting the glasses that weren’t on her face. She glanced down and, after realizing that she was once again still holding Lena’s hand, felt her smile change into a look of flustered surprise. Lena realized Kara’s nervousness and smiled comfortingly as she ran her thumb softly back and forth along the back of Kara’s hand. A current ran up Kara’s arm, electrifying her heart and stirring the butterflies in her stomach. Their eyes locked; Kara felt like she was looking up at the leafy ceiling of an endless forest, the gold flecks in her irises like sunlight filtering through the rich green canopy. The candlelight flickered, casting an ethereal penumbra across Lena’s face and making her already-magical eyes twinkle like stars; her beauty was impossible to imagine, and barely comprehendible even as Kara sat right in front of her. She felt hypnotized, and blissfully content with being lost in Lena’s eyes for the rest of the night.

A police siren screamed from the city beneath them. Kara glanced out towards the sprawling cityscape instinctively, breaking the moment between the two of them. An internal struggle fought inside of Kara for a brief second as she decided whether or not to ignore the obvious sign of trouble to stay with Lena, or abandon the date to do her duty as a hero. She sighed, knowing exactly which one would win. She tilted her head slightly as she looked over the city, focusing her sensitive hearing on the city below. The urgent yelling of police officers and civilians alike echoed in her ears as if she was right next to the action; a badge yelling into his radio for backup, “Hostage situation on the intersection between 8th and 42nd.” Kara looked at Lena again, hesitant to admit she had to leave. Lena, fortunately, could read the apologetic look on her face.

“Go,” she said, smiling genuinely as she removed her hand from underneath Kara’s. “Selfish of me to take National City’s heroine away from it for a night.”

Kara bit her lip and paused, contemplating, before she stood up. “This night’s not over yet. I am so sorry, I promise I’ll be back in…ten to fifteen minutes. We haven’t even had dessert yet.” She grinned before she launched herself off the CatCo roof.

Kara flew as quickly as she could, a mental timer set at fifteen minutes beginning to count down in her head. Seeing the source of all the commotion, she landed heavily behind a police blockade facing a convenience store. A couple officers faced her. “Supergirl,” they acknowledged. “Three armed robbers, two convenience store workers held hostage.” She nodded, eyebrows drawing together as she x-rayed the store and saw the hostiles. Two masked men held pistols to the temples of a college-aged boy and middle-aged woman in front of the check-out counter. A third paced back and forth beside them with a shotgun.

“I’ll get them out safe,” she responded before speeding through the doors of the convenience store, shattering the glass and sending a rain of shards flying through the air. The shotgun-wielding robber pointed his gun at her and let off a blast, which Kara shrugged off. Speeding in front of him, she sucker punched him in the jaw and sent him sprawling on the tile floor, out cold. Now directly beside the hostage-holding criminals, who shook with fear as they pressed the guns to their victims’ heads, Kara held her hands up. “I don’t want to hurt you guys; why don’t you just put down the guns so we can let these nice folks go and I can get back to my date?” A look of confusion passed across their faces, which Kara promptly took advantage of. She sped around the two of them, yanking their arms both up with such force and speed that by the time the guns went off, the bullets could only shoot into the ceiling. As she held the two masked felons immobilized by their wrists, she yelled, “Go!” to the two freed hostages, who didn’t waste a moment in heeding her advice. Once they were clear, Kara whipped the two men around by their wrists, flipping them effortlessly. They landed with a heavy thud as their backs slammed onto the tile. Kara kicked their guns away and began to walk back toward the doors, but not before taking a peek inside one of the slightly-ajar freezers.

Two minutes later, Kara walked out to face the police with a pint of ice cream under each arm and two plastic spoons in each hand. She spotted Maggie amongst the police officers, the latter of whom quickly rushed in at Kara’s assurance that the burglars were down. Maggie raised an eyebrow at the ice cream.

“I know I’m technically stealing so can you please leave eight bucks on the counter? I don’t have any money on me and I promise I’ll pay you back but I’ve really got to get back,” Kara said hurriedly.  Maggie simply looked at her, dumbfounded at her good-heartedness, and chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it. Go, get back before she finds a different way off of that rooftop.” Kara mouthed, “thank you” and flew off, her grip on the frozen treat ironclad.

Kara flew up to the rooftop on the far side, the opposite of where she and Lena had been dining. She saw her date standing behind the table close to the roof’s edge, staring out over the city. She approached her from behind, making sure her steps were heavy enough that Lena wouldn’t be startled. Lena looked over her shoulder and smiled at Kara before turning back to look over National City.

“Be careful,” Kara said playfully as she went to stand beside her. “I’d hate to have another one of our encounters end in you falling off a building.”

Lena smirked, not taking her eyes off the skyline. “At least I would know that our date would end with me in your arms.”

Kara felt her face heat up, not expecting that response. “I, uh, got us some dessert,” she stammered. She put the two pints on the table as Lena took a seat. “Cookie dough or mint chocolate?”

Lena bit her lip as she deliberated, causing Kara’s heart to stop for a short moment. “…Mint chocolate,” Lena responded after her pause. Kara handed her a spoon and took the cookie dough pint, all the while watching the way Lena pulled the lid off after a short struggle, the way her forearm flexed when she dug the plastic spoon into the still-frozen ice cream, the way her lips closed around the spoon, pursing delicately…

Kara felt something crumple in her hand and, looking down, saw the indentation of her palm and fingers on her metal chair beneath the cushion. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding on to the edge of the chair. Kara looked back up and moved her leg over the dent, hoping Lena wouldn’t notice.

“I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly. Like I said…there’s a reason I don’t date,” Kara said.

Lena shook her head. “No, no, don’t apologize. You’re a hero. I know you have a duty to National City. And I knew that when I asked you out.” She smiled that dazzling smile and ate another spoonful of ice cream. “You’re a hero, Supergirl, and a symbol of hope for the people. I know you might have to leave at a moment’s notice to help someone and you wouldn’t hesitate. And that’s one of the reasons I like you; one of the reasons I asked you out.” Kara blushed, feeling flattered and humble.

They sat together for a while longer, chatting about whatever came to mind (Kara being careful not to reveal her identity) until the warm air melted their ice cream into pseudo-milkshakes and most of the tiny candles surrounding them had burned out. Time passed, and the night was young, but the sky was a deep, dark blue that signaled that twilight was long over. It was only after the candle on their table blew out that they realized night had truly fallen.

“I know you have to work pretty early tomorrow…I should get you back,” Kara said reluctantly, to which Lena nodded. They stood up and Kara lifted Lena into her arms once more, trying to ignore that fragrant perfume that made her head spin. She soared through National City, taking a longer route and slowing her speed. Her heart suddenly ached, wishing that their night didn’t have to end. All too soon, Kara lightly landed on the balcony of Lena’s still-lit office and gently let her down. The two stood awkwardly together for a couple seconds, neither knowing how to say goodbye.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Kara said to break the silence. “I mean it. I’d…I’d really like to do this again.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled with joy. “Me too, to both. It was absolutely lovely, Supergirl. Maybe next time we could go to my apartment and have a more…intimate date,” she said suggestively, one eyebrow raising. “For the protection of your identity, of course.”

Kara’s eyes widened and she started to stammer, unsure of how to answer. “That sounds, uh, that sounds…well, of course I, um, that would be…”

Lena laughed. “I’m joking,” she said, then leaned in, giving the flustered superhero a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Supergirl.”

Kara’s eyes widened and a smile drew across her face. She slowly started to walk backwards, giggling inadvertently. She gave a little wave and then sprung into the air, sailing away on the National City breeze.

As she disappeared behind a building, Lena leaned on the balcony and let out a long sigh of contentment, closing her eyes. The mild wind blew her ebony hair around her face lightly and tickled her cheeks and smiling lips. The air was warm and the lights from the streets below illuminated her peaceful face as long moments passed, undisturbed.

A whoosh of air beneath the balcony made Lena blink, but before her eyelashes could even brush against the crease above her eyes, Kara appeared floating behind the balcony, having flown up from below. Before Lena had the chance to react, Kara blurted out, “Can I kiss you?”

After her moment of surprise had passed, a smile spread across Lena’s face and she leaned forward over the railing a little, stopping inches from Kara’s face. She nodded, a tiny movement confirming what they both wanted. Kara cradled her face and captured her in a gentle but desirous kiss. Lena reached up to wrap her hand around the back of Kara’s neck, entwining her fingers in the golden hair. After a few blissfully slow kisses, Kara broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against Lena’s. That intoxicating perfume flooded her senses once again, and Kara knew that that scent would be on her mind all night. “Goodnight, Lena,” she whispered, before pulling away. Lena’s hand reluctantly let go of Kara and she once again watched Supergirl fly away.

As she flew towards her apartment, Kara touched her lips. Her heart soared as high as she could fly and Kara realized that she couldn’t stop smiling. She had never expected that such joy and hope for the future would come in the form of a Luthor, but…here she was, feeling the ghost of Lena’s kiss on her lips and hoping with all her heart that Lena was feeling the same thing.

[hannahindie]

Not What She Seems-Chapter 14: The One Where Dean and Ava Talk

Characters: Dean x Ava Word Count: 1,830 Warnings: Insinuated sexy times, talking about feelings (if you aren’t into that kind of thing, ya need a warning lol) A/N: This is the 14th Chapter of the first fanfic I’ve ever written. Although the most recent chapters are not as dark, please be aware if you’re just coming across it, the earlier chapters are dark, violent, and is basically an uncensored version of a Criminal Minds episode. There are adult themes, from sex to alcohol use, to descriptions of torture and mention of sexual assault. If you’d like to catch up even knowing all that, here is the Masterlist for the first 13 chapters. I’m pretty proud of this as a whole, especially as I look at how my writing as evolved, and I really hope you enjoy it. As always, tags are at the bottom! If you’d like to be tagged or find yourself missing, please let me know.

The next week went by mostly without incident except for Ava’s occasional visions, although it seemed to Dean like they might be slowing down. It could have been wishful thinking, but things seemed fairly normal. Sam and Dean had both been talking to Ava about her past, carefully introducing bits and pieces to her as she began to remember more and more. Some of the memories came on their own, some because of photographs that Dean had discovered in the few belongings they had of Bobby’s, and some from the dreams and nightmares that Ava seemed to have every night. Between the three of them, they were able to piece together Ava’s childhood.

After her brother had died, Ava’s parents were determined to prove that it had not been due to an animal attack. Despite their efforts, the locals believed their grief had made them delusional, and after a couple of weeks began to dismiss their claims. Although her parents had never caught the wendigo that had killed her brother, they’d moved on, taking Ava out of school and eventually falling in with Bobby and Pastor Jim. They had hunted until Ava was ten, leaving her with them during the more difficult hunts. Ava had begun helping her parents research shortly before their deaths, but Bobby and Pastor Jim had agreed that to protect her they would get her out of the life…no matter what. Although not entirely sure how they did it, Sam figured they’d known someone that could cast a spell of some kind to make her forget everything before reintroducing her to normal life again.

Despite the episodes that Ava was having, and the physical and mental exhaustion that came with the discovery of who her family actually was, Ava was happy. And with that happiness came a realization.

 Dean was in the kitchen when Ava wandered in, her eyes immediately drawn to Dean’s broad shoulders as he washed dishes. Dean looked over his shoulder as he heard her footsteps echo across the tile and gave her a smile before returning to his task.

“Hey.”

Ava sat at the table and curled her legs under her, “Hey.” She sat silently and watched as he picked up a dish, swirled it in the hot, soapy water, and scrubbed it with the sponge. For some reason, she was mesmerized as he rinsed the suds from it and gently placed it in the drying rack. He picked up the dishtowel and slowly wiped his hands off, then turned to face Ava.

“What’s going on? Do you need anything?”

Ava shook her head, “No…I…uhh….I never really got to say thank you. You know, for my room.”

Dean smiled, “You don’t have to thank me for anything. Like I said, we all know what it’s like to not have a place of our own…it’s the least we could do.”

Ava silently contemplated him for a moment as she debated her next words, then slowly stood, “Yea…but you were the one that did it…and I know it took awhile. It was perfect.”

Dean leaned against the sink, his arms crossed, “I don’t know about perfect, but you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

Ava had stopped right in front of him, and Dean couldn’t help but notice the look in her eyes as they silently looked at each other. He stood up straighter, “Listen, I’m sorry about the other day, I should have never kissed you. You’ve been through enough already…”

Ava shook her head, “I’m not sorry that it happened.”

“So…you’re okay? You’re sure?”

Ava nodded, but remained quiet. Dean reached up as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then hesitated. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, what he even wanted if he were being honest with himself. But as he looked into her cerulean eyes, he decided if he didn’t risk it neither of them would ever know.

He gently cupped her cheek and let his other hand rest on her hip as he pulled her closer to him. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking her permission, and she nodded, her eyes wide.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly, and Ava felt the warmth course through her at the sound.

“Yes,” she said quietly, her eyes trained on his emerald ones. He leaned in and his lips gently pressed against hers, soft yet firm as they molded perfectly with Ava’s. His grip on her hip tightened and she sighed against him, allowing his tongue entrance as it traced her bottom lip. Ava had draped her arms loosely over his shoulders as he pulled her closer to him, and he felt her fingers run through his short hair. Without breaking their kiss, he picked her up and spun around so that she could sit on the counter. Her legs tightened around his waist and Dean moaned into her, the feel of her this close to him like electricity hitting every nerve.

Dean finally pulled away, his breathing heavy, and leaned his forehead against hers, “That….that was incredible.”

Ava smiled, “Yea, it was.” She paused, her smile disappearing, “Dean…I…I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what all of this means for me, or what’s going to happen. Everything is so uncertain, and I feel like I should…like I should maybe feel guilty about what I’m getting ready to say, but I don’t.” Dean finally tucked the stray strand of hair behind her ear and nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I feel something…for you. I don’t know what it is, or what it means. I just…it feels big. I can’t ignore it…and I can’t honestly say I want to. To be truthful, I’m scared of it.”

She dropped her head and Dean crooked his finger under her chin and brought her gaze back to his eye level, “Do you trust me?” Ava nodded. “Good.” He picked her up from the counter and began carrying her to his room, “Let’s go somewhere more private. Not so sure the kitchen counter is the place for deep conversation.”

Ava laughed quietly, “I guess not.”

Ava sat on the edge of Dean’s bed and looked around the room, her eyes roaming over the various weapons hanging on the walls, the neat stack of cassettes on his desk, the headphones laying on the nightstand on the side she assumed he slept on. His room was meticulous, everything in its place and orderly. He had dropped her off then raced off again as he promised to be right back.

The door eased open and Dean walked in, carefully balancing two steaming mugs as he slowly shut the door behind him, “I thought you might want some hot chocolate. This seemed like a ‘warm, comforting beverage’ kind of conversation.” He gently sat one mug on his desk so he could shut the door then handed her the other one. Ava was thankful for its warmth as she cradled the hot ceramic between her palms.   

“Thanks, it smells delicious.”

Dean picked his mug up with a smile and sat beside her, the bed dipping slightly under his weight, “Yea well, it’s got a little liquid courage in it, thought you might need it.”

Ava took a sip and shivered happily as the burn of the whiskey slid deliciously down her throat, “You were right.” She took another drink and Dean watched her as she swirled the contents around as if it was all she could focus on. “I feel guilty, and I need you to know why.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of worry. “I barely know you, which…well, it makes this seem even more strange. But after everything I’ve learned about my life, and how most of it wasn’t even true…I trust you. I trust you more than I maybe should.” She raised the mug to her lips again, and Dean couldn’t help but notice how her lips curved around the edge of the mug and how her tongue flicked out quickly to catch the rogue drop of hot chocolate that threatened to drip down her chin.

“I loved Benjamin. He saved me from a bad situation and he made my life…fuller. He was kind and he was sweet, and he filled in the hole that not having a family left. I truly did love him…but I worry, and I’ve thought this for a long time, if it was because he was just…there. That sounds awful…” She paused and ran her finger around the edge of her cup. “And then I meet you and Sam, and I realize something is different…especially you. I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s like this weight has been lifted. It feels effortless. Safe. I don’t have to even think about it. I feel guilty because of that…it’s my fault Ben is gone, and here I am worried about my feelings for someone else.”

Dean gently took the mug from Ava and sat hers and his on his desk, then took her hand in his, “None of this is your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong…but if you would rather go back to your room, I’m not going to make you stay here.” His heart was racing and he was afraid she could hear it. He didn’t want her to leave, dreaded it, but knew he couldn’t force her to stay.

“That’s just it…I don’t want to leave. I…need to be here. I need you.” Dean couldn’t hold back anymore and pulled her onto his lap, his lips finding hers desperately as he buried his hands in her hair. Ava wrapped her arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer to her. She gasped as his hands slid down and found their way under her shirt, exploring the soft skin there. His skin was hot against hers and she moaned as she ground against him in an effort to find some sort of friction. “Dean…” she gasped quietly as he began to slip her shirt off of her.

He paused, “Yea?”

She looked down and away from him, clearly embarrassed, “I have more scars than what Sebastian gave me…I don’t want…”

Dean leaned down and kissed what looked like a cigarette burn on her upper arm, “I don’t care, Ava. Every one of these scars mean something, and even though it may not seem like it right now, they made you who you are. Don’t ever forget that.” He looked up at her, a gentle smile on his face, “I’ll kiss every damn one of them just to show you how important and beautiful you are, scars and all.” He moved to a scar on her collar bone, then to one on her wrist.

Dean spent the rest of the night doing exactly what he promised and Ava couldn’t remember a time where she’d felt so free.

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda  @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes  @deanssweetheart23  @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @duubaduu