#it's horrible I haven't written anything in yEARS DON'T LOOK AT ME

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[flowerywoso]

the babysitter || irene paredes x reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art. 

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life. 

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.” 

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch. 

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties. 

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now. 

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?” 

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch. 

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly. 

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request. 

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt. 

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body. 

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away. 

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely. 

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable. 

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand. 

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night. 

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests. 

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night. 

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

[plsdonttakemyname]

Boothill x G!n Reader

A/n ; this post is literally inspired by this post on TikTok HDHAJBDHSJSJDH 'M CRYINFFG..... I'm so sorry I haven't posted for soooo goddamn long... forgive me if my writing has gotten even worse mggggrr .. Wrote this at 3am, please let me know if I did typos... :'3

Mentions ; Boothill, Cyborg body parts, Poor bby can't feel physical affections like hugs and hand holding :(..Fluff fluff fluff grrrr...I'm trying my best not to turn this into an angst..Modern Au (I guess?), :3 Reader uses lipstick (no gender mentioned), Use of nicknames for reader (Doll,Baby,Etc...), OOC BOOTYHILL :(...

.. 𝑳𝒊𝒑𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ..

You and Boothill have been dating for almost 2 years , right now he has you on his lap. You were testing out the lipstick you got recently on him and he agreed to it. His face now covered in different shades of lipsticks.

"mm, I kinda like this shade, what do you think about it 'hun?" he wrapped his arms around your waist while supporting you on his lap " I don't mind what shade of lipstick you use doll...you'd look absolutely stunning with anything" he answered as you smiled at his reply, leaning in to kiss his cheeks "Flatterer.." He lets out a small chuckle before leaning in again for another kiss "What can I say? I love my sweetheart this much" he said as you caress his cheeks, nuzzling her nose against his slightly while knowing it brings him comfort due to being the only place he can feel any real warmth. Yet you continue to show him you care in the small ways you can, showing you love him in these simple things. The both of you are resting on the couch and enjoying each other's company before he slowly speaks up and breaks the comfortable silence "Do my cyborg body parts bother you?" You were caught off guard by his sudden question. you shook your head, planting another kiss on his lips before answering him "No..of course not..what makes you say that?" He shrugged as he pulled you in closer in his arms while he nuzzled in the crook of your neck "Nothin'..I'm just askin.." you wrapped your arms around his neck in response as you ran your fingers through his silky white long hair while he cuddled with you on the couch. Minutes have passed when you suddenly remembered that your boyfriend is still covered in your lipstick..."Baby I think we should wash the lipstick away before it stains your face" with a few moments of silence, he pulled away and looked at you "good..let it stain then."

PLEASE THIS IS HORRIBLE WRITTEN,Im so sorry if I disappoint . :( my schedule has been very packed lately and I have to drive and pick my cousin up from school whenever I get free times.. Also wrote this at 4am without any sleep. I'm so sorry again if there's a grammar error. I feel so anxious when I post because I'm scared it's gonna be bad..but I'm trying my best despite having a packed schedule. But if you have any ideas, feel free to request , I'll try my best to take them when I'm free

© 2024 plsdonttakemyname do not repost, copy, translate, modify.

[ashwhowrites]

could you do a Robin fic where reader forgets her diary at Robin's house after a sleepover (they're childhood best friends) and Robin decides to take a peek when she sees what reader wrote about her and all the things reader wants Robin to do to her, and then Robin does those things to her. Idk if this is a good request so if you don't like it don't do it. Anyways, love your fics!! 🩷

I love my baby Rob

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Dear diary

YN and Robin had been best friends for years. They met in elementary school and haven't been apart since. They told each other everything and nothing was a secret when it came to each other. Except for one little thing, Y/N never told Robin. Y/N never came out to Robin or told her she was in love with her. Y/N knew Robin liked girls, she knew before Robin told her. Y/N wished she had come out when Robin did, but she was scared.

Watching Robin grow into an attractive and mature woman was hard for Y/N. She always wanted to call it a small school crush, but it was past the crushing level.

Y/N didn't have other friends she wanted to share the information with, so she wrote it in her diary.

After the sleepover Y/N had with Robin last night, she had a lot to write about. She unpacked her bag and kept an eye out for her diary. She felt panic seep in her bones when the bag was empty and the diary was nowhere to be seen.

~

"I'm always amazed by how blue her eyes are. It gets hard to follow what she says because she is so distracting."

"We watched another movie tonight. It was her pick so I didn't understand the movie. But I loved listening to her reviews."

"We walked through the rain and I only thought about kissing her."

"I need to stop buying her rings. It's getting too attractive."

"I love the way she holds my hand through the store."

"I love it when she picks on Steve, sometimes he deserves it."

"I wish she'd kiss me."

"I wish she'd rent a horror film and let me hide in her arms. Baby me and slip me on her lap and take my breath away with her body."

Robin slammed the diary shut as she felt guilt rushing through her. She knew all of her best friend's deepest thoughts. Stuff she never guessed Y/N thought about. But Robin couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach. Her best friend liked her, and really liked her.

Robin chewed at her bottom lip as she weighed out her options. She wasn't sure if she should admit she read it or not. Would Y/N be pissed?

Yeah, probably Robin! You read about her secret crush on you

Robin jumped as she heard the phone ring. She set the book down on her bed and walked out to the kitchen. She answered and tried to keep her breathing normal.

"Hey Rob, did I leave a book there?" Y/N asked, nervously chewing on her nails. She hoped Robin didn't open it, or noticed that it was a diary not just a book.

"Um yeah, it...was on my floor! Yeah right there on the floor. Do you want me to bring it to school tomorrow? Or I could bike there right now. I think it might rain but I ha-"

"Tomorrow is fine, Rob. I'll see you in the morning," Y/N laughed as she hung up. She was used to Robin's rambles so she didn't think twice about it.

"I'm fucked," Robin said to herself as she slammed the phone on the wall.

~~~

Robin burned fire on her driveway as she paced. Y/N would be here any moment and Robin was horrible at seeming nonchalant. Her brain kept seeing the words written on the paper.

Robin took a deep breath as Y/N pulled up. She got in the car and tried to focus on being calm.

"Morning, Rob" Y/N said with a smile

Robin sent her a smile and handed over the book. Robin felt her stomach get tight as Y/N looked up and stared into her eyes. Was she thinking about how blue they were?

"What is it? It doesn't have a title or anything" Robin asked, not sure if she was making herself suspicious or in the clear

"Like a little journal. Nothing important in it," Y/N shrugged and tossed it in the backseat.

Robin nodded and left it at that.

~~~

Now that Robin knew about the crush, she wanted to do something about it. She has had a crush on Y/N since she could remember.

"Horror? for Y/N? Since when?" Steve asked as Robin checked out the film.

"She happens to want to watch one," Robin said, as she rolled her eyes. "Which I know because I'm her best friend. Just two girls watching a movie...together as friends. Sure, we might hide under a blanket but it's all just as friends!"

"You okay?"Steve asked, he eyed Robin with suspicion. He watched as her face got red and she stuttered a little more.

"What is with the investigation? It's a movie date! Not a date! It's not a date, just a movie with a friend"

"Movie with a friend sounds fun," Steve said, still worried about the girl as she raced out of the shop.

~

Robin might have covered her fingers in pretty rings. And she might have applied a clear gloss and sprayed perfume on her neck.

"Steve recommended this movie so I thought we should give the dingus a shot to be right for once," Robin said as she clicked play on the film. Both girls under the same blanket as Y/N picked at the bowl of popcorn.

Y/N laughed at the dig at Steve, but she was excited it was a horror film.

As the movie played, the closer Y/N got to Robin's warm body. The bowl of popcorn was moved to the table as Y/N launched herself into Robin's arms and hid her face in her neck.

Y/N silently purred to herself as she smelt the perfume on her skin. She smelled addicting.

"You don't have to be scared, I got you, sweetheart." Robin cooed as she wrapped her arm around Y/N.

Y/N felt her heart race, she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"Thanks," she whispered shyly

"Just a movie, I'll protect you," Robin said, she looked down but couldn't see her face. "Would you want to...sit in my lap?"

Robin felt herself hold her breath as the question hung in the air. She prayed Y/N wouldn't think too hard and connect the dots.

Before Y/N could answer, Robin's arms were already yanking her over. Y/N felt her stomach flutter as she slipped on Robin's lap. She sat face to face with Robin, the movie lost in the background.

"What are you doing?" Y/N whispered, her eyes lost in the ocean blue of Robin's eyes.

"Taking your breath away," Robin whispered as she leaned in

Y/N felt pounding in her chest...and in between her legs as Robin cupped her face. The coldness of her chunky rings sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N held her breath as Robin closed the space between them. Her glossy lips were delicately pressed against hers. Y/N moaned as she kissed Robin back. Y/N's arms moved up to wrap around Robin's neck, deepening the kiss.

Robin kept one hand on her face and the other one moved down Y/N's back and slipped underneath her shirt. The feeling of Y/N's bare skin on her hand made Robin burn with desire.

Robin licked Y/N's bottom lip, asking to take the kiss to another level. Y/N happily agreed, opening her mouth as their tongues touched.

Y/N couldn't help but rock her hips against Robin, her hands moved into Robin's hair. She yanked and tugged as Robin growled.

Needing air, they pulled back. They panted as they looked at each other. A shy smile on Robin's face as Y/N looked shocked it all happened.

"I read your diary. I know that it was wrong, but I read too much. I know you like me and I like you too. I'm sorry for invading your privacy but I couldn't ignore what I read. I've liked you for so long and never had the right words to say." Robin explained, still a little breathless.

"I feel like I should be mad, but I got what I wanted." Y/N smiled

"I've always wanted to kiss you too," Robin confessed, her thumb softly pulling on Y/N's bottom lip.

"What do we do now?" Y/N asked

"I ask if you want to be my girlfriend? I think? I'm not sure most of Steve's stories end at the kiss and he doesn't see them again." Robin said

"Girlfriend sounds perfect," Y/N smiled

They shared a smile before their lips smashed together.

Maybe Y/N should leave her diary around more often.

[valiantroeagleangel]

Varney.

Vampire! Noah Sebastian x female reader.

Varney! Noah, mention of blood, kind of dub-con but not really but a bit I think because of compulsion, oral, unprotected sex, mention of death.

I often have thoughts with Vampire! type of shit and I think I got a bit carried away gathering some of them here. Maybe I need to warn that this is inspired by the book "Varney the Vampire: The Feast of Blood." It's gothic horror I think, nothing too graphic is going on here though. But just- don't want you to be fooled, this is based on gothic gross vampires not that sparkling Edward bitch. I know nobody reads that part every time but you can't say you haven't been warned.

5.3k words if you ask.

Mama’s tag list:  @philomenie @gipsonnikki @circle-with-me @somewhere-diamond @malice-ov-mercy  @smokeynaomi @darkhallcorner  @loeytuan98  @sthnog  @cookiesupplier  @cncohshit  @lma1986  @skulliecadaver-blog @talialovesmiw @to-be-written @4rtificialfolio @arkiliastuff

"Varney enjoys all the pleasures at once and when he manages to desecrate the bed of a pretty young woman while bleeding her white in a horrible sucking sound. He is a fearsome and scary creature that usually wakes up the members of the fair sex by scratching at the window of their room."

She knew he was here. She could feel him, hear him. She could hear the same four notes he was humming, letting the melody indicate his presence to those around. She looked through the window, trying to discern the shape outside, the condensation on the glass concealing his figure. But she knew he was here, god she knew and she couldn't look away. She didn't dare to move, she didn't want him to know she knew. He did though. Of course, he did. He just didn't say anything, he couldn't scare his prey. She was so innocent in her white nightgown, creeping at the window from her bed, fearing to be harmed in the middle of the night.

So he continued to sing his chords, the notes living rent-free in her mind for years now.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

It was like an obsessive thought, it intruded her mind, and it ate her brain. All she could do was hum along every time she heard them.

She knew he was here, she always did. And even if she abhorred it to hell, all she could do was to be haunted by these notes. They were so mesmerizing, like she was compelled to appreciate them, finding comfort in them even though they seemed terrifying.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She murmured them like a mantra, like it would save her from damnation. As if they were going to keep him away from her when he was the one living by their harmony.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

It wasn't that hard. Actually, if she tried, she was sure she could play them on the piano.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She was just a child then, not so long ago, when she first heard these four notes. That day he left a letter. "I'll come for you, my yuri." Yuri was not her name and by then she had no fucking clue of what he meant. She still doesn't. With time, the years went by and he started to reach for her again. It was first once a month, then once every two weeks, to finally once a week. The more she grew the more he seemed to visit. He was frightening her. He looked so tall, so massive and impressive. She only saw his face once, disguised in the darkness of her room. It was the only time he approached her that close and despite the terror she felt that night all she could remember was his long nose and the way his hair framed his face.

But while he continued his visits, he never tried anything to harm her to her surprise. She knew what he was, she often heard the elder talk about these creatures that come for you at night. But she liked to think he was some kind of protector. Oh, only if she knew. His intentions were everything but caring and kind. He wanted her. From the moment he saw her as a child, he wanted her, he wanted her blood. She smelled like no other.

His first thought was to get rid of her as a child, get a good meal from her and leave her for dead in the snow in front of her house. But even for him, killing that innocent child was too much. So he waited, promising himself a good feast for the years to come. He just had to watch for her, to be sure that no one would try to harm his prey. They called him Varney, Varney the vampire, attacking only those who were pure enough to be maidens. But as the years passed he never acted. He could have assailed her a thousand times now. She was not a child anymore and she lived so carefree- that girl was completely unconscious. He needed to act and to act soon before she would do something that would ruin her forever.

But he did nothing, he watched her for years, he observed how she evolved, how she went from that sweet smiling child to the woman she was today. And god, he was happy he waited because nothing ever smelled as divine as her. She smelled like strong lilies, yuri.

Yuri was the Japanese appellation for lilies. He didn't know her name, even after all these years he didn't look into it. He didn't need to know his prey, all he needed to was watch over her. Watch how happily she danced during the spring balls, how sad she cried during the dead season at the end of the autumn, how charming she was for the Christmas time, and how fragile she looked alone in her bed at night. That poor nightgown wasn't doing her any favour, he swore that if he squinted just a bit more he could see everything. That clothing was so see-through that she might be freezing to death during those stormy nights.

One day he dropped her a cloth, some kind of duvet for her body to heat. It was the only time he actually entered her room, hoping for her to be dead asleep. Unfortunately, she was not, and she saw his face. He knew she did, he only hoped for her to not remember, to think that it was some kind of dream. Only that she wasn't dumb, she knew he was lurking for her all these years and she knew he was here that night, next to her bed. At first, she thought she was good to die, the time had come. A stranger in her room watched her sleep like a psychopath, but he only dropped that duvet, and she knew it was him. He hummed for her and her body relaxed immediately. He had tamed her, had domesticated her. She wasn't even worried about him intruding on her space like that.

He knew he did a great job then, even if she saw what she was supposed to never see, his face.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

Winter balls have never been her thing. She much preferred the ones that were held in the spring or the summer. The celebrations were different, more festive. During the winter the balls were cold, held in big mansions from the ones who were welcoming all the people. Often they were masquerade parties, and she hated that too. She didn't like wearing that mask all night, it was itching and making her face sweat like a pig. Gosh, she hated them, and that corset dress too. It was so tight she could barely breathe. Spring balls were allowing more liberties, no masks, no dresses, nothing but dancing.

Nonetheless, she still walked through that hall, finally entering that marble castle and she couldn't help but appreciate the heat that welcomed her. Greeted by some kind of butler she walked through the corridors, reaching the room of the festivities.

She stared at the impressive chandelier, overwhelmed by all the luxury that surrounded her. She didn't have any idea whose house it was this time. Winter balls were held by the nobles of the land, one by one, it's all she needed to know, at least that's what she lived by.

And just like that the night went, she danced around with some people, chatted with others, it was all pleasant until she couldn't take it anymore. Politely she escaped the small group she was with, reaching for a balcony of some kind as she hoped for some air. That corset was for sure killing her. She laughed to herself, the idea of being killed by her awful garments making her smile a little.

"Oh no the poor lady suffocated in that way too tight dress, who's idea it was? We should strip her naked to see!" She mimicked some kind of rude man by herself, laughing even more at her antics. Maybe she was drunk, maybe it was the heat obstructing her brain, but she found that pleasant enough.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

Until he called for her. She first thought her brain was playing her tricks, but he called again.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She looked up, then down, looking for that well-known figure, only to notice him hidden among the roses of the garden below. She moved as fast as she could, hoping to actually be able to catch him tonight. She had so many things to ask, but she wasn't afraid, curiosity was gnawing at her.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

He sang the chord again and she let his voice guide her through the labyrinth of flowers and small trees she was losing herself in.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

"Come for me, my yuri."

He talked to her and for the first time, she felt like she heard his voice, like he was real, like all of this was concrete.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She couldn't see him yet, but the more she walked the more the melody became persistent.

"Yuri."

He guided her with his voice, keeping it sultry, as soft as his sweet words. Once again transported by his melodies, all she could do was search for him, she was completely frenetic, obsessed. She needed him, she needed more. She wondered why every time she heard him sing she couldn't feel fear anymore. As if he was some kind of saviour, an angel from heaven.

And then she saw him, standing in front of the fountain, hidden by thousands of thorns and roses. She recognized that tall frame and that nose. It's all she could remember him by, the long nose, so straight, so pretty, making him look so elegant.

She was in awe, her eyes staring straight into his, her lips agape. She didn't even dare to swallow, worried he might disappear at any second as if he was supernatural. He wasn't real, he wasn't human, she swore he was not. But he was clearly not an angel either. His aura was so dark and she remembered why she feared him at first.

His eyes pierced through her skin and she suddenly felt naked, as if she was not the one only wearing nightgowns in front of him every night for the past ten years. It was so different from what he used her to, he actually looked terrifying, as she remembered him from when she was a kid. He felt the change in her mood, felt how frightened she became in an instant. And without her even realizing he was by her side, in a flash, he towered over her against that thorny bush.

"It's okay my yuri, don't be afraid." He tried to soothe her, to coax her, but it didn't work that time. As if his voice had lost all of his fascinating power.

She tried to step back, only to puncture the naked skin of her arms with another thorn, a single drop of blood forming at her wound. It cascaded through her arm until it reached her hand. She felt it rolling down but her eyes were drowning in his. She couldn't look away, it didn't matter how frightened she actually was, her gaze couldn't leave his.

He licked his lower lips, the glow in his eyes darkening, and she didn't miss any of that. He swallowed hard, his eyes alternating between hers and her lips. He licked his once again, until he couldn't bear it one more minute. Carefully, he approached his face to hers, brushing his lips on hers.

"You’re bleeding Yuri." he whispered and she swallowed hard, her voice stuck in her throat. "Be careful, we wouldn't want to hurt that delicate flower."

Was he talking about her or about the roses behind her? She had no idea but she still blushed and he stepped back, leaving her some personal space again while she realized she actually had stopped breathing for several seconds now. He held his hand to her as he went sitting on the edge of the fountain.

She followed obediently, actually taking his hand in her as he pulled her toward him, startled by how hot she was compared to him. He made her stand between his spread legs, turning her so he could face her back. His eyes fell on the blood spreading on her arm, strings of red tarnishing the purity of her skin. Hypnotized by it he let his fingers travel from her hand to her forearms and the upper arms, brushing gently her skin in his path, ever so slowly, as delicate as he saw her. The scent of it was becoming intoxicating and he wished he could smell more, touch more, feel the thickness of the blood between his fingers, he wanted to taste her so badly. She smelled like lilies but would she taste like lilies too?

"Yuri." It escaped him, a murmur that he couldn't refrain from, it's all he was thinking about. Lily, Yuri. He didn't move, he didn't even try to act like nothing happened, he just fixated on the blood imprinting her skin. He hadn't smelled it in years but it smelled as divine as the first time he saw her. It was even more sacred than that day.

"What does Yuri mean?" She asked, clueless, as she stared at the bush where she actually hurt herself. Her voice startled him, he wasn't used to hearing her. He found that sweet, so sweet. She was all her blood was, he was sure of that and he wondered, for a second, if he wasn't just infatuated with her.

"Lily." He answered calmly, but if his heart was still actually beating he swore he would be breaking.

"Lily as the flower?" He only hummed at her as a form of answer. His thumb brushed the wound and she didn't react. He wished she would have hissed or whined, but she didn't, she only stayed still, staring at the bush. "Why?"

The more his thumb caressed her the more she relaxed into his touch, as if she wasn't terrified minutes before.

"Because-" He stopped, thinking of what he was about to say actually. "Just because. You don't need to know."

When he finally took his finger away, he brought it to his lips, allowing himself to taste, just for a bit, just a tidbit as his tongue licked it more than he should have.

The taste lingered in his mouth and thinking suddenly became hard, way too hard for the simple man he used to be. Worried by the absence of sounds he was making she turned back, facing him.

He looked at her from under, curled up on himself as he revelled himself in the flavour of her blood. Eyes dark and bloodshot, canines peeking through, long nails finishing his hands. When she realized what he was actually doing her eyes widened. His lips were stained with the liquid. For an unknown reason, she found him absolutely gorgeous. He looked so needy, it actually surprised her. How could the strong figure ensuring her at night look so weak under her like that?

Caught red-handed, he tried to compose himself to not lose the imposing presence he tried so hard to give himself these past few years. But the blood still on his lips, he couldn't behave decently. He felt so stupid, like a horny teenager, all he wanted was her.

Completely incautiously, she approached her fingers, wiping his lips and her blood away. When her fingers left his mouth he chased her, chased the heat of that alive body and the taste that was coming along, the taste he was losing. She could have touched his canine in that moment, she could have injured herself badly by unleashing that part of him. She hadn't noticed them but they were menacing to pierce through her weak skin and suck the life out of her. It's all he had been dreaming of all these years, he was so close to his goal, if only he dared to catch her.

But in the silence of the night a couple came to disturb their peace, distracting her attention away from him for a couple of seconds, acknowledging the two persons stepping into the garden. And when she eventually looked back at him he had disappeared, like he vanished into the night.

She cursed, startled by how quickly he was to leave. She knew he was able to do that, she was just not expecting him to do it tonight. She was so close, terrified but yet drowned to him, and now he faded without even telling her his name. She sighed, desperate as she sat on the edge of the fountain, trying to process what just had happened.

On his side, he cussed everybody who dared to put themself between himself and her. He was so close finally, if only he got a few more minutes he could have ravished her right here right now. How stupid he was to have hesitated even one second, he was getting weak and it was something that he couldn’t allow.

Following that event, the nights passed and looked all the same, dull, cold, and annoying. He didn't come for a total of nine nights, she counted them all. Nine nights were she was, in fact for the first time since her childhood, free from his gaze. She could have left, she could have brought someone home, she could have done all the things she doesn't dare to do when she knows he's lurking at her, but she did nothing.

On that ninth night though, she knew he was here. Despite the absence of melody, she could feel him, she could tell how disguised he was in the shadow, like he was actually for once ashamed of what he was doing. Because all he was, in fact, was a creep, lurking at a woman's window every night. And when it finally hit her all she could do was clench her legs. He was here for her, he was watching her every night, in that white nightgown, that little dress, revealing her naked body underneath, and he was here, and he was watching her.

Her legs clenched once again and she rolled into her bed, trying to chase her thoughts away but she was still feeling his presence. It was burning her, every ounce of the sheets her body was touching tingled. She rolled over and over, the image of that needy man, sucking on her blood, his fingers in his mouth like he was starving. She clenched her legs. Again. She was so petite under him, against the bush, her body hitting the thorns. Again. Was it the blood? Would he come for her if she was bleeding again? Again.

She wanted him to come for her, she wanted to ask him his name and feel his cold fingers on his arms once again.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She called for him, naturally, like he called for her but he didn't answer, he stayed in his darkness, unsure of what to do. Did she want him to devour her all? Did she know what he had planned to do?

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She called again, tempting him, playing with the little nerves he had.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

Like a plea, she called him, she called for his furtive touch, his calloused fingers, she called for him to get out of the darkness. And when he finally dared to step out of the corner, she realized that he wasn't outside like she thought he was. He was in her room. Like he did the first time he saw her wearing that ridiculous nightgown. Her eyes widened at her -expected- unexpected visitor.

He approached her bed as she straightened herself, switching positions to sit on her feet, revealing herself. His hands approached her face, his fingers caressing the top of her cheek and she shivered, the contact surprising her, his coldness contrasting with her hot body.

"Shh, it's too late to be afraid, Yuri." As always, his voice relaxed her and she leaned into his touch, her face chasing his hand until he cupped his whole cheek, his fingers reaching from behind her ears. His thumb stroked her face and she sighed, closing her eyes, like it was her missing piece. She didn't understand why but she felt herself ignite. She was burning and the more he gently caressed her face the more she was catching on fire.

In a movement, as furtive as always, he sat on the bed, the mattress not making a single sound as it was used to. When she finally opened her eyes back, she met his gaze and it all suddenly became hard to breathe. She wanted to call him, to whisper his name but she had no idea of who he was, so she only murmured a quiet "please." that looked more like a whine than anything else, it was a supplication. She didn't know what she was pleading for but she did, she needed to get freed from this, whatever it was, and she knew he was the one who was going to help her. It felt like evidence, he was the one who was going to free her from that painful agony.

"Please what? Tell me, my sweet lily." He asked, his free hand cupping her other cheek and she closed her eyes again, expecting a kiss that never came. Why would he have kissed her? She didn't know, but she knew he was about to, she saw it, she felt it, she-

"Kiss me." She asked for it, the words escaping her without her consent, like he compelled her to do so. "Please kiss me-"

She wanted to call his name again but was dismissed that right, her lack of knowledge of his person showing. It scared her once again, how ready she was to give herself to that man she barely knew, how she let him watch her all these years, it wasn't herself, she was scared of him but why did it feel so good at that very moment?

But thoughts became long forgotten when she felt his lips on her, chastely moving in rhythm, like another chord. It's all she needed to lose it, she didn't think anymore, a violent moan leaving her when he pressed himself even more on her. Their two bodies flopped on the bed, her back hitting the mattress as he quickly settled himself on top of her without ever breaking the kiss. He could have done whatever he wanted with her, she was putty in his hand at that very moment, she belonged to him the second he put his hands on her nine nights ago.

He kissed her as if his life depended on it, as if he wasn't already half-dead, he was drowning in her scent. The more he kissed her the more she whined into his arms, her scent becoming stronger and stronger. He was drunk on her, he could feel her blood rushing through her whole body, he could hear how fast her heart was beating, how hot and aroused she was just from his kisses. When he finally broke apart for real, letting her gasp for air, he analyzed her, the needy look she was giving him, as if she needed this as much as he did, as she didn't need to live, what was her life in comparison to man's touch?

She wanted to ask for his name again, and finally, as if he read her mind, he breathed out, his mouth drawn to her neck.

"Noah." His mouth attached itself, almost automatically to her skin and he dared, just so little, press his teeth against her carotid, enough to just feel the blood pump under his touch.

She tilted her head back at the contact, sighing. "Noah." She repeated and he nodded, smiling in the crook of her neck as he travelled on her body. She was smelling so good, he was going crazy, the more he approached her heart the more excited he was. His lips landed on her clavicle, her cleavage and when he finally dared reach that devil gown, who taunted him so many times, he ripped it, freeing her chest from the fabric. He almost moaned at the sight of her bare body, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life, and it was. She was almost glowing in his eyes, like she was coming straight from heaven and he wondered how it was possible for a creature of the devil like him to be able to reach for the gods through her.

"Noah." She called again, cautiously, like these words would hurt her if she said them too fast or too loud.

He hummed against her, his head already diving into her chest, his lips attached to her left breast he sucked on it, feeling her heart pump under him, feeling the blood coming to his mouth as he sucked a bit more vividly. Until he sucked enough for his teeth to pierce through her skin, her blood escaping her without her being able to contest or fight. All she could feel was the euphoria that his touch was giving her.

The taste of her was like a relief, it was the best thing he ever put in his mouth, after centuries of existence. It was the sweetest of the nectars. When he was still human he recalled once drinking a wine called "The Wine of the Gods." The best one ever created. But he swore it was nothing compared to her. Nothing could compete with that delicate sweetness, she tasted like she smelled and he couldn't stop. He wondered if her pussy tasted the same, his intrusive thoughts battling against him and his will to feed. He couldn't get his teeth out of her breast but god- her pussy, scented as divine as her blood and he wanted to taste her so bad.

He opened his eyes back but it was too late, she was already too far away from her pleasure, drowning in all the sensations she was feeling. When he finally collected enough will he left her chest, not without regrets, to pamper her with kisses, travelling through her stomach to reach her bare pussy. She didn't bother herself with underwear at night and he couldn't be more glad for that.

He kissed her pelvis, his mouth not leaving her skin for more than a few seconds. And when he finally dared to settle between her legs, when she automatically spread them for him, all he wanted to do was thrust violently into her and bite her neck until she would cry from the pain. But he did nothing of that, he gently bit her inner thigh, delecting himself with the so little blood he took.

Finally deciding to put his hands to good use, he grabbed her by the hips, his fingers sinking in their fat as he pushed her to his face. She squirmed under him, her hands reaching for his hair by instinct. All she wanted was to push him more and more on her, begging him to speed up his pace. She was dying for his touch, completely compelled and mesmerized by her predator, just like he wanted her.

But the predator liked to play too much. He only teased her, keeping his slow motions, nice and gentle, groaning when she would moan a little bit louder or push him a little bit too hard.

He was quick to get how her body worked and how she reacted in a certain way. Soon he had his two hands grabbing her legs to put them on his shoulders, his tongue pressed against her cunt with such fervour. His nose rubbed her clit, making her moan. Her hands immediately left his hair to cover her mouth, refraining from her sounds but he was quick to move, leaving his spot between her legs to reach her face, grabbing her hands to move them away from her mouth.

"Let me hear you Yuri, let me hear the holy sounds you make." Quickly, he regained his place back, his tongue pushing itself on her folds as she moaned again.

He was cold, all of his being was freezing but it was enough to make her burn under his touch. She desired him in a way that she never desired anybody, and yet she felt so away that she wasn't sure it was her who was feeling all these emotions. Her heart was ready to explode as she pushed his head deeper against her core. She moaned and he answered back, groaning vividly between her legs.

The closer she grew to her orgasm the sweeter she tasted, it was intoxicating, it was all too much. Until she came, rocking her hips on his face, quivering between his hands and crying his name for her own sake, to remember something tangible, like all of this was real. Because she felt completely out of her body, her conscience tore apart from herself.

Nonetheless, he kept eating her, he couldn't get enough of her scent, of her taste. If he wasn't a starved man before he definitely was one now. He only pulled apart when he heard her cry his name out, completely overstimulated. And when he finally dared to look at her he understood how fucked he was. Because there was no way he was turning back now, there was no way he was letting her run free into the wild again. He just needed her body over his, he needed to be inside of her for real, to feel her alive around him. At that very moment, he didn't care about anything else, he needed to feel how warm she was, how alive she was compared to him. And when he finally achieved that feeling, when he finally thrusted into her without a care in the world he almost immediately came from the sensation. Nothing ever made him feel alive like that, even not when he was actually alive.

She cried for him but at this point, every sound she made was long forgotten, he was already gone. He heard her heart beating, like a psychotic melody. It was maddening, the more he thrusted the more he heard it.

D♭, G♭, E♭ₘ and A♭ₘ.

She kept crying of pleasure, reaching for his embrace and when he finally held her between his arms she was ready to give up on her life. It was feeling all too good to be true, it wasn't her, she knew it, he was only chasing his own pleasure yet she was reaching her climax so quickly. Something wasn't right but it was too late to notice. Her arms around his back she held him closer, tightening her grasp on him to comfort herself.

She was doomed. She knew it, it was the end. She cried out, from the pain this time as she acknowledged her situation. He held her closer, feasting on her supplications, one of his hands reaching for her face, his thumb brushing away some tears."Shhh, it's okay Yuri. It's too late now." and before she could come he bit violently into her neck, the pain awakening immediately. It was violent, brutal, nothing like before. She felt her life escape her without being able to do anything while he continued to fete on her, unable to stop drinking from her, years of starvation just for that instant. But for him, it was all worth it, nothing had ever been as worth it as it was. It was delicious, excruciating all of his senses. He never felt so great in so many years. He loved those who were pure enough to be maidens, they really were a gift from the gods, descended straight from heaven and he was bringing her back to where she belonged. Away from the monstrosities of the earth. Away from himself who belonged to hell. Varney.

The chords used are from Masquerade by Versailles.

[justsigma-bsd]

A Blank Page, Torn From A Book Without Name

Well, I ended up trying to put the word salad in my head into actual, coherent words after all.

First of all, everything here is just my take on things. The theories and thoughts I've had on certain things. I don't think any of it is official, but if anything of it is, in fact, confirmed to be true or false, feel free to tell me!

Some of the panels were taken from a YouTube video, which I'll link at the bottom!

TW for: Human trafficking, dehumanization

Ok, so first things first, some of this stuff I've already written down a while back for writing reasons. I found some of my old notes, and noticed that, after rereading the panels, they make more sense than I previously thought.

Let's start here: what stands out the most to me isn't that he's in the desert, not even the ticket. No, it's the simple »[...] or even who I was«

Because who, indeed, is Sigma? Sigma does not have an identity. He has no history, no nothing. Just the clothes on his back, a ticket that seems to be useless and earrings, for some reason.

Without a name, you don't have an identity and without identity you don't have a name.

Then there is this, too:

»I gave myself a name. Sigma. A man of the casino«

I don't believe he had a name upon being created. I don't think he had one for a long time, because in the same panel that he mentions giving himself a name, he also mentions the casino- which came much, much later. Sigma existed for three years by the time the series started. However, the timeline is wonky as heck.

Because how long did he stay with the traffickers? How long was he on his own after escaping? How long ago did Fyodor find him? Questions upon questions, but since I've already mentioned the lack of a name and the traffickers, let's get to my thoughts on that, specifically:

»They captured and enslaved me« along with »And once they knew that I had a skill [...]« makes me wonder: how long did it take for them to find out?

I haven't researched anything about human trafficking, but it's basically slavery, from what I've gathered through the previous things I've heard and read. And he does say so himself, too.

Sigma, three days alive, spent his early life a slave. It's confirmed that he was shackled, seeing that he is wearing them in the panels.

(As a side note, I do believe that he has scars from the shackles around his wrist. He wears a tight, wrist-long turtleneck beneath his coat, and I think it's to hide the scars. Both from others and himself.)

His first human interaction was plain horrible. Did he know and understand that? Did he understand that this wasn't normal? I don't think he knew how wrong this was at first. I don't believe that he understood it immediately. If he didn't know who he was, why would he know that being treated like this is wrong?

I believe that he realized it at some point, but not as soon as it started. I think he lived like that for a while, thinking it was normal, before getting some sort of wake-up call. Perhaps through his ability, or a fellow prisoner. Maybe both, or neither.

He must've gotten whiplash, once people genuinely looked up to him when he was the manager at Sky Casino.

I also think that he, probably, does tend to forget that being treated like that is, in fact, not normal or okay. Our upbringing leaves some sort of mark on all of us, experiences define us, give us habits and a feeling of what's normal and what isn't.

Which means that his "normal" is skewed and he expects being used rather than kindness, probably even after learning that some people are genuinely kind. I'm guessing that his mindset is, due to that, a simple "If I'm alive I'm alright".

I don't think he'd complain about being treated wrong and or left behind, or admit when he's injured. Or at the very least attempt to keep it a secret as long as possible- especially from those he sees as authority figures.

However, I also think that he was isolated, as per this panel:

Not only the text, but also the background paint a picture that causes me to believe that.

I almost skimmed past this panel while making my analysis, before pausing and taking a closer look. I thought this was in Sky Casino at first, until I looked closer and realized three things:

1, the background does not match Sky Casino in the slightest

2, he isn't wearing shoes or his current outfit, but the old clothes he had when wandering the desert

3, the shadows aren't from the light of a window, they're bars from a cell

While I did believe before that the traffickers kept him isolated from others (due to wanting to keep him unaware of the wrongness of his situation as well as to make sure he doesn't learn things he should/other prisoners finding out things that Sigma got to know by accident), this sort of put the final nail in the coffin for me.

But, at some point, he did realize that it was wrong. Perhaps he'd had a bad feeling from the start. Maybe he hated being treated like this. Who knows? Point is, he escaped. This brings us back to this page:

»No matter how kind someone seemed, they used me and then tried to kill me for knowing too much«

Sigma, after escaping the traffickers, after escaping the life of a slave, probably still didn't know much about living.

And I firmly believe that Sigma is smarter than even he himself thinks. There's just one issue: Sigma is naive (at least in my eyes), and it's not even his own fault. He simply tried his best to survive, and what was the reason the traffickers kept him around? His ability, most likely.

Problem is that his ability truly is something people would love to exploit, and it seems as if they did. Which makes me believe that he has a talent for running into murderers thinking they're nice people, only to get a not-so-nice surprise.

»The last one to use me [...]«, this specific line is the reason why I believe Sigma to have been used a lot. We don't know how often, exactly, his ability was taken advantage of. But we know the latest person who did.

Fyodor was the last one to use him, which means that, at that point, he was probably used to it. Used to being treated like a pawn, and used to people trying to kill for knowing too much. And I believe that he was, quite plainly, exhausted.

Imagine, your entire life consists of being forced to aid others with crimes, with being shackled. You don't know the difference between working for someone and being used by someone.

If you were offered what you wanted most, wouldn't you accept, too? Even if you know that you're once again being used? I mean... this time around, you gain something for it. Doesn't that make it worth the risk?

It's a gamble Sigma took... and lost.

This page involves two quotes that give me pause:

»Don't you wish for a home?«

We don't know why or how he knows what a home and a family is, but he does. And he wants it. He says it was never within his reach. But it is perfectly clear to us, while reading the Sky Casino Arc, that he wants it. He wants a home and a family.

He'd rather sacrifice his own life than see Sky Casino fall. »Home« and »Family« are, to him, more important than staying alive. Because it's something he never had, and something he clings to. Simply because he doesn't have anything else.

»I, who was originally 'nothing'[...]«

Is the second line that makes me pause. Because like previously mentioned, Sigma was a slave with no name or identity of his own. We don't know when he found out about being created by the book (and I firmly believe that he found out one way or another), but I believe he didn't see himself as a human before, and this "confirmed" it for him.

Think about it, would traffickers care about their victims? Would they treat them as human beings? Call them by their name? What about a person who has no name to begin with?

He wasn't treated like a human being in the beginning, and thus considered himself nothing. Considered his home and "family" to be worth more than hid own life.

He was literally created from nothing. His story doesn't have a beginning. He has no memories prior to being created, he had no name nor identity. How his story will end is unknown. We don't know what's written on his page.

I believe this, combined with being with the traffickers, makes him doubt his humanity. Not only because he was created through the book, but also because for the first (months? Year?) of his life, he wasn't treated like a human.

His sense of self-worth is probably down in the dumps.

»In the end I never did understand what I was born for...«

I don't think he knows the details of his existence. The content of his page, the words that brought him into existence. He doesn't know why he was born/created. He doesn't know what things were predetermined.

He doesn't know what's real and what's just writing on a page.

Sigma, in three years of being alive, went through hell. He was enslaved, his ability was taken advantage of over and over, he was used by multiple people who all ended up trying to kill him and when he thought that he finally found a home? A family? It was taken away from him.

Genuinely, he needs a plate of cookies, a hug and a ton of therapy.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little analysis and theories? I never did something like this before, so criticism is welcome!

Here's also the link to the video from which I got the screenshots: https://youtu.be/KwsSvFYAKjA?si=R_IvH-S8GYut_hrG

[nastylittleghouls]

A Hazy Shade Of Winter

Relationship(s): Aether/Aeon, Aether/Dewdrop, implied Aether/Dewdrop/Aeon

Rating: Mature (to be safe)

Words: 2501

Summary: The first snow is always special. Aether takes it upon himself to show Aeon its joys as he knows it can hit differently for quintessence ghouls.

Warnings: brief mention of blood/death related to events before they were summoned during an anxiety episode on Aeon's side. Aether is affected too but guides them both safely out of it.

Notes: I haven't written anything in years and this was supposed to be a cute little ficlet to stick to my plans to be more creative again. Somehow, it ran away with me. I don't think it turned out too bad so, after careful consideration and battling my inner demons, I decided to share it. Please excuse my rustiness and thank you for reading! <3 The title is from a song by Simon & Garfunkel. The endearment Aether uses for Aeon is Irish Gaelic and means little bear.

AO3 LINK for the so inclined (Aeon is called Phantom there because I am STILL torn on the name. e_e)

The sun is barely kissing the horizon when Aether nuzzles Aeon awake, tells him “It’s time”, in a hushed whisper close against his ear. Aeon turns to curl into him, only to end up cuddling the lukewarm fur at the edge of the nest. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up with the smallest of winces and gives himself a moment to collect himself. Lets himself bathe in the toasty warm glow of oil lamps and the rekindled fireplace.

In Dewdrop’s presence next to him, hogging the nest and snuffling in his sleep. Unashamed and unfairly beautiful. Here, right now, Aeon feels like he is too, still riding the heights of having been welcomed between these two.

Ultimately, in Aether’s gaze. Affectionate. Appreciative. Aeon feels the urge to preen, maybe show off a little. Instead, he ends up following Aether‘s thick yet nimble fingers as they button up his shirt. How can he not?

Admittedly, he’s mourning his cozy spot tucked against Aether’s bare side already. The intoxicating scent of him and Dew mingled with his own. That he could stuff his face into his armpit and just block everything else out except for them and the ache in his body from last night. Just a bit, though. Watching Aether getting ready makes up for it, despite it being horribly distracting from his own task of getting up and giving him ideas of either pulling the other ghoul back into the nest or, even better, getting on his knees for him right then and there to continue his worship.

Both options would probably wake Dew up and ruin Aether‘s valid effort to let him sleep. Tempting but not worth the aftermath. Not today. It would probably cost him nest privileges. Dew doesn’t fuck around with that. Never mind that this isn’t even his nest. He just has Aether wrapped around his claws. All nine and a half of them.

Aether is smirking by the time Aeon finally looks up at his face again, nodding encouragingly towards the end of the nest.

There are fresh clothes already waiting for him, soft and thick and neatly laid out within reach. Even his new acquisition, a long scarf, that he had watched Cumulus and Sunshine working on in the common room quite often after the tour ended, to finish it before the first frost set in. He had not known the purpose of it back then and had called it a ribbon noodle until they had explained it all to him.

Seeing it grow, stitch row after stitch row had been fascinating. Not only had it made him want to be able to do that as well. It had made him feel like it was him that was ultimately being woven tighter into the patchwork that was this pack. His home.

Another whisper pulls him out of his musings.

„C‘mon, béirín. You‘ll need clothes for this kind of fun“

And that’s more than enough for the spark to ignite a flame of excitement inside him as well. Aether has never led him astray when it comes to introducing him to new topside things but it’s the endearment that holds the most importance to him at this moment. It makes him happily drum his fingers on his thigh before he’s rudely interrupted by the end of Dew’s tail smacking him in the face. It’s light, but he sends, an apparently now semi-awake, Dew a pout as he finally gets dressed anyway. He’s just. He has been waiting, not so patiently, for Aether to finally choose one for him. Of course, Dewdrop can’t relate.

Before they leave, Aether brushes a kiss against Dew‘s temple. It earns him a sleepy smile and a scritching for his sideburns in response. Which, in turn, elicits a low purr out of Aether. As his heart skips a few beats at the sight, Aeon can‘t decide which one of them he‘d rather be.

Snickering as if they’re doing something forbidden, they sneak through the still quiet hallways of the abbey, past the other Ghouls' rooms, towards the wooden door that leads into the courtyard. Aether stops to properly loop the scarf around Aeon’s neck, affectionately chuffing at him when he goes up on his tiptoes to bump their horns together.

Aeon relishes the moment until the very second Aether pulls away.

Heavy snowfall greets them as Aether pushes the heavy door open with his shoulder. As expected, he feels Aeon stiffen. Recoiling into the safety of Aether’s side, eyes squeezed shut. Their mental connection stutters, shuts down then reopens. Aether is prepared, a large hand placed over Aeon's lower back and his heart. Fingers splayed wide and grounding over the small frame, his quintessence beckoning Aeons and entwining with it protectively again once it found its way.

He knows what this sight does to new ghouls, first and foremost to the quintessence kin.

The sunrise painting white snow in red too similar to the blood and ash of fallen kin. The Heavenly Wars. The destruction of quintessence beings. The last scene before their eyes as the void claims back what Lucifer burrowed. If unfortunate, forever lost.

Aeon’s reaction infiltrates Aether’s vessel's nervous system like electricity and drags parts of his own long-forgotten fear to the surface again, as irrational as he knows it is. Makes his healed wounds burn anew. Gives him the illusion of putrid fumes invading his nostrils before he can reign himself back in again for both of their sakes.

Own up to his responsibility as one of the pack leaders. The blind trust Aeon extends towards him.

He’s fine. Has to be. For them.

“Timor mortis conturbat me,” Aether murmurs as he moves them forward, one of his hands seeking the outline of the pendants hanging low on his chest, buried under the thick wool of his cloak. One, unarguably the most important one, holds fragments of Dew’s horns. The before and after. A reminder of the strength and protection of a mate freely given.

He taps his next words into Aeon’s mind, not wanting to disturb the quiet around them. Maybe not trusting his voice either. It could crack and give out after all. All too weak.

“I’m here. Deep Inhale, deep exhale. I want to feel your body move with it”

He takes his advice as well. On the next exhale, synced with the smaller ghoul’s, Aether’s eyes close too, and with it, he finds his voice again. Even manages to put a smile into it.

“We’re safe. This is just snow, the very one we told you about. Listen to it fall”

His hands move up, putting the lightest pressure on the outer shell of Aeon’s ears with his thumbs, rubbing the pads over the edges. The pointed tips. They flick wildly under his ministrations before they still again and the smaller ghoul relaxes against him just slightly with an audible sigh.

It‘s the reaction that he was aiming for and again he moves his hands and tips Aeon’s face up towards the rapidly falling snow, keeping his fingerpads there to stroke light circles along his jaw.

”Feel it tickle your skin. How fluffy it is. Just like Lus’ hair”

Numerous seconds tick by before Aeon’s dulled-down quintessence aura blooms back into full force.

When Aether chances a look at the smaller ghoul, his eyes are open again as he finally takes his surroundings in without his fear overshadowing his excitement. Aether could swear he was even wearing the same awed facial expression Dew had worn, that Aether must have worn too when Omega had introduced them to this wonderful earthen spiel.

He snorts slightly, amused when Aeon goes cross-eyed at the sight of their breath fogging up in front of him, swatting at it with his hand as if he’s not sure what to make of it before letting out a curious chirp and slowly extracts himself from Aether’s side. Not without a cautious glance back to reassure himself once more that he is safe. Protected. Then he visibly shakes the remaining shadows of the past off and starts sliding through the snow, twirling carefree around himself, open-mouthed trying to catch the snow on his forked tongue.

The utter confusion when it doesn‘t pile up but melts is not lost on Aether. It reminds him of the raccoon trying to wash cotton candy that he and Rain had discovered while they were both sick and stuck in bed for a week.

It would be a shame if this wouldn’t find its way to Rain too for him to appreciate, wouldn’t it? But just as he reaches into his pocket, the younger ghoul trips over his tail while chasing it, limbs flailing in all directions, and falls into a snowbank. Face first, arms and legs starfished around him.

It’s quite deep, Aether can only see a Aeon-shaped immersion with his butt sticking out in the otherwise surprisingly pristine snow. It‘s a perfect still life, he thinks. Original oil on canvas. Aether titles it, tail as old as time' since Aeon's tail, the cause of it all, is curled like a piglet’s against his body. The Church of Satan will take your bids now.

“Fuck, that’s cold”.

Aether tries not to laugh. Attempts to look up into the falling snow, bite down on his bottom lip but it’s futile. Barks of laughter burst out of him with short, helpless sounds in between.

Aeon‘s tail swishes back and forth with them, bouncing like a coil spring, which sets Aether off even harder, tearing up a little. Until a muffled, yet high-pitched “Aeth. Help” reaches his ears and he quickly makes his way over, rolling the other ghoul onto his back.

„You okay?“

Aeon looks up at him with slitted eyes as he attempts to blow at the snow stuck on his face then his upper body shoots up, grabs, and pulls Aether down right on top of himself.

The cursed element of surprise.

They roll through the snow, their laughter and the occasional curse so loud that they’re probably waking the whole abbey up. Their tails lash playfully as they try to shove each other into the white cold - Aether‘s joints will make him pay for this later- until Aether finally realizes what Aeon is trying to accomplish. He isn’t trying to win or end up on top, he’s enjoying the way Aether’s body is pressing him down into the snow again and again. The way he covers him completely. Eyes shining brighter with every turn.

Aether boops the younger ghoul’s red nose when a higher slope forces them to a stop, about to give Aeon space to breathe when their laughter tapers off into them just grinning goofily at each other. Thinks about suggesting they make their way back inside to warm up with hot chocolate and pancakes to round this experience off. The temperature is affecting his protege by now if the shivers he’s trying to hide are anything to go by.

As soon as he realizes Aether’s intention, Aeon reaches up to pull the bigger Ghoul down into a kiss. He aims for sweet but ends up desperate. Aether allows it. Indulges him for a while by letting him lead. Humms with the wet slide of their tongues, then tips his head to a sharper angle, guiding Aeon’s enthusiasm into something slow and deep.

Aeon’s breath catches mid-moan with the intensity of it.

Slender arms wind themselves around Aether's shoulders, clinging. Keeping. Legs fall open wider in invitation, hips grinding his still sensitive cock up against Aether‘s with little gasps, boldly asking for more. For anything Aether is willing to give him. He’d let him take him right there. Wants him to. The wetness and cold that is seeping more and more into his body be damned. He just wants to feel that closeness and give himself over again.

I’m here. Please see me. Feel me. Let me be yours too.

„You could warm me up with something else,“ Aeon manages in between. It‘s cheesy, accompanied by the dorkiest eyebrow wriggle Aether has seen in his long life. A salute to Swiss influence, no doubt.

„Is that so?“

It doesn’t sound like a question. The mirth in Aether's words is a stark contrast to the heated look in his eyes. He should reprimand Aeon for mind snooping and not reward him with another kiss. But how can temptation not get the best of him when …

Fate doesn’t want him to finish that thought. A snowball hits Aether square on the back of his head, and he looks up, alarmed. A little confused.

Dew is leaning against the door frame, clad in nothing but one of Aether’s hoodies and knee-high socks that reveal a sliver of creamy skin every time he switches feet to protect them somewhat from the cold floor, regarding them with a mischievous smirk.

It’s betrayed by how his eyes are still unguarded from sleep, and the love Aether knows is always there. It‘s a look to be alluring, and it works every time. Dew knows how weak Aether is for him wearing his clothes, how stunning he looks, made obvious once more by Dew quirking a knowing eyebrow at him when their eyes meet and the demanding tug at their bond.

How long has Dew been watching them?

Aether smiles too sweetly down at Aeon when he whines, traps his still twitching hips with his thigh, and affectionately ruffles his hair. Mouths 'stay still' at him while he banters with an entirely unbothered Dewdrop. Aeon doesn‘t hear much of it, just happily gets lost in the touch, a shaky breath that he can thankfully pass off as being cold, leaving him. Aether’s attention being divided once more makes Aeon already miss having it entirely to himself. It’s rare. Too rare.

“Get the fuck back inside then. I’ll warm you up alright”.

It's the first thing he consciously hears Dew say before Aether pulls himself up. His grabby hands are not fast enough to stop Aether and he can’t stop the utterly sad sound that leaves him at the realization. “Now he acts like I’d leave him all by himself, “Aether teases with a chuckle and helps Aeon to his feet as well, patting the snow from his clothes. Aeon remembers to return the favor, subtly turning his head to look for Dew. The spot he had occupied is empty, the door closed again. Probably back in Aether’s warm nest already. 

When Aether walks back towards the building, Aeon lingers, looking down at the spot they just laid in again. The indents they left are already filling back up with a fresh layer of snowflakes. 'Snow’s pretty rad', he decides as he adjusts himself in his damp pants with the heel of his hand to get at least a little bit of relief, before finally catching up with Aether, ducking under the already raised arm to let him pull him against his side. Good boys can wait.

“So, about that hot chocolate…..”

[freezerbnuuy]

Questions for Storytelling Simblrs - Answered

I have had these saved on a WordPad document for a while. They aren't mine, I saved them from a reblog I found months ago. EDIT: the original list was from user Iiteralite Answering these for my story, Divided.

what’s the last screenshot you’ve taken for your story? - The last picture I took was this one of Owen, a physician, in his alchemy lab.

describe your story in three words or less - Dark, mysterious, historical

describe (insert character here) in three words or less We'll go with Katlego, one of my favourite characters. Pacifistic, kind, confident.

how did you choose the name of your story? - This is actually part of a universe of stories. The other 3 stories are older, done back when I was on XBox and archived. All of them had one-word titles, so I had to find a word that largely sums up the story and Divided was perfect for it.

how do you choose your characters’ names? - I never use random baby sites' name lists. I always use name lists from sites about the culture / country, or from other similarly-accurate sources. For the 'English' characters' names I used name lists gathered from historical sources for the 1600s-1800s. Most characters' names have almost no connection to the meaning associated with them since I imagine most of the parents of these characters just picked something nice or traditional. - Áine is actually the prototype name (according to an official Tweet) of Tess Dyer, the Magic Realm Untamed Sage predecessor, and the Áine you see in the story is that exact premade. Áine is also an Irish goddess of Summer, which is why her mother named her after her. - It highly depends on multiple factors: Some cultures place more importance on names than others. Kat's background is like this, since a lot of countries in Africa place high importance on names and believe their meaning to be reflective, or hopeful, of the person's future. - I had to change some names due to further research. Before 1900, Romanian naming conventions were different, so Violeta Vasilescu became Violeta Vasile Nicolae. I also changed Iris's real name for similar reasons. - The character's name almost always depends on where they were born / lived. - Some names are references to other media. Oskar's surname, Nivelheim, is the (ff7 prototype's) spelling of the game's town of Nibelheim, a town associated (horribly) with Sephiroth, the character whose design Oskar's is based on. - On occasion I'll use a random name generator. The Annorin family's surname was picked from some kind of fantasy name generator.

how long have you been working on your story for? - 2 years and a bit.

whats the biggest risk you’ve taken with your story? did it pay off? - Not being afraid to write certain things that I worry might cause some kind of offence - especially the Peteran / Jacoban religious material. I only made up ideas for it and went off of what was also in the Sims Medival where those religions appear. The only thing based on real life from it is the offhand mention of Jacobans historically trying to get in the way of physicians practicing on the dead to learn anatomy. So far everyone has enjoyed those aspects of the story, and a few people have compared it to certain elements of how things are where they live which I tried not to respond too much to those comments to go careful, but it's interesting to see people draw a few parallels to their own experience or people they know.

what about your story are you proud of? - It's the longest thing I've written so far, and I haven't given up yet. People will always try to compete with me about how theirs is longer every time I bring it up, but I don't care.

what about your story are you looking to improve on? - In all honesty, nothing. It's not perfect, but I'm not looking to improve on anything because I don't think that much has gone wrong with it, and all the things I've noticed that have gone wrong I'm not bothered about. I have things I do need to go careful with later on but that's slightly different.

is your story fully planned or are you still working things out? is there a definitive end? - It was never fully planned, but multiple plot points were already planned including the ending due to it being a prequel, technically. A lot of it wasn't planned. I still don't know the entirety of how things are going to go.

why have you decided to tell this story? are there any messages or meanings within it? - I can't stop making prequels or side-stories for characters I find interesting. (MCU energy) - I find fantasy interesting, but I'm not really a fan of certain kinds of fantasy. I wanted something more based off IRL practice, and things like DnD and Pathfinder. More gritty, I guess, and with realistic limits unlike some fantasy series where you can cast high-level magic first thing with zero practice as much as you want. I wanted a world where magic is feared and dangerous to some extent both to others and the spellcaster. - I've had the odd person not-so-subtly imply I'm 'pushing an agenda' with this story, but I don't give a shit. The element of witch-hunts is relatable to a lot of people, and so it's not actually that hard to write about a group of people chased out of their living spaces and killed for aspects of their identity and life that are lied about by rich people and the media to ACTUALLY push an agenda. It's an interesting allegory that works for multiple groups of people who might relate to the witches. - I wanted a story focused a lot on shared experience where you perhaps wouldn't expect to find any. So many characters in this story, some who barely know each other or are from various different backgrounds or social classes find things in common. - I wanted to try and challenge myself to write a longer story. Most of my other ones are quite short. - I keep coming up with interesting ideas or lore and I feel the need to try and explore every single one (don't do that it's painful lmao)

do you actually play the game or do you just use it as a storytelling medium? Just as a storytelling medium.

from basic planning to a finished post, how long does that take you? Too fucking long. It used to take a week / 2 weeks, now it can take a month / 2 months. We love worsening mental health < 3

do you have any regrets about your story so far? if you could go back in time, how would you fix these? - We don't do regrets in this house, not for this story anyway.

what have been the highlights of creating your story? - It's a suitable distraction from everything else and it gets me some attention.

what about the process do you enjoy? - At this point, nothing. I just want it finished!

what about the process do you hate? GLITCHES! BUGS! BROKEN CC! PLOT HOLES! GLITCHES! SPENDING AGES FUCKING AROUND WITH T.O.O.L! TRYING TO FIND HISTORICAL CC THAT FITS FAT SIMS!

choose a song that reminds you of your story Here you go. Here's another

choose a song that reminds you of (insert character here) This stock music (that I first heard in the game Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments) is one I use a lot for writing Samuel and Owen for the sinister air of it.

choose your favourite shot from your story so far - I have a lot of favourites, here's a non-spoiler one

choose your least favourite shot so far Nope < 3

choose a favourite character from your story so far I have way too many, so I'll pick one I mentioned earlier, Katlego. She's very different from the other characters. Her magic is Mischief magic which, in this story, is from an in-universe similar-to-a closed practice, practiced by little small communities around the world. She doesn't use her magic often or her tiger form because she fears them both. Her magic is literally mind-altering. She has so much crazy power at her fingertips and yet she refuses to use it because she's good-hearted. She is the one who fears her abilities the most, but is the least likely to do any proper harm to someone. Some characters help her come up with ideas to use her magic for benevolent reasons. Kat is one of the most genuine characters in the story. She always sticks to her guns, even around scarier or more powerful characters. She always tries to stick to pacifism, and hates fighting because of what her mother used to tell her as a child to never hurt anyone else. Despite all that Henford and its people have thrown at her, she still stands tall within the community. But like in any terrible community, there is always going to be people who do genuinely have your back and many people support Kat in whichever way they can.

choose your least favourite character so far - Alistair. He made a lot of mistakes as a father and he hasn't really had much involvement since the end of Act Three since his plot was closely tied to a character who didn't make it past Act Three, one of his children has moved away eventually in Act Four and his other child wants little to do with him.

are there any characters who remind you of yourself? - Eli reminds me of my old, overemotional self, and his being upset at feeling things strongly is something that is very relatable to past me. - Clementia being annoyed about how much her brother gets away with in comparison to her when they were growing up.

what inspirations have you drawn on for your story? Mainly the inspirations for the story come from Pathfinder, Dungeons and Dragons, IRL open practice, and Final Fantasy. Violeta's design was based on Lady Dimitrescu from RE: Village.

have other sim stories inspired you?  - In ways, yes. A lot of those people don't play the game anymore.

what genres would you describe your story as? - Dark fantasy

if you could reproduce your story in another medium (movie, novel, comic, etc.) what would you choose and why? - An RPG would be pretty cool, because well why not? Or a visual novel might be fun. Don't have any reason other than 'it would be cool'.

what would your story’s rating be? (G, PG, M etc.) - M

if you were leaving simblr and had to choose another creator to continue the story for you, who would you ask? - I wouldn't, this story is mine and it dies with me!

drop some random trivia about your story - A scrapped idea: Originally Oskar's canonical first adopted daughter, Ilse, was still meant to be alive in the present day, having been bitten by Oskar to save her from illness. She would have been about 9/10 at the time and utterly resented him for it.

give a light spoiler - A prominent figure in Henford will cause a massive scandal that will set the depths of the witch-hunts in motion.

[problematic-faves-appreciation]

Sorry to bring up "Uglies" again, but this discourse has been so infuriating, and I promise it is relevant to the theme of your blog:

Not sure what it is about the movie, but it showed previously unknown lows of media literacy (which is impressive), and one that is particularly... interesting to me is how people have reacted to Laverne Cox, who for those not knowing her, is a black trans woman who is not just a quite famous actress, but also an outspoken advocate for queer people, playing the villain Dr. Cable.

Dr. Cable is the de-facto leader of the city the movie takes place in, and a cyborg super soldier. This dystopian regime, and that is where the issue lies, mostly relies on beauty culture to keep people under control, though that is far from the only thing. Specifically, people get plastic surgery at sixteen to eradicate discrimination based on looks - and the scary part is, they succeeded at least at the surface, making this world indeed almost feeling like an utopia. Almost.

I can see how this can be misinterpreted in a transphobic way if you really want to and disregard most of the canon and message, which is that forcing people into uniformity based on arbitrary standards is bad, which very much is a statement against cisheteronormativity. The series doesn't have any canon queerness because it was published in 2005, and for the movie presumably from a mix of wanting to stay true to the source material and desperately trying to make it more mainstream appealing, but it feels quite queer subtextual.

Now comes the really infuriating part: The people I saw being the most worried and the most aggressive about Laverne Cox playing Dr. Cable were not TERFs and other fascists. Now, I haven't combed through the entire twitter tag because I value my sanity, so there probably are some who indeed realized that they could misinterpret that for their advantage, but the transphobes I saw didn't got into the plastic surgery ankle. They just spewed the usual uncreative bullshit they always say ("thats a man" etc).

But left-leaning people in the tumblr tag... "Forced into plastic surgery by a trans woman for the woke agenda" - You wanted to miss the point so badly, buddy... "Hmm, a trans woman forcing children into plastic surgery and brainwashing them, is it just me or was that written as a piece of fascist propaganda" - It is just you, not just was it written in 2005, Scott Westerfeld (author) also is an outspoken queer ally since at least 2003, where he featured a sapphic couple in his space opera "The Risen Empire" and since then he has tried to use his platform to help queer people, including going on several fights with fucking J. K. Rowling over trans advocacy.

It just is this age old problem of "if you write a minority as anything than a perfect hero, you are a bigot or at least help bigots". Which feels so condescending.

Now, I know that actors are obliged to market their movies, but again, Laverne Cox is a very famous actress, and also she does queer advocacy since what, at least ten years? I don't even know her, but it feels so condescending and insulting to her insisting that she must be too dumb or brainwashed or something to notice that a role could harm her community. She doesn't need the money, and she would have had the power to just step out. On her instagram, she is quite enthusiastic about the role, even saying that she looked forward playing such a character for once.

Another layer of this is that most of the people complaining about her playing Dr. Cable aren't even trans. A small number are, but the majority are just cis people.

It just feels so icky.

Now, I know most marginalized people don't feel this way, but when I personally see a villain with my identities (who isn't a caricature of said identities, but just happens to share them) I feel empowered, not insulted. Being a horrible person, making bad choices and going on power trips is part of humanity too, and by insisting that all minorities are only ever allowed to be perfect, you do not just infantalize them, you strip them of their humanity, counter-intuitive as that sounds.

Dr. Cable is not a trans caricature. In the book we don't even know if she is cis or trans (and also not what her ethnicity is). Her main arc is that she thinks she needs to protect this utopia with all means necessary, stripping away parts of her humanity in the process and getting more and more brutal and paranoid until her hubris brings her downfall. That is not a trans-only story.

It is not even a woman-only story. In fact, this is a kind of villain arc women are hardly ever allowed to have. Yes, I am aware how this brutality can intersect with harmful trans and black stereotypes, but also she is such an interesting character, and it just doesn't feel right to say that black people or trans people should not allowed to have interesting villain characters.

.

[todomitoukei]

as something positive for a change from the gloom and misery we are all going through after this horrible ending, can you share how would you want Touya and Todofamily's ideal ending to go?

Thank you for giving me an opportunity to share my very detailed version of what the ending should be (I tried to keep it short but alas, I failed).

First of all, let's assume Shigaraki and Toga died (don't worry, I'm bringing them back!) and Touya is in that tank, supposedly almost dead. Here's a shortened (it's not short) version of what I the ending could be instead and no, I don't care if it's unrealistic, at this point anything is better-written than what Hori came up with anyway:

While Touya is still alive, he gets closer to dying, enabling him to see people that have died but haven't "crossed over" yet (yes, I was obsessed with Ghost Whisperer growing up don't @ me), namely Shigaraki and Toga, who are on the verge of being able to do so, yet believe that Shigaraki might be able to bring them back and also heal Touya (look, I haven't properly read this manga but something something the decay quirk was half of the Overhaul quirk minus the option to undo damage? So in this version, he can somehow undo damage now, yes, I make the rules<3).

Anyway, before doing any of this they actually need to contact Touya because people are about to perform an autopsy? cremate? Toga, so they want to stop that to make it easier to bring her back to life.

They explain all of this to Touya and tell him he needs to tell someone to bring Toga's body to where he is to make this whole thing easier. Fortunately, Natsuo is visiting him in that moment (he deserves to be included because he is best boy<3). Long story short, Toga's body is being brought to where Touya is (They also had to bring in the Chief of Police and Hawks for this special situation), and Shigaraki manages to resurrect her.

She also still had some of Twice's blood, which she uses to turn into him (probably insults Hakws as revenge<3) and create a copy of Shigaraki - the plan is basically for Shigaraki to find a way to take over the copy of his body. He manages to do so before also restoring Touya's body to a non-dying state again.

They then have to sit down with the Chief of Police and Hawks to discuss what happened and also to make a deal for the future since putting the villains in jail when the heroes get to keep living life despite the crimes they committed is bs etc etc, therefore Shigaraki pushes for all the lov members to be released from prison and also receive support from the HPSC (Idk what they changed their name to) - an actual second chance for them to start anew, a life without crime etc.

They settle on being given a building for them to live in and start a sort of shelter for kids like they once were; kids that are on the street, the kind of kid that their society doesn't deem worthy of saving, that people turn away from and that could potentially turn to crime as a last resort just like they did.

So in the end, Spinner and Compress get released from prison - and yes, Compress gets his ass back - and they all get to live and work together. They somehow also bring back Kurogiri.

Also, Touya has had enough of his father monologuing about how sad and pathetic he is so just like Natsuo, he decides to not talk to him anymore because he finally realizes that his father is simply not worth it. In other words, Endvr is out of the picture once and for all.

Rei will also be involved in the new lov project because you cannot tell me that this woman spent 10 years locked away in a mental hospital only to be released and push the man that put her in the mental hospital in the first place around in his wheelchair that he is more than capable of using on his own??? (It's so painfully obvious that a man wrote this story) So she becomes the lov mom and is finally free from her abuser too.

Fuyumi can move in with them too, she and Toga deserve to have a sister/female friend because I can only imagine how tough it was for Toga to only be around men after big sis mag died. Touya will try really hard to be a good big brother now so Fuyumi can finally relax. And by relax I mean Touya will annoy the shit out of her and let her forget all her responsibilities and feel like a kid again. Justice for all the bnha girlies who otherwise only exist to serve men or die because god forbid a teenage girl shows emotions and does a bit of stabbing once in a while.

Natsuo and his girlfriend will also move in with them. Once Touya hears about Natsuo's wedding plans he has a serious word with him and Natsuo promises him to wait a little longer and get married for the right reasons instead of out of spite because both Natsuo and his girlfriend deserve better. Besides, since Natsuo is studying something similar to social work, he can help the lov with their project (and gain work experience at the same time!).

Obviously there is also room for Shouto and he stays over for the weekend and also visits during the week. Touya learns to make soba for him (not like the failed attempt Natsuo and Shouto had in one of the light novels lol). Touya also teaches Shouto some social skills - it's unclear whether this is good or bad.

This way, Shouto can also finally spend some quality time with his family and be treated like the kid he still is instead of having to be a hero for his own family. Compress can become some kind of father-figure for him. Also, Shouto and Shigaraki bond over being the youngest sibling. Touya calls them out for being the youngest every chance he gets.

In summary, the lov and Todofam live together in peace and they all support each other in figuring out who they are etc etc.

The End.<3

Thanks for coming to my TED talk!

[kaonarvna]

Going through so much right now. Barely have the capacity to do much of anything aside from work and take care of myself and my spouse.

Autistic burnout is truly a cruel mistress. As is having undiagnosed ADHD, knowing what your unmet needs are, and not having the means to access the support you require.

Big vent below. Workplace ableism. ADHD/AuDHD vent.

My spouse is quitting his job again. It happens every year. We've only just now realised "oh my god, it's the autism. It was always the autism" for why he keeps hopping.

He's leaving the current job because they're failing to give him what seems like the most basic accommodations (written instructions, scheduled meetings/literally any notice instead of impromptu "informal chats" in hallways with no record, basic empathy).

He's being told off for "speaking too loudly" and "speaking too enthusiastically" even though all he's talking about with his colleagues is work. They took away his office to turn it into a meeting room, forced him into the communal office space, and have now told him to stop talking to himself or his colleagues.

It's heartbreaking. It's been slowly creeping in for months and it's taken too long for us to realise "oh my god, you need a diagnosis, this is just fucking discrimination, you need formal accommodations and support".

So he's off on the sick now because his stress has become so severe that he just can't function. Before he got the sick note he'd come home and crash every day, and dreaded going to work. He role-played being a warhammer 40k servitor (lobotomised and obedient worker drone, basically) to help him get through the day of staying quiet and doing nothing but work. He'd come home and need so much sensory input and support. And he slept so much, and so poorly. He started to "fail the speech checks" (massively miss social cues and say the wrong thing) with colleagues at work, and came home embarrassed in ways he never was before. He's a very very social animal, and didn't think he had social difficulties, but now he's so worn down that he's realised he does.

He can't mask anymore. He's so tired.

And now that he got that sick note, and plans to leave, he's not dreading waking up each day nearly as much. He's still in the sensory sock every day, and he's still sad and overwhelmed, but he's feeling better.

We've started the process of getting him a diagnosis, but it's going to take months and months and months. We don't really have months. We're going to start applying for new jobs for him, and hopefully get him out of labs. You'd think a chemical laboratory would be the perfect place for an autistic man who loves STEM, but management has always made it unworkable for him. He's always slowly forced out.

And I can barely take care of him, between working full time and having EDS. And I've finally realised I desperately need that ADHD diagnosis, and I need meds. I haven't felt like a person in so long. I haven't felt like myself in years. I feel like this abstract creature inside this horrible prison, and the controls don't work anymore.

Every mental health professional I've seen has asked me, "Have you ever been assessed for ADHD? You've already adopted all the coping mechanisms and lifestyle changes I could recommend. I can't diagnose you, but yknow, think about it."

I've always suspected it. I know I'm autistic. All signs point to ADHD too.

I looked back on every stimulant I've put in my body, and realised that all of them made my brain emptier. They all gave me more control. I was always more able to make choices and act upon them. But I used to associate that with the pain relief (think kratom, nefopam, etc) not the stimulant.

So when I got my pain mostly under control, and I manage it now, I couldn't figure out why I still had so little control over myself.

It's the fucking ADHD.

How much time have I lost to being undiagnosed and unmedicated? How much of my life has slipped down the drain while I paced back and forth, or laid in place "stuck", or ping ponged from incomplete task to incomplete task until I crashed? How much more pleasure could I have experienced if my brain wasn't full of constant noise and thirty different versions of the same thought?

How much have I hurt myself by going "you're fine, you don't need meds" for so many years?

I don't know how long it's going to take to get diagnosed. I've started the process and now we just...wait. But all the evidence points to "yes", and that "meds will probably work and make a massive difference for your quality of life". I might get to be a person someday, or at least a more fulfilled creature.

[diudiudiu]

do u have any wenclair fic recommendations?

it's times like this when I wish I was more organised with note keeping or have the memory of something better than a hamster

I haven't been reading (for them and just generally) nearly as much as before I started writing for them. Not bcos I think it disrupts any writing process (can't disrupt no process 😌) but just bcos I don't seem to have as much time

But here's my attempt at a varied-ish list in no particular order:

[M] The Sisyphean Nightmare (16ch) by HonestToBlogJuno Adult Wednesday is contractually obligated to participate in the marketing of her book, to her dismay. Luckily she is married to a werewolf with a communications degree and side-hustle in social media.

[Unrated] you could be the one that i keep (1ch) by overnights - Genie AU And Enid, who’s wished on every star and comet and birthday candle she’s ever seen, looks at Wednesday now and comes up impossibly short of an answer. One wish left, anything in the world at her fingertips, and all she really wants is more time to spend with this enchanted, enchanting mystery of a girl.

[Unrated] backseat (3ch) by reputationstation - Celeb AU Wednesday Addams is a failed fencing prodigy with a once promising career and a troubled past (and if everything goes according to plan, a troubled future as well) who has no intentions of becoming friends with the overly excitable, bubbly girl who calls herself a 'social media influencer', whatever that means. However, like most things in her life, her plans are inevitably thrown off the course.

[Unrated] gifts from a cat (1ch) by Rennajade the one where wednesday is basically just a cat in human form

[T] Dia de los Muertos [now with chapter breaks] (11ch) by WishaDream Wednesday invites Enid over to her house for Dia de los Muertos. It promises to be a horribly fantastic day.

[T] Shot Glasses, Tacky Jewelry (i know you mean more to me than that) (8ch) by RainbowJeff - Holiday/Mall AU Wednesday has somehow been dragged into the mall employees' yearly Secret Santa. What's worse, she's pulled Enid Sinclair as her giftee.

[G] a day like a day in summer (4ch) by poetroe Wednesday has strange ways of showing affection; Enid becomes intimately familiar with them.

[G] yours, eurydice (14ch) by hanjisgirlfriend - Celeb AU Best-selling horror author Wednesday Addams hasn't written in years. Everything changes when Enid Sinclair moves in across the hall.

[M] once bitten (try again?) (1ch) by nd_mindoir Enid learns how to touch Wednesday and why Wednesday is so much softer with her in return

There's also Our Lady of Wild Beasts by Pelgraine which is no longer on AO3 because she's publishing it into an original fiction novel. Sad for us, but extremely good for her. Huge congrats!!

Explicit recs

(I guess it warrants its own section? 😇)

[E] Hysteria (1ch) by IndieBones918 Wednesday emotionally dumps on her girlfriend's best friend after her and Enid's first time and Yoko's having the absolute time of her life.

[E] Gift (1ch) by Mikkie_Mouse (Mikbates) - ABO/Omegaverse AU Wednesday's inability to understand the commitments of a relationship leaves Enid frustrated... and taking matters into her own hands.

[E] A raven's dream of wolf (2ch) by tokyocorgi - ABO/Omegaverse AU the one where Wednesday literally had a hot and steamy sex dream with a lot of feelings.

[E] I'm Just Here To Love You (2ch) by SaturnHaze Wednesday never moans during sex so Enid comes up with a plan to finally draw them out of her. Well, she and Yoko.

[E] First Time For Everything (1ch) by geekomancer, Onhirel Wednesday and Enid having been dating for what feels like ages now, but their relationship hasn't taken that final step... until now. A make out session simply doesn't stop, confronting Wednesday of the simple fact that she doesn't actually know what to do. Thankfully, Enid is there to help her figure it all out.

There you go, happy reading (or not, whatever, you do what you want) with whatever floats your boat 🛥️

[discordantwords]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @khorazir and @raina-at. Thanks so much for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 47 (how is it that many?!) 29 for BBC Sherlock 18 for The X-Files

2. What's your total A03 word count? 897,533

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently only BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

White Knight

Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise

Another Auld Lang Syne

The Dead Detective

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to! I'm not always the best at keeping up, especially lately as my schedule has been erratic and I can only steal a few minutes here and there for fandom activities. But even when I don't have a chance to reply, I do read and treasure each and every comment.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess maybe The Pillar upon which England Rests has the saddest ending of anything that I've ever written, but I don't really consider it a sad story. It's set immediately post Reichenbach, told mostly through flashbacks as Mrs Hudson shares the story of how she met Sherlock with John. Sherlock is still "dead" when the story comes to a close, and John and Mrs Hudson are both grieving, though we as the reader know their loss is temporary.

I have a few shorter fics with ambiguous endings that lean in the angsty direction:

Nothing Happened in Belarus deals with accidental time travel, with grief-stricken S4 Sherlock finding himself briefly in the care of S1 John. Alas, the reprieve is a short one, as neither Sherlock nor John become aware of what is happening in time to take advantage of the opportunity.

At the end of Leaves Sherlock and John have either triumphed over the hallucinogenic vines that have invaded 221B… or they haven't. (I have my own theory, but you are free to interpret the ending however you choose.)

In EXECUTE John inadvertently deletes Mary from existence. He gets his happy ending, but has to live with the uncomfortable knowledge of the choices he's made.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of my fics have happy or at least hopeful endings. I like leaving the boys in a good place. I guess it depends on the flavor of happy you're looking for. But I'd say that these are probably the happiest:

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

Inscrutable to the Last

White Knight

Another Auld Lang Syne

Whirlwind

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. A few weird comments here and there, but nothing too bad. The vast majority of my interaction with others in the fandom has been absolutely wonderful.

9. Do you write smut? Most of my sex scenes stay in R rated territory. But I tend to roll with whatever the plot demands of me.

10. Do you write crossovers? I've done quite a few fusion fics, but not crossovers. Crossovers aren't usually my cup of tea.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Once, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't wish to call attention to it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I'm always flattered by requests to translate my writing.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A friend and I used to write together quite a bit in high school, but nothing that has made it out into the world.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Mulder & Scully.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Crime Writer is a Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion that ran out of steam a while back (although it was intended to be episodic and IMO doesn't feel too horribly unresolved where it ends, so don't let the unfinished nature of it put you off if you're inclined to read it).

I'm still optimistic about most of the WIPs in my WIP folder, heh. I guess we'll see what next year brings.

16. What are your writing strengths? I like to think I'm good at writing complicated people with complicated feelings that don't always resolve neatly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I don't think my smut is particularly inspired. And I have a very hard time writing fluff or domestic situations without having some angst to drive the plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I personally wouldn't attempt it. I'm not fluent in any other languages and there's far too much nuance to leave in the hands of Google Translate. :)

19. First fandom you wrote for? X-Files! (Unless you count unrefined and unposted scribblings from my younger years, I definitely went through a phase where I was trying to fix the Terminator time loop in a way that allowed Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese to live happily ever after.)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Oh, this is always such a hard question to answer. The Pillar upon Which England Rests is the first fic I wrote for the Sherlock fandom, so it has a special place in my heart. I'm really proud of the cases and complex plot in Out There. (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea is the one that seems to resonate with the most people. And White Knight is the fic I'd most like to see turned into an episode of the show. :D

I'll tag @thetimemoves @insistentbass @lololollywrites @arwamachine @naefelldaurk @clueless-mp4 @totallysilvergirl and anyone else who would like to play along!

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Tagged by the amazingly talented @lady-of-the-spirit <3 <3 <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

44 :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

337,201

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

somebody you touch, but never hold

no thing's so sure that i can't learn to doubt it

i don't want to look at anything else now that i saw you

in the morning i'm bulletproof

but the joy was worth the pain

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I love them so much if someone took the time to leave a comment I want to thank them because it gives me life. So I try to respond at least with an emoji or a thank you.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

My immediate first thought was the honesty of pain but then I remembered I hit Jamie with a car and then just ended the fic soooo probably the loudest silence.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It's hard to choose because most of my fics I do end on an upbeat note, even if things aren't better I leave it as things are going to be okay. But maybe in the morning I'm bulletproof? It skips forward probably the most amount of time.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Back on my first ever fic on fanfiction.net I did, but not necessarily hate, but "wtf is this?" which was fair lmao I only have gotten one comment and one ask (and to be fair to the ask it might've been hate or it might've been just taking the piss which I get but it was anon and I couldn't tell the tone so who knows). I am very grateful people have been so nice to me.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've attempted a few sex scenes more to try it but I don't think I was very good at it so I probably won't try it again.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have not.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

LOL no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet but maybe with the wonderful @fanficfanattic someday lol

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Jamie Tartt/whump

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I haven't even been writing very long and only really started developing more WIPs in the fall. I have not yet given up hope on them.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write a lot of whump :)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Rereading my works I find a lot of my sentences too simple. There's not always a clear flow and things can be clunky. I wish I was better at describing how things make people feel (I can't even do it here lmao). I see so many writers who are basically writing poetry to describe a scene and I wish I could do that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I am definitely not opposed, I think I've only made a few in French. I'm too nervous to get it wrong (google translate can only do so much) so I tend to stay away from it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote a truly horrible LOTR story my freshman year in HS.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is very hard, but I'l go with my favorite one with the least amount of kudos, ...and I'll be there.

tagging: @fanficfanattic @jamiesfootball @nativestarwrites with zero pressure and also anyone that wants to play :)

[aylacavebear]

Stockroom Antics - Chapter 20

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 2071

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic. This one is taking on a life of it's own in a turn I hadn't anticipated, so adding a new tag.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 20

Dean had been laying in bed for well over a half hour, replaying the events of the evening, but mostly how she had pulled away when he tried to reach out to her.

He was still trying to figure out how to talk to her about the soulmate thing without sounding like a creep. At least Bubbles agreed with him on how stubborn Maria was. Dean knew he, himself, was quite stubborn, but that girl seemed to be just as stubborn as he was, if not worse.

Sam, too, was lying in bed, contemplating how the night before had gone. He felt horrible for having soured the evening's mood. He had at least found a protection spell so that Rowena couldn’t just cast a spell on Maria. That could keep her somewhat safe. The plan was to put together the hex bags after some coffee. 

The brothers headed out of their respective rooms at roughly the same time and then toward the kitchen for coffee. Bubbles noticed Dean in the war room before Maria did. So, it flew over and landed on his shoulder, making him jump but also laugh.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he chuckled, rubbing her chin.

“I swear, I don’t think I’ll get used to there being a dragon here,” Sam chuckled, watching the interaction.

Dean glanced in the library, seeing her sitting there, and his smile faded a little. She looked almost angry, but he had no clue why. The word “stubborn” flashed in his mind, making him chuckle as he turned from her and went for coffee, his brother right behind him.

“Yeah, she’s stubborn all right,” he told Bubbles, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Are you talking to the dragon?” Sam asked, slightly confused, getting himself some coffee.

The two sat down at the table, Bubbles still on Dean’s shoulder, “She shows me things, in my head. I don’t know how to do that, so I just talk out loud to her,” he explained, sipping his coffee.

“It’s clear to me that you have to be her soulmate, Dean. There’s no other explanation for this,” Sam said, gesturing to the dragon on his brother’s shoulder.

Bubbles nodded her head vigorously.

“It seems she agrees with you,” Dean chuckled, then his smile faded, “But, I think Maria’s mad at me. I just don’t know why,” he sighed.

“Huh, she didn’t seem mad last night,” Sam said, a little puzzled, but Bubbles nodded her head, “At least the dragon understands English.”

“Her name is Bubbles,” Maria said from the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed, and she didn’t look happy.

The brothers wondered how much she had overheard, and Dean did his best not to stare at her. Even though she looked mad, he still found her adorable. 

“Mornin’ Sweetheart,” Dean told her, unable to not smirk playfully at her.

“Morning Maria. You okay?” Sam asked, trying not to be intimidated by the look she had.

“Morning,” was all she said as she got herself another cup of coffee and left them in the kitchen.

They were fairly confused as they looked at each other, “I wonder what the hell that was all about? She almost seems pissed,” Sam said.

“Bubbles says she’s mad,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

“So, does the-, I mean, Bubbles talk to you, or is it different?” Sam asked curiously.

“She shows me pictures most of the time. Sometimes, it’s words. It’s not like how you and I talk,” Dean explained as he sipped his coffee. "From what she’s shown me, Maria’s mad because I knew Bubble’s name before she did.”

Sam chuckled, “Makes sense. Especially since she doesn’t want to believe in the whole soulmate thing. Also explains why you can communicate with her familiar.”

“Good luck convincing her of that,” he sighed, and Bubbles rubbed her head against his cheek in an attempt to comfort him. He reached up again and rubbed her chin a little.

“You know, that’s actually kinda cute,” Sam chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled a little, although he wasn’t mad or anything.

That only made Sam laugh, “Yeah, big macho hunter, petting a dragon that’s sitting on his shoulder. You look so tough,” Sam teased him, playfully, of course.

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled again, doing his best not to laugh.

“Jerk,” Sam laughed.

“How much do you think she heard?” Dean asked, almost worried.

“Clearly not much, or she might have said something,” Sam answered, glancing at the kitchen doorway.

They finished their first cups, then took their second into the library, sitting across from her at the table. She hadn’t even looked up at them. Bubbles went back to her task of teaching herself to write. The brothers watched. Sam was confused, but Dean was pretty sure he had at least an idea of what was going on.

“Having trouble this morning?” Dean asked Maria, daring to look over at her.

She was partially leaning over a piece of paper, writing something down, her hair falling over her shoulders with a couple of strands over her face. “No. Just writing out a list of things for baking,” she answered, although her tone told him she wasn’t in a good mood.

An image of how Bubbles had tried to tell her that she was hungry played out in Dean’s mind and it took everything in him not to burst out laughing. Sam took notice of how Dean was attempting to keep from smiling, wondering why.

“If you say so, Sweetheart,” he chuckled, still stifling the laughter that was difficult to stave off.

All she did was shift her eyes up at him, glaring. He still found her adorable, and he sucked both his lips between his teeth, not wanting to piss her off further with his laughter.

“It’s not funny,” she said and looked back down at her paper. 

That was all it took, and he lost it, unable to keep it in anymore. She slammed the pen down on top of the paper and glared at him, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I really don’t mean to laugh, but it’s funny,” he told her.

She turned her attention to Sam, who had been somewhat quiet, not wanting her anger directed at him, “Is she talking to you too?” Maria asked fairly angrily.

Sam put his hands up in surrender, “Nope. Bubbles doesn’t talk to me,” he quickly answered, then sipped his coffee. No matter how amusing the situation was to him, he wasn’t about to push her, even accidentally.

“Oh, come on, don’t be mad,” Dean told her, trying to calm her down with a softer tone.

At that moment, Bubbles brought over a piece of paper with one word written on it and handed it to her. “I am not,” Maria stated, crumpled up the piece of paper, and then went to her room.

“What the hell was that all about?” Sam asked, completely lost.

Dean reached over, picked up the crumpled piece of paper, and opened it back up. He lost it laughing, then showed Sam, who chuckled. The one word on the paper was “Stubborn.” 

“I think she might need a bit more time to adjust,” Dean sighed, glancing toward the hallway, wondering how the hell he was going to talk to her with the mood she was in. Bubbles just pointed to the word on the paper again.

“So, how do we talk to her then?” Sam asked Bubbles, knowing it wouldn’t be able to answer him.

Bubbles sat back on her haunches, thinking, then looked at the hallway where Maria had gone. It was a tricky question to answer. Another word came to Dean’s mind.

“Sam, let's get to work on those hex bags,” Dean sighed.

“What’d she show you?” Sam asked.

“Maria needs to feel safe before she’ll drop her guard. It’s not that she’s being stubborn. She’s scared,” Dean explained, and he felt somewhat heartbroken, wanting nothing more than to comfort her. Dean understood exactly how she felt; he’d been there himself.

“On it,” Sam said quickly, downing his coffee.

It took Sam just over an hour to gather all of the ingredients and put the hex bags together. Bubbles watched with complete curiosity while Dean explained what was happening. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at times, hearing only one side of the conversation between his brother and Bubbles. Maria, though, never came out of her room.

“You might want to be the one to take hers to her,” Dean suggested since Bubbles had suggested it to him.

“Might give you a chance to have that skin-to-skin contact,” Sam mused as he tied off the last hex bag.

“Sam, she’s not gonna let me get that close,” Dean sighed, “At least she isn’t pissed at you.”

“We’ll figure this out. She can’t stay mad at you forever,” Sam told him, trying to reassure his brother. Even Bubbles set her front paw/hand on his, giving him an understanding expression.

Dean didn’t respond, just gave Bubbles a small smile as Sam headed to Maria’s room.

“Maria, it's Sam,” he said when she didn’t answer, then waited a bit longer. When she still didn’t say anything, he slowly opened her door, finding her sleeping. 

He may not have been her soulmate, but he felt for her. She was curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow close, and it looked like she’d been crying. Sam sighed silently, then backed up and closed her door, returning to the library, hex bag still in hand. Dean stood up, worried when he saw his brother.

“What happened?” he asked.

“She’s sleeping. I’ll wait till she wakes up,” Sam answered, not wanting to tell his brother all of what he saw, knowing it would only make him worry.

Dean sighed and sat back down. Bubbles could tell he was worried, but when there was a knock on the bunker door, she became aggressive, growling.

“What the hell?” Dean said, looking toward the landing.

Sam went to see who it was, only slightly nervous. They weren’t expecting anyone, and he was worried with Bubbles turning aggressive. Dean could hear Sam arguing with someone but couldn’t make out who he was arguing with. Then he saw her, and his jaw clenched, watching her walk down the stairs, smiling smugly. Sam quickly followed her.

“Awe, it’s adorable,” Rowena cooed as she stood a few feet from the library table.

“Get out,” Dean growled lowly, Bubbles following suit.

“Now, is that any way to treat someone who’s just here to help?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “Looks like you boys have been busy.” She’d clearly noticed the hex bags on the table.

“You don’t just help out of the kindness of your heart. We know Crowly sent you,” Sam interjected.

“Where is the little angel?” Rowena asked sweetly, then glanced toward the hallway, “Awe, is she napping?”

Bubbles instantly flew over to the hallway, keeping itself between Rowena and being able to get to Maria. She was still growling at her, baring her teeth. 

Rowena’s eyes flashed blue/purple as she looked at the little dragon. “Little one, if I wanted to get to her, I could.” Bubbles almost cowered at the sight and feel of Rowena’s powers but stood its ground. “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I swear, Rowena,” Dean began, getting pissed, quickly, “Get. The. Hell. Out,” he repeated, enunciating each word through a clenched jaw.

Maria rubbed her eyes as she made it to the hallways, stopping and looking down at Bubbles, confused. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, sounding sleepy.

“Oh, there’s the little angel,” Rowena cooed, looking over at her.

“Who are you?” Maria asked, meeting her gaze.

Bubbles growled at her again, staying between Rowena and Maria.

“Yes, dear, introductions are in order. Can’t leave it up to the Neanderthals after all,” she said sweetly, “I’m Rowena.”

The brothers watched Maria freeze where she stood, a momentary flash of fear in her eyes. “Catch,” Sam hollered, tossing one of the hex bags he’d made earlier to her.

Rowena made it catch fire mid-air, smirking, “Those won’t be necessary. I’m not going to hurt the poor darling. She looks terrified,” she said, sounding almost sad for Maria. Then she looked over at the brothers, “You two are the worst hosts, scaring her like you have.”

Then, Rowena and Maria were gone, leaving the brothers and Bubbles looking around, confused and worried.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 21

Tag List: @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch

Link to the series Master List

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, leave me a comment, and I'll make sure to tag you

[alexwrites20]

Longing Feelings are Just Car Wrecks

Hello! I haven't written anything Ajin related in years. After reading (and cringing over) some of my old fanfiction, I really wanted to put out more content. I feel like the fandom has died off but to those who are still into it, I hope you enjoy!

Izumi Shimomura was a busy woman.

Tonight, Shimomura was finishing up on a few emails, fixing an excel spreadsheet, while listening to the latest update on one of her favorite podcasts. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tosaki looking up at her from his own laptop every now and then. These quiet nights together used to make her nervous, their hierarchical relationship was still so strict, something that they were both trying to maintain. As the weeks went on, that feeling started to die down by a lot. They would check in with each other a few times a day, most of the time not saying anything at all. They didn't have to. Shimomura valued these moments; they were peaceful, and she didn't have to subject herself to listening to two teenage boys having a screaming fight back and forth at each other.

Tosaki reached forward and slightly angled her laptop so he could see it. Shimomura must have not noticed how much louder her clicking has gotten, something that happens when something had started to annoy her. She sighed, pausing her podcast and taking out her earbuds.

"Are you alright," Tosaki scanned through the email she was typing up.

Shimomura leaned back in her chair, "I'm fine," she paused, Tosaki waiting for her to finish her thoughts, "I just have to fix another mistake that one of the new interns made. I don't know why they were hired straight out of college. They don't know how to do much."

"Neither did you," Tosaki said, a small smirk growing on his face. . Shimomura shrugged, slightly defeated, "I suppose."

Tosaki shut her laptop, "Well, it'll get done tomorrow. It's late."

Shimomura checked the time on her watch. It was nearing two in the morning and as if on command, a small yawn escaped from her mouth. It wasn't often that the two were able to actually get any sleep. The day was a bit quieter though, and as of right now they couldn't track down Sato. Usually that would alarm all of them, but this wasn't the first time they tried to capture Sato. They had to remain calm in order to win.

"What were you listen to," Tosaki asked.

Shimomura looked down at her phone and smiled slightly, "A serial killer podcast."

Tosaki let a small puff of laughter out, "Are you taking notes on how to finish me once and for all when all this is over?"

Shimomura grinned up at him, "Well it would be nice to put my suspicions to rest on if you're an ajin or not Tosaki-san."

"Well," Tosaki shut his laptop off, "Perhaps we can find out at some point in the future."

Shimomura frowned, "I don't think I'd ever want to find out actually. The chance of you not," why was she getting so emotional? She must really be tired. She took a deep breath before starting again, "The chance of you not waking up...I don't think I'd ever be okay with that."

Tosaki smiled gently at her before going to hold her hand, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Shimomura stared down at their hands before looking back up at him, "I know that Tosaki-san."

Tosaki felt a strange pang in his chest that he wasn't used to. The feeling was inappropriate, abusive, and just plain wrong. The feelings he had felt like a car crash in a dramatic movie. Long, dragged out, every small detail of the crash felt horrible, and yet he couldn't look away. Crashes only end bad, and this feeling felt like one of those situations. No matter how hard he tried to stop it though, he could never shake the feeling.

Shimomura felt her face heating up, "Well," she cleared her throat and pulled her hand away, "I'll be on my way."

He was upset that this feeling was going to end just as it started, "Alright. Sleep well."

Shimomura stayed seated for a few seconds, trying to figure out something else to say. She was just too damn tired, she could hardly think, and the way he stared at her made her go crazy. She stood up and slipped her phone away, "Good night Tosaki-san."

They both supposed internally that they could address these feelings at a later time.

Notes:

I'm happy to be writing some slow burn mom and dad again. I haven't watched or read the manga in a very long time so they might be a bit ooc but thanks for reading anyway! Maybe I'll post some of my old fanfiction since some things got lost when I deleted my old account.