#men stop making things about you challenge level impossible

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[elistodragonwings]

Yes, stories can normalize things, for better or worse. Knowing something is fake doesn’t mean our subconscious won’t learn and internalize what we’re seeing. After all, horror films wouldn’t have the ability to scare us if our minds on some level didn’t respond to fiction as though it were real. It’s hard to imagine we don’t also unintentionally take in biases and other negative values.

But that process does not exist in a vacuum. People don’t mindlessly and passively have values normalized like by some magic force. Context matters – how something is presented, not just if it exists, combined with a person’s experience and knowledge determines what does and doesn’t get normalized.

Banning everything that might be bad won’t stop things from getting normalized because society can’t control what any individual person gets from a story in the first place. What society can and should do is teach people how to engage critically with stories and with their own perception.

We call out stories that are sexist or racist or ultra-violent or overly-explicit, we call out patterns of bias across a genre, we call out commonly negative depictions, not to ban them but to bring them to people’s attention. To get people to think about what it means that we’re telling stories like this, to discourage people from passively consuming media, to encourage creators to think differently about what they’re making. Because yes, media can normalize things, but it also is a reflection of the already-normalized values and blind spots of the culture creating it; trying separate this chicken-and-egg situation is impossible.

Even if everyone could agree on what stories are or aren’t harmful, no stories can be perfect because creators are not perfect. If you do manage to sanitize everything to the most uncontroversial state, you’re left with nothing that challenges people to grow.

More than that, you can’t both ban something AND teach people to think critically about that thing they’re not supposed to see. Harmful things will always exist, but if people don’t know how to recognize or engage with them, they’re more likely to have it become normalized for them because they won’t know any better.

If you want to ban “bad” content rather than teach people how to analyze, then where’s the data? Where are the studies that say this top-down blanket approach is the best strategy? Where’s the research that shows that people who write violence are more likely to commit violence? Where’s the experts in social change and harm reduction that define what kinds of stories even are harmful? Or are you just looking for a shortcut, a simple authoritarian fix to a complicated social problem of why people do bad things? Because I promise you, no one is a pedophile or a rapist simply because they read about it in some books.

Stories can and are used to teach values. To TEACH values. To try to ban books and information in order to try to passively shape social values is completely backwards from how progress works. When a story truly no longer fits with contemporary values, it doesn’t need to be banned. It decreases in popularity on its own.

An example from my own life:

I loved the Dragonriders of Pern series in high school. Some were in my school library, some were in my regular library’s adult section, and some I bought. These books were written from 1969-early 2000s, and so unsurprisingly, some of the relationships depicted are, let’s say problematic. Some I recognized as not ok and some I did not. And yet none of those problematic depictions got normalized for me. What DID get normalized? The possibility of a society where gay men not only existed but had a respected place in society. Sure, looking back now, their depiction is…not great. But they were there and it was normal and fine. And that was important because nothing else did that for me until many years later.

Why did that stick and nothing else? Because I came to the series with progressive values, an open mind for different ways of thinking about people, a desire for stories that showed me something different, and an awareness that science fiction often is written as social commentary and imagining what could be. Someone who came to the books with different perspectives would have gotten something entirely different from it. Some might even find this too painful and harmful to read. Those are all legitimate reactions.

Should the series be banned for showing lack of consent? Gay stereotypes? The fact that gay men exist? That abortion in this world is simple and not a big deal? Because some people will find these books personally harmful or upsetting?

Or do we let the books exist, available, as we teach people to think about their values and how to analyze both stories and the world around them? As we let individuals decide for themselves what helps them and what hurts them?

[transinatrade]

The Beginning

It's been about a month.

If you couldn't guess by my URL, I am a trans person (FTM) who is entering the HVAC trade. This is for a few reasons.

As the economic crisis rapidly sends us streaming forward toward poverty, my entry level job was not making us (my partner and I) enough money anymore.

Gifted kid burnout caught up to me a long time ago, and with the affordability of college being completely impossible without loans I would never have a hope of paying back, I turned to trades as an option of higher education without the ridiculous price tag.

I am more of a hands on person. Sitting down at an office desk was never for me, and I'm not sure why I ever thought it would be. I want to get my hands dirty, and have a new adventure every day.

Why HVAC specifically? Good question. I was interested in trades in general, how things work has always fascinated me. HVAC was a matter of elimination. Medical was not for me, blood and high stakes stress me out and the cost of those courses are very high. I've already flunked out of engineering classes in high school so anything related to it was a no go. Welding was another good option, but with loud sounds and bright lights my autism and bad hearing were not going to have a good time. The last two I was considering were HVAC and electrical. Each excellent fields and I had high interest in both, so I applied for EMT which is a combination of both (electrical mechanical technician, not the medical worker).

Now a new issue arose, one I have dealt with my whole life.

I am transgender.

The current trans panic, living in the bible belt, not passing well, and the already intimidating trades were a lot to take in a navigate, but I believe I have been very fortunate.

The first step was shopping around for a school and being very up front with how I identify and the situation. Emailing schools made it easier to imagine the school as an entity rather than a collection of people each with their own political views that make them view me very differently. I was ghosted by a couple schools, I am unsure if this is because of my identity or if they thought I was a spammer, but for my sake I'd like to think it was the ladder.

I managed to get pell grants, a few scholarships, loans that are far smaller than they would be for a four year degree, and finally an approved application.

The first couple of months were intimidating, there is a lot to learn in a small amount of time and a recent head injury was not helping. However, I do not give up easily. I found that passing had never been more important to me than ever, and I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps the far more masculine men around me make me feel more inadequate. Perhaps the trans panic has indeed instilled a terror in me of being clocked as trans far more than I originally thought. Perhaps it is simply paranoia and the unknown. Whatever the case, I've found myself taking more steps than I usually do to pass, including binding. I never really did befores since having covid binding has restricted my breathing when any strenuous activity is involved, my chest is not large to begin with, and the mentioned current economic crisis has made it impossible to save for top.

There have been a couple instances when I was misidentified as female, thankfully my voice saved me in that regard, but when I am stopped up due to the weather, it is not as convincing.

In one instance the wrong name was called (since I have been unable to change it) so I had to pretend like my name was simply not on the roster until I could correct the person in private, embarrassing everyone involved. My existence is very alien, so there is no system in place to change my name or inform staff other than by email or word of mouth. It is all very overwhelming.

Other than all of these moving parts, day to day has been very smooth. I can update in the future if there are any incidents or new challenges come up. Thank you for reading.

[faces-ofvenus]

Hi!

I love your works

Can I request ‘y/n’s first time’ with hod mans(Aemond,Aegon,Daemon,etc)

Thanks!

This will be split into two parts, so I'm aching to write with Jace and Luke included.

Warnings: sexual and pornographic content up, do not read if you are underage, or do not like that kind of content.

As we all know Daemon is an experienced man, who knows what he wants, he knows how he likes to be pleasured, and frankly knows how to please men and women, but knowing that it would be your first time, and the fact that he would have feelings for you, he would try not to be so rough, focusing entirely on your pleasure, he would probably be the kind of man who would do foreplay, he would like to show you that even though he is your first, you will never need a second man or woman in your life, he will stimulate you and eat you like you are the tastiest thing in the world, and will only come out from between your legs, after you beg him to take you in, and only then he will make you his, he is not a man of kissing lips at the time of sex, he is more focused on other parts of your body, he would like to mark you, in fact every Targaryen in my opinion has problems with hickeys, Daemon is just extremely on another level, thighs, belly, breasts, neck, collarbone, just everywhere, visible or not, the position that I think he would take you seriously missionary, at least in a first moment, I also think that he has a certain stimulation with pain, if you scratch his back, he will go faster and harder, as a challenge to him, and only stops when he knows that one, he has cum so much inside you, that simply your pregnancy would be impossible not to happen, and until he convinces himself that you know to whom your pussy belongs from now on.

With Aegon it's a different place, he doesn't really care about being a sweet and cautious person, if he already feels feelings for you, he might try, a bit of a failed attempt I would say, I also realize that he has never fucked anyone, because he simply doesn't care about the pleasures of maids and whores, so this would be something he would deepen as time went on, I sense that he likes the doggy style, he likes to mark your ass with slaps, and scratches, he likes to see how his cock enters you, how it feels like you are swallowing it, it makes him so horny, he likes to hear you moaning and begging, he gives you a lot of compliments by the way, none of them really are cute, he calls you a little whore and how crazy you are for his cock, and by the way this is not a lie, he knows how to hit you, it seems like he wants to discover every corner of you, he stops and starts again just to leave you needy and waiting for him, he was not one to mark women, but he really likes to bite you, he bites your breasts, and shoulders, sucks your neck, and whispers dirty things in your ear, like where else could he fuck you, he finds it so exciting if you like to mark him, he wouldn't mind by the way, there's something about it, that just drives him crazy, you would do it for a few rounds, until he just felt satisfied, satisfied that he ruined you, and that now finally you were all his.

With Aemond things could go for fun ways, his relationships mainly sexual were not the best, his first time itself, for him it was disgusting, what he just wouldn't want for you, he would take off his eye patch, showing and being naked for you completely, he is not the best at eating a woman, but for you he would do it, and the more you felt good, the hungrier he seemed to get, he just wanted to please you, his starting position would be cowgirl, because something about you jumping on top of him turns him on, your breasts he squeezes, imagining how they will be when you are pregnant with his child, even you on top he would dictate everything, the speed and the force, he doesn't want to hurt you, but at the same time, your face in a mix of pleasure and pain makes his cock harder than ever before, he would first make you cum, as everything for him is a two way street, he would like that one hour, you would be swallowing his cock with your mouth, something about marking your face with his cum, your face all covered with it, your body, he just wants to mark you, leave you smelling of him, he may start out wanting only your first to be the best, but in reality he just wants to ruin you, he's not one for marking, but strong hair pulling, unlike Aegon he doesn't whisper the things he wants to do with you, he speaks in a loud and clear voice, just to be sure, he likes to speak several and several times, just to make it clear to you when you belong to him, there's no telling how many rounds Aemond, would do, only when he feels that you really are fucked up enough already.

[rcksmith]

Desire — Kaz Brekker

(Photo not mine)

Requests: “Hello there! I've been around this blog for a bit now and you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if you would be ok with doing something with 21 28 & 29 from the smut prompts and kaz brekker? If you are uncomfortable please just ignore this!”

“Kaz brekker Smut prompts 28 66?? Love you💖!!”

“I can request Kaz smut prompts 29?��️”

Smut prompts:

21. “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

66. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of shot, mention of desire, desire, mention of smut, explicit smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3k

A/N: All smut requests for Kaz must follow these rules.

I hope you like💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There was something about you. Something impossible to decipher, with a glow hovering around you like a electrical energy. Wrapping your whole body in a cloak of magnetism. There was something about the way you spoke, walked, laugh. Something about what it was like to be you, in your beauty and mysteries like a sphinx.

Something that made Kaz Brekker completely furious.

You couldn't be more distorted from the image, in Kaz's mind, than what was to be a peaceful woman. Calm, controled, with steel emotions and wit in eyes. Someone who, like him, knew how to dance the waltz of negotiation, manipulation, who could blend in with the shadows and know the best time to listen more than speak.

You were not like Inej, you were not like Jesper. Hell, you were like nobody Kaz has known in all of his 28 years.

Nothing reminiscent of calm and control would be used to describe what it meant to be you.

Your soul are stormy, loud, obstinate, too stubborn and too talkative. You needed to speak loudly, laugh, move, expose your opinions to the seven winds and to whoever listened the most. You needed to question, inquire, doubt and test the limits of any situation. A direct order for you would be an affront to your free and independent spirit. A command that would curtail your freedom or tame your strong genius was almost like an invitation for you to do exactly the opposite of what they had ordered you to do.

So, for a man of trained reasoning, subtly balanced world, and who was used to his every command being followed vehemently and promptly in blind obedience, such a personality like you was like introducing a disturbing factor capable of shaking all his judgments. Sand in a watch, or stone in a shoe, would be no more a nuisance than a strong nature like your.

The extraordinary stubbornness and mania to counter his orders - when, in your words, they were unreasonable - had made you different from all the women Brekker had ever met. Kaz liked challenges and responsibilities, a good puzzle, but you were on a level far beyond that.

You were a danger to his peace of mind. And you knew that. All his aversion to your indomitable spirit only served as fuel for your own mission in to piss him off. Few men were like Kaz Brekker, you knew that, with a strength of character too powerful to be ignored. He was not just comfortable in his position of authority as he was obviously unable to act in any other way than as a leader. His stoic figure and always so contained in a wall of indifference made you want to ruffle his hair to see if you could remove any emotion. And being a girl who hasn't always liked leaders, Kaz Brekker was a huge temptation. Few moments had been better than those that you managed to piss him off beyond what he could handle.

However, all the reasons why the two of you were so exasperating for each other, did not explain why the air crackled in ambiguity when your eyes met. The hemisphere was adorned in a thought-provoking, poignant veil, like a warm honey flowing down its throat, and there was something else in the way blood flowed like flames of fire through veins of you two.

Jesper said that the sexual tension between you was so tangible that it could be cut by one of Inej's knives, but you refused to think of Kaz that way. At least until that moment.

Not pure images of what the infamous Brekker could do to you between four walls swept you like the strong Arabian wind. Making you be surprisingly breathless. Kaz was not a man whose private life was exposed, nor was he involved with many women, but you have heard two or three of them when they were drunk saying that Kaz Brekker in the room could be incendiary.

Everyone knew that his touch reserve didn't limit him to anything, but that his job was at the top of the priority list and that sexual encounters were almost never on that list.

"It was not my fault!” Jesper defended himself one night, slightly drunk, sitting at the club's round table next to the other crows “I didn't know he was married to another man! That damn pretty face seduced me!”

"Did he seduce you?" You asked, skeptical and playful.

"I swear to God! And it had been a long time since I had sex with anyone, and I went… ”

“But you did sex last week." Inej laughed, chocked.

"Exactly!" Jesper said, as if he were obvious.

You laughed with your beer glass in your hand, taking another sip.

“Is a week a long time to not sleep with anyone?" Matthias retorted, trying not to laugh.

“Are you going to tell me that is not?” Jesper and Nina spoke at the same time.

“If a man has time for sex more than once a week, he clearly doesn't have much to do. And I'm sure I gave Jesper a lot of tasks that would keep him busy.” Kaz narrowed his eyes at his friend, and Jesper hid his guilt behind the rim of his beer glass, looking to the side.

"So you are saying that you are a very busy man?" You teased, trying not to laugh at the scathing look Kaz sent you.

"I disagree. The values ​​of hard work and discipline cannot match the hot body of a woman in bed.” Matthias said, exchanging a brief conspiratorial look with Nina, who winked at him.

"There are more important things." Said Kaz.

"Like what?" You rested your chin on the back of the hand whose elbow was on the table, the playful look of a rebellious student.

"Progress." Kaz held your gaze.

He wasn't going to take your bait. But you didn't give up easy.

"Tell me, if God gave you a deal: all the hunger in the world would be extinguished in exchange for you never being able to have sex again, what would you choose?" your eyes had a teasing feline glow.

At that moment, Kaz felt a shiver up the back of his neck, like a warm breath of autumn. Something crawled, like a snake, across his rib cage and down to his groin, pumping blood like fire through his veins.

He held your gaze, but the feline glow in your eyes promised to contain the most ardent sins. Suddenly, Kaz's mind was flooded by the wave of obscene images of you, on his bed; moaning, squirming, shouting his name and being very obedient with every order he gave you.

He would make you such a good girl...

"I don't believe in God." He replied succinctly, the predator's eyes still in your eyes audacious feline's.

A big, satisfied smile spread across your face, and you said: "As I thought. Bad luck for hungry people.”

Realizing that he had fallen right into your cunning trap, Kaz got rid of your diabolical magnetism and cursed.

“I didn't say…” he stopped, impatient “It doesn't matter. I have more important things to do than waste time here.”

But the smile you hid behind the glass was noticeable to Kaz.

After that night, the crackling, gasping flame that circled the two of you intensified to alarming levels. Kaz could feel you holding your breath when he was too close, and you could see him squeezing his cane harder when you sweetened your voice for him.

However, regardless of Kaz's wanted to fold you at a table and put an end to your brat girl pose, enjoying the groans he was sure you would let out, the two of you still fought like dog and cat.

Just as it was now.

“What do you mean, I'm not going?!” You looked at Kaz, amazed, when he told you that you would not participate in the robbery that week “I know that security system like the back of my hand!”

It was true, what you had of stubbornness, you had of technological intelligence. There was no computer that you would not hack, a program that you would not hack, and a system that you would not unlock. Your genius with technology made up for all your lack of obedience.

But Kaz ignored. “I've already told you. It's a more dangerous mission than you're used to and we don't have time for the plans you come up with right away.” He needled you.

“Are you referring to Switzerland?” You were never anything short of direct and inquiring. It was logical that you would question every orden. “But I already told you that when the alarm went off your plan didn't work anymore! I was more useful inside to deactivate the alarm than waiting outside.”

And stubborn. Holy God, how stubborn you were!

"And it cost you to get shot."

"But it was just a shot!"

Kaz looked at you, puzzled. “Just?! And wasn't it enough ?! You put the whole team at risk!”

“But if I hadn't deactivated the alarm, we would all be arrested! And only I knew how to do that!”

"My fucking God, isn't there a speck of common sense in you?!"

But you answered boldly: "Not when you impose clueless plans on me."

Mortified would be an understatement to describe how he was now. What an unbearable creature! Kaz felt the anger spread from his neck to his face, igniting his breath and squinting his eyes in annoyance.

Why was it so difficult for you to follow a simple goddamn rule?!

“Besides, your initial plan was flawed and there was no reason for me to be out when it was necessary inside and...” And you kept talking!

If you had noticed Kaz's completely enraged state in front of you, you would have been scared, shut up and ran. But, truth be told, Kaz suspected that even if you knew how to read the murderous humor in his eyes, you wouldn't have left that office. Much less be afraid. You could argue with the demon. And you would probably beat him out of tiredness.

However, regardless of the desire to shake you up, to see if that put any good sense in you, in that second, watching you gesture with your hands, defending your point of view as if it were the england queen's crown, something swept Kaz's body from the top of his head with dark hair to the tips of his illustrated boots.

The sound of the world was drowned out by the flow of blood itself in his veins. His heart hammered hard in his chest and, in that instant, a sharp sting in his groin and the pit of his stomach set him on fire.

His gaze went down to your mouth, which kept moving. And when it came up to your eyes, your stubborn and defiant gaze sent Kaz's rationality into space. He dropped the cane abruptly, which toppled to the floor with a hollow crack, and advanced towards you in firm and determined steps.

Gluing his gloved hands to your face, Kaz silenced all your protests with a strong kiss. Hot, fiery, domineering. The kind of kiss that held years of camouflaged desire, years of irritability, years of an unnerving desire to make you shut up with all the perverse forms that existed.

You weren't afraid of him. But you should. You should if you knew everything he wanted to do with you.

However, as if you have been burning in the same desire for years, you responded to that kiss with the same urgency. The same hunger. Kaz slipped his hands into your hair, closing his fingers there and deepening the kiss with ferocity. He felt beside himself, like a hungry wild animal that had been denied food for years and that only now had its teeth set on its prey. You moaned against his lips, bringing your hands to his lean, strong biceps, squeezing your fingers there.

You both needed air, but neither seemed to give a damn about that. Misted of desire that burned like a fire in their bodies, Kaz pushed the two of you backwards, slamming your back against the wall and swinging a frame beside. You gasped, and the gesture made it possible for Kaz to invade your mouth with his tongue, hunting every piece of hot meat. You two fought the same battle in that kiss: invade, dominate, conquer.

They both wanted to take the waltz, but Kaz would never let you conduct the show.

He pulled your wrists up, pinning them with one hand against the wall, leaving you immobile while sinking his mouth further into yours. Kaz felt you try to get rid of his tight grip, but he was stronger than you. And much more when he have a objective.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He murmured against your mouth, the tip of his tongue playing with your bottom lip. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Was impossible for you to control the loud moan that escaped. Your body trembling with desire, your legs wobbly, your wet core vibrating with his words. Kaz Brekker was a fallen angel. With a beauty and charm you've never been immune to.

How can you think you'd win the dominance game with him?

And, like the fallen angel he was, his smug and arrogant smile painted the corner of his lips when he saw what his lines did to you.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Kaz mocked “If I knew it was only necessary to do this for you to shut up...” he brought his lips closer, his voice hitting yours “I would have fucked you like the naughty brat you have been a long time.”

If his caustic and maddening kisses hadn't been enough to break you in half, that statement would have done all the work.

In that second, you hoisted your white flag, biting your lip in a needy moan and closing your eyes for a second by the overwhelming vibration of your core. God, you needed more. Whatever he gave you. Anything he wanted to give you. You just needed more.

"Are you going to be good?" He played with the dough you were in his hands, his devilish mouth going down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and debris wherever he went.

You agreed, desperately. “Yes, Sir."

That title seemed to do things with Kaz. Because in the next second, his mouth was back on your. More urgent, more needy, more dominating. You shifted your hips for more friction with his, and Kaz rewarded your obedience by pulling one of your thighs forward, making your skirt go up, aligning your thigh on his hips and giving access for his member to fit perfectly against your pulsating core.

You moaned louder this time. Fingers clenching, heart pumping frantically. Kaz pulled his lips away from you for a second, taking his hand off your thigh and bringing it to your mouth.

“Pull.” He ordered, referring to the glove.

You murmured a low, excited moan, bringing your mouth to the glove and clenching your teeth on the cloth at the top of his middle finger. Satisfied, Kaz pulled his hand back, watching the alabaster skin peel away from the leather fabric. As soon as he was free, he removed the glove from your mouth, replacing it with his own and stealing all your breath in that fiery kiss.

His free hand wandered over your thigh, touching you for the first time with a touch that promised to show you all the most delicious and secret sins in the world. His tongue wrapped around your again, and the moan you let out was even greater when his long fingers brushed against your wet, throbbing core.

"S-sir!" You sobbed, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.

"Look at you." His fire voice beat against your lips, the tightness against your wrists getting stronger, more possessive "I’ ve only started using my fingers and you ’re already shaking"

Your body cried out in unbridled desire, sobs mingling with loud moans and heavy sighs as Kaz tormented you with his fingers. He touched you, slid, opened and sank, increasing the volume of your pleas.

“P-please" You begged, the body in need, the urge too urgent.

Kaz looked you in the eye, a dark, malicious gleam burning in his Egyptian blue irises. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He teased you.

But you no longer cared about his teasing. With your lips swollen and red, your heart racing and the core pulsing in despair on his experienced fingers, you were already surrendered.

"Please. I n-need." You mumbled submissively, rummaging your hips in his hand.

"I bet if I wanted to fuck you against my desk, here and now, you would be very happy to do it, wouldn't you?"

He was foisting all of his dominance on you, bending you to your knees for him. And you knew that. You knew he was taking years of anger out on you. But you couldn't care less. You wanted him. Ardently. Desperately. And if it was a good girl Kaz wanted, damn it, you would be a good girl for him.

You readily agreed, your eyes shining in supplication.

“Good.” Kaz pulled you brutally off the wall, turning you over to the table and pushing your chest against the icy wood, pulling your hips at him. “Because that's exactly what is going to happen.”

Suddenly, desire and hunger roared like a wild beast. Kaz watched you, bent over his desk, obedient, surrendered, offering every inch of your body to him.

His breath was burning in his throat and it was no longer possible to order his thoughts, contain his euphoria. He would fuck you so hard that it would make that memory the only thought when you remembered him. When you dare to rebut his orders.

Kaz pulled you skirt up and your panties down, letting out a groan that sounded more like a growl as he saw your wet core. Pulsing and desperate for him. For anything he wanted to give you. It sparked a fervent desire that Brekker had never felt in his life, devastating any possibility of thinking about anything other than fucking you.

Playing with your fingers in your slick, wet folds, you whimpered again, the core pulsing whenever he teased you inside, pressing his fingertips there but never entering.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" His voice came over the top of your shoulder, hoarse, animalistic, full of profane desires.

"Please." You were quick to beg “I do what you want! But just...please, please… ”

You already felt your eyes watering from over-stimulation, your heart burning so hard it was beating, your core aching from emptiness.

You sealed the end of the game between you. Kaz had won. In a triumphant checkmate.

And you didn't have to beg again. Barely seeing when he unbuttoned his pants, you just reasoned his hard, hot, pulsating member by opening your from the inside. Claiming everything that was yours as his in a strong, desperate, hungry lunge.

"S-sir!" You screamed, your nails scraping the wood from the table, the core pulsing overwhelmingly around his rigid member.

In a more badly lunge, Kaz sank completely into you, moaning loudly as he hit rock bottom. The gloved hand slid over your shoulder, propelled you to him while the bare hand tightened on your waist, hitting you at a steady, raw, animalistic rhythm.

The sounds were pornographic, dirty and loud, echoing off the walls. The air was hot like molten lava, pungent and muffled, driving you two lost breath. Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end tomorrow, in aggressive, rough thrusts. These were thrusts that made half of his things on the table fall to the floor, mixing in a mess that would serve as a reminder later about the sinful activities you two did.

You screamed when Kaz took on more force, his fingers squeezing you so hard that they would leave you with marks on your shoulder and waist the next day.

"Fucking hell!" Kaz snarled between his teeth, feeling your flesh throb around him, squeezing he with such desperation that he knew you were close.

You sobbed, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes as you pushed your ass towards him, trying to bring him as deep as possible, as deep inside you as possible. But every time his pelvis smashed into your ass, a loud moan and the feeling of being completely full drowned you.

You begged, pleaded, for something you didn't know. But Kaz seemed to know. Taking both hands to your hips, your pace became even more unperturbed, pushing you to the limit until you cum in a scream in his name, your lungs on fire. Kaz came close behind, sinking as deep as possible and pouring all the hot liquid into you. Almost like a brand.

The air was filled with sex, lust and desire, filled only by the sound of their ragged breaths that struggled to stabilize.

You were still panting when Kaz's voice came after you: "Whatever I want, don't I?"

A deal with the devil.

[shipsandlattes]

So I know everyone has already dissected this scene to its core, but it’s taken me a good 48 hours to digest this and I just needed to get it out.

I’m an aspiring actor, I’ve been training for a long time, with a lot of amazing teachers. I’ve watched a lot of shows and shipped a lot of couples. Some of them beautiful and canon, others, well, let’s just say waiting 22 years and counting for acknowledgement, closure, anything, it’s a damn challenge. I’ve seen a hell of a lot of will-they-wont-they’s, baiting, purposeful ignorance, deliberate fake outs, zero explanations, storylines that basically caused canon disintegration, the works.

In saying that, Dean and Cas were right up there on the list with the other “impossibles” because honestly, I didn’t think the writers would have the guts to do it, but I am so f*cking proud they did. It’s safe to say I’ve watched the scene a good hundred+ times already. 

I’ve seen a lot of “controversy” around Dean’s reaction/Jensen’s acting choices and whether or not Dean reciprocates Cas’ feelings, and obviously, I needed to add my own views to the mix.

Just work with me for a minute here.

Dean Winchester is an emotionally repressed trainwreck, and ironically enough, the one that is so full of emotion it hurts to watch. When Cas first starts his speech, he’s confused, really confused because why on earth would Cas start off on a rant now? Billie’s waiting to kill them, he just said he knew something that was more powerful than she was, something that could save them. That’s where he thought this speech was going.

The confusion turns to realisation that it’s a goodbye when Cas starts telling him how incredible he is, how his entire essence is love. Go back and watch the scene again, when Cas says “you’re the most caring man on Earth”, you physically see Dean look down, his eyes searching, he’s actively trying to make sense of what’s happening, he knows what’s coming and you can see him coming to terms with the shock of the words being said to him. He then looks directly at Cas. That look, that was pure shock.

Also, notice how he doesn’t stop Cas from talking? He doesn’t interject, make a joke, doesn’t talk about how there is no time for this now, they’ve got to at least try and stop Billie. He. says. nothing. He listens, he listens like I’ve never seen Dean listen before. Because it’s sinking in now.

When Cas really starts crying, when he says “you changed me, Dean”, you can actually see the pain in Dean’s eyes. He’s no longer in control of his emotions, he’s crying too. He’s never seen Cas like this, so raw, and vulnerable and human. This is the hardest, most emotional conversation they’ve both ever had. They are talking about the one thing that everybody knows, but is never addressed. When it wasn’t talked about, they could deny it, live in the lie. Once it’s said aloud, it’s real and they can’t turn back.

This above series of interactions is the part that kills me the most. The moment Cas says “because it is”, that’s the exact moment of realisation. Look at that last GIF, really look. He’s just worked it out, that he is Cas’ true happiness. He knows what’s coming before Cas even says it. Go back and watch the scene again, they pulled that off so well, the way the music swells at this exact moment. Jensen is giving us everything here, you can see what’s happening in his head - he is Cas’ happiness. He is the one thing on Earth Cas wants and thinks he can’t have. He is the reason Cas is about to die. He knows what Cas is about to say and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it, not now, not like this. It’s almost a silent plea not to say it, because he knows. Of course he knows. It’s like he can’t quite believe Cas is really, after all this time, finally going to say it.

And because obviously Jensen decided that that wasn’t enough to break us, the loaded reaction when Cas says “I love you” has me nothing but convinced that it’s reciprocated. Because Dean knows. He’s always known. Those tears, that head tilt, that gulp. He’s so genuinely confused that they’re really having this conversation. It’s like he can’t quite believe that this is the reality before him because he’s been living in that denial, in that self-loathing and unlovable layer he believes to be true. He’s been under the ‘what if... but it could never be’ umbrella for so long. 

What also makes this real is that there isn’t anyone else around this time. When “I love you’s” have been said before, they have always been able to deflect it, with other people or other words. Now it’s just the two of them. No deflecting, no running away. Dean is forced to hear it, to absorb it, to realise it’s for nobody else but him.

Now, I don’t know if you guys felt this, but when Dean says “Don’t do this, Cas”, he wasn’t just referring to Cas sacrificing himself to the Empty, he’s telling Cas that he can’t just say this, not now, knowing he’s going to die, knowing that Dean won’t get a chance to think, to process, to say what he needs too. I keep staring at that GIF above, Dean is breaking down, I’m almost convinced that Jensen was using an “I love you too, please just stop this” inner monologue for this bit. Look at the way he’s looking at Cas before he realises the Empty has started materialising and turns around. That’s a look of pure heartbreak. Trust me when I tell you, it’s really hard to keep those inner thoughts inside if you’re so in the moment - actually, don’t just take my word for it, read any acting book, ask any actor, it’s so hard to keep that in and sometimes you don’t, and sometimes you do - it’s in both the resistance and the letting go that the gold happens. This my friends, is gold. 

Did anyone else hear “Cas, I-”, well, regardless of whether or not it was an “I” or a very sharp breath, the outcome is the same. Dean’s gone into immediate panic mode. The Empty at one end and Billie at the other, and all poor Dean wants to do is gather his thoughts on not what to say but how to say it. I don’t think he comprehended just how little time he had, he was so focused on what was being said that the reality of the situation caught him completely off guard.

Also, I know this post was about dissecting Dean’s reaction, but can we sidebar a minute to talk about Cas as he pushes Dean out of the way? He’s sobbing, he’s fully crying. That hit me really hard, I’ve never seen Cas cry like that, I’ve never seen Misha get to play that level of emotion before and it was the most heartbreaking thing to watch since The Doctor and Rose and Buffy and Spike, to which by the way, I find many parallels between those couples and this scene.

Speaking of crying, that brings me to this: Dean slumped on the floor, ignoring a call from Sam, sobbing his heart out knowing he’s lost everything. Dean-I’m-emotionally-unavailable-Winchester is sobbing. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever seeing Dean cry like this before either, the sobbing was so evident and piercing in that silence. The look around the room, the burying of his head in his hands, that is a classic writers romantic love trope if I’ve ever seen it, they really pulled out all the stops with this one.

So, to summarise, I think Jensen’s choices and Dean’s reactions were absolutely and utterly perfect. They both did it so well that it didn’t break from character that these two emotionally distant and repressed men are in love and finally voicing it. Jensen barely said two words and still managed to cause mass coronary’s across the fandom. That my friends is what you call a brilliant actor. I bow down to the talents of these two amazing human beings.

Before I leave this novel, I have to say there are now a few things I’m going to need from the powers that be to not screw this up, help me manifest this:

1. Dean gets to reciprocate his feelings to Cas in person. So, I’m gonna need Cas back and a very emotional Dean.

2. Dean to be actively dealing with heartbreak in the next episode (unless they decided to bring Cas back that soon, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point).

3. Sam to confront Dean about his feelings for Cas, because out of everyone, he’d be the one to hit Dean with the truth of his fears. Sam knows. Sam is supportive. Sam sees it all.

4. I’m gonna need some physical affection, cause after 12 years of nonsense, we damn well deserve it. A hug, and not just any old reunion hug, a proper, this is different now hug. A kiss because hello, in love out loud now. Forehead touching, handholding, really gonna need the works here.

5. A happy ending for the two of them, one way or another. We’ve never had one, it’s time.

Okay, have at it now, let’s speak these into existence please.

Note: GIFs are not mine, I did not make them, credit to owners who I’m not sure of, but they’re beautiful, thanks for making them. EDIT: I’ve just been informed that these gorgeous gifs belong to @michaeldean​ and @inacatastrophicmind​! 

[staticl0ve]

The Boy Next Door: You Drive Me Crazy - Pt.2 * (Nines x Reader)

Parings: Human!Nines / Female Reader Rating: Explicit/ NSWF 18+ Chapters (AO3): [ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ] Tumblr Links: Part 1, Part 2 Word Count: 6.3k (oh boy, 🌶) Warnings: smut, car smut, fingering, oral (M! And F!reciving), mild size kink Summary: Cain’s greatest challenge yet: himself. Has he grown over the years and become a more well rounded man or does he need a push?

It’s magical when friendships withstand the test of time, two souls molding around changes. When a pair has known each other for so long, it’s impossible for one to part and not think of their other half. Luckily for these two friends, Luther and Cain remained close for their University years, inseparable even.

It was the most anticipated party hosted by a finals club at Harvard: the Spee Clubhouse graduation party. Cain refused to join a fraternity. So when Luther first picked this finals club, he made a joke about choosing it solely for its mascot which was a bear. He elbowed Cain and said he could recycle his Detroit Bear shirts from high school. There was one problem with his reasoning and his best friend was quick to point it out.

“If you’re hoping to wear your old clothes, the colors are all wrong,” Cain replied, sparing a glance at the red and gold flag fluttering over the Spee club mantle.

“Hmm, I still like the fuzzy guy,” Luther mused while standing at eye level to a gigantic wooden bear carving. “We’re joining!”

It was a life changing decision made one masters degree ago. Today, the worst of dubstep wubbed through a set of massive speakers, the subwoofers rattling the masonry and testing the fluid dynamics in the drinks. With the club opening its doors to a party, Luther was able to invite a few friends and most importantly, drag Cain to enjoy one last college core memory.

They were hanging around the edges of the party, a pair of men framed by a moonlit window. Luther was trying to make small talk while Cain was lying to himself about not observing the commotion at the beer pong table—his face turned to the window when really, he was side-eyeing the game.

A group crowded the table, hollering and spilling beer all over the hardwood floor. His gaze was fixed on a gap between the bodies, the player that was riling up the crowd. Beneath an old chandelier twinkling out golden light was you, biting your lip in concentration as you lined up your next ball bounce.

From Cain’s right, Luther sighed, his arm dipping from holding up his drink.

“Nines, man. This is getting ridiculous. You’ve got to stop staring and try clearing the air with her.”

Things were actually getting better between the two of you with six years of college ‘friendship’, if one could call it that. It meant Cain outgrew some of the tough restrictions he made for himself. If anything, you guys were getting along recently at Luther’s birthday party which happened to fall on New Years Eve.

It was your first NYE with no date in what felt like forever and Cain was in the same boat, the two of you finally single at the same time. Like any party that Luther hosted at his and Cain’s apartment, there was music, abandoned booze cups scattered on different surfaces (which would drive Cain insane during clean up), and snack bowls that magically refilled whenever Kara appeared in a room.

Cain found you on the balcony of his shared apartment, your back to him as you leaned against the railing to catch the city’s fireworks show blasting off into the night sky. He was distracted the moment his gaze fell on your dress and the thin straps that crossed over your back. You turned when he cleared his throat to signal his entrance, a new habit he picked up around you. There were too many repeated instances with you turning a corner and walking straight into his chest and he had the nerve to say you lacked situational awareness.

“I heard Luther’s going back to Detroit with Kara,” you said. You made an effort to seem light and playful, adding your hand to your hip with a sway. “Still feel like getting trapped inside a metal box with me again?”

The corner of his lip lifted into a smirk. “That really depends if your taste in music has improved.”

“Oh my god, Cain, let it go. I was eighteen and that high school musical was everybody’s favorite movie,” you groaned back at him.

“I’m sure the CIA plays it on repeat as a method of torture,” he replied.

He closed the distance between you in a few steps, leaning his large frame over the railing to gaze off into the distance. A couple of loud pops and colorful lights showered the skies before he spoke up again, turning his back to the city.

“We can carpool,” he said. His elbows spread out on the railing, irritatingly man-spreading until he was close enough to put his weight on one elbow, his face at eye level to yours.

“Great—“

“If I get full control over the music,” he added.

“Fine.” Your eyes were locked with his, neither of you willing to budge even when the fireworks show intensified in the distance. Nothing could turn your heads, nothing, save for the sweet voice that belonged to Kara.

“Are you two ready for the countdown?” She interrupted, giddily hopping from the sliding doors and over to you. A confetti party popper was placed into the palm of your hand and one in Cain’s.

“As ready as I’ll ever be?” You replied while watching her blue eyes shift suggestively from you to Cain.

“Don’t forget the New Year’s kiss,” she said with a wink and vanished through the sliding doors.

A countdown starting from ten began with the guests inside, their eyes glued to a television set with a giant disco ball. You slowly stepped away from Cain, heavily suggesting that you were about to join the rest of the party.

“Oh, we uh…we don’t have to,” you stammered.

“What are you afraid of?” He challenged.

“Afraid? You ass, I’m not—“ you scoffed, “It’s just a kiss.”

A kiss with a guy who spent most of your time together alternating between glaring, smirking and varying forms of the silent treatment. At this rate, you were certain Cain had no other mode besides, moody. Although, most of it may have been caused by your endless gloating at game nights. Look, if anyone else managed to best him, they too, would rub it in his smug, handsome face.

“Five!” The crowd shouted.

“Just a kiss,” he emphasized with a smirk.

“Four!”

He relaxed back on the railing, his black turtleneck stretching over the expanse of his chest, sleeves tightening around his biceps. As if he knew how good he looked, he had the audacity to run one hand through his dark hair, a challenge sparking behind his eyes. Your shoulders slumped, chest heaving underneath the low neckline of your dress and walked up to him.

“Three!” The group continued.

“Okay,” you agreed, your eyes narrowing suspiciously at him.

Three seconds never felt longer, the pauses between every shout dragging out as he pushed off the railing to bend over you. You still used the same rose shampoo, he realized.

Scent often has a way of triggering memories, like how fresh baked cookies has a way of making any space feel warm and cozy. For Cain, roses would always remind him of a time when he learned that love with all of its greatness, was no match for the sorrow that followed. He was still mourning when he decided he was better off working on his mental fortitude and physical prowess, their measurements more tangible in grades and trophies. It left no time for the abstract, but somehow he’d always end up back here, temping fate by standing inches apart from you with every nerve in his limbs coaxing him towards the void. The unknowable. The intangible.

With his free hand, he cupped your jaw with a touch that precariously felt more forceful than gentle, lifting your face to his. In the background, you could make out the muffled cry of the number two as his large silhouette darkened with every burst of light behind him.

“One,” he announced and then his lips crashed into yours.

What was supposed to be a short peck became a long, drawn out exchange of mouths sloppily crushing years of pent up desire. The kiss nearly brought him to his knees, his fingers unsteady around your chin as he eagerly pried your lips open. You responded with an unexpected tenderness, smearing red over his lips and going limp in his arms. Years of human mating rituals, also known as intuition, brought his arm around you until you were nestled between his sculpted chest like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together.

A puzzle he refused to complete.

Memories he had repressed broke through the surface: how right you felt against him during prom and the hike back to camp when you dozed off in his arms, the scent of roses tying the loose strands of his life together.

Love, Cain. Love will make you strong.

He tore away from you like you were a live wire, immediately making his exit through the sliding doors and leaving you behind, breathless and confused.

“Cain! What the hell…?” You asked the empty space where he once stood.

He was back to ignoring you for the rest of spring semester and it only gave you flashbacks to your high school days. Even Luther wasn’t able to piece together what had happened with his best friend but he had an inkling that it involved romance which was Cain’s kryptonite. He was a bit like Leonardo DiCaprio in the sense that he dropped his dates the moment they wanted something serious and spoke of a future beyond college. But you two weren’t dating and it was like he said: just a kiss.

This graduation party would be the last chance to smooth things out before you and Cain would be on the road.

“You’re gonna be traveling together. Nines, are you planning to sit in silence the whole time?” Luther asked.

“Not silence, the radio will be on,” Cain answered dismissively while finally ripping his gaze away from you.

“Uh-huh,” Luther replied with a skeptical grin.

“Yes!” You shouted as your opponent downed the last of her drink.

Kara shook her head and held her hand out, “Okay, n-no more beer pong. I t-think I’m out!”

Your eyes softened when you watched her stumble back and brought an arm around her shoulders. You glanced at your cup and sure enough, it was barely touched. Maybe you could have gone easier on your friend but you swore this was all she had since the party started.

“Alright, let’s get you water and a seat with your big o’ teddy bear,” you suggested while tugging her towards the two men beside a window. “Luther!”

“That’s my cue,” he said to Cain with a loud slap to his back. In one swoop, he took Kara out of your arms and to the nearest source of water. Out of sight, there was a set of winks exchanged between them as it was now just you and Cain standing shoulder to shoulder—metaphorically, of course, he still towered over you.

“Hi,” the greeting was short when it left your lips, your eyes not daring to meet his.

He grunted and caught a glimpse of your eyes rolling before he finally replied with a greeting of his own.

“Hello.”

Single word answers were better than eerily long stares from across the room so you relaxed a bit.

“You better be all packed for tomorrow,” you said.

-

The drive brought back a bit of nostalgia with familiar scenery wizzing past the car windows. As promised months ago, Cain was given full control over the radio which hilariously meant not listening to anything at all or to podcasts that quickly put you to sleep. As customary with any roadtrip, there were restroom breaks, stops to refuel the car and at restaurants for refueling the passengers. Throughout the first half of the day, he stubbornly kept to himself, his knuckles gripping almost white on the wheel whenever you leaned in to read the GPS on his phone. By evening, you were starving and damn exhausted by his attitude on the drive.

A diner had caught your eye and despite Cain’s insistence on a healthier alternative, it was your shift to drive so you  chose it despite him, pulling the car into the sparsely parked parking lot. A neon sign rested above the humble diner in bright yellow and blue, spelling out the name: Chicken Feed. The interior smelled as expected of grease, salt, and coffee. Some customers were scattered across the rows of plastic booths enjoying their high caloric meals. Seated in a corner booth by a window, was you and Cain, in the middle of a conversation that he was dying to end.

“You’re as chatty as a rock. How have you managed to date anyone?” You joked while digging into your wonderfully greasy burger. There was a glimmer of disgust in his eyes while Cain watched you eat the abomination of calories and he drew his focus back to his plate of fresh greens.

“My girlfriends were not interested in conversation,” he smugly answered.

“Gross.” You wiped your hands on a paper napkin and looked him in the eye. “You know, it’s not that hard to fake it.”

“What?”

“You’re so…by the book. Do you make them sign a contract for consent?” You laughed and grinned at him, “I’ll bet they were bored with the sex. You probably wouldn’t know if someone was faking it.”

He dropped his fork back on his plate with a loud clatter. A flare of irritation surged in his chest, the pressure rising higher as you smirked back at him.

“My dates enjoy their time with me,” he explained flatly and tried resuming his dinner. “We are not discussing this any further.”

While Cain’s face was normally stiffer than a starched shirt, it still stung how after all these years, right when you were both getting along better, that all of it could be undone with a kiss. There would be at least one more day of driving and quite frankly, you were over his dismissive attitude. You casually dabbed your face with a napkin and crumpled it up while he went back to aggressively stabbing at his plate.

“Ooo, ohh…oh…” you began while running your hands over the edge of the table and gripping it. A pair of icy eyes glared at you from across the table while you continued with your soft moans. “A-ah, right t-there. Mmm…!”

“What are you doing?” He asked sharply.

“Ah! Ah! Yes!” Your eyes were shut at this point, back arched and head thrown back.

He breathed out your name harshly and repeated it as a few patrons began turning their heads towards your table. His arms crossed as he huffed and sank back into the plastic booth with the resignation of a parent waiting out a toddler tantrum.

Cain normally had no problems with keeping his cool but when you moaned his name, his entire body seized and like some pathetic animal, felt his cock twitch when you moaned it again. With your neck straining as you tossed your head back and forth, he had an urge to shove his fingers in your mouth, to stuff your face until you stopped your antics. Instead, he restrained himself and if his jaw clenched any harder, his teeth would be powder by the time you completed the climax of your show.

To his relief, you cleared your throat and resumed your meal as if nothing happened, biting into a juicy hamburger with sauce dripping down the corner of your lips. You kept your eyes locked on his, suggestively wiping it off with your thumb and sucking it slowly off your skin. His throat visibly bobbed as he swallowed down a raging need swelling in his chest…and other regions. With a flick of your wrist, your water cup shot forward, the condensation allowing the glass to slide across the table and collide into back of his hand.

“Thirsty?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

When the checks were paid and last bathroom visits were made, you didn’t have much of a choice in car seating. Cain stormed to the driver side door and you returned to your cozy passenger seat settings. He was positively seething by the time you guys were on the road to the nearest motel. It was unlike him to be distracted while driving as he drove past a few rerouting suggestions.

“Uhm, Cain?” You asked as his phone chimed again to alert him of the correct route. “Are you…lost? I think the motel was a few turns ago—“

You called his name again as he pulled into a darkened and empty multi-use parking lot. He calmly turned off the engine and lights but kept his gaze outside the window.

“What the hell?” You hissed. In any other circumstance, you would have knocked out any guy that dragged you to what looked like location number two, but this was Cain and he was being a big baby.

“Tell me,” he started, his voice low with a predatory edge. “What do you hope to gain from pushing me?”

“Agh, you’re impossible. I…I’m just having a bit of fun because you’re so…serious with me all the time.” You unbuckled your seatbelt to turn towards him while he continued to face away from you.

“Do you like me?” You asked. “Because I think you do.”

That got his attention. He mirrored your actions, twisting his torso so he could rest one arm over the center console and glare down at you. “You’re mistaken.”

A pause elapsed while you raised one defiant eyebrow back at him.

“Cain—“

“Why would you ask that? Did Luther say something to Kara?”

“No, you idiot,” you said playfully and watched his face twitch to mask his annoyance. “You do these annoying things like refusing to shake the hands of my dates at game nights and parties. Do you even notice your girlfriend’s sour face when you spend a whole party brooding?”

You nervously chuckled and shook your head at him, your eyes lowering down to the center console of the car.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hot and cold with me. I don’t think you hate me but…” Your voice grew quieter as your confidence waned. “…do I repulse you in some way that makes you ashamed to like me?”

Your pouty face doused some of his rage but his chest was still hammering harder than a buried heart beneath a set of floorboards.

No.

His fist clenched, nails digging into firm skin while he fought to unfurl his tongue. How he felt went beyond a twisted perversion that made him desperately want to bury his face in your hair. All this time, Cain thought you were just like him. You weren’t. Beneath his carefully crafted public perception of himself, he was no better than a paper lion drifting away at the slightest breeze.

At camp, you saw a boy, alone and gazing sadly at a lake. He stood on the sidelines, only coming alive during activities that offered a chance at first place. Your arrogance was mostly for show, a way of coaxing him out of his shell. After all, you offered him something his ego could not resist: a playmate and a worthy contender. How were you to know about the baggage he carried? In so many ways you were better than him and Cain loathed you for it. He liked y—

He glared into the void as seconds passed and stretched beyond what was an acceptable time to answer a simple question. Did you repulse him?

“No,” he managed to breathe out. It was sort of endearing how a man could easily tackle writing novel sized essays but be so ineloquent when put on the spot. His steely gaze met your searching eyes. 

“What?” He said more so than asked.

“I know what I want,” you replied with a soft smile and leaned over the center console. “What do you want Cain?”

He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding like an inflating balloon as he calmly counted backwards from five in his head. Slowly, he raised his hand to your face, grazing your cheek with his fingertips. It should have been soothing, but Cain’s movements clashed with the unsettling hunger in his eyes. He didn’t want to think about what he wanted for another second.

“No,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”

His other hand slipped over the console to invade your side of the car, resting dangerously close to the gap in your open thighs where your skirt had conveniently bunched up.

“C-Cain,” you whimpered when the hand at your face slipped back and gripped your hair. Goosebumps prickled along your skin as his nose traced the bone from your shoulder to your neck. The muscles along his back grew more taut as the scent of your hair consumed his senses. His vision blurred red like an animal going feral…red like…

Roses.

“Do you want me?” He calmly asked while his fingers skimmed over the hem of your skirt. You nodded which was apparently not enough confirmation for a man that followed everything by a rule book.

“Say it.”

“Y-yes!” You felt his mouth latch onto your neck and his nose pressing into your hair.

Fuck, did he just inhale?

The hand on your skirt moved, drawing higher up your thigh and brushing right against the soaked center of your panties. His breath was shaky on your skin as he massaged his fingers over your clit. He expected you to go pliant in his arms, melt as he hooked his fingers around the cloth to tease your folds. Instead, your hand found his wrist, guiding him into you.

“You didn’t think…after t-teasing you,” you muttered through gasps, “That I’d trust you to know what you’re doing?”

The years of taunting him had made him mostly immune to your antics. Cain had held out for so long, it made no difference if he had to wait another minute, or hour or…days. You’d beg for him soon enough. He curled his fingers, pumping them slowly and chuckled when you clenched around him.

“You don’t understand what you’ve started,” he cautioned, adding his thumb to torture your nerves. His teeth lightly bit down on your earlobe, pinching the skin to pull another whimper from you. He studied you with the pinhole focus of a wild and starved beast, licking his lips as his fingers picked up speed, your slick dripping down his knuckles. When he felt you getting close, he tore his hand away, ignored your sound of surprise and brought his tongue out to lick his fingers. There was a barely audible groan from deep within his chest but you had no time to reflect on it when his fingers hovered over your lips.

“Lick.”

The time for being self conscious was gone. If the bastard sitting next to you was going to be adamant about playing a game of wills, then you’d be more than happy to play along. With one smoldering glare back at him, you wrapped your lips around his fingers and slurped. You knew he had enough when his eyes darkened and he abruptly tried to free his fingers, your teeth catching onto his skin as he pulled out.

Without another word, Cain wiped his fingers on a spare tissue from a box in the car and moved as if he was checking things off a list: turn the engine back on, turn on the headlights, resume route. All the while, you stubbornly mirrored his calmness as if nothing occurred in the car. 

In a few minutes, you arrived at the motel with bags in hand. The tension thickening as your hand slipped up his muscular back while he gave a measured reply to the bellhop who looked throughly done with the evening.

“How many beds will you and your companion require?” The bellhop asked flatly.

You managed to squeak out the letter ‘T’ before Cain spoke up.

“One.”

When the door to your shared room clicked shut, you ignored him by casually resuming your evening rituals of teeth brushing and showering. From the bathroom you’ve intentionally left open, he could make out your pretty silhouette in the fogged up glass as he weighed his options. The shower door opened before he could make up his mind, your damp arm outstretched.

“Can you hand me my brush?” You asked and gestured at a spot on the counter.

He took his time removing each article of his clothing, ignoring your sigh and chuckle. Your laugh died in your throat the moment he crowded you at the door with your brush and only hot water splattering between you as a last barrier.

“Your brush,” he said, sounding entirely unaffected by your nudity.

“T-thanks.”

He was a steamy blur between your soaped up eyelashes, becoming clearer as his massive frame entered the shower with you. His eyes roamed over your body, too busy watching the soap clear off your skin to notice he was half hard and unconsciously moving closer to your wet form.

“M-mm…” he groaned in surprise as your thigh rubbed across his erection.

“At least one part of you likes me,” you chuckled at him while rinsing the last of the soap out of your hair.

Old habits had a way of persisting no matter what the circumstances were and Cain was no match for his own stubbornness. You were so close, hot and soaking wet and still he felt there was something to prove by holding back. And hold back he did, literally straightening his spine and pulling his balled fists behind his back.

One of your hands slipped away from your hair, ghosting over his cock and gripping just the tip of it. Your name was uttered in a warning which you ignored, your eyes cracking open to stare up at him. It wasn’t like he joined you to save water. After a few languid pumps, his hands wrapped around your shoulders, causing your hands to still in confusion.

He smirked. You were cute when you were speechless.

He used it as a chance to push you down but you resisted his strength with a grin, patiently kissing the center of his chest and trailing your lips past his abs. When your chin bumped over his tip, you finally chanced a look at the challenge you’ve signed up for and gasped.

“Oh my god,” you held back a laugh as the shower continued to rain down behind you. “Okay, I get it. I can see why your ex-girlfriends didn’t care about talking.”

“Then stop talking,” he replied.

Your eyes rolled before your lips wrapped around his tip, licking over the throbbing muscle and only then, did he shift his hands from your shoulders to tangle into your wet hair. His muscles were more coiled up than a spring, every electron firing from his crotch failing to meet his brain and allow him to just relax and be in the moment with someone he had been denying his attraction to for years.

And for what? Pride?

What good was pride when there was lust, real lust. At last he could indulge, grip your hair and fuck your mouth like he’d get a blue ribbon for it. A trickle of trepidation locked his limbs, the mighty Cain, afraid of what he may have started as he stood on the precipice of the unknown. Still, he couldn’t drown out how good you felt.

“Mmph.”

His grunt was so quiet, you barely heard it over the water that was starting to grow cold. Between the slight sting in your throat and the fact he was only growing harder on your tongue meant you could only focus on making your jaw go slack. Your nails raked over his strong thighs, pushing and coaxing him to thrust down your throat. When that didn’t work, you looked up at him, ignoring the splashes of water that stung your eyes.

It’s okay.

Cain snapped with a groan, lightly fisting your hair to thrust into your mouth. His head rested on the shower tiles, hips moving in short bursts like any more might break you, or him.

“Ahh…F-fuck,” he huffed, surprising himself.

With every passing moment, more of him cracked like glaciers calving icebergs into an ocean. When your hands joined your mouth in ruining him by cupping him and stroking the rest that didn’t fit, he gasped, filling you with warm spurts that dripped down your throat and spilled past your lips. You suckled him a little longer, swallowing every heady drop.

“Wow, that was fast. I guess I’m lucky since the water was getting cold,” you teased and stretched your sore muscles while he shut the water off.

He recovered quickly, chuckling as he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, collecting his release that had dribbled down to your chin and pushed it back into your mouth, smearing it over the bed of your tongue. The smirk on his face said a thousand words, namely that he liked your mouth full.

“Go dry off,” he demanded.

You raised an eyebrow, sparing a quick glance at his softening cock. He leaned in immediately, opening the shower door with one push.

“Now.”

The moment you were both acceptably dry enough to be on a bed, you sprawled yourself on it, kneeling at the edge where you could see yourself in the mirror hanging across the bed.

“I’m on the pill, but there are condoms in my toiletries bag if you wanna grab one,” you offered.

His expression took on a gentler look as he approached you, his fingers tracing down the curve of your spine. “Which would you prefer?”

“I…I want to feel you, Cain.”

No more walls, no more running away.

You reached out for him, feeling his hands tremble as they clasped around yours. The mattress creaked and groaned with the addition of his solid frame, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed close to you. This wasn’t what you meant by feel as he held you in an embrace, his nose digging into the nape of your neck.

“Cain?”

“I have been…unfair to you,” he answered.

He turned your face to his, licking gently into your mouth. His lips muffled your moan as his fingers found the heat of your core, pressing into you like he did in the car.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, his fingers stretching you open.

“What sort of question is that?”

A third finger wriggled it’s way into you as his face left your side to bite your shoulder.

“Answer me,” he growled into your skin.

“Ye-s…!” You gasped out when his fingers began pumping harder into you.

“Good.”

His hand wrapped around your neck, gently lifting your head till you could see each other in the mirror. He slipped his fingers out, ignoring how your hips chased them. The tip of his length prodded at your entrance, the blunt and swollen head pushing forward. In the glass, you could see the moment his resolve shattered.

This was it, a song as old as time. Two thumping hearts separated by blood, skin and bone, connecting over a common rhythm. A feverish heat swirled in his chest and spread to his limbs, urging him on. If that wasn’t enough motivation, your soft moans kept him grounded and from retreating to his cave of ice. He was surprisingly gentle, slowly pumping until you could to take all of him, his hips finally meeting yours.

“Cain…Cain,” you begged the moment he stilled. Your muscles contracted around him, your nerves alight with every small shift from the man behind you. The dichotomy was killing you, your muscles relaxing everywhere but where you were both joined, the length of him reaching impossibly deep.

“I know,” he replied, his breath hot against your ear. “Look at us…how well we fit.”

Your eyes met in the mirror where he held your half lidded gaze. You watched him spread his knees and move his other hand from the mattress to slip down your abdomen. His fingers toyed with your swollen bud, rolling and swirling it gently in contrast to his hips setting a rough pace.

“I can’t hear you,” he murmured as you sobbed and moaned. The hand on your neck stuffed one finger past your open mouth, holding your jaw open. “Louder.”

“A-ahh…” was all you could manage until he freed your mouth. You scoffed even as he continued to slam into you, every ridge of him catching along your clenching muscles. “You’re so…b-bossy.”

“If you can give me a show at dinner, then you can give me more,” he said.

His fingers left your clit to stroke your folds and draw attention to where he was stretching you open. He gave you one rough thrust that stole the air from your lungs.

“Do I make myself clear?” Cain asked, his deep voice rumbling near your head. He saw you pout back at him in the mirror and to further his point, he stopped and eased out of you.

“I can finish myself without you,” you said back at him, dragging your fingers over your core and plunging them in. It didn’t feel anywhere near as good but you were on a hair trigger at this rate.

He leaned back and rested on his heels, arms crossed with a smug grin. Your scandalous and over the top moans accompanied the squelching from your fingers. From his angle, he had a great view of your butt in the air and your swollen folds swallowing your fingers. Cain could see you were close, your eyes pinched shut as you chased your end.

A pair of hands gripped your hips, pulling and flipping you. He didn’t give you a chance to complain, his face diving straight for your thighs and licking into you.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You cried, your legs instantly collapsing into jello around his shoulders. 

His tongue flexed and curled, quickly finding the spots that made you cry out louder. He mercifully slipped out of you, only to latch onto your clit and suck. You swore you died for a moment, the room whiting out as your every muscle sung for him and he continued like he couldn’t get enough your quivering form.

“Cain…a-ah, ah, wait—“

A glimmer of silver shone from between your thighs and trapped your words in your throat. He dipped his tongue past your folds one last time and smirked.

“Tagging out so soon?”

“No—“

“Then,” he pushed your thighs open and made movements to hover over you. “Lie back.”

For once, you listened to him, too dazed to say anything. He pressed you against his chest, pinning you down into the mattress with his arms wrapping around your back. Even with the excess slick from your last peak, he had to gently coax you open again and repeat the cycle of slow thrusts.

“Cain.”

He ignored you, his mind made up on the path of least resistance.

“Fuck me,” you panted over his lips. “…Please.”

As the saying goes, fortune favors the bold and the by the book lover you’ve chosen was about to grant your wish. It was a shame the diner didn’t serve Chinese because you were about to snap like a fortune cookie.

He yanked your hips up, bending your knees until the backs of your thighs bumped against his shoulders for every thrust. You were still sensitive from earlier, your every twitch setting his veins ablaze.

And to think, he had been a fool to run from this.

The rest of that saying also mentions fortune favoring the brave and he had admittedly been a bit of a coward. Numerous nights and days were spent utilizing all of his energy not thinking about you when the alternative was so much more satisfying and filled with less heartache and pining. He was going to make it up to you…If you’d want him to.

Your name left his throat in a guttural groan as his hips lost their rhythm. His fingers dug into your skin, marking you for tomorrow. Maybe his face betrayed him, a bit of the loneliness spilling through the cracks of his mask. Whatever it was, your hands slipped around his face and stroked his cheek with a softness only lovers shared, his name a soft chant on your lips as your hips continued to collide into each other.

“I…I’m so c-close…Cain,” you panted.

“I’ve got you.” His hips stuttered and he pulled you flush against his chest, his face buried in your hair. He shuddered, at a loss for words as your walls pulsed erratically around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he added. 

You whined into his shoulder, your nails and hands clamping tightly into the meat of his back. He came with you, holding you close as he emptied himself into the warmth of your sex. Minutes dragged on, the buzzing of a cheap motel clock joining the creaks and groans of the settling spring mattress. A calm fell over your sweaty and entangled bodies while he held you, the ice king far too enchanted by the heat of your body to move first.

“So…Mr. Anderson, I’ll take tonight as an apology for ditching me on New Year’s Eve.”

Fuck. Cain groaned into your neck as his cock hardened inside you from your formality, a deeper red tinting his already flushed cheeks. You were going to be the death of him, reverting him into a raging horny teenager in one night. He heard you giggle as you pieced the puzzle together.

“Am I the only adult in this room?” He deadpanned back at you.

“Phrasing, Mr. Anderson,” you replied.

The driving schedule still demanded an early alarm so he brushed off your banter before he got caught up in another round of sex. There would be other chances to get you to say his last name while on your knees…or bent over a table. As the responsible adult that he was, he brought you a warm and damp towel, coaxing you to resume your bedtime rituals. When you settled back into the bed with him, he joined your side, hugging you closely from behind. From the sound of your drawn out yawn, he made up his mind to take the morning shift. As for when you both reached Detroit…maybe…

“Can I please pick the playlist for tomorrow?” You grumbled.

“Are you going to behave?” He hummed, adding a light nip on your neck. “No more diner theatrics.”

“I’ll be good.” A pause. “Maybe.”

“Then your request has been submitted, pending…good behavior,” he purred into your ear.

“Mhm…Night, Cain,” you murmured sarcastically into a pillow.

His hands clasped around yours as you sleepily returned the gesture. He tightened the embrace, the front of his thighs pressed tightly against the backs of yours.

“Goodnight,” he replied, adding a soothing stroke to your hair. His heart skipped when you sighed.

Cain felt whole for once, a part of something new. 

A crazy little thing called love?

Perhaps only time would tell. For now, he had this, something unlabeled that he had no immediate desire to categorize and shelve. This was intangible, invisible…an invitation to live his life to its fullest.

A chance to live the way his parents did, without guarantees, but with love.

[writtenonreceipts]

Bittersweet challenge: take a sweet prompt and turn it bitter. @jilytoberfest​

Prompt: “Stop making me laugh”

Warnings: angst, parental death, funerals, and general grief/pain.  Modern AU ~2.3k words

find my other jily fics here // AO3 Link

Grow Around the Pain

The fog came on a Tuesday.  Thick and heavy, it clung to the landscape like a glove.  The mist nested into every curved hill and wrapped around every barren tree with such ease it was nearly impossible to remember what the world was like before.

Strange.

Because it was late August where just a week prior the weather had been magnificent with clear blue skies and soaring highs of eighty degrees.  Truly a wonder for that part of the country.  It was talked about and lauded over like some miracle had occurred.  What a wonderful way to end the summer.

And then came Tuesday where everything hid in shadow.

Perhaps it was better this way, Lily decided.  

It was better to have the low hanging clouds and distinct chill in the air to reflect the turmoil sludging through her head then to deal with the juxtaposition of the sun in comparison to the dark alcoves of her mind.

Tuesday was the day her father died.  Now two days later, the fog remained and Lily was expected to play hostess while her mother sat stone-faced in a chair and Petunia couldn’t keep a level head even outside of a crisis.  Not to mention little Dudley was squirming in her lap and Vernon was already boxing in several men to discuss drills.

It was up to Lily to keep the Evans family afloat even if it meant pushing aside her own feelings.

“Thank-you for being here,” she told the Steuers who kept telling her how sorry they were and how terrible it was that she lost her father so young.

“The flowers are beautiful,” she told the Fenwicks who kept telling her that they didn’t even know her father was ill and why had no one told them?

“Please, do come in.” “There are refreshments in the living room.” “Oh, thank-you for the casserole, the kitchen is just over there.”

She had to smile.  She had to laugh.  She had to press everything down.  Because what else was she supposed to do?

The house was full of neighbors and family members alike.  There were people Lily hadn’t seen in years and they were all trying to tell her what she should feel or do.  Between telling people where to stick all the damn casserole dishes and explaining how fine they really were doing—she’d had enough.  Really and truly.

Another greeting card was tucked into her hands with a pitying look from the giver and Lily had enough.  She turned away from the guests still flooding the open house and went to her sister.

“Petunia,” Lily said, kneeling next to where her sister sat.  One year old Dudley was in her lap fussing over the iron grip Petunia kept on him. “Petunia, I’m going upstairs for just a minute, I need you to keep greeting people.”

Her sister stared at her, mouth pursing and eyes wide. “You can’t be serious, Lily.  I have a baby to look after.”

Of course Petunia would say that.  Of course she would use the baby excuse.  Of course this too would be placed on Lily.  She grimaced against the thoughts, flinching back from her sister’s hard glare.

“I can’t do this right now, Petunia,” Lily said.  Amazingly enough her voice was steady, calm.  Everything opposite from what she was feeling inside. “I need you to do this one thing for me.  Five minutes and I’ll be back.”

Petunia tried to protest, but making a scene was one thing she would not do.  For once, proprietary won out in her sister and Lily was grateful.  

She slipped through the small crowd that was taking up the house with as much dignity as she could.  Even as tears began burning the backs of her eyes, Lily somehow managed to offer a few words to those who stopped her.  She had no idea what they said or what she said in return.  All she knew was that she needed to get out.

When she finally managed to make it to the narrow staircase, the tears finally began to tread down her cheeks.  She made it to the second floor and all the way down the hall to her room.  Her room.  The room that had been hers for nineteen years.  She hadn’t left for college, not when dad got sick.  She hadn’t left when Mary invited her to live in the city, not after dad fell the first time.  She hadn’t left for anything.

But now, even as she closed the door with a soft click and was met with the familiar lavender walls and plush blankets of her bed--Lily wanted to be anywhere else.

She only made it a few feet before collapsing at the foot of the bed and sliding to the floor.  Arms wrapped tightly around her middle; Lily shut her eyes.  She could hear the voices of the gathering downstairs leaking up through the floorboards.  She wanted it to disappear.  She wanted to disappear and be anywhere else.

Sometime later—maybe it was only a few minutes—Lily heard the front door open and shut.  New voices joined the fray.  She could have sworn there was something familiar about one of the voices.  Clapping hands, a boisterous laugh.  

Not Petunia.  Not Vernon.  Not her mother. Someone else with a love of fanfare was downstairs.  Lily slumped against her bed and breathed.  Maybe no one would notice if she just stayed up here.  Not if there was someone else playing host for whatever reason.

A set of footsteps thudded up the stairs and paused at the top landing.  Then, slowly, they came down the hall and stopped just outside her door.

She wanted to tell the person to go away.  She couldn’t do this.  Not right now.

There was a soft knock and then her door slowly swung open.

Lily looked up, tears blurring her vision.  Already, she had a quip on her lips and a few choice words to launch at whoever had decided to intrude on her peace.

At first all she saw were the slacks and black converse.  Anyone.  It could have been anyone and she was grappling for a stray shoe she had lying about that she could throw—

“Alright, Evans?”

Of course.

Shutting her eyes, Lily slumped her head back against the edge of the bed and let out a long, shaky sigh.

For as long as she could remember, James Potter had been a staple of the neighborhood.  Not only were his parents well known and accomplished in the time they’d been alive, but James and his little band of friends had been known to wreak havoc in as many ways as possible three hundred and sixty-five days a year.  There may have been an occasional day of reprieve in there but it was hard to say.

James and Lily had not been friends--not really.  More of reluctant accomplices when the time called for it.  They’d grown up side by side, but at a distance.  Side by side by, but running in circles that never met.

James said nothing as he entered the little bedroom and shut the door behind him.  He’d of course been here a total of three other times.  Once when he’d flown a model airplane through her window and decided to climb up the trellis and let himself in.  Once when he’d needed a place to hide from Remus.  Once when he’d come to apologize.

And now.

He took a seat beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and said nothing.

It was just them and the low hum of voices downstairs.

“Sirius is going to lead a karaoke session, I think,” James said after a moment.  “Well, unless Remus can stop him.  Sirius thinks it’ll help lighten the mood downstairs or drive everyone out of the house.”

Lily only listened.

“Peter wants to bake you something,” he continued, “I told him you have enough food in the house, but he insists that this will be baked with spite and anger rather than falsified love.  Which apparently is better somehow.”

She felt a laugh bubble up in her throat, a laugh she did not want to let out.  A laugh that had no business being a part of the universe right now.

“You know Sirius doesn’t have natural reactions to these sorts of things, so hopefully, Remus can talk him down,” James added. “Though, I think he is also trying to determine how many colors he can make Dursely’s face turn in the next hour.”

Lily couldn’t hold back a laugh then.  It was short and strangled, but it was there.  James shifted beside her and she knew he was pleased with himself for that small accomplishment.

“Do you remember four years ago when the pond flooded after that storm?” James asked.  His legs were spread out before him and he drummed a hand on his knee absently.  He’d never been able to sit still for long. “Sirius and I were going to try and snag as many frogs as we could and then stick them in Dursley’s car and then your dad caught us.  He then found these other nets for us to use, bigger to catch more.  He didn’t know what we had planned, but he was more than willing to help us out.”

James’ fingers kept drumming on his leg.

“Or there was also--” James said, but Lily cut him off by grabbing that hand and entwining their fingers.

“Stop,” she whispered, “stop making me laugh.  Please.”

She gave his hand a tight squeeze, tight enough that she was causing herself pain.  But now that she was holding him, she couldn’t quite let go.

James leaned into her and pressed his forehead to her temple.  She could feel the cool metal rims of his glasses against her skin.  It was strange to be this close to him.  It was strange how these boys had managed to become a small part of her life.  How this boy…After years of being his somewhat friends, years of admiring him from afar, years of something different brewing between them—it was strange to have him seated here beside her.

But Lily found she didn’t quite want that to change.

He sighed, his breath fanning against her skin. “I wish I could say it gets easier, Lily.  I really wish I could.”

It had been two years since James’ own parents had died.  Just before his eighteenth birthday.  He knew.  He knew better than anyone.

“It’s okay, y’know?” he said. “It’s okay to feel like you’re falling apart.  You’re allowed to feel this way.”

Lily swallowed stiffly.  She kept holding his hand.  It was the only thing grounding her right now.

“It’s gonna be hard, but you’re gonna be fine.”  

“But what if I’m not?” she whispered. “What if I never am?”

“That’s alright too,” James replied.

Downstairs, Lily could make out the deep inflections of Sirius’s voice.  She didn’t know exactly what he was saying, but it was enough to keep the crowd of the wake occupied.  At some point she would remember to thank Sirius for his antics.  And she’d be sure to tell Peter she appreciated the mass amounts of brownies he’d concocted.  And Remus would be gifted several new pairs of socks for his stalwart nature.

"How did you do it?" She asked. Peeling her eyes open, she chanced a look at James. He was still impossibly close to her. Close enough she could see the way the honey of his eyes mixed with flecks of brown. She'd never quite noticed how bright his eyes really were.

"One day at a time," he said, “or one hour, one minute.  But it’s okay to hurt, Lily.  And it’s okay to find just a little bit of happiness too.”

She wanted to believe him.  Oh, how she wanted to.  But could she?  Could she make it further than this moment?  It had only been three days since her father left and she was still so empty.  And here was James.  He was trying.  He was fighting.  He was doing the best he could.  He was here.

“And it can take as long as it needs to,” James added.  He kept holding her hand, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.

Lily opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but sure that something needed to be said.  And a giant crash sounded from downstairs.

James hummed quietly and quirked one of his grins at her. “Or until Sirius burns your house down.”

She couldn't help but smile at him.  It was a wisp of a thing, but it was there. “If it gets everyone out of here, I won’t mind.  Though, Petunia might end up murdering him, just so you are aware.”

James gave her hand a squeeze. “I give him five more minutes before that happens.”

“Five minutes,” she repeated. She could make it five minutes.

“It’s going to be alright,” James said. “I promise.”

Another noise came from downstairs.  In all honesty, Lily didn’t care.  Sirius could burn the house down, Peter could bake whatever he wanted, and Remus could lay witness to it all.  She didn’t care.  She’d found just a little bit of respite, no matter how brief it may be.

“How can you promise that?” she asked.

James was quiet for a moment, eyes growing distant.  Then he shrugged in nonchalance.

“Because you’re Lily,” he said, “and you’re the strongest person I know.”

Despite it all, Lily found she had to believe him.  And it wasn’t because of the confidence he threw around.  Or the fact he’d been the one person to search her out.  It wasn’t because she’d known him for years as an almost friend.  It was because for the first time since Tuesday, she’d managed to smile.

So maybe he was right.  Maybe she would make it through this.  Someday.

 ...

thanks for reading!

[fanficimagery]

Talking to the Dead

Imagine your sister calling in a favor, only to find out said favor is for the vampire sheriff of Louisiana.

Words: 6.3K Author's Note: I am not Bill's biggest fan, nor am I Eric/Sookie's biggest fan either. That said, this takes place AFTER all damn drama with King Bill. Eric still runs Fangtasia alongside Pam and Sookie still works under Sam at Merlotte's. They're friends. That's it.

Eric sits behind his desk, the bottom half of his face covered in blood as Pam files her nails. She had been going through Fangtasia's books when she realized the money wasn't adding up and that some of their product was missing. So when Tara brought forward those responsible in making sure Fangtasia was up to date with their taxes and everything, Eric called in a favor from Sookie to get a read on them. Only Eric lost his temper and killed the two men, leaving thousands of his money stashed somewhere only the dead knew of now.

The office door opens and Sookie stumbles inside, still in her Merlotte's uniform. She takes one look at Eric and sighs. "Did you have to kill them? I just wasted a trip out here, Eric Northman."

"How tragic," he deadpans. "You wasted about five dollars in gas, meanwhile I'm still out of thousands, Miss Stackhouse."

"Don't you take that tone with me, Mister!"

Pam snorts. "Shame your little fae powers don't allow you to speak to the dead," she drawls. "That would really come in handy right about now." Sookie opens her mouth to defend her still untrained powers, only to pause and snap her mouth shut. Immediately that catches both vampires' attention and Pam leans forward, interest piqued. "Have you been holding out on us, Tinkerbell?"

"No." Sookie scoffs, suddenly overcome with wariness. "But I, uh, I might know someone who-"

"No." Eric cuts her off. "No witches."

"She's not a witch," Sookie says. "Y/N is, um, she's my sister."

Eric freezes before he leans forward in his chair. "There's a third Stackhouse? How come we never learned of this?"

Sookie sighs and drops onto the couch. She shrugs. "Y/N's powers manifested a lot earlier than mine did and they.. well it drove her crazy. She was in and out of the hospital, and the death of our parents didn't do her any favors. She started rebelling at seventeen and drank herself into oblivion. Constantly."

Pam hums. "Sounds like my kind of girl."

Sookie frowns at her before looking back at Eric. "She's actually due for a visit tomorrow. I'll bring her by."

"How are you so sure she'll do this for us? If I recall correctly, you did not come peacefully," Eric muses.

Sookie rolls her eyes. "Y/N is a free spirit. If I hadn't told you she was my sister, you wouldn't have known we were twins."

"Twins?" Eric seems to perk up, eyes lighting up, and this time it's Pam's turn to roll her eyes.

Sookie scoffs. "Don't be gross. We'll be by after my shift tomorrow."

Finding an Uber into Bon Temps after the sun had set was almost impossible, but fortunately you found someone who was willing to make the trip. You knew Louisiana had become a vampire hotspot, but you didn't know people had found traveling in the state quite so fearsome.

You don't have much on you, with the exception of a small suitcase holding a few change of clothes, so you opt to be dropped off at Merlotte's rather than your childhood home. And upon exiting the car after making sure your payment went through, you grab your suitcase by the handle and walk towards the entrance. A few whispers attempt to reach out to you, but you shake off the echoes of death and march on.

There's only a handful of locals inside Merlotte's, but the no-good nosy folk still all stop to see who's entering their local establishment. Inside, the whispers get louder, but you reign in your control and shake your head clear. What the hell happened here that there are so many echoes?

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that my favorite Stackhouse?"

You're already grinning as you find the source of the comment, grin widening as Sam's familiar handsome self makes his way towards you. "Come on, Sam. We all know who your favorite Stackhouse really is?"

He laughs as he opens his arms for a hug and you drop your suitcase to step into his embrace. "Jason's bragging again, isn't he?"

You huff a laugh and pinch his side, the two of you not speaking of all the years he spent pining after your sister. "So where is my twin?" You ask as you pull back and roll your eyes when Sam readily picks up your suitcase.

You follow him to the bar as he says, "She's taking a call in the back. Want me to let her know you're here?"

"Nah, but can you put in an order for me? I miss Lafayette's burgers."

"Sure thing, chère. What do you want?"

"Cheeseburger with everything, cut the onions. Extra ketchup. Fries. And whatever beer you have on tap."

Sam chuckles as he's already pouring your beer. "So the usual." You grin as he slides your glass across the bar. "I'll be back."

Taking a seat on the stool there at the bar, you grab your glass and sip at the ice cold beer. It feels so good sliding down your throat that the sip turns into a gulp, and before you know it half the glass is gone. Needing a breath, you set the glass down and inhale deeply. As you exhale, you burp, and then take a moment to stretch in your seat while glancing around. A few people are still staring and murmuring far too low to their companions for you to hear, so instead you raise an eyebrow at them- challenging them to say their opinion out loud. None of them do and you scoff an amused laugh before drinking the rest of your beer.

Sam reappears. "Long flight?" He takes your glass and refills it.

"Flight was fine. It's the people of Bon Temps who annoy the shit out of me." Sam frowns, but you shrug off his concern as he quickly glances around at those in his establishment. You're well aware of what everyone thinks of you and Sookie thanks to Sookie's abilities, and you're grateful you didn't quite get the same ability as her. If you had to hear every living being's thoughts on top of the dead's, you'd have permanently committed yourself long ago.

"Well I talked to your sister in the back. She said she'll be right out."

"That's fine." Accepting your second glass of beer, you smile gratefully at Sam before taking another drink.

"Girl, I knows you ain't tryin' to eat my food without saying hello."

You turn on your stool, one knee crossed over the other as you beam at the cook. "Lafayette!" He approaches with your plated cheeseburger and a basket of fries, setting them in front of you before pulling you into a hug. "I wouldn't have left without saying hello. I just wanted my food first."

"'Course you did," he muses. "How long you here for, little Stackhouse?"

"Um, I'm kind of between jobs at the moment," you sheepishly admit. You quickly grab a fry and pop it into your mouth. "I'll probably stick around until I can find something or Sookie kicks me out."

Lafayette swats you with his dish towel. "You know damn well Sook won't kick you out. That sister of yours misses you lots. She's been talkin' nonstop about your visit."

"If you need a job, chère, I'll be happy to give you one."

You pop another fry into your mouth, grinning over at Sam. "Lord knows you can barely handle one Stackhouse, Sam. No way in hell you can two- three if Jason is around as much as I'm assuming." Sam opens his mouth to retort, but a shriek cuts him off. It's Sookie and she barrels right into your side. "Jesus Sook," you laugh. "Warn a girl."

As you and Sookie quickly catch up (she's all for you staying as long as you need), more patrons enter Merlotte's and Lafayette's forced back into the kitchen. Jason and his best friend Hoyt walk in, so you walk over to join them as Sookie gets back to work also.

Jason is glad Sookie won't be in the house all on her own since he has his own place and Hoyt is just glad to see all the Stackhouses together once again. You finish your cheeseburger and fries there at the table with them, along with three glasses of beer and two shots courtesy of your brother who wanted to properly celebrate your homecoming.

Jason and Hoyt leave, you waving them off when they asked if you wanted a ride home. Sookie's shift is just about over and you remember her asking if you could wait for her because she wanted to take you someplace. So when Sookie comes out from the back to collect you from the bar, you're slightly swaying on your stool as you grin at her.

"Are you drunk?" She incredulously asks. "Y/N, I need you level headed."

"Ooohhh," you coo and reach out to bop her on the nose. "And just what do I need to be level headed for, sis?"

"Can you walk?" She asks instead. You laugh and nod, hopping off the stool and giving yourself a moment to make sure the room isn't tilting. She sighs. "That's good enough for me. Come on. A friend of mine needs a favor." She walks behind the bar to collect your suitcase and a bottle of water from the small refrigerator under the bar. "Bye, Sam! See you later!" She then calls out as she leads you down a hall. You hear Sam's muffled reply from one door in particular and then Sookie's leading you out the back exit and towards her car.

Outside she opens the passenger door to her small yellow Honda Civic that looks newer than the last time you saw it, and tosses your suitcase in the backseat. She pushes you down onto the passenger seat and holds the water bottle out to you. "Drink."

You take the bottle without a word, twist off the cap, and start to guzzle the water as she shuts the door and walks around the car to the driver's side door. You only get half of it down before needing to breathe. "What.. am I.. guzzling water for?" You ask in between breaths.

As Sookie starts up her car, she casts a wary glance your way before looking back to where she's driving. "Shreveport. We're going to Fangtasia. The owner of the bar needs you to listen to some echoes."

"Fangstasia?" Your brow furrows as you try to wrack your brain about why that sounds so familiar. A moment later, however, the answer comes to you and you groan. "First off, I can overlook the vampire bar. What I can't overlook is that of all people to tell our secret to, you chose vampires. Vampires! Do you know we're like crack to them?"

"I'm sorry, okay! I got involved with them a while back, which is a mistake that I can admit now, but Eric actually tried helping me in his own way. Somewhat. We've become friends."

"Sookie." You groan again. Your sister pouts and you decide to keep quiet, sipping on your water and wishing it were something stronger. "So what does this Eric know about me listening to echoes?"

"Nothing really," she says. "I know how you like your privacy, so last night was the first time I mentioned that I even had a sister." You grin, not hurt at all by her not mentioning you to others. "I just said that you could listen in on the dead. They don't know about anything else."

"Good. I like to keep 'em on their toes." Sookie snorts at your all too amused expression. "And besides, I learned a new trick! I can't wait to test it out."

Your sister glances between you and the road, her smile faltering. "Are you- are you sure you're okay to do this? I know how it can get when you're not truly focused."

"We're on the road." You giggle. "No turning around now."

This time it's Sookie's turn to groan. "I knew I should have asked beforehand. Now the night's gonna end with one of us pinned to a wall."

"Oooh. Kinky."

The rest of the drive is painfully quiet, with the exception of some gospel music station Sookie has playing on low. You're humming a completely different song under your breath, right arm hanging out the window and letting the humid air rush over the skin of your arm. Thankfully the drive isn't too long and Sookie is soon pulling into the parking lot with a building partially decorated with neon red lights. The outside of Fangtasia is not what you expected, but seeing the line of both human and vampires in their scantily clad outfits makes you excited to see what's going on inside.

You're practically bouncing in your seat as Sookie parks and she can't help but grin at your apparent excitement. "Get it all out now," she says. "You won't be smilin' the closer you get to the buildin'. Not while you're half drunk."

"Shut up and let's go!"

Sookie fondly rolls her eyes and the two of you simultaneously pull down the sun visors to check yourselves in the small mirrors provided. Happy with your reflections, the two of you climb out of the vehicle. As your sister comes around to your side, you hook your arm through hers and the two of you head for the building.

Instead of heading straight to the back of line, Sookie leads you directly to Fangtasia's bouncer and ignores the grumbled displeasures of those waiting in line to get in. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the dark skinned female checking ID's, but when she turns to greet Sookie and her eyes widen upon seeing you, you grin. "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

"Oh Lord," Tara muses. "Eric's gonna murder the both of y'all."

Sookie huffs and she holds you back as you attempt to poke at Tara's abdomen. "Who put him in a bad mood now?"

Tara shrugs as she swats your hand away. "It's Eric. He's always in a bad mood unless he's balls deep in some fang-banger."

Your sister ew's and you grin, clearly impressed, until Sookie elbows you. Tara just chuckles and gestures inside. "Go on in. You know where to find him. See you later, Y/N."

"Lookin' forward to it." Sookie drags you inside and the second you step foot in the darkened hallway, you sway on your feet as pressure builds up in your head. "Wait, wait, wait." You step aside to lean against the wall, shaking your head clear and trying to build up mental walls. When you catch a glimpse of your sister, you see her smiling sadly at you and are grateful she doesn't gloat about being right. "This is why I don't hang around vampires much," you murmur. "So much death."

"Sorry. I know I should have asked beforehand, but I didn't want to give you a chance to say no. Eric's annoying when he doesn't get what he wants."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave her off, close your eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Once you feel a bite more settled, you push off the wall and meet your sister's gaze. "Okay. I'm ready."

Entering the main part of the club you can't help but look around in wide-eyed wonder. While most would think you were awe, you actually weren't and instead bit back the comment about how ridiculously cliché the establishment is. Everything is in blacks and reds, vampires in leather or electrical tape are dancing on poles, and the humans reek of desperation.

"Huh. No one's on the throne," Sookie muses.

You glance towards a raised platform, eyes lighting up at the sight of two actual thrones. Sookie's grip on your arm, however, stops you from attempting to go up there. "At least buy me a drink before we meet Mr. Scary Vampire." You pout.

"Nope." She starts marching away from the bar and towards a back hallway. "You're drunk enough already. You can have one at home when we're done here."

"Boo. You're no fun."

Sookie stops right outside a black door and impatiently knocks. You grin at her already huffy attitude and then walk in behind her as soon as someone permits entrance. The office is very plain, with the exception of a blood red couch off to the side and the two vampires behind the desk, and you frown as Sookie guides you towards a black leather chair and pushes you down into it.

"So this is the mysterious Stackhouse." The blonde male drawls.

You drag your gaze from your sister to the vampire in question and sit a little straighter in your seat as a lazy smile stretches across your lips. "And you're the mysterious vampire I've only heard about an hour ago." You then look at your sister. "Please tell me you banged this one."

There are simultaneous snorts from behind the desk and Sookie exhales roughly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Eric. Pam, this is my sister Y/N. She might be a little drunk."

"Just a little," you muse, giggling.

"Well at least we know who the fun Stackhouse is."

You perk up again, putting one finger on the tip of your nose and pointing at Pam who's smirking at you with the other hand. "And don't you forget it."

"As amusing as this is," Eric drawls again, "I need a favor. Are you capable of doing what your sister claims you can do?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't." You smirk. The smirk falters however as you feel a chill slide across the back of your neck. You still and slowly glance over your shoulder, whispers you hadn't been listening to earlier getting louder. You wince and turn back around, strengthening your shields. A moment passes before you clear your throat and say, "But I have two conditions before I start."

Eric and Pam had been watching you closely, intrigued the second Sookie held up her hand to stall their questions when they noticed you zone out and stare at the corner of the room. "Money is no issue," Eric then says.

"Pft. I don't want money."

"Y/N!" Sookie reprimands. "You're in between jobs. Take the money."

Without looking at your sister, you wave your hand at your sister to get her to shut up. You know you've done your job when she swats your hand so you continue speaking to Eric. "First condition, no biting! I don't care how delicious I smell. No gnawing on the tiny little gremlin."

Pam's lips stretch into a wide smile whereas Eric's lips faintly twitch. "And the second?"

"I get free drinks from the bar whenever I'm here."

"Deal."

"Yes!"

"You're such an idiot," Sookie mutters.

You look to your sister, bouncing in your seat in excitement. "Joke's on Dracula. I'm gonna be in Bon Temps for the foreseeable future. That's a lot of free drinks for me. Suck it, Pixie."

"Oohh. I like this mouth breather. Can we please keep her?"

You meet Pam's gaze and wink. "As beautiful as you are, sweet stuff, you are so not my type."

Her left eyebrow raises as she's still clearly amused. "Because I'm a vampire?"

"Nah. Because you're female," you say. "I can appreciate a hot as fuck lady when I see one, but I still prefer cock."

"Okay!" Sookie nearly shouts as she stands up. Eric beams at your drunken blunt attitude. "We're here so Y/N can find out where your money is and we're way off topic. Can we please get on with it so I can get her home?"

You snort. "Prude." Sookie slaps the back of your arm and you squeal, slapping her arm back. You glare at her until her lips twitch and then you're back to giggling, looking back toward the vampires. "So let's do it. Do you have anything of the dead guy I'm supposed to be listening for? It'll make it easier to listen in on him."

Pam shrugs. "His blood is still in the dungeon. Will that work?"

"Gross, but yeah. Lead the way."

As soon as you stand, the voices amp up and you sway at the sudden onslaught of voices. You grit your teeth and tune them out, nodding at Eric who had stilled to keep an eye on you. He gestures to follow after Pam and you do, Sookie and Eric following behind you. Pam makes a beeline for the stage of thrones, but before you can follow there's a hand gripping your wrist and leading you towards a door behind the bar.

You're led down into a dimly lit dungeon behind Eric and you can't help the next words that leave your mouth. "It's always such a let down when the dungeon is actually a dungeon and not a sex dungeon."

Eric turns around to stare at you with a leering gaze and Sookie groans. "Been in a lot of dungeons?"

"Not really." You shrug and walk towards the back of the room where there are metal poles sticking up from the concrete floor. Chains hang from each of them and you shiver as your fingers run over them, the metallic rattling immediately tuning you in to the whispers. Subtly shaking your head, you look towards Sookie. "You know the drill."

She nods, pulling small orange styrofoam plugs from her pocket. "If it looks like you're struggling, plug my ears. Or get out."

"Bingo." You grin at your sister before looking at Eric. "If it gets bad, I expect you to vamp speed her little butt outta here."

"And how would I know what bad looks like?"

"Oh you'll know," Sookie mutters.

Grinning one last time at Sookie and Eric, you turn back towards where Eric obviously chains up those who end up on his bad side. So touching the chains again, you let the rattling and whispers overcome your senses.

"..dangerous. Need to leave."

"..bad place. I just want to go home."

"Stupid fuckin' vampers."

The room turns hazy and silhouettes walk to and from around the basement. You stare at them, letting the voices come and go until you find the one you're looking for.

"..so screwed. Never should have done it." Your gaze zeroes in on the silhouette, watching it pace back and forth. "It was just a little money. Pocket change."

"Never gonna find it. Calm down. We're already dead."

You listen a bit more to their whining, hoping for anything useful when a loud dry sob pierces the air. You wince and whirl around to spot the source of noise.

"Did she- can she hear us?"

"If she can then she can tell that goddamn vamper where his stuff is." You whirl back around, gasping at the too close silhouette. "Hello." A chill rushes through you and your too tense muscles seem to relax as a haze takes over your mind.

"Y/N? You good?" Sookie asks. She warily glances around, she and Eric both noticing the atmosphere in the room thickening.

"Hm?" Your eyes blink rapidly as if clearing your vision. "Yeah. All good," you hear yourself saying.

"Well what did you find out?" Eric asks.

You feel your head turning left and right as if taking in your surroundings before you turn around and walk towards the wall where more chains are hanging. Eric growls at being ignored and Sookie quietly assures him that this is normal. Reaching for a chain, you feel your hand gliding along one chain and picking it up, caressing a metal stake at the end of it.

"Y/N," Sookie cautiously calls out. "What are you doing?"

Getting a good grasp on the stake in one hand, you turn around and smile at Eric- a chilling smile that immediately sets Sookie on edge and lets even Eric know that something is off. "Fuck your money. You're never gonna get it, you dead piece of shit."

"Y/N, don't!" Sookie screams as your arm suddenly thrusts the stake towards the side of your neck, only to stop mere centimeters from the intended target.

Sookie gasps and Eric raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Are her eyes supposed to completely white over?"

"Well she did mention learning a new trick." Sookie nervously shifts beside Eric and they watch you slowly come back to yourself, expression hardening.

Eyes completely white, you stare straight ahead as you lower your hand without any resistance from the spirits. "You dead fucks try that shit again and I will obliterate your fuckin' souls, and mark every soul in your goddamn family. Do I make myself clear?" You seethe. The dungeon gets chilly before the tension seems to suddenly dwindle. The whispers amp up before completely dying out and you stand a little taller. "Good. Now where is the money?"

Eric and Sookie patiently watch Y/N as she lazily glances back and forth before the white recedes from her eyes. Her shoulders sag and she meets Eric's gaze. "That Rafael guy had a building he was renovating over on.. over on.." she trails off, brow furrowing as she tries to collect her thoughts.

"I know of it," Eric says.

She sighs. "Well the money's in the wall on the second floor. Happy demolishing."

Then like a puppet with its strings cut, Y/N collapses right before their very eyes.

          - - - - - - - - - -

A pounding at your temples is what wakes you and you groan as your eyes flutter open. You're apparently still at Fangtasia, back in Eric's plain office and laying on the most uncomfortable couch you've ever laid on.

"You're awake. Good."

You begrudgingly sit up, wincing as the throbbing persists. Glancing around, you frown as you notice you and Eric are the only two in the room. "Where's my sister?"

"Miss Stackhouse couldn't bother a mere hour in my presence so she went out front to pester Tara."

"You two exes or something?"

Not even close. "No. I admit I pursued her once, but it was only to satiate my curiosity about why she smelled so divine." Bill fuckin' Compton was also a cock block of epic proportions.

You snort. "Cock block. Who is Bill and why did he cock block you from Sookie?" Eric stills and he goes quiet. You frown at him and then between one blink and the next, Eric is kneeling in front of you.

Can you hear me?

"Um, yes?" You say. A moment passes and then you realize your slip-up. You groan. "Okay, so yeah. I can't read the minds of humans, but apparently I can read the minds of vampires. It only happens when I'm at my most vulnerable and being slightly possessed makes me vulnerable."

Eric slowly smirks. "Well aren't you my new favorite Stackhouse."

You fall back against the back of the couch, groaning. "Whatever. I don't have the energy to argue with you. Just please don't tell Sookie. She gets all huffy when I can do something she can't."

Another blink and Eric is sitting beside you on the couch. "Is there a reason why you can read vampires and she can read everyone else but vampires?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." You shrug. "I eventually came to the conclusion that we're just a part of different courts. She's Light Fae and I'm Dark. She flourishes under the sun and I under the moon. I don't really know."

"Have you tried getting answers from other Fae?"

"Yeah, no. I met a member of the Fae court and that's a hard pass. Those fairy fucks can keep their imposter foods. I like this realm just fine, thank you very much."

Eric's lips twitch. "If the vampires find out about your powers, they're going to fight to put their claim on you."

"Is that your not so subtle way in trying to convince me that I should ask you for protection?"

"I'm the sheriff of this area, sweetheart. You won't be able to find anyone better suited for the job."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Keep your fangs to yourself, sweetheart. I can take care of myself."

We'll see about that.

Settling in at what was always known as Gran's house, you almost take Sam up on his offer to become a waitress or bartender at Merlotte's. But then a day after doing Eric a favor, a check arrives for you- a check worth thousands of dollars- along with an offer from Eric to work every other day at Fangtasia to read the vampires coming and going from his area.

You didn't get back to him right away, instead choosing to just keep to yourself for a bit and re-familiarize yourself with the town. And then just when you think you have a lid on things, a constant buzzing makes a home just at the back of your skull.

For days Eric tries reaching you through texts and calls, but you just don't have the patience to deal with him. The buzzing is non-stop, the echoes of the dead sound as if they're underwater, and you can't hold a conversation longer than a minute. Sookie seems to understand that you can't be around people, so she leaves you be for the most part.

Your sister is currently at work so you have the house all to yourself. You haven't been able to clear your head and the buzzing is only getting louder and louder. You're nearing your breaking point, so when there's a knock at the front door you try to ignore it.

The knocking persists so you reluctantly roll out of bed, frowning as you march downstairs and towards the front door. Through the screen door you can see Eric standing there. You scowl at him, he grins, and when you push open the door he's immediately leaning against the door jamb. "You've been ignoring me."

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest. "I haven't been feeling well. Something's.. off."

That causes his faint grin to drop. "Is it something serious?"

"I'm not sure. I just- it feels like something bad is on the way."

"Well in that case.." Eric straightens up and stares down at you. "You're going to invite me in so I can protect you-" you scoff, "-or have primal passionate sex with you. You pick."

Though your mind is on overdrive, you can't help but faintly grin at the tall vampire. "I'll take a raincheck on the sex, but if you still want to come in, then come in."

Eric smirks as he crosses the threshold of the house and you shake your head at him before turning around and leading him to the living room. You take a seat in the corner of the couch, curling up with a pillow in your lap, and Eric sits on the middle seat to be as close to you as possible. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Few days now," you tell him. "There's this.. buzz. It's constant and it just keeps getting louder and louder."

"And the voices?"

"Muffled. No matter how much I concentrate, I can't hear them clearly. It's like they're trying to tell me something, but I can't tune in to the right station. It's annoying." Eric hums in thought and you attempt to change the subject. "So what brings you down here to Bon Temps? Surely my first impression wasn't that memorable."

He smirks as his arm rests along the top of the backrest of the couch, his fingers tugging on a few pieces of your hair. "It's rare for someone to amuse me these days. And you weren't what I was expecting Sookie's twin to be."

"Between the two of us, Sookie got all the perkiness. I, uh, I got stuck with all the doom and gloom." Eric quirks an eyebrow at you and you chuckle, wincing a moment later as an lingering echo screeches in your ear. Your attention is immediately drawn towards the kitchen where you see a silhouette walk by and the buzzing amps up.

Without uttering a word, you get up and follow it.

Eric watches as Y/N laughs one moment and then in the next second her expression is completely blank and attention elsewhere. Normally he'd be offended, but after learning what he could from Sookie he knows to never bring Y/N out of a trance. So in order to protect this little fae that just continues to become more and more interesting, Eric gets up and follows Y/N through the kitchen and out the back door.

He keeps several feet between himself and Y/N, his curiosity piqued as he notices her stop in the middle of the field behind her home. She glances back and forth as if searching for something, slowly turning in a circle. She winces and stumbles back, eyes wide and heart pumping furiously. Whatever's going on, Eric's instincts suddenly kick in and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the look of fear on Y/N's face.

One sudden stumble sends Y/N to her knees, hands clamping around her ears.

"No, no, no," you mumble. The buzzing is extremely loud now, voices are screaming but you're still unable to make out what they're saying. Rocking back and forth, you glance around and your heart sinks as you watch Eric standing there across from you. "Go. Get away. I can't-"

"What's wrong? I can help you."

You shake your head. "You can't. You need to go. Get away from me. Please."

Eric watches you and you whimper when you see his resolve strengthen. He's not going anywhere. Clenching your eyes shut against the onslaught of noise, you slam your hands down on the ground in front of you and your fingers dig into the earth. Your breaths come faster and faster, and when you can't take it anymore your eyes fly open as you open your mouth and scream.

Your scream drowns out the buzz, the voices become clearer and it's only there alongside your scream do you understand them. You don't know how long you scream for, but when you stop your throat feels raw.

"What was that?" Eric asks.

"Sookie."

He's immediately kneeling before you, fingers under your chin to tilt your face upward. "What did you say?"

"My sister. She's not- she's not safe."

"She's at work under the ever watchful eye of the shifter."

"She is. Until she walks out back to take out the trash," you say. "Please," you beg. "Just.. just go check on her."

Eric continues to hold your gaze for a moment longer before he gives you a terse nod and then stands tall. Your eyes follow him as she lifts off into the air and it's like a weight is lifted off your chest. You sob in relief, curling in on yourself with your face in your hands.

"..inside.. safer.."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your cries immediately cease. Sniffling, you sit back up and glance around the field you're in. Hearing the chirping insects and the ruffling of tree limbs puts you at unease, so you climb to your feet and hurriedly make your way back towards the house. You don't breathe until you're inside, behind closed doors, but even then you're still a little tense and wondering if your sister is okay.

The minutes tick on by as you pace back and forth in the kitchen, and you yelp when you turn around and Eric is standing right there. You raise a fist in order to punch him, but stop halfway there and instead poke his chest as you push him back a step. "Don't do that."

He smirks. "Sookie is fine. A couple of human junkies needed some money for their next fix. The sheriff is on the way to take care of the issue."

"Thank you." You sigh. As you move aside to take a seat at the table, you glance back at Eric and see a blood trail falling from his ear. Your eyes widen and you rush towards him, uncaring about boundaries when one hand lands on his chest and the other grasping his chin to turn his face sideways. "Your ear! I told you to leave before I screamed. Why didn't you listen?" You let go of his chin and then shove him a step back as you go back to pacing.

Eric chuckles. "You've been keeping secrets. You're not just Fae, are you?"

You shrug. "I'm not really sure what I am. I only found out I was part Fae because you guys told Sookie she was. The mind reading is from Fae abilities, but the screaming-"

"The wailing is a whole different breed."

You stop pacing and face him once more. "There's only one creature that wails," you say, "but I gave up on digging into our family history a long time ago."

"You truly are a rare breed, Miss Stackhouse. Half fae, half banshee. The vampires are going to be in a tizzy over you."

You groan. "A problem is inevitable until I agree to a claim, isn't it?"

"Aren't you a smart cookie."

You scowl at Eric then, holding his gaze until you sigh. "If I say yes to a claim, can I have your word that you won't take advantage?" He smiles then and though this vampire is ridiculously good looking, you rather not be someone's pet. But alas, you know he's right. "If the offer for a job at Fangtasia is still open, I'll take it. I don't plan to leave Bon Temps anytime soon and I'm going to need the cash."

"Sweetheart, if you agree to be mine I'll give you all the cash you could want."

Your nose wrinkles. "I'm so gonna regret this." There's a faint click! as Eric's fangs appear, his eyes darkening as he readily bites into his wrist. "Don't tell my sister."

Drink up, little one. We're going to have some fun.

[kindness-ricochets]

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

[formulatrash]

hi! It’s totally fair if you don’t want to answer this question for whatever reason but, do you think there are any drivers in F1 that are part of the LGBTQ+ community? I don’t want to speculate on anyone’s sexuality, but it is a bit disheartening at times to see no representation whatsoever in the sport that I love so dearly... at the same time, it’s nobody’s duty to become a symbol for the community just because they’re a part of it, so I’d understand if they wanted to keep that low key, especially considering the amount of fans that would hate them for that only. It just makes me sad sometimes, not gonna lie.

I'm not gonna speculate publicly in any specific way, obviously. But statistically, it is impossible that there have never been LGBTQ+ F1 drivers - and actually there were two out ones, in Mike Beuttler (who sadly died of AIDS) and Lella Lombardi.

In other series, there are openly out drivers - in fact W Series seem to be basically incapable of stopping the drivers getting together, which is awesome and they should do it. And also kinda gives a lie to the idea rivals wouldn't.

There is a split between women's and men's sports in that basically sporting ladies seem to be like "wow, fit women time to openly drool over each other" and men being more pressured to keep it strictly no homo. It's nice that F1 drivers lately have been definitely more comfortable with being affectionate to each other and with deviating from very restrictive ideas of masculinity, although obviously that does not in any way imply their sexualities or gender status.

I think there are many reasons to be optimistic that an F1 driver could come out. Motorsport's landscape has changed - and the world, too - but of course, as you say, being the first is a sucky job and not, heh, one of the good kind.

Would they face some challenges? For sure. Some locations would be difficult - the UK, for instance, if a driver came out as trans. God, just imagining the thinkpieces from TERFs has made me nearly pass out.

I am sure there are LGBTQ+ people in the paddock beyond, whether that's in the media cohort (I mean, lmao, I am typing this why do I always exclude myself lol) or in the garages. And of course, the fans. As much as F1 talks about (even pre-pandemic) existing in its own bubble, of course it does not and while demographics are often skewed towards wealth and white western europeans, that doesn't affect the distribution of LGBTQ+ people.

Will it be godawful for the person who takes the first step? Yeah. You can't get away from the fact casual homophobia is pretty rife in F1, I'm regularly appalled by the sort of shitty jokes members of the media - who you'd think might be a bit less stuck in the jurassic period - will default to. Lots of people in F1 think they're a bit hardcore, that that's part of the image of the sport and it comes with both a strict conservatism and edgelord tendencies.

I think, with the right support, though, they'd be ok. Drivers generally have much better support systems now than ever before and god knows, it's cus they need 'em. From social media to the immediacy of reaction, everything from onboards to team radio to their Insta likes is under scrutiny and of course, that's gonna feel pretty oppressive in some ways.

(I know I hate it, as someone who gets a low-level version of it on Twitter)

But would their team or sponsors or the sport at large lose faith? No. And there would be, in the torrent of horrible stuff that's inevitable with any of these things, such support and inspiration.

It's a bit of a burden, being a figurehead and it's very easy to see why, for example, Lewis shrugged it off for a lot of his career because fuck knows, everyone's got enough to be getting on with with just the basic challenges of the career let alone having to be a representative. And it's why, with aspects you're not able to hide, people struggle - whether that's race, gender or whatever.

Living in the closet isn't a very satisfying option, though; which is the most convincing argument for how there might not have been any LGBTQ+ drivers other than the ones we know about. But it's more likely they grinned and bore it, of course. History's littered with people who never got to truly live as themselves.

It's very good having someone like Matt Bishop in a prominent role in F1. Because he can speak beyond the theoretical; that a team can welcome a gay head of communications and the paddock will have to and can work with them. That he's in a relative position of power is great because it means people can't chat shit and that means for someone without that relative power, they're protected by extension.

Who knows when more LGBTQ+ people will come along to the sport - but I think there's reason to be hopeful that they can be there.

[hyenahunt]

Beast Survival - 8 [END]

Writer: Nishioka Maiko

Season: Summer

Proofreading: royalquintet (JP & ENG)

Hiyori: After all, Jun-kun, you had the ambition to haul yourself up from that bottom rung, the spirit to stand up against those above you, and the determination to cling onto that opportunity.

[Location: Starmony Hall Courtyard]

Leo: Munch, munch, chew—

Aira: Nom, nom — this is the best ♪ It's delicious~! I never knew food could taste sooo good~ ♪

Tatsumi: I wouldn't have thought you'd be able to fish up a sea bream of all things, Jun-san. Impressive work.

Jun: Oh no, it was all luck, honestly. Right back at you, Kazehaya-senpai — thanks so much for handling all the food prep right away.

By stacking up some rocks together, you managed to make us all a simple stove ♪ [1]

Tatsumi: I read about it in a book once, some time ago. Who would have thought it'd come in handy as an idol?

And all that aside, you really went above and beyond in trying out a real-life survival game for the sake of getting into your role.

Jun: Nahhh, at first I just got swept up in the whole thing, really.

But if I'm gonna take up this stageplay role as a professional, I can't give 'em some half-assed work, so I decided to take this chance to really get into character.

Tatsumi: Hmm. Jun-san, you're truly diligent.

Jun: Mmm. Rather than diligence... you could say it's something like pride, maybe.

This is gonna be my first time performing in a stageplay, but that makes no difference to the audience.

Whether it's a big name or a newbie up there performing the lead role, guests still pay the same amount to come and see 'em...

So I believe it's only right that an actor shouldn't betray their level of experience to the audience.

Well, even if I say all that, my lack of experience is gonna jump out in some way.

It'll take time to build up experience, no matter what. There's no way I could rack it all up in a day, right?

But when it comes to learning my role, there's at least something I can do. That's what I figured, anyway.

If it really was something I couldn't do anything about, I would've resigned myself to it, but I don't wanna say something's impossible without even trying it first.

That's the pride I have as a pro in the making, after all.

Tatsumi: Heheh. That sort of attitude is most befitting of an actual professional, and to continue holding onto it is truly a challenge.

So, how did it go? Have you gotten a better grasp on your role?

Jun: Mm, well... Thanks to this experience, I've gained a newfound appreciation for things I normally have around me and my own abilities.

I feel like I now understand what it's like to be in a situation where I've no choice but to do everything with my own two hands, but I don't think I can really say I've completely gotten a grip on my role yet...

Since I'm no prince, much less one who's gotten exiled from his kingdom, I can't quite wrap my head around the sheer weight of responsibilities someone like that's gotta deal with.

Though my old man's a former idol, I grew up in a pretty average household, after all.

Tatsumi: ...Hmm. Jun-san, aren't you overthinking this a little?

Jun: Am I?

Tatsumi: Yes. You took such an impossible mission upon yourself, faced it squarely, and even accomplished it without ever throwing in the towel.

That kind of tenacious spirit and resolve would stay with you no matter what shape or form you take, don't you think?

Jun: ...!

Leo: Hey now~! You two over there! Quit floating off into your own little world and get over here~!

I've just had a flood of inspiration burst forth! Let's sing a survival song with everyone!

Aira: That's riiight! The veggie foil packs are gonna get all burnt, y'knooow!

Tatsumi: Ahh, so they are. I'll be right with you.

Jun: (I get it now... I'd thought I didn't know anything about the animal kingdom, but I was only judging things by my own standards.)

(Though I didn't realise it at first, all the things I felt today could be the very same things animals living out there in the wild experience, huh.)

Leo: Heeey! Namiii~! Hurry up and get over here, toooo~!

Aira: What he saaaid! Sazanami-senpaiii~!

Jun: (Maybe the Hyena Prince would feel all these things, too.)

(What a rag-tag, fun, and reliable group. If this band of merry men is the one I'm gonna be taking back my kingdom with, then well, I guess things aren't so bad after all ♪ )

I heard ya clear as day~ I'm comin' over now—!

✦✦✦✦✦

[Location: ES Breakroom]

Jun: Heya, thanks for all your hard work today. Huh? Are you the only one here, Ohii-san?

Hiyori: It seems Adam's running late at their current gig. Work is work so there's no way around it, but keeping me waiting is unacceptable!

Jun: Now, now. I'm sure they're gonna come by soon. Want some tea while you wait?

It looks like they've brought in that black tea you've been wanting to try, Ohii-san. Shall I brew some for you?

Hiyori: Yes, yes. But of course, you shouldn't even need to ask. It's a given that you brew tea for me, yes? It should be as natural as breathing for you!

Jun: There's seriously something wrong with your personality... Ohii-san.

Hiyori: What's this? Jun-kun, you seem like you've made some kind of breakthrough. That's a fine weather! A little while ago you were going around looking like you were dead inside. Did you manage to master your role?

Jun: Mmm~ Well, you could say I'm finally standing on the starting line.

Right, speaking of which. Ohii-san, you told me the other day that I was a good fit for this hyena role, didn't you?

And that I'd just have to remember why. What was that all about?

Hiyori: Hm? — Ahh, yes.

Jun-kun, you were a non-special student, weren't you? As a result, you had no more merit than a pebble on the roadside.

After all, that's the kind of system that school had, but...

Like a messiah, I extended my hand of salvation to you and lifted you up from that place. That's why you should be all the more grateful towards me, of course.

Jun: You really don't have to be so annoying about it, but I mean, it's true. I'm always telling you how grateful I am, aren't I?

But what does that have to do with what you said, Ohii-san?

Hiyori: Well, it's not like I chose you on a complete whim, of course.

After all, Jun-kun, you had the ambition to haul yourself up from that bottom rung, the spirit to stand up against those above you, and the determination to cling onto that opportunity.

That's the very Jun-kun I chose... and with a role like an exiled hyena prince, returning to reclaim his kingdom with the help of his friends — there's no way it wouldn't suit you, right?

Jun: ......!

Hiyori: As I've told you once before, you're a noble beast who can't tell lies. [2]

And you see, that's why I extended a hand to you. Isn't my foresight incredible!

Jun: Can you stop flattering yourself with everything you say? It really doesn't feel like I'm the one being praised at all.

Hiyori: I'm just saying it as it is, of course!

Now, if you just think back to those days in Reimei Academy, to when you'd first met me, then that alone would be enough for you to play the Hyena Prince better than anyone else.

Jun: ...So that's what you mean. If that's the case, then I feel like I could keep playing him all the way until the end. Those days are carved right into my soul, after all.

Hiyori: Exactly! That's why out of everyone out there, you're the one who has to play him! Jun-kun, no one else would understand the Hyena Prince better than you!

Jun: Well then, I should know just how to reply, shouldn't I?

"I'll swallow up all the fruits of your charity, and all the days I've lived through up 'til now — and then I'll show you how I've grown strong enough to hunt my own prey!" [2]

✦✦✦✦✦

Translation Notes:

[1]: Specifically a kamado, a traditional Japanese wood/charcoal-fueled cook stove.

[2]: These lines are a direct reference to quotes in Saga - Release 4 (which will hopefully be back up soon!)

✦✦✦✦✦

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[hillbillyoracle]

Some Thoughts on Why White Pagans Need to Heal Their Relationships with Christianity

Note: I've been trying to write a piece like this for months and the only way I know how to write this is to be very vulnerable and personal. So just please keep that in mind as you read this. It isn't very refined and it's something I'm still very much in process with, to borrow a phrase from my charismatic Christian upbringing. It's more a diary entry than a finished piece and none of these thoughts are original or eloquent. My hope it's helpful to see someone thinking through these things though.

If you're white and you don't want to further colonization and imperialism in your spirituality, then going back to Christianity in some form is pretty necessary; to do the work of decolonizing it's doctrines and to prevent taking from traditions that aren't ours.

This is just the conclusion I've arrived at after a lot shadow working in and around both my ancestors and my religious trauma. My ancestors aren't all white Europeans. But given that I'm white and I don't have any way to carry on the traditions of those that weren't, I feel like the best way to honor those non-white ancestors is to go back to the spiritual traditions I do have access to and doing the work of reshaping them into something less harmful.

I have read and intellectually understood that culture forms the foundation of spirituality and that when you remove something from it's originating culture, that concept or tool no longer works properly, if at all. In working with my non-white ancestors, I really got it on a practical and emotional level. There was this sense that they'd love for me to know their traditions but that it required an understanding that just isn't possible for me given my upbringing and disconnection - "you don't know the words and there's no way to find a person who can teach you" as one ancestor put it. It was an important reminder that "this isn't for white people" isn't merely a categorical assertion but a cultural and practical one.

They've generally asked I stick to practices I have a cultural grounding in when honoring them, even though it is not theirs - the cultural and linguistic element is that important to them. They would rather an authentic expression of gratitude and care through a ritual that isn't theirs rather than an imitation of one that is or being left out of my practice all together. Which makes sense to me in a relational way I hadn't fully grasped before.

In working with my white ancestors, I've come to more viscerally understand that the present understanding of Christianity is wildly different than other historical understandings. One thing that surprised me was that some of my more recent ancestors have expressed more discomfort around my queerness and transness than many of my older ancestors but both root their understanding in the Bible. I enjoyed one ancestor who, when I explained that I'm partnered with a woman, to mean that I would have a life of service - "no men to distract you from God" - which I mean is not wrong on several levels. It really highlighted for me that Christian doctrine is far more flexible than I'd initially thought. It challenged ideas I'd picked up through traumatic religious experiences. So much of what I'd assumed was Christianity itself seems to be more Christianity right now.

The historical angle is really important me. One of the things that drove my interest in Paganism was trying to understand what came before Christianity, to connect with whatever had been cut off in that process. The more I've come to learn about imperialism within Europe - how various empires conquered and destroyed localized traditions indigenous to parts of Europe - it clicked for me that my white ancestors did to others what had been done to them. It is intergenerational trauma in a nutshell.

It's also striking to me that so many people term the traditions pagans pull from as "dead" religions or at the very least "not living". For years I took that to mean they were "safe" to take from, that I wouldn't hurt anyone by doing so. But I hadn't really understood the weight of what "dead" meant - that there was no one left alive who could teach me, that I can't live in a context where all of the beliefs, tools, and traditions make intuitive sense. And if it was important to my ancestors who had had a connection to their traditions, then what was I missing by reanimating these traditions without that link?

I don't have a full visceral understanding of what I'm missing to be honest. I have a feeling that'll develop as my practice evolves. But that question alone has marked a pretty important change in how I understand myself spiritually.

The living and cultural element to my practice is more important to me now. For me, just given the family, community, and area I was raised in, that means Christianity is the living tradition I have access to and I've been revisiting it. I was reading an interview the other day with someone who is both a Catholic theologian and a practicing Buddhist. I liked the way he put it when he referred to Catholicism as "one of his sources of wisdom". That better captures my relationship with Christianity that's been unfolding over the last few months.

Making sure that intergenerational spiritual trauma stops as much as possible with me is really important. I had mistakenly thought that meant abandoning Christianity all together, that it was the problem. Which in hindsight, is fucking wild - I hugely fucked up there. There's nothing stopping me from just enacting the harm I learned in the context of Christianity in a different context, a Pagan context. It doesn't get to the root of the issue. At the end of the day, I just want to be sure I do not use my religion, any religion, to further the harms of structural inequality and colonial oppression. That's the goal.

In reading around about this, I've come to feel pretty strongly that one of the best ways to work toward that is to strive toward animism. Animism has been a great antidote to the spiritual entitlement that colonial religions cultivate (including white paganism). Animism also builds a relational spirituality rather than a goal/individual centered one. White paganism isn't inherently animistic since white culture teaches values that undermine quality relationships - individualism, competitiveness, and seeking domination of some fashion in order to feel safe. An animistic lens requires you unlearn those values and cultivate new ones - mutuality, respect, and accountability.

So all this is to say that given my current understanding, I think trying to build a practice out of New Age concepts while trying to avoid appropriation sounds impossible and hellish. I also think it doesn't deal with the work that needs done. I'm choosing to take an animist lens to the living traditions I do have to see if that's a better space for both my spirituality and my evolving understand of decolonizing to grow in.

People will rightly question my use of the term "shadow work" given this perspective. Shadow work is a problematic term for a lot of different reasons that are beyond the scope of this piece.  Where I'm at with it right now is that most western religious traditions seem to have some understanding of what we might call shadow work which points to it being important and useful. However they all used different terms given their contexts so I'm still unsure of what term might be the most appropriate given where I'm at. So for right now, you might see me use it less in the title or body of work I write from here on out, but I still might use it as a tag to make it findable. There's a good shot this doesn't go far enough and I'm not sold on this approach. Just know it's something I'm trying to figure out.

So that's where I'm at right now. I think white pagans really need to be more serious about animism at minimum and hopefully also looking at the role living religious traditions play in their current practice as well. I think white pagans' unhealed reactivity around Christianity too often serves as a justification for spiritual appropriation and furthering colonial harm. Changes are definitely needed. What that looks like in practice for individuals will likely vary a ton. I'd love to hear from other folks doing work in this vein. What's worked for you so far? What hasn't? Where are you in the process?

[xirenex]

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The Ex

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Group: Ateez

Member: Jung Wooyoung

Genre: Suggestive, kind of angst

jung wooyoung x fem! reader - bratty reader, marking

Your ex interrupts you on your birthday night to clear things out.

Word count: 1.427

Warnings: mentions of toxic relationship, swearing

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You felt the seat next to you fill with a familiar presence and furrowed your brows while taking a sip from your cocktail. Sitting by yourself on the bar stool, you were enjoying the pleasant air after the party. It was expected for you to cross paths with your ex since your best friend, the birthday girl, had his best friend as her boyfriend but you had been hoping that he would act ignorant to your presence. However being him, it had never been an option in the first place. You were foolish to think so.

“Jung Wooyoung.”

“Y/S/N Y/N”

You both acknowledged the other’s presence but refused to turn your head and see the other’s face. The party was taking place in a cafe that was used as a lounge bar during the night and it was rented out for the night by the birthday girl who was currently in her boyfriend’s embrace. Since the following day was your birthday, you decided as a group to stay in the hotel who consisted this floor as a lounge. As the hour approached to midnight, the party started dying down, none of you were young enough to go crazy for the night and get wasted but instead, most of the people preferred engaging in other physical activities. Your eyes went to where the couple was standing without even bothering to see your ex’s handsome face, Yeosang cuddling your best friend from behind.

“I wonder if we used to look like that...”

Wooyoung murmured, vocalizing your thoughts while he took a casual sip from his drink with his eyes focused forward.

“Because it looks gross.”

The last part, surely you didn’t agree with. Contrary to Wooyoung, Yeosang was the boyfriend that all girls would wish for. For the first time since he sat next to you, you turned to face him, your anger and mocking expression, as usual, obvious on your face.

“It was gross but it was because you were the one doing it. They look cute and you are a brute for denying that.”

A smirk appeared on his lips while he leaned forward as if he was challenging you.

“Oh... so I guess you were into the part where we used to do what Mingi and your bestie is doing downstairs, hidden in a room, right?”

You sighed. He was impossible, arrogant and was getting on your nerves. An unconscious scoff left you as you got your purse and stood up from the bar stool. As you were speaking, you pulled down your skirt as it had went upwards while you were seated.

“As if. You were the worst kisser I’ve ever had a relationship with.”

A big fat lie.

He was perfect in only sexual area and oh boy, wasn’t he aware of it. That was exactly why, you literally disappeared from his side like a magic trick before he could make an opposing remark. Being single was simply perfect during the days when you have just broken up. You loved being able to do what you wanted to without the necessity of asking, waiting or informing someone else. Jung Wooyoung was one of the most jealous and petty partners you’ve ever been with if not the hardest. He definitely was not good for your self esteem since he never resisted other girls coming onto him and never made you feel precious emotionally. He seemed like a good boyfriend from the outside but it was all an illusion created in your head by your attraction towards the men that your friends warned you about.

After all, it started as a fling.

You found yourself being tied to him each day he ran after you in campus. It was just like the Stockholm Syndrome. The line between consent and obligation blurred as you spent time together.

Sex was fine but on an emotional level, you were exhausted. However, the thing that made you snap wasn’t his lack of attention towards you but the fact that another woman answered his call when he was supposed to be abroad on a family trip.

On days like these where your best friends were all lovey-dovey with their significant others and your low alcohol tolerance pushed you to go for the first man you saw, as if your hormones were never stable enough, you wanted someone to stand by your side and accompany you.

Like your passionately clingy ex Jung Wooyoung never did.

To be honest, he tried his best, although his best was way below the average.

By the time you returned to the real world and got rid of the thoughts of the past on your mind created by the emotions, you realized you’ve arrived on your floor in hotel. The elevator came to a stop with a common sound of “ding” and you walked towards your room. In the elevator, just before you got out, you managed to send a text to the birthday girl to inform that you’ll be returning to your room tonight for some rest. Then, you stepped in to your room, hoping for a bath... or so you thought. Strong arms pushed you in before closing the door to trap you between his arms and looked at you straight in the eye.

“The problem is, honey, I was your only true relationship. Knowing you, you wouldn’t stand anyone who didn’t know how to please you.”

He said, giving you the reply you didn’t allow him to upstairs. You had no idea how he managed to follow you to your room without you realizing but you could feel yourself turning red from anger from the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Jung Wooyoung, get out.”

He made no attempt to draw away but instead, he lowered himself down. He was playing you just like a cat playing with its prey.

“You are not being fair to yourself, kitten.”

A slap landed on his face which left a mark. You knew that your hand would hurt after the effect of the adrenaline took off but it was only a small concern when you considered the predator before you. Just when you escaped from the cage formed by his arms and was turning around to get into the restroom so that he could see himself out, he pushed you back, this time making sure to pin your arms to to wall on top of you with a single hand easily.

“I hate you.”

You hissed, suiting to your pet name. Instead of bothering to reply, he grabbed your bottom lip with his and sucked on it hard enough to leave a mark. It was aggressive but hot, although you would never say it to his face. Therefore, you chose to bite his. If you could not make him leave, you would annoy him to death. That was one of the things you were good at. After all, your teacher was him.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He rubbed the point between his brows and breathed in with his eyes closed. In reality, he was actually quite sad thinking about the way you strongly rejected him. Everything in your relationship consisted misunderstandings but both of you were too lazy and he was kind of stupid for not pulling you down to sit in order to have a genuine conversation where you two confronted each other because you had no idea what he was going through behind the stage. That, frankly, boiled your blood even more: being left in the dark where you watched as your relationship grew colder was more suffocating than you initially thought.

“Let me go.”

You ordered.

“And leave my room while I’m still asking you nicely.”

He was strong but you were not weak either, you could throw him out since, somehow, you were sure he wouldn’t hurt you. Opening his eyes to look you in the eye once more, you realized that his irises turned darker.

“Oh no, kitten. No one’s leaving this place until you spill every single rubbish in your heart, mind or wherever it is.”

It was not something you were used to but he was fed up. Something was glinting dangerously in his eyes.

“Although I would never call most of the things that would come out of your body rubbish... Anyways, like this, we can have a celebration of our own for your birthday, too, right?”

You gulped. There was a long night waiting for you.

On contrary, the throbbing part of your lower body was looking forward to this confrontation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi again :) I’m back with a Wooyoung one shot. I hope you are doing well. As for me, the college entrance exam is just around the corner so it’s kind of stressing these days... ANYWAYS I would like to say that I get requests even if I may not be able to write it immediately so... yeah :) I hope you have a nice day/night wherever you are.

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[champagne-bucky]

Rebel,Rebel

Summary: Peter doesn’t like a disobedient girl.

Warnings: Dark! Peter Parker (18+) x female reader, non-con/dub-con, knife play, face fucking, begging, humiliation kink, squirting, smut, fondling, hand job, anal play

Notes: Hehe, sooo this challenge is very very late and I’m very very sorry. I’d like to apologize to @mariessecretfantasies​ for being soooo late. Anyways I hope you enjoy this one!! 

“WHAT YOU DID WAS INCREDIBLY STUPID. I CANNOT PUT INTO WORDS HOW CARELESS AND CHILDISH YOUR ACTIONS WERE! I SHOULD HAVE YOU SUSPENDED, NO-“

You tried your hardest to stop the growing smirk on your face as Fury yelled at you. You may or may not have almost killed yourself and others while executing a life or death mission. The key work here was almost.

Being a new recruit was no walk in the park. Other agents were constantly belittling your actions and questioning your position with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, you showed them though. With every mission and every time you trained, you made sure to go above and beyond and prove every single one of those people wrong. As a result, a lot of agents became jealous and would do anything they could to ruin your credibility. Which brings you to Fury still yelling in your face.

It’s not like you were completely reckless, you made sure to carefully calculate everything you did so that you wouldn’t risk putting anyone in actual danger. Yes, that mission was technically very poorly executed, but it’s not your fault. Truthfully, the original plan would have cost people their lives if it wasn’t thanks to your quick thinking that saved everyone.

The only reason you were being yelled at instead of praised was because your incompetent teammates didn’t want to question the mission captain and think of a new plan. You were a hero, but those stubborn asses would never admit it.

“You really have me backed into a corner here, Agent,” Fury sighed as he rubbed his face.

“My desk is filled with complaints about your negligence to the team. Even your mission captain wants you suspended indefinitely,” you huffed.

“The only reason everyone complains about me is because they can’t be me. Everything they do, I do it ten times better than they could ever dream of. Even the lousy mission captain couldn’t think of a more brilliant plan than mine. You all should be thanking me really,” Fury raised his brows.

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, you should be thanking me because I’m the only competent one here willing to risk it all to save innocent people. Sorry you only hired people that were too afraid to get their hands dirty, what a sad sad team we have here,” Fury looked as if he wanted to chew your head off more, but for the sake of his already high blood pressure and an impending migraine, he decided against it.

“You know what I’m willing to do for you, Agent,” it didn’t take Fury long to come up with a plan.

“What, Nicholas,” you loved poking at his nerves. The vain in his forehead looked as if it were about to burst.

“I’m going to assign you to our Avengers program,” you gasped internally. The Avenger program? Does that mean-

“Don’t get it twisted. This program does not mean you’ll become an Avenger. This is a shadow program. You’ll be able to go on mission with your Avenger, go to their meetings, press conferences, you get the point,” you scoffed.

“And you’re doing all this for what?” Fury rolled his eyes.

“You may be able to get away with a lot of shit as an agent, but the Avengers are on a whole other level. One slip up and you're done. This program is gonna teach you just how we do things here at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury leaned over the desk to be eye level with you.

You thought about giving him more attitude, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Even though Fury wasn’t saying it, he was pretty much saying that this program could mean a spot on the Avengers, right? Finally, you were all that hard work was giving you the recognition you deserve.

“Alright, Fury, I’ll join your little program. So, who do I get. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Agent Romanoff, someone who matches my intelligence and skill set?” You leaned back in your chair with a smug smirk. Fury matched yours.

“I believe a shadow program is well below their pay grade. I was thinking of assigning you to someone who was a little like yourself. I think Peter Parker would be the perfect match for you,” your eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Peter Parker? Him? Oh, Nick, you gotta be kidding me? He doesn’t even go on real missions! He just helps old ladies cross the street, scares punk teens from shoplifting, he’s not even a real Avenger!”

“Mr. Parker is way more qualified than being a neighborhood watchmen, Agent. He’s on the team because he is one of the best. You can learn a thing or two from him. He, very much like yourself, was a big rule breaker too, still is if you ask me. The only reason we haven’t kicked him off yet is because Tony Stark has a soft spot for the kid.”

You tried to argue your way out of being with Peter, but Fury insisted or you would be met with suspension. You grumbled and trudged your way out of his office. Fury mentioned before you left that Peter would be in contact with you shortly. You slammed the door before he got his last words out.

“And don’t forget, follow the rules or be faced with the consequences,” you mocked his words under your breath as you stormed back to the agent’s wing of the compound.

__

Peter couldn’t believe the phone call he had just gotten from Fury. More importantly he couldn’t believe who was going to be shadowing him. After all this time being in the Avengers program, no one ever wanted to pick him, but you, his crush, well his heart was just bursting at its seams.

“What’s gotten you all smiley, Spidey,” Sam took a seat next to him on the couch.

“N-Nothing, I just got off the phone with Director Fury, he says someone requested me for the shadow program,” Sam laughed.

“And that’s what’s making you get all blushing and giddy? Gee, you not getting enough attention at home?” Peter rolled his eyes at Sam.

“No, it’s, it’s just this girl that I’ve liked for some time. Apparently she wanted me to be her guide.”

“Who is she?” Once Peter said your name, Sam’s eyes lit up in fear.

“Aww no man, you don’t want to be messing around with her,” Peter’s face fell.

“Why not?”

“Well, rumor has it she’s kind of a rebel.”

“Kind of?”

“From what I hear from other agents, she’s always breaking protocol, almost always putting people in danger, risking lives, not a good look if you ask me. Come to think of it, why didn’t Fury deny her application?”

“Maybe he thinks I can be a good influence on her,” Peter smiled and nudged Sam’s arm.

“Pfft, when pigs fly,” Sam got up and walked away leaving Peter to write out an informative email to you.

“Just be careful with her is all I’m saying, kid.”

Peter ignored him as he pulled up his email and began to write to you.

__

Your alarm was blaring way too early in the morning for your liking. Peter insisted on starting everyday at 6 a.m. because “crime always starts early”, or something stupid like that. You two had only been with each other for a week and it was pure torture for you.

Peter on the other hand indulged in the time he got to spend with you. So far, Sam was being proven wrong about your rebel status. He always made sure you were to follow the book no matter how defiant the look in your eyes was becoming. Maybe you only followed the rules because of him, he’d like to think.

“Peterrrrrrr,” you whined.

“Whattttt,” he mimicked with a laugh.

“This shit is taking too long. Can’t we just-“

“Nope,” Peter interrupted.

“But-“

“Nada.”

“Peter-“

“I believe the correct word we are looking for is no,” you wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Peter there is an easier way to do this,” you tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“You mean there’s the wrong way to do this. I was given my instructions and now we will follow them, AS PLANNED OUT. If you don’t like how the Avengers run things, then maybe you should rethink your status in the program,” Peter stated as he kept his eyes locked on the bank.

This is what it’s been like for the entire week. You were starting to get agitated beyond belief by Peter’s smugness. What a cruel joke Fury decided to play on you. First, he makes Peter your partner, the most useless of all the Avengers when it came to missions and crime fighting. Next, his unwillingness to go off book for one measly second. If Peter could’ve known how much time he’d be saving by just bending the rules a little, he might be able to take on more serious tasks, unlike this stupid bank robbery tipoff he received earlier today.

Nevermind the other laundry list of reasons why you can’t stand Peter Parker and his dopey grin. Right now, you are thinking of good reasons why it would be impossible to get away with the murder of the most annoying person to ever walk the planet, in your opinion. While you were doing your own plotting, Peter was trying to keep his focus on the potential robbery and not the woman of his dreams next to him

__

The robbers made their move around 4 a.m. After countless hours of hearing Peter ramble on about Star Wars, chemistry, and his web fluid stuff you were thankful to end the night with some action. Peter made sure to take the lead while you were waiting at the back of the bank for a back up call. A stupid strategy, but supposedly Peter knew what was best and refused to go against orders.

Peter surprised the robbers by swinging himself down from the ceiling. There were four men trying to attack him and Peter fought every single one off without taking a breath. However, as things were going seemingly well they took a turn for the worst when one robber pulled out his gun and started to shoot. Peter faltered his steps and quickly dodged a bullet headed straight for his knee. During all this time you were watching from a small window, he still refused to call you for back up.

“Parker, you need my help, tap me in,” you said through your earpiece.

“No, no, uhh, I got it, thanks,” Peter responded quickly while dodging another bullet, this time to his shoulder.

“Parker, you're failing out there,” there was no response from Peter as he kept trying to tame the situation.

You huffed and decided to get to work. You really didn’t want to screw up your chances with this program, but you were left no choice. The line between Peter’s incompetence and stubbornness finally frayed and you just about had to butt in.

“I’m saving his life, I’m not breaking the rules… right?”

__

Peter was now tackled to the ground by two of the robbers. The one with the gun was reloading his bullets and the other was taking the money out of the machine. Somewhere along the line, they seemed to have damaged a part of his suit and he was bleeding out. That weakness alone was enough for the robbers to use all their strength and hold him down,

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spider-Man,” Peter started to freak out. Was it too late to call you?

“Hey boss, why don’t we see who’s under the mask,” one of the men holding him down said.

The “boss” agreed and began to walk his way towards Peter. He started to hyperventilate at the thought of not only his life ending, but his identity would be exposed.

The robber started to put his hands on the material of his mask, but not before he halted his actions and fell to the ground. Peter was stunned as were the rest of the men, but not for long.

“Hey, who’s that,” one man said as you came down from the ceiling where Peter had entered.

You have your few weapons at the ready and no time to waste. It had already been a long day and you were angry and exhausted. It took no time for you to wipe out the robbers and alert authorities of what went down. The men were hurt badly, but they should be okay, maybe.

Sirens were becoming louder as you quickly grabbed Peter and hauled him out of the back door and into the car. You whipped off his mask and started to check him for any injuries. When you went to touch a bruise on his face, he swatted your hand away.

“What did I tell you?” He said angrily.

“Peter I-“

“I said I would call you for backup and you defied me,” he pressed a button on his suit and it disappeared to his normal clothes.

“Peter you were choking out there! If I would’ve waited for your call you probably would’ve been dead by then! I saved your life, the least you could say is thank you,” you rolled your eyes and slumped back into your seat.

“Thank you? Y/N you blatantly went against my orders and did your own thing. Do you not have any respect for me?”

Your jaw dropped as Peter spoke those words. You cannot believe how irrational this boy was behaving. He was in trouble and you offered to help him.

“You know what Peter? No, no I don’t respect you. You were close to dying and I came in and saved your helpless ass. I have never met somebody so dimmwhitted, so stubborn, so incompetent, so STUPID, and so so SO annoying as you, Peter Parker. Come to think of it? How are you even an Avenger? Aren’t they supposed to have more than the one brain cell you seem to possess? Do they just let anybody be an Avenger or do we all have to suck up to Tony Stark just to get a spot on the team?”

“Get out,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“What? Can’t handle the criticism?” You laughed as Peter slammed his hand on the center console, creating a dent.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” you were surprised at Peter’s tone of voice.

“Get out, get out of this car before you make me do something I’ll regret,” your eyes went wide as you got out of the car and started to run home.

__

Peter cried that night after he kicked you out of the car. Nobody, not even Mr. Stark talked to him the way you had. The girl he fantasized about each night had called him stupid, annoying, and possibly more hateful words in the English language synonymous to the ones she had said in the car.

Peter needed to take the weekend to himself to process everything. His heart was crushed and his emotions were conflicted. Even after all those terrible words, he still had some feelings for you. How could someone so perfect for him be so cruel to him at the same time?

He avoided everyone at the compound for the weekend. Usually he’d spend the few days there to work on some new tech with Mr. Stark or train with Bucky and Sam, but you lived there too and he couldn’t face you at the moment.

Peter was also screening calls from Fury. At the end of every mission with you, Fury would demand a status report. Peter would always have positive things to say about you, but this time he wouldn’t even know what to tell Fury.

After a movie with MJ and Ned to clear his head, Peter walked back home to the small apartment he shared with his Aunt May. He felt a little better after seeing some friends, but his heart still had a pang in it from your words. Was he really as annoying as you said he was?

Peter didn’t dwell on his thoughts for long before he felt himself getting pulled off the sidewalk and into a sleek black car. He tried to fight off whoever pulled him in, but he stopped struggling once he heard the ring of his cell phone.

“So, it does work,” Fury ended the call and scowled at Peter. “Any reason you haven’t been answering me?”

Peter took a deep gulp as he figured out what he was supposed to say. “Director Fury, I-”

“She finally cracked you,” he simply stated as Peter nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t know what to say because I’m afraid of how you’d react.”

“And what did she say?” Fury questioned.

When Peter told him the whole story from the robbery to her hateful words in the car, Fury just about had blown a fuse.

“SHE WHAT?” Fury expected the absolute worst from you, he’ll admit that, but blatantly insulting her superior crossed a huge line for him.

“Director Fury, I have it all-”

“No, Parker, I’m in the driver’s seat now. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Fury called for the driver of his car to take off.

“Fury, please, just let me handle this,” it took a lot of convincing, but Fury came to an agreement with Peter.

“If you don’t get rid of her attitude and I find out that she continues to talk to you the way that she did, I’m terminating her position with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury had no time for further discussion as he basically pushed Peter out of the car and sped out of Queens.

Oh, Peter was going to do all he could to make her obey him. It didn’t matter how he was going to train her, but when the time is right he’ll make his dreams come true. Peter was going to make his fantasies come true.

__

After about a week of no Peter Parker, the Avenger was back and surprisingly better than ever. He made no mention of the car incident and you didn’t want to bring it up either. In fact, Peter seemed to be his happy, normal self while the two of you trained together for an upcoming mission. He was cracking the same jokes and still rambling your ears off about the usual stuff. It shocked you to say the least, he held no ill will for you because of that night. Maybe he finally wised up and was starting to see things your way.

It seems as if lately Peter has become more lax with you. He didn’t get mad when you were just a little late for training sessions or when you would begin your back talk with him. It was as if Peter changed overnight into a completely chill person. Not that you minded at all, you would definitely be taking advantage of his easy going personality.

However, you did notice something in his eyes that you never seen before. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was almost like whenever you too got a little rough during training, he would enjoy it and try to push the limit. Maybe it was all a test to see how far your strength could go? Whatever it was, it kept you curious. Peter was acting different, but not too far off from his normal self.

“We have a mission tonight at the docks. Be ready at 10 and we can take turns being watch,” was all Peter said to you before he left the gym to go off with Mr. Stark.

You weren’t used to going on a mission so late. Peter always wanted to arrive at missions early just in case he was being fooled by a criminal. Of course, he always ended up being wrong and everything would happen later at night than in broad daylight (you tried telling him that and he simply waved you off).

__

You quickly rushed back to your room, slamming the door and triple checking that the locks were in place. The events from tonight’s mission left you speechless, shocked, horrified. Never in your life had you gotten out of a car and booked it to your room so fast. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, New York’s favorite defender, had done an unspeakable act.

It started out like always, just sitting in the car hiding out. Peter wasn’t talking as much so you decided you wouldn’t make conversation either. It was only until the criminals came to the docks where it all went downhill.

Peter told you the same thing he always had, he’ll call you if backup is needed. Of course, Peter found himself in hot water yet again and you decided to intervene. Only this time, you were met with more than just yelling and a kick out of the car.

“You didn’t listen,” the tone in Peter’s voice changed.

“Peter, c’mon now you were in trouble,” you began to speak, but he quickly cut you off.

“You didn’t listen, and now you’re gonna have to be punished,” Peter had a dangerous look in his eyes that scared you.

“Peter, if you’re gonna throw me out again I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. You know I don’t get why you have to be so stubborn all the damn time, if you just-,” as you were going to open the door, you heard the lock click.

“You didn’t listen, you need to be punished,” Peter began to lean closer to you as you pulled harder on the door.

“Peter, PETER,” you screamed as he put his hand on the front zipper of your top.

“Take this off,” you stayed still, “NOW!”

You rushed to take your top off and avoided the tears forming in your eyes. You fumbled with the zipper towards the bottom and Peter groaned impatiently. He grabbed the top and tore it off of you only leaving you in a bra.

You tried to look away from him and cover yourself in the process, but Peter wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed you by the chin with one hand as the other made its way to your chest. You tried to fight his intentions, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Stop moving. I’ll make this worse for you,” he grabbed your chin harder and you stopped trying to move.

He dipped his fingers into one of the cups and began to fondle your chest. Once Peter found your nipple, he circled it with the tip of his thumb. Peter was moaning as soon as it hardened. He never took his eyes off of you.

“Take off the bra,” Peter gave you a look that dared you to defy him. You quickly got rid of the bra and he took it and threw it in the back seat.

Peter was in awe, you were as beautiful as he imagined. Your bare chest and the tears in your eyes made him hard as a rock. He took his hand off your chin and began to palm himself through his suit.

Peter made his suit retract back into his regular clothing. He took your hands and placed them over the palm of his jeans. He pressed your hands down as you bit back a terrified whimper.

“Why don’t you help me out, yeah?” It wasn’t a suggestion judging by the look in his eyes.

You pulled down his zipper and didn’t go any further than that. Peter chuckled at you and brought your hand into the inside of his boxers. You couldn’t form any type of sounds as he made you hand travel through his patch of hair and up his cock. Peter was impressive, but there was no room for a pleasantly shocked emotion.

“Now take him out and finish what you started,” Peter pulled down his boxers and fully exposed himself to you.

You started off slow with a shaky rhythm. Who could ever be confident and cool in a situation like yours? Peter didn’t seem to like what you were doing and put his hand on top of yours. He guided you up and down his cock and took it off once he gave you a pace.

“Don’t be shy, go faster,” you picked up the pace as you saw Peter swipe some precum off his tip and shoved his finger into your mouth.

He didn’t even have to say anything to get you to start licking his fingers. You closed your eyes and Peter didn’t seem to stop you. The faster this was over with the faster you could finally be home.

After a fast few pumps, he was ready to come undone. He slowed you down and then demanded you picked up the pace. You were told to open your eyes and look at him, but you would close them again after a short few seconds. When he finally did cum, he brought your body close to his cock and let it all spill out on your chest. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and baffled that Spider-Man would take advantage of someone like you.

You opened your eyes once you heard the beep of a phone. Peter had his phone out and was taking a video of the whole thing. He took an additional few pictures and stashed his phone away in case you tried to grab it.

“You might want to clean yourself up, won’t take long to get back home,” Peter tucked himself away and started the car.

When you arrived at the compound you darted out of the car before he could say or do anything further to you. If he wanted to talk he would have to call you now.

You shed yourself of your clothes and began to scrub your body down. No matter how hot the water and how hard you scrubbed, the feeling of Peter on you will forever remain. You took a few showers once you thought the scent and act of Peter had washed off of you. When you left your bathroom it was well past 2 a.m.

Making sure the doors were locked for the hundredth time that night, you finally settled down into bed. You tossed and turned for the next hour until you heard your phone buzz. Not thinking anything of it, you picked it up to see who could be texting you so late at night. Your heart dropped once you saw the messages.

One after another Peter was sending you the videos and pictures that he had taken. Each one made your stomach turn more and more. He was mocking you.

Don’t ever disobey me again or I’ll send these out to everyone.

__

It took a lot to impress Nick Fury after everything he’s seen and been through. Alien invasions, aliens, cat aliens, raccoon aliens… a lot of aliens. However, nothing could’ve impressed him more than reading your progress report from Peter this morning. It took all of Fury not to frame the report and send emails to all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the news of this miracle.

It’s true, over the past weeks you’ve been ever so obedient to Peter. You didn’t move unless he told you to move, didn’t speak until given permission to, he had you right where he wanted you and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you thought of telling someone of his mannerisms towards you he would hold out his phone and get the file containing all those pictures ready in a “Send All” email.

Fortunately, Peter never touched you like that night again. True to his word, you would only be treated that way if you ever went against him again. Needless to say, you were walking on something sharper than egg shells. He would tease you spook you relentlessly, even going as far as locking the car door just to see you jump.

Even late at night he would spam your phone with obscene text messages just to taunt you. Sometimes he would send you photos of himself and when he asked for some in return, you had no choice but to give in. Day by day, this man was messing with you and you had no way of outing him.

Peter would be hot on your trail if he saw you making your way to Fury’s office. He would stop you before you could even get to his office corridor. Peter couldn’t have this getting out, his credibility would be ruined and Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers would see to it.

He wasn’t happy about what he did, but he didn’t feel a lot of guilt either. What he did that night in the car set something diabolical off in him. It felt good to take what he wanted right there and then. Peter couldn't help but be a little prideful about what he did. He even hinted to Sam a few times that something might’ve happened between you and him.

While he was gloating you were scheming your way into telling Fury what happened. You can’t go anywhere near the man without Peter right beside you, and you can’t call Fury because he never seems to answer his phone. In fact, Fury has been out of the office more and more lately, perhaps keeping up with the other Avengers or being involved with more aliens.

Regardless of what it was, the next time you saw Fury in person you would say something.

__

You finished off your makeup and were now putting on the expensive dress your fellow agents coaxed you into buying for the party tonight. The material was tight and it was a little hard to breathe, but you’d get through it. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and nerves as you checked your hair one more time before heading off to the gala.

Every year, the Stark x S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was held to promote and spread awareness for local and international charities across the globe. You never had an interest in going before, but this year you were bugged by the other agents to go and Peter had expressed his interest in your presence at the party. If you didn’t show you were afraid of what he might pull in your absence.

The hotel was extravagant, from the way it was decorated to the mass amounts of people in their expensive suits and elegant gowns. You scanned the room for Peter, but saw no sign of him. He was either taking photos with the Avengers or watching you from afar, and you wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

While you didn’t see him you got to work finding Fury. You went through the humongous crowd of people just to see if you could catch a glimpse of him, you even started to ask around, but no one seemed to know where he could be. It felt like forever and you were beginning to lose hope that you would never find him. If anything was going to happen it had to be tonight.

A tap on your shoulder stopped you in your hectic search. You knew who it was just by the clear of his throat. You faced Peter with a nervous smile on your face as opposed to the devilish one on his.

“I‘ve been looking for you all night,” Peter drank in your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You squirmed under his gaze while he lingered a little too long for your liking. When he was finally done ogling you, you saw the lust in his eyes grow. You gulped as he extended his hand.

“Dance with me?” The band started to play a slow song.

You looked at his hand and then up to his eyes which dared you to say now. Reluctantly, you grabbed his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Immediately, a few wandering eyes were on yours and Peter’s figure as he led the first dance.

“You know I’ve been thinking. Since you’ve been so perfect lately, I was going to recommend you to Stark for a spot on the Avengers,” your skin formed bumps as he spun you around.

“Could you imagine that? My obedient little angel fighting alongside me. Ugh, could there be anything more perfect?”

You were about to speak, but the music had stopped and all attention was directed to the stage. Up walks Fury and Tony Stark, Fury was first to take the podium and began his long speech about the gala and what supporting these charities means to him and everyone here tonight. You kept your eyes on him the entire time and ignored the words Peter was trying to whisper in your ear. You only started listening to him when he squeezed your waist hard causing you to yelp.

“I said, why don’t we go back to my room when this is all over, huh?” You froze when he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Peter, don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” He hummed in disagreement with you and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nonsense, I don’t even know why I asked, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter anyways,” the fucker laughed.

Your body was shaking and your face was turning red in anger. Peter was going to hold you down forever. There was no way you could ever escape someone as evil as him. Peter had a hold on you for as long as he wanted. You only had one chance to escape it seems and Fury had to be your ticket out.

Before you could form a response Fury handed over the mic to Tony. Fury stepped off the stage and you kept your eyes on him for the entire time. He was making his way out of the gala and you needed to be fast in order to catch him. Peter seemed too distracted by what Tony was saying so you loosened yourself out of his grip and stood beside him. Peter only glared at you for doing that, but you didn’t care, tonight would be the night you take down Peter Parker.

Slowly, you slinked away into the crowd as a round of applause sounded off for whatever Tony was saying. Peter didn’t seem to notice you leave and that’s when you took off. People were giving you disgusted looks as you began to run out of the ballroom and chase Fury.

You almost lost him in the elevators, but you took the steps and ran once you saw what floor he was heading to. You shucked off your heels and ran up the many steps to catch him. When you got to his floor, you pushed the stairwell door open and ran after him.

“Director F-,” you face planted.

Your ankles were tangled by some sort of slim rope and they wouldn’t come undone. Fury’s footsteps faded and new ones approached your struggling body. A pair of expensive shoes stopped right by your head as the body leaned down. You came eye to eye with an angry Peter Parker.

“Rebel, rebel,” he shook his head and hauled you up. You were beating on his back the entire time as tears formed in your eyes. The rope-like material was his webs which kept you trapped.

He went back in the stairwell and carried you up a few more flights until he came to his floor. The hallways were empty as everyone was still at the party. You tried to yell, but it only got you a harsh slap on your ass.

Peter stopped in front of his door and opened it. The second he closed it he threw you on the middle of the bed. He made his way to his suitcase and took out a pocket knife. You were screaming uncontrollably and he began to cut the webs loose. You knew better than to fight with a man with a knife, let alone Spider-Man with a knife.

“Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress,” Peter noticed the small tear towards the end of your gown and tore up the rest. “Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,” he looked at your makeup stained face. He put his thumb near your lips and began to smudge lipstick around your face.

“Rebel, rebel, what are we going to do about you?” Peter took off the rest of your dress. The only thing you were in was a lace thong. Peter licked his lips and began to trace the knife down your breast.

You were shaking, afraid that he might dig the knife deeper into your skin. Afraid that he was so mad at you he would go as far as to kill you. You started to whimper as Peter looked up. The smirk on his face grew wider and wider.

“Beg for me not to hurt you. Beg like the good little angel you are,” you were so close to not giving in, but Peter dug the tip of the blade into your skin just enough to pinch it.

“Please Peter, please, please don’t hurt me Peter,” he hummed in a way to tell you that he wasn’t convinced by the performance.

“Please Peter, I’ll do anything to please you. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Please Peter, I’m so sorry for being bad,” you were hysterical as he moved the knife further down your body. When he reached your center he chuckled and threw the knife to the other side of the room. He roughly grabbed you by your scalp and made you come face to face with him.

“Anything?” You shook your head in agreement. “Alright, I wanna fuck that naughty mouth.”

Peter pulled off his suit pants and became complete bare from the waist down. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. He didn’t give you any time to get used to his size as he put all of himself in your mouth. He grabbed you scalp rougher this time and pushed your head up and down. Tears formed in your eyes again as you were forced to take him down your throat. He was a moaning and groaning mess until his thrust started to falter. Peter quickly pulled out watching in awe and the trail of saliva connected from your mouth to his cock.

Peter quickly sat you up and ripped off your underwear in the process. He started to rub his fingers along your folds where he found that you were wet. He smirked and chuckled as he continued rubbing up and down to make you become slicker than before. You tried biting back your moans, but Peter would only press down harder on your clit which caused you to cry out.

“See, I’m not so bad, princess. I could be good to you if you’re good to me,” he removed his fingers and pushed you down on the mattress.

“Peter, please,” you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or urge you on.

“I know honey, I know. Just lay down and let me make you feel good,” Peter rid himself of the rest of his clothes and slotted himself between your legs.

His tip began to enter you and the rest of his length painfully stretched you out. You squirmed a little, but Peter reassured you it would feel better soon. Sure, he wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since the last guy and you were a bit tight.

“Oh, angel, you really do feel like heaven,” he started to thrust a little faster.

Pretty soon, Peter was getting really rough with his thrust and making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Peter got carried away and didn’t realize how fast he was going on you. You felt an orgasm building and were trying to communicate that to Peter but couldn’t form the words. Peter felt you tighten around him just a little too hard and he took that as the signal to pull out. After all, he did want to see his crush cum, for him and only him.

You felt the rush of your orgasm after Peter pulled out. When you looked up at him, his chest was covered in the slick sheen of sweat mixed with your arousal.

“Holy shit, you squirted. That’s got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter went back inside you and hoisted himself on his knees and making you face to face with him. “I wanna see that again, and again, and a hundred more times.

He didn’t slow down no matter how many times you tried to beg and plead. Peter ripped out orgasm after orgasm from you and it only coaxed him to go harder and faster. Your bodies were covered in each other’s sweat and you were beginning to get a little tired. However, your eyes quickly shook away their tiredness when you felt fingers prodding your other hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” and as Peter continued his thrusting, he pushed one finger into your tight muscle and pounded into you harder.

“Aww fuck this feels so good,” Peter cried out one last time and finally came inside you.

You both collapsed onto the bed still connected to each other. Tears formed in your eyes once the shock wore off. He had finally gotten what he wanted from you.

__

Only a week went by when you had finally heard from Fury again. This time, he wanted to speak with you privately in his office. Your time with the Avengers program was up and he wanted to give his final thoughts.

“Well Agent, I am shocked to be saying this, but I am thoroughly impressed by your behavior with Peter. A little rough in the beginning, but I’m glad to see you both worked through your differences,” you wanted to scoff, but you wouldn't put a damper on Fury’s mood.

After that night in the hotel, the sex became a regular thing. Peter would demand and you were forced to give in. His punishments were still ongoing as he was still mad at you for trying to snitch on him to Fury, but now that the program has ended you and Peter Parker wouldn’t be seeing each other at all.

“And because of your improving behavior I’ve decided to push through your request,” you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Request?”

“You know, your request to join the Avengers team officially. Parker has been raving about your skills and training that we decided to recommend you for a spot on the team. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Stark for a few interviews and sessions, but seeing as Peter has talked so fondly of you there is no doubt in my mind you wouldn't be offered the spot.”

You stayed frozen in your seat as Fury went on and on about you. You only left when he dismissed you, reminding you that Tony Stark would be contacting you soon.

When you shut the door behind you, you began to freak out. Peter was planning on keeping you as his. At this point, there would be no way out unless you either die, face embarrassment and let the video get leaked, or wait around until Peter gets bored. Knowing Peter and his fatal attraction to you none of those could happen.

On your way back to your room, you heard the familiar footsteps you’ve grown too disgusted to know. You turned around to face the man who would be running you entire life for who knows how long. Just as you were about to speak he opened his mouth first.

“Rebel, rebel, there you are.”

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 4

"Tch!"  Your forearm blocked a particularly heavy strike from Childe.  It was sure to be bruised tomorrow, but the pain was so freeing.  Maybe you should be attacking the Fatui more often if fighting made you feel THIS good.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," Childe smirked.  "I haven't even gotten to see you use your vision yet!"

The lanterns lighting the city below vaguely illuminated the mountainside in which the two of you were fighting.  It was the perfect view of both city and sea.  Childe was interested in seeing the fantastic firework show, but the way things were going right now, he was more interested in testing your limits.

"Enough about that already," you growled and thrust your elbow into his side.  The small 'oomph' that he exhaled made you a little too happy.  He's wanted a fight with you ever since he came back that day, and even more so since you reunited.  Who were you to refuse him now?  Sure, you've refused in the past, but the anger and bitterness that came flooding back while you were at the festival needed  relief.  Ajax needed to know how much he hurt you all those years ago, whether you directly told him or not.  

Childe, oblivious to the reason behind your sudden willingness to fight, was more than delighted to fight you.  You must've been pretty desperate to change the subject of your phobia if you chose fighting as the alternative!  That didn't stop him from feeling a little bad for pushing the subject, but the thrill of battle soon overcame the guilt and a new fascination overwhelmed his senses.

He was right.  You are like him, even if it's just when you're angry.  He can hone that: train you into becoming a warrior to be reckoned with.  Childe held no intentions to convince you to join the Fatui, but instead prevent your potential from being wasted.  He'd give you the opportunity to grow from amateur to expert.  If you managed to surprise him in this moment, only archons would know exactly what he thought of you.

The harbinger steadied himself and threw his forearm out in time to block your swing, then countered with one of his own to your gut.  It wasn't often that he trained in hand-to-hand combat, but that didn't make him any less deadly.  He had to pull his punches to prevent from hurting you--though if we're being honest, he completely forgot to do that after the first couple minutes.  It's not like you minded anyway. Childe was also slightly impressed at your strength; your looks were definitely deceiving and it worked to your advantage.  He had underestimated you.

No wonder his men were complaining about the vigilante so much.

He caught your roundhouse kick aimed for his head and threw you off balance.  The grass didn't soften your landing.  The sole of his boot sat square in the middle of your chest as he towered over you.  "Not bad," he praised with a raising of his lips.  "I can see why you chose antagonizing the Fatui as a hobby."  Something flashed in your eyes, but Childe wasn't sure what it was.

Your fist slammed into the side of his knee, knocking him off of you.  As he fell you grabbed his arm so he'd land on his back.  You were the one on top of him now with your knees pinning his shoulders into the grass.  "Do you even remember?"  

Childe blinked, and the bloodlust and thrill that was in his eyes was gone.  Remember?  What are--  You were struggling with something dark; your hands pulled the grass out from besides his head, eyes wavering with the slightest bit of hope swirling in the depths of pain.  Seeing your expression, Childe parted his lips to speak.  "Reed--?"

"Heh, forget it," you sniffed, swiping the bottom of your nose with your thumb and sitting up straighter as you vacantly analyzed the blood that now painted your finger.

BOOM! C-r-a-c-k-l-e....!

The Mingxiao lantern exploded somewhere behind you.  The lights from the explosives cast a prolonged glow that illuminated Childe beneath you, but you were still staring at your hand.  It was hard not to think about that night with your father.  What could you have done to change the outcome?  What could have helped you reach Ajax when he returned a different child?  Based on your fight just now, he's never stopped looking for something to take his anger out on; a cruel contrast to the friendly toy seller demeanor.  Meanwhile, Childe: What would've happened if you had fallen into the Abyss with him?  

The lights were beautiful from Childe's point of view, but not for the common reason; they were blocked out save for the ones peeking out from behind your shoulders and head.  You were backlit with bright colors--reds, blues, greens, yellows and oranges.  Each cast a soft glow to your silhouette.  The thoughtful look on your face while you refused to look his way was enticing, what with the sweat that slowly rolled down your temple and the forming bruises splattering across your arms.  And the bloody nose he gave you--the blood that slowly trickled its way down to your upper lip--sent a pleasurable chill down his spine.  You were a breathtaking mess of art.

He briefly wondered if you thought the same of him, but you never glanced down even after the lights of the lantern had faded.

...................

A few miles westward, at the base of Mount Tianheng. Ten minutes before the release of the Mingxiao lantern.

"Alright boys," a dark figure emerged from the shadows of the mountain and scanned the crowd of twenty-plus men all dressed in black robes.  The gruff voice that erupted from the man was enough to silence the hushed whispers between comrades in arms.  "Our scouts confirm the whereabouts of the target in the Northland Bank.  Security is minimal as expected.  Our primary objective is to retrieve those documents.  Understood?"

Silent nods all around.  Not one uttered a word, their obedience absolute.  This was the man that compensated them fairly compared to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.  Injustices laid out against them by their superiors in the Liyue division of the Fatui will be paid in due time. Now that there were enough committed to the cause, the master's plan will be put into action.

"The Fatui will fall," he bellowed.

"The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall!"  The servicemen dispersed as quickly as they heeded his words, shouts of determination fading into murmurs then silence.

"Charlie," the leader gestured towards his right-hand man.  "A word."

"Yes, sir?"  The brunette's wolf-like ears perked up at the voice of his master.  It wasn't unusual that he was given a separate mission during times like this, so he prepared himself with a jaw clenched in anticipation.

"Though I doubt any of them would be caught in this operation by either party, I am not risking you for...obvious reasons.  I have a separate matter to discuss with you."  Eyes like a snake's watched Charlie with both thoughtfulness and pride.  Charlie was by far the most trustworthy, being one of the few recruits that were in this group the longest.  He's succeeded all expectations, to say the least.  "You've mentioned before about a rogue citizen attacking the Liyue Fatui?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any new information on them?"

"Well," Charlie shifted his weight to his other foot and pulled at the collar of his jacket.  "According to one of the agents, it's a she.  The lack of evidence she leaves during expeditions indicate she's had some time to plot her attacks and escape routes...she's more of a threat to them than those who are joining our ranks--at least on the agent-level.  Master Childe seems rather unconcerned with her."

"I see.  Well, if you're up for a greater challenge, find her.  And when you do, recruit her.  With her skillset, the destruction of the Liyue Division will happen a lot faster."

"Yes, sir."  This challenge wouldn't be easy.  It was unusual for there to be someone like him in the ranks of the Fatui, but perhaps this could be an advantage for finding this vigilante that's been the talk of the Fatui for so long.

....................

Childe had parted ways with you a few minutes ago and decided to check in with the bank before bed.  The city streets were still bustling with partiers and night owls, so he took the shortcut through neighboring alleyways to avoid the foot traffic.  

He still couldn't figure out why you went quiet after sparring.  Wasn't sure if he missed something--a cue, a word, a phrase...what was it?  And why was it bugging him so much?  His chest was tight and palms sweaty, his heart was even racing a bit.  It was unusual for him to be so on-edge.  His worries were rudely interrupted when he reached the stairs that led up to the bank.  

Millelith.

"Why aren't you helping us?! We told you everything we know! We need those documents back!"  Nadia was practically screaming at one of the authorities.  "I told you, those documents are im--" Spotting Childe, she let out a sigh of relief.  "Oh thank Her Majesty--We've been robbed, Master Childe."

"Robbed?"

"Mm, yes.  The safe was broken into, but not a single mora was taken.  The reception desk is in disarray, as is Andrei's office...papers are strewn about this way and that, and the documents Andrei was holding for you are missing."

"...I see."

"And these...these imbeciles aren't helping!  They're saying there's nothing to do but make a report!"

"I understand the situation.  I'll be taking it from here.  Please return to your post, Nadia."

She turned on her heel.  "Yes sir!"

Childe faced the Millelith again now that it was just him and them remaining.  "Any leads?"

"N-No, sir." The taller one, who was seemingly the one in charge of the investigation, held a stern expression as he stared eye-to-eye with the harbinger.  "No witnesses.  Whoever pulled this off did so with help.  The theory is at least five people were involved."

"Five?"  Childe couldn't help but scoff at such a ridiculous idea.  "And there were no witnesses at all? That's not possible."

"Sir--"

"No! You don't understand.  That's impossible.  Our security is too tight for even one person to slip through.  There had to be someone.  Are you sure you crosschecked those who are on duty?"

The guard just shrugged.  He wasn't even interested in hearing what Childe had to say!  Even the other guards that were accompanying him appeared bored and even annoyed that they had to deal with the Fatui.

Seeing this, the harbinger pulled at his hair.  Steady now, he reminded himself, Don't lose your temper here.  "If I may, I'd like to speak with your leading supervisor."

"You're lookin' at him," the lead guard answered with an arrogant smirk that pissed Childe off even more.

"Tch--Whoever's in charge of you."

"Sorry, but he's off-duty at the moment.  You can speak with him at the civil affairs tomorrow evening."

"Right."  Childe grit his teeth and took an extra deep breath to calm himself.  Of course, it didn't work.  Damn them!  If I could have it my way, they'd be lying in a pool of their own blood right here and now for their audacity to ignore a crime against us--We fund them, for crying out loud! Perhaps I should send for the Tsaritsa's wisdom-- If it weren't for Lady Signora keeping him in the dark in regards to Morax's gnosis, he wouldn't feel like a dog on a tight leash right now.  The great weapon of war forced to heel for the sake of the cryo archon's image.  Childe made his way for Andrei's office with clenched fists.

Sure enough, it was trashed.  Every document, every book, every folder lay strewn about or trampled on.  Nadia and another agent were busy sorting through and placing each in their respective places; Andrei was out near the docks so it would be awhile before anyone managed to get ahold of him...

Childe knelt at the safe under the desk that sat before the set of double-paned windows.  It was empty.  Every single letter from the Tsaritsa was inside; each detailing next and future steps for the Fatui and Northland Bank; classified documents that updated him of the politics occurring in the Motherland; evidence of...certain matters that would no doubt give the Qixing enough power to ban the presence of Fatui in Liyue.  All of it was gone.

Who'd go to such sophisticated lengths to get their hands on these?  The Qixing abide by the law, so they wouldn't do something so unorthodox.  The Millelith were definitely biased and held grudges against him, so they're not entirely ruled out...What was the suspects' goal?  A smear campaign?  If it is, they got it.  

If he hadn't been away from the office, surely they wouldn't have been so bold as to pull off a bank heist.  But one good thing came out of this:  You definitely weren't involved since you were with him.  Wait...whoever did this must've been watching him.  You could be involved if you had help, but you've never mentioned anyone helping you.  So you and this situation were completely unrelated.  That had to be the case.

Regardless, his every move is being watched.  The only question that remains is, by who?