#not saying you should police fan content but

[dronningreid]

All my what-ifs.

At his darkest point, Reid decides to meet with reader under the pretext of closing that chapter in his life, but maybe his feelings for reader are more alive than he thought.

change the ending series masterlist

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst

warnings/content: mentions of Maeve, discussions in a public place, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), special appearance by sassy Reid (because i'm his fan) mild use of vodka and mention of alcohol. English is not my first language.

word count: 3.8K

a/n: Obviously the name of this part is a reference to cardigan but I love What if...? so it's a fun coincidence. And I have a very good justification for what reader did so wait for the final part. I wrote this a while ago and I was going to wait longer to publish this but unfortunately I've been too busy to finish my drafts and it's been a rough couple of days which has also prevented me from doing what I love most. Anyway I hope you enjoy this <3

What if you were to appear in his life again?

Maybe if he hadn't asked that damn question...

Well, long before that, a lot of blood had already been shed and most of it was his.

What if he agreed to meet you?

Well, it was something Spencer was about to find out and honestly it wouldn't be the first time a question had gotten him into trouble.

<<Maybe the past should stay where it was>> He kept telling himself but he was never good with that.

"Hey Spence, drinks at O'Keefe, you come?" JJ asked as the rest of the team made their way to the elevator.

Reid pulled on his coat. "No, I uh, I have a date." The words were out before he could reason them out. "Well, it's not really a date, more of a meeting of old acquaintances..."

JJ understood immediately. "The lawyer?"

Reid's gaze was lost on the floor. "Yeah, her." He sighed.

"Are you going to see her? I don't know if that's a good idea." JJ didn't get a answer.

"I read the file I asked Garcia to make for you. Her mother was the principal at your high school and her father was a professor at MIT at the time when you studied there before going to Caltech." Yes JJ, there was a reason why that had happened. "That happened a decade ago Spence, I guess it ended badly and I know for a fact that no one can be special for that long time, not like that."

"She does." The truth broke through his stone wall. "A file doesn't say how much I loved her, all the times we shared, how I thought I knew her better than she knew herself, and it doesn't say I slept with her." The lump in his throat thickened. "Someone I had my first times with will be special until the day I die."

The thoughts materialized into reality before he could stop them. It was horrifying to be seen so vulnerable by someone...

But he had to admit that it felt good to relieve some of the burden on his bones.

JJ's eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. "You're right..." She whispered. "But if she's so special, why didn't you treat her like that at the police station?"

Reid picked up his briefcase. "I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't crushed my heart." He replied curtly before walking past her towards the exit.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"What are you going to order?" You asked him as your eyes scanned the menu.

He should be repeating your action, but instead he was watching you.

From the moment you entered the restaurant he felt like he was so close to have a heart attack. Well, his skin was cold, he was dazed and he swore he felt a pressure in his chest but of course he knew he wasn't having a heart attack because statistically it's more common to have a heart attack after the 45 than at his age.

"Same as you." He replied without interest in a successful attempt to hide his true feelings.

You nodded before pointing the waiter to the saucer on the menu. "Two orders but one without creamed spinach."

A crack appeared in his stone wall.

His heart skipped a beat at that 'nonsense' and he hated himself for it.

He seemed to be 100% sure that you never loved him and now you came out with this, remembering perfectly what he hated...

The waiter took the order and then left with the menus.

He was so quiet so you decided to be the first to break the ice. "How's your mom?"

His mind played tricks on him as projected the time he introduced you to his mother. "She's fine." He said defensively.

Your brow furrowed. "Hey, you were the one who called." You had a very good point that even he couldn't deny.

He sighed and folded his hands together on the table. "And you were the one who suggested we meet."

You leaned over the table. "Don't start with that or you'll lose." The waiter came back and left the dishes on the table, so you rejoin in your seat.

"Lose? Is everything a game to you?" He asked sternly. Oh no, this was heating up a lot sooner than you anticipated.

"Of course not." You defended yourself. "But don't pretend that I started this when I know damn well that you investigated me."

His brow furrowed as a question swam through his mind. "It wasn't me to begin with."

"Oh sure." You took out your cell phone and placed it on the table.

He took your cell phone when he saw a photo of him with Penelope taken directly from her instagram.

"I get a notification every time someone searches for me on the internet, but I didn't get the IP address of course was the FBI." You explained.

"A little so paranoid, don't you think?" He said cynically.

"Let me continue." You reprimanded him. "And oh surprise after being investigated by someone anonymous, a certain Penelope Garcia started following me on Instagram."

Reid closed his eyes for a moment. "In my defense, I didn't ask her to do that." JJ do, but he don't.

"Of course, it was like a favor between friends?" You crossed your arms.

He looked at you directly. "What does that tell you that she's only my friend?" Reid knew exactly what he meant by that.

"Well she's not your wife." You looked at his hands thankfully finding the absence of a ring. "And I doubt she's your girlfriend. She's not your type." Your second statement was accompanied by a slight movement at the corner of your mouth, almost like a smile.

He leaned forward. "Oh yeah? So who's my type?" He whispered so damn provocative.

Spencer had that damn power where his eyes seemed to be able to read your soul. "Me." The words left your mouth almost immediately.

"Don't give yourself so much credit." That was a huge blow to your ego. "Maybe you were my type, when I was seventeen. But look at you and look at me. I'm thirty one and I'm not a kid anymore."

And when you had nothing left you used your last weapon. "Well, you act like one."

Reid sighed as if it wasn't worth his time to continue wasting his time on you. "You and your old tricks."

You looked away, trying to find a better counterattack. "So tell me, what's your type now?" Curiosity won out over revenge.

"Well I'm dating someone now." Those simple words were the equivalent of a gunshot or so you thought, you'd never been shot.

You swallowed in an attempt to undo the lump in your throat. "And what is she like?" Yeah, maybe you didn't want to hear the answer to that.

"Very clever would be an understatement." He replied proudly.

<<Of course, someone like him>> you thought.

At that moment a memory invaded your mind.

"So you're dating with Spencer Reid? Isn't he too smart for you?"

Words spoken 14 years ago still had the power to make you feel so small and it was worse when it were accompanied by that thunderous teenage laughter.

"And is she pretty?" You asked as if something as absurd as physical appearance would make you feel better.

His mistake was answering you truthfully. "I think so." He immediately scolded himself.

Your brow furrowed. “You think so? So you don’t even know what she looks like?” You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s so stupid, dating someone you’ve never even met.”

His eyes flared with anger, but he tried to maintain his composure. "Appearance is not something that has ever mattered to me and even though I have never seen her in person I know her better than I ever knew you."

"If appearance never mattered to you then what the hell did you see in me?" Your voice rose a little. "Because I was never as smart or perfect as you wanted me to be."

"I never, ever made you feel inferior to me." His voice rose as well. "And now that I think about it, I have no idea what the hell I ever saw in you."

Your bottom lip trembled slightly, almost imperceptible but he saw it and you saw that he saw it, so you looked away in an attempt to not look so fragile.

"I..." His voice faltered, of course he was still angry but the possibility of hurting you, no matter how small, made him feel like he didn't deserve the air he breathed. "I really don't know, it was only when I least expected it that the feelings were there..." He sighed. "I guess I just needed the happiness you gave me." His words were barely a whisper.

How could forget?, you had drew stars around his scars from the second he met you. But what did that matter when you made him bleed?

"And now someone else gives you that happiness?" You looked down at the floor, fearing the answer.

When he said yes it was like you had nothing left. Immediately your eyes filled with tears and you tried at all costs to avoid him noticing.

But he was a profiler so of course he noticed.

What if you would've confessed the truth on that swing?

Before answering his question, it's necessary to take a look at the past.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

<<I did something wrong?>> The question settled in his mind a week ago when you started acting weird around him, but since then the question wouldn't leave him alone.

You were alone in home, just lying on the couch watching TV.

But you were forced out of the comfort of the blanket when there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” You wondered if you should pull out the welcome mat or a knife.

"Spencer Reid." He didn't need to say his full name, it's not like you'd meet another Spencer and even if you did, when you heard the name you'd only think of him, your boyfriend.

Hearing his voice from the other side of the door, you immediately put on your slippers to go over and open the door and when you did...

"You've never told me what your favorite flowers are, so I bought one of each. Well, at least from the ones in the flower shop." As he explained, your eyes took in each beautiful flower perfectly arranged in the large, beautiful bouquet. "Maybe I should have gone to a bigger flower shop..."

You immediately shook your head and moved closer to join your lips with his. He accepted immediately, placing his free hand on your waist.

You gave him small kisses before pulling away. "It's perfect, thank you." You whispered before taking the bouquet.

You went to get a flower vase from the kitchen and you didn't see Spencer, so you peeked out only to see him standing in the doorway, waiting.

"Are you a vampire who needs to be invited in?" After a week a joke had the honor of leaving your lips.

He smiled shyly before he closed the door behind him. "Where's your dad?"

"Exam season he stays late, you know." You explained as you filled the flower vase with water. "You must be pretty stressed and busy too." You glanced at him briefly before placing the flowers in the vase.

"I'm never busy for you." He cautiously approached you.

Your gaze was lost in the beautiful bouquet he bought for you and then you had a hard time breathing because of how sweet he was, such a good boyfriend, so perfect. You thought that you didn't deserve him.

"Well then what do you want to do? We can go outside to the swings in the garden or we can go up to my room while dad is not there." You suggested, lowering your voice a little as you said the second.

Reid's cheeks quickly flushed pink. "I... uhm." He scratched the back of his neck.

His skin grew warm just remembering your hand inside his sweatshirt. It had only been a couple of days since his first time with you and he was still breathless just remembering it.

"We can go to the swings and talk, that's what I came here." He paused. "But if you want, we can go to your room afterwards..." He whispered.

Both swung on the swings, the air brushing against your face as both rose higher.

"And what did you want to talk about?" You asked while stretching your legs to climb higher than him.

He stopped the swing from moving and looked at you as if silently requesting you to imitate his action.

Your swing stopped next to his. “You’ve been a little distant lately. Did I do something to upset you or hurt you in some way?” He scanned your expression for answers.

You shook your head immediately.

"So what is it?" He looked at you with pleading eyes before taking your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

You nodded, you needed to tell him something and despite what he said you couldn't tell the truth. So you opted for something else that had also made your days bad.

You took a deep breath. "My parents are getting divorced."

He looked at you with understanding but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"I was having a bad day and luckily you showed up." You smiled lightly at him. "They gave me the news a few days ago and I don't know how I didn't see it coming. My mom is in Las Vegas and my dad is here in Cambridge. I thought the long distance relationship was working for them but it turns out that they cannot tolerate being close to each other."

Your eyes filled with tears. "I know I'm not a little girl anymore who has to suffer because her parents are separating, but it hurts." He nodded before placing a sweet kiss on your knuckles. "Now that I think about it, I don't know of any relationship that has lasted that long. Can love last that long? Because if not, then how much time do we have left?"

Panic welled up in his gut. “We’re not your parents and we’re not my parents.” He tightened his grip on your hand slightly. “I’ll always be yours.” So that’s why it’s said to be careful what you say.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"Have you ever wondered what would happened if you had told me the truth that night at your house?" The question came out before he could stop it.

You managed to keep not a single tear from falling, you had gotten good at that over the years. "You would've broken up with me." Yes, you had thought about that a thousand times.

"It's not true." The truth was humiliating. "And if it had been so, what was the point of you leaving me first?" He scolded you, pain and repressed anger seeping through every syllable.

What if you hadn't left like a father and running like water? The answer was not good for his dignity.

"Well if you think you have the answer tell me what would have happened if I had told you the truth that day?" You asked abruptly.

The truth was something I would never say out loud to you, but I had thought about that answer for 14 years.

He wanted to think that both would have worked things out together, that both would stay together until you finished college and then he would bought the most beautiful ring and gotten down on one knee.

You probably said yes and then you would be his wife now, Mrs. Reid. And maybe both would have a child, maybe two.

But that was only a possibility 14 years ago, now it was an impossibility. Because he lived in a cruel reality where he wasn't your husband or the father of your children.

"We could have fixed it." He replied with a half-truth, leaving out the rings, the white dress, and the cribs. "But you left me and ran away from me..." The words burned in his throat.

"I wasn't running away from you..." You whispered.

"Then what?" His tone was harsh.

"Of the consequences." You tried to hide the vulnerability in your words, but what your lips hide, your eyes show.

He had nothing left, why continue hiding the truth? "I would have forgiven you." He confessed quietly.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Spencer hated when you and him separated at parties, because he was only there for you.

This time both separated because you had to go to the bathroom or so he thought.

"Hey Spencer, you need to control your damn girlfriend." Kelly's words made him frown.

"What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you heard? The whole school is whispering that she slept with Ryan and like two minutes ago she kissed him in the garden." Kelly replied, almost steaming from her ears.

But for Reid what Kelly said couldn't be true, you would never be capable of doing something like that...

But once doubt sets in there's only one way to stop it. So he came look for you.

When you came out of the bathroom a couple of girls gave you a glass of vodka perhaps, a glass that you accepted.

You took a sip before walking into the living room, back to Spencer. But he met you halfway and snatched the glass from your hand. "You said you weren't going to drink tonight." He spoke in an unusually serious tone.

"I'm sorry, but the girls just showed up." He continued to look at you with that horrible seriousness. "I only took a sip, if you want I can throw it." Your attempt to please him didn't work.

"Whatever, that doesn't matter now." He set the glass down somewhere. "We need to talk." He ordered, the boy who always asked you if you wanted to do something or not.

Your hands immediately turned cold. Maybe he had already decided that you weren't enough for him. "Yes, yes. Here or-?"

"Outside." He took your hand and led you outside before you could say anything.

"Kelly told me something... interesting." He kept his ice mask on or he probably would collapse there.

"Kelly always tells gossips, she loves gossip." You laughed at the quality of your 'friend' who was one minute away from ruining your life.

Spencer didn't laugh, he remained serious. "Kelly said you kissed Ryan today and that you slept with him." You immediately frowned upon hearing something as absurd as that.

Then some popular guys walked past you and Spencer, unfortunately you heard what they were whispering.

"What's someone like her doing with a nerd like him?"

"She's going to end up being a loser like him." Well at least he already has a PhD and is close to have another one.

Well, you'd heard worse things about him and yourself actually.

"Is that true?" He ask, obviously trying to find out the truth and recapture your attention that was lost with those boys.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" You insisted when you felt those looks judging you, mocking you, burning you...

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?" He crossed his arms and looked at you sternly.

"What?!" You immediately scolded yourself as you earned glances from a few guys.

"I'm sick of pretending I don't notice that you've been avoiding physical contact when we're with your friends lately, among other things that make it seem like you're embarrassed to dating with me." Between his words and the stares on your face you felt breathing getting harder with every second.

"Spencer, can we really talk somewhere else?" You asked as your eyes darted around, feeling the stares judging you.

"No, let's talk here and now." He replied firmly.

Everything was starting to spin and your breathing was getting harder and harder. Then, like a miracle with some price, your phone rang.

"It's my dad, I have to answer." You told to Spencer, still in a daze before moving away from him so you could answer.

He let out a frustrated sigh but let you go, not knowing you weren't coming back.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

"But it's too late now." He said quickly in the moment he seemed you were to say something.

Your eyes closed for a moment. Defeat was something you didn't want to get out of this meeting. "I'm really sorry Spencer, I've had a really bad fourteen years just tearing myself apart over a mistake I made when I was young and didn't know anything, I was only seventeen..."

He looked at you without compassion. "Very bad years?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You were engaged during those years while I had nothing." He emphasized his words. "I was the same age, so your only justification will be that nonsense?"

"Yes, I was engaged but that's over." You replied firmly. "However, I'm sorry and there's nothing I can do to make up for it because for you nothing will ever be enough!" You raised your voice again, not remembering that both had an audience, it was a surprise that they didn't kick you out of the restaurant. "Besides, that happened fourteen fucking years ago, get over it!"

"Get over it? Get over it is what I've been trying for more than a decade and just when I'm overtaking you, living in my present and finding a good girl you come back to my life like a damn storm to truncate everything I built." He also raised his voice, letting everything come out of his system. "Sometimes I wish I had never met you."

His words went to pulverize every one of your bones. "I'm really sorry..." Your voice was barely a whisper.

"If you're so sorry then just leave me alone for good." He demanded, his tone lowered this time but just as painful.

"If that's what you want..." You replied quietly, you would have liked to be the first to leave but it seemed like your body was still clinging to something that was never going to be.

Spencer paid the bill before leaving you with your words stuck in your throat.

Reid walked alone down the street, the cold brushing his skin and then he looked at the broken cobblestones on the ground...

Would there ever be anything in the world that didn't remind him of you?

What if there was a woman (other than you) that he could love?

Maeve was the answer.

Or so he wanted to believe, because he knew very well that saying he loved Maeve was too soon to be real.

He thought he did, he really did. But then the memories of you coming back to haunt him and he realized that saying he loved any woman wasn't you would be blasphemous.

Spencer could never, ever loved someone the way he loved you. The way he maybe still love you...

And that brings us to the last question.

What if he still love you or you still love him?

Maybe he should make a call...

[lemonbeemon]

Being an Adult™ in the TWST Fandom has me wildly oscillating between;

"Aw what cute content of my favs! I will reblog and continue to support this fellow fan."

To-

"I hope that was made by a minor or I'm calling CPS."

[yaoiadderall]

ok i’m gonna be real here. i don’t get people who vehemently hate the mcelroy brothers and everything they’re associated with. it’s one thing to just not enjoy their content/humor/media presence but ive seen so many people go full on “these guys suck so bad and anyone who enjoys their stuff is an idiot and they’re cringe losers.” a lot of times its former fans. and it just makes me think about how deeply sad and insecure that person must be, to be so desperate to feel superior to random people who find joy in something ultimately harmless.

[bamboozledbird]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[olderthannetfic]

Can someone tell me when/why calling everything you don't like or get triggered by is now called "squick" or "ick"? It sounds so strange and unnatural to me. If squick and trigger is the same why not say just trigger? This is a genuine question.

--

Ahaha.

Anon, my child, the main answer here is that you are probably 20 years too young.

--

The collapsing of 'trigger' into "Stuff I don't like and now you have to listen to me!!!" is obnoxious as hell. I don't think we need to police the boundaries of triggers, but the general concept is that something triggers and episode of PTSD (or, in another context, triggers an allergy or whatever). It doesn't mean the content is double plus bad: it means you have a medical type issue that is literally induced to flare up by encountering the thing.

--

'Squick' was all over Usenet when I was a young thing in the 90s. I gather it came out of BDSM circles originally. By the time I'd heard of it, it had already been co-opted by trolls to mean the sound of skullfucking. (That's the dick through eye socket or trepanning hole meaning, not the vigorous blowjob meaning.)

A squick is something that makes you go "Ew! Gaaah! Back button! Back button!" Like listening to the sound of brain matter squishing as a dick is forced into a skull, for example. Squick, squick, squick, squick.

It's more than just something you don't like: it's something that inspires a visceral "Get it away!" reaction.

The point of the term was and is to have a way to say that a kink grosses you out personally without implying that it is necessarily gross for others. It was useful for negotiating BDSM scenes and equally useful for talking about your fic preferences.

'Squick' was a staple of fandom jargon on Livejournal all through the 00s. Fans on Tumblr routinely say we should start using it more frequently again precisely to combat the flagrant misuse of 'trigger'.

--

"Ick" I've only seen much more recently in fandom, usually in the form of "__ gives me the ick". Urban Dictionary makes me think this has spread everywhere in the 2020s—perhaps via reality tv or twitter or something? I use it myself, but I couldn't tell you who I caught it from.

There are plenty of older definitions, and I do vaguely recall hearing "the ick" used in the early 00s as a general term for the flu/a passing virus/etc. 'Ick' as an exclamation and 'icky' as an adjective are just regular words. But this particular flavor of "the ick" does strike me as a newer fad even if there are a few old definitions that seem to match.

[aciddrattboyy]

Wԋҽɳ Yσυ Mҽʂʂ Wιƚԋ Lσʋҽ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "your boyfriend arrives late for your study date and things(sex) happen"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Mark Grayson x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 3.9k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Drama/Rom/Adult Film] smut, both reader and mark lose their virginities, fingering(f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, there will be eventual angst, set in au where they are in college before... (gulp) chicago incident, two part story ★ soundtrack: karma police, basta ya ★ pls pls pls any invincible fans HIT MY LINE i have no friends in this fandom and i desperately need them ★ 01 . 02 .

⋆｡°✩

noon. you invited mark over to your dorm at noon. it was three o’clock now, with no text messages or calls from your boyfriend; even after he assured you he’d be there about four hours earlier. mark had been… distant. constantly ditching you, not even showing up to dates or hangouts, or asking for rain checks if he had the decency to do even that. today was supposed to be a typical study date, with exams coming up you thought it would be nice. because even though mark left you hanging seemingly more often than not, the time he was there was, well, amazing. when he did manage to find the time for you he treated you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, acted as the perfect, doting boyfriend. whether it was picking up your favorite food without asking or buying you a plushie of your favorite animal you didn't even remember telling him about, mark was loving.

but as the minutes ticked by, your phone continued being pathetically dry, and your dorm mark-less, you were starting to think maybe the good no longer outweighed the bad. with a sigh, you push back in your desk chair, slumping in the seat as you tipped your head back. you glanced over at your phone sitting atop a pile of books, almost mocking you with the lack of notifications, and thought about texting mark. again. dragging a hand down your face, you began to spin slowly in your chair, watching the room swirl by out of boredom. 

as you spun lazily, you could see your door slowly opening. and then there was mark, peeking his face through the crack, sporting that same guilty expression you were starting to think you saw more than him smiling. you plant your feet on the ground, coming to a halt as you looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown. 

“if your excuse is you had to help your dad with work, lost track of time, or ‘had something to take care of’, save your breath,” you turn back to your desk, staring at the open textbook with your jaw clenched and brows pinched together. mark grimaced at your words, his hand twitching hesitantly on the doorknob, not sure if he should even come inside.

“alright no excuses,” he murmured softly, scratching at his nape as he stared at your back. sheepishly, he held up a plastic bag, the contents inside rustling softly. “but… how about an apology? starting with some food from that place you said you wanted to try?” mark’s voice had a hopeful lilt to it, although he knew he couldn’t keep fixing everything with food. he was entirely sure he’s been fixing anything at all, like a bandaid on a broken bone. but he also couldn’t exactly say: ��sorry for being late to our study date. i promise i wanted to be here but my alien space dad made me go train with him since i just got super cool powers.”  it wouldn't be a secret identity if he started telling people. and unfortunately, people included you, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be this way. 

your glare aimed at your text book softened at his words, once again he had gone out of his way for you. acting as if he cared for you even as he was constantly blowing you off. a few quiet moments of you contemplating what to do pass by before you speak, turning in your chair slightly to look at him. 

“i guess that’s not a completely bad start.” marks face immediately lit up like an excited puppy as you spoke. it wasn’t a hard get the fuck out of my room and that was as good of a start as any when trying to make up for his major fuck ups. without missing a beat, he steps inside, closing the door behind him before toeing off his shoes, dropping his backpack near the foot of your bed and making his way over to you.  

“i uh got you a little bit of everything- well not everything everything but y’know a reasonable amount of-”

“thank you mark,” you cut him off quietly, not entirely sure how mad at him you still were. you take the bag from him, not able to meet his eyes as you set the bag down on your now limited desk space. mark stood somewhere to the side behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

“yeah, yeah no problem,” his voice cracked slightly and he winced at his own tone, feeling helpless and not at all sure how to really fix this without coming clean about his secret identity; something he could not do. the silence seems to drag on as you looked through the different containers. his eyes trailed over your desk and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him when he the notes scribbled into a notebook. “you.. um you got a lot of work done,” mark said awkwardly, grasping at straws to try to fix what he was rapidly breaking between you two. 

“yeah well it would’ve been easier if you had been here to help.” both of you freeze at your words that came out just a bit more harsh than you intended. mark frowned, not sure what to say. he reached out a hand, hovering it over your shoulder as he slowly opened his mouth. but you sighed before he can get anything out, running a hand through your hair before you turn in your chair to face with a faint frown of your own. “look, i’m sorry for talking to you like that. let’s just eat yeah? i’ve done enough studying for the both of us” you offer mark a small smile, one that he returns hesitantly. he takes a step back when you get up from your chair, grabbing the bed and heading over to your bed. 

“yeah that… sounds good.” mark nods, following you over to the bed. he sits next to you, mirroring your cross legged posture with his back leaning against the wall. he slowly scoots closer as you pull out the various containers until your knees are touching. you didn’t acknowledge it, but you didn't pull away and that was as good of a win as any. his eyes light up with an idea before leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his laptop. “thought we could watch something while we ate.” he offers softly, already turning on youtube and putting on the type of videos he remembered you telling him you watched sometime in the past. you nod at him softly, your smile growing both in size and genuineness just a bit.

“good thinking,” you respond softly, the anger already subsiding just from being with him. mark had a way of making you feel good, even if it wasn't for long, even if he upset you more often than you’d really like. you knew deep down he was still a good guy, and you desperately wanted to see him be better. wanted to see him start living up to his apologies.

the two of you eat in a somewhat comfortable silence, interrupted by laughs or brief commentary on what you were watching. and everything starts to feel normal again. for you, but also for mark. for just right now he wasn’t Invincible. he was mark grayson, a freshman in college with the more amazing girlfriend by his side. it felt nice to feel normal again, even if he had been waiting his whole life to get powers, to be just like his dad. you find yourself curled up against mark’s side, watching random videos with your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. the sun was starting to set, the fading sunlight casting shadows and warm orange light through the blinds. 

when you tilt your head to look up at mark, he meets your gaze. his lips slowly pull into a goofy smile that makes you huff with amusement.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you murmur playfully while tracing idle shapes over the fabric covering his chest. he pulls you closer, the movement almost imperceptible as his expression turns warm.

“you’re just so pretty,” mark answered just as softly, getting lost in your eyes with a stupid smile. only a second passes before he realizes what he’s said; his eyes widen, face flushing red as he sputters out apologies while trying to pull away. “oh shit that was so stupid- fuck im sorr-” before mark could run away and hide, you grab his face and pull him into a kiss. he lets out a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide before his brain catches up to what was happening. then he’s humming softly instead, hands finding your waist as he kissed you back gently. “wha… what was that for?” he whispered breathlessly when you pulled away, your faces only inches apart. 

“am i not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, smile only growing as your swipe your thumbs over his cheeks.

“no- i mean yes- uh yeah you can kiss me,” he lets out an almost self deprecating laugh, hands squeezing your waist gently. “i’m fucking this up aren’t i?” you pull him into another kiss, languidly moving your lips against his.

“i think you’re doing just fine,” your fingers tangle in mark’s hair, deepening the kiss, starting it off slow, gentle, but one thing led to another and soon enough you’re pulling him closer as you fall back against the sheets. mark follows you willingly, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head. one of mark’s legs slot in between yours, involuntarily pressing his knee against the apex of your thighs. you gasp softly against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. when you roll your hips, a shudder runs through both you and mark when he realized what you were doing. the revelation only served to send blood straight to his already semi-hard dick.  

the kissing grows frenzied, the air between you heavy with harsh panting and even messier kissing. your laptop had been precariously moved out of the way and onto the corner of your desk. both of your shirts? thrown god knows where. was this all happening just a bit too fast? maybe… probably… definitely. but slowing down seemed to be the last thing on your mind along with mark’s. who was now practically buzzing with nervous excitement and lust. he’d kissed you before, many times actually. but never like this. never half clothed and making out with you as if you were trying to eat each other’s faces off while you ground your hips against his knee.

shifting slightly, mark props himself up on his elbow, body pressing more firmly on top of yours. he smooths his free hand up your waist, hesitantly thumbing over the hem of your bra as he waited for some sort of signal to stop. but none came, in fact, he could feel your back slightly arch into his touch. he let out a low groan, muffled by your lips, the obvious tent in his sweats pressed snuggly against your thigh. for a brief moment he thought maybe he should be embarrassed. but how could he when you seemed to just as affected. and somehow a lot more confident… with a gasp, and much reluctance, mark pulls his mouth off of yours, panting heavily against your lips.

“have you uh… y’know… before?” his voice was barely a whisper, face feeling hot and eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you.

“no…” you start, your voice equally as quiet as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “is it that obvious?” your brows twitched, just barely pinching together with a hint of worry and newfound self consciousness. 

“no- no no!” mark quickly squeaks out, shaking his head with wide eyes. “i just- you seem so- so…” he trails off, not entirely sure what to say anymore.

“we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. do you want to stop?” your voice was soft, a small smile on your face in hopes of making sure mark knew his comfort was important above all. but it only served to make mark feel more… feel more of whatever was making his stomach flip and his cock twitch against your thigh in a way that was getting harder to ignore. he swallowed the lump in his throat when thought about what ‘keep going’ would actually entail. 

“um… no. not really,” he murmured softly, a sheepish smile on his face. he feels his face heat up all over again at the admission. but before he can doubt himself, you’re smiling at him. and then you were kissing him, and it was like you had never even stopped at all. 

the kissing quickly grows heated, hands fumbling to rip each others pants off through breathless giggles and sloppy kisses until mark was seated between your open legs; both of you in nothing but your underwear and your bra long gone. mark smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, chest still somewhat heaving from the rather heavy makeout session just moments ago. he swallowed thickly, thumbs tracing over the lacy edges of your panties. his head snaps up when he hears a small noise leave your lips. the kind of noise that has his body going hot all over again.

“can i…?” mark wasn’t sure what he was exactly asking permission for. but the way you were looking up at him made him pray to any existing god that he was granted the sexual prowess of a veteran pornstar just for tonight. upon seeing you nod your head, he sucks in a deep breath, feeling both a wave of arousal and anxiousness. with shaky hands, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them off of you. looking at your naked body, mark was afraid he’d bust right then and there. but then your voice, soft and playful, cut through his thoughts currently being led by his dick. 

“c’mere,” you reach out, tugging on his hand and pulling him closer until he was hovering over you again. the backs of your thighs resting atop of his, the bulge in his boxers not too far from your pussy. you could tell he was a little nervous. and although you never got verbal confirmation, it was clear to see that mark was a virgin; somehow more a virgin than even you were. you card a hand in the hair at his nape, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to make mark relax just a bit. kissing was good. kissing was familiar territory. and after a small while, you placed your free hand on top of his hand not supporting his weight and slowly inch his palm downwards. 

marks breath hitched in his throat, body temporarily going still. that is until he felt how fucking wet you were as you guided his middle and ring finger through your soaked folds. a guttural groan vibrates through his chest, only barely muffled by your tongue in his mouth. 

you were panting against his lips now, soft mewls escaping you led his fingers to circle your clit. teaching him what you liked, how you wanted to be touched. and to mark’s credit, he was a very fast learner. soon enough he was moving on his own, your hand holding onto his wrist instead as he pumped two fingers inside of you. he ground his palm against your clit, making your hips buck into his hand as the pleasure just kept building. 

“o-oh fuck-” you cry out when he hits that sensitive spot inside you, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. if it were not for the string of muffled moans leaving your lips, even mark was able to tell you were getting close almost embarrassingly fast by the way your thighs trembled against his and how your hips snapped up to meet each thrust of his fingers. “fuck- fuck ‘m gonna- hah-” 

mark felt like he was almost there with you; he could feel the damp patch on his boxers growing as his dick continued to throb in it’s confines, leaking a lot of precum. his hips twitched involuntarily, searching for some sort of relief. but he would continue to push his own wants aside, breathing heavily through his nose as he peppered your collarbone with wet kisses and focused solely on making you cum. and that he did. biting back a moan of his own at the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body going taut under him as you held onto him tighter. 

after a few moments filled with only heavy breathing, your body goes limp against the sheets as he pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch. there was a very satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at mark, who somehow looked more fucked out than you. 

“you were… surprisingly good at that.”

“ha, thanks… hey, wait what do you mean surprisingly?” you giggle softly at the small pout on his lips, lifting your head just enough to press a kiss against his lips.

“don’t think about it too much,” you mumble as you pull back, trailing your hands down his sides until your palms met the waistband of his boxers. “uh there’s condoms in the drawer if you…” you trail off, eyes widening when you realized what you had just implicated. “i- i didn’t buy them they were uh- a gift from my roommate a while ago…” you look up at mark with narrowed eyes after seeing the way his lips were pursed, twitching with the force he had to use to keep himself from smiling. for now, mark would bite his tongue, not wanting to face your wrath when his dick was so hard it was starting to hurt. 

“condoms. got it.” the words were strained under the weight of his stifled laughter, but before you could comment on it, he was already leaning over you. rummaging through your night stand, he was able to pull one out, settling between your legs with the gold foil in his hands. “but are you sure you want to do this?” there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, sounding almost worried that you’d regret being with him, or you were for some reason only doing this out of pity. but then you were giving him that warm smile and nodding your head, and suddenly all doubt jumped out the window. 

through more muted laughter and clumsy, inexperienced hands, the two of you manage to get the condom on without mark blowing his load then and there. placing his hands on your hips, he leans down to kiss your lips, rubbing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. you hum into his lips, gently holding onto his biceps as you kiss him back just as passionately. but when mark reaches a hand between your bodies to line his tip with your hole, the energy shifts. less playful and more so intense, romantic. like the both of you realize what you were doing, and what it means for the relationship going forward. 

“are you sure?” mark whispers against your lips, eyes fluttering open to gauge your reaction.

“yeah, yeah i am,” you breathe out, eyes shining with something that made mark’s stomach flip in an almost scarily good way. he nods, adams apple bobbing before he presses his lips against yours again. he snakes his free hand up the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head as his hips slowly push forward. it takes a little while of patience and whispering sweet nothings to each other before the two of you are comfortable enough for mark to start moving, the whole situation intense for both of you in a way that was both exciting and a little nerve wracking. 

“h-holy fuck-” mark’s voice comes out as a shaky pant, head hanging as he looked down at where your bodies met. his hand in your squeezes gently, the other holding onto your hip as he slowly rolls his hips; pulling out until only the tip was inside before slowly pushing back. “feel s’good,” he groans softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he continued to slowly fuck into your wet heat. his hand leaves your hips, entwining his with yours and pinning you to the mattress. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. squeezing his hands tightly, you tilt your head when you feel mark starting to suck and nip at the skin of your neck

“y-you can- nngh- go faster,” your breathy words do not fall on deaf ears. mark’s whole body stills for just a second before slightly readjusts on top of you. the moment he quickens his pace, both of you are turning into moaning messes. kissing sloppily and exchanging spit as the cheap bedframe rocks slowly with mark’s movement. he lets go of one of your hands, reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

it didn’t take long for mark to get close, hips already stuttering as he teetered on the edge as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling any and all embarrassing noises that leaves his lips. your hips buck up to meet his with each thrust, thighs shaking with your own impending orgasm. your nails rake down his back in a way that has mark groaning against your skin.

intense orgasms hit you both at the same time; mark’s thighs trembling right along yours as his hips jerkily buck his dick inside you until he spilled every last drop into the condom. collapsing on top of you, the room is silent save for heavy breaths and the smell of sex. after a few moments, mark presses a soft kiss to your jaw before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his back next to you with a content sigh after tossing the condom into the trash bin under your desk. 

“that was…”  mark turns on his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his warm chest. nuzzling his face against your hair. “was… amazing,”  he murmured softly, voice full of bliss as he held you tight. you giggle softly, letting your body melt into his warm embrace. at some point, you both clean up; with shrugging on a shirt and underwear and mark slipping back into his sweatpants. cuddling up under your sheets, it was easy to fall asleep in his arms, perfectly content and feeling loved.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

"Appropriate" responses to the Gaiman issue

TLDR: This isn't a Rowling situation, be wary of internalized purity culture.

He's a predator. I'm glad a proper journalist followed up where police have failed (and possibly given victims a better footing for future charges).

But I have a problem with the knee-jerk responses targeting the fandom.

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about insulting The Predator. This is about how you treat people who have/do/will enjoy the stories that unfortunately came into the world through his keyboard.

Fans aren't intrinsically evil/uncaring for continuing to participate in associated fandoms.

This is not another Rowling situation. Why? Let me clarify. The consequences of consumption are very different. Rowling is ACTIVELY using her popularity and income as a creative to target one of the most vulnerable minorities in the world. Buying official merch/books/movie tickets prove to the powers that be that she remains a good investment, so they'll give her even more money. This perpetuates the cycle - new movie/book deals, more income, more hate, rinse and repeat.

The push to avoid Rowling's work in full is driven by the fact that she has FACED NO CONSEQUENCES and is still powered by her creative properties. It's fandom/consumers trying to bring justice.

Gaiman, on the other hand, knew he was doing bad shit on some level because he kept his abuse hidden. His status and reputation let him get close to vulnerable fans and essentially intimidate authorities from going after a celebrity. He is FACING CONSEQUENCES. I would personally like to see criminal charges brought against him, but that's out of the fandom's hands. Things we could've influenced (his Disney deal appears to have gone to shit, he's been booted from the truncated final season of GO, and there's no news on Sandman 3) are already in motion. If his publisher doesn't drop him, I'd say avoiding his future works is beyond valid (I certainly wouldn't buy them). But I'm going to watch the new season of Sandman. And once I've taken time away, I'll probably finish my active fics.

"Judging" people who still enjoy his work stems from good intentions that grew out of the fetid ground of purity culture rhetoric.

Writing fanfic and enjoying shows that are already made do not make people soulless accomplices. The idea that unproblematic stories by saintly creators are the only things you're allowed to enjoy is not only flirting with censorship, but it's also impossible.

If you think people should have nothing to do with Gaiman's works, you better throw out anything Weinstein touched. That includes Jackson's LOTR trilogy, FYI. Also, anything his company officially produced (which still gives him money in some cases) should never, ever grace your screen. That includes some of the better Stephen King adaptations, The Orphanage (which was a breakthrough Spanish-language film in Western markets), The King's Speech, The Imitation Game, Woman in Gold, Paddington, and It Follows.

If you aren't willing to publicly announce your "disappointment" in anyone who continues to enjoy any of those films, then kicking up a fuss over how other people process and interact with problematic content from a fallen celebrity who is in the process of getting his dues is pure hypocrisy.

Personally, I'm maliciously complying with Gaiman's famous quote about how once a story is out there, it doesn't belong to the author anymore. Well said, Predator, these are mine now, and I shall fuck about with them as I see fit.

Attacking or snobbishly looking down your nose at the fandom also erases YEARS of beautiful critique and thoughtful exploration of existing, acknowledged problems in works like The Sandman.

People in these parts already know how to handle complex issues in complex pieces of media. Gaiman isn't our god. His canon is not our bible. He didn't teach us morality, as is apparently the case for a lot of people who grew up reading Rowling's works as a child.

If you have a problem with the censorship comment I made, I'd like to point out at least one writer friend is LEANING INTO the fandom as a way to process their own trauma. Suffice it to say they survived a very similar situation. They see it as empowering to take the stories away from the abuser and use the characters/settings to make something new.

I get the ick. I have it right now. But I'm not burning every copy of his work I own (full disclosure I have... *checks shelves* a copy of Neverwhere and The Sandman series). Doing so is totally valid, and if that helps you process and feel better - go for it!

But this is not the same as Rowling and the only ones you hurt by declaring your "judgement" is a complex group of individuals who are able to enjoy fiction, remain aware of potential social consequences, and found a place that doesn't align with your black/white morality.

With that said, judge away! I better not see any stories from Charles Dickens, anything in anyway associated with the Weinsteins, Nickelodeon shows, Charlie Chaplin references, or Francis Ford Coppola films touch your feed. If you scratch the surface, you'll find more things to judge others for enjoying, and they will inevitably find something to judge you for, too.

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

WAKE UP BITCHES ISKALL DROPPED AND IMMA EVALUATE IT-

Especially considering I was never a fan of him in the first place I will have no bias in this horse race

Video:

The entire video genuinely sounds like a more constructive Dream allegations video minus the detective outfit and 2hrs of rambling and a serious lack of evidence due to privacy reasons which kind of, so lightly sound like an excuse

He claims that when he was alerted to these allegations, he was given a 1hr and 30 minutes deadline to produce proof to the Hermits he didn't do anything

He then contact the police and a lawyer

Girl we are going to pause right here because stunning that you contacted the police and a lawyer but if you didn't do the things that you're alleged or doing then you would have proof that you didn't do those things like the whole situation could it take in 20 minutes

If he didn't do even one of the things he was accused of it would have taken less than the hour and a half he was given to screen share his screen with multiple Hermits and just start scrolling through Discord

Then he goes on to say that he wasn't given enough time etc... And that they'd rushed him.

There have been MULTIPLE sources stating they tried for MONTHS to get into contact with the Hermits.

But IT IS odd that when he was "notified" of his wrongdoings, he first went to the police and a lawyer, DESPITE a hermit telling you first. If everyone knows then it's not a matter of privacy anymore.

Like personally if that was me, I'd have jumped into Discord no questions asked, shown the proof THEN contacted a lawyer for defamation or other relating charges

It's very unusual for someone to go the legal route in the situation not because it's never been done before it's because it's a waste of money and time. They will not gaf. Most cases in the similar situations come out with inconclusive responses and the person does not come out with a response themselves as their is seemingly enough evidence to smear their name and they would not like to proceed if there's that much evidence.

And it's VERY clear he's going the "innocent till proven guilty" route. Which is fair enough.

But, and I cannot stress this enough, HE'S NOT BEING ACCUSED OF TEXTING MINORS

He's being accused of having inappropriate relationship with multiple members of his audience/community and moderators, and using his Discord server as the catalyst for it all.

Which is especially alarming as some have said he's a moderator for them, which IN SOME PLACES is illegal to have a boss/employee relationship.

But it genuinely sounds like he's missing the point, as a content creator you have to hold yourself to higher responsibilities, accountability and credibility then the rest of your community. And even if it's not illegal, it's EXTREMELY INAPPROPRIATE for a content creator to have any form of relations with a fan, WITHOUT it being for certain types of videos (like challenges or servers) or for commissions/work

So unless they were gaining genuine service or having particular videos, having that sort of PM relationships with your fans is inappropriate, especially if your working with them or not. It's not appropriate at all.

He then blames it on cancel culture. WHICH GIRL-

I've seen alot of things pumped out of Hermitcraft fans but "cancel culture" IS NOT ONE OF THEM

Blaming it on cancel culture is the biggest excuse, genuinely.

He acts like it was public execution, even through its been CONFIRMED from MULTIPLE SOURCE that people tried for months to get into contact with the Hermits, so the END OF THE INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONS WITH MEMBERS OF YOUR COMMUNITY SHOULD HAVE BEEN WARNING NUMBER 1-

Like imagine all the people you allegedly had relations with suddenly all wanted to cut contact, did you think they would just disappear?

Cancel Culture, is when you're cut from your career for doing something OBJECTIVELY stupid, as it becomes a growing trend. It's unserious and often a social media trend.

Iskall's situation was not apart of cancel culture because it's genuine. And he knows it's genuinely enough to take legal action, meaning that in some capacity he did do at least 20% of what he's been accused of, to have grounds for a cases

So he's done SOMETHING it's just not what he thinks it is/isn't like what's allegedly

Then he goes on to talk about a developer he defended after they scammed him and we're generally not nice.

I have yet to see this developer anywhere and to my knowledge they have not pushed any allegations onto him.

He instead brings up this developer, because he defended them when they did something that was seemingly objectively wrong and it's meant to be a display of his good character

Personally I would have not used that as an example. Using an example of you defending someone when you in the same breath claimed that they had wrong with you is putting the notion in your fans and audiences heads that even "if I do something wrong you should defend me because it was only a silly little mistake and it's the right thing to do"

And it was necessary. Completely unnecessary. He wants to be a display of a good character yet also once privacy so that's why he shares a personal story of him defending someone who wronged him so show that he's a good person who gives second chances? But then implies in the video that he had to give that person more than one chance?

And I think Goodtimeswithscar said it better then me. GASLIGHTING he's hardcore gaslighting.

It is similar to what Mr Beast, did with his allegations. Actually it's almost a copy.

Instead of completely addressing it he only addresses what he wants to in the face of privacy. He then brings up all the good things he's done to make him seem more trustworthy and like a better person even. And then he pays someone to investigate himself to find himself not guilty.

Iskall it's literally doing the same thing. He only addresses what he wants to because of privacy even though he knew about the situation before he got a lawyer, he uses the worst example possible to show that he's a trustworthy person, and then he pays for a lawyer himself to prove that he is not guilty.

Having the police and lawyers is meant to make it seem more 'fair'. But as we all know the police will only do so much before a lawyer has to step in. And if you're paying for the lawyer yourself obviously the lawyer is going to have bias because they want to do a good job because you are paying them to do a good job.

It's the most hardcore gaslighting I've ever seen.

And worst of all he might actually get away with it, because like Mr Beast he has a younger audience who will not understand how much he's trying to Gaslight them.

So to conclude, he's doing a Dream / Mr Beast remix on a smaller scale because money. And he's getting lawyer involved and unless they're suing for defamation, then there's nothing to sue for because no one is accusing him of pedophilia they are accusing him of having inappropriate relationships with his audience which is a big no-no for content creators..

Now for Stressmonster

Girl dug herself either a hole or a grave and now has to lie in it.

They tried to protect her dignity and integrity by not stating the reason why she left but it's now clear to many why she also left.

And yet again I would like to make it very clear like no one is accusing him of actually committing a crime (UNLESS HE LIVES IN AN AREA THAT MAKES IT ILLEGAL FOR BOSS AND EMPLOYEES/COWORKERS TO HAVE A RELATIONSHIP) he's being accused of having inappropriate relationships with members of his community and moderators, which is not a very good thing if you're a content creator

Its not a jailable offence unless *see point above*, and to be like "I'm standing with you 100% of the way!", is more telling about your priorities than 'what is right'

They act as if hermitcraft is a cult, that kicks members out for not conforming.

But I am entirely on the side of HermitCraft in the fact that I would indeed, kick Iskall out/get him to resign, if he'd had inappropriate relations with mods and fans REGARDLESS OF IF THEY WERE ADULTS

Because the main audience for Hermitcraft ARE CHILDREN. KIDS. NON-ADULTS

AND HE'S ENDANGERING THEM AS WELL AS THERE COMMUNITY EVEN IF IT'S NOT MINORS HE'S MESSAGING

LIKE GROWING UP IN A COMMUNITY WHERE IF YOU EVENTUALLY REACH AN ACCEPTABLE AGE YOU GET TO HAVE A PRIVATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE CONTENT CREATOR YOU'VE BEEN IDOLISING FOR YOUR CHILDHOOD ARE YOU INSANE?

Overall he's digging himself a grave and handing out shovel.

And also. To be sosososososo clear.

NEVER. SEND. DEATH. THREATS. TO. ANYONE.

[itsnesss]

Could you do an Axel fan fick were the reader is Sam up until the kiss but she kisses him back and they go toger to his room .if you want or you could do some soft fluff after the kiss

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 | axel kovacevik × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | smut, slow burn, explicit content, p in v, protected sex, oral sex

word count | 1.6 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You had gone for a walk on the beach, looking for a moment to breathe after everything that had happened during the day. The sea breeze was cool, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore had an almost hypnotic effect. As you walked, you stopped, noticing a familiar figure in the distance. It was Axel, moving with precision and focus as he practiced a kata.

You exchanged a few words about the tournament before he asked to join you on your walk back to the hotel.

"Has anything stood out to you so far?" he asked after a while, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

You smiled, this time with more enthusiasm.

"La Sagrada Familia left me speechless. And the tapas… I think I’ve eaten more these days than in my entire life," you said.

Axel chuckled softly, his laughter so natural that it made you feel lighter.

"Yeah, the food here is dangerous. It makes you forget you need to stay in shape for the tournament."

"Definitely. Though I think walking through all those narrow streets and climbing stairs has balanced it out a bit."

The conversation flowed effortlessly between the two of you, but as you crossed a narrow alley, a pair of familiar figures blocked your way. Kwon and Yoon stood there, their expressions full of mockery and challenge.

"How interesting—spending time with someone from the rival team," Kwon said, crossing his arms and stepping forward.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the day pressing harder on your shoulders.

"Move aside, Kwon."

"How do you say it?" he teased.

"Move."

"I’ll ask one more time—how do you say it?"

"Move," you repeated firmly.

What followed happened quickly: the tension rose, Yoon attempted to attack Axel, and you had to step in to stop the fight. The sound of distant sirens ended the confrontation, and Kwon and Yoon disappeared with promises that this wasn’t over.

Axel grabbed your arm, concerned, and the two of you left the scene before the police arrived.

When you finally reached the beach again, you both collapsed onto the sand, trying to catch your breath.

"Thanks for defending me," you said after a moment. There was sincerity in your voice, but also a hint of guilt.

Axel, lying back with his hands behind his head, turned to look at you. His eyes reflected a mix of worry and something deeper you couldn’t quite define.

"No one should talk to you like that. I don’t care who they are."

That intensity in his gaze left you speechless. When you gently touched his arm to thank him again, Axel didn’t hesitate. He leaned toward you, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, almost hesitant, but soon filled with emotion and longing.

When you pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, as if the moment had stolen all the air around you.

"Well… that was unexpected," you said, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks.

Axel smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I guess it was. But I don’t regret it."

You lowered your gaze, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"Me neither," you admitted.

Axel looked at you for a moment longer, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, as if he wanted to make sure you understood how he felt.

"We should get back to the hotel," he murmured against your lips, but he didn’t make any effort to move, and neither did you.

When you crossed the hotel lobby, you barely exchanged a glance with the receptionist. Everything seemed like a blur until you finally stood in front of his room. Axel quickly unlocked the door, not letting go of your hand, and once inside, he shut the door behind him.

"I can’t help myself," he muttered, his voice low as his hands cupped your face, and his lips found yours with urgency.

The kiss was intense, a mix of everything you had both been holding back. It left you breathless, but you didn’t want it to stop. His hands moved down your arms, finding your waist and pulling you even closer. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, and your heart was racing so fast you wondered if he could hear it too.

"Axel…" you managed to say between kisses, your voice barely a whisper.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, pausing just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense but filled with tenderness.

You shook your head, taking his face in your hands.

"I don’t want you to stop," you said softly.

It was honest, and Axel seemed to feel it. He kissed you again, this time with even more passion.

His hands moved to the lower part of your back, pressing you against his body. You felt his erection pressing against your pelvis, and a delicious fear coursed through your entire body.

"Axel" you said again, trying to control yourself, but it was difficult, especially when his fingers found the hem of your blouse and began to rise.

He moved just enough for you to take off your top, and then he took off his shirt himself. The sight of his strong muscles took your breath away. With his dark eyes shining with desire, he was even more attractive.

"Damn," you whispered when his hands found your breasts.

Axel kissed your neck, the curve of your shoulder, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You let out a soft moan, surprised, but your body seemed to know what to do. Your fingers buried themselves in his dark hair as Axel licked your nipple, giving you a pleasure you didn't know existed.

"Ah" you let out a scream when he moved to the other breast. You could feel your legs weak, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked, releasing the nipple to look at you with concern. He was adorable, that mix of tenderness and lust.

You nodded your head. "Yes. Much better than I've been in a long time".

Axel smiled against your skin before moving down to your ribs, kissing every curve and every indentation. He reached your waistband and, after a few seconds of hesitation, he took them off.

Your body tensed with surprise, but Axel seemed to understand that it was just that: surprise. He stopped, caressing you gently.

"If you don't want to continue, I can stop" he whispered against your thighs.

But you didn't want it to stop. You wanted to know what it felt like to be with him like that, with his skin against yours, his fingers exploring you, and his lips kissing every part of you.

"Don't stop" you asked, and your words seemed to be enough.

Axel moved upwards, kissing your belly button, your sides, climbing back up to your breasts. His fingers moved to your underwear, and he removed it gently, kissing the parts he uncovered along the way.

"Axel" you whispered, when his lips found your sex.

"What's going on?" he asked without stepping back, his eyes shining with lust and curiosity.

"Nothing. It's just that I feel so..."

"Sexy?"

You laughed a little.

"I think that word doesn't come close enough".

Axel moved down, kissing your thighs, and then his tongue found your sex. Your body arched in surprise, the pleasure more intense than you had ever felt.

"Oh..."

The pressure inside you grew rapidly, your breathing became irregular, and before you knew it, you were screaming with pleasure.

Axel didn't stop, his mouth continued to lick you gently as you relaxed. Then, he moved up and gently kissed your lips.

"How do you feel?" he asked. His breath smelled like you.

"Incredible" you smiled.

Axel nodded, before kissing you again. His erection pressed against your leg, and you knew he still hadn't found pleasure. "What can I do for you?" you asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Just let me kiss you" he said, his voice still deep. And that's what he did, kissing your neck, your shoulders, your breasts. He caressed you gently until you felt relaxed again.

"Say it," he murmured after a while.

"What to say?"

Axel kissed your lips softly before responding.

"Let me do it".

You understood and felt your face burning. "It's fine" you said.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded your head.

"I am".

Axel moved to take off his clothes and settled between your legs. "Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable".

You needed a moment to talk.

"It's fine".

Axel said it, kissing your neck softly as he moved against you. His erection brushed against your sex, but it didn't enter yet. I was waiting, and when he started to move, it was slow, as if he wasn't sure what would happen.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Mmmh" he replied.

"Do you want more?"

The question seemed to confuse him, but then, understanding shone in his eyes.

"Yes".

You caressed his shoulders gently, and Axel moved faster, his hips pushing against yours. His breathing became rapid, and you felt his erection harden even more inside him.

"Axel!" you shouted, feeling the pleasure grow inside you.

And then, it was him who screamed, his body shaking as he reached orgasm. He collapsed onto you, kissing your cheek.

"Oh, gods..." he said, his breathing irregular.

"Mmm" you smiled. Your whole body was a delicious pain, and you knew it would hurt the next day, but it was worth it.

After a while, Axel got up and returned with a towel and some water. He helped you clean up, and then lay down beside you.

"Do you know what I loved most about this?" he asked while hugging you.

"What?"

"That you said my name".

You laughed a little.

"Why?"

"Because ever since I saw you, I've wanted to hear you say it while I was fucking you".

[vixenvtuber]

Yooo it’s so cool to see someone who’s a part of a show who engages with fan stuff the way you do. I know in your video you talk about how difficult it could be sometimes and all that. I just wanna say that it’s fun to hear about your ships and theories and stuff!!!

I love seeing the fanart you share. May ur ship be fueled forever <3

i’m glad!!

i honestly was hesitant to talk on it because i didn’t want to come across as “woe is me, a small handful of fandom members are being mean to me, an adult woman, about shipping, boo hoo”, but i felt it was important to address and then just embrace the rest of the fandom here on tumblr because truly? i feel like fandom spaces are for the worse when they weirdly police stuff

it’s fine to ship whatever pairings. it’s fine to explore the dynamics of pairings that would absolutely be awful in real life. it’s fine to mischaracterize and warp the characters in aus and fics for the sake of delving into deeper particular themes, or trying to see the good and wholesome and squeeze that dynamic out of characters that otherwise don’t have it by testing the circumstances of the world. you guys are on the whole young, using fictional characters for this sort of stuff is how you can develop emotional maturity, grow, and protect yourself against real life toxicity by recognizing patterns you’ve explored and enjoyed in fiction

it hurts my heart IMMENSELY to see younger members of this fandom fretting about posting their artwork or even just thoughts about a particular ship because they’re worried about being run off the internet by puritanical finger-waggers when a fandom should be a safe space for people to experiment and blossom as people and as creatives. no one should be debating deleting their account and disengaging from a fandom they love just because they ship a “problematic” ship

and i understand that as a voice actor working on the show i might influence the fandom one way or another by giving ships and aus and theories i find interesting attention, but i hope that it just inspires people on the whole to just dig more into the stuff about the show that brings them joy, even if it veers away from what i or any of the other actors are enjoying

please do not stop creating, learning, and discussing, even if it can feel scary sometimes

just remember to keep your online activities under an alias, keep your private life private, use content warnings appropriately, be mindful of other fandom members’ triggers and keep sensitive content in appropriate places where the tiniest eyes can���t see them, and have fun

[romana-after-dark]

Dead Dove December 2024

Hello everyone! This December I’m hosting a multi-fandom event that I’m calling, Dead Dove December! From 12/01/2024 - 12/31/2024 I’m encouraging others to create something that expresses their deepest and (most importantly) darkest desires. I will be reblogging all pieces of art or fanfiction, and will post a masterlist in January. or whenever i get around to it. i have not even done the pride masterlist bc I'm a disaster! But most importantly this will be for funsies.

I hosted this last year with just oscar/pedro Characters but Logan is my special guy so he's here now too <3

Details below the cut…

What is Dead Dove Do Not Eat?

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins in one of my comfort shows!

The phrase comes from a meme referencing the 2003 Arrested Development episode "Top Banana", in which Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

In short, what you see in the tags is what you should expect to see in the fic. This can apply for any type of fic, including the fluffy ones, but it’s usually associated with darker themes. That being said, this is your warning that this is a DARK THEMED EVENT. If you aren’t comfortable with darker topics like non-con, excessive violence, blood/gore, death, toxic relationships, 18+ age gaps, and more, then I encourage you not to participate in this event.

How to Participate

For the month of December, post your Dead Dove fanfiction or fan art on your blog. Use the tag #deaddovedecemeber2024 and tag me. You can also send a link via ask or DM if you like! I will not be posting anything for you, just reblogging and linking. At the end of December I will post a masterlist with links to everyone’s works! Side Note - Since Tumblr doesn’t really allow for NSFW art, you can post your work on Twitter or any other site that allows it and just send me that link so I can add it to the masterlist.

Rules

You MUST be 18+ to participate. I will be checking your blog/social media to be sure. Please make sure your age is easy to find. If I find that you’re a minor or if your age isn’t readily present I will be blocking you and you will be unable to participate. You can just add that you are over 18 if you don’t want your age out on the internet. As the creator and promotor of this event, I need to know I’m not interacting with minors given the nature of this event.

The work MUST be dark in some way. There’s no limit to how dark your work needs to be or can be, but it needs to contain some sort of dark theme in order to qualify. If non con isn’t your thing, dub con via stockholm syndrome or brainwash can let you write a more comfortable scene while still remaining dark. Fics and art do not necessarily need to be NSFW. last year a friend even did cnc, where it was seemingly dark but then ended with it was Marc and reader ding a scene. Dark reader or oc is an absolute yes.

Your work MUST have an Oscar Isaac, Hugh Jackman, or Pedro Pascal Character. It can be x reader, x oc,xcanon character, crosoversec. If you want Joel Miller fucking the ghoul from Fallout (or both of them fucking a reader)you can even though Eddie doesn't exist in any Oscar Pedro Hugh content. If you want Marc and Logan to fuck, go nuts. Got a series you're already writing, and wanna submit a dark chapter or a dark Au to it? That's fine too! We're pretty open here. No rpf.

Do NOT post anything before 12/01/2024. I will not count submissions prior to that date or after 12/31/2024. Masterlsit will be posted in January.

Your work MUST contain the proper tags. I won’t police how detailed your tags should be, but, for instance, if your work contains non-con, and you didn’t tag non-con then your work will not qualify. Please be inclusive in your writing where you can, but aware of POC queer and disabled people.

You may submit no more than two (2) pieces. This can include a fanfic and fanart, two fanfics or two fanarts. This is to allow someone to write a piece and make a work of art to accompany it. You can also work with another creator together.

I’m not going to yuck someone’s yum, but there are some things I’m just personally not comfortable with and since I’ll be reading/viewing/promoting all of these, I have a few things not allowed in the event. The list of what’s NOT allowed is shorter than the list of what IS allowed so here’s a list of the things that will NOT be tolerated in this event:

No underage/aged up minor content - To clarify, this includes things popular ships like - TLOU 1 or "Show Ellie" x Joel or Miguel O’Hara X Gwen Stacy. No "ageing up" minors for the purpose of a fic.

No Bestiality - To clarify, monsterfucking does NOT count as bestiality (at least to me). For example, werewolves, venom, Khonshu, e.t.c. are all allowed.

No Real person fanfiction. Can’t include Oscar, Pedro, or Hugh. This is not a moral judgement or me looking down just not in my comfort zone

No incest - To clarify, step-sibling/step-parent relationships are permitted as long as everyone is 18+. Different age of consent in your state or country does not apply here, and frankly I'd prefer 21+ but I know there are younger people than me who write so I'm not gonna say you gotta write like that. Selfcest relationships are also allowed (like Moon Knight or Miguel with his alternate self, e.t.c.).

No necro/snuff. Plain and simple.

I have final say in what I want to promote. Is TLOU 2 Ellie an adult and not technically Joel's ctual kid? Yes. technically it fits all the rules but it gives me the ick so I'm not gonna accept it. I cannot possibly prepare for all scenarios, and i want to just be able to have fun here with yall.

If you’re unsure if something is allowed or not, you can send me a DM or an ask for clarification prior to posting.

You can use any prompts you want or none, you aren’t tied to any one idea but here are some to get the ideas flowing if you need them!

Also, you can absolutely use a fic to inspire your art, or art to inspire a fic! Your inspiration piece, whether yours or someone else’s does not have to be from December, but you MUST obtain permission from the original creator before I promote your work. Most creators are happy when their work inspires others, and all my fics are open to being used for inspiration, but please reach out to the creator first.

I’m very excited! This is my second year hosting this an I've hosted other events by myself or with friends so I'm happy to keep going, this time with Hugh Jackman bc i can't get Logan out of my head.

Dividers and header made by the amazing @melodygatesauthor

Please consider reblogging to spread the word!

I don't reall know many people in the logan/hugh jackman fandom so I'd love if this was an oppritunity to get to know yall too!

Dark prompt list to come, also check out #deaddovedecember2023 to see what last year had!

[trafficblr-confessions]

I think people are getting a little too comfortable toeing the line between constructive criticism and being a hate-watcher.

Between the policing on how tasks should go and the flack the CCs have gotten for the changes of pace in the series, a lot of us have forgotten that the Life Series is NOT just another show like the ones you see on netflix or hulu, and when you publicly spread hate as a viewer you're not poking holes in corporations, but individual people just trying to have fun playing together.

Constructive critism or ideas or suggestions are all fine, but jesus christ, the lashback especially against Gem? The fact that she ended up tweeting about how stressed she felt about the upcoming sessions due to the amount of badmouthing fans have been doing, it makes me sick! This isn't a scripted, rule-abiding production, it's an improv series with a gimick that a bunch of friends play together on. Hell, wasn't it the rule breaking in the first season that made us all crazy for it to begin with?

It's especially disheartening with this being Gem's first full season, it makes me afraid she may not want to join back next time around.

And yes, I know, Gem and everyone else on the server are grown adults, they can manage their media as needed and it's inevitable people don't like their content and/or say hurtful things. The problem lies in when it's the actual viewers, the people following the series. Again, it's not like hate watching a professional production and leaving reviews that reflect it. It's just haunting people playing together to have fun, and quite frankly, it's dehumanizing. Recieving hate from just anyone is one thing, but receiving hate from regular fans? How do some of y'all genuinely not see how harmful that is?

If you don't like how the series is going, click off. Have mean shit to say about the people in it? Either share it in closed groups or not at all, not places where you Know the CCs can see it! It's different when you're on a largely fandom dominated space such as tumblr or discord, but going on more open platforms such as twitter and even reddit on some degree?

This isn't an issue with constructive criticism. This is an issue with borderline bullying the CCs because the series isn't going how certain fans want it to.

.

[haithhegimp]

Jason Todd is Mentally Sixteen During Under The Red Hood*

(The overly long introduction is all in brackets! You will not experience too much confusion should you choose to skip, so feel free to skip. The content of the post will be under the cut.

*As always with the DCU, consistency is far more dead than the Waynes could ever be. This post is about Jason's timeline from UTRH, and only UTRH. I will use a couple of sources from other places for information we cannot confirm from UTRH, but can vaguely assume are true there. However I will not be talking about the timelines from other media, and especially not other continuities, in this post. I will also be interpreting certain scenes, and that ultimately makes this post somewhat subjective.

I love UTRH a lot, and I found that most other Jason fans love it too. We often use it as a major content source and base a lot of our opinions and feelings surrounding Jason on it. However, in hyperfixating and re-reading it several times over, I have realised that a lot of us miss a major detail that gets exposition-ed to us in Chapter 14/[Batman(1940) Annual #25]!

Of course, if you've come to the same conclusions as I have, and choose to ignore them, then absolutely more power to you. I'm not here to police which canon you folks choose to stitch together and treat as your own, if you choose to interact with canon at all. These are all just comics, have fun!

On top of that, it sometimes gets vague and up to interpretation (which is honestly an aspect I kind of like) so this can all be considered my own opinion if you personally disagree with an interpretation I make <3

Anyways, a lot of us enjoy the angst factor that comes out of Jason being young, but not many of us realise exactly how young he is. This is something I wish to explain to you folks for your content consumption pleasure ^^

Overly long introduction done, yo!)

1. Jason dies at 15 years old.

I am so sorry, I could not find a primary source for this.

Secondary Source A- Word of mouth. Various different Tumblr and Reddit posts I have found when looking this up have listed Jason as being 15 when he dies. Including this post from @thebatmanfiles-blog, this post from @fuckyeahjasontodd, this post from @oh-mother-of-darkness, and these posts from u/GooderCand and u/InDarknessOftFindI

Secondary Source B- Jason's death certificate from [The Batman Files]

Not to be mistaken for [Batman Secret Files], Matthew K. Manning's [The Batman Files] is not a canon DC property work, to my knowledge. (It's honestly kind of confusing, but I'm listing this as a secondary source because I am... pretty sure that [The Batman Files] is not a canon DC property, it is not available on the DC Database Fanwiki or the Official DC Website).

2. Jason Is Revived Six Months After His Death

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25] *(This is just a fun fact, feel free to skip. The page of Jason being alive is taken directly from the, at the time unreleased, [Batman #428: Robin Lives!], with only being slightly recoloured. Due to the gimmick of Jason's death, [Batman (1940) #428] had two different versions drawn out, and though I wasn't able to find any interviews or comments about this on shallow research, it's nice to imagine that the producers of UTRH wanted to showcase Aparo and DeCarlo's unseen efforts ^^)

Jason was originally supposed to live (according to the narration)-- we can use this to say that his injuries (by comic book logic) were non-fatal.

Jason, in his coffin, is shown with the same injuries as his dying-but-not-supposed-to-die-body-- we can use this to say he is biologically 15 when revived.

After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 15.5 Jason's Biological Age- 15 Jason's Mental Age- 15

3. Jason Gets Into A Coma For One Year

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

After digging himself out of the grave, Jason is hit by a car (man, he cannot catch a break)

He is hospitalized and operated on, before going into a coma for One Year

General-Comic-Book-Logic and Actual Research (I sincerely apologize but I'm not looking through genuine medical documents to verify this one, I'm just gonna trust the basic google search) both agree that coma patients do not mentally age

This means Jason's mental age stagnates for One Year

One Year After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 16.5 Jason's Biological Age- 16 Jason's Mental Age- 15

4. Jason Spends Two Years Catatonic*

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25] *The original describes this state as Jason being run by his instincts, without reason, clarity, or memory. Fans have labeled this as catatonia. I will be referring to this state as catatonia for convenience sake.

Jason wakes up from his coma, but is catatonic

He spends One Year being homeless and living off of instincts (man, he CANNOT catch a break)

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

An international game of telephone occurs when a thug sees Jason doing some Robin moves

The Al Ghul's are at the end of the line and kidnap Jason

They keep him, in his catatonic state, for One Year

It is unclear, at this point, whether Jason's catatonia has impaired his mental aging

Three Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 18.5 Jason's Biological Age- 18 Jason's Mental Age- ???

5. Jason Gets Dunked Into The Lazarus Pit

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

Here is where my interpretation comes in,

Jason's first words upon leaving the Pit are ["What!? What is happening to me!?"]

Jason, while running away with Talia asks, ["Talia?! What the hell do you-- Where was--!"]

Both of these show Jason being confused about his situation, and unsure of his surroundings. Especially the confusion in ["Talia?!"] means that he is surprised/confused to see her.

All of this goes to say-- he doesn't have any memory of how he came to be in this situation, and he doesn't have any memory of his time being catatonic.

HOWEVER!!! The possible counter-argument is that during his remembering sequence, Talia is a figure on screen, which has the mild implication that she is something he remembers?? This contradicts my interpretation but also has less evidence.

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

Jason remembers his death and the events leading up to it, but there is no mention of whether or not he remembers his years being catatonic.

I interpret this as him not remembering.

With My Interpretations, Three Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 18.5 Jason's Biological Age- 18 Jason's Mental Age- 15

6. Jason Prepares For Being Red Hood

[Under The Red Hood #14] / [Batman (1940) Annual #25]

We get that... and then the BTS of Hush. That's literally all we get.

It's so unclear, I'm sorry it's really sort of impossible to give you even a vague estimate of how much time passes.

I've been trying to comb through the rest of UTRH to find things but we only get clear time stamps after Jason's debut as Red Hood. (i may have missed something, though! feel free to lmk if youve found a time stamp in UTRH before Jason's debut)

I only have my personal thoughts that it was probably a year or less between this and Jason's debut.

For the purposes of this post, we'll just say that roughly a year passes with training and preparation.

7. Jason Debuts As Red Hood

[Under The Red Hood #1] / [Batman (1940) #635]

So, at the start of Under The Red Hood, Four-ish Years After Revival Jason's Chronological Age- 19 - 20 Jason's Biological Age- 19 Jason's Mental Age- 16

And alternatively, if you mentally age him during his catatonic era, Jason's (alt) Mental Age- 18

(Now it is time for the Overly Long Conclusion! These will just be more of my personal thoughts and comments, and will be within brackets as well ^^

Honestly, despite me piecing this version of canon together, I don't usually subscribe to it lol. I find UTRH Jason attractive, and canon is what you choose to Frankenstein together, so I usually place him as actually around 19.

But if you consider the events of UTRH through the lense of a deeply traumatized and angsty teenager, that happens to have way too much power? It feels... oddly logical? Like, through this perspective, I look at Jason telling Bruce that he's the better Batman in quite possibly the most dramatic way ever and I go, "Oh of course he would, he's sixteen. I would say shit like that at sixteen if I had even half the baggage."

TBH, I don't think that Winnick actually considered this timeline when writing UTRH Jason, but it fits together really funnily well with his character.

It also makes everything quite a lot more tragic. With this perspective, its more than just losing his teenagehood to shitty circumstances. He is actively and presently still a teenager, a child, when in shitty circumstances. Jason is a sixteen year old child when his father slits his throat.

Actual For Realsies Not Just By Technicality Teenage Crime Lord is absolutely insane, deeply tragic, and more than a little bit funny to me.

If you read through all of this, I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts and perspectives. Whether you see where I'm coming from, whether you have a completely different perspective, or whether you like thinking of this only sometimes! Hell, even if it's just to cry with me over The Tragedy of Jason Todd, I'd love to chat.

Thank you for your time, if you made it all the way through! Overly Long Conclusion done, yo!)

[My Drawing, lol]

[fishfooddude]

Anywhere

Rhett Abbott x Reader

A rejected marriage proposal and a desire to leave Wabang leaves Rhett in an interesting situation.

Outer Range MasterList

Directory

You were awoken by pounding on your front door. A low wince came from your throat as the pounding intensified. “I’m comin’... I’m comin’...” you groaned as you got out of bed, draping your quilt over your shoulders as you walked out of your bedroom into the open, free-flowing vibe of the rest of your small apartment. You paused before opening the door. You should take that picture frame down…

As you peered through the peephole, a mix of fear and resignation gripped you. “Com’on Sunshine- I know you’re home.” you sighed, your mind filled with weariness, as you opened the door to reveal none other than Luke Tillerson. “You gonna invite me in?” His voice, laced with a hint of charm, sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to slam the door in his face and go back to bed, but as he towered over you, you knew he could force his way into your apartment if he really wanted to. You stepped aside and allowed Luke into the foyer. He removed his hat and set it on the small table you had beside the door. 

You watched as Luke looked around your apartment. He scoffed slightly before putting his hands on his hips and turning his attention to you, “Why’d you say no?” he huffed. You took a shallow breath and watched Luke’s features harden. He was never your biggest fan, but when you’d told your now ex-high-school-sweetheart the infamous William “Billy” Tillerson ‘no’ to his incredibly romantic marriage proposal two weeks ago, Luke’s general dislike turned to hate. 

-

Billy had been the perfect boyfriend in high school and was really great when you’d gone away for college while he’d opted to stay home due to Wayne’s dwindling health. He was patient with you; he would drive from Wabang, Wyoming, to Vermillion, South Dakota, for every sorority event every softball game, and practically became your sugar daddy so you could focus on your studies. He was supportive in every way possible. He was proud of you and was content just sitting on your dorm room floor, staring at you as you did homework. As long as he got to spend time with you. After you’d graduated and moved back home, Billy thought it was time to ‘make an honest woman out of you,’ as Wayne would say. He didn’t want to rush anything; the two of you had been together for eight years, but he could wait another eighty if it meant being with you forever. You worked at the police station to get real-world experience before applying to either law school or the FBI- you still hadn’t decided what you wanted to do with your future, but you felt Billy wouldn’t be in it. 

You knew Billy was planning something. He was never really the subtle type; the bells rang when he’d asked you on a picnic one warm spring afternoon. You’d been back home for a few months and were officially independent from your parents. You were itching to get out of Wabang again. Billy drove the two of you out into the Northern pasture of the Tillerson Ranch, a vast expanse of green that stretched as far as the eye could see. In the spring, a large patch of wildflowers would bloom just outside the woods, adding a burst of color to the landscape. It was beautiful and secluded. Billy pulled out all the stops- it had been a great afternoon until he got down on one knee and presented you with a goddy diamond ring. He made a speech about how you were the love of his life, and he wanted the entire world to know. You watched the hopeful boyish smile leave his face as you started apologizing- “You don’t wanna marry me?” “No, Billy- I’m so sorry I just… I don’t know what I want.” 

You got up, wrapping your cardigan around your body tightly before running away from Billy. Your dress was riding up, but you didn’t care. You needed to get out of there. You weren’t sure how you’d managed to get to the road between the Tillerson and Abbott ranches before dark, but as you started the daunting walk back to the city, you’d absolutely shattered Billy’s heart, and you didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself. A horn honked behind you; as you looked over your shoulder, you paused in your step as none other than Rhett Abbott pulled up beside you. “Shouldn’t your guy be drivin’ you home?” 

When you burst into tears, Rhett stared at you like a deer in the headlights. He put his truck in park before hopping out and guiding you to the passenger’s side door. He helped you into the cab while you continued to sob fat tears, your body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. You didn’t care that Rhett saw you ugly crying- he didn’t know what to say or what to do. He thought about how he’d comforted Amy the first time she’d fallen off a horse, he figured since you were crying in a similar way- maybe it would help. You retracted when you felt his large, calloused hand pat your shoulder. He pulled his hand away, shifted his truck back into drive, and slowly made his way down the dirt road that led back to the city. He let you cry, unsure of what to say or what to do. He turned on the radio and drummed his thumbs along to the song that filled the cab. 

When Rhett pulled up to your apartment complex, you whimpered out a ‘thank you’ and reached for the door handle. “Do you want me to come inside with ya?”

-

Luke stared at you, waiting for a response. You sighed and wrapped yourself tighter, “Luke- I… uh, I just-” you stared before Luke cut you off with a loud scoff. “Billy has treated you like a goddam princess since high school! Just fuckin’ marry the poor kid!” he yelled, stepping closer to you. You shuttered at the sudden movement. Luke noticed and pushed a hand through his hair, “Look, Billy stopped singing. Don’t get me wrong- I like the quiet, but the crying… just tell him you’ll marry him.”

You shook your head, “I’ve hurt him enough, Luke… please leave.” you instructed as you opened the door. Luke huffed one last time before taking his hat from the table, “You should take that picture down.” he retorted before slamming the door behind himself. You sighed and looked longer at the picture frame by the door. It was a simple silver frame engraved with 9/2/16 at the top. In the frame was a collage of pictures of you and Billy from high school and a few from when you were in college. You couldn’t take it down but couldn’t look at it.

It had been a long week at work; you were tired and lethargic and absolutely did not want to go out with your friends that Saturday night. Walking into the bar that night, you saw Trevor Tillerson trying to cozy up with Maira Olivares. One Tillerson was one too many for tonight, you just hoped that Billy stayed home tonight. You followed your friends over to a booth in the back and quickly put in an order for drinks. 

After a couple of hours, you’d begun to enjoy yourself- your friend Sara was indulging the group with a story about some guy she’d been hooking up with as the five of you were throwing back shots when a waitress walked up and handed you a drink and handed it to you. “Guy at the bar sent this for ya.” she winked before walking away. A choir of ‘oooooo’s filled your booth, making you roll your eyes. “50 bucks; it was one of the Tillerson boys.” your friend Amanda laughed.

 “Fuck off, Amanda- Trevor and Luke both hate my guts, and I don’t think Billy is here.” you craned your neck over to the bar and felt the air leave your lungs when Rhett tipped his hat in your direction. “I need some air,” you said abruptly as you got up and quickly headed toward the exit. You weren’t looking where you were going when you bumped into the last person you wanted to see right now, “Hey, Sunshine…” you winced at the low voice of none other than Billy Tillerson. You didn’t respond to his greeting as you exited the bar. 

Rhett watched you from the bar. He’d always thought you were pretty back in high school. He was a couple of years older than you, and you’d been practically inseparable from Billy Tillerson since the two of you had gotten together during your freshman year- Rhett’s senior year. Since that night he drove you back to your apartment and hung out inside for a few hours. He couldn’t get you out of his head. When he saw you walk in with your girlfriends, he felt it was safe to make a move. He and Perry had come out to get a beer and unwind. Perry knew about his little crush on you, before a few weeks ago he’d thought it had gone away. Rhett had told him about a date he’d gone on with Maria, but it was like a light switch went off when he found out about you and Billy breaking up; he was over Maria and now head over heels with you. Perry found it amusing; he figured his brother would never tie himself down with a wife or kids, but when he saw how Rhett was looking at you, he was second-guessing himself. 

You pushed your hands through your hair as you took a deep breath outside, you were trying to ground yourself, but all of that went to shit when Rhett walked outside. “Hey.” he greeted you with his crooked smile. You groaned and walked in the other direction, “Rhett, please just leave me-” Rhett cut you off midsentence with a deliciously sweet kiss. His lips tasted like the beer he’d been drinking. With one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, he pulled you close to his body as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. You kissed him back and looped your arms around his neck as the kiss raised in intensity, Rhett was the one to end it. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere,” he mumbled.

“Rhett- I - I can’t.” you studdered as you tangled your fingers in his hair. “Runaway with me, Sweetheart. Anywhere you wanna go, we’ll go.” Rhett said as he ran his thumb against your cheekbone, “Anywhere you want, Baby. Anywhere.” 

“You fuckin’ whore.” Trevor howled. He’d come outside to smoke but to discover you in Rhett Abbott’s arms was a slap in the face. “My brother isn’t good enough for you, but this fuck up is? You broke his fuckin’ heart, you fuckin’ whore!” his yells got louder, and you pushed Rhett away before wiping the corner of your mouth to wipe away your smeared lipgloss. You looked between the men and felt shame crash over you. Rhett walked up to Trevor and pushed him back, “Don’t call her a whore.” he spat. Trevor rolled his eyes as he chuckled, “Well, she shouldn’t act like one then.” he pushed Rhett back. The two stared each other down as the bar doors opened. 

Perry joined the group in the parking lot. “Everythin’ okay out here?” he questioned as he adjusted his hat, “This don’t concern you, Perry.” Trevor spat in his direction. Perry shifted his gaze to you. You shook your head, hoping this wouldn’t become a parking lot fight. There was a moment of silence before the other Tillerson brothers came outside. You looked at Trevor and pleaded with him not to tell Billy what he’d walk in on. He shook his head and didn’t bother to stifle his laughter, “Your little girlfriend here is just a worthless whore, Billy.” 

Billy shook his head. He didn’t want to believe what his brother said. “Don’t say that Trevor…” he stared at the ground. His stomach twisted as Trevor continued ranting about your supposed promiscuity. Billy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before looking up at you. Your hair was longer than he remembered. Although they were filled with tears, you still had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. Billy wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug you until his arms fell off. “Guess you lucked out, Billy- she probably woulda tried passing off Rhett’s kid as yours.” Trevor laughed. He was trying to get a rise out of you, “Shut the fuck up, Trevor!” Billy yelled, closing the distance between the two of them before finally punching him. 

Billy shook his hand out as Luke finally intervened in the situation. Billy pushed Luke away from him before turning his attention back to you. “Are you okay, Princess?” 

You slowly nodded, finding comfort in the pet name. “Okay,” Billy sighed. He glared in Rhett’s direction before walking off in the opposite direction. You’d had enough for the evening. Rhett reached out for your hand only to be smacked away. “Just- just leave me alone, Abbott. Please,” you begged. Rhett took a step back, and you went back into the bar to find your friends and go home. 

-

You couldn’t take it anymore. After weeks of gossip behind your back and judgemental stares from the older women in the community, you needed to leave Wabang. The day you’d gotten your acceptance letter to Texas A&M School of Law was the best day you’d had in weeks. You found an off-campus apartment and a job at a local law firm. Everything was set for the big move, but there was still one thing you had to do before you could run away to Texas for your new start. 

“Hey.” you half-heartedly grinned when Billy opened the door. “Hi,” he said as he stepped onto the front porch. “I got into law school… I’m leaving tomorrow, but I wanted to say bye to you.” 

“I knew you’d get in. You’re smart.” Billy chuckled as he rubbed his arm awkwardly.

“I love you so much. Thank you for everything you did for me. I couldn’t have done it without you.” you softly smiled as you reached out for one last hug. Billy smiled the goofy smile you’d loved since the day the two of you met in freshman biology. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“If you love something, let it go…” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, making you giggle as you gave him a squeeze. “I love you Y/N. I’m always gonna love you.”

The two of you stood there longer than you should’ve; it felt nice and nostalgic. When he released you from his grip, it was freeing. “Just promise you aren’t movin’ to Texas with Rhett Abbott,” Billy pleaded as he walked you back to your car. You laughed and said, “No, Billy, I’m not moving to Texas with Rhett Abbott.” 

While you hadn’t planned on moving away with Rhett, he had other plans. You didn't know what to say when he showed up on your doorstep a few weeks after you’d settled.

 “I said anywhere, Baby, and I guess that’s Texas.”

[pupyuj]

Ena you have to think bigger! You should be the one killing people instead of dying then detective an will look for you and arrest you my friend 😋

anon you have awakened something in me with this ask 😧😧 as fun(?) as doing this ask was, this is important: please look carefully through the warnings bcs this type of content might be too dark and disturbing for some! don’t engage if it’s not your cup of tea and especially if it could potentially trigger you.

[cw: murder!, blood, knife play, fear play, blood play]

OKAY SO you being this clumsy amateur serial killer that leaves evidence all over the place but somehow being clever enough to always escape arrest and stay hidden… you’re a bit famous in the precinct and detective ahn is very intrigued by you!! 🥰 so much so that she makes it her goal to find out even one thing about the person that’s been making a mess of her city 🤭 so imagine her surprise when it’s the timid, quiet girl that’s always waiting at the bus stop in front of the police station that yujin herself works in?? it was unexpected, as yujin always thought you were the type of person to not even be able to look at a drop of blood without throwing up, let alone be the very culprit of the kind of gruesome scene you leave for the police to witness after your kills… but then again, it’s always the innocent-looking ones 😰

it takes a while but yujin will definitely be able to track you down… especially since you’ve captured her heart and she became your little stalker! maybe even fan… 🤭🤭 one moment you’re driving your knife down a pervert’s chest in an alleyway and the next, yujin (who just so happened to witness the murder) has successfully lured you into her house where she has you on your knees, begging for her not to turn you in 😣 ofc yujinnie wouldn't do that though! the moment you dropped on your knees in front of her, you became her little toy!

faking sympathy and pouting at you with the fakest sorry eyes ever as you begged and begged for her not to throw you in jail… saying that every time you killed it was with valid reason.. and you know what? yujin believes you!! her judgment is not at all clouded by her strong desire to study your sick brain like a lab rat and have you all to herself… and she definitely doesn’t just let you off with a warning.. in fact she keeps you there on the floor, your face buried in between her thighs with your mouth on her pussy, eating her out like it’s your last meal bcs your life quite literally depended on it 🙁🙁 aww you’d be crying while doing it too.. so confused as to why you were so willing to do such a thing for yujin when you could just.. kill her. 🙂

and that’s what you attempt to do! pulling out a pocket knife hidden underneath your clothes and swinging it at the detective, only to have your wrist locked in a tight grip before you were pushed down on the floor, hitting your head on the cold ground and nearly blacking out.. it was the perfect opportunity for yujin to steal that knife and play with it… “you’re brave. but you’re stupid.” her running the tip of the blade across your jawline.. down to your neck, lightly pressing the steel where your pulse throbbed… yujinnie finds pleasure in the fear in your eyes, how your chest heaved while you sobbed pathetically bcs you were so scared she was just going to slit your throat and leave you to choke on your own blood ☹️

but yujin was too nice (?) for that!! you were too pretty to be left dead.. and she has to hear that voice of yours more!! mmdjdhdbfh yujinnie taking off your pants and inserting her fingers inside you so suddenly :(( but she immediately pulls out and licks your slick off her fingers, convinced that all she needed was a little taste test and she was right when she thought that you’d be sweet 🥺 but then she’d have that knife pointed at your neck while she rubbed her cunt against yours! you letting out a mix of a sob and a moan bcs the feeling was so good but fuck,, yujin’s hand could slip and she could easily kill you!! yujinnie ending up pressing the knife a bit deeper than intended when your clits brushed way too good and slicing your neck a little.. god, you looked even prettier with blood tainting your soft skin…

the pleasure blocking out the sting that came from the small wound on your neck… having to grip yujin’s free arm and grinding back up against her just to feel more… and that was when she finally chucks the knife elsewhere and focuses on pleasuring the two of you! basically pouncing her cunt against yours while she kissed all over your chest and neck.. making sure to lick and kiss your wound before grabbing your face and finally kissing your lips… tasting your own blood on her tongue 😵‍💫😵‍💫 shdhsijcdj also makes sure to coat her lips with your blood and leave BLOODY kiss marks on all over your chest… the sight gives her a new kind of rush that only feeds her brain with more sickness.. ugh 🤤

fuckfudjcjd she’d make sure the two of you came tgoether 🫣🫣 continuing on grinding while you’re cumming bcs yujinnie couldn’t help it 😵‍💫 her collapsing on your chest, the two of you breathing heavily in sync.. until yujin remembers that you’re injured… in which she’ll make sure to treat that goddamn injury carefully! her suddenly being so gentle and critical of herself as she’s bandaging your neck up,, annoyed at how she messed up such a pretty doll but still can’t help but find that wound on your neck so fucking perfect… whatever that means 🫢 she’ll send you home, telling you to be careful not to get caught bcs she’ll miss you if you get jailed 😐

and you know what happens after you’re out of her house?? she picks up that knife and runs her tongue across the steel, licking up your blood with a smile on her face… she’s already looking forward to the next time she catches you red-handed 😵‍💫

[killerlookz]

to my joost fic writers some lame ass blog is literally just rbing joost fics to complain abt ppl sexualizing him wahh wahh... just thought you guys should be warned <3

anyways... for those who feel offended by my blog's content, joost will literally never see my tumblr, so there's no need to "feel bad" for him, he literally has no clue who i am, and is living his day to day life completely unaffected by my, and any other writers work... and you rbing it, or bringing the work outside of tumblr is only bringing more attention to it- if he ever says he is uncomfortable with fics being written about him in this manner, i will obviously respectfully take them down <3 as i actually do respect him as a human being! im not some weird gross little freak who is actively trying to make him uncomfortable (and same can be said for the rest of the joost fic writers on here) contrary to what the twt and tiktok fans may believe

rpf has been apart of fandom forever, and i understand that this is definitely a debate that has been going on for awhile and people may absolutely have their own opinions and personal boundaries, YOU are not joost, nor are you any other celebrity- and therefore you cannot speak to what makes them comfortable or not, and it is not your job OR your place to make that decision for them.

please do not act like fic writers are actually being invasive or equate this to any sort of harassment, we aren't shoving this shit into joost's face, or forcing him to read these fics.

but this being said, i always tag rpf as such, and therefore, if rpf bothers you, literally just block the tag. people's tumblrs are THEIR personal space, it is not your job to police the internet for your fav! you literally have to ACTIVELY seek out these works to read it. there's a reason all my content is kept behind the "read more and tag rpf and smut" because i dont want you to see it if you DONT want to!! that's why it's hidden behind tags/read more because those "technically" act as consent for you to see the works.

but creating an ENTIRE blog to be weird abt fic writers is strange behavior! however i assume this person is probably a child and i will give them grace for that fact, and with that being said, you shouldn't be on NSFW blogs to begin with!

also please do not actively seek out content that upsets you!!!! it will do just that!!! upset you