#sometimes you just start talking less and less

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Saying this as someone who's 37, likes to read physical books when they can, and fully understands the criticism that modern media is expecting increasingly short attention spans from it's audience...

I'll be real with you I was in the world's worst fit of adhd when I first wanted to watch the flash tv series as it was coming out, but I figured 'it's the flash, it'd be hilarious to watch at 2x speed..."

I was right. My commitment to the bit was rewarded. It was easier to sit though. I had a great time.

Problem,

I got used to watching TV at that speed and even started talking faster. My partner was not impressed.

I eventually got back to watching everything at normal speed, I was in my 20's at the time forgive me, but to this day sometimes I'll occasionally remember, when there's something I want to watch, especially on youtube, that's just going a little too slow or has some pacing issues, or I am willing to watch it for 15 minutes but not a half hour... I'll remember I can literally just make it go faster...

And I will shamelessly do that.

But the thing is that it's a lot like speed reading. You do it when you want to absorb the content for yourself, all of it, but aren't looking to savour something. There are lots of reasons to do this. People speed watch for a list of similar reasons to why some people sometimes opt to speed read. I think it's important we try not to judge.

But I do find it a little head tilt inducing when someone habitually watches everything they watch for enjoyment at 2x speed like that's just how they prefer to consume everything at all times.

Like there is a certain percentage of stuff you might expect to consume for the cultural reference, or to try to get into it when you aren't yet, or for the information and visuals but not the whole experience of sitting with it... But at some point you have to just spend less time consuming things just to consume them rather than for enjoyment?

My excuse is I have adhd and other quirks and CAN'T be medicated for them... I'm not sure what they're doing or why.

"good enough to watch at 1x speed" is a thing i see people occasionally mention on social media and it's always like. oh okay your perspective here is completely alien to mine. okay

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

After Harley being turned into the system of Playtime co

After the hour of Joy, both Sawyer and you got separated and while he was secured to a system and manage to strike a deal with the prototype, you were still human and very much in danger.

After what happened Sawyer became more obsessive, more paranoid. Searching for you through every camera and sending Yarnaby to expeditions to try and find you.

Harley and you were basically the only ones who had interacted with Yarnaby so far so the yarn lion knew you pretty well and was happy to search for you.

But really, the doctor searched for your presence in every camera, every sensor detector. Hell he even started setting traps for Doey because he though he would know were you are.

Of course, you were hiding in places with no camera because of the less amount of toys that lived in that areas. Therefore, much safer.

You would try to go upstairs again to search for food and for Harley, or at least of what happened to him. Of course you found nothing since there was not really that much time for paperwork after your stunt.

You only found a black tape with the title "the doctor" in it but so far you haven't found any system to plug it in so you can watch it.

And Harley, well, unlike you he has all the information of Playtime Co at his very whim.

When he is not searching for you or trying to hunt the remaining of Doeys group, he look at your files. Your photos before entering the company in your curriculum vitae; the ones when you were working in the company, some of which you are accompanied by him and other researchers; and the ones of the recent days before the hour of joy.

Talking about Doey, he also searched for you, scared for your well being. He knew you would go alone and even if he doubt the doctor would purposely harm you, he knew others will.

The children are just worried for their adoptive parent friend

You weren't aware yet of what Sawyer had been turned into. But you were aware that whatever living creature in this factory was a potential threat to you. That's the reason you tried to save every bullet of the only gun you had.

You would sometimes remember some of Harley's habits. Like for example his insistence of not eating sweet pickles. You remembered how, one day you went to get food for the food of you per his request and picked to burgers.

When you came back to the office to eat your dinner and started to bite in the food Harley made a unpleased look.

Do they have pickles in it?- he asked disgusted- I swear I cannot stand this things. So horribly disgusting...

Oh, yeah sorry, I didn't know. You can give them to me if you don't like them. I love them so theres no problem.- you responded, playing down the pickle problem

He loocked at you, frowning. With the plastic fork that was next to him he withdrew the remaining pickles on his burger and gave them to you.

Of course now that Harley knew you in fact like those pickles then he would ask for them in your food when it was his turn to go upstairs and pick your lunches.

Members of the stuff were absolutely amused when they saw Dr Harley Sawyer up on the cafeteria, he almost never ventured to the upper levels. And they were even more amused when he asked not for one but two lunches and one of them with pickles.

After a former assistant of his was fired for adding sweet pickles in his lunch almost everyone in the company new for his aversion for that food.

You didn't knew that then but most of the stuff at Playtime Co just guessed that the second lunch was for you so they assumed you both were dating or seeing each other.

Other thing you didn't know was how, after being turned into a computer system, Harley wouldn't stop asking the other employees for you. What had they done to you, if you had been relocated or if you had been "taken care off"

The only one who responded to him was Leith, who wasted no time bragging about your new relocation and how you were growing in your new job.

Also, Leith made sure to tell the rest of the employees to not tell Sawyer about you asking about him. And of course not to say a word to you about the new "AI" assistant.

Sometimes you felt a little bit dumb, remembering all of this now. Most possible situation was that Harley was already dead. And surely it would be your fault.

But Harley also thought the same thing of the memories he was holding on to. So yeah basically mutual pinning over each other. This is my definition of a long distance relationship.

And addressing the hour of joy... Poppy doesn't really know what yo think about you. Sure you have freed them but why? She doesn't know if to trust you but believes you are a better option than the doctor so if the situations ever comes she could be able to work with you.

When the doctor got himself a body (those robots with TV heads) he felt nude in some way. Even though he was only metal and cables.

To solve this he took some old lab coats to make himself a cover. The only lab coat he kept intact was yours. He found a way to incorporate it on his new coat. The pin with your name still on it.

And strangely you have done something similar. You found Harley's old lab coat while exploring the company searching for food. Resting in his old office chair. You put it on and took it with you. It was bigger than you but hey, long coats never get old. Sure,.you had to roll up the sleeves but nothing that can't be solved.

This one is shorter than usual but I'm working on chap 3 so I wanted to drop this off first. Thanks for the support. All of you are amazing and deserve the best. 🥰😭

-Unedited head cannons-

I made some updates in chap 2 because I wanted reader to spend some time wondering were Sawyer might be

[fisherrprince]

friends, countrymen. if you feel the urge to go to the chiropractor because your body aches, you do not want a chiropractor, you want a massage.

“but fish” you may say. “that sounds. scary” it’s not. if you really have an aversion to people touching you, at all, ever, maybe this isn’t for you. but a chiropractor isn’t for you either, because they also touch you a lot. In the case that you think you’d be chill with it for an hour, im going to describe in detail more or less what to expect at a massage appointment.

-

why not a chiropractor?

we’re not going to get into it, but a chiropractor tries to put your bones back in alignment. This is functionally useless if your tight muscles are pulling on your bones in the first place! They’ll just go back to being achy and out of alignment within the week. You need to be addressing the root of the problem. a massage may not fix it (sorry. it takes work on your part), but it may help your muscles relax so you can train them to chill out and sit in their correct spots. plus it feels nice. if you feel like you need something more intense, go for a deep pressure therapy massage. it digs into your sore muscles without the danger of a chiropractor.

what does the room look like?

in most cases, when a massage parlor has an official building, the massage room is a small dim-ish room with one massage table, maybe a chair, and some cubbies or cabinets either for the masseuse's tools or for your clothes. there may be decorations, candles, fake candles, little speakers, a mirror, or pillows. the massage table looks like a little twin mattress with a donut pillow sticking out the top and blankets covering the mattress. The table is also usually heated, and you can adjust the heat by asking for it.

what stuff is also there?

smells there are smells in there, usually woody, floral, or natural scents like cedar, eucalyptus, lavender, chamomile, or peppermint. sometimes you get to choose your smells. if there's a smell you don't like (eg lavender, which makes me sneeze), politely ask not to use that one. very few massage parlors have no smells at all, but I've found that most places aren't nearly as overwhelming as, say, a bath and body works, which sucks to be in.

music or nature sounds. think stereotypical soft spa music. I've never encountered a situation where the music bothered me, but you can also request to change it.

lotions and/or oils they go on your body, because rubbing your hands against your skin for a long time without a buffer irritates your skin! they are where most of the smells comes from, if there's not a diffuser in the room. again, if a smell is bad, politely request to not use that smell. the oils may also get in your hair or on your underclothes, if you keep them on.

warm things sometimes the masseuse will use warm things, like warm towels or warm rocks, on you. they're usually nice in the same way a hot tub is nice - a little hot at first, and then warm. if they use a warm towel, it's probably going on your feet or back or neck. warm rocks will usually go on your back. I've never encountered warm rocks but they're in the promo pictures so, i suppose you'd need to do something other than a deep pressure therapy massage to get warm rocks.

some talking at the beginning, the masseuse may instruct you to take some deep breaths and relax, like the beginning of a meditation. she will usually not keep talking the entire time unless you're talkative. I often fall asleep.

what am I expected to do?

you'll enter the room, the masseuse will ask you what you want her to focus on, and she'll leave for a few minutes to let you undress. You can undress to your comfort level, but I usually at least decide to go topless, because it helps them reach my back better and my upper back hurts. once you're as comfortable as you can be, slide in under the blankets (both blankets if there's two) on the table and leave only your head poking out. if she doesn't tell you to start on your back or stomach, pick one, doesn't often matter.

you are fully expected to let her know at the beginning if there are areas you don't want her touching, and you're expected to let her know if she's going too hard or too gentle on your muscles. her goal is your comfort and relief!

then what happens?

chillax for a while. the masseuse will move around the table, addressing your muscles bit by bit. usually, they'll start with a scalp massage, and then move down. aside from massaging you, she will often move your limbs around, tuck the blanket around you, or put things like rolled towels or pillows under you at times. you are just supposed to lay there, relax, and let her do so.

good massage feels like anywhere from a nice backrub to that good sore you feel poking a bruise or moving after working out real hard. it should not actively hurt -- let him know it hurts if it does.

what do I do after?

when she leaves the room to let you redress, do that, and then go meet her in the lobby to pay her (if you haven't already) or for a brief touch base. if this is like, a fancy resort massage, they'll have a whole dressing room you're supposed to go back to, so you won't see your masseuse again. he's probably washing up.

drink water! often they'll give you some water afterwards. It's because loosening your tight muscles opens them up to water your body wants to give them anyways, so you might get a little dehydrated.

eat a snack with vitamins in it, like nuts or fruit. if you had a massage that really beat you up (I asked for this a few times while recovering from an injury), take an advil too. Normally, you won't need pain reliever even a little bit.

if it was nice, leave a little tip.

miscellaneous tips

if this is your first time, go for the shortest option so you can see if you like it or not. often, they'll have a first time client discount.

don't be afraid to fall asleep or snore or anything. they don't care.

they also shouldn't care about your body type. To be polite, take a shower at least the night before going in, but I guarantee they couldn't care less about what you look like, only that your muscles are stiff.

don't be too annoyed if you asked for neck and shoulders and the masseuse is hanging out at your feet. remember to specify exactly what you want at the beginning, but your muscles are all connected, and your legs are probably tight too.

try to find an independent company. massage envy might be good for a first attempt if you're worried about them pushing too hard, but they aren't as good or personalized as some guy who's been doing this for 40 years.

when you lay on your stomach, stick your face in the donut pillow in a way that lets your face stick out the hole, but try not to line the middle of your neck up with the edge of the bed. it's a little uncomfy.

you are fully within your rights to wear a mask during your massage.

please tell them your allergies! especially if it's to coconut oil!

[servndipityz]

Hii! I wanted to request a Nam-gyu x reader smut story where it's Obviously Readers first time at a club despite only being a year or two younger than him. Maybe with the reader being a virgin too? I can't get this idea out my head 🙏 Rest is up to you, thank you so much<3

a/n ── hope you like it! absolutely loved the idea :)

CLOSER

warnings ── SMUT! MDNI, takes place after the games (don't ask me how they got out lmao i just know that they're alive and happy), porn v plot, p in v, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, virginity loss, corruption kink kinda? oral (f receiving)

word count ── 8k

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a month. a month and a half, if nam-gyu was being precise. but who’s counting?

it had been a month and a half since they’d gotten out of those fucking games. a month and a half since he’d started to get to know you better.

and more than a month and a half since nam-gyu had had sex. but who’s counting?

as shitty as his old life was, he couldn’t have been happier to have it back. promoting club pentagon again, getting high every weekend, slipping right back into his little trashy life.

plus, now he had something he didn’t have before. you.

he’d met you there, in the games, and he’d been doomed from then on. it was a strange sort of thing, really. nam-gyu was never the type to feel things. at first, he actually thought he’d caught the flu. then he figured it was just some kind of ptsd after the games—which, to be fair, he definitely had, but that was a whole other thing. but no, the tingling in his fingertips whenever he touched you, the stupid flip his stomach did when you talked... that wasn’t a mental disorder, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was.

he’d never felt that way about a girl before. almost... caring. maybe it was more than caring, but he’d never admit it. anyway, you and him were in some kind of limbo. you weren’t something, but you weren’t nothing either. you hung out multiple times a week, texted semi-regularly, and had messy make-out sessions more times than he could count—but less than he would’ve liked. never more than making out, though. and yeah, that thought crossed his mind sometimes. he wasn’t an expert on these things, but he’d taken girls to bed for much less.

you always seemed to stop things right before they got too intense, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. having to beat his meat every time after hanging out with you wasn’t exactly fun. but somehow, you seemed worth it. so he, the most impatient man in the world, had decided to be patient. for once.

anyway, even though he knew you weren’t really used to clubs, he figured he’d invite you to club pentagon. he wanted you to have a fun time, see where he worked, see how his life was before the games. he wanted you to let loose a little.

"thanos will be there, it'll be fun," he’d said, and it hadn’t taken much to convince you.

so there you were, the cold biting at your legs in your short skirt, gripping your purse tight as you eyed the long line of people waiting to get in. then, skipping it—feeling very glamorous all of a sudden.

"i'm, uh, friends with nam-gyu," you said, the words coming out almost like a question as the bouncer looked you up and down. you gave your name, and after a moment, he finally spotted you on the list, letting you in without much fuss.

as you stepped into the club, you were almost left in awe. you'd never really liked clubs—not really. when all your friends started partying, you gave it a shot before deciding you preferred a more chill vibe. getting drunk with friends, sharing a blunt, that sort of thing. but then again, the shitty clubs your friends dragged you to in your teenage years couldn’t compare to club pentagon.

several stories high, you could barely make out the ceiling. lights of different hues illuminated the space, smoke spilling from canisters, the bass-heavy music pulsing from a dj booth stationed at the center of the main floor. to say it was packed was an understatement, and you didn’t wonder why. the place was incredible.

you looked around, suddenly awkward. what now? what were you supposed to do? where were you supposed to go? how—

"nam-gyu!" you called out, spotting him weaving through the crowd toward you. he glanced up at you, nodding in greeting. kept it cool. he always kept it cool.

nam-gyu wasn’t expecting you to look this good. which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

your hands found their place on his shoulders before you even thought about it, familiar but not entirely effortless. still getting used to this. to him. to the way he let you in but only just enough.

"you came." he smirked slightly. his hand found your waist without thinking, the fabric of your shirt soft beneath his fingers. he barely had time to process it before you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. barely there. almost shy.

you weren’t used to that either. you pulled away just as quickly, catching the way nam-gyu’s dark eyes flickered over you before he schooled his expression into something more detached. not detached enough, though. the way his thumb ghosted over your side told another story. he was playing it cool. always.

"this place is super cool," you said, spinning slightly to take it all in.

the music pulsed, deep and low, the bass rattling the floor beneath you. the air smelled like expensive liquor and cheap cologne, bodies pressing close under flashing lights.

nam-gyu scoffed, pleased despite himself. "yeah?" he chuckled, tilting his head at you, his expression settling into something smug. "c'mon, i’ll show you the vip section."

and of course, you let him.

he led you through the club, already losing track of its winding paths, but nam-gyu moved like he owned the place. and he liked it—you could see he liked it. guiding you like he held any real power, his hand still pressed firmly to your lower waist as he did so. he liked being the one guiding you, showing you his world like it meant something. like he meant something here. and maybe he did. maybe you saw it too.

"look who it is!"

the voice cut through the air just before you reached the top of the short staircase. thanos. loud as ever, his grin splitting his face as he all but threw himself up from the couch. the two girls draped over him barely had time to react before he pulled away, arms open wide as he closed the distance between you.

you barely had time to brace yourself before he engulfed you in a hug, laughter rumbling from his chest. the scent of cologne and alcohol clung to him, heavy and overfamiliar, like he had been here for hours.

"damn, lookin' good!" he said as he pulled away, giving you a quick once-over—no real interest behind it, but enough to make you giggle.

it really was crazy how being stuck in some life-or-death games could make people this close in such a short time.

"okay, chill." nam-gyu rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips, his hand never leaving your waist.

thanos ignored him. "have a seat, señorita." he gestured toward the black leather couch, and you, along with nam-gyu, walked over to sit down. thanos dropped back into his seat, slinging his arms around the two girls, who seemed more than happy about it.

you ordered a drink as soon as you saw an opening, your nerves slowly starting to settle. though, judging by the weird looks you got for passing on the white powder on the table and the little bags of funky-colored pills, not everyone was on the same page.

there were other people you didn’t recognize lounging on the couches—probably some of nam-gyu’s friends or co-workers. thanos started rattling off introductions, including the girls, and as the alcohol finally started running through your veins, you felt yourself relaxing, settling into the atmosphere a little more.

you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the warmth of the alcohol was settling into your limbs, making everything feel just a little bit softer. the music vibrated through your chest, the flashing lights casting shifting colors over the VIP lounge, and you were beginning to understand why nam-gyu liked this place so much. it was loud, chaotic, a little grimy—but undeniably alive.

"you good?" nam-gyu leaned in, voice low against your ear. his breath was warm, his hand sliding from your waist to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing absentminded circles into your skin.

"mhm," you hummed, tilting your head toward him. "it’s actually kinda fun."

"yeah?" he smirked, like he knew he'd be right all along. of course he did. "told you."

his hand squeezed your thigh lightly before retreating, but not before dragging his fingers a little too slow against your skin. you rolled your eyes, but you didn't move away.

"hey, hey!" thanos suddenly called out, raising his arms to make sure everyone was listening. "how about we play a game?"

some people groaned, others laughed. a game?

"what game?" someone asked. thanos smirked, clearly pleased that he had everyone's attention.

"never have i ever," he said, his grin widening as more groans followed.

"aren't we a little too old for that?" you asked, smirking like the idea amused you.

"i'm not." he shrugged. "are you girls?" he leaned back, and both girls shook their heads vigorously.

you turned to nam-gyu, who seemed more interested in watching you than the conversation. your cheeks warmed when you caught him staring.

"wanna play?" you asked. he just shrugged. he wasn’t really into these kinds of games—he wasn’t into any games, really—but he didn’t care enough to argue. whatever passed the time.

eventually, everyone gathered around the table, all eyes on thanos as he ordered a round of the strongest drink he could think of for everyone.

the first few rounds were harmless enough. “never have i ever gotten a secret tattoo.” “never have i ever been arrested.” stupid things. you sipped your drink when necessary, laughing at some of the stories that followed, the warmth of the alcohol sinking deeper into your skin. nam-gyu barely participated, only taking a sip when he absolutely had to, but his hand had found its way back to your thigh, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against your skin.

then the questions started shifting.

"never have i ever hooked up in a club," one of thanos’ girls said, grinning like she already knew the answer for most people here. a bunch of hands reached for their drinks, nam-gyu included. you hesitated just a second too long before passing. his eyes flicked toward you, but he didn’t say anything.

the next one wasn’t any better.

"never have i ever had a one-night stand," some guy threw out. almost everyone drank. except you. you felt it before you even looked—nam-gyu was watching. his fingers stilled against your thigh for half a second before they resumed their lazy tapping, like he was processing something.

it wasn’t weird, not really. plenty of people hadn’t had one-night stands before. but it was the way you hesitated every time, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.

"never have i ever had sex in a public place," thanos threw in, laughing when half the group groaned.

nam-gyu took a sip. you didn’t.

you looked up at nam-gyu, meeting his gaze for just a second too long. you knew what he was thinking. knew he was piecing it together. maybe he’d already suspected—maybe he already knew—but this was confirmation, wasn’t it?

"wait," thanos interrupted, a slight crack in his voice from how drunk he was. "you're cheating!" he pointed at you.

"what? i'm not." you frowned, confused as everyone turned to look.

"c’mon, your glass is almost full. you haven't been drinking."

he wasn’t wrong. sure, you’d taken your fair share of gulps, but considering most people were on their second drink—some even on their third—it was true.

a flicker of anxiety crept in, the alcohol in your system making you let out a stupid giggle. "i'm not cheating," you shrugged shyly.

"she hasn’t been drinking on the sex ones. i've seen it."

your smile vanished completely. one of the girls next to thanos had spoken, but it was nam-gyu you worried about. you’d caught him noticing earlier, but you kind of hoped he wouldn’t actually put the pieces together.

hoped he wouldn’t realize you were a virgin.

but now, with everyone watching, you were running out of luck.

"yeah, because... because i haven't done some of those things."

it was normal, you told yourself. being a virgin. the right time had never come, and you weren’t about to give it up for some scumbag at a club. you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed. but this? definitely not something you wanted everyone to know.

"what?" some guy blurted out, brows furrowed. "those were easy. you're telling me you never had a one-night stand?"

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. what did he expect you to say?

meanwhile, nam-gyu hadn't stopped watching you, his hand—resting on your leg—now completely still.

it was driving you nuts.

but as you looked over at thanos, you knew it was definitely over for you. a slow smile crept onto his previously confused expression as realization dawned. "holy shit, you're a virgin!"

your stomach twisted. a hot wave of embarrassment rushed up your neck, burning under the weight of every pair of eyes on you.

"what? no," you scoffed, trying for casual, but it came out a little too forced, a little too breathless.

thanos’ grin stretched wider. he could smell bullshit from a mile away. "oh, come on," he laughed, leaning forward like he was about to drag this out, like he was about to make it a thing.

panic prickled at the edges of your brain. you needed to get out of here. fast.

your phone. yes. a perfect excuse. you yanked it out of your bag, squinting at the screen like you’d just received the most urgent message of your life. "shit," you muttered. "i gotta go."

you were already pushing up from your seat before anyone could react. nam-gyu's hand slid off your thigh, his fingers barely catching against your skin before falling away completely.

"wait—what? already?"

"yeah, sorry," you said quickly, grabbing your coat, your bag, whatever you needed just to make a clean escape. "totally forgot i had something early tomorrow. can’t stay."

someone called after you. maybe thanos. maybe one of the girls. you weren’t sure. you weren’t listening. you were already weaving through the crowd, heart hammering, barely remembering to toss a quick "bye!" over your shoulder before the club swallowed you whole.

still sitting on the couch, nam-gyu's mind was spinning, and he was barely even drunk.

of course you were a virgin.

it all made sense now. the way you looked at him sometimes, the hesitation, the way you could go from teasing to flustered in seconds. the way you pulled back like you weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t. and maybe he should’ve known, maybe it was obvious, but somehow, it still caught him off guard.

he hazily glanced toward where you'd just left, the rest of the crowd still laughing and talking around him.

nam-gyu wasn’t the type to walk girls home.

but then again, he also wasn’t the type to like girls.

so he did the only thing that made sense—he downed the rest of his drink, got up without bothering to say goodbye, and pushed his way through the club.

it was late. the streets were dangerous. he didn’t want you to die or whatever.

when he finally stepped out, the streets were dark, damp from earlier rain, and the air was sharp against his skin. he scanned the sidewalk, found you a few blocks ahead. you were walking fast, arms tucked close, head slightly down.

he hated this. hated how he cared. hated how natural it felt to push through the lingering crowd, to break into an easy jog—casual enough to not look stupid, but fast enough to close the distance. he just hoped everyone else was too drunk to remember him, of all people, running after someone.

“hey!” he called out once he was just a few steps behind you.

you turned at the sound of his voice, startled.

he caught the flicker of something on your face before you wiped it away—too fast, too practiced. a tear.

“nam-gyu?” you asked, confusion in your voice. “what—”

“i’ll walk you home.” he shrugged, casual, like it was no big deal. like it was just something to do. he shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he caught up to you, his face carefully neutral.

you gulped. the last thing you wanted was to be around him right now.

“okay.” you trailed off, unsure of what else to say. how had it come to this? you’d survived hell together, yet suddenly, everything was so awkward. he wondered the same thing as he walked beside you, lighting up a cigarette.

you felt bad. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it. a million times, actually. nam-gyu seemed so experienced, so mature, and you were just… a virgin. all those times you’d stopped things before they got too heated, all those times you’d held yourself back.

you weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. you didn’t want to burden him with the responsibility of taking your virginity. it was stupid, but you knew how men felt about it. they didn’t want some little girl who didn’t know what she was doing. they didn’t want to deal with it.

so ever since the games, ever since you two had started… whatever this was, you’d felt like you were leading him on. you knew you couldn’t keep it up forever. sooner or later, he’d find out and leave. you just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

after a whole block in silence, he finally spoke.

"so you're a virgin?" nam-gyu blurted out, though he already knew the answer.

it wasn’t a judgment, just an observation—dry, matter-of-fact. he took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly in the dim light before fading into the night air.

you cursed under your breath, shutting your eyes like that might somehow erase the last ten minutes of existence. as if not seeing him would make this less mortifying.

“…yeah.” the word barely made it past your lips, your voice low, hesitant.

when you finally risked a glance at him, he wasn’t even looking at you. his gaze was fixed on the cracked pavement, the faintest furrow in his brow betraying some kind of thought process.

you sighed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “i know it sucks. i’m sorry for not telling you, but it’s not exactly something that comes up after almost dying multiple times playing kids’ games! like—hey, i know we just survived the most traumatic experience of our lives, but by the way, i’m a fucking vir—”

"'s fine."

the words were abrupt, cutting your rambling off before you could spiral any further.

you blinked, arms falling to your sides as you realized you’d been gesturing wildly, like that might somehow defend your own inexperience. meanwhile, nam-gyu just kept walking, cigarette perched between his fingers, deep in thought.

"really? you're fine with it?" you asked.

the truth was, nam-gyu wasn’t exactly thrilled.

it wasn’t even about you being a virgin, not really. it was the fact that he’d thought about fucking you ever since the games. which was humiliating enough to admit to himself. a man had his needs, after all. but once again, he found himself in the unfortunate position of giving a shit.

he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"…yeah." his voice was low, clipped. he wasn't mad—just thinking. weighing his options. where would this leave you?

he hated himself for liking you this much. not being an asshole was unfamiliar territory.

"if you don’t wanna have sex, i understand," he added after a beat.

you widened your eyes. "no, no!" you rushed out. "i do wanna have sex."

his brain stalled.

you swallowed, hesitating as he watched you, gaze steady but sharp, like he was trying to read between the lines. you shifted, tucking your hands into your sleeves. "i've just… never done it. and i don’t know… i didn’t wanna bother you or… anything."

it sounded beyond awkward.

nam-gyu frowned, processing. not because he thought anything bad about it—just because it never occurred to him. he’d assumed you weren’t interested in having sex at all, or that you were waiting for some deep, poetic reason, for someone that wasn't nam-gyu. but now you were here, telling him this, cheeks burning, voice all soft and uncertain.

and now he had to keep his shit together.

"so… you want me to, like…" his dick twitched in his pants, betraying him immediately. no way this was happening.

"i mean—only if you want to…" your cheeks were burning, you were sure of that now. you felt like a teenager talking to her crush.

if he wanted to? his jaw went slack for a second, a breath slipping out as he stared at you. it was barely a question.

"fuck yeah, i want to," he let out, low and firm, like he needed you to understand.

something shifted then. the air got tighter, the weight of the moment settling between you. you bit your lip, eyes flickering over his face like you were still trying to wrap your head around this. then, slowly, a smile crept onto your lips—breathless, nervous, electric.

"okay." you let out a shaky little laugh, grabbing his wrist. your grip was warm, solid, like you’d made up your mind and there was no going back now. "okay, let’s go."

nam-gyu nodded, following your lead, his heart hammering in his chest as he picked up the pace. your apartment wasn’t that far.

the apartment was quiet when you stumbled in, breathless, a little drunk, and buzzing with something you didn’t quite know how to name. nam-gyu followed, the door clicking shut behind him as he leaned back against it for a second, exhaling like he was trying to steady himself.

the air between you was thick, charged with a long time of yearning. your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you toed off your shoes, glancing over at him. he was watching you, the way he always did—like he was already thinking ten steps ahead, figuring out how this was going to play out.

he hadn’t touched you yet. he was letting you decide.

so you did.

you took a step closer, then another, until you were right in front of him, your fingers hesitating before curling around the hem of his jacket. his breath hitched, just barely, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

you pushed up onto your toes, closing the space between you. his lips were warm, the taste of smoke lingering faintly as he kissed you back. he let you set the pace, his hands coming to rest lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your dress.

it wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but something about this was different. more urgent. more deliberate. maybe because, for once, there was no stopping this time.

your fingers tugged at his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders. he let it fall to the floor, his hands finally pressing into you properly, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. a quiet sound slipped from your lips, and you felt the way he stiffened at that, his grip tightening.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. he pulled back just enough to search your face, his dark eyes flicking between yours. “you sure?”

you nodded, chest rising and falling with each breath. “yeah.”

a muscle in his jaw twitched. his fingers brushed the side of your neck, then curled around it, his thumb ghosting over your pulse. “we stop if you change your mind.”

you swallowed. “i won’t.”

the look he gave you was unreadable—something dark and determined—before he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

nam-gyu wasn’t soft—he wasn’t sweet. he wasn’t the kind of man to whisper tender nothings or stroke your hair. he didn’t coddle. but the way his hands moved told you everything you needed to know.

the drag of his fingers down your spine. the slow, deliberate way his palm flattened against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. the heat in his touch, like he was holding himself back, forcing himself to move slow, to let you set the pace. it sent a shiver through you, and his grip tightened in response, like he felt it too.

you let out a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled sharply against your lips before pulling back just a fraction, enough to look at you properly. his dark eyes roamed over your face, pupils blown, jaw tight.

"you're nervous." it wasn't a question.

you swallowed. "a little."

his thumb brushed against your waist, almost absentmindedly. "yeah. that makes sense."

you let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was an edge of vulnerability to it. he could see it. you could tell.

he tilted his head, watching you like he was trying to figure something out. then he exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing over your skin with a gentleness that was completely at odds with the sharp, rough way he usually carried himself.

"you know i won’t fuck this up, right?" his voice was low, almost casual, but there was something else beneath it. something steadier.

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. "i know." and you did. maybe that was why you'd never let anyone else touch you like this before. because it wasn’t about inexperience, not really. it was about trust.

and god help you, but you trusted nam-gyu.

the realization sent a flush through you, warmth blooming in your stomach as you let your hands slide up his abdomen, tracing the firm lines of chest beneath his shirt. his breath hitched just barely before his fingers flexed against you, like he was restraining himself from just taking.

"you wanna do this?" he asked, one last time, voice rough.

"yeah," you breathed.

his jaw clenched. "then tell me what you want."

you blinked up at him, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he'd stopped moving, waiting, his hands resting heavy against your hips but not pulling, not pushing.

he was making you say it.

bastard.

you bit your lip, pulse hammering as you tried to work around the knot of tension in your throat. "i—i want you to touch me."

his fingers twitched, his entire body going still for a second. then he let out a breath through his nose, and his grip on your waist tightened.

"yeah?" his voice was just a little lower, a little rougher.

you nodded, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he was looking at you now—like he was barely keeping himself in check.

"get on the bed," he said.

your breath caught.

for a moment, you just stared at him, heart hammering, and then, slowly, you walked to your bedroom, him following you close. you backed up toward the bed, your knees hitting the edge as you lowered yourself down.

he followed, standing at the foot of the bed, watching you with that unreadable expression—half lustful, half like he couldn’t believe this was real. his hands went to his belt, and your eyes flickered down, pulse spiking at the sound of the leather slipping through the loops.

then, instead of undressing fully, he leaned down, hands bracketing your hips, pressing you back against the mattress.

"you ever let anyone touch you like this?" his voice was rough, like he already knew the answer.

you shook your head, breathless. "no."

a low sound escaped him, something dark, something pleased. his hands slipped under your skirt, palms dragging slow over your thighs as he pushed the fabric up. he took his time, tracing the shape of you, pressing just firmly enough to make you squirm.

"you thought about it, though," he murmured. it wasn’t a question. his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin at the tops of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours.

you swallowed hard. "…yeah."

his lips twitched, almost a smirk. "yeah? thought about me?"

your face burned. he was being cruel on purpose, making you say it.

"…yes."

"fuck," he muttered, like the confirmation did something to him. his hands moved higher, fingers hooking into the band of your underwear, but instead of pulling them down, he let them rest there, teasing.

"how’d you think it’d go?" his voice was lower now, almost a growl. "thought i'd just take you fast, rough? pin you down, fuck the innocence out of you?"

you sucked in a sharp breath, thighs twitching beneath his touch. he huffed a quiet laugh.

"bet you didn't think i'd take my time," he murmured, leaning down, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck. his lips dragged over your pulse, then lower, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone. "but i like knowing i'm the first one."

you gasped softly as his hands finally moved, slipping under your top, dragging it up inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. your arms instinctively came up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists, pushing them aside.

"none of that," he muttered, his gaze dropping to your bare chest. he exhaled sharply, running his thumbs along the curve of your breasts before cupping them fully, testing the weight in his palms.

"fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice low and reverent. "so fucking pretty."

you whimpered as his thumbs brushed over your nipples in slow circles. he watched your face the whole time, reading every tiny reaction, every sharp intake of breath.

"sensitive," he noted, almost to himself. then he leaned down, tongue flicking over one peak before wrapping his lips around it, sucking just enough to make you gasp.

heat coiled low in your stomach as he worked, alternating between each breast, slow and thorough. it was overwhelming, the way he was handling you—not rough, not rushed, just taking his time, learning every inch of you.

one of his hands trailed lower, down your stomach, to the waistband of your panties. he paused, looking up at you, waiting.

you nodded, exhaling shakily. "please."

his smirk deepened. "good girl."

he peeled your panties down your legs, his fingers skimming over your skin like he was savoring the moment. you shivered at the sensation, at the weight of his gaze as he settled between your thighs.

“fuck,” nam-gyu muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t been prepared for what he was seeing. his hands splayed against your inner thighs, pressing them further apart, baring you completely to him. he didn’t look away, eyes dark and hungry, his tongue running over his bottom lip like he could already taste you.

your body burned under the scrutiny. you weren’t used to this—being seen like this, having someone take their time looking. you twitched, about to press your legs together, but his grip tightened.

“uh-uh,” he murmured, almost amused. “you’re gonna let me look.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching as he leaned in, his nose brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. his breath was hot, sending a shiver through you as he exhaled, slow and controlled.

he dragged a single finger up the length of your slit, just enough to make you jolt, to make your breath stutter. "you're soaked, girl. you sure you've never done this before?"

heat surged through you at the teasing lilt in his voice, and you let out a shaky breath. "i—fuck, nam-gyu—"

"yeah?" he smirked, but it wasn’t cocky. it was something else, something almost fascinated. like he was enjoying this in a way he hadn’t expected.

his fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, barely any pressure, just enough to make you whimper. your hips twitched, and his grip tightened, keeping you pinned.

"relax," he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle. "let me make you feel good."

then he leaned down.

you barely had time to register the shift before his tongue was on you, warm and wet and unbearably slow. your breath caught, your fingers twisting into the sheets as his mouth worked you open, his tongue dragging through your folds, lazy and thorough.

"fuck," he muttered against you, his voice rough. "you taste so fucking sweet."

the way he said it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach. his hands pressed into your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open as he ate you like he had all the time in the world.

it was overwhelming—the way he was licking you, slow and deep, like he was savoring it. like he was getting off on this just as much as you were. his nose brushed against your clit with every stroke of his tongue, and it was too much, not enough, all at once.

your back arched, a desperate sound slipping from your lips. he groaned low in his throat, the vibration sending a shudder through you. "that's it," he murmured, his voice almost slurred against your skin. "let me hear you."

one of his hands slid up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as he pressed his mouth lower, flicking his tongue against your entrance, teasing the edge.

"nam-gyu—" your voice broke on his name, breathless and desperate, and his grip tightened.

"fuck, you sound good," he muttered. his tongue pushed inside you, and the sensation sent a sharp bolt of pleasure up your spine, made your thighs shake.

"think you can take me?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "gotta get you ready for me."

you gasped as he pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, curling it just right. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, his tongue lapping up every reaction, every sound.

"shit," he muttered. "so tight. gonna feel so fucking good."

the words alone made your stomach tighten, the heat coiling low, winding tighter and tighter. he added a second finger, stretching you open, thrusting slow, deep, his tongue still working your clit.

it was too much. the pressure built fast, overwhelming, unbearable. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"i—" your breath hitched, your body tensing.

he growled low in his throat, his fingers pressing deep, his tongue flicking faster, relentless. "come for me."

and you did.

the pleasure hit hard, shattering through you, knocking the air from your lungs. your back arched, your body tightening around his fingers, and he groaned against you, drinking in every last tremor, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking beneath him, gasping for breath.

only then did he finally pull back, his breath ragged, his lips slick and swollen. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark, almost feverish as he looked at you.

"fuck," he muttered, voice rough, almost awed.

he climbed up over you, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing against your skin, steadying you.

his exhale was sharp, controlled, but his grip on your waist betrayed him—fingers digging in, like he had to hold himself back from wrecking you completely. his forehead dropped to yours for half a second, just long enough for you to feel the way his breath came heavy, ragged.

"you're gonna kill me," he muttered, half a groan, half a laugh, before he pulled back, eyes flicking down your body—like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. his fingers traced your thigh absentmindedly, like he still couldn't believe you were letting him touch you.

then he sat back, unbuttoning his jeans.

your breath hitched as you watched him work, his knuckles going white with how tightly he was gripping his belt. the leather slid through the loops with a sharp snap, and your thighs pressed together instinctively at the sound. his lips curled slightly—he noticed.

"don't get shy on me now," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but he wasn't smirking anymore. no, his expression was darker, sharper. his fingers moved with slow, measured precision as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

your stomach flipped.

you had no idea what you'd been expecting, but whatever it was—it wasn't this. he was…big. thick. a flush creeping up his shaft, his tip swollen and slick with arousal. you stared, suddenly feeling very aware of your own inexperience, of the way your body still trembled faintly from the orgasm he'd just given you.

nam-gyu noticed.

"yeah?" his voice was rough, teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something dangerously satisfied. his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, giving it a slow, lazy stroke, like he was savoring the moment. "that nervous?"

you swallowed hard, forcing your eyes back to his face. he looked wrecked, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. his chest rose and fell heavily, like it was taking effort not to just pin you down and take—

"i can take it," you said, before you could second-guess yourself. your voice was breathless but steady, your chin tilting up just slightly in challenge.

his jaw locked.

for a second, he just looked at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time. then, suddenly, his grip on your waist tightened, dragging you down the mattress until your thighs framed his hips.

"yeah," he murmured, almost to himself. his hand brushed over your stomach, your hip, sliding back down between your legs. his fingers traced your entrance, feeling the way you were still soaked for him. "i think you can, too."

your breath stuttered as he pressed two fingers inside you again, stretching you open. his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft, teasing circles—not enough to push you over, just enough to make your breath hitch.

"nam-gyu—" you gasped, hips twitching under his touch.

his free hand came up, catching your chin, tilting your head so you had to look at him. his eyes were dark, blown out with something almost ravenous.

"you still sure?" he murmured, voice low. "tell me you want it."

your pulse pounded.

you could feel how badly he wanted you, how much effort it was taking for him to hold back. and yet—he still gave you the choice. he was still waiting.

your heart clenched.

"yes," you whispered. "please."

his restraint snapped.

the second your lips formed that word, he was on you—pulling his fingers from your slick heat, gripping himself, pressing the thick, flushed head of his cock right against your entrance. he didn't push in. not yet. instead, he rocked against you, rubbing his length along your slit, smearing himself in your wetness, letting you feel every ridge, every inch of his size before he even tried to fit.

your breath hitched. your nails dug deep into his forearms, your body instinctively tensing.

"relax," he murmured, voice tight, nearly hoarse, like he was fighting against the instinct to just take. his free hand smoothed up your thigh, over the curve of your waist, warm, steady, grounding. "breathe."

you tried. you really did. forced your lungs to expand, to exhale, to let go of the tension gripping your muscles. but the second he started to push in, all that breath stuttered out in a sharp, broken gasp.

it was too much. the stretch, the slow, inch-by-inch burn as his cock forced your body to open around him, to take him. a kind of ache you’d never felt before, raw and overwhelming—too much and not enough, like your body was fighting him even as it craved more.

"fuck," he gritted out, his jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jump. his hands flexed against your skin, his entire body trembling with restraint. "jesus, baby—you're so fucking tight—"

your stomach flipped at the words, heat pooling deep in your core. he never talked to you like that. never called you things like that. but now, here he was, panting above you, voice wrecked and reverent, murmuring praise like he couldn’t help it.

after a few seconds, you whimpered, hands gripping his shoulders. "more."

his control broke.

he pushed in, slow but deep, a smooth, deliberate thrust that seated him all the way inside you in one stroke. your breath tore from your lungs, your back arching as the stretch bloomed into something fuller, hotter, the ache curling into something dangerously close to pleasure.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "holy fuck," he rasped, voice wrecked, almost pained. his fingers dug into your hips, like he was holding on for dear life. "so fucking good—you're so tight, so perfect, fuck—"

your pulse pounded in your throat, your entire body thrumming with sensation. there was still a burn, still that overwhelming fullness, but beneath it was something else—something deeper, something good.

you shifted your hips, testing, trying to ease the pressure.

his entire body locked up.

"don't—" his voice was strangled, desperate. his hands tightened, pinning you down. "don't fucking move, or i’m gonna lose it."

every muscle in his body was taut, locked, like a predator barely holding back from sinking its teeth in. his fingers bit into your hips, warning you, anchoring himself—but you could feel it. the way he was shaking. the way his cock twitched, buried so deep inside you you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

you swallowed hard, pulse hammering, skin burning where he touched you.

it was too much. too deep. too thick. your body fought to adjust, pulsing around him in helpless, desperate flutters.

he groaned, low and guttural, pressing his forehead harder into your shoulder like he was in pain. “jesus christ.” his breath was hot against your skin, ragged, almost like he was laughing. “gripping me so fucking tight. gonna break me."

you shivered at the rasp of his voice, your fingers sliding up his back, feeling the strain in his muscles. the raw need in him. you were doing this to him. you, all wet and trembling underneath him, still adjusting, still unsure—and he was losing his mind over it.

you swallowed, tried to steady your breath. "you can move," you whispered.

his entire body tensed.

you barely had a second to register the shift before he pulled back, just an inch, and then—slow, deep—he thrust in again.

your breath shattered. your mouth fell open, no sound coming out at first, just a strangled, breathless whimper.

then, before you could so much as blink, he started moving—pulling out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, setting a rhythm that had your breath stuttering in your throat.

he wasn't just fucking you—he was making sure you felt every inch of him, dragging it out, taking his time. and god help you, but it felt so fucking good.

"shit—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

his hand slipped between you, his thumb pressing right against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. your entire body jerked, pleasure sparking through your nerves like lightning.

"yeah," he muttered, watching you like he was starving. "that’s it. let me see you fucking fall apart."

nam-gyu’s rhythm grew rougher, sharper—his control slipping, his hips snapping forward with a force that had you gasping, clawing at his back. every thick inch of him dragged against your walls, the stretch now molten pleasure, the overwhelming feeling of fullness making your head spin. his body caged you in completely, heat rolling off him in waves, his skin slick with sweat.

"fuck," he rasped, voice ragged, his breath hot against your lips. "listen to you." his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles. "moaning like that—so fucking needy, aren’t you?"

"fuck," you gasped, your nails raking down his back, desperate for more.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his head to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "shit, you're taking me so fucking good," he muttered, his teeth grazing over your throat before he kissed you there—open-mouthed and messy, dragging his tongue over your pulse like he could taste how wrecked you were for him. "never had anyone inside you, huh? no one’s ever had you like this—"

his words made your stomach flip, a desperate, aching heat blooming in your core. you shook your head, gasping. "no—"

"fuck, baby," he groaned. "you don’t even fucking know—" his lips found your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you jolt, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. "how long i've been thinking about this. how long i've wanted to have my cock inside this pretty pussy."

his hands slid up, gripping your tits, squeezing, kneading the soft flesh in his palms. his fingers flicked over your nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, and you whimpered, the pleasure making you arch into his touch.

nam-gyu groaned, his tongue darting out to trace the swell of your breast before his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard.

"oh my god—" your back arched, your fingers twisting into his dark hair, holding him there.

he chuckled, a low, breathy sound against your skin, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucked again, harder this time, drawing a desperate whine from your lips. his hips kept moving, slow but deep, every thrust sending a new wave of pleasure through you, making your stomach coil tighter.

"you're so fucking good," he murmured against your skin, moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention—his lips wrapping around the stiff peak, sucking, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. "so fucking tight, taking me so well—fuck, i knew you would."

you whimpered, the heat inside you winding tight, too much and not enough at the same time. your thighs trembled around his waist, your nails dragging down his back.

"nam-gyu," you gasped, voice wrecked, desperate. "please—"

"please what?" he pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen, his eyes dark, burning with something almost possessive. his fingers slid down between you, finding your clit again, circling it with slow, precise movements. "tell me what you need, baby."

you sobbed at the pressure, at the way it made your body twitch beneath him. "i—i wanna cum—"

his jaw tightened, his thrusts growing sharper, faster, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"yeah?" his voice was strained, breathless. "you wanna cum all over my fucking cock?"

"yes—yes—"

"then do it."

he pinched your clit, just the right amount of pressure, and the coil inside you snapped.

your orgasm hit hard, crashing over you in sharp, shuddering waves, making your entire body lock up beneath him. you let out a high, broken moan, your walls fluttering around him, pulsing, milking his cock as he fucked you through it.

"fuck—fuck—" nam-gyu groaned, his hips stuttering as you clenched around him, the tight grip of your body dragging him right to the fucking edge.

"shit," he rasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips as he snapped his hips forward, harder, rougher. "gonna—fuck, gonna fill you up—"

your entire body shuddered at his words, at the realization of what he was about to do, and you let out a breathless, desperate "please."

that was all it took.

he came, hard, his body trembling as he filled you, his grip tightening almost painfully as he groaned your name, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, wrecked.

the heat of him spilling inside you made your entire body tremble.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed, breathing heavy, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his hands—no longer rough, no longer gripping—slid soft over your skin, smoothing down your sides, your waist, your thighs, as if he was soothing you.

you were still shaking, your body aching in the best possible way, your mind swimming in a haze of heat and exhaustion.

nam-gyu shifted, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. his lips pressed to your temple, then your cheek, then—finally—soft against your lips.

"you’re a fucking dream," he murmured almost to himself, voice soft, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

your heart skipped.

then, before you could say anything, before you could think—

his hips rolled again, slow, lazy, his cock starting to harden again inside you.

"think you can handle another one?"

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[gingernut1314]

Okay! Here me out! Head canons for s/o that tries to hide from Luffy because of his affection. Not because that hate it, they love it a lot. But because they get overstimulated and embarrassed by his pda.

I just think it would be funny that the rest of the crew seeing reader hide while Luffy is on the hunt for them.

Content: gender-neutral reader, Straw Hat crew shenanigans, reader is overwhelmed, hiding from Luffy, Set on the Sunny

Word Count: 750+

A/N: tell me why this would be me in this scenario 😭? Snuggly, love bug luffy would be too great but there differently would be times when you might need a break! It's a normal thing! Also hiding while he's searching for you and the crew being the only ones to know where you are is lowkey too funny to me. I hope you enjoy!!

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You love Luffy

You love his affections too

But sometimes you need a break

Just small ones 

Moments when you didn’t have a human spider monkey clinging to you like a second-skin

And instead of just asking him for those breaks, you found the best solution with minimal feelings hurting would be to just hide

Hide the storage closets

In the library 

Under tables

Behind barrels of cola and beer

Anywhere you could think of that Luffy might never go or have to search just a little bit harder to find you at

This came with, of course, the other members of your crew finding you despite the…genius…of your hiding places

Sanji had been the first to ever find you when you had first started hiding

You had just given Luffy to Zoro

Had just set your mind on having a nice glass of wine when he had started calling for you

You hardly thought as you pushed your way into the kitchen and crawled under the table, making sure to drag chairs around to help block you from immediate view

…the kitchen was not the best hiding place of course, it being one of Luffy's number one places on the whole ship

Though, it was Sanji who peeked his head under to find you, not Luffy

“Whatever would possess you to scurry under there?” He’d ask with a smile 

You’d told him, to which he had given a simple nod before disappearing from view

He came back with that glass of wine you had been craving and a bowl of your favorite snack

“Stay as long as you need, love. I’ll give Luffy a nibble of lunch if he comes in.” 

Dear god never let Zoro find you

He’d out you in less than a second because he wouldn’t care to lower his voice while speaking with you

Or he wouldn’t hear your whispering words and “huh?” at you in question in, again, a none lowered voice

The best person to find you would be Robin

Typically she would find you in the library, crouched low by a bookshelf as to not be spotted through one of the windows

She would try to talk you through whatever you were experiencing and give you helpful tips

Then she would sit down next to you on the floor, pull a blanket over you and herself with a bloomed hand, and read silently

Nami would find you one too many times hiding under the vanity in the girl's room

 A “What on earth are you doing?” on her lips

As well as a “hiding again?” with a laugh at what she believed to be a poor hiding place

A hiding place you don’t think was so bad

And it would develop into a long debate on where exactly the best hiding place on the Sunny would be

Somehow you would lose a handful of berri and be left even more overwhelmed than you had started out 

Hiding behind a barrel of cola had been a good idea at first

But you would quickly find yourself in the employ of Franky who would make you carry said barrel wherever he needed it

And then make you hold a flashlight as he worked for at least an hour

Usopp might have been a runner-up to best person to find you 

If he wasn’t freaking himself out with whatever fictional monster he’s creating in his mind that you might be hiding from 

Almost always ends in him joining you in the one-person-sized hiding spot you’d chosen

Chopper would find you hiding under the examination table in the medical ward 

And scream so loud at your sudden appearance it would draw everyone's attention 

No matter how many times you hide under there, he’s never getting used to it

Brook finds you hiding amongst Nami’s tangerine trees and thinks all your nerves need is a smoothing tune

And there is no stopping him from singing for you 

And singing and singing till one crew mate or all of them are joining along

When Luffy finds you though, he thinks you are playing hide-and-seek

But he’s quick to see something isn’t 100% with you

And you end up telling him how you’re feeling--and being quick to remind him it has nothing to do with your love for him or his affections

And Luffy, the precious man he is, understands 

He gives you a bright, cheeky grin before bounding off 

To promptly latch himself to the nearest crew member he can find

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

back to life. l Joel Miller

Summary: an attempt to return to normality

Warnings: angst, a little bit of smut (+18), lots of bad emotions, tw: depressive episode; Tommy, Maria and Ellie; violence

A/N: it's a hard time for me. but I found a moment to write this. sorry that I'm still stuck in this series, it's comfortable for me

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days were really hard. Joel felt like every cell in his body was hurting him, even though it was you who had been through so much. The wounds were healing, the bruises were fading, but you were quieter and less visible. If it weren't for his willingness for you to take a bath, which Joel thought was the best thing for you, you wouldn't have gotten out of bed at all.

But Joel experienced something else during that time. In addition to fear for you, he encountered incredible human kindness and empathy. The people of Jackson seemed moved by what had happened. Soon, when Joel was on his way to the clinic about his collarbone, an older man who owned a bakery pressed a fresh loaf of bread into his hands and said with a smile that it was for you. 

Mrs. Russo appeared at the door the next evening, bringing with her a few of your favorite dishes. "I guess you don't have the head for cooking now. Take this, she's been enjoying it so much lately!"

Rory and his mother also showed up, and the boy handed Joel a bouquet of the first spring flowers, which he placed next to your bed. The small smile on your lips was worth everything.

Almost every afternoon, Ellie would sit with you, telling you that she absolutely needed help with her homework. Joel thought she was exaggerating and that she certainly didn't have that much to study for, but you were starting to get involved. Evenings were for the two of you, though.

Sometimes Joel would play something on the guitar, feeling your eyes follow his fingers as they struck the strings. He hadn't done it in years, but for you he'd pulled from his memory many of the songs he knew. Or he'd read books aloud. His warm, low voice carried through the bedroom, and you'd listen, clearly soothed by the sound.

Your bubble had to stretch, though, and it happened one evening. Joel came back later than usual, and then he convinced you to go downstairs. He led you out to the terrace and showed you something he had made for you. A wooden bench, very carefully crafted, with ornate armrests and fancy decoration. He had been working on it for a long time.

"It's so beautiful outside. I thought you might like to have your own place." he said, a little worried when he saw the tears in your eyes and your trembling lips. "You can spend time here, bask in the sun, read if you want."

"Nobody has ever done anything just for me." you said quietly.

And before he knew it, you kissed him, so truly. He hadn't felt the real you in a kiss for a long time, and now you were with him. In his strong arms, you were like a fragile creature, but Joel felt happy that you had achieved so much together. He believed that everything would be fine.

From then on, everything slowly began to change. You spent more time outside, and sometimes you went with him to the stables to take care of the horses. After a few days, Tommy and Maria invited you for dinner, and you showed up there too. When the dance was in Jackson, you went together, although you seemed hesitant about it, but Joel managed to talk you into a few slow dances with him.

"I want to take her out of Jackson," Joel stated when he and Tommy met up at the Tipsy Bison for a drink one day, "Just one day. We'll take the easy way out."

Tommy nodded, "It would do her good. Can she handle it?"

"She's tougher than we think. I can see she needs to get outside of those walls, even though she's still scared."

"And you're going to let her?" Tommy shook his head in disbelief, "What did she do to you, bro?"

"I miss her, you know... She's physically there, we sleep in the same bed, we eat together, we live together. But she..."

"I can see it in her eyes. What happened to her changed her... It would change anyone."

Joel took a sip from his glass. He didn't want to tell his brother that you hadn't slept together since then. No, Joel wasn't complaining. Your relationship had never been just about sex. But he still didn't know if he would scare you if he initiated it. You were sensitive and delicate, and although he knew you loved him, you didn't take that step yourself.

That day the weather was beautiful. The spring sun settled in the sky, and the forest and the surrounding area were beautifully green. You walked together, close to each other. 

Joel told you what had changed in the area recently, that the attic in the permanent barn on the other side of Jackson had caved in, or that he had seen a family of foxes sneaking past the camp during a patrol. He spoke as if you had been sick for a week, not completely cut off from life for almost a month.

You felt good, especially since he was next to you, and the care and tenderness towards you emanated from him. You wanted to go back to him, completely, but you weren't sure how to do it. Every day, every attempt, cost you a lot of strength. Guilts of conscience were churning inside you.

"I'm sorry, Joel." You finally said when you stopped at the edge of the forest.

Joel looked at the horizon, trying to see if the area was still safe for you, and turned around, surprised.

"What are you apologizing for, darling?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

You seemed so small to him, as if many things were pressing you to the ground at once, and you were barely able to stay on two legs. You looked at him as if you were about to cry.

"For everything." you finally answered "For having to take care of me. For every day that is so hard for you. I wish things were like they used to be... I don't know if I can. Maybe... Maybe..."

"Don't do that." he interrupted you, approaching you and taking your face in his hands "Stop here. What happened to us, what happened to you, is neither of our fault. But we'll deal with it, right?"

"How? I thought I was strong, but this..." you closed your eyes, and tears flowed from under your eyelashes. Joel patiently wiped them away with his thumbs "I keep wondering... Every shadow, every rustle makes me tremble. I've become nothing but a problem for each of you."

His strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you tightly to his chest. You snuggled into Joel with all your might. His arms were your shelter, the beating of his heart soothed yours. If it weren't for him, you would have fallen to pieces a long time ago.

"You don't even know, silly, how many people care about you and want to help you. They ask about you every day. You're not the problem, but you can't be strong all the time either. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, because I tried to be. You and Ellie hold me together. Now it's our turn, we won't let you fall apart." He kissed the top of your head and sighed deeply "You don't even know how much I love you..."

It was late when you got back. Your clothes smelled of forest and wind, just like Joel's. You felt tired, but you were also a little lighter, more confident. He saw it in your eyes and promised himself that soon you would go out together again outside Jackson. 

However, Joel was most surprised when he felt your arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the shower and the streams of hot water washed his body. You clung to his back, so gently as if you were afraid he would push you away. But Joel kissed your hands, and then turned around and looked at you with such love that you had never seen in his eyes. 

So you surrendered to this moment, because you wanted to, because it was him, because you wanted to feel alive again. 

And when you felt his cock moving deep inside you, when his lips caressed your neck, and the cool tiles imprinted on your back - only God knew how much life flowed in you again.

"Sorry, I wouldn't keep you from your work if it wasn't so important."

"Don't worry, the laundry will definitely wait for me." you chuckled as you and Maria headed towards the building that served as the city hall or headquarters in Jackson.

It was already late in the evening, Joel hadn't come home yet, and you were busy with the usual household chores. The following days were somehow easier and you were happy to have your strength back.

You went inside and Maria led you to the back. You noticed a few men in the rooms, who were also taking part in patrols. They seemed strangely tense to you, but Maria quickly drew your attention to herself.

"Listen, this could be an unpleasant experience for you." she said, her hand stroking your arm. "But we have to be sure."

"What do you mean?" you asked, frowning. "Did something happen? Something with Joel or Tommy?"

Maria shook her head, then pushed the door open and nodded for you to enter. It was a dark room and you noticed that the curtains were drawn tightly and the only light came from the lamps placed on the walls. In the middle, three men sat on chairs, they were not residents of Jackson. They seemed strangely familiar to you, but you couldn't...

Someone said your name and you noticed Joel and Tommy standing nearby.

"What's going on?" you asked quietly. "Who is it?"

Tommy cleared his throat. "We've been following them for a few days. We suspect that they attacked you. You, Sam and Anthony. One of them had Sam's private things."

You looked at the men again, now you understood. And they must have recognized you too, because they twitched nervously. Two of them looked away, trying to avoid your eyes, but one of them was staring at you wildly.

"I know that pussy." he muttered, a smile twisting his face covered with thick stubble "I thought you died in the woods. You're a smart bitch."

There was a loud impact, it was Joel who hit the man without thinking. His head tilted back, but after a moment his quiet laughter filled the room.

"Is that your pussy? How was I supposed to know that it already had its owner?"

"Don't you dare talk about it like that!" Joel growled and wanted to hit him again, but Tommy grabbed his arm.

He looked at you carefully. "Is that them?"

"He recognized her!" Joel hissed furiously "That should be enough!"

"I need to know!"

You weren't fully aware of it, as if your body had made the decision itself. Your head twitched in confirmation. That was enough.

"Get her out of here." Tommy ordered.

"Joel! No!" you groaned, but someone's arms grabbed you and forcibly led you out of the room. The door slammed shut with a bang. Even though you didn't see it, you knew what was about to happen.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ

…𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭

angst, smut (mostly descriptive), friends to lovers, unresolved, no happy ending, suggestive, making out, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, self-destructive behavior, toxic dynamics, fluff if u squint, romance, intimacy, friends with benefits, betrayal, unrequited love?, slow burn, self-sabotage

listen to the song that inspired this fic while reading!

word count - 3k

Matt has a scar on his temple. She’s always liked to run her hand over it. The first time she tried, he flinched, batted her hand away, mumbled something about personal space.

She stopped after that. Until one day, he caught her staring.

"You wanna hear a story?" he asked, grinning like he had a secret. "Got mauled by a bear once. Barely made it out."

She almost called his bluff. Almost.

Instead, she smiled, seeing it for what it was... permission. To touch him. To know him in ways he wouldn’t always say.

Maybe she loves that he never tells the truth straight. Maybe she loves that she doesn't really understand him.

Maybe she just loves him.

It was not always a thing. Her… curiousity. Affection. Desire.

When they were very little, she used to follow him and his brothers around. It was easy to. Not to mention that people liked them, because they were charming, and funny, and genuine. She stuck by Matt's side through school, feeling safe and protected under his wing like a small bird. He teased her, sure, even back then. Always sitting beside him, walking directly behind him, looking out for his reaction when she told a joke or shared a story.

Eventually, they reached that age where it was only natural for her to distance herself slightly. Things became less ritual, less assumed, and she found herself asking for permission, looking for his affirmation, seeking out his validation.

Sometime after 10th grade, she started spending the night again. Mostly in Matt’s room. He let her in. And she took what she could get. They didn’t ever cuddle or anything. Mostly Matt would talk, and she would listen. She absorbed everything, every word, every silence. The care she had for him ran so deep she felt it inside sometimes, to the rhythm of her heartbeat, spreading through her like oxygen. He asks her questions sometimes, questions that a part of her finds silly and stupid, his boyish brain not quite at her contemplative level. She forced herself not to mind. To appreciate it.

When she does talk, in those late hours, staring up at the ceiling, she can tell he’s not really listening. He’s too… wrapped up in himself. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He’s probably just stressed. 

She hopes Matt cares. Maybe he does, just not as much as her. He likes the safety of the distance between them. But just enough, sure, maybe he cares.

That night, they end up in his room. He always lets her stay when the world gets too loud. Everything feels too quiet, too intimate here. It’s a comfortable space, familiar in a way that makes her want to curl up and stay forever. She rests her head against his pillow, the soft fabric of his sleeve brushing against her forehead as she stares at the ceiling.

When she wakes, they’re the closest they’ve ever been. The sunlight manages to shine directly into the corner of her eye, so she squints. And then she sees him. Feels him. He’s holding her, his arm draped over her waist, hand grazing her stomach as her back leans against him. She sees him so clearly. Pulling her toward him in the most innocent of ways.

She feels the goodness radiating off her bones and she becomes fearful. That he’s probably known all along, even when she hasn’t. That she likes him. Really, really likes him. 

The heat doesn’t overcome the fear then, it doesn’t pool in her stomach until much, much later. It’s not till they’re eating cereal, all of them together, and someone is telling a story, and all she can do is watch as Matt suppresses his laughter. She can’t help but see the little boy in him, always. Nothing about him is malevolent to her. Even when he smirks, teasing or mocking her, she feels nothing but warmth.

She goes to parties, tries to find another guy, another boy to kiss to avoid even thinking of Matt like that. It doesn’t work of course.

She gives away her virginity to the boy in her math class. The one who didn’t mean any harm and therefore, doesn’t cause her any. He doesn’t make her feel good, but she holds him close to hide his face so that she can tug on the brown hair and pretend all is well.

And then one night, when she finally admits to herself that none of it is working, she allows her mind to wander. To truly contemplate, what it might be like. To be loved like that. By him. 

She doesn’t drift for more than mere seconds before she finally feels the warmth return. In her mind, her thoughts recall how Matt's lips hover above her ear at parties just before he leaves her alone in the corner. She could come already, it’s pathetic.

The fantasy is shattered when she remembers him kissing another girl right after.

She’s not jealous. She doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to feel special. He lets her in and that’s enough.

She touches herself to kill the emotion, replaying the scene from an outsider’s perspective. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. It rewinds and distorts but it’s no matter. She’s already sticky and shameful, childlike. 

She doesn’t dare to do it again, she already regrets it and can’t look him in the eye anymore. It’s almost like he knows about the sick fantasy, and he's constantly trying to catch her with his eyes like a hunter. 

It’s only because of this that she pictures him beneath her. His eyes so wide and disconcerted, like a deer in headlights. Just like a baby animal, and her fear dissipates to the rhythm of her touch, pretending, praying that the emotion will die once more if she gives the fantasy just enough room to breathe.

And then one night they’re talking about love, true love. Their beliefs, hopes and truths, and she lies, she lies like she loves him and wants to protect him. Treats herself like the one in the wrong. She knows that this conversation is only happening because nothing will ever happen between them. She hopes that that's true because she can’t handle the end of her love, not in the way he can.

Sometime between their complete and utter closeness, they both find comfort in others. She still searches for Matt though, always, always, always.

Sometime between the external comfort, they find their way back to his room, his bed. And he holds her again, more and more these days and she wonders why.

And it’s sick and twisted because it happens. In his bed. His lips hovering on her ear, expressing his shallow gratitude. She can’t help it, she gasps lightly. It’s the best she can manage without taking advantage of his closeness.

Unfortunately, Matt notices it, and he whispers again. 

“Do you like it baby?”, she feels his warmth breath coat her like the sun, “My mouth on your ear?”

Something shrivels up and dies inside her then, the reluctance, the pre-emptive disappointment, and she nods, squirming in his grip. “Mhm,” she whines. They fall asleep like that, cuddling like lovers as Matt whispers in her ear, sending her into a beautiful trance.

In the morning, they don’t speak of it. He’s there, a vessel of her comfort as always. Days pass, and she touches herself again, thoughts of Matt creeping in as always. 

They remain who they’ve always been to the outside world. Friends. Good friends. But back in his room, as she leans against the wall his bed touches, she doesn’t feel anything like that. 

He’s sitting at his desk, back to her.

“Matt,” she says, her voice quiet, but he turns around as the silence hangs in the air between them, sharp and fragile. “Do you ever think about... us?”

He looks at her, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, she sees something flicker in his eyes. Uncertainty. He chuckles, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s tight, almost defensive.

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he asks, trying to mask the tension in his voice with the ease he’s perfected over the years.

She takes a breath, the weight of her own words heavier than she expected. She knows this is risky, but it’s impossible to hold it in any longer. “I mean… us, as more than just…” She gestures between them, frustrated, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding foolish. “More than just… how we are. What we are.”

He shifts, his posture stiffening. His hand tightens against the armrest, his jaw set. “We’ve always been like this,” he says, and there’s that familiar nonchalance, the wall he’s always built between them. “Don’t need anything else. It’s enough.”

Her chest tightens, the words falling flat even as she tries to smile. “Maybe,” she whispers, but her voice shakes. “But what about me?”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat that lingers too long in the air between them. And for the briefest moment, she swears she sees something flicker in his eyes. Something softer, something afraid.

But then it’s gone, hidden behind that same smile that’s never quite reached his eyes.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he says, more to himself than to her, his voice a little too calm. “You know that.”

She nods, the weight of his words sinking in. She’s heard this before… just never to her. She should know better, shouldn’t she? But it feels different this time. It feels like a denial, not just of her feelings, but of something they could have shared. Maybe she’s been fooling herself all along.

“I know,” she says, her voice small, barely audible over the noise. “I know.”

It's still not over after that conversation. She’s still completely at his mercy and she can’t bring herself to walk away, to shatter. It’s like she wants him to hurt her. For it to be his fault, and not hers. She tells herself she can move on, that she can bury the feelings that have only been growing with each passing moment. She’s had enough of the games. Enough of the waiting. Even edging herself and relieving herself does little good.

It’s just not that simple.

The next few days pass in a blur. She tries to keep her distance, but something keeps drawing her back to him…like a magnetic pull she can’t escape, the years, the way he’s always been there. And then there’s a moment, late one night, when everything just cracks. They’re in his room again, the same room that’s always felt like home and a cage at the same time. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, talking about nothing and everything, and then he’s there, too close again.

And before she even knows what’s happening, his lips are on hers.

It’s not like the kisses she’s had before, quick and careless, stolen moments that never meant anything. This one is different. This one makes her feel like she’s floating, like she’s finally found a place she’s meant to be. She’s shocked, clawing at the air for a second. Then his hand cups the side of her face, and she presses closer, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt, pulling him in.

It’s a moment that feels like everything. Like it’s all been leading to this. And for a little while, she forgets about the rules he’s laid down. She forgets about the distance he’s kept between them. She just lets herself feel it, the heat, the intensity, the way his lips move against hers like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

He groans into her mouth, and pulls away abruptly. But she’s desperate, kissing him again as they fall down onto the bed, their chests pressed against each other. 

Somehow the moment is passionate, the way he undresses her, caresses her, tells her she’s beautiful. He whispers in her ear as he moves within her and she whimpers, closer and closer to the high she’s been yearning for. 

His mouth trails over her chest as she arches her back away from him. He cups her breast with his warm hand, kneading it and massaging it. “I love how you respond to me, to my touch.”

He enters her slower, deeper, “I want you to feel it baby. I want you to feel good. Feel loved.” She moans at his words and looks back staring into his eyes, the innocent gaze of a friend she’s known for as long as she’s known her own name. They both come with a final rough movment from him and collapse onto each other.

It feels loving, like devotion, and when he eventually pulls out, she feels full of bliss. 

He gets on his knees pulling on his shirt before glancing back at her. She pours all of her love into her post-orgasm stare. He smiles, shy, before looking back down and kneeling down to kiss her core. Slowly but surely, he overstimulates her, making out with the most private part of her, cleaning her, loving her.

She smiles, content. Empty, but newly joined. Hopeful. 

But the next morning, everything is different.

He’s distant again, almost like nothing happened. His eyes avoid hers, and the silence stretches between them like an ocean, too wide to cross. He doesn’t mention the kiss. Doesn’t acknowledge what happened after.

This time, it’s different though. She knows it, and he knows it. The unspoken tension hangs in the air between them, undeniable. They don’t say the words, but there’s a shift. A silent agreement in the way he watches her when he thinks she's not looking, the way she can’t stop looking at him, even as she tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, after days of this unspoken tension, Matt says something. Casual, almost teasing, like they’re joking, like nothing matters.

“You think we could do this... and whatever? A compromise?” he says, voice low but eyes still holding hers.

She knows what he means. And she knows that this isn’t the kind of thing that can be taken back. It’s an offer, a dangerous one, and she’s so close to refusing, but instead, she finds herself nodding. She’s done pretending. She’s done with the half-truths.

“I’m fine with it,” she murmurs. “Don’t need much more.”

Matt looks at her, eyes sharp. “We can make this work,” he promises, but the words are hollow. She knows that. The question hangs there between them, a fragile thread strung across a chasm of things unsaid. He knows it too. But he won't say it.

They’re tangled together in the silence that follows, a pact neither of them can take back. It’s something they’ve both tried to avoid for so long. But now, in the wake of everything they’ve built up and torn down, it feels like the only thing left to do.

The bed feels too small for both of them, a tight coil that she can't escape. She lies back, her head sinking into the pillow, the weight of the room pressing down on her. Matt’s silhouette stands over her, a shadow she can’t shake off. The space between them is thick, suffocating. She breathes in, and the air feels heavier, as though every inch she takes toward him is another step toward the inevitable.

She tells herself it’s fine, that it’s just for now, just something to fill the space between them, to fill the gaps in the way they’ve always existed. No expectations. No pressure.

But as they fall into each other again, the boundaries blur, and everything shifts. The kisses feel deeper, the touches linger longer. He holds her. He holds her. His mouth over her ear.

She’s still scared, still bracing herself for the inevitable crash, the heartbreak she knows will come when it’s over. But right now, she can’t bring herself to care.

She should feel anger, or sadness… maybe both. But instead, she feels something worse: a sick, hollow longing. It's the kind of want that gnaws at her, the kind of want that tells her that even knowing this will hurt her, she would still do it. She would still step forward. Because for the first time in too long, something feels real, even if it’s doomed..

She’s already made her bed. She might as well lie down with him.

She���s always known this would happen. She’s always known Matt would leave her wanting, never giving enough to truly stay, yet always giving just enough to keep her hooked. But now, with the decisive touches, the silence, the empty space between them, it’s different. The fear she used to feel…fear that he might hurt her, might break her heart, is gone. There’s no surprise in it anymore. There’s only a cold certainty, a sharp knowledge of how deep the hurt will run.

And somehow, she feels it before it even happens… the ache of knowing this will end badly. But there's a strange warmth in the hurt. The promise of it. A twisted comfort, like preparing for a storm you can't stop, but somehow want. The thought of it burns, and she lets it. 

She knows how it will feel when it all unravels, but she can’t help the thrill that shivers up her spine. She can’t help the way her chest tightens with anticipation, knowing just how bad it will get.

She’s looking forward to the kill.

She’ll lie in this bed she made, her heart tangled in him, and she’ll let it consume her, because it’s the only thing that’s ever felt true.

creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!!

+ thank u @cowboylikenat for ur feedback <3

a/n: i swore i'd never write smut yet here we are.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart comment to be added to my main (non-au) taglist!!

till next time!!!!

[goddessinnerglow]

Why Being "Low Maintenance" Is Actually Self-Abandonment

Have you ever caught yourself saying "I'm just low maintenance" and feeling weirdly proud about it? Let's talk about what's really hiding behind that seemingly innocent phrase.

Being "low maintenance" often means we're actually abandoning ourselves in small ways every single day. We're not actually "chill", we're just really good at ignoring our own needs.

Think about it: When was the last time you…

Said "I'm fine with whatever" when you actually have a strong preference about where to eat

Stayed quiet about something that hurt you because you didn't want to "cause drama"?

Accepted the bare minimum effort because you're afraid of being called "demanding"

Praised yourself for "not being needy" when you're actually just suppressing your real needs.

The scary part? Society LOVES a "low maintenance" woman. Movies, TV shows, and social media constantly feed us this idea of the "cool girl" who never complains, never has needs, and is always up for anything. We're taught that taking up less space and being eternally agreeable makes us more lovable. But let's be real, would you want your best friend to silence her needs just to seem "easy-going"? Would you want your future daughter to shrink herself to appear more attractive to others?

I didn't think so.

Here's what being "low maintenance" actually costs you: Your authentic voice gets quieter. Your ability to form genuine connections suffers (because how can people truly know you if you never express what you want?). Your self-trust erodes because you've gotten so good at ignoring your inner wisdom.

Having needs doesn't make you high maintenance, it makes you human. Setting boundaries isn't demanding, it's healthy. Speaking up about your feelings isn't dramatic, it's brave.

So how do we start shifting away from this pattern? It doesn't have to be huge, dramatic changes. Start with tiny steps that feel manageable:

Next time you're asked where you'd like to eat, pause for a moment. Check in with yourself. What sounds good to you? Maybe you don't need to immediately jump to "oh, anywhere is fine!" Give yourself permission to have a preference.

Try keeping a little notes app diary of moments when you notice yourself automatically saying "it's fine" or "whatever you want." No judgment, just notice the pattern. Sometimes awareness is the first step to change.

When you're with trusted friends, practice expressing small preferences. Maybe it's about what movie to watch or what time to meet up. Notice how it feels in your body when you actually say what you want. Notice if the world keeps spinning (spoiler: it usually does).

Instead of "low maintenance," how about we start calling ourselves "self-aware"? Instead of "easy-going," how about "authentic"? Instead of "not needy," how about "clear about my needs"?

Remember, the right people in your life won't want you to be low maintenance. They'll want you to be authentic. They'll appreciate knowing your true preferences and respect your boundaries. And anyone who makes you feel bad about having normal human needs isn't someone who deserves your energy.

Your needs matter. Your voice matters. Your preferences matter. And learning to honor them isn't just okay, it's essential for building a life that actually feels like yours.

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.8): stop being weird - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; lmfao i watched babygirl last night so smut coming in the next few chapters FINALLY!!

part 7- part 8 - part 9

you don’t do weird, dramatic silences. you don’t ignore each other. you don’t fight.

so why does it kind of feel like you are?

it’s been days since the last pogue hangout. since you started seeing rafe a little less. since you realized he wasn’t really… talking to you anymore. not like normal. not like you two.

it’s not like he’s outright avoiding you—he still shows up, still answers when you text—but he’s dry. dismissive. like he doesn’t really care. and maybe you wouldn’t care either, if it weren’t so obvious.

you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your stomach. music plays softly from your speaker, some song you don’t even realize is on until it ends. the room feels too quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.

before you can think too hard about it, you grab your phone and open your messages.

it’s not like you to overthink things. not with rafe. but the whole thing is just… off. and it’s not like he’s going to tell you what’s up—clearly—so you do the next best thing.

meanwhile, your life is moving. no time to think about rafe. no time to care.

you’re at the chateau, cross-faded, curled up against jj on the couch, barely processing the conversation happening around you. his arm is slung around your waist, and at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. the night moves fast like that, all smoke and static and warmth, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of music from a speaker someone set on the counter.

jj’s rolling another joint, half-focused on pope and john b arguing over something stupid, while kiara eggs them on. you don’t even know what they’re mad about, but it’s funny watching them get worked up, hands flying, voices overlapping.

jj nudges you with his shoulder, eyes lazy, smirking. “you good over there, champ?”

you hum in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “never better.”

he grins, flicking the lighter to life.

at some point, jj drags you off the couch, pulling you toward the kitchen under the excuse of “we need snacks.” the real reason, as it turns out, is to shotgun a beer with you, which you only half succeed at before nearly choking on it. jj laughs so hard he almost chokes too, smacking the counter as he wheezes, before shoving the neck of his hoodie at you to wipe your mouth like you haven’t known each other for two weeks at most.

“you suck at this,” he says, grinning.

“fuck you,” you cough, still recovering.

“nah, that was tragic,” he teases, cracking open another one like you didn’t just borderline aspirate the first. “you gotta commit. you hesitated.”

you glare at him, wiping your chin with his hoodie before flipping it back at his face. “let’s see you do better, mr. professional.”

jj winks, tilting his head back as he downs the beer effortlessly, then slamming the empty can on the counter with an exaggerated gasp. “light work,” he announces.

you roll your eyes. “congrats. you’ve peaked.”

he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a loose side hug as he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “c’mon, princess. let’s go pretend we got the snacks and not just our crippling alcohol dependencies.”

sometime past 2 a.m., you end up back on the couch, jj next to you, kiara half in your lap, legs thrown over the armrest. your limbs feel heavy, head fogged over with exhaustion, but you feel good. easy. warm in the way that only comes with nights like this.

you don’t check your phone. don’t think about unread messages or stubborn boys who’d rather sit in their heads than get out of them.

not your problem tonight.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @hello-therree

[marvelrivalsimagines]

A Blessing From the Gods

Characters: Hela, Moon Knight, Scarlet Witch, Winter soldier

Prompt: “could you do Moon knight, Bucky and any other character of your choice with another avatar of a Greek gods?” - anon request

Author’s note: I tried to keep which God you are the avatar of vague so you can imagine whatever kinds of powers/backstory you’d like. Also I’m not sure if the requester wanted the HCs to be romantic or platonic but I think these can be read either way. 

Warnings: None!

When Hela sees you for the first time she is immediately intrigued by your presence, for better or worse. She can tell that you are definitely no god yourself, yet she can sense that you have brushed with divinity frequently. She has had brief, and awkward, conversations with Moon Knight about his connection to Khonsu so she realizes that you must also be an avatar. But an avatar of which god? As much as Hela likes to pretend she’s all knowing and above childish emotions like curiosity, she can’t satiate her burning desire to know more until she finally talks to you for herself. 

Hela approaches you with her usual confident smirk and a snide comment about how there appears to be “yet another mortal avatar running about”. As you share your first conversation Hela's face is stoic as she bluntly asks you her burning questions, but if you are observant enough you can see an amused look in her eye. Hela is pleasantly surprised, you are far more interesting to her than Khonsu’s little knight. 

As Hela learns more about your relationship with your god she says she finds herself even more thankful for her dominion over death, preferring to rely on her legions of Hel to do her bidding over having some weak and fickle human. A lot of your conversations have this same energy lol. It sometimes feels like the goddess looks down on you, but it’s undeniable that she enjoys your presence simply because she keeps coming back to you.

A lot of the other heroes think that Hela has it out for you with how much she picks on you. It isn’t common for Hela to have good intentions for anybody outside of herself, not even her own brothers. But with all the time you’re starting to spend with the goddess of death, you’re able to pick up on the subtle tone of affection in her voice when she speaks to you. Even if her words are just as demeaning as what she would say to others. 

If you have a more adversarial relationship with your God, Hela is always eager to listen to your complaints and she always takes your side on arguments. Hela doesn’t have many good relationships with the other gods but she likes you, so as far as she’s concerned you’re always right. Hela also loves stirring the pot between other gods, so sometimes she’ll give you less violent ways to get back at your god. For example, she’ll tell you stories of something embarrassing that happened to your god centuries ago and then tell you to bring it up to your god whenever they start to bother you.

To be completely honest, the Moon Knight system doesn’t pay you much mind when you first join the fight for the multiverse. The Fist of Khonshu is here to carry out his god’s will so his senses are focused on the mission at hand, not necessarily the people around him. Marc knows you’re there as he’s cautiously aware of all the people around him, but it’s the old bird who brings his attention to you. Khonshu, with his knowledge of the other gods and their avatars, recognizes you and then proceeds to yap about your god in Marc’s head for 5 minutes straight. 

How your first interaction with Moon Knight goes depends a lot on what Khonshu has to say about your god. If he speaks positively about your god then Marc is definitely curious about what kind of a person you are. Khonshu historically hasn’t played well with the other gods, so Marc can’t help but wonder what kind of deity you’re wrapped up with if Khonshu can get along with them. If Khonshu doesn’t like your god then Marc may be pressured by Khonshu to confront you in an attempt to settle some 2,000 year old beef between gods. I’ll pray for you if that’s the case 

But whether your first encounter is out of Marc’s own curiosity or because of Khonshu’s petty drama, as the two of you inevitably talk Moon Knight feels a small connection starting to grow with you. Marc’s connection to Khonshu has always seemingly alienated him from the other heroes who think he’s plain crazy, but as a fellow avatar you’re both able to share some of your experiences with each other. Whether your relationship with your own god is as turbulent as Marc’s or not, Marc feels a slight weight lifted off his shoulders as he’s able to speak with someone who can truly understand the pressure of constantly being beneath a god’s gaze. 

Marc doesn’t let many people into his life, but when people do get close to him the entire Moon Knight system becomes very protective over them. So if you have a bad relationship with your god, or really anything in your life starts to go south, Moon Knight’s first instinct is to seek out some sort of revenge for you. However it’s obviously not possible for him to go against a whole god on your behalf and that fact is really frustrating for Moon Knight. Be careful what you complain about around Moon Knight, he will throw hands for you at a moment's notice lol.

Wanda is unfortunately another one who doesn’t pay too much attention to the people around her, so she might not acknowledge you at first. She’s worried about preserving the very fabric that holds her reality together, so you’re gonna have to do something kind of eye-catching to initially get her attention lol. 

As one of the most powerful magic wielding beings and the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, one thing that will definitely make her interested in you is any magical abilities your god may have bestowed upon you. While Wanda is concentrating on controlling her own chaos magic on the battlefield, her mind is still able to recognize a kind of magic she has never seen before. Cue her now being mildly distracted as she low key tries to watch you and fight the enemy team at the same time. 

Instantly Wanda has a need to know everything about your abilities, and as soon as the battle is over she’s trying to speak to you. What kind of magic do you wield? How did you get these powers? Are you just a beginner at magic or can you show her some of your advanced spells? Honestly it might kind of feel like when you tell someone you have a skill, like drawing or speaking another language, and someone just immediately puts you on the spot and asks you to do it for them. It’s especially intimidating if you know that she’s the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, like how are you supposed to impress her lol? But don’t worry Wanda means well, she’s just very blunt and is curious about the different kinds of magic people have access to in these new universes <3

Wanda isn’t known for being very social, but whenever there is down time in between missions you two tend to seek each other out now. Whether it’s a conversation about your personal lives over some lunch, or the both of you focusing on honing your magic in complete silence, Wanda is so used to your presence that it starts to feel strange when you’re not around. In her universe she’s constantly holding reality together, constantly fighting off magical threats, constantly trying to gain more control over her powers. But here with you Wanda greatly enjoys feeling more like a ‘normal’ person. 

You know, if you’re having a problem with your god you’ve now got a whole Sorceress Supreme on your side, and Wanda isn’t afraid of talking back to gods and higher beings. In her timeline she is constantly trying to stop power hungry gods from collapsing her universe, so if you need someone to just casually intimidate your god into being a bit kinder to you, Wanda has more than enough experience to get the job done. She will ask to speak to the manager for you.

Everything that’s happened in the first few weeks of the time stream entanglement has become a blur for Bucky. Suddenly he’s in another dimension with a new (and tentacle-y?) metal arm and he’s fighting alongside other heroes from different dimensions for the fate of the universe. Alright, cool. This is fine. Before all of this mess started, meeting you and being told that you’re an avatar of a Greek god could have shocked Bucky, but now that fact somehow seems like the most normal thing he’s been told in his life. 

As you, Bucky, and the rest of your team head out on your mission Bucky has heard a little bit about your background from Steve, who gave him a brief on all of their strange new teammates. As you clash with the heroes on the other side of the fight Bucky finds his normally focused senses drifting to you. Divine powers tend to be pretty flashy, and a trained soldier like Bucky can immediately see how skilled you are at what you do. As Bucky gets caught off guard by a diving Psylocke, the flash of your abilities is a welcome sight as you help him fend her off. Your reward for helping Bucky? A gruff “Thanks”, before he hones in on another enemy. Isn’t he dreamy <3

After that fight you’ll most likely have to approach Bucky first. Bucky knows he should probably give you a proper thank you for your help, but unfortunately Hydra brainwashing will do a number on your social skills. When you check in on Bucky after the fight is over, you’ll find that he’s slightly more talkative than usual - really just towards you, Steve, or Clint though. He has a lot of questions he'd like to ask you, he’s not as familiar with all these gods and aliens as some of the other heroes are, but he also doesn’t want to accidentally offend you. Bucky knows that he certainly doesn’t have a happy or inspiring story behind how he got his powers, so he doesn’t want to accidentally be too invasive. 

As the two of you grow closer you notice that Bucky tends to stick by your side a lot, both in and out of combat. In combat, Bucky sticks by your side as he knows that he can rely on you if things get rough. He also wants to be there in case he needs to return the favor and help get a diver off of your back. But when you both are just relaxing in between missions, Bucky finds comfort in your presence. Consciously or subconsciously, Bucky knows that you’re a person he can let his guard down around, which isn't a very common experience for him. With everything that he’s been through in life, the fact that the former Winter Soldier trusts you means a lot. 

Bucky really empathizes with you if you have a bad relationship with the god you serve. He has a lot of experience with being used as a living weapon, being treated like your only worth is what you can do for the person giving you your orders. He can’t stand to see another person live that way, especially not when it’s you. Bucky knows that he can’t go up against a god, and he knows enough about these kinds of power dynamics to understand that trying to stand up for you might actually make your situation worse. So Bucky commits himself to supporting you in whatever way you ask him to.

[pascalislove]

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~13

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

Warning: Sexual innuendos, mentions of sexual activities and desires.

Days later, the sky began to turn orange as Y/N played with Loki in the backyard, enjoying the fresh air. Her soft laughter filled the space, combining with the little dog's playful movements.

Since that kiss, something between them had changed. The barriers that had previously separated them seemed to have vanished, and they now treated each other with a warm naturalness that had previously been elusive, as if the awkward silence had been replaced by a connection that they both dared to explore. From the doorway, Jeong-Won watched her silently, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. An almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

He didn't know when his house had stopped feeling so empty, but it had been since Y/N arrived. —Y/N,— he called softly, making her look up. —Oh, do you need something? —he asked as he stroked Loki's head.—Dinner is ready,— Jeong-Won said with a calm voice, much warmer than usual. Y/N blinked, surprised. —Did you cook? —He shrugged modestly. —Let's say I made an effort. I don't promise it'll be a chef's feast, but at least it won't poison you. —Y/N laughed. —It's a good start. —

Jeong-Won took a few steps closer and extended his hand towards her. —Come. Loki can stay here for a while enjoying the garden. —She looked at him curiously, but accepted his hand, letting him guide her back to the house.

The warmth of his palm against hers was comforting, and although Y/N didn't mention it, she liked that less distant side of Jeong-Won. Later, as dinner passed quietly, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates filled the space between light conversations.

They had talked about everything a little: Loki's antics, the week's unpredictable weather, and even trivial anecdotes of the day.—¿Have you always liked dogs? —Jeong-Won asked, curious as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Y/N smiled softly. —Yes, but I'd never had one until Loki. And you? —Not particularly, but cats conquered me. They are independent, as sometimes I would like to be. —Y/N let out a soft laugh. —Sounds like something very yours—Jeong-Won smiled slightly, enjoying the naturalness of the conversation.

After a brief silence, with his tone more casual than usual, he added: —By the way... does the contract we signed mention anything about sex? —Y/N blinked, dropping the fork with a slight clatter.—¿That? —I ask seriously. —It's just curiosity,—he said with a half-amused smile, shrugging his shoulders. —I love women, you know.— She looked at him, bewildered. —I definitely don't remember reading anything like that,—he said, frowning.

Jeong-Won stood up with apparent nonchalance and walked around the table, his calm footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Y/N tensed as he reached behind her chair and leaned in slightly, letting his fingers gently brush against her neck.—You are a beautiful woman, Y/N,— he whispered close to her ear, his voice deep and soft.

She swallowed, trying to maintain her composure. —The contract doesn't say anything about that,—he answered firmly, although his voice trembled slightly. Jeong-Won smiled to himself, satisfied that he had provoked a reaction in her. —Interesting...— he murmured before slowly walking away, returning to his place at the table as if nothing had happened.

The silence returned, but this time it was loaded with something new, something Y/N preferred not to analyze too much as she tried to concentrate on finishing her meal.After dinner, Jeong-Won was sitting on the living room couch, looking over some documents with a frown. The dim light of the lamps gently illuminated the space, while the faint sound of the wall clock marked the passage of time. The creak of the steps made him look up. Y/N appeared at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a white silk robe that fell gently on her figure.

His steps were slow, sure, and his expression carried a mischievous spark that Jeong-Won couldn't immediately interpret. —Aren't you sleepy? —he asked, putting the papers aside. —Not much,—she replied, approaching calmly.Jeong-Won watched her curiously. There was something different in his attitude, something defiant. When Y/N arrived in front of him, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a playful smile. —You know, Jeong-Won? -began-. I've been thinking about what you said at dinner... about how you love women.— Jeong-Won raised an eyebrow, amused but also cautious. -Yeah? —Yes... and also how you stood behind me, touching my neck as if you wanted something,— she added, she voice low and provocative.

Before he could respond, Y/N did something unexpected: she grabbed the ends of his robe and, with a slow movement, opened it slightly in front of him. Jeong-Won stood still, his dark eyes shining with surprise and bewilderment. -What are you doing? —he asked, his voice deeper than usual. —Nothing,—Y/N replied with feigned innocence. —I was just wondering if you were going to react like I did... you know, when you decided to "play" with me at dinner.— Jeong-Won blinked, still stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

But when a soft laugh escaped Y/N's lips, she realized that it was all part of a game.—¿Are you trying to provoke me? —he asked, resting an elbow on the back of the sofa, regaining his composure. —Maybe...— she replied as she closed the robe again with a triumphant air. —Seems fair, doesn't it?—Jeong-Won smiled, shaking his head slowly. —You're amazing, Y/N,— he said, his words filled with a mix of admiration and amusement. —But... I always win—. “We'll see,” she replied with a defiant smile before turning to return to the stairs, leaving Jeong-Won with a mixture of amusement and the faint desire to find out how she was going to fight back.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@anamiad00msday , @czarinera , @beebeechaos, @muchwita

THE CALL MASTERLIST

[chronicangel]

I think what this person is getting caught up on is "American" as a demonym for living people.

When referring to a group of people as Americans without additional qualifiers (e.g. South American), most of the time we're talking about USAmericans because that is just the demonym that the US uses. (And like, we're not exactly spoiled for choice. What else would we do? Statesians? Uniters? Bleh.) When we talk about our nationalities, we typically refer to ourselves by demonym—Irish, Brazilian, Pakistani, Kiwi, etc. Sometimes we refer to ourselves by a demonym based on city, state, or territory, too—New Yorker, Parisian, Quebecois, Masshole (I'm KIDDING).

It's only occasionally that broader continental labels like European or African come up (except for you, Australia), and I think it's also less and less common the larger and more diverse a continent is—for example, I hear European by itself way more often than I hear just African or just Asian. And all of them almost always come with some additional context. Eastern European, South Asian, North African, and... well, okay, Middle Eastern is kind of a complicated thing on its own in the first place, but still. And even then, all of those are united continents all clumped together by a combination of geography, history, and culture (again, except for you, Australia).

If you tell someone, "I'm European," it's all going to be in the same general geographic region regardless of which country you specify or whether you specify a country at all. Which is not to say that Europe isn't wonderfully geographically and culturally diverse, I just mean that if you get me a map the size of a piece of printer paper, I can cover all of Europe with like, one finger. Maybe two, since I've got baby hands. But covering both North and South America would take a whole baby hand. (My baby hands, not infant hands. It'd probably take both of those. Maybe more than one baby, even.) Saying, "I'm American," to refer to all of North, Central, and South America gives you even less information than just saying, "I'm European," does, and that'll usually already net you questions about which country (or city or area, depending on the asker's familiarity) you're from.

All that being said, the reason that we use American as a term to refer to North, Central, and South America sometimes is because of things like history and culture (and even a little bit of geography). "Wait, didn't you just say that continents are united by those things, these are different continents!" I hear you yelling at your computer, and yes, I did say that, but when we're not talking about currently living human people, the degree of specificity that we need to use varies significantly more depending on context.

For example, when we're talking about indigenous Americans, that can refer to the 574 tribes currently federally recognized in the United States. Or maybe it's referring to the Mesoamericans who were the dominant cultural indigenous group in the Americas for over 3000 years, including when North America welcomed (I am using this term facetiously) its first European settlers in the late 15th and early 16th centuries—only, wait, Mesoamerica doesn't overlap with the US at all, it spans Central Mexico down to Costa Rica. And, I mean, the first indigenous people that Columbus and his crew ran into and promptly fucked over were in the Bahamas (which is, for those keeping score, not in the US). And maybe they've changed the curriculum since I was a lass, but personally speaking, when we learned about American history in school, my teachers always started with the Aztecs (Mexico), the Incas (Peru and Chile), and the Mayans (Mesoamerica).

And if we're talking about American politics, yes, obviously the United States has our own nightmare going on, but there is still a whole continent over here (two of them!), and occasionally, we interact with each other. Once we're at the point of trying to build a wall at the border and tossing out tariffs at any country they'll stick to, like, "Mexican American" is a different term that means a different thing in addition to just being kind of a mouthful (and yes, okay, in writing it would be Mexican-American, but sometimes people do this thing where we go outside and we talk to other people out loud with our mouth parts), and "North American" will only work as long as we stick to bullying our two immediate neighbors. Which... seems unlikely, considering.

So we have the term American, which means people who live in the United States or hail from the United States or some combination thereof. And then we have the term American, which means someone or something who at some point did something important in North, South, or Central America. And the former is useful for grumbling online or self-identifying where you are or are not from, and the latter is useful for talking about broad historical and cultural movements. Like, if you take an American History class, even in the US, it doesn't generally start in 1776 (or 1607, or 1492, pick your favorite). Not to say that most of it won't be about the US, we're pretty self-important like that, but part of that self-importance is also wanting to act like we're older and cooler than we are.

And you might be saying, "Well, the Aztecs, Incas, and Mayans are dead, so they're probably not participating in Tumblr polls, and I doubt the President of the United States is on here either." Which, wrong, I stole his shoelaces. But moving past that, it still doesn't really hurt anybody to be more specific, does it? I mean, it certainly doesn't hurt the people descended from those ancient American populations we tried so hard to destroy and failed, thank G-d. It doesn't hurt USAmericans, who could stand to get our inflated senses of self-importance checked and remember that the US does not encompass even most of the Americas, so maybe we can share our toys (or our demonyms, as the case may be). It doesn't hurt the people making Tumblr polls, who have limited options for answers and need to be as specific as possible to make sure dumb dumbs online know what they're talking about.

So like, yeah, we know what people mean when they say "Americans" 99% of the time, because 99% of the time it's the US, and 99% of the time we deserved it. But like, really, why not be more specific? Why not acknowledge that there's more to America than the United States, much as we try to pretend otherwise? If it's helpful, think of "USAmerican" the way you would think of "East Asian," or maybe try to treat it as like a South African vs. Southern African thing, if that makes more sense.

Of course, I'm pretty confident sandersstudies already knows all this, and that taking a screenshot of a dictionary was just a faster and easier way to explain than writing all of this out, so I'm not trying to like, counter her or educate her or anything. But since anon felt the need to be so insanely snarky, I thought maybe they'd like to know.

USAmerican is not a word

- A Brazilian

(We don’t call ourselves American)

Just because you don’t, or don’t know someone who does, doesn’t mean that it’s not in common use. Also, it never hurts just to be extra-specific, even if USAmerican is effectively a synonym for American to most.

[agentstovring]

Need

Title: Need

Pairing: Ian/Anthony (Smosh)

Rating: E for Explicit

Notes: Thank you Snel for always supporting my small but all-consuming bursts of creative energy

You can also find this on Ao3

When Anthony leaves, it happens in increments. Ian sees it coming like a runaway train, but he doesn’t dodge it; he lays down on the tracks, twirls his own mustache, and closes his eyes, waiting for collision. When Anthony finally says it out loud, Ian has already been processing for months.

They’ve known each other for so long, and even though they stopped being friends somewhere along the way, he could have lost all his senses and still felt the shift in the universe when Anthony decided not to suffer quietly any longer.

When Anthony musters up the courage to tell him, Ian puts on a surprised face; Anthony sees right through it, as former best friends do.

The rest of the company is informed as well, and their reactions run the gamut. The cast and crew are devastated, while Defy reps are concerned about optics. Anthony pretends to be optimistic about the future, and Ian pretends to be a stone.

The last weeks of working together reach levels of torture previously outlawed by the Geneva Convention. They get through it because they don’t have a choice; Defy has their finances so deep in the shitter, that neither Anthony nor Ian can afford to break their contracts, so production must go on. Everyone suffers, and everyone keeps showing up to work.

On Anthony’s last day, he buys everyone lunch and puts on a happy mask that just won’t stick. When he leaves, he hugs Ian; not for show, but out of some deeply buried habit. Without knowing it, they simultaneously come to the same realization: They haven’t touched off camera in over a year.

Ian

Let it be known that Ian Andrew Hecox knows how to suffer. He has mastered the subtle art of wallowing. He agonizes with the best of them. In the wake of Anthony’s departure, he reaches new lows in terms of sleep quality, nutrition, work-life balance, and personal hygiene.

The loss of Anthony consistently takes up so much space within him that any other problems or worries arising have nowhere to sit. When Defy shuts down less than two years later, brutalizing his life’s work in the process, Ian barely flinches.

Anthony finds his footing. After an awkward fledging stage, he discovers a format that plays to his strengths, and an audience grows around it, aware of his Smosh past but largely unconcerned with it. Ian watches him evolve and blossom out of his periphery while fighting for his own life. The conviction comes unbidden: “He doesn’t need me anymore.” And the thought fills him with dread.

Anthony

The Defy shutdown is a bittersweet affair; Anthony watches it from the outside, craving a bucket of popcorn, unable to fight off the satisfaction that his personal evil has been defeated. Unfortunately, it comes at the expense of Smosh; and though he barely recognizes it as the labor of love he built with Ian, the anguish is real.

For a while, the Defy garbage fire is the talk of the digital town, and Anthony hears rumors about the chaotic party that happened in the aftermath. People sneaking out props that rightfully belong to Smosh (vital); cameras being stolen (arguably necessary); furniture being destroyed (questionable); and computers being peed on (a choice).

When Smosh is left without a parent company, it could be the end of the channel, and he shamefully wonders if Ian will reach out. If it’s truly over, even though Anthony dipped out early, maybe Ian would want to lay it to rest together. Somehow, though, Anthony doesn’t feel convinced that this is the end. He may not believe in Smosh anymore, but he believes in Ian.

He watches with a sort of awe as Ian not only secures a new company, Mythical; but starts to rebuild Smosh to it’s former – maybe even greater – glory. New cast members; a bigger crew; content that sometimes flops but feels like it once again comes from a place of passion rather than greed.

Anthony watches every video that Ian appears in, and the truth settles in him. “He doesn’t need me anymore.” And the thought fills him with relief.

Ian

After Rhett and Link pull Smosh from the grave, Ian never allows himself to fully relax. Between Anthony’s departure and Defy’s incompetence-slash-betrayal, every small inconvenience feels like another punch to the face. He takes the punches, absorbs them; after a while, he almost relies on them. He feels like a shark, needing to keep moving in order to stay alive.

The ghost of Anthony haunts him on and off the clock. In meetings, he glances at empty chairs, imagining his former best friend sitting there, holding back a laugh as Ian makes jerkoff motions when someone mentions the algorithm.

When he gets stuck creatively, which seems to happen more and more, he misses their chaotic brainstorming sessions, fueled by caffein and takeout, talking and laughing into the light morning hours. When a video does well, he wonders if Anthony sees it pop up on YouTube; he wonders if Anthony ever watches the stuff they do.

The continuous “ Where’s Anthony”-jokes hurt him, but he decides that it would hurt more if they stopped. At least the jokes mean that Anthony’s spirit still lives at Smosh; everyone who works there, even people who started after he left and have never worked alongside him, still know and reference him.

Anthony

Anthony only properly starts to heal once he decides that Ian no longer needs him. He walks into therapy with a renewed sense of purpose, sits down in the plush chair and tells his therapist that he wants to talk about Ian. The therapist is stunned, because she's been trying to get him to talk about Ian for the past several years. They've talked about Smosh at length, but he's only mentioned Ian in passing and never separately from Smosh.

Now, he lets it all out. He starts from the beginning, fondly remembering their budding friendship; he talks about building Smosh the Website and turning it into a shared thing between them, knowing the risks of mixing business and friendship. He cries quietly, his therapist never once rushing him, as he processes and mourns the loss of their bond. He smiles ruefully as he allows himself to be sentimental for a moment; blushes as he lets himself be proud of their shared body of work.

When his therapist hints at the possibility of a future for him and Ian, a new business venture or a friendship independent of Smosh, he shrinks slightly in his seat. "I told you; he doesn't need me anymore."

His therapist shrugs. "Need isn't the only thing that brings people together, Anthony."

Ian

Women are terrifying. Ian has known this for a long time, but it can still surprise him just how effortlessly calculating they can be. Dianna called him three days ago and invited him out to try a new restaurant; when he'd asked who else would be there - just to be a dick, honestly - she'd casually said, "A few friends," not committing to any names before pressing him for an answer.

He'd said yes, because he likes Dianna, and he likes most of her friends, and he really likes Ethiopian food. Though now, less than an hour before he was supposed to be at the restaurant, he’s rethinking liking Dianna.

She'd called under the guise of giving parking instructions, and then, as he’s half-listening and buttoning up a patterned shirt, she slips in, "Oh, and Anthony's coming."

He freezes with his fingers on the top button. After a beat of silence, he picks his phone off the bed, hoping Dianna will sense his glare through the call.

"What the fuck," he says flatly. "Anthony's coming, you're telling me that now?"

"Maybe I just found out."

"Oh, you just found out that you invited him? Really snuck that past yourself 'til now, huh?"

"I'm sorry, sheesh, I'll call him and tell him not to come."

"Obviously don't do that, Dianna!" He sighs, trying to calm down. "It's fine, I was just surprised; I'm sorry for yelling."

Dianna hums noncommittally, but when she speaks again, she sounds nervous. "Are you still coming? Please still come."

"Of course I'm still coming," he says, looking himself up and down in the mirror. "It'll be nice to see him again."

"Awesome! He's single, by the way."

"Bye, Dianna, see you there!"

Anthony When Dianna texts and asks him to come to dinner, Anthony accepts without hesitation. He loves Ethiopian food, which tends to have a lot of vegan options, and Dianna always has the inside scoop on up-and-coming restaurants. There is an added bonus, too; Dianna is really more Ian's friend than his, and he suspects he's been invited because Ian is gonna be there.

In the hours leading up to the dinner, he is nauseous with anxiety, but as soon as he steps into the restaurant and spots the rest of the party at their table, a strange calm falls over him. Of course, when he spots Ian - who in turn spots him - a flutter of butterflies swirls in his stomach, and he can’t hold back a smile. Ian returns it.

For a second it feels like the surroundings blur and all he can see is Ian. He holds eye contact all the way to the table, only breaking it to greet everyone else and take his seat. He suspects it’s no coincidence that the only empty chair is right across the table from Ian.

"Hi," he says breathlessly, trying to seem casual while fighting for his life.

"Hi," Ian responds. "Good to see you."

"You too."

For all that Anthony wants to catch up with Ian, he’s very aware of the other people at the table; most of whom seem unaware of Dianna’s obvious scheme and therefore do their best to include him and Ian in their conversation. He can’t be too upset about it; it’s less nerve-wracking than speaking to Ian directly; he can’t say everything he wants to with an audience anyway.

Besides, Ian is clearly in a good mood; someone at the table has complained about the number of ads she gets for ad-free mobile games, and questions how they’re making money. This has sent Ian off on an immediate rant.

"It's all data mining," he says for the third time in just as many minutes, a little too loud for a public place. "It's not just shady, it's straight up predatory; they collect everything they can get their hands on and sell it to the highest bidder. This is why we need better legislation-"

If Anthony could see himself from the outside, he’s pretty sure he'd have literal hearts in his eyes.

Ian & Anthony

Eventually dinner wraps up, and the group finds themselves outside, saying goodbye as they head for their respective cars and Ubers. Ian and Anthony hang back, soon finding themselves alone in the parking lot. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The evening air blows an empty plastic bag past them, like the inner-city version of a tumbleweed, and they both sputter with laughter.

As they collect themselves, Ian clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, man.”

Ian fears that the conversation is over; that he has to drive home with no closure whatsoever; but then Anthony’s eyes sparkle with that familiar warmth, and he says, “Do you maybe wanna come over to my place? Not now, I mean, but.. tomorrow?"

Delight and nervousness battle it out in Ian’s stomach; he thankfully catches himself before it shows on his face, managing a casual expression. “Sure, uh, text me when you're done doing, like, sunrise yoga or whatever."

Instead of dignifying the jab with a response, Anthony pulls Ian in for a warm hug, relishing how he tenses up for only a second before relaxing into the embrace.

"I'll text you as soon as the shaman leaves," Anthony quips. Pulling away, he puts his hands in his pockets, walking backwards towards his car. "I'd invite you over to talk tonight, but I had wine with dinner; might do something impulsive."

Ian scoffs and shakes his head, but there’s no missing the blush rising in his cheeks. 

"Sure," he says about 20 seconds too late, giving Anthony a small wave as he also starts to leave. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Anthony echoes with a smile, and it feels as if no time has passed.

The next day, Ian ends up at Anthony's place just in time for a late breakfast. The number of dishes littering the dining table tells Ian that Anthony has been stress-cooking, and he can’t help the warm feeling in his chest; clearly, this is important to both of them. He’s also touched to find that Anthony has remembered to get gluten-free bread for him; and as he tucks into a surprisingly flavorful tofu scramble, he’s overwhelmed with affection for his former best friend. 

Here they are, the two of them, sharing a meal in Anthony's home as they have done a thousand times before in what felt like another lifetime. Conversation comes easy but stays light. The most recent earthquake in L.A.; the mayoral election; family members they know; friends they share. Smalltalk that should feel shallow but holds so many years of intimate knowledge of one another.

They finish eating but keep talking as they clear the table and load the dishwasher, tiptoeing towards the reason they’re there. Anthony asks about Smosh the way any friend of Ian's would, as if it hasn’t been the source of so much hurt; and Ian answers as if it’s just a place where he works, and not a house haunted by Anthony's absence. 

Once there’s nothing left to clean and tidy, they go to the living room; Ian takes a seat on the couch while Anthony drops into the nearest chair. There’s a beat of silence. For the millionth time, Anthony thinks about the fight that never happened; he left Smosh without the screaming argument he half-expected. Ian just let him go.

He’s often wondered if a loud fight would have given him closure. Still, he hopes they’re not about to have that fight now. He couldn’t bear it. Sitting in his sunlit living room with Ian is the happiest he’s felt in years. As much as he wants this to be a new beginning, wants to keep the peace, there’s something he needs to say.

“I think a part of me wanted you to come after me, a big part even. In the beginning, when I was so angry at you, I wanted you to come knocking just so I could reject you. I know that’s awful, but it’s the truth.”

“I can’t say I don’t get it.”

“It took me a long time to stop being angry, and then I was just sad; I started wanting you to reach out, so I had an excuse to come back.”

“You wouldn’t have come back,” Ian says, shell-shocked and in denial.

“I would have.”

“Being under Defy nearly killed you!”

“Yeah, and coming back would have been stupid, but I would have. I was so scared of starting over without you; I would have come crawling back just to not risk failing. But you never came after me; and when Defy went down, you still didn’t.” Anthony cracks a smile. “You kept fighting. When Mythical bought Smosh, you still kept fighting. You brought our dream back to life with a team of amazing people around you. It hurt that you didn’t need me anymore, but I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s not true; I never stopped needing you.”

“Then why didn’t you come after me? Out of pride?”

“Usually pride would be a safe bet, but not this time. I wanted to chase you down the day you left. I lay in bed that night imagining myself driving over to your place, begging you to come back; but I knew you wouldn’t. And even though I didn’t wanna admit it to myself, I knew you were right to leave. After you left, I don’t know if you saw much of the content-“

“I did,” Anthony says, grimacing.

“Fuck. I was really hoping you didn’t; I was gonna make it sound not so bad, but.. Yeah, it got really bad; and when the shutdown happened, I almost lost hope. Without Smosh, I had nothing to offer you. So, I went looking for a new parent company, and- Look, you know I love Rhett and Link, but I chose Mythical solely because they were the ones willing to give us the most creative control.”

“It was the right choice.”

Ian smiles slightly. “I think so. They’re good Southern boys, and I trust them. Even though some people might say, don’t mix business and friendship- Uh, I guess we’d know about that; and Rhett and Link are childhood best friends anyway-“

“Ian,” Anthony says, stopping Ian’s rambling instantly.

“Mmyes?”

“What do you mean by ‘Without Smosh, I had nothing  to offer you’?”

Ian adjusts his glasses, swallows once, and adjusts his glasses again before saying, “I didn’t wanna live the rest of my life not talking to you. Smosh was wrecked, but I thought, if I fixed it, there was a chance that I could have you back.”

“You worked your ass off to find a new parent company; and hired good people; and created better content; just to get me back? Not because you wanted to see Smosh back on its feet?”

“Come on, man, you think I have integrity like that?”

“I know you do,” Anthony says, and he can’t hold back a smile. “I’m honored, though.”

“You should be! It was stressful, and now I can’t have gluten anymore.”

“You think the gluten intolerance is because of stress? Not your aging body?”

Ian looks away, pouting, “We can’t all look like a piece of paper someone used to test their markers.”

“That’s sloppy, try again.”

“You look like a Halloween costume called Sexy Rorschach Test.”

“You think I’m sexy?” Anthony teases, looking at Ian with a mockery of a smolder.

Ian’s upper lip curls in annoyance. “You know you look good..”

“You look good too.”

Ian scoffs. “When we left dinner the other night, I looked like a Republican senator who’d just picked up a sex worker.”

Anthony bursts out laughing and falls back into the chair, his feet coming off the ground as his knees pull towards his chest. Ian watches him, trying to keep a straight face even as his shoulders shake slightly with held-in laughter. When Anthony gets a hold of himself, wiping a few tears off his face, the look he gives Ian is impossibly fond.

"You know I'd never make you pay for it," he says, a little too earnestly for a joke. Ian blushes, even as he scrunches up his nose. 

"Wow, thanks so much," he says flatly, sending them both into a fit of giggles. When it subsides, Anthony lets out a little sigh. He looks serious again, and the words that follow don’t come easy.

 “I didn't know you were struggling too, not 'til later. At the time, I thought you’d just stopped giving a shit. I couldn’t bear it; Smosh was our baby, and watching you be so casual about losing it was driving me crazy. But on top of that..” he hesitates for a moment, looking down at his hands. “Worse than that, I thought you’d stopped caring about me.”

"I could never. The truth is, at some point, I knew that you were gonna leave, before you said anything," Ian fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt cuff. "I gave up. I thought I'd already lost you; and if I'd admitted to myself how bad things were with Defy, I would have left, too. But that would mean losing Smosh completely, and then I'd have nothing to offer you.

I hung in there because I thought, if I get through this, if I can fix it, maybe he'll come back. Things got worse before they got better, and then you seemed to be doing so well. By the time I felt like Smosh was back on track, you were so successful on your own; I couldn't imagine you wanting to come back."

"Ian, what-" Anthony tries not to let frustration get the best of him. "That’s the second time you’ve said that: Without Smosh you had nothing to offer me? I loved Smosh, still do, but what you and I have has always mattered more."

This is it, Ian knows. This is the moment to be completely honest and vulnerable; speak now or forever hold your peace. Tell Anthony everything and let the chips fall where they may; or keep up the white lie that has fueled the fire leading to Anthony's departure. Here they are, hanging out for the first time in years, and as much as it terrifies Ian to threaten this budding new beginning, he knows he has to be honest.

He takes a deep breath, voice shaking slightly as he struggles to get the words out. "I'm not saying this was in any way reasonable, but.. I thought, if I didn't have Smosh as a buffer, I would ruin everything. I knew I could never have you the way I wanted, but with Smosh, at least there'd be this big thing keeping us together."

When he finally dares to look at Anthony, he finds him staring, stunned. "The way you wanted? We're best friends, did you want.. more?"

This is it. "Yes, I wanted- I want," Ian sighs, closing his eyes. "I never wanted to risk Smosh, and I especially never wanted to risk our friendship, but yes. Anthony, I'm so s-"

"I'm in love with you."

Ian's eyes fly open. "What?!"

Anthony rises to his feet, sits back down, gets back up, and starts pacing nervously. "Fuck, I can't believe I just said that."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, obviously!"

Ian gets up as well but stays in place as he watches Anthony do a lap around the living room. “You were in love with me and you never told me?”

“You never told me either!”

“Well, obviously not! What if it had ruined our friendship and the company we built together?”

A laugh sputters out of Anthony, stopping him in his tracks. He comes closer, carefully, as if unsure if he’s allowed. “I guess I can’t really throw stones when.. I’m a house of glass.”

Ian frowns. “What?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think right now, can I just-?” 

Anthony takes another step forward and reaches for Ian, pulling him closer by his shirt. Ian goes willingly. He closes his eyes as he feels Anthony's breath on his chin. When their lips meet, Anthony sighs happily, and neither of them pull away to end the kiss, instead deepening it.

The idea that Anthony has to lean down to kiss him has Ian swooning a little. He's left antiquated ideas of masculinity behind long ago, uninterested in being a man's man; emotional vulnerability is old hat at this point; but being cradled in Anthony's arms still makes him feel safer and more protected than he's ever thought another man could make him.

He flicks his tongue over Anthony's bottom lip and is immediately granted access. Their combined breaths grow heavier, and hands start to explore. Ian sneaks a hand under Anthony's shirt, feeling delirious as abs flex under his touch. Anthony, made shameless by his arousal, doesn’t hesitate to grab a handful of Ian's ass and pull him even closer. Feeling the press of Anthony's hard-on against his stomach, Ian moans into the kiss and pulls back.

"Sorry, sorry," Anthony says, swallowing hard. "That was a lot."

"Don't be sorry; I was gonna suggest we move it to the bedroom."

For all that he's fantasized about it, Ian could never have imagined how having sex with Anthony would really be. In their friendship, they were always equals; in Anthony's bedroom, he takes charge, gently but firmly moving Ian around. He takes his sweet time laying him down on soft sheets, kissing and stroking each new section of skin exposed as they undress each other. When he pulls off Ian's t-shirt and throws it aside, Ian feels a flash of panic, insecurity surging.

They’ve seen each other in various stages of undress countless times; but since it happened last, Anthony discovered the healing powers of yoga and 5-hour tattoo sessions, while Ian put Smosh first and sacrificed all means of self-care. Instinctively, he covers his soft stomach, but Anthony is quick to catch his wrists, pinning them down by Ian's sides.

"Excuse me, I need a tidy workspace," he says, ignoring Ian's noise of discontent.

Releasing Ian's wrists, Anthony runs his hands up to Ian's chest and squeezes appreciatingly, earning himself a glare. "Are you having fun?"

"So much fun."

Ian sighs, accepting his fate; it’s hard to be truly upset when Anthony seems so genuinely into his body, needing to touch and taste everything. It’s not until they are in their underwear that Anthony seems hesitant. He stands next to the bed, paused with his hands on the waistband of his briefs, ready to pull them down, when he seems to have a dip in confidence.

His eyes are dark with lust but all too serious when they seek out Ian's. "Is this crazy?"

Ian pretends to think about it, then nods. "It's pretty crazy. Show me your cock."

Anthony sputters out a laugh, collecting himself as he sits down on the bed next to Ian. He strokes Ian's thigh, giving it an approving squeeze, willing his eyes to stop roaming while he voices his concern.

"I'm serious, Ian, are we being crazy? We've been apart for a while; now we're reconnecting and we're jumping right into bed? I don't wanna ruin this before it begins; this is not gonna be a hook-up and then radio silence, I won't do it."

Ian raises himself up on his elbow, "That's not gonna happen, I promise. I know this is all going so fast,  but at the same time, I've been wanting this for literal years."

"Me too," Anthony says quietly.

"And we've both done anal before."

Anthony blushes, averting his eyes as he can’t fight back a smile. "Yeah, but I haven't been on the receiving end."

"Well, I have, so no worries."

"You've bottomed?!" Anthony whips his head back, staring incredulously. "I didn't know that, when was this? With who?"

Ian chuckles, endeared by Anthony seeming offended that Ian hasn't told him. After all, there was a time when they shared every little detail of their dating and sex lives; and Ian bottoming would definitely have been a big conversation, likely the day after it happened.

He shrugs, trying to sound casual. "An ex-girlfriend I was with for a year or so; you haven't met her, it started and ended while we've been apart. I let her peg me."

Anthony swallows, folding his arms across his chest. He nods slowly. "How was it?"

"I liked it. Only did it twice, though; while it was happening, I couldn't stop thinking about this guy I'm in love with."

Anthony scoffs out a laugh, but a blush rises to his cheeks. He gives Ian a gentle push, making him lie back, leaning down to join their lips for another kiss. It turns intense again almost immediately, and soon they are both panting heavily against each other’s mouths. Anthony backs off, ignoring Ian's protests; he shoves his briefs down and manages to kick them off before reaching for Ian's as well.

Ian consents with a distracted nod as he stares at Anthony's hard cock, his stomach flipping with anticipation at the size of him. He's seen it before, but not fully hard and not when he felt that he was allowed to look. Then, before he can register what is happening, Anthony has straddled him. "If you want me to bottom, you need to rearrange."

"Patience, baby, I just wanna see.."

Ian tries really hard to ignore how being called baby by Anthony is making him feel, instead watching as Anthony pushes down his own erection so it lays flush against Ian's stomach. He groans and his cock twitches. The look Ian shoots him is both amused and judgmental. "Are you measuring?"

"No, this would be measuring," Anthony says, taking both their cocks in his hand. Ian's hips buck slightly at the contact. Anthony chuckles, eyes darkening. "I was just checking how deep in your guts I'm gonna be."

Ian just barely manages to hold back a whimper, instead raising one knee to kick Anthony in the back.

"Go get lube, you freak. You have lube, right?"

Anthony's face blanches momentarily, then he dismounts and flees the room, coming back seconds later with a bright purple tube of lube, brand new with the plastic seal still on. He holds it up for Ian to see, holding his other hand up behind it like a beauty influencer showing off a product. Ian motions for him to get things moving and he grins, taking off the plastic seal. 

"Adam & Eve sponsored some videos; they sent me a bunch of stuff. That drawer is full of condoms," he says with a nod, indicating the nightstand to Ian's left. Ian opens the drawer, which does indeed contain at least a dozen 10-packs of condoms. He opens a full pack and takes one out, turning it between his fingers.

"Full because you don't ever use them," he says teasingly.

 Anthony doesn’t laugh. He throws the plastic seal in the trash and brings the lube over to the bed. He sets it down on the nightstand for a moment, reaching down to carefully take off Ian's glasses, looking into his eyes as he lowers them.

"Yeah, I haven't been interested in anyone else in a long time."

For someone jittery with eagerness, Anthony demonstrates extreme patience as he opens Ian up with slick fingers. Ian is choking back moans, leaking onto his own stomach as he gives Anthony the little guidance he needs. The memory of getting prepped by his ex-girlfriend is distant and growing dimmer by the minute. Anthony is less practiced, but he makes up for it in awed enthusiasm, eyes flickering from Ian's blushing face to his hole clenching around Anthony's fingers.

Soon Ian decides that Anthony has made sufficient room for himself and pulls him closer, kissing him messily as he rolls on a condom. Anthony lines himself up and presses his lips to Ian's neck as he inserts himself, little by little as Ian adjusts. When he finally bottoms out, Ian shudders out a moan, shaking hands finding Anthony's hips.

"Don't move."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, I just don't wanna come yet."

Anthony snickers, placing a row of slow kisses from Ian's jaw to his shoulder. "I'm flattered."

"So full of yourself."

"I think you're one who's full of me, actually."

Ian rolls his eyes and Anthony laughs, gently brushing hair off Ian's damp forehead. They lock eyes, and for a moment time stands still as the weight of the moment hits them; after years spent missing each other, stumbling through the dull ache of loss, they have found their way back to each other in a way neither of them had dared hope for.

Part of Ian wants this moment to go on forever, savor their closeness for as long as he can before something else can try to break them. The rest of him, however, is very aware of Anthony's cock brushing his prostate.

“Okay,” he says in an outbreath. "Move."

Anthony does. He starts slow, careful and deliberate, rolling his hips in short, measured thrusts while searching Ian's face for signs of discomfort. The stretch is delicious even after his thorough prep, and Ian sighs in pleasure, pulling him in for a messy kiss, urging him to pick up the pace. Their combined sounds mix with birdsong from outside and in the midst of it, even with his face scrunched up in pleasure, Ian can't help but smile at the fact that he's having what may be the best lay of his life in broad daylight with his best friend.

Anthony slows down slightly, returning the smile, puzzled. "Why are you smiling?"

"You're still my best friend."

Anthony's hips jerks forward and a small moan startles out of him. He blushes and hides his face while Ian cackles. "Did that do something for you? You out here getting off on the power of friendship?"

"Shut the fuck up." 

Before Ian can crack another joke, Anthony kisses him and speeds up his thrusts again, harder now, tapping his prostate on every turn. Ian groans against his lips, fingers digging into his sides, and Anthony pulls one of Ian's legs around himself to get deeper. They gasp into each other's mouths, bodies moving in perfect sync with each other as they always did. Anthony nips the sensitive skin under Ian's ear and revels in the whimper he gets in response. 

"I'm close," Ian grits out as his cock twitches between their bodies.

Anthony nods jerkily in agreement, kissing him reassuringly. He gets a hand between them to jerk Ian off with a firm grip. "Me too, I'm- I'll follow you."

Promise? Ian thinks, and then he tumbles over the edge, moaning out a string of fuck-fuck-fuck as cum splatters up his chest. Anthony's rhythm falters at the sight, and as Ian tightens further around him, he surges forward to bring their sweaty foreheads together.

"Oh, oh my-" The sentence bleeds into a deep groan as he comes. 

The rolls of his hips slow to a stop, and he brings their mouths together for another kiss. They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Anthony's stomach flexes and unflexes a few times as the last traces of his orgasm ebb out, inadvertently rubbing against Ian's oversensitive cock and making him whimper.

Anthony pulls back, giggling. Running soothing fingers up and down Ian's chest, he carefully pulls out, and - slightly wobbly - he gets out of bed to dispose of the condom. He returns just in time to see Ian's eyes slip shut, and huffs out a laugh at the sight.

"Don't fall asleep, we gotta to clean up."

"Okay," Ian whispers but makes no effort to stay awake. Just before he knocks out completely, he's vaguely aware of Anthony wiping down both off their chests using Ian's t-shirt. Bastard.  

Ian traces one line of Anthony’s tattoos across his chest, following its path downwards while Anthony watches his concentrated face with a fond smirk. When the line ends in a swirl by his groin, Ian flattens his hand on Anthony’s hip, thumbing the slightly protruding bone.

“They say that there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.“

Anthony nods slowly. “At the end of the inky swirl it’s a dick instead.”

“I think I like that better.”

“I’m sure you do, gaylord.”

“Excuse me?!” Ian yells, and Anthony lets out a cackling laugh, not stopping even as he takes a pillow to the face. Ian straddles him, poking his fingers into Anthony’s sides. “You just had sex with a guy, I was there, and you’re calling me a gaylord?”

“Mercy!” Anthony yelps, still laughing, as he squirms to avoid Ian’s prodding fingers.

“Mercy? How about ‘sorry’! You don’t get to call me a gaylord, gaylord!”

Anthony catches both of his wrists, wheezing from laughter and tickles. “Sorry, I’m sorry!”

Ian lets his arms go limp and sighs, rolling his eyes. Anthony giggles and shakes his hands a little, making Ian’s arms wiggle. When he releases them, Ian plants his hands flat on Anthony’s chest, forcing a small ‘oomph’ out of him.

“I don’t think you’re sorry.”

Anthony’s eyes widen ever so slightly as a small jolt of anxiety runs through him. “What do you mean?”

“If you were really sorry,” Ian says, scowl softening into a grin. “you wouldn’t be at half-mast right now. Can’t even have a naked man sitting on you without getting a boner.”

“I feel like that’s a normal reaction.”

“You would feel like that, gaylord.”

Barking out a laugh, Anthony grips Ian’s hips and rolls them over. “You’re the gay one,” he says, panting with effort as he tries to pin Ian down, surprised at the amount of strength necessary. He’s suddenly reminded that Ian used to be something of an athlete.

Ian struggles half-heartedly .“Everyone always said you’re the pretty one, and I think we know what that means!”

Anthony snorts, finally trapping Ian’s wrists against the mattress, hips pressed between his legs to hold him in place. He’s fully hard now, and Ian is catching up quick. Anthony leans down and captures his lips in a slow, wet kiss. Ian moans against him and it’s like music to his ears. He pulls back, huffing out a small laugh when Ian tries to follow.

“If I say that I’m the gay one, can I fuck you again?”

Ian pretends to think about it, even as Anthony feels his cock twitch against his abdomen. Ian sighs dramatically. ��Fine, but no take-backsies; if I let you put your dick in me again, you’re the gay one forever.”

Anthony sits back on his heels, eyes darkening as he pushes Ian’s thighs towards his torso. “Deal.”

After round two, they both drop into an unplanned nap. When they rouse, the early evening sun casts a soft, peachy pink glow over their tired bodies as they slowly get out of bed. Ian groans in pain and supports himself on the nightstand before taking a few unsteady steps. Anthony winces, shooting him an apologetic look.

“Shit, sorry, did I..?”

Ian waves dismissively. “Not my ass, my back; next time you decide to put me in a mating press, let me limber up first.”

“I know a guy who can teach you some yoga.”

Ian ignores him and they end up in the shower. Anthony insists on washing Ian’s hair and immediately gets shampoo in his eyes, giggling uncontrollably as he helps wash it out. Ian soaps up Anthony’s pecs for several minutes with a look of deep concentration and Anthony gets hard again.

“So definitely just your back hurts, right?” Anthony says, sneaking a hand down to Ian’s ass.

They do rock-paper-scissors to decide who has to leave the hot shower and fetch the lube. Anthony loses and pads barefoot to the bedroom, leaving a trail of water. When he returns, he pulls Ian out of the shower anyway and bends him over the bathroom counter.

Ian hisses as his bare stomach makes contact with cold marble, followed by a second hiss when Anthony pushes inside of him for the third time that day. Maybe he is a little sore, but he doesn’t even consider saying stop, especially when Anthony moans beautifully behind him.

Instead, he says, “I don’t know if I can come again,” and before Anthony can ask, “Don’t stop.”

Anthony grunts in response and fuck into him with small, shallow movements, clearly trying to be careful. It’s very sweet, Ian thinks, but it won’t do. He reaches behind him and grabs one of Anthony’s wrists, pulling him closer.

“We get it, you have a big dick; now stop fucking me from 10 feet away, I’m freezing.”

Anthony chuckles fondly and kisses a few waterdrops off Ian’s back, mesmerized by the goosebumps spreading across his pale skin. Sliding his arms around Ian’s waist, he shuffles closer, plastering his front to Ian’s back and burying his cock as deep as it will go.

Ian moans in pleasure and pain as he clenches around him, and nods with determination. “Alright, gaylord, get it done.”

Anthony huffs out a laugh in response. He barely pulls out, instead rolling his hips in short, sharp thrusts, nailing Ian’s prostate every time. Their combined moans echo off the bathroom tiles as Anthony makes short work of it; they’re both too tired and sore for this. Just this once, though, overstimulation is his friend, and he jerks Ian off in time with his thrusts, all but forcing his third orgasm out of him.

Ian yelps and shakes as few drops of cum drip onto the floor, and his body vice grips around Anthony, pulling his release from him. Ian’s knees wobble and it’s only Anthony’s body on his that keeps him from sliding onto the floor in a boneless heap.

Anthony presses his lips against Ian’s neck and doesn’t move for a good minute, breathing laboriously against his sensitive skin. Finally, having caught his breath, he lifts his head just enough to whisper, “I’m gonna pull out, are you standing?”

Ian nods, not sure if it’s true or not, and Anthony very carefully disconnects them, making soothing noises as Ian grimaces. Despite his protests, Anthony runs him a bath. He dozes off in the hot water, waking up momentarily to see Anthony sitting on the bathmat next to the tub, making sure he doesn’t drown. He’s reading a book about mindfulness, occasionally glancing at Ian, checking on him. Ian smiles softly before slipping back into slumber. The second time he wakes up, the water is tepid, and Anthony is asking for his takeout order.

Once the food arrives, they set up camp in the living room. Ian sits sidesaddle on the couch with a soft pillow under him, wearing Antony’s top sheet like a toga. Anthony is next to him, manspreading in his bathrobe and boxers. They eat in relative silence with Planet Earth playing on the big TV.

After slurping up the last of his pho, Ian sets down the bowl and chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Okay, this might sound crazy, but-“

Anthony groans around a mouthful of vegan spring roll. “If you wanna go again, you can sit on it; I’m not getting up.”

Ian snorts, feeling his cheeks flush. “Jesus, that’s not what I meant; besides, my ass needs like, three business days to recover. Maybe let me finish?”

“I had you finishing a lot,” Anthony mumbles. Ian shoots him a look and he chuckles, holding a hand up in defense. Setting down his empty food container, he shifts one leg onto the couch to better face Ian.

“Sorry, finish your sentence, please. This might sound crazy, buuuut..?”

Ian looks into his eyes, and for one brief moment, they’re 16 again, sitting on Anthony’s bed in his childhood bedroom, brainstorming sketch ideas. Their shared history spans two decades, and he wouldn’t do a thing differently out of fear that they would end up anywhere but here. In the present, Anthony’s heart thumps; Ian looks as radiant and unafraid as Anthony always remembers him, and the look he gives Anthony is bright like the sun. “What if we bought back Smosh?”

//

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan howlett being gross please 🙏🙏

I so badly wanted to answer this all day but I was busy so thanks for your patience!! I may end up writing an actual drabble of him being nasty BUT since it's 10 and I need to be up by 5 am tomorrow I'm gonna give some headcanons out to keep you freaks (lovingly)(im a freak too otherwise i wouldn't be writing this) satisfied. Love you guys <3

if there's anything specific you want me to talk about, feel free to send an ask!

(logan judging me for putting his nastiness out there)

NSFW stuff under the cut. Beware. some of it's gross. :)

Lets start with what I said in that one post

Yes, Logan would fuck himself in every part of you if you let him

personally not big on anal myself but if you guys are down for that, he would definitely like to try it.

I think it's less of getting himself off or being attracted to it, like your elbow or knees

its more of being able to claim you more ways than one, his animalistic instinct REALLY kicks in on this. Scents probably play a part on this

IF you let him do the things he wants, you're gonna get treated SO GOOD afterwards, believe me. Satisfying his urges in the weird ways he gets em? You're an actual fucking angel to him

I've mentioned foot jobs before. I think honestly the foot job is probably what started this whole thing. It's a body part he never considered getting off from. It's until you guys were in your bedroom, hes walking around naked fresh from the shower and you get playful, reaching your feet out and messing with his cock. He was surprised how hard it made him and then when he cums he's like... "Now what else can I get off on?"

I almost mentioned scents. Logans so big on scents yall we established this. You smelling like him, him smelling like you.

When you're a little more settled in your relationship, he may start making comments on how good you smell after workouts, sex, etc. Its the pheromones man

You don't think much until you catch him straight up inhaling your workout clothes one day

He's a bit flustered over it

claims he didn't know what he was doing (he did) and that he was just getting ready to do laundry (he was not) (he went straight to your laundry with the goal of smelling that shit)

PANTY SNIFFER

Loves your panties and bras the most. Definitely will keep your used panties here and there. he does it discreetly, confidently. He's not so ashamed for you to find him sniffing your panties.

Nasty making out. big fan of this

he wants you both practically drooling into each other. can and will spit in your mouth and wants you to do the same

will make out with you with his cum in your mouth. He doesn't like his cum it's just the fact of it's you mixed with him.

He'll love it if you have each others essence and make out like that too.

It's not every time but sometimes he'll just get these urges to make you both messy as hell. spit and cum, hickeys, scratches etc etc

I've also said this before but period sex period sex period sex

He does not fucking care

Makes him a lil wild actually. Might scare you a bit.

If you initially don't want to do it, he'll leave it alone and eventually get needy enough he'll find excuses and then he founds out sex can help relieve periods and he's like

"I'm just tryna make you feel better baby"

When you finally give in his ecstatic

he will def be careful though. He truly doesn't want to hurt you. He's just a needy lil thing for you

Eating. you. out on your period.

I know, it's gross. But so is he.

The first happens on accident. He tastes it while eating you out and immediately recognizes it. he doesn't stop and doesn't tell you

You realize it when he finishes and looks up and his face is covered in blood

quite frankly you're horrified

he didn't care. just goes and washes himself up and you as well.

You're gonna need to change the sheets though. Logans a messy eater

He will eat and drink food from your mouth

you're telling him "oh Lo! Try this pie its SO good-" as you put the fork in your mouth and you're about to give him a piece and feed it to him and he insteads grabs you by the back of your neck and sticks his tongue in your mouth and tastes it that way

It shocks you (and turns you on)

"Yeah baby, it is good." he chuckles as he smacks his lips and walks away leaving you dumbfounded and a bit horny

(you're just like)

will get so nasty about fucking you too like the dirty talking

"Your pussy so fucking tight and wet. Sucking me in and everything."

"You fucking love how I taste don't you? All that cum and sweat. dirty girl."

"my cum tastes good in you baby"

"cmon, taste how good you are darling"

Ive mentioned about him going into a trance after he cums on you

he's cummed inside you and now staring at it leaks out of you

he's pushing it back in and trying to keep it all in you

doesn't even hear you whining over it

he starts spreading it all over you. it just looks so good painted on your pretty pussy

like i said this man adores you and that means ALL of you

will drool during sex

you're just going at it and you guys hit a point where your mindless and fucking

you feel so good and he can't even think straight. acting purely on instinct and you feel his drool on your back. You look back and his mouth is hanging open and his eyes shut and he's thrusting into you over and over, completely contorted in pleasure

lets talk a little about some other stuff

logan keeps up his hygiene of course. brushes teeth. washes his ass. he may consider himself an animal but he's not gonna let himself go. he IS from the 1800s yknow

but he runs like a heater and can and will sweat

esp with all those fucking layers

sweaty dick and balls. nuff said. hope you enjoy that

his natural musk is strong as hell. honestly though to you it'll smell really really good

leaks a lot of precum when he's horny.

his hairs insane though. So much hair. Its' gonna get in your mouth

actually even if hes groomed it's still gonna get in your mouth. he has a lot of hair

Enjoy nasty logan! <3

[drdemonprince]

Firstly, I just want to say I love the space you create and hold for the complicated, messy, sometimes-ugly relationships people have to their queerness and/or transness and/or sexuality. There are so many commonly accepted opinions and narratives of The Right Way To Do And Think About Things that exclude so many of us, and ever since I started following you, I have so appreciated the space you make for things outside of that.

The idea of 'choice' around queerness is deeply unpopular, but the fact is… choice is an element for some of us. I'm open to fucking and falling in love with anyone, and that doesn't feel like a choice, but I made a choice long ago to make that important to me. I could honestly exist in a perfectly happy relationship with a cis man (I'm a woman -- kinda. More about that in a sec.). I'd be happy, I'd be fine. I've been dating my partner, who's a cis man, for a long time now and it's a relationship I'm very happy in. But my world would be so so much smaller if I just decided, "I'm straight and monogamous now." It makes my world bigger and brighter and happier to know I'm queer and to make that important to me through non-monogamy and the relationships I build and the elements of my life that I foster.

I think the "Queerness is AGONY! It's so hard! Who would ever choose such a life??" argument that I saw a lot in my teens, when I was first encountering my queerness, left me feeling very isolated, because, like. Me. I'm choosing it. I felt for a very long time that this made me not a proper queer, and it's still something I don't talk about very often.

My gender's another thing that fits along those lines. I've felt cis most of my life (I'm in my 30s). In the last three years or so, I've gone, "Oh, I think I want to be a boy sometimes, actually. That sounds nice and fun and sexy." I would have been fine to just keep living as a woman -- but once again, that's a smaller world than the one I want to create for myself. I am choosing to make my world bigger and more interesting and more fun.

And I recognise this comes from extreme amounts of privilege. I live in a very liberal part of the world, and being able to choose these things without being scared for myself or my safety or security is a huge privilege. I'm also white and femme and non-threatening, and that makes these choices much easier.

And there's an element of "what's a choice, what's innate to who I am", and I don't know the answers to that, but I'm making choices about what to do with the information I have about myself, and that sometimes feels like a very lonely place to be, a place that we're not meant to talk about because it hurts The Cause. If we can make a choice to be """""normal"""", why would anyone give us rights? (Because it's not enough that those rights make our worlds bigger and brighter and happier.)

Anyway. Thank you so much for the space you've created here.

and thank you for choosing to be less normal!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hi! can i ask you have a certain research workflow for your writing materials?

Hi, here is a great explanation on secondary research, with a 5-step tutorial: The Research Process, which I try to follow.

If you want my longwinded answer...

It depends on the topic. But this is more or less what I do for the requested posts:

Collect information I can find related to the topic (my old files, bookmarks, a quick internet search...)

Integrate all (or most) of that in one post (always interesting to see where the different sources overlap, disagree etc.)

Reformat the post (bullet points & numbered lists, might include a bit of my thoughts/opinions ... but on the most part, it's basically just copied & pasted, especially when I'm not that familiar with the topic)

Link to the sources I used (sometimes posts don't save properly when my connection fluctuates so I appreciate when people point out missing/broken links, which I'll edit as soon as I see the messages)

Might include a photo (like the one above & then I link to the photo in the Image Description)

Add tags (because tumblr keeps reminding me when I don't, so I usually just copy & paste from my previous posts)

Add to queue (or "schedule" because I keep accidentally clicking the "shuffle queue" & it messes up the queue)

But on a more serious note, these posts really are just surface-level secondary research, mostly internet research, done really late at night or on lazy weekends, in an overly-caffeinated state. So please do research more for your writing projects. These may just be useful as starting points or to get a few ideas/inspiration, maybe. This blog is ever-growing & there are many research databases I don't have access to (+ considering my limited/lack of knowledge on certain topics), so all the additional information & corrections are always appreciated and won't just be helpful to me, but everyone who uses these references as well!

(As for the non-requested queued posts, that's just me going through my bookmarks and old files. Just been clearing them out as another ongoing little side project for me that I started last year. Okay, I should stop talking now. Bye for now, dear anon.)