#that he has to be there and do more instead of avoiding

[syluss-littlecrow]

release

<Caleb x fem!reader>

where both you and Caleb end up doing more than butt heads about his given curfew for you.

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, mutual pinning, mutual obsession & possession, jealous!Caleb breeding kink, multiple orgasms, a lot of cum..., perverted!MC, friends to lovers?, squirting, unprotected sex, morning sex, pure Caleb brain rot, it gets pretty nasty

a/n: Caleb, Caleb, CALEB XIA YIZHOU 😭😭 the way I've been giggling over Caleb while watching his story and going back to my home screen with Sylus looking at me with his arms crossed.... Anyway, enjoy this Caleb brain rot 🥹🩷 I'll do one with Caleb's military air force uniform when I can 😔🫡

I JUST SAW THE NEW BANNER DROP IM NOT OK IF ANYONES WONDERING.

w/c: 3.5K

Effortless. That is what Caleb feels like when his affections come to you. It bubbles and boils over when he thinks he's able to put a lid over it, and it overflows instead. It leaves him so defenseless. Yet, he can't seem to stop. It's the only thing that keeps him going in this hell. 

The only thing he feels is the metallic necklace barely weighing on his chest. It almost feels like you're here with him. 

And if you are, he wants to keep you here with him. Forever.

His eyes slowly open. His eyes focus on the hologram clock hovering at the side. 

You're supposed to be back already. 

Caleb contemplated on driving out to find you since he has your location pinging on his phone.

Since when did you have that many friends in Skyhaven? Why doesn't he know about them?

He checks the messages he's sent you, all unread. 

Caleb has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw and biting his tongue. 

His stare towards the door grows anxious by the minute. Then he strengthens his resolve and marches towards the door, ready to leave and look for you. 

The second he pulls down the door handle, the jingle of the door unlocking from the outside sounds and the door swings open, making you and Caleb jump when he catches you in his arms from bumping into each other.

“Caleb!” You squeal, flustered at the way you completely ran into him. His warmth is radiating over to your skin. “Are you okay? Where were you gonna go?”

You watch a small pout form on his lips. He truly looks like a puppy when he does that, you can't help but think. 

“Look for you”, he curtly replies, making sure you've regained your balance before he releases your arms.

You straighten your posture, and sheepishly touch the nape of your neck, immediately avoiding his gaze. 

“Ah, right. Well, I got carried away with chatting with my friends and all…” 

Caleb crosses his arms. His pout turns into a frown, and his eyebrows are scrunched. 

Shit. He looks mad.

You inch closer to him, your fingers grazing over his knuckles. 

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Don't be mad okay? I'm home now, safe and sound, in the flesh, aren't I?”

Caleb breathes steadily, keeping his expression the same, but when you take his palm and nuzzle your cheek against it, Caleb feels the anxiety and frustration dissolve. He wants to reprimand you about the curfew, and why he implemented it in the first place. If you’ve stayed missing for a second longer, he would have completely lost it. But the moment his palm nearly touches your lips, it all dissipates, as if it never existed. 

Caleb exhales a sigh of defeat, letting it go just this time, alongside the countless times he did. 

“Go shower. I left the heater on for you.” 

You respond with a cheeky smile that makes something in Caleb’s chest bloom, and he lets you go, watching you disappear into your room. 

Caleb hears a knock on his door. He walks over and opens it, watching you coming into view. 

“Is there something you need, pipsqueak?”

You squeeze through the crack of the partially opened door and occupy his bed. 

“I'm just bored.”

Even though Caleb cocks his eyebrow, he still sprouts his smile, walking over to join you on his bed.

“Not because you're trying to make it up to me for coming back past curfew?”

Shit. 

Your smile playfully drops to a pout. “I got carried away yapping with my friends. You know I didn't mean to…” 

Caleb crosses his arms again.

“I could tell. My messages were all left unread.”

You curl your fingers to your lips when you realise you've been caught.

Caleb seems upset but you still see the softness beneath. 

He sighs. 

“I'm doing this for your own good, pipsqueak. I don't like you getting caught up in this.”

Caleb likes to think that it is that way, but he knows that it's more than just that. 

“As you can tell–” you’re showing off your body–your arms first then your legs, then your abdomen. But what Caleb didn't expect you to do was lift up your shirt slightly, your skin exposed, and have your shorts hike up your thighs, just to prove your point. “Nothing! You can check me for tracking devices too if you want to.” 

Something snaps in him.

“So do you let your friends inspect your body like that?” 

He crawls onto the bed, watching the smile slowly drop from your face. 

Caleb’s fingers trace your bare skin, drawing goosebumps from how ghostly the touches feel. His fingers slide from the top of your knees, and towards your thighs.

“Do you know how worried I was when you didn't answer my messages?”

You’re about to part your lips to respond, but he cuts you off. 

“I was wondering what conversations you were having that you ignored me.” 

“Caleb–”

He’s completely trapped you against the headboard of his bed. He's trapped you with his stare. 

Caleb inches closer, until he's close enough. His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before his gaze meets yours again. 

Your breath is shaky when he leans in closer. 

Then he turns away. 

What the fuck? 

You watch in disbelief as he pulls away, your breath still caught in your throat from the tension.

Caleb’s signature smile returns and you feel his palm stroke the back of your head. 

“You should go back to bed. It's late.” 

He turns to open his door for you to leave. 

“Maybe I should start coming home later too.” 

He pauses in his steps. 

“I don't think that's a bright idea, pipsqueak.”

You slide off his bed and walk towards his door. 

“Maybe not. But I have brighter ones that consist of escaping your curfew.” 

You’re ready to leave the room with your victory, that is, until the door before you completely shuts. You see his shadow tower over you from behind. 

You turn to face Caleb, your arms are crossed. 

“Didn’t you ask me to go to bed?” 

“Changed my mind. I wanna make sure you're thoroughly inspected.”

You’re facing Caleb, back on his bed again. He starts with your face, but he lets his fingers linger around your lips, brushing across your bottom lip. You turn away, and his fingers catch your chin, forcing you to face Caleb.

“No looking away.”

His eyes are devouring every patch of skin that exists on your body. Even though you're clothed, you feel naked when he has his eyes on you this intensely. His fingertips trace back to your lips and he slides it down painfully slowly–past your chin, down your neck, through your sternum, past your stomach, and stops right above the elastic of your shorts. 

You want to shift, but you realise you can't–your body suddenly feels weighed down to the bed, and that's when you realise Caleb has you held down with his Evol.

The softness in Caleb’s eyes disappears, and something else replaces it. You watch him tug your shorts off you, and all you can do is watch helplessly. 

His kisses tickle from your ankle, and he builds them upwards at an agonising pace, each kiss feeling warmer as he travels up your thigh. 

Your heartbeat only accelerates from there, watching Caleb inch closer and closer to your cunt. Your thighs tense up from the sensitivity, the warmth of his lips spreading over your skin when you feel his tongue come in contact with your skin. 

“That tickles”, your voice is soft, as if the defiance in your tone before never existed.

Caleb’s lips press against your clothed pussy. Despite the fact that you’re trembling slightly, you've completely soaked your panties, and Caleb is more than happy to soak them even more. 

He buries his tongue, wetting the fabric even further. The pleasure draws soft moans, but evidently, it's not enough. 

“Caleb… Could you lighten your Evol?” You plead. You want to feel him so bad. 

Your body instantly lightens, and you almost think you're gonna fall off the bed. 

Something else holds you down this time, and it's Caleb. 

He tilts your chin up to have your lips meet his, now his kisses melting off the thoughts in your brain. Warmth burns through your skin. It takes you seconds to realise Caleb is lifting your shirt off you.

The clothing article is the next victim tossed somewhere else on the bed. 

You take his cheeks to your palms.

“I really need you now, Caleb.”

The softness returns to his eyes momentarily. 

“Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“I'll hop off right now and head straight to bed if you don't”, you huff. Fuck, the anticipation is just clawing through your insides, begging for Caleb to do something.

He playfully scoffs. 

“We both know you wouldn't.” 

Caleb tugs your panties to the side, and lines himself to your hole.

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you feel it all the way in. It knocks your breath out of you. Caleb watches you helplessly gasp for air and adjust to his size. He’s just filled you so full. 

He’s still supporting you so you don't fucking pass out. He feels you scratch all over his back from the pressure but he stays still, at least, until you've adjusted. 

“Shit. You're so fuckin’ warm for me”, he hisses into your neck, trying his best not to thrust into you. You feel so tight for him, he feels so good just staying there.

He stretches you open for him–your pussy fluttering at the feeling of him filling you up. The pressure slowly fades and you quickly adjust to his size.

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you from below–the sensation so overwhelming that it's making you tear up. 

“So good”, you sigh, struggling to keep your eyes open–almost impossible when his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again. Sparks burst into your eyelids whenever he hits the spot and it's evident that he knows he’s able to unravel you just like that, so easily. 

“Caleb…”, you moan. Caleb’s still fucking you, feeling the way you're just squeezing him, watching the way your fingers have gone clawing his back to his bedsheets, the way your tits are bouncing from fucking you, the way your eyes practically form hearts when he knows he's hit your sensitive spots.

“Faster, please. You feel so fucking good.”

He knows you shouldn't have said that. You're the only person who can rile him up like this. How the hell are you making him break his resolve when he's supposed to be upset with you?

He leans in, practically hovering over you. His fingers cup your cheek and he forces you to meet his violet eyes. 

In your fucked out haze, you blink, confused when he slows down. He pulls out completely, and you're about to complain until he rolls your soiled panties off your legs, tossing it to somewhere on the bed. 

You gasp when you feel his thumb graze over your wet and throbbing clit. 

“I'm gonna make you wonder what the fuck wrong with your body”, Caleb’s voice reaches your ears. His words sends a shiver down your spine.

“Your little pussy is gonna throb every time you think of me.”

That's all the warning he gives before his arms tower over you, holding your wrists down above your head. 

He fucks you into an orbit and you're practically helpless–forced to take his thrusts over and over. But fuck, it feels so good. It feels like fucking heaven. 

You like how dizzy it makes you feel. You like how he's not stopping, no matter how much tears stream down your face, and how pathetic you sound crying and moaning his name. 

“Fuck! Caleb, it's too much–” you whimper, the strange feeling building up in your stomach. It feels like it's about to snap any second. 

He acknowledges your words, but he doesn't bother slowing down. 

“Didn’t you promise me to be a good girl and take all of it?” 

“Caleb–!”

Your voice sounds so heavenly when you call his name.

The fluids fountains out of you, soaking everything near it's vincity–including the both of you. Your orgasm continues to wash over you and more fluids spray out.

Caleb watches you squirm and jolt while you make a mess all over him. 

He lets go of your wrists, the slight redness forming onto your skin, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

Despite your arms feeling sore from resisting against his hold, you wrap them around his neck, pulling him close to catch his lips. He's taken back for a split second, but he returns the kiss, letting his soft moans drown into your lips while you clench around him.

When you both pull back, it's Caleb’s turn to have his eyes glazed and his cheeks dusted a soft shade of pink. 

“y/n, if you keep doin’ that–fuck”, Caleb groans, his fingers closing into a fist against the sheets. His breath is shaky. The euphoria is threatening to spill over–the fact that you're trapping him in like this with you, just the two of you solely existing together right now–he could get high off this feeling. He doesn't need anything else. 

“I'm so close. Shit.” You watch the bead of sweat trickle down his temple, down to his cheek, to his chin, and then it disappears into the mess the both of you made below. 

Caleb’s voice makes you refocus on him. 

His palm presses against your cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly on the corner of your lips. 

“You're gonna take all of it like a good girl, yeah?” 

You nod, almost too eagerly. Caleb can't help but think that your face after being fucked looks breathtakingly beautiful. It makes him want to hide you further. The world doesn't deserve someone like you. 

He crashes his lips with yours, melting into the kiss while he pumps you full with his thick cum–making sure he has himself seated deep inside so nothing spills out. At least, not until he pulls out.

The high slowly descends, and the both of you are left panting, getting lost in each other’s eyes just for that moment before Caleb slowly pulls out. 

Caleb then reaches for the glass of water perched on his nightstand to offer you. You take a good few sips of water, and hand it back to Caleb, who takes a couple of sips as well. He notices the way your cheeks are still flushed and that you're blinking more. He plants the empty glass onto the nightstand, ready to carry you to wash up and probably change the sheets after.

In a daze, you notice Caleb’s cum seeping out of your hole in small loads. You wet two fingers and slide them to your pussy–and you push the thick fluids back in, your body jolting in pleasure while you're pretty much fingering your pussy with Caleb’s cum.

Caleb swallows hard while he watches you pleasure yourself. He’s about to say something but you cut him off.

“Your cum keeps leaking out”, you point out, giving him the full view of your cum-soaked pussy. You look up at him with an innocent, poison-soaked gaze–your lashes wet and your thighs trembling from each time you feel his cum leak out of you.

“It’d be such a waste–”, you mutter, shivering one more time when your fingers fuck you again, the room only filled with your voice and the wet squelching sounds from your pussy.

“–if it doesn't stay inside.” 

You barely have time to process what happens next. The next thing you knew, Caleb has your hands pinned above your head with one hand, and the other on your cheeks. His legs stop you from closing yours, and you feel his wet thickness hard once more, resting on your pubic bone.

“You know, pipsqueak”, his voice drops an octave lower. His voice is clear, and he makes sure you hear him. “It's okay to just ask for more.” His eyes reflect such a gorgeous shade of wild you've never seen before, and it looks fucking good on him.

No warnings–your cunt is just wet and sopping that Caleb stuffs you to fullness once more–you give up trying to keep your eyelids open, your mind only processing the way he’s fucking so deep into you again and again.

“You know I'll always give it to you.” 

The way his fingers are cupping your cheeks stops you from answering. Well, he doesn't need a verbal response, especially not when you’re clenching him so fucking tight when your orgasm hits you for the…how many times was it now?

You feel stings that slowly dull around your shoulders and chest. The bites Caleb’s given you are as red as the ruby on his apple necklace. 

The night is drowned with sounds and sensations of both you competing to send each other to the heavens. 

What day is it now? 

Caleb blinks his heavy eyelids open. He soaks in the atmosphere around him, and it doesn't take him long to realise that you're lying on his arm.

Thankfully, it's not numb. Your hair tickles his cheeks. 

He notices the light peeking through his curtains. It's probably daytime. 

Caleb presses his lips against the back of your head, while he pulls you closer. He almost jolts when he hears a soft moan coming from you.

For some reason, something feels funny. 

He attempts to shift slightly, and realises the predicament–his dick is still hard as fuck, and he’s still nestled so fucking deep in you. Fuck. Did the both of you fall asleep mid-sex? The feeling bleeds into him again. 

Are you even awake to realise this? 

Caleb bites his inner cheek, the hardness only builds. Shit. Even after all of that, you're still this warm and tight? 

He watches your breathing steadily. 

He hooks your leg over his arm almost too easily, giving himself easier access to fuck you deeper. Your sleepiness is slowly dissipating, overtaken so fucking quick by the burning desire once more.

His thrusts bear slight friction at first, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure–the rawness, the fact that he's left a mess in you and kept that way, and that he gets to do it all over again in the morning. 

“Ca…Caleb..!” You squeal, uselessly fisting the pillows while Caleb rails you from below. 

“So perfectly warm for me, y/n”, his morning voice dousing you. He takes advantage to litter more bites to the back of your neck and shoulders, and spoils you with his strained moans when he reflects the way you whimper whenever he hits your sensitive spots. 

You sheepishly bury your teary face into the pillows, and Caleb pushes himself impossibly deeper, forcing you to face him when you jolt in surprise. His violet eyes are eating you up. You hear his voice ring in your ears.

“Wanna make you cry more like this. You're so pretty when you cry when I'm splittin’ you open like this.” 

More tears stream down your cheeks whenever your g-spot gets abused over and over. Caleb forces you to meet his gaze. His thrusts are slower, but harder. 

“Shit, you're really gonna milk me dry, yeah?” Caleb hisses when he feels you flutter around him. Your cum is mixed with his, and drips down his cock, to his balls. 

Caleb pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss one last time while he breeds you full over and over for nth time since the last night, devouring your whimpers when the words you muttered to him last night comes into memory. You're so dizzy with pleasure, and Caleb has stolen all of your breaths. 

He finally pulls out, his cum endlessly drizzling out of your abused hole, and it almost sets him off again. 

Nonetheless, he forces himself to get out of bed so he can get a towel and clean you up.

Another loving kiss he presses onto your temple.

“I'm gonna get a towel, pipsqueak.” His husky whispers send shivers down your body, and the warmth of his touch lingers on your thighs for a lot longer than you realise.

He leaves the bed for the bathroom. 

You nuzzle into the pillows Caleb was just lying on, drowning yourself with his scent. The wetness that sticks between your legs–you can't tell if it's your fresh arousal or if it's his cum anymore.  

Not that it mattered since steadying your breath when you realised he was still in you when you stirred before him to see what he'd do next, gave you such a big reward. 

And you'd do it all over again. You would say things to get under his skin, just to get a rise out of him, just to keep his attention on you, always. 

You wanted to keep his strained voice when he called your name, the way he looks at you with so much desperation when he breeds you full, in a bottle and store it for your perverted indulgence. 

No one else needs to know that this part of Caleb exists, because he belongs to you. 

The dim light catches your attention underneath the thick sheets. You take the device, unlocking the phone with your fingerprint. 

6 missed calls. 

You swipe them away. You shut off his phone.

He doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to remember.

At least, not when he's with you. 

[sillywizardinthewoods]

I am the token straight man, I know what he thinks this means. I suck at this sort of thing, which I think makes me a subject matter expert because this guy also clearly sucks at this sort of thing.

Disclaimer: I know the correct thing to do when seeing a young woman alone at a restaurant is to ‘mind my own gosh darn business’, not that my social anxiety would let me try this anyway. I also know that what he refers to as ‘traps’ are in fact reasonable reactions to creeps. A good rule of thumb is that pickup artists are wrong about everything and any video evidence to the contrary is staged.

Crucially, there’s a picture of a woman attached to the original tweet he’s responding to that has been cropped out. I reckon this makes a bit more sense if we could see the picture, but I’m making some inferences based on what he wrote.

Complimenting her manicure is a very safe compliment in that it’s hard to take the wrong way or be offended over, and asking about the cross earrings is just a setup for the religious pickup line, and a possible conversation starter if this guy is anti-smalltalk. Saying he used to believe in angels but the devil is a fallen angel is him saying he’s just gotten out of a rough relationship (his ex being the angel who fell and caused him to stop believing). This very specific fantasy woman wearing cross earrings with a perfect manicure is also drinking apple juice*. Asking if angels drink apple juice is therefore a way to imply he’s hoping she could be the angel who restores his faith, but is prepared to accept no for an answer.

*Possibly beer or cider, I don’t have the image but I’m making an educated guess. It’s more likely beer or cider (can’t speak for everyone but if I’m in a restaurant and have the choice between cider or apple juice, I’m picking cider every time), but I’m guessing our wannabe Casanova has Opinions on what is appropriate for women to drink, saw a yellowish liquid in a glass, and made an assumption.

The two traps are an attempt at a compliment that makes someone uncomfortable and comes across as a catcall, which he avoids by complimenting her manicure, and by coming on too strong by insisting that she is an angel, which he avoids by instead asking her if she’s an angel.

I’m going to finish my critique by pointing out that while this whole opener is a red flag, if I’m right about this then he actually mentioned his toxic ex girlfriend in the second sentence he spoke to this poor imaginary woman, which is honestly a worse red flag IMO. Rookie mistake tbh.

This has got to be the most incomprehensible thing I’ve ever read this is a reply to a dumbass pick up artist twitter thread but it sounds like a riddle that you’d be given 3 chances to solve before getting thrown in the gallows

[redwinelew]

SAVE YOUR TEARS | LEWIS HAMILTON

type written fic (one shot)

pairing lewis hamilton x driver!reader

summary you need a distraction and your teammate is the perfect person for that

word count 3.7k

warnings 18+. smut. nsfw. porn with oh so little plot and even little feelings. unprotected sex. rough sex. emotional sex. prone bone then missionary (idk i tried), praise kink. hints of depression, self doubts etc etc idk lmk what i missed. english is not my first language.

author's note self-indulgent if u couldn't tell from the warnings. that's it. sorry.

masterlist

lewis didn't expect you to turn up in front of his hotel room tonight night, face wet with tears staining your cheeks, lips trembling as you held back a sob.

nor was he expecting you to ever utter these words to him.

"i need you to fuck me."

lewis' lips parted, unable to get any words out, too shocked by your sudden request. he has a million different questions appearing in his brain all at once. what the hell is happening? why are you crying? who did this to you? and why on god's green earth did you just ask him to— he couldn't even repeat it to himself. it didn't feel real, didn't even sound like you were asking. pleading, more like it, in pure desperation.

he calls your name softly, like he's trying to wake you up from a dream. his thick eyebrows tie together in confusion. "what are you—"

"please...." you cut him off, the last syllable getting more inaudible as it trails away. tears beginning to fill up your eyes again before they drop, reaching your jaw and fall to the floor.

lewis has never seen you like this, and he's pretty sure nobody else on the grid or the public did either. his teammate whom in his eyes, the one who always got her shit together. he's almost jealous at how composed you always presented yourself to be, on and off track, never letting any unwanted criticisms by fans or media from getting to you, always quick to shut them down cleverly. the last person anybody could ever take down, mentally.

then he realized, that he held you to such a high standard to the point where he had forgotten that you were still just a human. it's only a matter of time before you break and if lewis personally had his moments where he was at his lowest, he couldn't imagine being in your shoes right now.

everything immediately clicked for lewis right there and then. he had never invited a girl inside so fast, never undressed her so quickly.

"what's your safe word?" he asks, needing to know before he proceeds.

"pancake."

lewis nods. he was about to crash his lips against yours when you put your hand on his clothed chest to stop him firmly, almost clenching your hand on his shirt, head turn away slightly.

"no," you refused.

kissing means this would get personal. complicated. and you do not want complications in the future. this is not going to be a love-making session. this is going to be lewis fucking you hard until your eyes roll back and your vision turns white. until the thickness of his cock makes your hollow soul lights up again. until you feel alive from his hand around your throat.

nothing else.

and that's exactly what he's doing right now. no kissing. he immediately understood it from the minute you refused his lips, getting what this is going to be.

lewis' tattooed hand fists on your shirt hard as he avoids your lips and kisses your neck instead, finding those spots that make your knees buckle and focuses particularly on there. you remove his hair tie, and tangle your fingers with his braids. he groans, his hair a particular sensitive part on his body. his thick lips travel lower to lay kisses along your collarbone. no marks either, he doesn't need to be told that.

though for some reason he does not understand, it is suddenly quite hard to resist himself from leaving purple bites on your skin. not when he had someone like you in his arms whom he had found beautiful since the first time his eyes laid in you.

no, lewis tells himself silently. this is not about you. this is about her. she's struggling. there's a demon that she needs to defeat and she needs your help. so help her.

you find yourself walking in reverse as he advances towards you, before your back hits the soft mattress of his hotel bed.

"yes." you say, already breathless, letting him know this is exactly how you want it. no tip-toeing, no hesitation or being overly careful, because you trust him enough to know that he knows what he should and shouldn't do, or you wouldn't have knocked in his door. you might be mentally fragile, but not your body. you need him to get to work quickly, to get you out of the mess that is currently your mind right now. he doesn't need to be gentle, because all you desire is the exact opposite.

lewis does not respond. instead he takes off your shirt and bra, throwing them somewhere on his floor without caring where they land. you do the same with his. lewis climbs over you, leaving neither of you time to admire one another's half naked bodies. nothing to gawk over. this is not what you came here for and lewis was quick to understand that.

his lips were fast to attack your bare chest next. his tongue swirls over your nipple, coating it with his spit before sucking hard, creating sounds as lewd as your moans right now. he also groans silently, the vibration sending more waves of pleasure inside you. he lets you gather his braids to press his face harder on your breast while one of his hands went to grope on the other, flicking your already sensitive nipple before giving it the same attention with his tongue. your back arches, and you find yourself pressing both your thighs together, desperate for relief on your lower half.

he senses it and leaves your chest. he pulls down your pants next, then your panties. you catch the way he visibly swallows at the sight of your dripping pussy, his own cock starting to throb in need.

"tell me what you need," he asks breathlessly, his voice huskier than usual, making your walls clench around nothing.

"your fingers." you answer without hesitation. the rational part of your brain manages to slip through, making you wonder for a split second just what made you so bold tonight, demanding all sort of things you never even had the courage to ask anybody.

maybe it's demons in your head, the one you are desperate to get rid off so you are forcing yourself to do the absolute craziest, just to feel like your old self again.

lewis nods. part of him is still in disbelief over what is currently happening but he tries to leave it at the back of his head. you let him spread your legs with ease and he doesn't waste any time to slide his digit smoothly over your fold to gather your arousal, earning a sharp gasp from you. he spits on your cunt, his saliva mixes with your wetness before he pushes.

still he was careful, only using one finger for now. he's well aware of the thickness of his digits and not sure how much you can take if he immediately adds more.

"m-more." you're whimpering already and the sound goes straight to lewis' dick, forcing him to take a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm his twitching cock.

but it's difficult. this is lewis hamilton, seven times formula 1 world champion. the greatest of all time. admire by billions. and yet when he has a pretty girl like you underneath him, at his mercy, your beautiful cunt clenching hard around his fingers, suddenly lewis is just a normal man. one who is not sure how much longer he can hold himself from claiming you all for himself.

lewis takes a deep breath. this is not about you, he tells himself again. you need to listen to her. give her what she needs. you can get any girl to come to your hotel room for fucking, and yet she only has you, the only man she clearly feels safe enough to ask of this.

"faster." you ask and lewis starts to deliver, pushing your legs apart even further before his hand picking up its pace, until the only sounds in the room are your ragged moans and the slickness of your cunt.

you are gorgeous. absolutely breathtaking, lewis thinks to himself. the way your face is flushed, sweat staining all over your face and neck. how your figure, hypnotizing as if it was blessed by aphrodite herself writhe underneath him, chasing that high. sinful moans and whimpers from your lips, enchanting his ears, making him curl his fingers until they find that one spot inside that makes you only whine louder, addicted into finding even more ways to earn those sounds from you. your legs part even wider as if not getting enough, silently begging for more than just his fingers.

"fuck...." lewis cannot help but groan. he sees the way your breath is getting shorter, more ragged. following his own impulses, lewis stops, withdrawing his hand from you.

you whine shamelessly at the sudden emptiness. you look up, watching lewis licking your arousal clean from his lips. the sight should be dirty, should make your pussy pulses in lust but instead your brain is protesting, head thrown back on the mattress in frustration. no, no, no, no, the brain says. you were far from reaching your peak since lewis had just started fingering you but you were at bliss at how preoccupied your mind was, having no room to think about anyting but his fingers inside you.

the insecurities starting to come back. the demon has gone back to work, playing in your ears and whispering doubts into you again.

maybe lewis is regretting this. he thinks you're sick in the head and he wants you to leave. he's going to tell the team—

"you're gonna come on my cock only."

oh—

oh.

you don't have time to be dumbfounded when lewis gets off the bed to remove his pants, eyes stay on yours. a hiss leaves his lips as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his rock hard cock that already leaks with pre-cum while keeping his lustful gaze on you the entire time before he gets back to the bed to you.

your mouth almost waters at the visual. yes, you came to his hotel room, crying, begging him to fuck you. and yet it's unbelievable to see lewis like this. the champion, feared by the rest of the grid, respected by the whole wide world, is currently hard and throbbing in front of you. for you.

your cunt is wet again, pulsing around air thinking about just how he'd fit himself inside you but before you could do anything, he flips you flat onto your stomach. you yelp, caught off-guard by his sudden action. the mattress dips as his knees sink into it on either side of your body. he grabs his pillow before shoving it under your belly.

condom is on and when you feel his tip pressing against your entrance, you gasp silently, already gripping the sheets.

"we can stop if you want." he says, lowering his voice down to a softer tone, giving you a way out. he's willing to ignore the way his dick twitches, begging to be taken care of, if you desire to stop. but instead....

"n-no." you shake your head fast, voice shaky but with a hint of firmness behind it. "no, i don't want to stop. please."

"what do you need then? tell me exactly."

"i don't want to think. please, just— use me. i don't care. don't be gentle. i want it hard. i need it rough."

part of lewis regrets that he asked because holy fucking shit. sweet baby jesus. he doesn't recognize the sound that he makes, deep from his chest, filled with lust after hearing your dirty, desperate request.

on one hand, he's more than happy to fulfill your desire, knowing this is just going to be sex and nothing more. it's easier for the both of you in the future, knowing that this is a one time thing and absolutely no feelings would be involved.

but on the other hand, though lewis presents himself to the public and media as the calm and collected person you'd see on TV, but like every other man, he has his own wants and needs as well. and you have absolutely fucking idea what the hell you had just woken up inside him.

"fuck. fuck, you can't just fucking say that. you're fucking killing me, baby girl."

you moan at the nickname, then the volume becomes louder when you feel him pushing himself inside you slowly, one palm on a side of your head while the other is gripping your hip so fucking hard no doubt it'll bruised tomorrow.

you want it to bruise. and you know what you just asked of him. it's nothing like you had ever asked of a man before. to take you like a ragdoll for him to be used, to be toyed with whenever his please. to use you like you exist only and solely for his pleasure. because the thoughts that you are having about yourself are way worse. you want it to bruise, to hurt. you want to still be able to feel him for days. to have difficulties to walk so you will always be reminded of tonight. because at least your mind will be distracted from wandering to places you have been working so hard to avoid again.

lewis slides in easily but the stretch burns. you whine, fingers gripping the bedsheet tightly as you try to breathe properly in order to relax yourself so you can accommodate to his size, which is bigger than anyone you had ever taken. what he lacks in height, he certainly makes up for it in his length.

when he's fully inside, lewis gathers your hair before yanking it hard, making your neck arches back and you cry out. the pain in your scalp is weirdly delicious, combines with how he's making you feel so full having his dick deep inside, unmoving.

"say thank you." lewis demands, his tone no longer kind amd gentle like before, goosebumps prickle all over your skin. you never heard him using that kind of tone during work, never even imagine that he'd be the type to sound like that in bed. "thank me for fucking you."

"t-thank you."

"louder." he bottoms out before slamming into you hard, pulling a loud gasp from you.

"thank you!" you choke out.

lewis starts out slow at first, looking for the right pace. he remembers how you want it but he's not going to give it right away, out of care and of course pettiness.

but as he continues, he couldn't help but craving to hear more of those sweet bits of noises that you keep making. to hear the way your breath hitches at how he's filling you up to the brim, at how good he's fucking you.

lewis lowers his body, caging your body from behind but still careful not to crush you completely with his weight as his pace increases, ramming his cock inside you, his restraint getting thinner.

"take it. you want me to fuck you so bad? fucking take it. you asked for this." he grunts, and you whimper with no shame left in you. it's difficult to care, not when you could feel yourself getting dumber on his dick, which is exactly what you were asking for. and all this couldn't be more perfect.

lewis' movements grow harder, rougher by the minute. your moans mixed with his and the sound of his hips snapping against your ass echoes to the entire room. you wish you could be quiet, knowing that this whole hotel is rented by your entire team. but the way lewis is fucking you is making you do the exact opposite. you know he wouldn't want you to be quiet either, the mechanics be damned.

it's starting to be too much. nails digging into the bedsheet, you find your body inching forward. you are not sure if you are trying to run away or get closer to him but when lewis notices this, he grabs both your wrists, pinning them above your head. his teeth nibbles against a specific spot under your earlobe, pulling another whine out of you.

"you can take it. fuck— good girls take what they asked for. you can do it."

your cunt somehow gets even wetter with his filthy words, at how his accent thickens, voice gets deeper and more hoarse. your pussy shouldn't be squeezing around his dick at his praises, but it did. and the grunts he lets out making it all worth it.

when he hits that sweet spot inside you that no other man has ever quite managed to find, your eyes roll back in ecstasy. you gasp, tears starting to fall again at the sweet pleasure you're experiencing.

the sex is perfect, you know lewis wouldn't disappoint. but your demon is back, suddenly haunting you and making you feel terrible about yourself again.

"what the hell do you think you're doing? oh, that's right. you wasn't. you aren't. you're just a dumb bitch making herself even dumber on this pathetic cock. if only you could see yourself. absolutely shameless. what a whore. begging for this man to fuck you like you never seen a dick before. nothing will ever be the same ever again. he will never look you in the eyes, he'll think of you differently. why didn't you just—"

lewis suddenly stops.

the voices do too, and you are left in confusion. his grip on your wrist is gone now and you didn't even notice. you turn your head, only to see him pulling out.

no. oh, no. no, no, no. the voices were right. he's pulling away. he's regretting this. he's gonna ask you to leave, isn't he?

"can i turn you on your back?" he asks instead.

silence from you for a few seconds before you let out a quiet "what?" before lying on your back on your own. you remove the pillow from under your belly and set it aside.

"you were crying." he points out, brows furrowing as a shadow of concern illuminating his handsome face.

you swallow. you were hoping he wouldn't notice and even if he did, he'd thought that it was because you were enjoying yourself this. the fact that he knows it was the opposite tells you that he knows there are million different things running in your mind right now and you hate it.

"y-yeah but it wasn't— not because of you."

pause. "you want me to slow down?"

again, you shake your head fast.

"i'm okay. please." you hate how quickly you beg for him again.

it's lewis' turn to swallow, his eyes darken slightly at your pleading. he nods before crawling back to you, determined to pick up where he left off, trusting that you will know what to say if you truly desire for him to stop completely.

he grabs one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist before bringing the other to his shoulder. you bite your lip at the way his gaze never wavers from you, making you wonder if he fucks every other girls like this.

no. fuck. stop it. why do you even care?

lewis takes his dick before burying himself inside you once more slightly easier this time. you can't help but moan and thanking him again.

he is slow again at first but it isn't long before his cock slams back at the perfect pace, the sound of skin against skin once again filling up this suite. your whimper mixed with his hisses when you claw on his tattooed back, pulling him closer.

lewis leaves kisses all over your leg, wherever he could reach before his hand sneaks up to fiddle and squeeze your bouncing tits.

you didn't expect him to wipe your tears next.

your eyes locked with his. he continues fucking you but it feels as if time has stopped. he has that look behind the lust that screams sympathy. pity. you hate it but at the same you don't push his hand away, letting him cup your face momentarily. but even lewis doesn't let this gesture happens for too long, always remembering the point of having you underneath him.

it doesn't take long until you feel an invisible knot in your lower belly. you're panting now, almost reaching your peak. lewis realizes this and he fucks you harder, his hand travels down to rub your clit.

"i'm—"

"i know, sweetie," he says, breathless as well. he lowers his body, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and kissing it all over as he feels his own orgasm nearing. "come for me."

a few more thrusts, and you see white. your mouth is agape as you moan silently. his grunt and groans is music to your ears as he spills himself inside the condom.

silence.

lewis never realized how much he needed this as well. not just the sex, but the connection, which he knows is insane to find with someone like you in circumstances like this but what just happened felt different. to be so close with someone he actually knows and not just another girl he calls to his room, not even bother to learn her name.

before he could gather his breath, he feels your body underneath him slipping out. his eyes feels heavy but he tries to hold on, watching you collecting your clothes and dressing back up.

"what are you—"

"that was really great. thank you." was all you said before you left, in a hurry like you refuse to spend another minute in the same room with lewis.

while the man is still on the bed, naked. he hasn't even removed his condom yet. a sigh escapes his lips, lying flat on the bed before staring at the white ceiling.

he did what you asked for, and he could only hope that you would feel better tomorrow morning.

and yet why does his heart suddenly aches, not having you in his arms anymore?

[merrinla]

Tricked the game and brought Lucanis to fight the dragon in Minrathous. Despite the fact he shouldn't be there, he has his own comment that naturally works. Neve, on the contrary, doesn't have a single line during the attack on Treviso even in the cut content. I wonder if the city choice was always planned. Because I can't imagine the circumstances under which Lucanis would save Minrathous instead of his city.

When the player has to choose which city to help, two blighted dragons are mentioned. But in Minrathous, everyone is still surprised by the blight.

Rook (Grey Warden): She's blighted! And the blight feels really weird—the gods corrupted her! Davrin: I feel it, too! We didn't plan on her being blighted—how should we handle this? Davrin: She's blighted! There's a strange feeling to it—the gods corrupted her! Tarquin: It's covered with blight, Rook! The gods corrupted the thing! Bellara: We didn't expect a blighted dragon! What do we do now? Neve: Blight! That's unexpected. What should we do? Lucanis: Blight was unexpected. What should we do? Harding: We weren't expecting blight! Now what do we do? Rook: What we came to do!

Lucanis also has a line in the cut dialogue when the dragon was flying away from Minrathous. More like generic, but also voiced and the condition state that he must be in the party.

Rook: We got it! She feels that! Rook: Come on! How do we keep it here? Rook (Grey Warden): The blight I feel in her is so… wrong! Davrin: It feels so strong. The gods will control her eventually. Davrin: The blight I feel in her is so wrong. Rook: That screech. What the gods did to her is just unnatural. Bellara: She's going to be a problem in the future. Harding: There's no way she's gone for good. Neve: She's going to be a problem in the future. Lucanis: She's going to be a problem in future. Rook: We need someone who knows dragons. Who can keep it in reach. Rook: We need someone who knows dragons. Rook: Come on, let's check in with Maevaris and Tarquin.

Previously the Venatori summoned the dragon through a ritual. This was mentioned by Maevaris, who met Rook upon arrival in Minrathous.

Rook: Okay, let's hope the Shadow Dragons have the lay of the land. Maevaris: Never doubt it, Rook. Rook: Good to hear. Maevaris: Tarquin and the others have the Venatori isolated. Rook: And the dragon? Maevaris: The Venatori prepared a ritual to call it. We don't know how far they got. Maevaris: Pick your team and join Tarquin. The rest of us will keep the Venatori away. Maevaris: Get going, Rook. Knowing Tarquin, he's probably getting antsy.

Conversation with Tarquin near the dragon arena was different.

Tarquin: We really kicked the hive, Rook. The Venatori aren't going to make this easy. Rook: Suggestions? Tarquin: Jump in and kick harder. And get ready to stare down a dragon. Tarquin: We're not letting the cult hand it over to the gods. Tarquin: You ready to jump in, Rook?

Dunno if Tarquin took part in the arena fight, but he had quite a bit of commentary on what was happening.

Tarquin: We're keeping them scattered! And we're going to kill their toy when it arrives Tarquin: Keep up the assault! We can take this from them! Tarquin: Get ready, Rook! Dragon's on its way! Tarquin: Rook! We have a problem! The dragon! Tarquin: Dumat's breath, what have they done? Venatori Commander: They mean to stop us! Your Lord demands death! Rook (Shadow Dragon): And the Shadow Dragons demand you shut it! Rook: Not with Shadow Dragons at our backs! Venatori Commander: Witness! Witness the handiwork of immortals! Rook: We still good, Tarquin? Tarquin: No! But if it was going to be easy, we wouldn't need you! Venatori Commander: The beast comes! It will serve!

The battle with the dragon was divided into two phases. We see the first one in the game. The second one was cut. Under Tarquin's direction, Rook had to avoid the dragon's attacks and deal with the Venatori who controlled it.

Tarquin: The Shadow Dragons will give us some guidance! Tarquin: Get this right, and you drive that thing off and keep the city safe! Rook: And if we get it wrong? Tarquin: Won't live long enough to regret it! Tarquin: All right, Rook! Watch the Shadow Dragons, they'll give direction! Tarquin: Get it right, take it down—and the city's safe! Rook: And if we get it wrong? Tarquin: Regret's only for the living! Tarquin: You can't hurt it! Focus on the cultists! Tarquin: The dragon's too strong to fight—we have to drive it off! Tarquin: It can't be hurt! Break the cult's control! Tarquin: No use fighting it! We have to drive it away! Tarquin: Get after the Venatori, not the dragon! Tarquin: Got a problem here, but you can still fix it! Tarquin: They're rallying! Keep at it! Tarquin: Just a small setback—you can recover! Tarquin: We're with you! Give it another shot! Tarquin: Keep at it! You can try again! Tarquin: Keep going! You're on the right track! Tarquin: That's the way! Tarquin: You're doing it right! Tarquin: It's going well! Tarquin: You got this! Tarquin: You're tearing it up! Tarquin: The Venatori can't believe you're a match for it! Tarquin: You're beating it! Tarquin: This is the fight we needed to see!

After the dragon fight, Rook could talk to Maevaris and Tarquin.

Maevaris: Just head back the way you came. We'll see you safely back to your Lighthouse. Tarquin (Rook Shadow Dragon): Well done, Shadow Dragon. Makes me wish you'd never left to hunt down that elf. We could use more of you around here. Tarquin: That was impressive, Rook. Gallus was right about you. Tarquin: The Viper enjoyed causing chaos among the Venatori. Maybe a little too much. Rook: I didn't see the Viper. Tarquin: He enjoys that, too. Also a little too much. Tarquin: Another time, Rook.

According to the naming in the code, there should be Elgar'nan in Minrathous, not Ghilan'nain.

There are also cut lines from Rook and Neve.

Minrathous is saved Rook: Elgar'nan wasn't getting his way and he didn't want to waste a dragon. Coward. Minrathous isn't saved Rook: Yes, I'm a Shadow Dragon. And I thought the Shadow Dragons could handle this. Neve: The Venatori? Elgar'nan and his blighted creature? All at once?

So the meeting with him should have happened earlier.

Meanwhile, not much cut content in Treviso under attack. Rook told Teia who was behind the dragon. And it seems Lucanis was helping the crows fight off the Antaam while Rook and the others were in the arena with the dragon.

Rook: You should know, we think the dragon was sent by the gods. Teia: Is that why it never attacked any Antaam? Teia: All those lies about protecting Treviso, and then they sell themselves to monsters. Teia: Lucanis and I will repel them. The rest of you must focus on the dragon.

Teia: It's wounded! Lucanis: Then we strike harder! Teia: The Crows rule Antiva! Lucanis: And Treviso will be free!

[worthlessnepenthes]

So I reblogged this because it’s funny but then I thought about YQY for a second, and reblogged again so I could talk.

This isn’t going to be any new, profound thoughts for the fandom I’m sure but they’re new to me and I wanna talk for a minute.

I, personally, do not like YQY. I don’t HATE him, but I don’t like him. But I do feel sorriest for him, out of all the SVSSS and PIDW characters. I often forget that when he left SJ, he too was a literal child. Yes, he probably could have done better—told his master he needed help to save his brother, heck, told a fellow shidi or shixiong once he got to the peak. He was probably popular. I can’t imagine no one would have been willing to help him. But he was also a child, so I forgive him. He suffered and hurt himself, grievously, permanently causing himself a chronic condition in his attempts to get back to DJ. I don’t know that I think he did everything he COULD, but I do believe he did everything he THOUGHT he could.

And then Shen Jiu shows up, much like a feral cat, and constantly lashes out and hurts YQY. Their strained relationship is absolutely caused on both ends. It’s hard to say, ‘Well, YQY should have just KNOWN that SJ wasn’t going to the brothels to sleep with whores/didn’t kill LQG/wasn’t abusing Ning Ning/whatever other terrible things he was accused of,’ when SJ was, in fact, very verbally abusive and physically abusive to at least one disciple (lbh. Do we even get a canon reason WHY he hates him so much?), and verbally abusive to YQY, and to most likely many other characters.

However, maybe if YQY had actually stood up for SJ and said ‘No, this is a misunderstanding, this is not what happened,’ instead of just assuming that SJ had done whatever terrible thing and then covering for him in a sense of guilt, maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad. Or if YQY said, ‘take out your anger on me, it’s all my fault, but leave the others alone’. (It wasn’t, and SJ is wrong for acting this way.)

Honestly if they had ever fucking COMMUNICATED instead of just assuming the actual fucking worst of each other, while still deeply loving the other (in whatever romantic or platonic way they had, they loved the other) no matter whether they ever said it or not, a lot could have been avoided. Like PIDW YQY’s death.

Or hell, if Airplane had ever written about Xianxia mental health care instead of probably curing depression with papapa!

But the relationship between SJ and YQY is almost worse and more horrifying after SY comes through. YQY KNOWS it isn’t SJ, but every test they do show he isn’t possessed. So maybe it really is SJ, and all SJ needed to become happy was simply…to forget almost everything, but especially any time SJ and YQY spent together before they became Peak Lords.

So YQY is still trying to make it up to a person that he both thinks is there and thinks is not there, never knowing for sure. Every emotion he has towards this ‘new’ SJ feeling like a betrayal, ‘if only SJ could have acted like this before!’

Yeah. It’s really horrifying. He never gets the comfort of knowing for certain that SJ is gone, never gets to properly grieve and burn incense for him. But he also always feels just slightly off kilter with SY, and then feels guilt, because this is SJ! And even if it isn’t…what can YQY do about it?

YQY has many sleepless nights, wondering, after SY shows up.

I don’t like YQY, but I feel sorry for him. He is the most pitiful character in the book to me.

Shen Qingqiu, pissed off during a peak lord meeting: when I die I want Shang-shidi to lower me into the earth, just so he can let me down one last time

Shang Qinghua: bro c'mon

Yue Qingyuan, abruptly overcome by jealousy so intense that he's on the verge of a qi deviation: but I thought I was the one who let Xiao Jiu down the most...?

[useless-catalanfacts]

POV: you try speaking your language in your country.

This is the video (I have added English subtitles) posted by a Mallorcan man on Twitter, showing an experience that many of us have had. The man went to a gas station and when he went up to pay, he politely asked in the language of the land (Mallorcan Catalan). The cashier answered telling him to speak Spanish. The Mallorcan man said "I will say it slowly in both, this way you can learn it". He proceeded to say the numbers first in Catalan and then in Spanish. A second gas station worker came to him and started threatening him for speaking Catalan: "I'm going to kick your face", "I'm going to hit you so hard I'll leave you on the floor", "[you must speak Spanish because] this is Spain and that's it".

This is a common experience for Catalan speakers. Even in our own country, we can face violent threats, humiliation, and laughter for speaking the local language instead of Spanish. Even doctors routinely refuse to treat Catalan-speaking patients because they're Catalan speakers, and people have been kicked out of almost every kind of business you can imagine for speaking Catalan. When this happens in Spain outside our country, it's humiliating enough (for example: my grandmother and her friend, who are both daughters of people who moved from Southern Spain, went to visit their parent's hometown some years ago and got kicked out of a café because the other clients heard them and started shouting, they thought they were going to hit them, and the café owner came out to shout at them to get out because they don't want Catalans there) but you can more or less avoid it by not going there, but when it happens in our own country, where else are we supposed to go? If we can't speak our language in our hometown, are we just supposed to disappear?

In Barcelona (Catalonia's capital city), the 4th most reported cause of discrimination and hate crime is speaking Catalan. And that's considering that Catalan speakers rarely report these kind of events (I myself have never reported it before) while other collectives have been working a lot to report their discrimination cases and have specific places that help them do so and give them protection, like the LGBTQI+ community and migrant communities. Even then, statistics for hate crimes show the 4th reason for being hate crimed in Catalonia's capital city is speaking Catalan. And we can all be sure those numbers are nowhere near the truth of the problem.

In the Balearic Islands, discrimination is on the rise, and it's officially supported by the far-right regional government. But even though it has more legal support now, it's not new. (For example: I went to visit my friends from Mallorca years before the far-right was elected and they already got huge letters spray painted at the entrance of the town saying "Catalan pigs we'll hang you all" and they often got shouted at for similar reasons).

It's so tiring. We only want to be normal and have the same rights, to not have to face hate for our language and culture; but when we explain what happens to us and try to get Spanish people to understand that it's not good, most of them only make fun of it because they believe it's right and that it was our fault for "imposing" our public presence in the first place. Why is it so difficult to understand that we should also have the right to exist in public? Why are we always made to feel we are so annoying and disgusting? It is the people getting this angry over someone speaking the language of the place they live in who have a disproportionate amount of hatred and anger, it should be them to apologize.

[ghostgirl-22]

Hiii ik you’ve heard this before but you literally write the yummiest Artrick smut!! Their dynamic is sooo good

I was thinking about Art and Patrick trying frotting for the first time? Maybe they’re dry humping and then Art’s really getting desperate and Pat suggests they do it skin-to-skin? Penny for your thoughts!!

I thank you anon! I love you and I apologize for getting to this so late <33

CW: 18+, NSFW, Patrick my little pining baby.

—-

I think it’s Patrick’s birthday some random Thursday night in January and Patrick makes Art come out with him on the day because he’s gonna celebrate with Tashi on the weekend. Art’s in a bad mood at first. He tries to pretend he isn’t but Patrick knows he’s still annoyed that Patrick has her.

“I can’t stay out late.” Art says coolly. “So if you want a real celebration with me… maybe you shoulda went out to eat with her midweek instead.”

“You want to come out to eat with us this weekend?” Patrick smirks, rubbing his back. “Just a romantic dinner. Me, my girlfriend and my best friend. Probably the most romantic thing ever.”

“Fuck off,” Art shrugs him away. They’re going to a frat party. Art knows one of the frats has insane parties every night of the week which Patrick says is pretty impressive.

“Only reason to join that frat is if you plan to take at least five or six years to graduate from a four year program.” Art says, judgmentally. “Actually, it’s probably what you’d pledge if you went here.”

Patrick lets him be bitchy and goes to get them both drinks. As Art gets tipsy he starts to loosen up. He’s getting drunk on Jell-O shots. His lips turning red and his cheeks flushing. His eyes go all moon shaped when he’s giggly. Patrick is a little obsessed, wants to make him giggle more. They get drunk enough to dance. Both of them dancing together and then dancing with various college girls. Patrick avoiding it when one of the girls leans in to kiss him. She kisses Art instead before her friend grabs her. They both giggle with each other and run to get more shots.

Art’s looking after them dazed and so drunk… Patrick grabs him away. They go to the dj table and request Apple Bottom Jeans for the third time and everyone cheers when it comes back on.

It’s dark and loud, strobe lights going off and Patrick realizes how drunk Art is when they’re on the sofa and he’s leaning on Patrick, nibbling at his throat. Patrick feels warm, hot even, he tangles his fingers into Art’s golden curls to keep him there. “I wanna lie down,” Art sighs in his ear after a minute. Which leads to Patrick guiding him upstairs in the frat house, the bass from the music thrumming through the house even though it’s much quieter upstairs. There’s a couple making out in the hallway. Some girls hooking up in the the bathroom tub while another girl is dozing off on the toilet seat.

Patrick finds an empty room and Art falls onto the bed. Patrick shuts the door and crawls on the bed, lying down next to him and before he realizes what’s happening Art climbs on top of him. “‘M so horny,” he groans, eyes half closed, dizzy drunk and barely aware of what he’s doing. Patrick is immediately hard. He thought he knew everything about Art but this is fucking new. Art is humping him through the fabric of their jeans, grinding, rutting, like a fucking animal in heat. Breathing hard, moaning loudly, chasing his orgasm. It’s so fucking hot.

”Oh fuck,” Patrick breathes. “Holy shit.”

“Mm wanna come Patrick, please. I need it.” Art whines.

“Fuck, mmkay. Come here… maybe we need… need more friction.”

”mm, yeah, please,” Art gasps.

“Yeah? Let’s…” Patrick grabs at Art’s zipper, swallowing hard. He’s had weird dreams about fucking Art for quite some time, weird wet dreams where he’s made a mess of him. So many dirty dreams this feels like deja vu.

But this is better than the dreams. Best fucking birthday ever. He’s easing it out of Art’s boxers. He’s seen it of course. When he didn’t need anything in his head to make himself cum… just the sight of the messy blond boy on the bed across from him spilling it too quickly all over himself. Always dazed by it. It was enough to send Patrick into the stratosphere, every fucking time.

And now he’s touching it, gripping it. Swollen purplepink, and heavy. He undoes his own pants. Art’s thrusting into his fist, eager. Hips rolling.

“Skin to skin, gonna feel so good,” Patrick mumbles, it’s nonsense. He’s half out of his mind. He takes hold of his own cock, lined up along Art’s and starts fisting them both. Art on top of him, the only sound is the endless thumping of the music, the squeaking of the bed inline with their hips rocking, and the breathy moans spilling from their mouths.

“Oh fuck. Oh yes,” Art whispers. He has his eyes closed but Patrick can’t stop staring at him. Lips parted, chest heaving, face flushed, hair falling into his eyes, clothes all disheveled. He’s leaning back, palms resting on Patrick’s thighs so he can thrust his cock mindlessly up against Patrick’s. So hot Patrick might die. And then, as always, it’s taking him by surprise. Come spurting out of him, covering Patrick’s fingers, his t-shirt. He’s whining and moaning and gasping “Fuck… oh fuck…yes…”

Patrick’s not far behind him. His fist now coated in jizz he’s gripping them both tighter, fisting them faster. Art’s making these breathless little “oh” noises, so delicious it makes Patrick shiver and then he’s seizing up, his balls tightening as he spills hot sticky strings of pearly come all over his palm, Art’s jeans and his own t-shirt.

“God it’s so fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot….” Patrick whispers, breathlessly as Art settles sleepy onto his chest. Patrick wipes his dirty palm on the bed and ponders vaguely the poor frat boy who’s gonna be taking this blanket to the laundromat. He kisses Art’s mouth, the way he’s always wanted to, and Art sighs into it. He’s got the hiccups all of a sudden, little ones escaping between kisses which is actually kinda fucking adorable. Art rolls off of him eventually, curling up on his side. “Need to…*hiccup*… so sleepy.” He mumbles.

Patrick sighs, looking up at the ceiling as Art starts to drift off. They’ve been drunk as fuck before, even spooned in bed together, but never like this. He’s not sure what just happened but he thinks he’ll go crazy if Art has no memory of it when he wakes up.

[polgarawolf1]

Honestly? He's also kind of a lazy writer. I mean, just off the top of my head, in Star Wars: The Clone Wars, aside from completely misisng out on adding any richness or depth (or possible foreshadowing about what Skeevy Sheev might be up to) to the story by working in Sith alchemy, experimental cloning, Nightsister Dark Magicks, or anything at all truly interesting, he just . . . basically goes, "Somehow, Darth Maul survived." And we're supposed to just take that and believe he lives on rage alone, even though he's literally missing the majority of his digestive system (not to mention basically his body's ENTIRE waste management system), having been completely bisected by lightsaber at or slightly above the waist. He makes Ahsoka be assigned to Anakin as a Padawan instead of . . . oh, planning ahead so that someone else always has a claim on her and he's always going to end up losing her because her first Master is still alive, just recovering from something like, say, nearly being killed at Geonosis. That could have opened up SO MANY MORE storylines about the Jedi and how the Jedi Order functions (not to mention how the war might be changing things) - what Jedi do when Masters are too damaged to keep teaching their apprentices; what Jedi do about orphaned and virtually orphaned Padawans; and even, on the flip side, how Jedi generally treat Jedi who lose their Padawans (does the High Council automatically assign such a Jedi another apprentice? No? Why not? Or if not immediately, then when?) - and could've avoided the entire godsawful horrendous stereotypical "let's turn one of the widely seen as being Muslim-coded character into a terrorist" storyline with Barriss Offee, since, again, Anakin would always have to given Ahsoka back up to her original Master, once said original Master's considered fieldworthy again.

He's also lazy in that, instead of doing to work to show character motivations and to give them more/different motivations, he mostly just kills off female characters in order to force people to be sad and then to act out because of their grief and anger or else to add more "pathos" to the story (like it actually NEEDS more!). He fridges Mina Bonteri, Steela Gerrera, Jedi Initiate Kalifa, Jedi Master Adi Gallia, Jedi Master Tiplar, Teckla Minnau, and Satine Kryze (Duchess of Mandalore) in Star Wars: The Clone Wars (and he does kind of the same thing to Rush Clovis, too, arguably, though that's more to drive Padmé - who's basically informally on a break/separated from Anakin because of his behaviour towards Rush Clovis - back into Anakin's arms).

I can't speak much to other shows - I'm perpetually behind on seeing things because we couldn't get streaming even if we could afford it or wanted it. Plus, I just hate the animation design for Rebels - from what I'm given to understand from what I've seen online, though, his laziness as a writer is an ongoing issue. He has a bad habit of coming up with great characters but failing to follow through in any truly meaningful way on their backstories in regards to their cultures. There is SO MUCH we don't know about Mandalore, given how often Mandalore/Mandalorians come up in his shows, that it's not even funny.

Also, I want to sic George Lucas on him every single time the lying LIAR lies about the Jedi in general.

Hi Lumi. This year I’ve watched The Clone Wars, Rebels, Mandalorian, Book of Boba Fett, and Tales of the Jedi and I’m watching Ahsoka as episodes are released. But I feel like I’m missing some context as to why people are wary of Filoni. What things should I know so I’m caught up, so to speak, in the fandom discussions?

Hi! That's a lot of Star Wars to watch in a year, I hope you're having fun with it all! And I will gently remind everyone that Filoni is not the be-all-end-all of Star Wars creators--Henry Gilroy was there for TCW and Rebels, too. George Lucas was holding writers' meetings years after the show started (at least into 2010!). The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett are far more Jon Favreau's shows. The Bad Batch is Brad Rau and Jennifer Corbett. Resistance was developed by him, but was run by other producers. It's just that Filoni tends to get the most camera time and has become the face of Star Wars creators. That said, the issue with Filoni is kind of two-pronged, though, they overlap. 1. He's done a lot of interviews where he's said a lot of anti-Jedi things that have drifted from reasonable critiques in the beginning to eventually "Qui-Gon Jinn was the only true Jedi. [blatantly wrong citations]" This has put a lot of people off him as a creator, because we love the Jedi Order that Lucas talks about and established, which Filoni has actively contradicted over the years, despite being promoted as someone who follows Lucas' themes. And it's hard not to be aware of his interviews when watching his shows and it's hard to enjoy shows that do your faves dirty, you know? 2. His writing has become weaker over the years for a lot of us--Rebels is a show most of us love and found to be incredible. Many of us really love The Clone Wars, which he was heavily involved in/was probably the central voice after Lucas started phasing out. But his biggest story told over the course of those series--basically, the story of Mandalore's history and fall to the Empire--has been extremely thin for a lot of us. And a lot of us get frustrated at his inability to be objective when it comes to Ahsoka's character, that we love her as a character very much, but it hasn't felt like Filoni really knows what to do with her character arc and yet almost everything he writes is centered around her. His final season of The Clone Wars? Gave her the walkabout arc and the Siege of Mandalore arc, both of which often did not hold up well under scrutiny. His episode of The Book of Boba Fett? I actually really loved it, but it absolutely just stopped the pacing of that show to focus a lot on her. More on Luke, but he couldn't resist putting her in there, either. Tales of the Jedi was half devoted to Ahsoka and so much of it wasn't even about her time as a Jedi! We're frustrated because he doesn't set things up well anymore--Morgan Elsbeth is a Nightsister?? Why wasn't that established in The Mandalorian instead of pulling out randomly in Ahsoka? Why does Sabine Wren suddenly so badly want Jedi training, when they barely even had a conversation in Rebels?? There's a lot of good that Filoni has given to Star Wars, I think he genuinely cares about the Force and what it means--he's very consistent on how it's not easy and how it takes discipline and control, that he has been consistent on how anger and fear are paths to the dark side, even his episode of TBOBF had Ahsoka saying, yeah, attachment is a path to the dark side, because the Jedi mean "attachment" in a more Buddhist-aligned way. A lot of his writing for the character of Ahsoka is actually pretty good, like I've been enjoying her being a prickly, traumatized hot mess in the show! It's just that I kind of hate all the interviews he gives and I think he's a lot less objective than a lot of fans and media coverage that would hold him up as a perfect writer/interviewee about all things Star Wars, and it all comes together to make him kind of a hot-button topic.

So, a lot of people LOVE Filoni's work, a lot of people are frustrated by it, a lot of people are casually fine about it, a lot of people HATE Filoni's work and it can be a fun mix of any of the above or even other issues that come up. (And that's all fine! I have my views on Filoni's work, but it's fine if others hate it more than I do or love it more than I do, there's room for us all, all of it is valid.)

But I think if you want to understand some of the roots of this corner of fandom's frustration, two (admittedly long as heck) homework assignment reads would be:

- My own rebuttal to Dave's behind the scenes Mandalorian Gallery talk (this is jokingly referred to as "Davegate" because I refused to take it too seriously) - @david-talks-sw's collection of comparisons between Lucas' commentary on the Jedi and Filoni's commentary on the Jedi

This response itself is more focused on laying out the problems a lot of people have with Filoni's writing, but also honestly I still have my giant collection of Jedi source material citations that quotes his commentary, I still bring up Filoni's quotes in current meta a lot, I still talk positively about the things I enjoy from his shows, so overall there's equal amounts of both praise and criticism here. So, as short as I can make it (which isn't very, shut up, I know! XD), that's basically what people mean when they say they're wary of Filoni.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change Of Heart - 5 (Edited ver.)

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky stood near the dock, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. The waves lapped gently against the wooden posts, a rhythmic sound that did little to soothe the restlessness inside him. The sky had begun to darken, shades of deep blue swallowing the last traces of daylight.

"Sir, it's getting dark," his secretary reminded him softly, standing a few steps behind.

Bucky didn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Did your parents divorce?"

The secretary blinked at the sudden question. "No, sir. But my sister did. She divorced her first husband."

Bucky hummed, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly. "Was it the right choice?"

"I think so," the secretary admitted. "She smiles more with her second husband. He was divorced too. Somehow, they complete each other. It’s like they both learned from their past mistakes."

Bucky finally turned to look at him. "How long have they been together now?"

"Five years."

Silence settled between them. Bucky lowered his gaze, staring at the ground as if lost in thought. His parents divorced when he was young. His father changed wives like the seasons, to where Bucky had lost count of how many stepmothers he'd had. And his mother—she had become a well-known rich cougar, the kind who made headlines.

When two broken people come together, they begin to heal. But what happened between him and you... something still hurts deep down. Though both of you completed each other, seeing you leave felt like it wasn’t enough.

Bucky had spent years running from his past, avoiding the feelings he buried deep within himself. He'd been afraid of truly connecting, terrified that giving in to love would mean vulnerability—and he’d never allowed himself to be vulnerable. But with you, something changed.

He started to open up, piece by piece. He had found solace in your presence, a kind of comfort he never thought he’d experience. You made him feel like maybe it was okay to be human.

But even as the wounds began to heal, a part of him remained fractured. The scars weren’t completely gone. And as he watched you walk away, that deep-seated fear—of losing someone, of being left behind—came rushing back. He realized he wasn’t as whole as he thought he was.

Without another word, Bucky pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he made the call. He held the device to his ear and started walking, his steps slow and aimless as he paced along the dimly lit dock. A few streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the worn planks beneath his feet.

The therapist answered after a few rings.

"My advice?" The voice on the other end was calm. "Let her go. Don't stop her. If she wants to come back, she will."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His grip on the phone tightened. He didn’t agree.

"Do you have any sexual desire toward her?"

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"Do you feel safe when you're around her?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want to come home faster when you know she's waiting there?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose. "Yes."

The therapist paused before asking the last question.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

This time, Bucky hesitated. His lips parted, but the words didn't come as easily. "...No." But his voice lacked conviction.

The therapist remained silent for a beat before finally speaking.

"It will grow on you. Just wait and see."

Bucky lowered the phone, staring at the dark waters ahead. The wind picked up, tousling his hair, but he barely noticed. His chest felt tight, the answer lingering in his mind.

Had he really meant it?

The Next Day

Bucky followed you.

He shouldn’t have, but he did.

He was already waiting by the dock when you returned from your scuba diving lesson. You looked different—lighter, freer. The usual quiet presence he was familiar with had been replaced by someone more expressive, more alive. You laughed while talking to strangers, engaging with them in a way he had never seen before. When you were with him, you spoke to his colleagues, sure, but never like this. With them, it was polite conversation, surface-level. But now? You were glowing.

And Bucky didn't know how to feel about that.

You spotted him standing near the railing, and your smile faltered for just a second before returning. Surprise flickered in your eyes, but there was something else too—relief, maybe.

"You're still here," you said, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and quiet gladness.

Bucky was about to respond, but then his gaze caught on you peeling off your wetsuit.

He froze.

It wasn’t like you were undressing provocatively—you were simply taking off your gear. But in the two years you'd been together, neither of you had ever seen the other completely bare. You had shared a home, a bed even, but always with an unspoken distance.

His throat went dry, and he forced himself to turn away, his jaw tightening.

Bucky had seen countless women undress before, but this—this was different. This was you. And it was as if some part of his brain refused to process it. He waited in silence, staring at the dark water until he heard your footsteps approaching.

You had changed into dry clothes and now stood beside him, leaning against the dock railing.

“I guess Grandpa won’t allow you to come home,” you said.

Bucky let out a dry chuckle. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re right. But I guess… I failed. You don’t want to come back.”

“Not yet.”

Silence. The waves rolled in and out, filling the space between you.

You looked out at the sea, your expression unreadable. Then, as if speaking more to yourself than to him, you asked, “Do you ever wonder why we’re compatible?”

It was a good question. Because in truth, on paper, you shouldn’t be.

Most marriage contracts like yours didn’t last. Some couples couldn’t even stand each other for the duration of their agreement. They broke it off before the ink had dried.

You exhaled through your nose, then said with a smirk, “Because both of us are ambitious as fuck.”

Bucky scoffed. He almost laughed, but he held it in, shaking his head instead.

Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were softer now, but firm, steady.

“Bucky, I know you’re not ready for this. And I won’t push you. You need to figure it out yourself.”

His chest tightened.

He had spent years figuring himself out. Years battling the demons that kept him tethered to his past. But had he actually moved forward?

“I used this marriage contract to get money,” you admitted. “To have a higher status than my father. Feeling superior to him gave me satisfaction.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He understood that. He understood it too well.

He had never wanted to be in a relationship—not out of fear, but as an act of rebellion. His parents' marriage had been a disaster, a revolving door of broken vows and replacements. His father cycled through wives like a man cycling through business investments. His mother had responded by becoming one of the most infamous rich cougars in town, collecting younger lovers as if to prove something to the world.

Love, as far as Bucky had seen, was nothing more than a transaction.

He had despised it.

But now, standing here, he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So this is goodbye, then?”

“For now,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just want to do what I’ve been holding back. I want to grow up.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean? We’re already in our thirties.”

You smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was knowing, understanding.

“I mean growing up from the trauma.” Your voice softened. “Bucky, both of us were stuck as kids because of what happened to us. Our pasts kept us frozen in time. But I don’t want to stay stuck anymore. I want to move forward. I want to leave the trauma behind.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He couldn't.

“The reason I didn’t come back,” you continued, “is because I still love you. And that terrifies me. I’m running away because I can’t be near you without feeling everything too much.”

Bucky sucked in a slow breath.

This was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him like this—with honesty, with vulnerability. It was the first time he had ever received a love confession that wasn’t transactional, that wasn’t tied to expectations.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

You stepped back. “I hope that the next time we meet, everything will be different.”

Bucky watched as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let out a shaky exhale.

Something was shifting inside him, something he didn’t have a name for. It wasn’t just loss. It wasn’t just regret.

It was something deeper.

A few moments later, he pulled out his phone and dialed his therapist.

When the call connected, his voice came out rough, almost reluctant.

“I think I’m starting to have… sexual desires toward her.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then, finally, his therapist sighed.

“Well, Bucky,” they said, “it looks like you’re finally catching up to your emotions.”

He decided to leave you alone, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring. No matter what, you had been there for him for two years. Marriage contract or not, you left a lasting impression on his life.

When he returned, his grandfather was waiting for him, clearly hoping you would step off the plane with Bucky.

When he saw Bucky coming down alone, Tom clicked his tongue. “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky sighed. “Give her time. She’ll be back.” Even though he's not sure when you'll be back.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

One Year Later

The café inside the park was quiet, tucked away between tall trees and winding pathways. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light onto the wooden tables.

Bucky sat alone, a tablet in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. He scrolled through reports, half-reading, half-listening to the sounds around him—the soft chatter of other patrons, the occasional bark of a dog, the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Then, a voice behind him made him nearly drop his tablet.

“I see you’re still a workaholic.”

His heart clenched. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned around—and there you were.

You stood before him, looking different yet familiar. Your skin was sun-kissed, your hair slightly lighter, and your presence felt… freer. There was an ease in your posture, a confidence in your stance that hadn’t been there before.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, as if making sure you were real. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I don’t work as much as I used to,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Really? Who’s been keeping up with all your work, then?”

“My parents.”

That made you pause. “Your parents?”

He nodded, setting down his tablet. “Yeah. I finally faced it. The whole mess.”

And it had been a mess. For years, he had avoided confronting the real cause of his fears—his childhood. He thought that refusing to engage in relationships was an act of defiance, proof that he had broken free from his parents' toxic cycle. But in reality, he had been trapped just like them. Stuck in the same story, just playing a different role.

It wasn’t fair.

They had lived their lives—moving on, getting remarried, collecting younger lovers, burning through money—while he had been the one frozen in time, afraid to take a single step forward.

So he had done something drastic.

He had cut them off.

No more allowances, no more endless funds. Their luxurious lifestyles had been fueled by company profits, and Bucky had put an end to it.

“This company is not a charity,” he had told them. “You’ve used its assets to fund your lifestyles for too long. If I let this continue, we’ll go down in history as the first corporation to bankrupt itself paying alimony.”

His father had been furious. His mother had scoffed. But in the end, they had no choice. They had to start working.

They had been terrible parents. But, ironically, they turned out to be decent employees.

"Both of them have stopped acting childish," he said. His parents had also stopped playing the roles of sugar daddy and cougar. It turned out money was the solution.

Now, here he was, sitting across from the one person he had waited a year to see again.

"I fixed my relationship with my parents, especially my dad," you replied.

"That's good to hear," he responded.

After spending some time with your dad, you realized that without the rivalry, he's an easygoing person. You started contacting him daily.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Does this mean you don’t love me anymore?”

Your gaze softened. “No. I never stopped loving you.” You smiled, almost shyly. “I just had a feeling this time would be different.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I see. So you’ve completed your self-discovery?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, lighter than it had ever been. You talked about your travels, the people you had met, and the experiences that had changed you. Bucky listened, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or a teasing comment, making you laugh. It felt easy—natural.

Then, as if it were nothing, you casually said, “I broke my leg climbing down a mountain.”

“What?!” His eyes widened, panic flashing through them.

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Some nuns from a nearby chapel helped me. They took care of me for a month.”

Bucky frowned, his mind racing. So that’s why you didn’t post an update for a month.

You nodded. “Yeah. They prayed for me.” Then, after a pause, you admitted, “I’ve never prayed before. But I started to. Admitting my anger, my sins… it made the weight feel lighter. I guess I’m sharing my burdens with God now.” You studied his reaction carefully. “Do you think I’ve turned into a religious freak?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. As long as you found peace.”

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

“Caramel Macchiato, hot, less sugar… right?”

You blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. He smirked before getting up and heading toward the cashier.

When he returned, he placed the coffee in front of you, watching as you took a small sip.

Then you said, “On my way here, I passed by a cinema playing Interstellar.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with interest. That was his favorite movie—the one he always watched when he had time alone.

“Really?”

“You interested?” You pulled out two tickets and held them up.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Let’s go.”

As you both walked side by side, he glanced at you.

“You know,” he said, “you could share your burdens with me too.”

You turned to him, your expression unreadable.

Was that… a proposal?

Bucky continued, his tone calm but firm. “We’ve known each other for two years. You left for one. And yet, you came back with the same feelings. And I waited a year for you to come back.”

Your heart pounded.

This time, it wasn’t just a contract. It wasn’t a transaction.

It was something real. Something earned.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

This time, there was a difference between them.

Before, they had been trapped—chained to the past, repeating old patterns, clinging to wounds that refused to heal. They had mistaken their pain for identity, their fears for inevitability.

But now, they had changed.

Not because time had passed, but because they had made the choice to move forward.

They had faced their demons, made peace with their scars, and learned to let go. Bucky was no longer a man protesting love out of spite. And you were no longer someone running away to find yourself.

You had both found your own way—separately.

And yet, in the end, that path had led you back to each other.

-The End-

Epilogue:

Bucky suddenly remembered something. “I should call Grandpa to let him know you’re back.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I already met him when I landed. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head. Even after a year, you still cared about Tom.

After watching the movie, he will take you to meet Tom. His grandpa will welcome you with open arms and finally stop calling him an "idiot."

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[suzukiblu]

Day one of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon sighs, then dusts his hands off and eyes Croc’s unconscious body, debating how the fuck he’s supposed to handle this situation. Fuck knows where the cops are, and there’s already a bunch of civilians taking pics and shit of him, so he really doesn’t wanna wait for ‘em. Also, like, explaining why he committed aggravated assault on a giant crocodile dude to the cops does not sound like his favorite time anyway, especially Gotham cops. He technically does have an emergency comm on him, but it’s obviously not tuned into any of the local Bat-channels and he doesn’t really know if he’d be able to sync it up to ‘em. 

Admittedly, Alfred is like, half a block down the street with a cell phone and probably already told his boss literally everything that just happened, but still. 

Actually, speaking of Alfred . . .

Kon refocuses his hearing back towards the limo, and hears–

“Wowwwww,” Jon says from the backseat, sounding awed about . . . something–who knows what, given he’s like ten and Kon doesn’t even know the grown-ass version of him well enough to know what kind of shit the dude thinks is impressive–and Alfred makes a little “hm” sound. 

“Mr. Kent, I do hope you’ve got an ear out,” he says, which even if Kon didn’t would’ve caught his attention pretty quick. “The police have an estimated time of arrival at two and a half minutes, and they were informed to come equipped for Killer Croc. Please do retreat out of the public eye for now, though I’m sure Master Bruce would appreciate the consideration if you wouldn’t mind keeping a bit of an eye on the situation until they have Mr. Jones secured. We’ll rendezvous with you on Pearl Street in seven minutes.” 

There is literally no version of Bruce Wayne that has ever “appreciated” a single thing Kon has ever considered in his life, except maybe for that one weirdo in Hypertime who’d definitely just wanted a Robin that was bombproof this time, but whatever. Kon nods once, short and sharp, and then takes off with superspeed in the opposite direction from Croc and the fucked-up street, if not Super-speed. That he saves ‘til he ducks into a conveniently out-of-sight alley, shoves the security camera over the emergency exit in the back of it askew with his TTK, and then takes off straight up into the air too fast for human eyes to follow. 

He should’ve avoided tearing up the street like that, probably, even if Croc and his boys had already fucked it up pretty bad. Didn’t mean he needed to go making shit worse. He’s maybe a little stressed, but he fucking knows better. 

Ugh. 

Kon hangs out above the heavy gray smog and cloud cover, wishing there were some sun up here instead of just moonless night, and keeps one ear focused on Croc and the other half-paying attention to the limo, just in case. The cops do in fact show up in two and a half minutes, and by then Alfred’s already taken Jon and the limo most of the way to Pearl Street. Kon can hear Jon chattering excitedly about something and Alfred at least making some more little “hm” sounds in response, though he doesn’t focus in enough to eavesdrop. Rude, for one thing, and also a distraction he should be avoiding anyway. 

He waits around to make sure they get Croc locked up nice and secure in the heavy-duty restraints and armored truck they brought without him waking up and taking anyone’s head off or anything like that, and it goes surprisingly smoothly for Gotham, though the cops have a fuckin’ time of it getting Croc’s K.O.’ed ass into the back of the truck. Kon would be more concerned about the possibility of a head injury with the guy staying out for so long, but a quick X-ray glance already cleared him for at least the first-aid level basics, so like, it’s probably that weird “toxic mobility” thing Tim was talking about that time he was explaining Croc’s whole thing to him. Or–no, “tonic”, and “immobility”. Whatever, he just knows Croc usually stays out longer than a baseline human would and it’s not a concern. Just some weird side effect of his whole . . . everything, basically. 

This is not in any way his circus or even his monkeys, but hey, why not be the interdimensional version of neighborly? Like, just while he’s in the reality and all. Lend the local Bats a cup of sugar, metaphorically-speaking. Batman’s gonna bitch about him doing it and how he handled it the first second he sees him, obviously–even after Alfred asked him to do it, he’ll definitely bitch–but whatever. He wasn’t gonna let anybody get hurt just because Batman gets pissy when vigilantes without any Bat-branding exist in his territory. 

So yeah, he waits around.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Pairings: Cregan Stark x reader, Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, incest

1.08

“Aemond.”

Like a fool, you chase your husband through the castle and into the courtyard where he was getting ready to mount his horse. Vhegar was too large to enter the dragon pit, so she usually rests outside the castle walls.

“Aemond!”

You were on the verge of tears; not once had Aemond looked back at you even though he knew you were there. And even now he still stands with his back to you.

Finally you break; voice cracking, you say, “A child was struck down in place of you.”

“If you intend to let your emotions get the better of you like Alicent, you should stay here instead of dragon riding.”

His patronising tone is beyond irritating; you weren’t a child or a fool who thought this would be okay. “Any chance of peace died when Lucerys did.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. The stable boys who take care of the royal horses lower their heads, as do any handmaids going across the yard. None of them dared look at Aemond; everyone was scared of him.

“Why are you avoiding Maitland?”

Slowly Aemond turns to face you; with the weather changing so suddenly, it would be easy to mistake his tears for spits of rain. “Because he almost died because of me! I should have been protecting him, but instead I was with my whore!”

“I’ve always known where you were that night, but it means little now.”

“And here I thought that’s why you welcomed another into your bed to punish me.”

“Friend or foe, I’m still your wife,” you say quietly. “I’ve no desire to hurt you, Aemond; I just wanted to remember what it felt like to be loved.”

Aemond looks void of emotion as he stares right through you. He swallows back the harsh comment that’s on the tip of his tongue, “You should put on your riding jacket before the rain thickens.”

—

Finding Lord Stark’s men was more difficult than you anticipated; they were at least three or four days march away from reaching the bridge at the twins. The Northerners had taken cover underneath the trees so that they were harder to spot from above. Smart. If it wasn’t for the sun starting to rise and rainfall becoming less intense, you may never have spotted them.

You could hear the faint cries of ‘dragon’ the closer Vermithor got to the ground. Silverwing wasn’t far away; she was flying overhead. The two dragons communicate by making sounds similar to light squeals and humming combined. It's known that dragons have a psychic connection with their riders, and you've always theorised that Vermithor and Silverwing first mated because they shared such a deep connection with King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne that they ended up mirroring their relationship.

Unlike Vermithor, who was as fierce as a dragon could be, Silverwing was relatively docile and friendly to strangers, as was Maitland.

“Princess.”

Vermithor, who was now nestling underneath thick trees, bares his teeth, causing the northern lord to stop.

A knot forms in your stomach; you keep seeing Cregan in your dreams, and now the time has come to see him in person again. It almost feels too much. But you couldn’t let him see how unnerved this was making you feel. You clear your throat. “My lord, it’s not wise to sneak up on a dragon.”

“I—” He goes to take a step forward, but Vermithor cranes his neck around you protectively.

You stroke his scales and sing to your dragon in High Valyrian until he settles. The ongoing war within House Targaryen was scaring the dragons. Taking a deep breath, you finally make eye contact with Cregan. He was drenched, his hair stuck to his face as water dripped from his furs.

“Cregan.”

“I’d like to believe this is a coincidence, but I believe you being here is to do with the two thousand greybeards carrying the flags of Queen Rhaenyra.”

There was an uncomfortable space between; screw it. You rush to him and practically bounce into his arms. Your voice is muffled into his shoulder, “I want you to go. If my brothers find you, they will burn all of you.”

“You know I cannot do that.”

“I know,” you move your head back to glance at him, and the moment you do, his dry lips smash against your own. Swallowing thickly, you pull back, and Cregan’s eyes are full of a sadness you haven’t seen before. “I would rather face a hundred sand vipers alone than stand before the she-dragon. I’m scared for you.”

Vermithor raises his head and sniffs the air, then lets out a terrifying roar. A thunderous sound echoes in the distance; your heart sinks. Aemond lied; he didn’t go to the Riverlands; he had followed you. You feel sick; not once have you looked back long enough to notice him.

Cregan holds onto your hand tightly, and although your riding gloves are still on, you can still feel the coldness from his skin. “Another storm is brewing.”

“It’s not thunder, it’s Vhegar. I need to go.” You slip from his grip, and you’re struck with a sudden feeling of loss. “I’ve heard there are caves deep within the forest; it would be a good place for your men to take shelter. I will try my best to lure him away, just—just forgive me.”

—

Even from a distance, Cregan is in disbelief at how monstrous Vhegar is.

When he was awoken to the screams of his men saying a dragon was coming towards them, he feared the worst, but his fears were temporarily settled when a man described it as large and bronzed. He knew it was his princess.

Vermithor met the larger dragon in the sky before its rider was close enough to notice the camp below. Cregan barks orders for all fires to be put out immediately and for his men to retreat further into the forest. He trusted the princess would try to stop any deaths, but he didn’t trust her brother-husband.

The rumour spreading across the realm was that the kinslayer was thirsty for blood.

He pours water onto a small fire that was intended for cooking the meat of the deer he hunted earlier that day. The further south they marched, the easier it was to track and hunt their next meal; the animals in the south didn’t seem to fear men the same way they did in the north.

Mayhap even the harts, boars, and snow bears were born with the same toughness the northern people were.

While mounting his horse, Cregan pinches the bridge of his nose when he feels a sudden blinding pain in his head; the pain was fleeting, but his confusion wasn’t. He could have sworn he heard the princess, who he’s grown to care for so much, yell dracarys, but that was impossible; she was too far away for the Lord to hear her voice.

But there it was again.

Dracarys, dracarys, dracarys.

[lovethyauthors]

AHH OK well now you’ve got me thinking, what if there is no one Reason, what if they’re just stressed and distracted from the day to day of their jobs and just don’t notice how she’s feeling? Or if they do notice they think she needs space to work it out herself? OR WORSE what if they are actually annoyed with how often she checks in on them? Not enough to not want to be with her but just needing some space?

She’d eventually drop the whole break the bond request, though not after some arguing / begging I’m sure, and pretend like it’s ok but would walk away from the conversation CONVINCED she needs to change to keep her team happy. So she sets out to be more like Johnny, minimizing her needs, trying to get by on the bare minimum.

OR she accepts that Price won’t break the bond now so she decides to distance herself to save herself the heartbreak, to make their bond weaker so next time she asks, they’ll be as ready to get rid of her as she thinks they already are.

Either way it’s not a fun time for anyone as the team starts to notice how she’s slipping away, how she’s not their sweet, comforting girl anymore.

Price is confused when days go by and she doesn’t pop into his office once, doesn’t come check on him, doesn’t remind him to take a break and eat if he hasn’t. When he gives in and just calls her to his office, he’s hurt by how she stands by the door, shuffling her feet like she can’t wait to leave, and avoids eye contact at any cost. He wants his warm and bubbly girl back who would walk into his office and plop herself down on his lap like it was her rightful place, who would steal kisses and snuggles while he was filling out paperwork and he doesn’t know what he needs to do to get her back.

Simon has never been chatty, content to always let her drone on about the little things while he listens and chimes in when needed. He doesn’t realize how much he misses her sweet voice and giggles, how much they make him feel normal instead of the monster everyone else assumes he is, until she stops seeking him out. Now, everything she says to him is monotone and soulless, and only ever related to work. She never sticks around for long after she’s said what she needed too, never rewards him with the beaming smile at the end of her words like she used to and he hates it!! He hates that she seems like she’s been turned into a shell of her former self!! He tried to remember what she used to like to talk about, tries to follow up on those conversations, asks her about the things she could’ve ranted about for hours, only to receive a shrug and short answer. Simon doesn’t remember being this anxious trying to have a conversation since he was a child, and after the third time being shut down, he decides he’s had enough and storms in to Price’s office because they need to fix this! It’s tearing their little family apart, even Soap and Gaz are feeling the effects, and he’s had enough!!

Soap and Gaz who’ve tried to be much more gentle only to have her recoil at their smallest touch, always slipping out of their fingers, always having an excuse for why she needed to leave. Soap and Gaz who are torn between watching her leave and following her, not knowing what the right thing to do is in this new world they’ve found themselves in. They look to Ghost and Price for guidance, for leadership, but they’re just as lost, only knowing that they’re loosing her piece by piece.

Mmmmmm I can’t decide if they confront her about her new behaviour and the clear effects it’s having on her (because surprise surprise sacrificing your needs to keep others happy isn’t healthy if her weak and tired state and constantly sad smell is anything to go off of). If they do, I can see her finally being angry, yelling at them that they need to make up their minds about what they want from her, and as much as it hurts them to think that she’s been acting this way because she thinks it’s what they want, they’re relieved that at least she’s talking to them again, at least she has her spark back.

Or maybe they’re too cautious, maybe they avoid saying anything for fear of making it worse, of upsetting her more so they just don’t. And then they’re sent on a mission, gone for two months as they try to save the world from certain doom, at least content in knowing their entire world is home, safe, even if she’s upset. Does distance make the heart grow fonder? Or is it a trial run for separation? Because as hard as it is, as much as each day away from them hurts her, it makes it even more clear what she has to do.

Finally they’re back home, all safe, all alive, minor injuries that don’t really mean much anymore, not in their field of work. And they’ll take her comforting presence over anything, no matter how distant, no matter how cold. What they can’t take however is her request for Price to break the bond again. Four elite soldiers, used to death and blood and war, reduced to tears because for the first time they feel hopeless. Simon secretly wonders if it would’ve been less painful to bleed out on the battlefield than come back home to this.

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[melercies]

pairing(s): thanos x (slightly implied fem reader, but gender-neutral pronouns) x nam-gyu (separately + together)

warning(s): shower sex/smut [minors dni], dirty talk, gender-neutral pronouns, physical/psychological intensity, tension and coercion, rough handling, dubious consent, lowercase usage is intended, and my best interpretation of the two characters.

author's note: can we please talk about as to why thanos chest moved like that in the gif after he chest bumped nam-gyu. LIKE WHAT. otherwise, i was holding back myself from losing my sanity writing this. I WAS GIGGLING. please let me know if i missed anything! likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated!

Showering with Nam-gyu... he isn't the type to voluntarily suggest showering together. he's too prideful, too rigid in his own habits. if you try to invite him, expect resistance—he'll scoff, wave you off, maybe even sneer, "what, you think i can't wash myself?" but if you're persistent—or if he's in a vulnerable state, exhausted or frustrated—he might begrudgingly accept.

the moment he's in there with you, though, everything shifts. he doesn't like feeling exposed, so he overcompensates—gripping your wrist a little too firmly as he takes the soap from your hand, washing you instead. his touch is rougher than necessary, his jaw tight. he's testing you, seeing if you'll let him take over completely.

nam-gyu has his moments—brief moments—where he lets his guard slip just for a little bit. if you turn around and gently wash his back, he stiffens, like he doesn't know how to react. but he won't stop you. he won't say anything, but the way he stands still, the way his breath comes a little slower, tells you more than words ever could.

after you guys get out of the shower, he dries off quickly, efficiently even—wrapping the towel around his waist, avoiding eye contact, acting like nothing just happened. but if you grab a towel and start drying his hair for him? he grumbles at first, tries to shove you away, but if you're patient, he stops resisting. he won't admit it, but the warmth of your touch, the way you're taking care of him, gets to him.

Sex with Nam-gyu in the shower isn't romantic. it's raw, messy, and filled with frustration he won't ever admit. he doesn't do slow, drawn-out foreplay—his hands are rough, gripping you with a possessiveness that makes it clear this isn't about pleasure. it's about control.

you barely have time to register the heat of the water before he's pinning you to the cold tiles, his body pressing against yours, trapping you between the slick surface and his overwhelming presence. "you knew what you were doing when you pulled me in here," he mutters, his breath hot against your ear. his tone is sharp, but beneath it, there's something hungrier, something dangerous.

he doesn't give you room to breathe. his hands roam your body like he owns it, dragging down your hips, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin as he pulls you closer. the cool metal of his rings bites against your heated skin, adding an extra sharpness to every touch, every possessive grip. there's nothing slow or teasing about the way he takes you—it's intense, unrelenting, a mix of frustration and something far more desperate he'd never admit.

the shower's heat made everything slicker, your skin was burning under his touch, water running down both of you in rivulets. his lips are at your neck, biting, sucking, marking—because he wants you to remember this, to feel it longer after you step out of the shower. his hands grip your waist, tilting you just the way he wants, and when he finally thrusts into you, it's without hesitation, without restraint. you cry out from the abrupt intrusion. he grits his teeth, eyes dark with something almost feral, his grip bruising.

he's relentless, every thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you still. the rings on his fingers leave ghostly impressions on your wet skin, a reminder of how firmly he holds you, how thoroughly he's claiming you.

"look at you," he growls, voice thick with amusement and something darker. "already falling apart on me?" but there's something in his expression—something deeper than just the pleasure itself. it's possession. you're his, and he's making damn sure you know it. if you look away, he doesn't hesitate to grab your jaw and lock eyes. "don't look away, look at me while i ruin you, yeah?"

even when he finishes, he doesn't pull away immediately. his arms tighten around you, his chest rising and falling heavily, forehead resting against yours for just a moment—just enough to make your heart stutter. then, as if realizing what he's done, he pulls back, his hands sliding away almost reluctantly. "get cleaned up before the water gets cold." he sounds almost as if he doesn't care, but the way he lingers for a second too long tells you everything you need to know.

Showering with Thanos/Choi Su-Bong...thanos doesn't need to be asked twice. he's casual about it like it's the most natural thing in the world. he'll lean in the doorway, shirt already half-unbuttoned or taken off completely, watching you with that cocky, knowing smile. "water's already running. you coming or what?"

he's not rough like nam-gyu—he's intrusive and deliberate. he gets too close, under the pretense of helping. fingers brushing over your collarbone as he lathers soap onto your skin, lips ghosting your temple as he murmurs something about how good the water feels (and the view too). everything he does is slow, controlled, and meant to sink into you.

he's watching your every reaction, noting every small shift in your breathing, every flicker in your gaze. "you're tense," he'll say, dragging his hands down your arms. but the way he smirks? he likes that tension—like how he can pull at it, stretch it, toy with it practically.

he'll wash your hair too gently, his fingers massaging your scalp, whispering something about how you're so trusting. but there's always something unreadable in his voice. like he's seeing how far he can push, how much you'll let him get away with. "what if i just held you under for a second?" it's a joke—probably. but you feel the way his fingers tighten, just for a moment, before he lets go.

after you guys get out of the shower though, he actually takes his time drying off, watching you as he runs the towel over his arms, down his torso. there's always something suggestive in the way he moves, in the way he watches you. and if you're still standing there, a little shaken from the whole experience? he'll just chuckle, and tease you about it before tossing the towel over his shoulder and leaving you with a lingering, too-knowing smirk.

Sex with Thanos in the shower is an entirely different experience. where nam-gyu is rough, desperate, needing to assert control, thanos takes his time. or at least, he tries to. but patience? that's not really his strong suit.

the second you step under the water, he's already behind you, hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against him like he's been starving for this. "think i can wait?" he mutters, his voice low, breath warm against your ear. "not a chance, sweetheart."

he's not gentle—he acts like he'll take his sweet time, but the second he feels your skin slick under his fingers, the temptation is too much. his hands roam over you, pressing soap into your skin, but his grip is firm, his fingers pressing into your thighs, your waist, your chest, everywhere at once.

"you're all wet for me already," he muses, his lips grazing your shoulder before he bites down just enough to make you shudder. his hand slides lower, between your legs, fingers teasing, rubbing slow circles—but only for a moment. because teasing? it's only fun for so long before he needs more.

when he finally thrusts into you, his grip tightens, one hand wrapping around your throat, the other pinning you against the glass wall of the shower. his pace is ruthless and deep, his voice a low growl against your ear. "you feel that?" he murmurs into your ear between rough thrusts. "taking me so well."

unlike nam-gyu, thanos doesn't pace himself—he loses himself in it, breathing hard, groaning your name as he ruins you under the scalding water. his impatience bleeds into every movement, his fingers digging into your skin, pulling you back against him with every sharp roll of his hips.

when he finally finishes, he doesn't even pretend to pull away. he keeps you pressed against him, breathless and spent, his lips dragging along your damp skin as he smirks. "told you i couldn't wait."

Showering with both Nam-gyu and Thanos/Choi Su-Bong? you seriously think showering with one of them was chaotic? try both. you're barely even in the water before they start their usual back-and-forth. "move over, dumbass, you're hogging all the water with how wide you are."—"this is all muscle! besides, maybe if you weren't so short, you wouldn't have to fight for it." meanwhile, you are just standing there, already regretting your life choices.

despite the bickering occasionally, they somehow effortlessly work together when it comes to messing with you. nam-gyu grabs the soap, rubbing it into your skin with just enough force to make it clear that his presence is still strongly there, while thanos watches with an infuriatingly smug expression. then, just as you're adjusting to nam-gyu's rougher touch, thanos steps in behind you, running his hands over the lathered skin nam-gyu worked over, softer but too slow, his voice dropping into something mockingly gentle. "is nam-su being too rough? let me fix that." "it's nam-gyu."

being in the shower with both of them means that the teasing will never stop. if you flinch when the water turns too hot, thanos hums, "sensitive, aren't they?" nam-gyu scoffs, "they're just weak." if you get flustered from the way they're both touching you, thanos leans in, lips ghosting your temple, "look at them, bro. they don't know what to do with themselves." nam-gyu only presents a shit-eating grin on his face, "pathetic. perhaps, we can fix that, hmmm?" and you? poor you was trying so hard not to combust in between the two males.

thanos pretends to be the more helpful one, offering to shampoo your hair like he's doing you a favor, but it's all a setup. he takes way too long, his fingers massaging your scalp in slow, circular motions, his breath warm against your neck. nam-gyu watches with narrowed eyes before stepping in and dumping way too much water over your head to rinse it out, "took too long," he mutters, but you know he did it on purpose.

the moment the shower is over, nam-gyu is out first, muttering under his breath about some things that happened during the shower. thanos, on the other hand, surprisingly, takes his time drying off with a smug expression as he watches you. he's obvious that he's clearly amused by how rattled you look. he leans in before leaving, whispering, "you should've known better than to get in with both of us."

you wanna know the worst part? they both act like nothing happened afterward—except for the occasional smirk from thanos and the side-eye from nam-gyu when you avoid looking at them. and if you get even slightly flustered thinking about it later? oh, they notice.

Having sex with both of them in the shower at once? like I've mentioned before, it was a mistake. a trap. you never stood a chance.

nam-gyu gets to you first, gripping your waist, and pulling you back against his chest. "you should've known better," he mutters, his breath hot against your ear. "letting both of us in here?" his tone is sharp, laced with amusement, but his grip is firm.

thanos, standing in front of you, just smirks. his tilts your chin up, eyes gleaming with amusement. "i think they wanted this..look how eager they are." his fingers trail down your slick skin, teasing, ghosting lower but not quite touching where you need him to.

you barely have time to react before nam-gyu decides he's had enough of thanos's games. his hands tighten on your hips, tilting you exactly the way he wants, and he doesn't hesitate when he finally thrusts into you—rough, deep, making you gasp.

thanos is only amused by the little sounds you make, watching the way your body jolts. he steps closer, tilting your head back, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, "let's see if you can handle both of us."

and from there, it's over for you.

one of them is relentless, unforgiving in his pace, making sure you feel every inch of him. the other is just as impatient, just desperate, and you're caught between them, drowning in the intensity of it all.

by the time they're done with you, the water is cold, your legs are shaking, and both of them look way too pleased with themselves.

and worst of all? they aren't going to let you live it down.

[sosasturns]

bad ideas & good distractions - c. sturniolo

fic, part one of bed chem… next door neighbor!chris x beauty influencer!reader

the first time you notice the moving boxes in the hallway, you don’t think much of it.

it’s a nice apartment building, and people come and go all the time. besides, you’re too busy editing a new video to care about whoever’s moving in.

then, later that night, it starts.

the music.

so loud it rattles your walls, pulsing through your head as you stare at your laptop screen. you try to ignore it, try to focus, but the bass is relentless.

eventually, you sigh, shut your laptop, and crawl into bed, hoping it stops soon.

it doesn’t.

this continues for the next few nights—loud ass music, doors slamming, voices in the hallway. annoying as hell, but not enough to make you confront your new neighbor.

until one night, around 1 a.m., when it’s actually a full-blown party.

laughter, shouting, people stumbling up and down the hall like they pay rent here.

you lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, seething.

what the hell is his problem?

but instead of doing anything about it, you toss and turn, forcing yourself to sleep.

the next morning, you’re filming a get ready with me for an upcoming event, sitting at your vanity, blending concealer under your eyes.

“i did not sleep last night,” you say, “my new neighbor—who, by the way, i have not met yet—thinks my apartment complex is a frat house, apparently.”

you shake your head, dabbing in more product. “anyway, i’m going to this event later, so let’s fix my face and act like i’m not sleep deprived as hell.”

you post the video and go about your day, shoving the whole situation to the back of your mind.

but that night, when the music starts up again, you’re done.

at first, you try to ignore it, sipping on a glass of white wine as you edit a brand deal video, but then there’s moaning. loud, exaggerated, fake as hell.

you slam your laptop shut.

this motherfucker has lost his mind.

you storm into the hall, crossing your arms as you knock on his door, loud as hell.

the music doesn’t stop, but the door swings open a moment later.

and that’s the first time you see him.

low sweats. shirtless. hair slightly messy.

he leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you—your heartless hair curlers. pink pajama set. silk robe. fluffy slippers. the sleep-deprived glare on your face.

you looked like you just woke up from a slumber on twenty mattresses and still felt the damn pea.

then he smirks. “cute pajamas.”

you shift your weight onto your hip, unamused. “most people on this floor are in bed sleeping right now.”

his smirk deepens. “clearly, i’m not most.”

your eye twitches. “turn the music down. and the fake ass moaning, too.”

he chuckles.

you wait. “so?”

he shrugs, barely moving. “i’ll think about it.”

oh, you hate him.

“whatever.” you spin on your heel, stomping back to your apartment and slamming the door behind you.

the next morning, your head is pounding, but you push through and meet your girls for brunch.

“babe,” one of them says, stirring her mimosa. “you look rough.”

you sigh, stabbing your eggs. “my new neighbor is a fucking menace.”

they lean in. “spill.”

so you do.

you tell them about the loud music, the party, the smug ass smirk.

they listen, nodding along, sharing their own bad neighbor horror stories.

but one of them grins. “he’s hot, though, right?”

you hesitate. “that’s not the point.”

“but he is, isn’t he?”

you purse your lips, sipping your mimosa. “whatever.”

they laugh. “oh, you so think he’s hot.”

you don’t answer.

but you don’t deny it, either.

a few days pass, and you avoid him.

not hard to do.

but the thought of him lingers, especially late at night, especially when you’re in bed, mind wandering.

he’s just a guy.

just your annoying ass neighbor.

but you can’t stop thinking about his voice, his smirk, the way he leaned in the doorway—

get it together.

except you can’t.

and eventually, you come to terms with it.

it could just be a singular fuck. nothing more.

just something to scratch the itch.

so, one night, against your better judgment, you grab your keys, take a breath, and step out into the hall.

heading straight for his door.

@ sosasturns

part two 02.14

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[marauder-misprint]

if you’re up for more angst, what about remus seriously injuring the reader while in a werewolf form! (sorry but im a sucker for angst 😝 especially remus, since the tragedy of his character is often played off [esp. his ‘werewolfness’] and i love the way you write him, hard to find good potrayed moony fics 😭)

Angst! Angst! Angst! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy this Moony Angst

The attack

Remus Lupin x reader

4.3k words

cw: angst, werewolf attack, angst, no happy ending

If you weren’t so close with the Marauders, you probably would’ve never noticed. Those nights where the four of them stayed in the common room until late and they were the only ones still up, as even you had to go to bed. Or the nights where they all seemed to turn in extra early yet were exhausted in the morning. Those mornings when they looked far worse for wear and failed to give a reasonable explanation. 

You knew they went somewhere. You had an epiphany late one night on something for a prank and instead of just writing it down, you jumped out of bed and ran to the boys’ dormitory. It was at least 1 a.m. and all of their beds were empty. It didn’t look like they had been slept in. The room was just deserted. 

If you weren’t so close with the Marauders, you probably wouldn’t have cared. But you were so you did. You asked them about it. They avoided each question more carefully than the last. As determined as you were to get answers, they seemed more so to hide whatever they were doing. 

Eventually, you dropped the topic, but your curiosity never waned. You started to randomly check their dorm. Creepy and weird? Yes and you knew it. But they were hiding something and you would be damned if you didn’t figure it out. 

You didn’t have information yet to see if there was a pattern. You just got lucky one night. You were sitting in the common room alone, tucked into a corner with a book and a cozy blanket. You honestly had half a mind to just sleep where you sat. But then there was movement on the other side of the room. 

Remus was leaving the common room and it was well after curfew. It was also past report time for any prefect duties. Where was he going and why? You pondered it for a moment and then heard the shuffling of feet. There was no one there. You thought you were going crazy. The sound was definitely where.

“Shit,” a voice hissed and you saw a flash of shoes nearing the portrait hole. 

You’d recognize those combat boots anywhere: Sirius. You suddenly remember hearing James say offhandedly that he has a cloak of invisibility. You had thought he was joking but maybe not? With the opening and closing of the portrait, you sprang up, ditched your book and blanket and grabbed your cloak which was draped over a chair near you. You had to follow them… somehow. 

Outside of the common room, you stand silently, trying to hear footsteps over the Fat Lady’s chastising. The faintest of sounds came from a nearby staircase and you followed it. You trailed the sound while trying to stay far enough away to not be caught. It was a difficult task being that you couldn’t see exactly where they were. Then you heard voices around the corner. 

Remus and Madam Pomfrey. 

Hushed voices but still recognizable. Even better for you, they didn’t have a cloak so you could see where they were going. You watched them head for a door so you moved to look out the closest window. They approached the Whomping Willow and Pomfrey cast a freezing spell on it. Curious. You turned away from the window for a second to gather your thoughts. Why on earth would they be interacting with the Whomping Willow at night? When you looked back, Remus was gone and Pomfrey was heading back to the castle. You stayed hidden until she was back inside and passed you. 

You’ve mostly forgotten about the other boys and the fact that they might still be in the vicinity. There weren’t any footsteps to remind you of their presence. It took you a second to work up the courage to go outside. You froze the tree like Pomfrey had done. You took slow steps forward, not knowing what to expect. Then you spotted the hole in the ground at the base of the tree. Curious. You inspected it briefly before sliding down into it. 

Darkness surrounded you. You were tempted to cast Lumos so you could see where you landed, but then you remembered that you’re following Remus and you want to stay hidden. There were echoes of something down the passage, but you took it slowly. You felt the wall as you walked and tried not to make any noise yourself. When you reached the end of the passage, you found yourself in a broken, beaten house. Horrid noises came from the upper floor. And then you saw it. A large wolf. Even worse, it saw you. 

It didn’t waste any time jumping down on top of you. You screamed. It’s all you could do. First in fear, then in pain. Claws raked down your body. Sharp, white hot pain engulfed your entire being. 

The last things you saw before passing out were a large black dog and a stag bearing down on the wolf, forcing it to back away from you. 

---

You woke up in the infirmary. At least that’s what you figured based off of the smell and the brightness around you. You couldn’t move because your whole body felt numb. 

“Poppy! She’s awake!” Professor McGonagall called from the side of your bed. 

You heard footsteps rushing toward you.

“You are not to move, Miss. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re alive,” Madam Pomfrey’s stern voice said. “I’ve applied a numbing potion so you shouldn’t be able to feel most of your body for a while. Blink once if you understand.” You blinked. “Blink again if you’re in pain.” You didn’t blink. 

You had never felt more confused and scared in your life. Somehow, being there and unable to move was more frightening than the wolf attacking you. Merlin, why was there a bloodthirsty wolf so close to the grounds? What was it doing in a house with a dog and a deer? You had so many questions.

“Minerva,” Pomfrey said curtly before the sound of footsteps told you she left. 

Your firm teacher spoke with uncertainty, the first time you’ve ever heard her do so. “You were attacked… by a werewolf. I’m not going to ask why you were out of bed and where you were. I’m not going to take away points or assign detention, although, believe me, I’d be well within my right to do so. The… the damage from the attack is quite extensive. Like Poppy said, it’s a miracle you survived. And that you weren’t bitten.” She took a shaky breath. “Werewolf scratches scar deeply. And it is a lot.”

You had one thing going on in your mind now: What the fuck?

---

The next few days passed by in a blur. You were in and out of consciousness with varying ability to talk, see and move. Madam Pomfrey was reapplying numbing potions and giving you potions to lessen the pain. You cried when you were finally able to see the damage. You had deep scarring on your left arm, across your face and chest and down both your legs; there was minor scarring on your right arm. Your back seemed to be the only part of you untouched by the werewolf you encountered. 

Pomfrey told you that you had people asking to visit you, but you weren’t ready to face anyone yet. You weren’t ready for anyone to see you like this. 

“She’s not taking visitors. If she changes her mind, I’ll send someone to get you,” you could hear her tell someone at the doors to the infirmary. 

There were overlapping voices that protested. You couldn’t place the voices, nor could you see who it was due to the curtains that you kept drawn around your bed. 

“Go to class, the four of you. I promise, when she’s ready, you’ll be one of the first to know.”

The door closed with slam and Pomfrey muttered to herself as she returned to her office. The only people you had seen were her, McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore asked you what you remembered of the attack. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want to admit that you followed Remus from the castle and into the tunnel. You didn’t want to tell him about the stag and dog who saved you. So you told him nothing. As far as anyone was concerned, you remembered nothing of your attack or how you ended up outside the castle. 

A few days later, you told Madam Pomfrey that you would take visitors if they came. Then you asked how long you’d have to stay in the infirmary and she told you until the next full moon, just to guarantee that you were safe. You sighed and nodded. All you could think about was the assignments you were falling behind on. 

As soon as lessons were over, James, Peter and Sirius were pounding on the infirmary door. Pomfrey let them in but stopped them right away.

“I assume you boys heard what happened?” she asked in a hushed voice, but you heard her anyway.

You didn’t hear an answer from the boys.

“Then, well, you know what to expect,” she continued.

It felt like a punch to the gut. She was telling them to brace themselves for what you looked like now. It also meant that they knew you were attacked by a werewolf and it likely wasn’t a secret throughout the castle. You tried to stop the tears that pricked at your eyes. 

It certainly didn’t help that they gasped when they pulled back the curtains. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your friends. You were hugging your knees to your chest. You know you told Pomfrey you were ready to see people, but having your closest friends see you like this? Nothing could prepare you for it. They stepped into the curtained area, standing at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” James asked, his voice soft. 

“Like I’m falling behind in my assignments,” you replied snarkily. 

Sirius laughed and clapped you on the shoulder. “So delusional as always!”

He’s the first one you were able to look at. You needed him to see you roll your eyes at how ridiculous he was. But, really, you’re grateful for his comment and his laughter. It’s the first time you’ve been treated as normal in a week. 

“So when are you allowed to leave?” James asked. This time he sounded less like he was talking to a sick child. 

“Two weeks. Assuming the full moon goes well.”

The three boys exchanged concerned looks. The air was suddenly tense between you. Peter closed the curtain.

Then he asked, “What do you remember from the last one?”

They weren’t Dumbledore or McGonagall. These were your best friends. You could tell them the truth. 

“More than I told Dumbledore…” you muttered, looking away from them. You took a breath before quietly recounting the night. “It started with thinking I was following you three. I had already seen Remus leave the common room and I figured you three were under James’ cloak.”

“Oh, you know about that…” James said.

“You mentioned it once years ago. I thought you were kidding, but ah, clearly not. Anyways, I saw Pomfrey and Remus go outside and right up to the Whomping Willow. I investigated, found a passage and next thing I know, I’m being attacked by a werewolf.”

“And that’s it?” Peter asked cautiously. 

You sighed. “It’s going to sound so silly, but I swear I saw a dog and a deer protect me before I passed out. That was probably the pain…” 

You looked from boy to boy. Their visible concern was almost too much for you.

“Where is Remus?”

“He, uh, couldn’t come by right away. I’m sure he’ll come when he has time,” Sirius said. 

You frowned but nodded. Then you had an idea.

“Would you get my assignments from the professors and help me catch up? I really don’t want to be a month behind when I get out of here.”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything for you, love,” James said as he ran a hand through his hair. 

Then Pomfrey yanked the curtains open and chastised the boys for closing them in the first place. She made them leave and you were alone again. You hated being alone.

Over the next two weeks, you had more visitors. Mostly Gryffindors and the random other students who heard there had been a werewolf attack and wanted to see the result. James, Sirius and Peter took turns bringing you your assignments and helping you catch up. Each of their visits was prefaced with ‘The professors don’t want you to push yourself and said they will give you as much time as you need to catch up’ and you would always tell them that you were bored out of your mind waiting to be released. 

Being bored, however, wasn’t the worst of your issues. Neither was trying to stop flinching every time you saw your reflection. No, it was the fact that Remus had yet to visit you. You asked about him every time the rest of the Marauders stopped by; they always had an excuse ready and claimed he’d be by soon. But he never came. It broke your heart. 

You didn’t think it was any secret that you had a favorite out of the four of them. You adored Remus. He was an underestimated presence, commanding power and attention when he needed to. You could almost call him a shadow god: overlooked yet able wreck havoc. And beyond all of that was his love for books and knowledge. His love for his friends. His loyalty. His devotion to his passions. 

Your favorite person hadn’t been to see you in the four weeks you were in the infirmary. You were furious. You were devastated. You were done. 

The morning after the full moon, when you woke up, you heard him talking with Madam Pomfrey. You didn’t want to talk to him anymore. You didn’t want to see him. You wanted him to visit during the past two weeks and he doesn’t show up until you’re to be released? Pissed off didn’t begin to cover how you felt. 

You opened your curtains and asked firmly, “Madam Pomfrey, I’m feeling quite myself. Can I be discharged?” 

Then you saw him. Shirtless on a bed a few over from yours as Pomfrey applied long bandages to his chest and shoulder. The two of you locked eyes. Your eyes burned with fury while his welled with concern and guilt. You wanted to snap at him but clenched your jaw instead. 

“Oh, yes, dear. I was just waiting for you to wake up,” Pomfrey said. “If you’d like to wait a moment, I’m just finishing up with Mr. Lupin.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” you said shortly before leaving both of them baffled at your refusal to wait. 

You had no desire to be in the vicinity of ‘Mr. Lupin’ at the moment. He wasn’t even there to visit you. He was there for himself. He had gone and gotten himself banged up on his own. 

---

You avoided Remus. You put as much distance between you and him as you can. If he was around and you couldn't get away, you gave him a cold shoulder. You remained on good terms with Peter, James and Sirius, but it was difficult to spend time with them without Remus also around. 

So you found solace in your female friends. You knew they were concerned about the space you were putting between yourself and the Marauders; it was just so out of character for you. They wondered if it was a result of your attack, if the boys had somehow been involved in it, although they never raised these concerns when you were around. They just made sure that you were never alone unless you asked to be. 

“What happened between you and the Marauders?” Dorcas asked during study hall some time after your attack. 

The Gryffindor girls gave her a wide-eyed stare before turning to look at you semi-nervously. Apparently, they had forgotten to fill in Marlene’s girlfriend on the taboo question. 

“Nothing,” you said nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from your work.

“Bullshit. You haven’t talked to them in over a week and even I’ve noticed,” she said pointedly. 

“I’ll talk to Sirius, James, Peter. Not my fault they don’t separate from the damn traitor.” 

Lily snorted, in laughter or suprise, she wasn’t sure. “The traitor? Do you mean Remus?”

You glared at her. “Yes.”

“The one who’s been staring at you in practically every class since you were released?”

“He’s probably just surprised at how I look now. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s different,” you said coldly. 

“Maybe. Or he wants to talk to you,” Mary suggested. 

Now it was your turn to snort in disbelief with a shake of your head. 

“He does,” Lily confirmed. “He’s, you know, scared you won’t listen to him. Which I think is a valid conclusion being that you-”

“He better be scared,” you cut her off. “If he tries to speak to me, I’m hexing the bastard into next year. Pass that on, will you?”

At that, the girls dropped the topic. Dorcas got the message that you weren't to be asked about the Marauders any more. Lily passed on your message to an upset Remus during prefect duties. How was he supposed to fix things with you if you wouldn’t give him a moment of your time? 

“There’s no way she doesn’t know that I’m the one who did that to her. She told Lily that she’d hex me into next year if I try to talk to her. I’m fucked. I’m so utterly fucked… I’ve lost her,” Remus moaned one evening in the boys’ dorm. 

Remus hated how you wouldn’t look at him. He hated how you avoided him with so much determination that you barely had a friendship with the rest of the Marauders anymore. He knew he couldn’t blame you for avoiding him; he was a monster and had attacked you. He still wanted to apologize to you, to explain that he has no control over what he does when he’s in wolf form. It was the least he could do, but you wouldn’t let him. 

A small part of him wanted to blame you for being in the Shrieking Shack. That maybe he would place some of the blame on you. But he didn’t know what you were doing there. Maybe you had a perfectly valid reason for being there that he didn’t know about. Maybe there was more to the story, the one-sided story that he couldn’t get the other side to because you wouldn’t even look at him.

“Moony, mate, I don’t think she knows you’re the werewolf. She know we were out of the tower too,” Sirius said.

“Out of us, who looks the most like a possible werewolf?” Remus snapped. He knew he was right on that point. He was covered in scars and often sickly. 

“Okay, but she was asking for you every time we delivered homework. Why would she be asking for you if she didn’t want to talk to you?” James added. 

“Then what happened? Why is she avoiding me?”

“Because you didn’t visit her in the infirmary?” Peter offered lazily.

“I was there when she was discharged!” 

“Hmm, not the same. Wasn’t a visit and you know it,” Peter concluded.

“I’m fucked,” Remus repeated. 

Remus was growing desperate. He missed you. He missed having you around, your comments and warm presence. Even if you couldn’t stand him anymore, if you feared him, he didn’t want to be the reason you stopped being friends with James, Sirius and Peter. He needed to talk to you so he could apologize and tell you that if you wanted him to, he would distance himself from the boys so you could have your friends back. 

So he turned to the only person he thought could actually help him right now: Lily. He begged her to help him. He knew he looked and sounded pathetic, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He just needed a moment of your talk so you could talk. Or at least listen with sending him into the infirmary for a year, like you had threatened. She agreed to help, although she advised him to be cautious. 

Lily’s part was simple enough. She had to get you alone at a back table in the library, and then when Remus approached the table, she would tell you to just listen to him, hear him out, and then you would never have to speak to him again if you didn’t want to. 

When this transpired, you glared at the two of them. You were slightly upset with Lily’s backing of Remus. You knew that she had no reason to be upset with Remus and you never voiced why you were upset. But still, she knew you didn’t want to talk to him. 

“Please,” Remus said, voice pleading. “I just need a few minutes of your time. I’ll leave you alone forever after. Please.” 

“Fine,” you groaned.

Lily gave you a smile and hug before leaving to give you privacy. Remus took a seat across the table from you. You didn’t say anything more. You waited for him to say something. 

“I understand if you're scared of me. If you don’t want to be friends anymore. If you’re furious at me. I’m sorry,” he started to say. “But don’t take it out on Peter, James and Sirius. Stay friends with them. I’ll distance myself from them so you still have your friends. Please, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Why would I be scared of you?” you snapped. 

“Because… because you know my secret?” Was there a chance that Sirius was right?

You bunched your eyebrows together. “Your secret? That you leave the castle at night?”

“Oh. Um. Well, shit…” he muttered, looking down at his lap. Sirius was right. You didn’t know. He took a deep breath. “Then I have something to tell you.”

He waited for you to say something, but you held your tongue. All you could do was stare at him. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual. So, he hadn’t been sleeping well. 

“I’m… I’m a werewolf,” he said quietly, completely unable to look at you. “The werewolf.” 

You took a sharp breath. That… that explained a lot.

“That’s… that’s… That’s why you didn’t visit me?” you said after a few minutes of intense silence. 

Remus nodded. He finally raised his gaze to meet yours. He was shocked to see your expression as something soft, rather than something of anger or fear as he had expected. 

You remembered all of the lessons you had on werewolves in the past. How they had no control over what they did in wolf form. How excruciatingly painful the transformations were. The wolf was blood thirsty and brutal. Remus, however, wasn’t brutal. He wasn’t a beast. He was… your friend. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, squeezing your eyes shut. Then, with your voice barely audible, “I thought you didn’t like me anymore… I just wanted you to visit me…”

“I thought you knew. I thought you hated me, wouldn’t want to see me.”

“I was asking for you!” you exclaimed, your voice louder and more firm. “I wanted to see my best friend!”

“But I’m a monster. I… I ruined you…”

You crossed your arms over your chest in sudden anger. “I am not ruined, Lupin. Scarred, yes. But not ruined.” 

Remus’ hands were shaking uncontrollably in his lap. His heart was pounding. 

“That’s not what I meant!” he said quickly.

“It’s what you said.”

“Please, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I miss you so much. I didn’t intend to hurt you. You know I would never hurt you if I was in control.”

“Were you in control when you didn’t visit me in the infirmary?” 

He swallowed thickly. “I was.”

“And that hurt me, Lupin.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. If I could go back and change it, I would.” 

You clenched your jaw. You knew it was killing him. It was evident in his voice, in his face, in his posture. You made it blatantly clear that you didn’t blame him for the attack, for the permanent damage to how you looked. You did, however, blame him for not visiting you when you needed him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I forgive you for being an ass? No. I can’t. Because I don’t forgive you.” 

“Can you give me a second chance? I’ll do anything. Anything. Anything to make it up to you.” He was begging at this point. 

“No. Not now. We aren’t friends, Lupin. Not because,” you let your voice drop to whisper, “you attacked me. I know that wasn’t you, per se.” Your voice returned to its previous volume as it dripped with hurt. “We aren’t friends because all of my friends visited me in the infirmary.”

“Please,” Remus said, his voice quiet with desperation. 

“No. I can’t forgive you. I can’t give you a second chance right off the bat. I have no reason to. Just… Just leave me alone.”

Remus nodded and stood up. He waited for a moment to see if you had anything more to say. When you didn’t say anything, he left. By the time he passed where Lily had moved to, tears were streaming down his face. You weren’t crying, but you did feel empty. Officially ending your friendship with Remus had taken more out of you than you expected.

[visenyaism]

I had a friend (grad student teaching college courses) tell me he had to teach his freshmen students how to use comments, write paragraphs, and understand simile and metaphor.

Is it really that bad in K-12 right now?

I never ever want to be one of those people that gets online and posts the struggles of the people in my care at my job for content, especially if they’re having a lot of difficulty. I teach who’s in front of me at the level that I can meet them at. If I were to speak on it at all, I would say it’s really dependent on where you are and also how old your students were during lockdown. 

I have had to do a lot more direct instruction recently for literacy skills and mechanics of writing (even though that’s not my job) like paragraph structure, how to avoid basic spelling and grammar mistakes, how to paraphrase and why we want to put stuff in our own words, and how to make an argument. Everyone has performed better once I have explained in detail what I want them to do and why and then walked them through a few practice rounds instead of just expecting that they already know how to do it and then catastrophizing.