#the questions are not color-coded in any way i just needed something to break up the otherwise gigantic wall of singular-colored text lmao

[cinnasalmon]

→ Zevlor SFW Alphabet

Various SFW relationship (mostly romantic, but some platonic too) headcanons, one letter at a time! Very long. Sorry not sorry. I have a lot of thoughts

NSFW Alphabet here !

→ A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Doting to the mf MAXIMUM. It's almost sickening. He's not super into PDA, but he will always have a hand on the small of his partner's back and be the first to open doors so he can hold it open for them. This has a risk of other couples in public to start arguing because “how come you're not like that with me?” 

For real though he is so affectionate, and it's always the little things, too. Like if he's on his way back from the temple and a food cart is offering a free sample of something, he asks for another to bring to his sweetheart.

→ B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Mom/Dad/Parent friend. Overly responsible, always offering to help, and it's one thing when someone comes at him sideways—he can take the heat (begrudgingly)—but it's an entirely different thing when it's one of his buds. He has an extremely small friend circle, and he considers them family.

Friendship progression is slow and really only happens if he sees them regularly: a regular at the temple or they work together there, they're his neighbors, etc. He's got trust issues out the wazoo, though (thanks Avernus/Elturel). So be very, very patient. 

→ C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

YES goodness gracious yes. He loves cuddling, or any kind of physical touch. Big spoon, little spoon, it does not matter to him so long as he's in physical contact with his partner. 

Though, he prefers as much of his body flushed against theirs (the more skin-on-skin contact, the better); we're talking arms holding each other, legs tangled, heads buried in the other's, etc. If his partner is also a tiefling, their tails will be intertwined as much as possible. If his partner is a non-tiefling, his tail will be coiled around one of their legs.

→ D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He's been wanting to settle down for decades. But, a Hellrider is for life. His career was always to be his priority: even if he had a family at home, even if his own life was in danger. 

But the moment he can finally settle down, soldiering days behind him, you can bet he'll be pitching in happily to the household chores. He may not be the greatest cook, but he'll tease he can chop the hell out of a vegetable.

→ E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh this is a nightmare scenario for him. He'll exhaust every possible option of salvaging the relationship before resorting to this. Once he commits to his partner, he doesn't let go easily. But if it comes down to it, he'll plan it out and whip out the ‘ol “We need to talk.” 

From being a commander in the past, he's not afraid of confrontation, but he'll still be gritting his teeth as he bites the bullet to end it. 

→ F = Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As stated above, once he commits to his partner, he's locked in; he dates with marriage as the end goal. Whether he's been married before or not, at his age now, this is it. So, he'll take his time before deciding to pop the question. Buuut he doesn't wait forever, though. He's a classic romantic, so no games or leading someone on. If his partner reciprocates with the same enthusiasm? Well he'll be down on one knee in no time.

→ G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Paladins who swear to an oath of devotion follow a set of tenants, one of these is to aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who prey upon them (labeled under Compassion). A sturdy and strong hand to slay enemies should also be capable of being soothing and with great care to those the paladin is sworn to defend. Zevlor is no exception to this. Even if his oath is broken, it's still in his nature to be like this.

As far as emotions? Much as he may try to appear stoic and calm, he wears his emotion on his face. And despite having the flames of Hell sat on onyx for eyeballs, they show a lot. I personally love the headcanon that the flames will brighten or dim depending on his emotions and I will stand by that proudly.

→ H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As stated before, physical touch is something this man wants at nearly all times. So it's no surprise he gives great hugs. They're so gentle and calming, and even if the person he's hugging is taller or bigger than him, they'll feel enveloped by his touch. And being a tiefling, his body temperature runs higher, so his hugs are nice and toasty. 

He'll embrace his partner often, and he particularly loves hugs from behind (both giving and receiving). People hug from the front all the time, so coming up from the rear is quite a bit more intimate. He craves closeness in every sense of the word.

→ I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He'll want to say it much sooner than he finally does. This is sooo cheesy, but he'll be staring at the side or back of his partner, feeling that wave of nerves, butterflies in his stomach, and the swells in his chest, but those short little words are caught at the top of his throat. His partner will notice him and curiously ask, “What are you looking at?” and he will say, “Sorry, I… was drifting in thought,” until one day his partner will once again curiously ask with an accompanied chuckle, “What are you looking at?” to which he will blurt out “I love you.” 

→ J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

This man will  n e v e r  admit he's jealous. But boy does it show. His words are short, blunt. He won't look his partner in the eye. They'll have to coax it out of him. Simply asking “Wait, are you jealous?” will not work. In fact, it will likely send him further into painfully obvious denial.

Since his oath and faith were broken and lost, his ego is um… quite fragile, moreso when it comes to things in his life he believes he doesn't deserve. Like his partner. Especially his partner. 

→ K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are so sweet your blood sugar levels will skyrocket. 

So, so gentle and loving. He can certainly be rough when the time calls for it, but overall he's slow and even methodical a bit; he kisses like each one could be his last.

In public, he'll give a peck here and there, but at home? Showers his partner in kisses. Everywhere. It's one of the easiest and simplest ways to show how much he truly adores them.

He doesn't really have a preference where he likes to be kissed, but he blushes a bit and feels soft and mushy when it's anywhere on his face (especially cheeks, temples, and forehead) or any of his infernal features on his body. If his partner kisses the back of his hand, he'll freeze for a moment, then the bashfulness comes out.

→ L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids! I'd like to think that if asked what he would be if not a Hellrider, he would answer a schoolteacher (shout out to Early Access). He sees children as limitless potential with an insatiable curiosity; they are the future. And of course, he's always wanted children of his own, and perhaps a part of him still wants to try…!

→ M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Slow and easy. Decades of being a Hellrider waking up before dawn to report for duty? He is over it. Now he can finally take his time and savor the mornings.

If he's up before his partner and isn't helping out at the temple that day, he'll stick around and read a book until he hears them stirring awake. Once they're awake, it doesn't take much coaxing to get him back in bed. 

If both end up sleeping in, they're not leaving that bed for at least an hour after they wake up. Just cuddling and chatting, enjoying each other's company. Afterwards, they always make breakfast together.

→ N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Evenings are typically relaxing. After dinner, he'll read or write a bit (he loves his poetry), have a glass of wine or two with his partner, or any other similar winding-down type of activity. 

He has insomnia and frequent nightmares, and no matter how many nights his partner will be adamant to stay up with him, the warmth radiating from his body as well as the soothing baritones of his voice guarantee that will never happen.

→ O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He harbors a lot of secrets and stress within him. He's very wise, but oftentimes wisdom is formed from hardship. He's reluctant to share much aside from surface-level tidbits until the relationship matures and he feels safe and secure enough to let his guard down. Even then, he's definitely someone who will still reveal things about himself years into a relationship or friendship.

→ P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a temper for sure, especially if a soft spot was hit. That being said, he's also quick to calm himself. Being a leader—a leader in the military, at that—he cannot let himself get caught up in the heat of the moment; he has to catch himself before it gets to that point, even if his anger is justified (see: the confrontation with Aradin).

→ Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He's got a pretty good memory, but when it comes to his relationship? Almost nothing will need to be repeated to him. Hell, he'll write it down on scrap paper and tuck it in one of his journals if he has to. 

If his partner works at a busy place in the city, he'll remember every co-worker his partner complains or raves about. Our man stays on top of the work drama: “Had a long day, darling? Was it that Galawyn again?”

→ R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

I think Zevlor's favorite moments in a relationship would be the little moments. Hearing his partner's fits of laughter, how peaceful they look asleep next to him, the way their eyes light up when they see a poster that their favorite traveling bard will be performing in town soon. 

And of course, it goes without saying his all-time favorite moment would be the classics: the wedding day and/or the birth of their child!

→ S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

HAh this man is a guard dog. Even before they become a part of his oath, he's adamant to protect his person, his one and only. During the budding/honeymoon stage of the relationship this will be extremely obvious. Lots of, “Dear, please be careful with that,” or “Would you like me to accompany you?” As if they didn't personally kill the Chosen of the Dead Three along with a Netherbrain. 

But for Zevlor to be the protected one? On the outside, he'll insist he's fine and that he can hold his own just fine, he's a grown man, etc. And he is right. But on the inside, he'll be so relieved to be tended to. So relieved, in fact, that he actually feels a bit guilty (but that's a whole other can of worms).

→ T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Oh he'll remember. He keeps track. Never will need to be reminded of something. He's someone who has that uncanny ability to bring his partner a random gift and they'll respond “How did you know I wanted this?!” and the bastard will shrug and smirk. He knows. He just knows. 

→ U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His biggest one is he will easily and nearly automatically put himself down at every opportunity. Early in the relationship it's to the point he doesn't even realize he's doing it until it's pointed out. He's always had this mindset to a degree, but even still, he was a much different person in Elturel as a Commander vs. now. The trauma from Avernus combined with the aftermath of being blamed for it (and then subsequently exiled), as well as the events of the Shadow Lands, all did a number on his psyche.

I'm also not gonna lie—he can be a little codependent, especially if the relationship is new. It's easy to fall down that slippery slope when you want to serve others, especially loved ones. He may occasionally have to be reminded he can be “selfish” and accept the fact his partner can do things for him that he doesn't need to reciprocate!

→ V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not terribly concerned. Well, not terribly concerned unless his partner is young and/or considered attractive by others (though he will always believe they are the hottest in all the land), then he'll feel very self-conscious and in need of some validation and reassurance. 

He does like to maintain good hygiene and prefers to wear simple, clean, and comfortable clothes. 

→ W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He's a sappy romantic at his core, so once he finds his person, he will absolutely say they complete him.

While he had his comrades in the cavalry, all who were extremely close-knit and loyal to one another, they couldn't fill all his wants and needs. When they were able to take some leave, many of them had spouses and children waiting for them to come back home, and Zevlor had always lamented that.

→ X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We got a nail biter over here! I recently saw this front-view of an idle animation as he stood over the map of Elturgard, and while it very well could be a generic idle animation not specific to him, imo, the shoe fits perfectly I'm afraid. 

He holds his hand over his mouth somewhat nervously, and you could say he's just pondering but I don't care! He's biting his nails okay!!!

→ Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner: if they're non-committal. No guessing games, wishy-washy, flaky nonsense. However, he is willing to wait if they want to take it slow and work through some stuff (and he'll be happy to assist them in any way he can). He just doesn't want to be with someone who treats him as a backup or if he feels like they're just settling for him.

In general: I have 0 evidence for this but I think he doesn't like tight spaces. Claustrophobia, if you will. Perhaps it's a lack of an easy escape or is limited in his movements, but he haaaates it. Even being in a crowd makes him uneasy. 

→ Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

After canon events, he takes naps frequently. All that stress and his nervous system stuck in survival mode for the past several months will catch up to him, and to try and recover, he'll feel sleepy a lot. Known to begin to drift to sleep while embracing his partner, even while standing (he will deny this if confronted).

He also snores. Not loudly by any means, but it's a dead giveaway that he actually made it into a nice, deep sleep, as he's normally a light sleeper and has some gnarly insomnia sometimes. Almost always falls asleep after his partner and wakes up before them in the morning.

———

If you made it this far congrats! Also I encourage you to fill out this alphabet too, for Zevlor or whoever!

[maxislvt]

The Perfect Pair

Summary: What happened before Christmas was an accident. It should've been a one off thing that neither you or Wanda would mention again. However, Wanda isn't satisfied with just letting you slip through the cracks and though you'd never admit it, you didn't want to slip through them either.

Warnings: smut, omegaverse, alpha!reader, omega!Wanda, nontraditional omegaverse dynamics, anal play, pegging, anal fingerings, butt plugs, jealousy, rough sex, teasing, claiming, very brief and non serious injury towards the end, aftercare

Author's Note: I swear I was writing the professor Wanda fic but this literally consumed my every waking thought FOR WEEKS!! This is technically a part 2 of Let It Snow but this can be read on its own!!

"I understand you may be worried about some of the repercussions of our… escapade before Christmas and I assure you they are small. As you know, how I acquired my powers has rendered me barren. I won't stop being friends with you because of this but I cannot let something like that happen again. It would be detrimental to the team to continue such a relationship based on our urges." 

You were so serious, Wanda almost believed you. With your back so straight and your voice so stern, Wanda should've been convinced you wanted nothing to do with her. Like always, she could see right through you. The smaller details always told her what you were truly feeling. Your heels dug into the carpet of her room, you fiddled with the leather strap on your jacket, and the way you simply refused to make proper eye contact with her. You were nervous, unsure of the words coming out of your mouth. It was adorable. Wanda could only imagine you hunched over a desk constantly rewriting your speech in that little notebook you kept on you.

"Who said it wasn't only based on urges, hm?" One question was all she needed to break your facade. Suddenly,  you were right back to that bashful alpha she had trapped underneath only weeks earlier. Wanda stepped into your personal space. Her hands spread out over the muscular surface that was your chest. "You can sense me watching you, can't you?" Wanda ran her fingers down your arm, following the curve of your muscles. "I know about that adorable little sketchbook you bring on missions and the stickers you use to color code your files." Her hands slid back up your arm, groping and squeezing the unmoving muscles. "I know you're the mysterious little chef that leaves cookies out for the team on Sundays."

She began to circle you. You were nothing more than prey for her to pounce on at any second. "I can see inside that little head of yours," Wanda whispered in your ear. You were practically shaking underneath her touch. She could hear your brain frantically searching for some excuse or explanation. Wanda had heard your filthy thoughts. Of course, she had. She wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. "You're tired of being in charge, aren't you? You just wanna let go and let someone else do the work. Isn't that right?" A smirk spread across her face. She had you. Stuck in a limbo of accepting the truth in her words and about to lose yourself in the pleasure she was giving you. 

You were doomed. Your dick twitched and throbbed in Wanda's hands as she groped you. It pained you to admit it, but she was right. Being underneath Wanda was the freest you had ever felt. No reports, no stupid tests to be run, and none of society's standards telling you to be ashamed of what you wanted. Wanda's touch felt heavenly. Soft and freshly manicured nails rubbed up and down your crotch until you were completely hard. Part of you just wanted her to make the leap and take you then and there. "Uh i-it's, it's more complicated than that," You strained out. The slow, methodic strokes were almost enough to get you begging for more. Almost wasn't enough. Just as a shudder ran up your spine, you grabbed Wanda's wrist and pulled it off of you. You turned to face her. "I don't get to just drop anything and play whatever sick game you're dragging me into." Stepping away was the hardest thing you've ever done. "Maybe we can be friends, but I can't let this happen."

Wanda raised her eyebrows in disappointment. You could never lie to her. She knew too much. Wanda simply smiled and cupped your face. "Well, I'll believe it when you can look me in the eyes and say it." In one swift motion, she leaned forward and kissed you. Once again, you were helpless and completely pliable from simple touches. All it took for you to relax was a few seconds of a kiss. You wanted her, Wanda knew that, but you'd never have her if you denied yourself so often. Her hands wrapped around your waist. The fabric of your suit was harsh against her skin. "Let's get this off and see how much you don't want me, hm?" 

With your mind clouded by lust, you almost let Wanda have her way with you. "Wanda, I- I'm serious! If this gets out of hand, there's no telling what'll happen to the team!" A defiant huff came from your chest as you stepped away. Your face was flushed red and your body felt hot. It wasn't fair. How come you couldn't fluster Wanda the way she flustered you?  You were an alpha. Alphas weren't supposed to be mushy and dependent. They were supposed to be hard workers and leaders. "I'm serious, I'm not letting this go on any longer! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend and I will not let you be the reason I'm late!" Shouting felt unnatural to you, but you were frustrated. Without another word, you used your powers to disappear into the shadows and leave Wanda's room. 

Wanda merely groaned and shook her head. She'd make you confess one way or the other. 

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Despite the confidence you had to walk out,  you were beginning to regret it. Stress was starting to get you. Having sex with Wanda was the first time in almost a year you hadn't suppressed your heat and your body was missing her. You were starting to worry that maybe your heart was too.  If you weren't careful, every thought you had would suddenly become about Wanda. It was particularly embarrassing when she'd enter your mind when you needed comfort. 

Like when you were trapped in a pressure chamber and had to force yourself to become whole again.  No matter how many times you found yourself in that position, you could never get used to the pain. A necessary evil you told yourself. At least Bruce would always be there for moral support. However, after a two-week-long period of using your powers almost non-stop, you were subjected to the worst session of it yet. You practically collapsed the second you stepped off the Quinjet and it felt as if your condition only worsened from there. It was a cruel process. Several minutes of what would've been bone-crushing pressure to anyone else, then you'd get a minute of nausea, and then you'd have to do it all over again.

All you could do was curl into a ball and scream. 

The other Avengers occasionally stopped by during the process to offer you encouraging words or bring food when you'd be let out for a real break. After nearly two hours of medical torture, you had almost given up on it. Then, Wanda came in. 

She almost immediately regretted it. Never had Wanda seen you so weak. Strained tears rolled down your face as you clawed at the floor beneath you. It was awful to look at. "What's up with them," Wanda asked casually, hoping she'd seem disinterested. 

"Rethreading. Y/N uses their powers too long and their atoms forget how to arrange themselves back to the way they were before. The only way to get them back in order is to brute force it." Bruce turned off the pressure, allowing you to rest. "It isn't pretty, but it's the only thing that works." He looked up from the monitor in front of him and came face first with a very confused Wanda. "Okay. They're a human, which is solid, but their powers turn them into this weird shadowy gas thing we can't put a name to just yet. It's cool, but if they do it too long their atoms forget how to become solid again. Pressure forces them back into one piece. 

Wanda nodded along, only understanding part of the explanation. "Have you tried magic? What if I just…force them to go back together, gently." 

Bruce hummed and scratched the back of his neck. "It's not exactly my field of work, but if you think it'll work…go ahead."  He pressed a button on the panel in front of him. "We're sending Wanda in…don't give me that look. It's worth a shot and probably less painful." A wave of his hand signaled for Wanda to enter the chamber. "Pressure's off, go ahead." 

Wanda honestly had no clue what she was doing. It'd be a miracle if you even let her touch you, it'd be something else entirely if she could help you feel better. "Let's just make this easier for the both of us, alright?"The door to the chamber closed behind her and she took a deep breath. Though you didn't say anything, she took you laying down as a sign of submission. She kneeled beside you and firmly placed her hand on your chest. "Just…breathe." 

You begrudgingly followed Wanda's instructions. One deep breath as the magical red mist surrounded your body. You weren't entirely sure what you were experiencing, but it felt good. After hours of fruitless torture, your body seemed to finally listen. Wanda's magic had tamed the unruly science that ruined you and made you whole again. Everything was peaceful. No nausea or pressure, just calmness. 

"I…it worked. It worked!" A relieved laugh bubbled through your body. "Oh god, Wanda you don't know what this means to me! Thank you, thank you!" Without even thinking, you pulled Wanda into a hug. A real hug. Not those awkward side hugs you gave to politicians during banquets. A full hug filled with gratitude and adoration.  Genuine enough to make you forget your self-imposed rule of distance. Only for a moment though. After nearly a full thirty seconds of hugging, you forced yourself to let go and cleared your throat. "Your assistance is greatly appreciated and I will never forget how you've helped me today," You said with a flat voice devoid of the excitement you had just seconds early. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have mission debriefings to finish up and submit." You gave Wanda a firm handshake before standing up and leaving the chamber. 

Wanda just barely fought off the urge to roll her eyes, but she let you leave without saying anything else to you. She stood and shrugged at Bruce. "I'm not exactly sure what I did, but I'll do it again if it must be done." Part of her was disappointed she let you slip through her fingers once again, but embarrassing you in front of your friends certainly wasn't the way to catch. Maybe now, you'd come to her. 

You had come running to her sooner than she expected. Mere hours after dinner, you stood in front of her doorway. You looked so meek. A noticeable red blush on your cheeks and ears as you waited to be let in. The only way you'd look any cuter was if she put a collar on you. "Is there a problem?" A simple question, but one that gets you worked up for no reason. 

A deep breath came out of your lungs but did nothing to calm you. "I would like to apologize to you. For this evening and what happened last week, I think." Wanda stepped to the side to let you in her room. You were hesitant to accept her offer. Wanda was unpredictable and you weren't sure you had the willpower to deny her much longer. Just being alone in her room puts you on edge, mostly because you didn't fit in.  A spot of inky blackness in a sea of bright reds and pink. You chose to sit on the loveseat and subconsciously held onto the tiny stuffed bunny that was in your spot. "I realize you were just trying to help me with my problems and I appreciate that. I shouldn't have been rude to you after that, you're a good person." You squeeze the bunny in your lap before talking again. "...but I can't let us be anything more than friends. I'm an alpha. I shouldn't bend to your whim and you shouldn't want an alpha that does." 

Wanda watched as you nervously toyed with the stuffed animal in your lap. It was adorable. Watching you try to be something you weren't was so amusing. "Says who? Who says I can't want a nice, soft, adorable little alpha like you?" She laughed as you squirmed in your seat. "I don't care for some meathead alpha that puffs out their chest over every little thing. I much prefer one that'll win me over with chocolate chip cookies and brownies instead." Slowly, she walked over to you and didn't stop until she towered over you while you sat down.  Her gentle hands cupped your face and tilted your head back so you were forced to make eye contact. "I'm going to court you and I would appreciate it if you came to your senses and accepted it." 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. The eye contact you held with Wanda was intense. You were too scared to look away. Not that you could. Wanda had you frozen in place. "I- You can't just…" The words you wanted to say were right on the tip of your tongue. Wanda couldn't force you to accept her offer. It didn't matter how much of a pushover she thought you were. I have every right to say no. Alphas didn't need to be coddled and talked down to. I can handle myself. All powerful and true statements that just won't leave your mouth no matter how hard you try. It didn't help that Wanda just smiled down at you every time you tried speaking. Purposely trying to fluster you. A different kind of evil you could never dream of defeating. So instead of arguing, you merely disappeared again. 

It didn't frustrate Wanda this time. She already had a plan. 

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

It had been about three days since you had properly talked to Wanda. Disappearing at the slightest frustrations wasn't a good habit, but talking to Wanda was near impossible. She was always in your personal space, she always knew how you truly felt, and she was always so pretty. It wasn't fair. You could talk to her if she wasn't always touching you with her stupidly soft hands and covering everything in that stupidly comforting scent of hers.

Who knew the smell of strawberries and cinnamon would be so dreadful?

You couldn't escape it. Even with a gym full of alphas, hers always managed to stand out. She'd always be in the kitchen with her brother or sitting right next to you during meals. You were lucky Wanda didn't attempt to start any conversation with you because you were sure you'd embarrass yourself. She hadn't shown any signs of courting you and you were convinced you had scared her off. You convinced yourself you didn't care if you had by enjoying the peace of training without Wanda gawking at you the entire time. 

The peace was short-lived. Once you entered your room, you were greeted with a familiar spiciness that wasn't your scent. It was subtle. Maybe Wanda hadn't been in your room for long, but she had certainly been there. But what for? Your drawers hadn't been looked through and nothing had been touched. No matter how many times you looked over your room, everything was the same. Ultimately, you were too tired to keep searching and just flopped onto your bed from exhaustion. 

Squeak. 

You pressed down on your bed again.

Squeak, Squeak. 

After several more squeaks, you pulled back your blanket and came face to face with the cutest plushie you’d ever seen. Jet black yarn crocheted into the shape of a bunny with the floppiest ears. The solid red eyes and X-shaped mouth were adorable accents. It even had both of its ears pierced like yours. You looked around your room a few times to make sure no one was around and gave the bunny an affectionate squeeze. Wanda had scented the bunny, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad about that. After a few more squeezes, you notice a note and a gift bag resting on your pillow. You put down the rabbit and picked up the note card. ‘Let's fuck like rabbits ♡!" Had been written on the card. Part of you wanted just to rip up the card and return the gift, but you knew she’d somehow turn it against you. A heavy pit of anxiety settled in your stomach as you pulled out the drawstring holding the bag together. “OH!” You nearly dropped the bag out of shock. A buttplug with a bunny tail attached to the end of it and lube. It felt less like courting and more like an assassination attempt.

"What, you don't like it?" 

Wanda's silky smooth voice made you shudder. "I appreciate the stuffed animal, but this is inappropriate!" You refused to look Wanda in the eye. It would kill you to see the face she was making. That devastating mix of smugness and adoration. Like she was happy to see you flustered. It wasn't fair. "I won't accept it!" You threw the bag back in Wanda's direction. "Omegas don't court, they get courted! If you really want to give e it a try give me a chance to"

"If you sit down and stop talking I'll show you how to use it." 

You sat down on your bed with your arms and legs crossed defensively. "This isn't me accepting it! I'm just.. curious." A shiver ran up your spine as you watched Wanda crawl onto your bed. The look in her eyes was hungry. It made you squirm. Just the feeling of her hand on your barely thigh made you throb. You were doomed. Wanda was going to fuck you in the ass and then you'd be too dumb to deny her ever again. So, you decided to make it difficult for her. When she leaned in to kiss you, you turned your head. "No mouth kissing, this isn't romantic." Where you expected Wanda to huff and push you to change your mind, she simply decided to attack your neck instead. "Ah! Mmm…" A shaky breath fell from your lips as you tried to act unphased by the feeling.  

Wanda bit back a smirk. She was starting to realize you needed to be eased into things. Praised and coddled until you were truly comfortable with her and your desires. She guided you into laying back against the mountain of pillows and slowly uncrossed your legs. "Can I take your boxers off?" Her scent slowly began to fill your room.  You were so tense. "I need you to relax. You'll hurt yourself if you don't." Every breath she took filled her nostrils with your scent. Milk chocolate and caramel. Sweet and gentle scents. Just like the skin of your thighs. Sugary sweet in her mouth and oh so fragile. It would take nothing to sink her teeth in and mark you as hers forever, but she chose to wait. Instead, she chose to pepper your thighs with kisses until the muscles fully relaxed. "That's it. Do you think you're ready?" 

You're painfully hard and in need of release, but you don't want to embarrass yourself by cumming the very second Wanda touches you. It took a full minute of deep breathing to control the buzzing underneath your skin.  "I'm ready," You said barely above a whisper. A gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of Wanda smearing the cold lube against your puckered hole. The stuffed rabbit and Wanda's soft praise were the only thing that brought you comfort. Once you stopped squirming, Wanda eased her middle finger inside of your hole. "Ah, ah! Slower, please go slower!" 

Wanda stopped moving, her finger only halfway inside. "Okay, just breathe. Tell me when you want to go again." For a moment, she considered pulling out entirely but she didn't want to risk you tightening up again. "Can I touch your knot? It'll make it hurt less." The meek nod from you sent her heart into a fit. Her hand slowly wrapped around the length of your cock. The pace she set was just as slow as her finger.  "Oh, there we go. That's a pretty sound, isn't it?" She dragged her tongue along the underside of your length. 

Your lips quivered and you tighten your grip on the rabbit. "Thank you, thank you so much. That feels good," You said through a breathy moan. A fire spreads underneath your skin and you're hopeless to stop it. Wanda's fingers were so long. "F-fuck, can you just put that thing in me already?" Despite your pleas, you were only given a second one of Wanda's fingers. They could barely move inside of you, but she spread them apart regardless. You choked on a gasp. "What's that! What's that!" 

Wanda kept rubbing against the patch of nerves inside of you again. "You don't know where your prostate is? How cute." She continued to rub and press against your prostate. Her tongue collected the drops of cum that leaked from your tip. "A little someone tells me you like it."  Wanda took her sweet time milking you. She worked you up into taking three fingers before pulling out entirely. The sight of your gaping hole makes her feral. "I think you're ready." Wanda smeared lube over the plug and eased it inside of your hole. "There we go, nice a full." 

The fullness was foreign, but enjoyable. Your breath was shaky and you were horribly overstimulated. "Can you…can you keep going? I just wanna cum please." A near pornographic moan escaped your lips as Wanda began stroking your cock again. The tip of thumb rubbed your slip and she jerked you off. Your cock practically throbbed in her grasp. Despite the brain melting pleasure, your eyes found themselves drawn to Wanda's lips. They curled into a gentle smile. Not the condescending ones she'd thrown your way when you'd turn into a stuttering mess, but a comforting one. They looked warm and inviting, like they were just begging for the chance to press up against yours.  "Can you kiss me? Like a real kiss?" 

The question threw Wanda off and she nearly lost her movement. She recovered quickly and dived in and molded her lips against yours. Your lips are chapped and raw from your constant biting of them, but she was strangely attached to it. Her tongue explored the warmth of your mouth. Dominating your mouth was just as easy. You were desperate for it. A shudder ran down her spine as you moaned into the kiss. It was near impossible for her to let go of your lips, even when she needed to breathe. She continued to jerk you off until you couldn't handle the stimulation. "Let me court you." It was more of a command than a question. 

You could only whimper as your orgasm overcame you. For a moment, you couldn't even look at Wanda. Her tongue had taken up the job of cleaning the cum off of her hand and your stomach. It's obscene, but the two of you had certainly gone too far for you to be embarrassed about it. Your eyes didn't move from the blanket beneath you. "I…Fine, but can we keep us behind closed doors for a bit? I've never been courted before or y'know courted anyone before." 

Wanda dragged her fingernails up and down the side of your thighs. "I'll take care of you." Her hands guided up towards your face. Words couldn't describe how excited she was to be able to kiss you. She peppered kisses all over your face. It was addictive. "Isn't that what you want? Someone taking care of you." 

You nod slowly, under the daze of affection and lack of energy. "Okay, but this isn't happening right away." It's embarrassing to have given yourself up so easily, but Wanda made you feel good. It caused a stir in your stomach, but one that settled the very second Wanda snuggled up next to you. 

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

You were intentionally apprehensive about being courted. It just didn't feel right. For every gift Wanda would give you, there was the urge to buy at least three more. You were thankful Wanda had gone from gift giving to actually taking you dates. The Amazon list you had racked up for her had grown large and your wallet would never forgive you for it. 

"So, where are you taking me?" You had asked the question at least four times during the train ride and three more during the walk. It was a good thing Wanda had grown to love your curiosity, because anyone else would've threatened to tape your mouth closed.  Honestly, you wouldn't have asked so much if Wanda hadn't been so vague and unplanned. You had just finished training in the gym before she mysteriously appeared with an outfit for you and told you to stop by her room. Now you weren't really sure where you were. "Also, did you really have to pick my clothes out for me? I'm capable of dressing myself!" 

Wanda simply rolled her eyes, kissing your knuckles as she  guided you into the building. "I spent 10 minutes looking for clothes that weren't just your suit and 10 more looking for something that didn't have your name on it." It never occurred to Wanda how small your wardrobe was until she had come face to face with it. Nothing but tech gear and workout clothes. "At least those sweatpants make your ass look nice," She said before giving your ass a firm squeeze when you walked in front of her. 

You had grown used to Wanda's rather inappropriate forms of physical affection, but the compliments  never failed to make you blush. "Ah, you promised to stop saying stuff like that out loud! What if someone hears?" A pout covered your features, but it didn't last very long. You were immediately curious about your surroundings. It was a kitchen, that much was obvious. Embarrassment settled over your features. You were a regular at this rentable kitchen. A rentable kitchen was the best way to do all your baking endeavors without leaving behind any evidence. No one should've known about this except for

…Bruce. Of course he told Wanda about that. The little sneak. "Who told you about this place?" 

Wanda tried to suppress a giggle. "Oh um, no one. Just found it while searching for a place for us to go." She kissed your cheek and pushed you up the stairs to the floor she rented out specifically. The glance shared between you and the desk attended wasn't lost on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself.  "I wanted to take you somewhere nice, but I figured you'd throw a fit if I took you out for dinner and tried to pay for you so I bought everything ahead of time so you can just sit there and look cute while I cook!" 

You frowned. Wanda was right, you'd die before letting her plan something nice and let her cover the whole cost. "Okay, well what if I just cook everything to make up for it?" 

"I was hoping you'd ask that," Wanda hummed excitedly. She clapped her hands and suddenly you were tied down to a chair right next to her. "I'll just have to keep you all tied up so I can cook." She affectionately tapped the tip of your nose before she started cooking. Her eyes rolled at your disapproving grumbles. "I'll let you bake cookies if you play nice," was all she needed to say to keep your behavior in check. "Why don't you tell me about yourself? What's going on in that adorable little head of yours?" 

At first, you ignored Wanda's question and decided to watch her cook. You were hoping she'd make a mistake and you'd have an excuse to at least boss her around a bit. Unfortunately, no such mistake came and the silence was making you uneasy. "Oh um, why don't you just read my mind?" The glare Wanda gave you was deadly. You made a quick note not to suggest it ever again. For a moment you sat there tied and confused. Small talk was irritating but there was no other way to learn about each other. "I'm the only alpha in my family, well in my house at least. My aunt says it's why I'm so soft. It was just my mom and my two siblings growing up." 

Wanda continued chopping up the ingredients as you talked. Life in Sokovia was tough, even with two parents and a twin brother. She couldn't imagine how hard it was for you. "What was that like?" She could hear you shuffling nervously. "I don't gain anything from running off and telling everyone your business. Just trust me." 

You huffed out of frustration, but you knew she was right. Wanda had somehow mastered the balance between keeping your relationship a secret and not completely ignoring you in public. "It was…it was weird honestly. I was the youngest in my house but I always had to get into fights for my siblings. I wasn't big either, so you can imagine I got roughed up a lot." Opening up to people was rare for you, but it felt natural with Wanda. Even with her back turned to you and the knife coming down against the wooden board, you knew she was listening. "My mom hated it, but I couldn't just sit there and let people talk down on her." 

It was a little sad, but the image of a younger version of you patched up with a heavy pout on your face was adorable. "I get it, Pietro had to do the same for me, sort of. He wasn't physically fighting because he was big but he was always pushing someone around for me." She scooped a bit of the soup she was making onto a spoon and turned towards you. The corners of her mouth turned upwards when you subconsciously leaned in and ate it. "All the younger kids thought I was weird and it was free reign once I presented."

You let Wanda wipe the corners of your mouth. The conversation continued like that. You'd share something about your life and Wanda would give you information about her in exchange. Some of the stories were sad. Others light hearted and hilarious. The conversations rarely lulled and you two only stopped talking when dinner was ready and Wanda needed to focus so she could plate the food. Even then, the silence while you two ate was comfortable."I really want this to go somewhere. You're the first person that didn't make me feel bad for being me." 

Her hand inched up your thigh and gave it a firm squeeze. "Well, I like you a lot better when you're soft and baking cookies for me." Wanda's hand moved further up until she reached your belt. She could feel you squirming underneath her touch. You were adorable and every day you gave Wanda another reason to think that. "Alphas need to be taken care of too, let me be the one to take care of you. Okay?" 

One look into Wanda's eyes and you were locked in a trance. Your face felt hot and your heart rate shot through the roof. It was so much harder playing tough and constantly denying yourself. "I…okay. I love you." The kiss Wanda stole from you was much softer than the other ones you got from her. 

She didn't have to rush. Wanda's tongue carefully explored every inch of your mouth and was careful not to bite you too harshly. By the time she pulled away, your lips were swollen and your face had gone bright red. "You're mine now and I'm gonna make sure you remember that." 

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Wanda didn't mind having to be secretive at first. Though she couldn't stand your obsession with appearances and reputation, she knew you'd have to let them go slowly. You were already learning so fast. Days where you would argue about being a little spoon or refusing to wear the clothes Wanda picked out for you, were long gone. You were putty in her hands. No one else had the privilege of loving the real you. That didn't mean she was the only one that had the privilege of staring. Wanda expected people to stare. Even if the other alphas talked down on you, the omegas were always comfortable with you. You were nice and always respectful of them. Being pretty and mysterious only made them want you more. 

So it was no surprise that when you were respectful, pretty, and mysterious in a suit, the omega were practically begging for your attention. You were much too kind to do anything but give it to them. Small compliments that meant nothing to you, but seemed to be the word to them. 

Wanda could only watch from the bar while you were practically surrounded. The thought of claiming in front of everyone was heavy on her mind. 

"Oh, green is not your color," A familiar voice said from behind her. "One white Russian please."

Wanda let out a frustrated groan. "I'm not jealous. I just don't like other people touching all over what's mine- They're not mine, they're their own person!" Natasha always managed to get Wanda to slip up and confess her most embarrassing feelings.  

"What's yours? That's a new one for sure." Natasha chuckled before taking a sip of her drink. "Look, I've worked with Y/N for a long time. They're not a risk taker. If you want them, you're going to have to get them before someone else does."  She nudged Wanda with her elbow and tilted her head towards your direction. 

In just a few short minutes, most of the omegas surrounding you had disappeared and that left you corned by one. Some low level SHIELD agent she'd seem following you around a couple times. There had always been a few feet of distance between you, but now she was all over you. Her hand kept rubbing your bicep and she just seemed so interested in being right underneath you. 

'My room, now.'

A shiver ran up your spine and you immediately began searching the room for Wanda. You found her staring directly at you with red eyes. Even from halfway across the room, you could tell she was at risk of breaking the glass in her hand. "Um, I have to go to the restroom. Don't wait up!" Before the agent could ask you any questions, you wiggled out from the hold she had on you and made your way out of the banquet hall. Wanda had never looked at you that way. Was she angry? If so, was it your fault? Even with your concerns, you found yourself sitting on the edge of her bed with your stuffed rabbit, now named Noir, in your arms. 

Wanda sat down her cup and made her way up to her room. She wasn't mad at you, she couldn't be. It wasn't your fault you were so attractive. No one would touch you again if she claimed you. That's all she had to do. Mark up that pretty little neck of yours and make you hers forever. 

"You look so handsome in your little suit," Wanda said affectionately as she began unknotting your tie. She always took her time undressing you. A gentle kiss placed on every inch of skin she uncovered. "You're my alpha, not theirs. They can't touch you."  Once she fully unbuttoned your dress shirt and tossed it to the side, her hands immediately focused on the tent in your pants. "Oh, and that makes your adorable little cock mine too. Doesn't it?" The tips of her fingers teased your erection, but pulled away when your hips started to buck upwards. "Ah, I want to hear you say it." 

You whined softly at the lack of contact. "Yours…my knot is yours and you can do whatever you want with it. I'm your alpha."A shaky moan fell from your lips when Wanda began touching you again. It was hard to figure out why Wanda was so upset when she was doing her very best to turn you into a thoughtless mess. "Did—ah! Did something happen?" 

Wanda considered ignoring your question and just toying with you until her jealousy fizzled out, but she knew you'd keep asking until you were satisfied. "I don't want anyone else touching what's mine. Not you and especially not that omega that couldn't keep her hands to herself." She finally freed your cock from the confines of your pants and boxers and started jerking you off. Her strokes were slow and dominating. "I'm gonna have to claim you so everyone knows to stay away. Doesn't that sound good? I sink my teeth into your neck and everyone will know you're mine." 

The thought of claiming Wanda hadn't crossed your mind before. Being marked by her just sounded right. You knew it was typical for alphas to claim their omega first, but you weren't the one taking control. Wanda took control. It was only fair she claimed you first. "Okay, that sounds good." Your words came out jumbled and rushed, but Wanda took pity on your flustered state.  "Claim me." Her magic was quick to wrap around your legs and waist to keep them spread. Tying you up was necessary. You were antsy and Wanda wasn't strong enough to hold you down on her own. Regular rope was much too harsh on your skin and you'd phase through it anyway. 

Wanda undressed and put on her harness while you squirmed helplessly on the bed. "Relax, it's the same one we used last time." She rubbed the tip of the toy against your hole and smiled. You weren't as tense as before, but you needed a bit more foreplay to help you relax. "Hold your little bunny while I use my fingers, okay? I won't hurt you." She carefully smeared the lube over your hole, then eased three of her fingers inside. "You're already taking me so well. I could just fuck you like this." 

A heavy moan fell from your lips as you were stretched out. "Fuck, oh my god!" Wanda had conditioned you to be louder and so much more vulgar. You'd take from her with wild abandon. "Please fuck me, I can take it." Despite your pleas, your hips bucked up and followed Wanda's fingers as they pulled out of you. Wanda was quick to replace her fingers with the tip of her strap-on. 

You and Wanda moaned in sync as she eased the fake cock deep inside of you. "God, fuck you're so tight." Enchanting the strap wasn't an easy feat, but she was forever thankful she managed to do it. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of being buried inside you. "God, you're practically sucking me in. You're just a needy little hole, aren't you? Say it, tell me you're my needy little alpha." Her scent flooded the room as she began peppering open-mouth kisses along the side of your neck. 

"I'm your needy alpha! Fuck, right there, please!" Your hips pushed forward in an attempt to meet Wanda's thrusts. A butt plug could never feel this good, none of the toys would. They couldn't bottom you out and fuck into you without care. None of them twitched and throbbed inside the way Wanda currently was. Your hand instinctively reached down to ease the pressure growing between your legs only for them to be immediately slapped away. "Fuck, sorry. Can you— Ah! Can you jerk me off, please?"

Wanda pulled out just long enough for her magic to turn you over onto your knees before thrusting all the way back inside of you. Her hand wrapped around your cock and began stroking downwards. "You know how much I love milking that pretty little cock. I think I'm gonna cum just thinking about it." With one hand on your hip and the other bust jerking you off, Wanda had complete control over you. She'd fucked you dumb and now all she had to do was mark you. "That's it, let your omega take care of you. I bet it feels so good." She sprinkled kisses up your back and to the nape of your neck. Without warning, she sank her teeth into your neck until she broke the skin. Her hips continued pounding into you in hopes of distracting you from the pain. 

"Fuck, ow! That hurts, it hurts!" Wanda's magic wrapped around your entire body and kept pinned down to the bed. It hurt, but your body seemed to love it. Your organs rushed over your body unexpectedly, but Wanda never faltered in her actions. "I'm cumming, please fuck don't stop!" Your knot began to swell even though you had nothing to dump it into. 

Wanda was quick to squeeze and tug at the knot trying its best to form. "Awe, your poor little cock wants to breed me so bad. Too bad you're just a tiny little alpha that can't handle that responsibility."  She squeezed your knot until she was sure every last bit of cum had leaked out of it. "I got one more surprise for you, pup." Her pace had become hellishly fast as she rutted against you. 

You were as confused as you could be with seven inches drilling into you, but you weren't lucid enough to ask. Wanda had practically abused your prostate and you were already about to cum again. You were so sensitive, but Wanda didn't seem to be paying any mind to it. Just before your second orgasm had overcome you, you felt something sticky and hot coating the inside of your walls. Wanda was cumming inside of you somehow.  You were being bred. The mere thought had you cumming again in mere seconds. 

Your second orgasm was short but had taken everything out of you. Without another word, you collapsed onto the bed and tried recollecting yourself. "How-," You coughed to clear your throat. "How'd you do that?" You could feel your hole twitching and trying its best to keep the cum inside once Wanda had pulled out. 

Wanda slowly climbed off the bed and moved your legs so you could lay down flat on the bed. "Just a little magic. Now don't move, I have to patch you up before we can shower." She quickly discarded the harness, which could be cleaned in the morning. She hadn't exactly planned out how she was going to claim you, but she always kept a medical kit in her bathroom just in case. Getting to use it had made her unbelievably happy. "It's going to sting a bit, but just bear with me a bit."

You had fought against all kinds of crazy things. Super soldiers, robots, aliens, and even highly trained assassins, but you still flinched at the feeling of alcohol being dabbed across the tiniest of cuts. Granted, the mark Wanda had left on your neck was not small, but it still hurts nonetheless. "Do you have to cover it up? I want everyone to see." A low whine came from you as Wanda pressed the gauze against your neck and taped them down. 

"I know you do, pup, but I don't want to risk it getting infected. It's just for a few days." Wanda placed a light kiss on top of the bandage and nuzzled the side of your neck. "I promise to scent you every day so no one will bother you." The sound of you purring was music to her ears. Purring meant you felt safe and relaxed. "Now let's get you showered up and in some new clothes."

[ilys00ga]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

pairing: yoongi x female reader.

synopsis: where you meet him during your best friend's wedding. can a heart beat again after breaking to pieces?

genre: best friend's brother!yoongi, actress!female reader, bookshop owner!yoongi, angst, kind of hurt/comfort, there's also some fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, first encounters.

warnings: cheating, heartbreak, slight mentions of depression, failed past relationship, smoking. this is pure fiction ⚠️ !!

A/N: sorry for any typos or mistakes. just enjoy, pls :)! also, I might write a second part for this one. idk, tho.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

- incoming message: "saera <3: are you ditching at the last minute?"

the screen read.

oppening the door to the hall in which everyone was already sat, you made your way into the room as quietly and as quickly as possible. and with your eyes scanning around in an attempt to spot your usual group of friends, a wave of relief washed over you upon finally spotting them.

"finally! was almost certain you won't be showing up." your friend, saera, muttered under her breath and pulled you to sit closer by her side.

"why wouldn't I?" you scoffed at first, but continued with a more serious tone upon seeing the concerned look her face held, "I'm sorry, I... got distracted."

"distracted?" her brow rose in a stern question, before slowly shaking her head in defeat. "right. seriously though, if you feel like it's too much just say the word and we'll leave."

"no, I'll leave and you'll stay and have all the fun here. I won't let my messed up past ruin this for you too." you argued.

"hey-!"

"I'm fine, I promise. I wouldn't be here if I weren't. we need to drop this topic now." you took her hands in yours, looking into her eyes with a serious expression, and she silently nodded her head after a few seconds. you smiled at her in thanks before turning to greet Jimin and Jisung, your other friends from work who were sitting right behind the two of you.

"how are you boys doing?"

"I'd be better if it weren't for this ridiculous dress code we had to follow." Jisung pointed to the pink hat he was wearing with a frown. Soyoon, the bride and your dearest friend, had insisted on setting a dress code for all the guests. everyone had to wear anything as long as it's not black - "black is boring! this is a wedding! MY wedding!" - or crazy-colorful, along with a special piece - a pink hat or a pink hair clip. something pink, you do you.

no one understood this weird dress code, yet no one dared to complain, simply trying to style their options as best as they could. and in her defense, sweet, typical Soyoon said she wanted to play around and test her guests for fun.

"talking as if you wouldn't wear the most ridiculous looking outfits on random work days all in the name of fashion." jimin chimed in to tease the other whining man, making saera laugh. the room fell silent, and the ceremony began shortly after they started their usual bickering war of words.

in your honest opinion, Soyoon was a very gorgeous woman. she was always well presented and beautiful. however, as she stood before the crowd with her smile so big and radiant, she looked like a literal princess. you stared at your best friend in pure awe because you're genuinely happy for her. so, so happy. and you ignored the feeling that weighted down on your heart as your mind clung back to the day you wore your own white gown and your own veil, all to cherish this precious moment. to celebrate with your loved ones.

just like that, the vows were pronounced and the husband kissed his bride. cheers and claps filled the room, and everyone moved to congratulate the newly wedded lovers. yet the party is still very young.

you stood aside for a while, allowing yourself to drink in the beautiful sight of pure happiness and love, reminding yourself that the world is still moving even though you were busy being stuck in the past. you observed until the tornado that's been brewing in your chest grew violent before walking out of the scene, out and towards the small lake situated not far away from the building.

it's been exactly eight months and a couple of days since you've stood in front of your own wedding venue. eight-going-nine months since you got your heart broken.

maybe you were just a coward, too scared to face your own emotions, but it's not like you chose not to attend one all this time. you just couldn't. no matter how hard you tried to overcome the pain, the wound was still so fresh, and it only seemed to be getting bigger than you, swallowing you alive.

the pain of seeing the person you were so bewitched by, to whom you were ready to spend the rest of your life being committed, the one you loved with your entire heart inside some random room in the same venue the two of you chose to finally celebrate your love, all pressed up against the wall with another woman. kissing and doing things you decided not to even attempt to think about or recall.

at the time, it took you a good five minutes to get yourself together, to look closely to confirm that what you saw was indeed real and not just some messed up image your pre-wedding anxiety was trying to print into your brain, before sprinting out of the building and running far, far away from everything. running despite your legs feeling like they could explode at any given moment. you ran until you reached an empty unknown, crouching down and spilling your heart through your eyes and across your cold cheeks as you cried and cried and cried with the wind slapping against your skin.

from then on, you could never attend a wedding. no matter who the loved one was to you, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. all you could do was smile apologetically as you politely rejected their invitation. and they understood because they knew.

eight months and there you were. numb body sitting on a bench, with a little cigarette between a thumb and an index, pulling and exhaling every now and then as you let the calm of the lake and the green of the grass, along with the color of the flowers do their favorite game of soothing your heart.

part of you wished you were the smoke that rose and flourished in the sky, giving its weight and color up to become one with the wind.

"not a fan of parties too?" a voice that sounded concerned, but very timid and gentle, broke the silence. almost like it was too ashamed of announcing its own presence. and if its deepness startled you, you didn't let it show. Instead, you lifted your head and saw a man standing close by, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark blue trousers and head tilted slightly in question.

"mind if i join you?" the sight of him scratching the nape of his neck with an awkward smile triggered your own smile, but you really weren't in the mood, so you wordlessly nodded towards the empty spot next to you and he didn't comment on that.

"it's more about the event itself rather than the crowd." you took a cigarette out of your purse and extended it to the pale skinned man.

"well, then we're not as similar as I assumed. and for that, I apologize." he mused, accepting your offer with a smile. you watch as he put it between his lips and leaned in towards the lighter you held out for him. "thanks" he nodded, taking a long pull and sighing as he breathed out and goaned in satisfaction.

you didn't know what to say, how to lay it out to him. in fact, you weren't even sure if you should let him know. after all, he was a stranger that you've never seen before. but your heart squeezed with a sudden need to talk, to explain why and how you were so messed up, while your brains insisted no.

you shook your head with a sigh, trying to think of something to say when the man caught you off guard with a question, "do you like playing UNO?"

snapping your head towaards him, you saw him holding a box of UNO cards, waving it slightly and proudly showing it off to you with a smile, and you couldn't help but giggle at that.

"why did you carry UNO cards with you to a wedding?" he chuckled with a shrug before sheepishly admitting that he bought it as a gift for his little niece.

"do you want to play, yes or no?" he smirked and narrowed his eyes in a teasing manner.

"gosh. open it already."

he does as he's told, scooting a little farther than you to make a little space in which the two of you started playing the silly little game.

"how do you know Soyoon?" the man wondered aloud.

"she's my best friend slash co-worker. what about you?"

"her brother, yoongi." he simply answered. you knew Soyoon had a brother before, but you never got to meet or even ask about him.

"it's an honor to finally meet you, then. I'm ___."

"i know you, soyoon talked about you and a couple of other friends before." yoongi smiled shyly, everting his eyes to focus back on the game.

"you seem pretty good at this, wasn't expecting that, to be honest." yoongi hummed at your teasing comment, picking a card, a plus two card, when it was his turn and putting it atop the pilled up ones in the middle. "glad you're having fun. I was afraid you would stick to your frown for the rest of the ceremony and never show us your cute smile."

heat rushed through your face, tinting your cheeks as his words, along with his slick move and the smirk on his face settle in your head.

"you didn't seem happy." he explained further, locking his eyes with yours, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to brush your brush off and continued to play.

"I don't really fancy weddings." you said.

"understandable. I don't fancy parties and public places either."

"yeah, but your circumstances are probably very different from mine."

he snorts "social anxiety is social anxiety."

"did you get your heart broken from an ex fiancé, soon-to-be husband like i did?" you failed to fight the bite in your tone, and your face hardened for a moment before softening again when he didn't respond with anything.

"sorry about that." you apologized.

"it's fine." he smiled.

your little bubble was popped open when a feminine voice called out your name, saera was waving for you to come over. you let out a small "oh" and faced yoongi who scrunched his nose in response, "guess the game's over." he stood up and offered his hand for you.

"for now," you noted, taking his hand and standing up as well, "we still didn't see who's the winner."

for a brief moment, you looked down at the cards you were still holding in your other hand, and then met his eyes again, "it was a lovely game can't wait to see again and beat you at last."

you could feel your hands shaking slightly, hesitating before extending a reverse card towards him with a shy smile. yoongi stared dumbfoundedly at first, then took the card with an equally shy smile.

"I'll be eagerly waiting, then."

you two started towards the building, with you taking rushed steps thanks to the way saera's been signaling for you to hurry up! and you didn't miss her little smirk when you finally reached her, nor the way she discreetly tilted her head towards the other man who was still a few steps far behind.

"I've seen a lot, but playing card games as a first interaction in a ceremony is quite new to me." she linked her arm with yours and guided you towards the main hall, where everyone was still chatting and enjoying their time.

"the party's ending, let's go say bye to the bride!" you ignored her comment with a cheer.

"my girls!" soyoon greeted with her arms open wide for the two of you.

"our beautiful, beautiful bride!" and saera cheered just with an equal amount of joy.

the bride pulled away to look at you with a grateful smile, "thank you so much for being here."

"oh please, did you expect me to really ditch your special day because of some stupid past drama?!" you scoffed.

"I know how hard it's been for you, my dear. I'm so glad you're here."

"it's really nothing." you insist.

"yeah, she was having fun with your brother out there, don't worry about her." saera winked with a mischievous smile, which pulled a gasp from soyoon, startled.

"wait what?!"

"oh my god. stop, you two. we just talked a little bit. I've never got to meet him before." you whined.

"neither did I!" saera fired back.

"well, I'm not gonna lie, you two are a good material." soyoon smirked and giggled with saera. both of them always loved to tease you.

"I'm leaving!"

"don't forget, we're having a sleepover this weekend!" you roll your eyes at saera before bidding you goodbye, hugging the girls one last time and leaving with a weirdly much lighter heart.

[dropintomanga]

Neighborhood Story - A Special Chapter on Living Life with Color

As a fan of Ai Yazawa's Paradise Kiss, I couldn't help but pick up its prequel, Neighborhood Story. I've enjoyed reading about Mikako Koda and her feelings for her childhood friend, Tsutomu Yamaguchi. I'm glad it won the award for Best New Edition of a Classic Manga at the 2024 American Manga Awards. Neighborhood Story is a work where you really see what Yazawa was all about before NANA.

There's one particular side story in the volume 3 omnibus that I really enjoyed because it went into how hard it is to be accepted when you're bit too cool for the crowd and why trying to fit in isn't always the best idea.

Before the current story, Mikako attended a junior high school where she repeatedly violated the dress code. Her dreams of being a full-on fashion designer were in full swing during her 2nd year. She catches the attention of the class president, Sanae Seto. Seto admires Mikako, but lives a life where she just follows the crowd. She hesitates to speak up as needed and responds to people in ways that suit them.

Seto has a dream of being a shojo novelist and writes in her spare time. However, she's afraid of showing off her work in fear that she'll be made fun of. This is in contrast to Mikako, who shows off her style of fashion with full confidence much to the distress of the school faculty. Mikako gets bullied for her rebellious behavior while Seto doesn't.

Seto doesn't understand how Mikako doesn't seem to mentally break from all the bullying and someone tells her.

"She's already found the most important thing in the world to her, and her conviction in it is unshakeable."

Bullying is still a major problem in schools today and adults continue to fail children on how to face it. So what if there really isn't any help? What can kids do? One can do what Mikako does and that's to live your life. Don't bully back and don't retaliate. Practice confidence and stay connected to people who genuinely care about you. Mikako does all of these things. When Mikako gets bullied after coming back from a suspension, Seto tries to stand up for her. Seto's classmates try to tell her that it's none of her business to stand up for Mikako. Mikako responds with conviction by pouring water from a vase onto one of her bullies for picking on Seto (I did say don't retaliate, but only if you're the main target. You do have to stand up for your friends instead of being a bystander).

However, those solutions aren't enough. After Seto comes over to Mikako's house and sees how lively she is compared to at school, the two stopped connecting during their third year. It turns out Mikako wasn't going to school at the start because her behavior really disturbed the school culture. Mikako felt that she was too restricted in how she wanted to express herself in school.

Seto realized that it's not easy to care about what people think about you or be free for that matter. She admits that she was jealous of Mikako because compared to her, her life seemed dull. Seto also says something when going through a life change that made her move away to another school,

"Still, I had a new mold to fill. So I changed my color and shape to fit in perfectly there. That's how most of us live our lives. It makes things easier."

To be fair, sometimes, this is necessary. But being just a singular color is limiting. You're surviving, but not exactly thriving. And the connections you make by trying to fit into a cog aren't necessarily the best. Do they value the same things you do? That may not be true. When there's an overwhelming majority that's you're totally not align with and only enjoying being a part of it due to the benefits you get, you start to have some cognitive dissonance when you run into someone who makes you question what you're doing.

Seto finally realizes this after Mikako sends her off with a parting gift in the form of cute eyeglasses and a letter thanking her for being a friend during a tumultuous time in junior high. Mikako expresses her desire to get through junior high despite the bullying because of Seto. Seto then decides to chase her dream of being a shojo novelist. At the end of the chapter, a now award-winning future novelist Seto (who's in high school) decides to write about her experiences with Mikako as her potential debut novel.

When you're all by yourself and not feeling connected to what's really important to you, you can fall into black or white thinking. You're falling into a one-color scheme. I sometimes see this happening with youth who struggle to deal with uncertainty in their lives. That's why it's important to show them the varieties of people they can meet and experiences they can find that can change their perspective for the better. School is important, but it is black and white as hell and its lessons don't apply to what actually matters in real life. Seto was a victim of this until Mikako entered the picture.

Seto says a very profound thing in the end as she begins to write her story.

"As my fingers struck the keys, the emotions that poured from my heart were so colorful."

I feel that this side story chapter in Neighborhood Story was also about embracing the diversity of emotions and how important they are to make us connected to those we value in our lives. This applies to both Seto and Mikako. After all, there's a reason why life is more than just black and white. It's colorful, good and bad. Dreams and communities that are truly welcoming are full of color. Embrace the rainbow because colors are the smiles of nature.

[saulocept]

but your love is such a swamp (you’re the only thing i want)

pairing: sebastian sallow/reader

rating: t

summary: You’re toeing the line, giving into this, following your heart, doing whatever you want. Maybe it’s too late, maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Or maybe some things are better left untouched. You’ll know soon, won’t you?

notes: crossposted from my ao3 account (which i only remembered to do now lol). reader is implied to be hufflepuff, but no explicit descriptions so you’re free to imagine them in another house if you wish. 

full tags include: unresolved romantic tension, awkward kissing, awkward makeouts.

as always i took a lot of liberties writing this so if u see any inconsistencies or anything else, thats me exercising that lol

It’s a rare thing to have a whole evening to yourself. Between finishing school works and exams week, there’s never enough time for you to relax, or to spend time with friends and have fun. And now that it’s all over, you’d accepted at the first invitation to celebrate, eager to get away and do something different for once.

But things don’t always go your way. You’ve known it before; it’s the oldest lesson in your book, the only thing that the world keeps trying to remind you over and over, relentless, without mercy. And now you’re stuck here in this place, sitting around and doing nothing, waiting for the snowstorm outside to pass.

Briefly, you wonder if it’s just your bad luck, your innate misfortune. If you hadn’t been so eager to leave, would all this have happened still? You don’t know, not really; you’ve got a feeling that the answer would somehow be a resolute no, but you’re trying not to think about it.

Besides, being stuck indoors isn’t that bad, anyway. It doesn’t feel like you’re stranded; if anything, it feels nice – the opposite of whatever you’d initially expected. Cozy, comfortable. Surrounded by the warmth of the fire, the laughter of the other students. How it echoes down the hallways, loud and cheerful, bright. It makes you feel less alone, less annoyed to be stuck in this place.

It's easy enough for the few first hours. You’ve mostly just wandered around the halls, sipping your hot chocolate and listening to the other students gossip, trying your best to keep a straight face each time one of them says something funny. When you’ve had enough of it, you promptly sneaked back into your room, thinking you might catch up on some sleep instead.

It doesn’t work. Within minutes, you’re back to where you started, wandering around the hallways again, looking for something to do. The answer comes easy to you this time, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, because how couldn’t you have thought of this earlier?

Is it still sneaking around if you’re doing this in plain sight? You don’t think anyone cares at all; it’s not like you’re friends with him in secret. You’re certain everyone’s seen you together at one point: hanging around after classes, spending time in between breaks. Plus, it’s not like you’ve got something to hide.

Still, you have to admit that it’s a little daunting to be in this dorm. Though nobody’s tried to stop you from going in, it doesn’t stop them from giving you odd looks and questioning stares, like they could tell you don’t belong here. Granted, you already know that you don’t; the colors in your robes already highlights the difference between you, but it’s not like they still need to rub it in. Besides, it’s not like you’re here for them. You’re here for one thing only – well, for one person, even if it’s taking you a while to find him.

It isn’t easy. Most of the time, he’s the one trying to sneak you in, navigating you both around in the dark, and without his guidance, you’re practically at a loss. But still, you manage, and in the end, you finally locate his room, squaring your shoulders as you muster the courage to knock on his door. Five gentle raps – a secret code, something he’s taught you before to let you know that it’s him behind your door.

You hear the sound of the knob twisting and you shift your weight from one foot to another as you wait. The door opens just a crack, and you see his familiar face peering at you from inside the room, suspicious. Realizing it’s just you all along, he lets you in without much of a fuss, opening the door wider and gesturing for you to come in. Briefly, you wonder what it is he’s got to be suspicious about. He’s the one that taught you the code, didn’t he? Somehow, the thought of someone else knowing about it hurts more than you could admit.

Still, there’s no time to dwell on it. You step inside, close the door behind you, watching as he retreats into his desk, grabbing his quill and scribbling something on a parchment. He seems busy enough for conversations, though it’s not as if you mind. You’ve always wanted an excuse to poke around in his room, and now’s as good a time as any.

You sit on the edge of his bed, eyeing the books he’s got on display. There’s not a lot of them, certainly not more than an average Ravenclaw’s, but it’s still more than you can count on both hands. Textbooks, mostly – borrowed from the library with no intention to return, as well as a few novels – authors you barely recognize. Huh.

There’s something in the corner that catches your eye, so you stand up, reaching for it with one hand. He doesn’t stop you, though from the corners of your eyes, you see him staring at you, one eyebrow raised curiously. You meet his gaze head-on, and he tilts his head to the side, more curious than ever. “What are you doing here?”

“Poking around,” you reply easily, leaning against the wall and flipping through the pages of the book. It’s a title you easily recognize – a childhood favorite you’ve carried with you until now, something you’d once told him about in an effort to connect. “I didn’t know you have this.” You wave the book around in your hand, as if to emphasize.

He shrugs. “You’re the one who told me about it.”

“I know.” You grin. “Guess I’m rubbing off on you, huh?”

He frowns, though his eyes are bright, twinkling with mischief. “More than I’d like to admit, unfortunately.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Rude.”

He snorts, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that plays about the corners of his lips. he doesn’t say anything after that, opting instead to go back to his writing, and all is quiet again.

-

It takes him a while to get done. By the time he’s stood up from his chair, you’re about halfway through the book, the familiar twists and turns greeting you like an old friend. He sits down beside you, and the bed shifts under his weight, the motion startling you out of your reverie.

“Hi,” he greets, just as you turn to look at him. He flashes you a tiny smile, though it quickly turns into a frown once he gets a closer look at you. “You look different.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you say that to everyone you meet or is it just to me?”

“No!” he exclaims, just a little too quickly. There’s a flush on his cheeks now, and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh. It takes him a moment to recover, clearing his throat and trying again, watching you from beneath his lashes. “But you do look different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” he says, pausing as he thinks. It takes him another moment, but then he shakes his head, shrugging. “You’re sure you didn’t get cursed on your way here?”

“I was?” you ask, blinking, because now this conversation’s making you all confused. “How can you tell?”

“I can’t,” he replies, giving you another narrow-eyed stare. Slowly, he leans in, looks at you closely as if doing so will grant him the answer he seeks. You doubt it would, but you humor him, anyway, sitting up straighter and letting him into your space, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze, how the warmth of his breath tickles your cheek, your skin. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you sure I’m the one who’s cursed?” you ask weakly, trying to bring some levity back into the room. You’ve never really been this close to him before, not until now, and now that you have, you can’t help but feel nervous. You’ve always thought he’s pretty before, a thing obvious even from a distance, but even that knowledge alone isn’t doing him much justice. Your heart’s pounding in your chest now, and quietly, you wonder if he could hear it, too. “For all we know, you’re the one who’s cursed here.”

He snorts, though he doesn’t look a tad bit amused. “Very funny.”

Silence again. He frowns, watches you closely, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He raises a hand, as though he wants to reach out and touch you, but then he pulls back at the last second, as if he’s thought better of it, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat, trying your best not to look too disappointed.

You lick your lips, clear your throat. Your voice is quiet when you speak, almost breathless. It’s hard to affect some tone of normalcy when he’s this close to you, nearly touching you but not quite. “Have you managed to figure it out?”

“No.” He sounds frustrated now, grumbling, and you’d laugh at him if you aren’t too busy trying to distract yourself from his proximity. “And I can’t sense any curses on you either.”

You hum under your breath, thinking. There has to be an answer in here somewhere, and you close your eyes, rack your brain for some clues, anything to solve this riddle. The answer comes to you then, quick as lightning. Little flashes of memories, both here and there, vague and a little blurry. Still, there’s no doubt about it; it’s the answer to his question.

“Oh! I get it now,” you say, opening your eyes to look at him. You must sound so certain because even he looks intrigued, raising an eyebrow as he waits for the big reveal. You give him a victorious grin in response, pointing a finger at your lips because there’s no way it could be anything else. “Lipstick.”

“What?”

“Well, you know,” you gesture vaguely around you, trying to come up with an easy enough explanation, something he'd be quick to understand. Seriously? “Things that people wear to look pretty?”

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown another head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you’re not from around here,” you grumble, frowning.

He still looks confused, though he’s staring at you now with a newfound interest. Great. Now you feel like a clown at a circus, or something equally silly. “How does it taste?”

You give him a pained smile, trying not to laugh. “Sebastian, it’s not something you can just taste.”

“Isn’t it?” He meets your eyes then, and there’s a glint in them you’re sure you haven’t seen before. Your breath stops, catches in your throat. You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and you’re not sure if you even have the heart to ask.

“Well, I can put it on you if you like…” you begin, then stop, realizing he’s begun to lean in again, closer to you than ever. You swallow nervously, completely aware of how quickly your heart is beating, but you can’t move away from him. You want to, you think absently, but something about him draws you in, makes you want to be even closer. Like a moth to a flame. Wanting – no, needing.

Is it even the right thing to do, when you could jeopardize everything that’s nice and good between you? You don’t think so, and yet you want it anyway.

Still. You lick your lips, open your mouth, trying to come up with something – a convenient lie, a believable excuse; you’re not even sure anymore. All you know is that you’ve at least got to say something, a last-ditch attempt at salvaging whatever you have, keeping it intact. “But I left it in my room. I’ll have to um, go back…”

He’s not saying anything. He’s staring at you still, and his eyes are bright, twinkling. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, and it makes you more nervous than ever, because you’re not sure what he wants, what he’s planning. Is this a joke, some kind of prank? Is he even serious? “Do you?”

“Not… really,” you admit, hesitating for a second before finally giving in. “Not right now.”

“Okay.” He nods at you, leaves it at that. His gaze darts to your lips, lingering for a few more seconds before he looks up to meet your eyes once more. “Good.” Here, he stops, pauses, hesitating as he moves closer, like he wants to but he isn’t sure if he should. “Um, can I…?”

“Okay,” you breathe, because it feels like the right thing to say, the proper thing to do. And really, because it’s the only thing left for you, and you can’t find it in you to deny yourself what you want. There’s no turning back now, you know, and maybe it’s that knowledge settling in that drives you to desperation, to eagerness, because somehow, you want to make the most of it. The first kiss, and then the last. “Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that, just leans in to kiss you. The kiss is chaste, awkward, neither of you certain what you should do. He pulls away – a brief respite, reaching out to cup your cheek, thumb tracing circles against your skin as he pulls you closer, trying once more.

This time, the kiss starts slow, gentle, sweet enough that it’s easy to melt into. You try to kiss him back, but you’re not even sure if you’re doing the right thing. You’ve kissed people before – students your age, but it’s never like this. Most of the time, it’s a chaste affair, easily forgettable: a shy peck on the cheek, the corners of the mouth, but nothing this serious, this deliberate.

You think you could feel him smiling against you: an unmistakable grin that makes your heart flutter. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, slow and hesitant, like he’s testing the waters for the first time. For a second, you’re frozen in your spot, uncertain how to react, what to do. Vaguely, you’re made aware of his hand on your cheek, the feel of his thumb, running along your skin, tracing circles, urging you to relax, and slowly you begin to ease into it, into him, giving in and parting your lips open.

You’re practically buzzing with anticipation by the time he slips his tongue inside, lets it brush against yours – a gentle caress you’re not sure how to respond to. Somehow, this one’s even more awkward than before. This time, there’s no rhythm to follow, nothing but instincts to guide you.

Your movements are stiff, stilted, and it’s getting obvious by the minute that neither of you know what you’re doing. You’d laugh, you think, if everything doesn’t feel like a fever dream. Even now, you still can’t believe that any of this is happening. If you close your eyes and let loose too much, what’ll you find next? A broken friendship, ruined and unsalvageable?

You don’t like the thought of it, and so, just to keep yourself from floating away too far, you reach out, tangle your fingers in his hair. A movement borne of desperation because it feels real enough – he feels real enough. Like an anchor, you think, grounding you to whatever reality you’re supposed to be in. And if that reality includes him kissing you, or you kissing him, then you’ll take it.

Then there comes a knock in the door, and the world you know is shattered. Three quick raps, loud and impatient, as if the person on the other side is in a hurry. Quickly, the two of you spring apart, moving as far away as possible from each other, embarrassed at being caught, perhaps even a little guilty. You can’t tell anymore. It’s weird how the distance between you seems multiplied all of a sudden, like he’s light years away instead of meters, a stranger instead of someone you’ve grown close to over the years.

You keep your eyes ahead of you, though you try to watch him from the corners of your eyes, trying to gauge his reaction, what he thinks of the whole thing. Does he think it’s all a mistake – a thing manifested in the heat of the moment, or did he really mean to do it?  

You watch him quietly, frowning. You can’t read him, can’t see through him. He’s mirroring your pose, both hands folded in his lap, gaze trained on the wall in front of him, deliberately trying not to glance your way, and it frustrates you a little because it shouldn’t be this complicated, this confusing.

You open your mouth, feeling the need to say something, though you’re not quite sure what. Should you ask him about it, come clean and confess? Or should you keep things normal, pretend you haven’t done things friends wouldn’t do? You’re not sure anymore; you don’t think you’ve ever been sure of anything since the moment you realized you like him.

You clear your throat, try again, thinking you’d fare much better if you start lightly, beginning with his name. It doesn’t work; your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and the silence between you only grows sharper, heavier. The clock ticks; every passing minute only adds to the torture, the tension, and yet you can’t do anything but sit here, still and quiet, uncertain where to start, how to begin.

The knock comes again, louder this time, almost careless. Four times, each one more deafening than the last. It takes him a moment to recover, and from the tails of your eyes, you watch him fix his hair, straighten his robe, making sure that nothing’s out of place. You think you see him glancing your way, but then he’s turning away before your eyes could meet, and you can’t tell whether the expression you’d caught in his face a few seconds prior is guilt or regret.

He’s still not looking at you as he walks over to the door, opens it a little. There’s a flurry of voices in the background, though only one of them is familiar. The conversation’s hushed, quiet – a thing not meant for your ears. No matter, you think; you’re not interested enough to eavesdrop, especially when there’s something else that occupies your mind.

It’s over as soon as it started, and a second later, the door’s closing again, the silence enveloping the two of you once more. You take this moment to stand up, straightening your robe, and then slowly making your way over to the door. You catch the confusion flashing in his eyes, though you quickly look away before his eyes could find yours. You don’t want him to see you right now. You’re not even sure you want to look at him either.

“I’m… sorry,” you say, because it’s the first thing you can think to say. Easier to lie and make up an excuse than admit that everything between you is ruined. That you’re the only one who seems thoroughly affected by this. You’re not meeting his eyes, keeping your eyes to the floor as you continue, afraid to see what his reaction is. What do you even want to see on his face, anyway? Do you even want to know? “I’ve um, well. I’ve still got some homework to finish, so I’ll uh, catch you later?”

You know he knows you well enough to know when you’re lying. It’s too obvious, anyway; there’s no homework to finish, no advanced readings to do. For once, your break’s solely your own, and yet it’s the first lie you can think of, the first thing that spills out of your lips. Not plausible enough, you know, but you don’t need plausible – you just need an excuse.

You don’t even hesitate. Quickly, you open the door, slipping out of his room before he could even formulate a response.

“Wait,” he says, long after you’re gone, walking down the halls with your arms glued to your sides, ignoring the odd stares cast your way. You don’t stop, don’t even bother to look back, and the only thing that follows you is the sound of his voice, almost desperate in its echo.

[skz-with-stay]

interrupted alone time; Goo Gunil Smut

genre: smut

word count: 1,251

warnings: oral / handjob / overstim (m receiving), suggestive, mention of food

overview: gunil and you were having some alone time in the studio but then the rest of the members come in; they didn’t know you were there.

let’s go!!!

color coded members // gunil/you - jungsu - gaon - ode - junhan - jooyeon

-

you and gunil decided to head to the studio a bit earlier than the rest of the members had. nothing really happened besides the clicking of the mouse, as he arranges some sounds to one of the songs they were working on. you decided to get a bit frisky.

you place a kiss on his neck. he does not react besides breaking the silence. "babe.. i gotta get some work done before the others arrive"

with that, you reply: "can i at least give you some head?"

he lets out a sigh before nodding and pulling his basketball shorts down a bit; revealing that he did not even bother to put on boxers for the day. your eyes light up at the sight and get to work.

you take his member in your hands, stroking it three times, having it liven up before you put him in your mouth. once erect, you use your thumb to spread the precum around the tip, causing him to wince.

minutes go by, and he has already released once, building up another load. between the lewd noises of you slurping, and his moans, knocks suddenly are heard. you stop what you're doing, his dick still in your mouth, as a familiar voice was heard.

"hyung, open the door, we brought breakfast" jungsu spoke.

"j-just a second" gunil choked. "darling, let's continue later? I'll make it up to you for having you stop"

you reply: "baby.. I wanna make you feel good, please let me suck you off with your friends here" you make a begging face, he sighs again.

"fine... but you have to hide under the desk, and have to wait until the session is over, which is in an hour" he says, and instantly regrets his decision as you nod and do as he says.

he stands up and pulls up his shorts, you are currently under the desk, pulling the swivel chair closer to you, trying to conceal yourself.

"here I come, I had to throw some trash away" he creates an excuse for having it take so long to get to the door.

you hear the door unlock and a burst of voices erupts.

"good morning! hope you slept well"

"I did! thank you! how did you sleep?"

"it was sorta on and off, but well rested, thank you... we got you your favorite coffee drink and food from the company cafeteria"

"well that's good, and thank you!" gunil takes the bag of food and drink from gaon.

gunil didn't even open the bag, nor touched the straw for his drink; but the others had finished their breakfast and half of their drinks had been sipped at. once everyone was done, trash was thrown away and gunil took a seat. without any time given for him to get comfortable, you had pulled his shorts down, spit in your hand and began stroking him. it took him by surprise, he did not make a single noise but his eyes had widened.

"hyung, are you okay? why the face?" junhan said.

"mhm... I'm good.." he nodded "let's get to work"

you wait for the recordings to start playing, once heard, you place your warm tongue on his aching tip; you feel him shiver. making your way around the tip, you graze your tongue along the slit which was now leaking. gunil thought to himself. 'I have to play it cool, it's just an hour, what could go wrong?'

seconds after teasing him, his whole member was down your throat. he choked on air; the members looked concerned about their leader.

"hyung? are you okay?! do you need something to drink?" jooyeon questioned.

"I-I'm fine"

your head began to bob, taking him in smoothly; suddenly, warmth coated your throat, he had came quickly. his eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, making a distorted expression.

this continues for fifteen minutes, you set a good and steady pace, having him release six times. then, you start to grasp his thighs beneath his shorts, rubbing your hands on his skin. he groans at the sensation, hips moving slowly with your hands.

he releases into your mouth again, swallowing every drop. with a total of seven times that he has released, his cheeks are flushed and he looks dazed.

"okay... are you sick? you look like you're about to either pass out or throw up.." ode speaks.

"yeah, your cheeks are beat red too"

"I s-said I'm fine, I'm just a bit hot"

"you're wearing basketball shorts and a tank top and I'm wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.... how are you hot?"

"you haven't even touched your coffee or your food, are you sure you're alright?"

you take him out of your mouth and place your thumb on his throbbing and sensitive tip, swirling it around the drenched skin. your tongue feels lonely without his cock on it, so you lick from the base to the tip. again, swirling your warm tongue on it. he covers his mouth and groans as he releases again. luckily, your mouth was there to take it in.

"oh god, he's gonna barf"

"here! here! take this!"

jungsu hands gunil the trash bin. he sets it to the side of him. 20 minutes left on the clock for the session, gunil feels the room to spin.

"we can end early, if you're not feeling well.. we don't want to overwork you"

gunil feels as if his balls could explode at any given moment, since you're milking him dry of his seed.

"guys... I am fine, b-believe me"

"you know what, how about we just call it a day... we can get back at it tomorrow if gunil hyung is feeling up to it"

the others agreed, eventually gunil nodded along with them.

"do you need help getting back to the dorm?"

"no no.. I'm fine, I'll just stay here and edit the song, I'll head home if it gets worse. if anything, I can call one of you to help me or even take the trash bin with me" he's playing along with the whole 'sick' story.

they all sigh in disbelief but know how stubborn gunil is, so they don't argue with him.

"feel better, hyung"

"keep us updated on how you're feeling"

"yeah, yeah, thank you for the concerns"

you hear the voices die down, gunil stays seated and junhan closes the door behind him. gunil lets out a heavy sigh.

"are you out of your mind, Y/N?"

you smile at him innocently, as you're still on your knees, on the ground, cock in hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you say innocently "but you look cute when your cheeks are red"

"I don't think I've ever came that many time in a row"

gunil moves back so that you can get up and sit where you were beforehand. he pulls his shorts up as you swipe away the debris from the ground beneath the desk. taking your seat, you grab the bag of food that gaon had handed him earlier, and give it to him. he takes out the sandwich and tears it in two, giving you the larger piece; you noticed that his hands were shaking.

"was my performance that good, that I got you shaking?"

"you've never sucked me dry that many times, I was seeing stars... here, you wanna split the coffee, too?" he speaks with a shaky voice.

"sure!..." you take a sip of the drink "so... how are you gonna make this one up?"

[soulgazingwithbucky]

Chances (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Agent!F!Reader

Summary: For most, life is too short to miss any chances. For Steve Rogers, life is too long to take all of them.

Warnings: swearing; mentions of blood, gun use, violence; unhappy ending (alternate ending needed?!)

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: hey everyone i have a crush i cant do anything about so i made it everyone's problem in the form of this fic. also i swear bucky's coming back to my writing with a vengeance

“Coulson, slow down,” you grumble. The clock reads an ungodly hour, and Coulson’s near-incomprehensible speech only propels you further into half-conscious annoyance.

“Get up,” Phil urges. “We found him.”

⋆⋆⋆

You lean in, ears straining as Captain America addresses Agent Horowitz.

“Where am I, really?” he says.

Your eyes dart back and forth between several screens.

“Shit,” Fury hisses. A moment later, you hear the door slam behind you.

“Told you!” you call after him as Horowitz reports a Code 13.

You turn around to look at Hill, who watches the monitors with her arms across her chest.

“I told him,” you say as Captain America breaks through the walls, shoving agents to the ground.

⋆⋆⋆

Fury takes a seat beside you with a huff.

With your eyes on your computer, you start, “I–”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Maria peers at you over her screen, flashing you a barely-there smirk. You instead ask a question to satiate your curiosity.

“Is…he okay?”

Fury gives an exasperated shrug.

“Said he had a date.”

⋆⋆⋆

“How’s the apartment, Captain Rogers?” Fury asks. Across the desk, Steve sits, shifting uncomfortably as the chair struggles under his frame.

“Fine,” he says curtly, his eyes flitting between all the different objects in Fury’s office. You and Maria share a look.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” she asks.

“Trying.”

“Well, we have another meeting to run to, Captain,” Fury says, “but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. The agents have a gym in the basement, and the dining facility is on the tenth floor.”

He stands up; you and Maria follow closely behind.

There’s no meeting. You had planned to spend an hour with Captain Rogers, but it’s clear there isn’t much to say. You look back at Steve with his head low, his back hunched.

“What do we do, Fury?” you ask, closing the door behind you.

“Give him time.”

While Hill and Fury retreat to their offices, you change into your workout clothes and make your way to the basement. You’re surprised to step out of the elevator and see an impossibly muscular frame standing by the gym entrance.

“Captain,” you greet. He’s peering past the glass with a slight grimace, staring at the equipment–fancy, shiny things with a thousand buttons each.

“Agent,” he responds, replacing his uncomfortable expression with a solemn nod.

“Nice, isn’t it?” you say, standing beside him to observe the room together.

He chuckles, more out of astonishment than anything.

“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes shift downwards at his feet before peering back up, watching your coworkers sprint on the treadmill or re-rack their weights. “It’s something.”

“What are you gonna do?” you say, eyeing the leg press machine that’s calling your name. You look over at Steve just as he glances at the punching bag. He opens his mouth to answer you, but then he notices the odd wires coming from behind the bag, the complicated mat beneath that seems to be flashing at least five different colors. He closes his mouth and instead shakes his head.

“Just giving myself a tour,” he answers.

You tilt your head at his fib.

“You got a minute?” you ask, your request earning a raised eyebrow.

⋆⋆⋆

“Migs!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up at the sight of the combat gym owner.

He yells your name in response as you meet in front of his business’s entrance.

“Appreciate it, Migs,” you say as the older gentleman pulls you into a side hug. You wrap your arm around his back, returning the embrace.

“Anything for you, kiddo,” Miguel, a near-father figure who has a few decades on you, responds as he unlocks the gym door.

Behind you, Steve smiles at the friendly exchange. He stays a good distance away, partly out of respect and partly out of caution.

Regardless, it’s hard to ignore the man built like a linebacker with striking movie-star looks.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Miguel demands, gesturing at the hero in the shadows. Steve blinks in surprise. In the past few weeks, he has been the center of attention–not unlike his life before the ice, but somehow completely unlike it at the same time. Despite his longing to be invisible once again, he’s taken aback that someone doesn’t recognize him.

“A friend,” you tell him, shooting Steve a wink. He smiles, welcoming the anonymity.

Miguel turns on the lights, illuminating the gym in dim orange. Steve steps in, admiring the weathered facility. Surrounded by muted walls, a dusty floor, and tattered boxing ropes, he feels a sense of comfort that’s completely novel to him since coming out of the ice.

Miguel takes all of thirty seconds to show the captain around.

“We got mitts, gloves on the rack over there,” he says, keys jingling as he gestures around him. “Boxing ring with a round timer, obviously. Uhhhh, jump ropes, elliptical–if it’s working. And then you got the bags…Oh, and we also got one-on-one training-” Miguel pauses, scanning Steve from head to toe “-if you need that sorta thing.”

Steve chuckles, murmuring his gratitude.

“You need anything else, ace?” Miguel asks you.

You shake your head. “Just sign up my friend for a membership, and we’ll be good.”

Steve’s head snaps up at your request. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

As Miguel passes you an application on a clipboard, you say, “Good thing you didn’t ask.”

⋆⋆⋆

“I hope I’m not overstepping,” Steve tells you, gesturing for the waiter as you slide into the booth.

“Not at all,” you say, still catching your breath from hurrying over. You’re not sure why the captain has called you, but you know it has to be important. Steve’s eyes drift to your brow, where a butterfly bandage holds a wound closed.

“That Loki’s a fun one,” you say, bringing a hand to the injury. You don’t feel the need to indulge him in the details of nearly getting buried underneath a collapsing building. “Is everything okay, Captain?”

“Steve, please,” he insists.

“Is everything okay…Steve?” Though you’ve seen the captain’s name printed in briefs and articles a million times, it feels odd to address him by name. “Miguel didn’t try to charge you that ridiculous sweating fee?”

He lets out an amused exhale through his nose and shakes his head.

“It’s funny you mention Loki. I…wanted to ask your opinion. On the Avengers Initiative.”

Surprise paints your face. You weren’t expecting to be Captain America’s advisor tonight. But you lean back and sigh with the weight of his request. Your waiter comes to take your order, giving you a few moments of reprieve.

“I know what Fury would want me to say,” you say after your waiter exits.

He leans forward, resting clasped hands on the table.

“I want to know what you want to say,” he implores, his piercing gaze making it difficult to collect your thoughts. You take a deep breath.

“I think…you need time to heal,” you begin. “To recover. I mean, not like I’ve got the experience, but something tells me you don’t wake up after seventy years fully assimilated. In a perfect world, you would get all the time you need to be okay before getting back out into the world, let alone saving it.”

He knows the answer, but he presses, “And what world is this?”

The words feel heavy on your tongue.

“One that needs you.”

You watch his troubled eyes, the twitch of his lip.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” you say.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself.

He looks up at you, repeating: “Yeah. I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

“Glad I could help,” you say. You peek over his head, trying to peer into the kitchen. Steve nudges his plate towards you, and you gratefully take a few of his fries.

⋆⋆⋆

“Dillard, find out what’s going on in Bay 3 for me. So what do you think?”

The upper half of your body is hidden under thick pipes. You peer closely at the maze of metal, willing the leak to show itself.

“He’s…cute.”

You lift your head to look at Nat. The loud bang echoes throughout the room as your head meets pipes. You wince, dragging yourself out of the underbelly of Helicarrier plumbing. Nat raises an eyebrow as you rub your head.

“Not what I thought you were going to say,” you reply. 

“So you disagree?” she says, tilting her head.

“Uh. No?” you say, tapping nervously on the wrench. She smiles as you avert your gaze. “How are the…other ones? Thor and Dr. Banner and the rest?”

“I should probably make sure they’re not tearing each other apart,” Nat says, rolling her eyes. “You coming?”

You look around you. The hull is so much quieter than the rest of the carrier, allowing you to bask in comfortable silence while you and your crew work.

“Nah. Hill is better at that kinda stuff. I’ll be here if you need me.”

⋆⋆⋆

Above you, the ceiling shakes slightly, scattering dust around you. You stand up slowly, the sound of distant rumbling calling your attention.

“All hands to stations.”

“Shit!” you cry, dropping your tools and sprinting up the stairs.

Agents are running all around you, and the hallway is flooded in flashing red. You have no idea what’s going on, but you rush to the weapons room, ready to defend the Helicarrier from god-knows-what.

You crash into someone’s shoulder, the force sending you spinning to the ground. Strong hands grasp your arms, lifting you to your feet.

“Sorry,” Steve says between breaths.

“Steve,” you say. “What’s going on?”

“Under attack. Be safe. Check in later.”

“Copy that.”

He clasps your shoulders again before disappearing into the crowd of agents. You watch him for a second before turning around, continuing on to the weapons room.

Agent Weaver catches up to you.

“First name basis, huh?”

“Shut up.”

⋆⋆⋆

You hesitate before rapping on the door three times.

Steve greets you with a smile. Beads of water are dripping from his hair down his neck.  He’s in sweatpants and a white tee that could definitely be sized up. As you enter his apartment, he hands you a takeout container.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he closes the door behind you.

“Well, when you bribe me with shawarma…”

He laughs, but he’s rubbing his hands together and crinkling his eyebrows. You set your food down and plant yourself in front of him.

“Hey, it’s just a debrief,” you tell him, wrapping your hands around his biceps. Your touch brings him back to reality. “It’s no big deal. Fury just talks for an hour.”

“Yeah, it’s…been a while since one of these, I guess.” He tries to laugh it off.

You leave his side, sitting down at the dining room table.

“If it makes you feel better, you did about two million dollars less damage than Bruce and Thor.”

“It’s not that.” He throws himself on the couch, stretching his legs along the cushions. “I guess authority has never been a big fan of me.”

“Authority doesn’t get along with Captain America?”

“Authority doesn’t get along with the punk that lied about fifty times to get into the military.”

You speak between bites: “Then you must’ve gotten along with Tony Stark. Wonder why Nat said you had your panties in a twist over him.”

He perks up, resting his arms along the back of the couch. “She said that? Exactly like that?”

You snicker at his sudden interest, choking on a slice of tomato. “Does that bother you?” you tease.

He concedes, leaning back on the couch’s arm. “That Stark is something else. I wonder what Peggy would say if she knew I almost fought Howard’s son.” Steve stares at a spot on the wall, his mind a flurry of what-ifs.

⋆⋆⋆

Ambush. You’ve been tasked to partner with Captain America for his first official SHIELD assignment, and it’s a fucking ambush.

“Stay close,” the captain says.

Steve tosses his shield at someone behind you. You hear them slump to the ground while another approaches; the shield narrowly misses you as you duck and sweep your leg out, causing a third henchman to crash to the floor.

“Watch it!” you say before Steve knocks you to the ground, shielding your body while a whizz of bullets flying past.

“Guess someone has to,” Steve shoots back before pulling you up. You roll your eyes as you unholster two weapons on your belt, one pointed to your left and the other pointed behind you. You pull both triggers without batting an eye. You don’t bother looking; Steve’s mesmerized expression confirms that you’ve hit your targets.

Steve is speechless. He has never seen you in battle before, and it’s–

“Six o’clock, Rogers!” you say, causing the hero to duck down as you aim a bullet at a man sprinting towards you. You hear yet another coming from behind, and you aim a bullet at Steve’s shield. You turn just in time to see the ricocheted bullet take out the last goon.

Knowing you were safe, you let out a fatigued sigh and pat your newest coworker on the shoulder.

“Welcome to SHIELD, Cap.”

⋆⋆⋆

Macau was absolutely beautiful, but the jet lag never quite wore off, especially when your tasks still catered to Eastern fucking Standard Time. As much as you could appreciate the change of pace, you hoped Fury would never give you an assignment like this again.

- idk steve, seems a little unfair to assign me to track the train in vancouver when i was assigned the lemurian star just a couple weeks ago. did you KNOW what time it was over here?!

- anyway, im going to bed. night!

- You've only told me a hundred times. I’m glad it was you helping us out, even if you had to track the Star from thousands of miles away.

- Good night. Sweet dreams.

- :)

You smile at the three notifications on your phone. Tucking yourself under the covers, you reach over to turn off your night lamp.

Ring ring ring.

Maria’s name on your phone earns a prolonged groan from you. So first they schedule meetings at all hours, and now they expect you to pick up the phone at every possible second.

“Hill, I love you, but I swear to god–”

“You remember that sushi place? The one on 10th Avenue?”

You feel a sudden sweat forming on your brow, even though the air conditioner is blasting. You had first heard the coded emergency message years ago, when you first trained for SHIELD. Never did you think it would actually be used.

You clear your throat, forcing your voice to steady.

“Yes, we were there with your mom and your grandma.”

Is someone listening? Are you okay? Who compromised SHIELD?

“Right. I’ll talk to you later.” Maria’s voice betrays nothing before she hangs up the call.

You only brought a duffel bag to Macau, and you’re now shoving it full of underwear and clothes. 

Wait, honestly, fuck it–Hill’s call told you scatter immediately, who the fuck cares if you had enough shirts?

You leave the SHIELD-sanctioned apartment, tossing your phone into a nearby garbage bin. You think of Nat, of Fury, of Steve. You wonder if they’re okay, but you have to settle for never knowing.

⋆⋆⋆

Red pixels fill your screen, slowly sharpening into a familiar face.

“Nat,” you gasp. Any suspicion about the unknown number on your burner phone melts away.

“Hey,” she says. She delivers her greeting with the nonchalance of a friend who has just seen you for brunch. “If you were a traitor, you would tell me, right?”

You match her lopsided smile. “No, of course not. Hey, what’s your social security number again?”

Natasha laughs, but her joy dissipates quickly.

“Nat? What’s been going on?”

On your end, you’ve been on the run, though you never quite knew who you were running from. You’ve had no contact with your coworkers since you received the call from Hill. You’ve heard various rumors, but you haven’t had the comfort of confirming their truth.

She peers somewhere off camera.

“A lot.”

She turns back to you, continuing: “He…hasn’t been good.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

You hold your breath as Nat stands up, willing her shaky camera work to still. You can barely make out their bare environment, lighted only by bars of fluorescent light.

“Maybe he should tell you himself.”

You watch as Nat hands over the phone. Steve looks up at her in confusion before turning towards her device. You see the relief flood his features. He says your name like it’s a breath of air after being held underwater.

“Steve,” you greet softly. “Are you okay?”

Steve presses his lips together. His eyes become dazed as he tries to find the words. After a few moments, you say his name again.

“I had a friend.

“A best friend,” he begins. “I thought I lost him.”

He hangs his head, and for a moment, all you see are strings of blonde hair.

“But the truth is much worse.”

The last time you had spoken, Steve was an explosion of excitement, practically setting the world record for longest run-on sentence as he told you Peggy was alive. Now, your heart breaks at the sight of the dejected hero.

“He doesn’t even remember me,” Steve continues.

You want to cry for Steve and tell him everything will be okay. You want to invite him into your arms and hold him. Instead, something tells you to push that aside. You grit your teeth; your grip is tight on your phone. You have half a mind to book a plane ticket to…you don’t even know where they are, but you want to be there, dammit.

“Then do something he won’t forget, Steve.”

⋆⋆⋆

You rush through the halls, dodging white coats and crash carts. 

Room 311, room 311, room 311…

An armed guard reaches out to stop you before recognition settles. You glare at him, but the delay causes you to rethink storming into the hospital room after Steve’s near-death experience. You peer at him through the window, pressing your hand onto the glass. With the stitches along his cheek, the bruising on his jaw, and the scrapes along his browline, he looks…fallible. Vulnerable. Human.

You make eye contact with the man sitting beside him. He looks unfamiliar to you, but the bruises and cuts on his face tell you enough. He gives you a slow nod before turning back to his book.

⋆⋆⋆

You and Steve lean in closely, pretending to be deep in conversation while you keep a watchful eye on Bruce and Nat. You lean against the Stark Tower wall while Steve stands in front of you.

“I knew it,” he whispers, testing the limits of his peripheral vision as he peers at his friends.

“Yeah?” you say, taking a sip from the flute of champagne.

He turns his attention away from the two to face you. “One hundred percent. It was a perk of being friends with Bucky–I could see the girls drooling from a mile away.”

“And if they were drooling for you?” you say, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah. Right,” he says, his eyebrows shifting upwards in disbelief as he takes a sip from his own drink.

“Maybe you just couldn’t tell,” you inform him.

“I think I would know, agent,” he tells you.

You reach out to adjust the collar of his shirt. As you pull away, your fingertips brush against his neck.

“I guess you would, captain.”

He gives you that dazzling, all-American smile before glancing at the bar. Nat looks up at the same time, locking eyes with Steve. He turns back to you abruptly, slamming his hand on the wall by your head in feigned nonchalance.

“Real subtle, Rogers,” you tell him. Tony rolls his eyes at the sight of you pinned beneath the captain’s body.

Steve drops his head, and you feel his hair graze your forehead. You’re glad he’s too engrossed in his embarrassment to notice that his proximity has made you dizzy.

“Shit,” he murmurs, stepping away. “Sorry.”

“Romanoff!” you call with a smirk. “Get the swear jar!”

⋆⋆⋆

“Can we talk about the mall again?” you question. So what if your words are slurring together a little, who cares?

Nat tucks her chin, willing you to continue with expectant eyes.

“So you mean to tell me…,” you begin slowly.

“Yes.”

“You look like that…And Steve looks like that…”

“Sure.”

“And your solution to avoid attention was to…”

“Kiss.”

“Kiss, right.”

You and Nat share a look before devolving into a fit of laughter.

“And it–”

“–worked!” Nat finishes. She takes a swig of her beer. “I’m good at what I do, agent. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your eyes drop to the floor. You fiddle with the rim of your glass, before telling your friend:

“Tell me it meant nothing.”

Nat looks at Bruce, who has tucked himself between Dr. Cho and Clint. He looks on as Rhodey shares a familiar story, smiling and chuckling at all the right parts. He feels her eyes on him, and he gives her a smile that feels like home.

Her eyes move to Steve next, America’s hero for the better part of a century. He’s unmistakable. He commands attention, and he deserves it, too. He stands tall, knowing the world is always watching.

Finally, her gaze lands on you. You’re incredibly capable, magnificently skilled, and you would deny it all in a second. Her most humble friend, who declines the most notorious assignments to bask in the solace of the less glamorous work instead.

She reaches over the bar to place her hand atop yours. With all due respect, fuck Lillian with the lip piercing, and fuck Kristen from Accounting. Steve’s perfect match is right in front of her.

⋆⋆⋆

You feel your airways functioning again as the weight of the couch is lifted off of you. You swallow lungfuls of air, and the sudden intake causes you to choke and cough. Warmth radiates from strong hands on either sides of your head.

“Hey,” Steve croons. “Hey, I’m here.”

“Actually, I wedged myself between the couch and the floor,” you groan through the sharp pain in your ribs, “in hopes that Thor would rescue me from the big metal man.”

Your poorly-timed joke catches Steve off guard, and he finds himself laughing as he searches you for any hidden injuries.

“Yeah, you definitely have a concussion.”

⋆⋆⋆

You watch as the unfamiliar number blinks on your phone, but something compels you to answer. Steve’s face appears on your screen, an apologetic smile painting his face. The last you heard, the Avengers were following a lead on Ultron before going dark.

“Steve! Are you okay?”

He peers around him. You can make out a sunny window, rustic decor…is that a child’s toy?

“I can’t stay for long,” he says. “But–yes. We’ll…figure it out.”

He sees the concern on your face, and he knows what you’re about to say:

“What can I do?”

“Lay low,” he says, almost immediately, recalling how Ultron nearly ended your life with Stark’s god-awful furniture. “Keep yourself safe.”

You rub your temples. It’s as if you’re being dragged back to SHIELD’s dissolution, hurtled into a life of mystery and solitude that you hadn’t asked for.

You see a wave of red as Nat pushes her head in between Steve and the camera.

“At least five bad language words since we got here, agent,” she says. You laugh, already picturing the look Steve is giving her behind her curtain of curls. “Wish you were here.”

“Me too.”

Steve watches her walk off, and then waits a few moments longer.

“I saw her,” he tells you, his face dropping all signs of amusement.

You shake your head, trying to piece together what Steve wants to tell you.

“She said the war was over, that we could go home,” he continues. “Then I was back, here. On the ground. Alone.”

“You’re not alone, Steve,” you insist.

But he doesn’t quite hear you.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve scoots into the booth, unbuttoning his black suit jacket. You take the seat right beside him. He lets out a subdued sniff and asks you how the convention went.

“I know the world needs you to be big and strong,” you tell him, “but I don’t.”

You open your arms, and he chuckles before resting his head on your shoulder. You envelop him in a hug, rubbing his back.

“Never ask me about those boring fucking conventions again,” you murmur, feeling his tears fall onto the shoulder of your blouse. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Steve.”

Steve fishes around his pocket and brings out his compass. At the press of a button, it opens, revealing a photograph of Peggy. She looked breathtaking, with her strong jawline, perfect curls, and fierce gaze. Steve hesitates, then passes the device to you. You move your arm from Steve to hold the memento with both hands. You run your finger over the photo’s fading edges.

“And she liked you?” you jest to cover the emotions that are running through you. Why are tears prickling your eyes?

“Once,” Steve responds with a chuckle as you pass him back his most prized possession, “a long time ago.”

He sits up, stiffening. Before you can question the change of demeanor, he confesses, “I…can’t sign the Accords.”

You give him a faint smile, as if it hasn’t been the topic of discussion at the Madrid convention. You were more than happy to meet him in London, especially if it meant getting away from chatty politicians with pesky questions.

“I know, Steve,” you say, holding his face in your hands. You run your thumb down his cheek, erasing a drying line of tears. You ignore how the air leaves your lungs as Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into your touch. “I know.”

⋆⋆⋆

“You’re too good to be down here, agent.”

Sharon pauses her scribbling to punctuate her sentence with a smile.

“You know this is where I like it,” you tell her from the other side of the bulletproof panel. Sharon slides the sign-out sheet back to you. You stifle a laugh as you read that Go Fuck Yourself has signed out two quantities of kiss my ass. Right before you buzz her into weapons lockup, she stops you.

“Wait,” she says abruptly, startling you. “Are you sure?”

Since the day you took him to the boxing gym, you have become Steve’s safe place. In times of need, on the run with Nat or holed up in Clint’s home, he desperately wished you were there. Never mind the comforting touch or the distracting joke, just your presence beside him was enough to turn the weight of the world into a bag of feathers.

Now, Steve has called in a favor. Get the shield and the wings to Sharon, and she’ll cover the rest. No big deal, just betray the federal entity you work for and be indefinitely on the lam. Run, and don’t take any chances.

“Never been more sure in my life.”

You press the button harder than you need to, and the door swings open. Sharon steps through, taking in the towering rows of weapons.

“Whoa,” she says. The massive basement room was the perfect place to house all of the CIA’s most dangerous arms, including Captain America’s shield and the Falcon’s wings.

You lead Sharon through shelves of alien technology and massive guns.

“Might’ve been less sure if I had a metal hand punching me into the wall, though,” you say, looking back at her as she tries to rub out the pain in her back.

She snorts and shakes her head. “I’m glad you were far away from that mess,” she says earnestly.

“Didn’t really have a choice. When we went into lockdown, I was shut in.”

You shudder as you remember the weapons rooms’ light cutting out suddenly, plunging you into darkness. An agent had announced a code red over the walkie, and you sprinted towards the door–just in time to watch the metal gates slam down. You had pounded on the metal, desperate to escape. Your gut told you what–or rather, who–played a role in the Code Red.

You grunt as you pull on the box. It falls to the floor with less grace than you hoped, and Sharon tugs it open. She lights up at the sight of the vibranium shield, her smile wide and her eyes bright. She catches your eye and immediately drops her smile.

With a shake of her head, she apologizes and says, “Um…thank you.”

⋆⋆⋆

“West entrance, thirty seconds,” Nat tells you. You hear her tapping on her keyboard, and the doors in front of you hiss open. You creep quietly into the darkness of the Raft corridor, with Steve following closely behind.

Steve presses his fingers to his ear.  “We’re in.”

“Wait for my signal,” Nat murmurs. “You have three minutes to take down the guards, then about five minutes after that before their backup arrives.”

“Eight minutes?” you say incredulously. “Steve, she thinks we’re amateurs.”

Nat snickers from the comforts of the Quinjet. “Just know, if you get caught, I’ll sleep soundly knowing I left both of your asses behind.”

You feign a horrified gasp. “Steve! Cover your ears!”

You don’t have to see him to know Steve is currently tilting his head in disbelief.

Nat cuts off any retort he might have had: “And now.”

You and Steve move in unison. He takes a boot to the door, and you spare no time to fire a hailstorm of bullets into the room. Your attack disarms several guards and destroys the audiovisual equipment. Steve tosses his shield around the room, and it bounces off the remaining guards, knocking them to their feet.

You place your foot on a guard’s chest, nodding at Steve.

“I’ll keep them here.”

The captain disappears into the cell block. You can hear the distant sounds of Steve breaking through jail bars, followed by triumphant cheers and joyous reunions.

Your earpiece crackles; Nat is switching you both to a different channel.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she tells you.

You stare past the doorway, not quite sure how to respond. She continues: “We don’t know when we’ll see each other again. We’re fugitives now.”

A few minutes later, Steve reappears, a proud smile on his face.

“They’re headed to the jet,” he says. “We did it.”

You force a smile back at him as he leads you out of the room. His arm extends to your waist and you hold your breath; but, he continues reaching until he can close the door behind you and break off the doorknob. As he pulls away, you capture your hand in his. You love the way he laces his fingers between yours, almost reflexively.

“Steve…”

We don’t know when we’ll see each other again.

His eyebrows scrunch in concern. Were you injured? Did a guard send out an emergency signal? But your expression tells a different story; his cool blue eyes could bore holes into your skull. You can only stammer, so Steve speaks instead.

“Wherever you go,” he says, unlacing his hands to instead place it on your cheek, “I can always be there. You just say the word.”

You close your eyes. You won’t know when you’ll see him again, and you lean into his touch, pressing his hand harder into your cheek.

“Two minutes,” Nat’s voice, barely audible, comes over your earpieces.

Steve pulls you into a hug.

“Check in. Stay close. Don’t take any chances,” he whispers.

How could you? The biggest chance you could’ve taken just slipped through your fingers.

⋆⋆⋆

“Oh my god! Thor?!”

Steve practically scoffs, scratching at his beard.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says. “How are you?”

“As good as I could be,” you say. You look around the feeble apartment, a micro-studio with a bed and a kitchenette. You landed in Shanghai after abandoning post, figuring one of the most populous cities in the world would be the perfect place to go into hiding.

Steve doesn’t seem to like that answer.

“I’m so sorry.”

“That a grown woman made a decision?” you scoff. “Sure, I forgive you, then.”

You raise a chuckle from him, and he feels that familiar sensation of relief and comfort at the sound of your voice. Steve made you a vagabond, but you held on tight to your favorite title of smartass.

“How about you?” you say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says, pushing long strands of hair away from his face.

“You with Sam? Nat?”

“Nearby.”

“Bucky?”

“With a friend.”

You blow through your lips.

“Sharon?” You say your friend’s name as if it were a throwaway line.

Steve squints at you through the screen, and you shift uncomfortably on your mattress. Your eyes dart everywhere–anywhere but your phone–while you wait for his response.

“No,” he answers. “No idea where she is.”

You purse your lips. You weren’t sure what you wanted to hear, and you feel an odd mixture of happy and sad all at once.

“Are you just checking in?” Steve wonders. “Or–?”

“Yeah,” you quickly answer. “Checking in.”

Silence settles for a few moments, before Steve tells you: “I wish you were here.”

You give him a measly “me too” and a sad smile.

“Soon?” you offer, though it’s the emptiest promise you’ve ever given.

“Soon,” is his response, the biggest lie he’s ever told.

⋆⋆⋆

You promptly withdraw your pocket pistol, peering around the corner. You knew it wouldn’t be long until the CIA found you, but, damn, you just got to Cape Town. With your finger on the trigger, you step out of your hiding spot…

…and are greeted by familiar blue eyes.

“You said stay close, right?” Steve says with a smile.

You call for him breathlessly. Your body suddenly feels like jello and your knees threaten to buckle underneath you. Your gun nearly slips from your grasp as you run forward, right into Steve’s welcoming arms. He locks you in a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. You feel your feet leave the ground as Steve lifts you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to burst into tears.

With only the occasional video call being your only form of communication, you’ve nearly forgotten what Steve looks like from the shoulders down. When he puts you down, you hold him at arm’s length and stare, as if you’re trying to commit him to memory.

“Steve,” you say his name again, still reeling from the fact that he’s here, he’s really here. You shake your head vigorously. “You can’t be here–it’s too dangerous–”

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I couldn’t go without you.”

“Go where?”

⋆⋆⋆

You squeeze your eyes shut as the aircraft passes through the translucent panels. When you open your eyes, the panels are behind you. The warrior piloting the plane smiles at your shock.

Steve watches you the whole time, captured by the sense of wonder painted on your face. He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder.

“Welcome to Wakanda.”

A small welcoming committee smiles brightly as you and Steve step off of the aircraft. Steve goes straight to a man with a bun, while the other two approach you.

“Greetings, agent,” the king greets you. “I am–”

“King T’Challa,” you say, meeting his handshake with fervency. “Your highness, it’s an honor.”

“The honor is all mine,” T’Challa responds with a smile. He gestures to the younger woman beside him. “And this is Princess Shuri, my sister.”

“Princess,” you greet. You reach your hand out, but quickly shift into a fist bump as Shuri reaches out a closed fist.

“Agent,” she responds with a grin. “I hope you will find your stay enjoyable.”

“Are you kidding me?” you say, then realizing you’re speaking much too casually for royalty. “I mean–the plane ride was easily the most luxurious experience of my life. I’m not sure how you’ll get me to leave.” Shuri’s grin spreads wider.

“I apologize, but we must be going,” T’Challa says. “But you have everything that you need, I assure you.”

You peer over at Steve, who grips the brunette’s shoulder as he laughs.

“And if you don’t,” Shuri calls as she and her brother take their leave, “you can ask any of the bald, mean-looking women.”

“Shuri!”

“They’re the Dora Milaje,” the man beside Steve explains as they approach you, “Wakanda’s elite warriors.”

Steve chest swells with pride as he introduces, “This is Bucky. My best friend.”

Bucky’s shakes your hand. He doesn’t wait for you to introduce yourself, instead saying your name to you.

“Heard a lot,” Bucky says with a smile. You glance at Steve, surprised that you’ve been a topic of discussion for the two.

“All good things,” Steve says, grinning at his best friend.

“Oh, great things,” Bucky adds assuredly as you feel your ears burning.

⋆⋆⋆

Ayo, one of the warriors, spares a few moments to meet you and Steve. She stands solemnly as you sit on the grass, your palms rested behind you.

“Bucky is, um…?” You’re not quite sure how to ask if the man is still capable of snapping your neck without an ounce of regret.

“We are working on it,” she says, keeping her eyes forward. You follow her gaze, watching as a group of children do and redo the best friends’ hair. Steve’s hair is first in a high ponytail, then two low buns. He catches your eye and waves, a wide grin on his face. You wave back as he and Bucky laugh at each other’s hairstyles.

Ayo follows Steve’s gaze back to you.

“We had arranged two bedrooms…”

You sit up straight with wide eyes.

“Th- And that’s totally fine.”

“It is no issue.”

Ayo walks away as Steve chases some of the children, feigning fatigue as they run away giggling.

“It’s a good look for him,” Bucky comments. Bucky is eyeing the three ponytails on top of his best friend’s head, but you’re taking in the sight of Steve consoling a child who has fallen. He gestures elaborately, as if casting a magic spell on the scrape. The child laughs and runs away, instantly remedied.

“It is,” you murmur.

You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you clear your throat. “Was–Was he like this before, too?”

Bucky cheeks puff as he releases an exaggerated exhale. “Hell no.”

“No?”

“Worse, so much worse. Insufferable, really.”

Steve jogs up to you. “They call you White Wolf, Buck? Do we all get nicknames?”

“Maybe,” Bucky says with a shrug. “You could be…”

“White Man,” you offer, earning a disbelieving look from Steve and a hearty laugh from Bucky.

“Or,” Bucky says, “I can tell them that Peggy called you–”

Steve shoves his friend, earning another laugh from the brunette.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve leans his forearm against the window. Below, the city lights dance, bright glimmers against an otherwise dark night.

“It’s good for him here,” he tells you with a smile on his lips.

“Wakanda looks good on you, too,” you say. The bed shifts as you stand up, joining Steve at the window. Wakanda is absolutely beautiful, and you understand why the country is hidden away from the rest of the world. “Maybe you should stay here.”

“Maybe we should,” he suggests, “but clearly their space is limited.”

You and Steve peer back at the singular bed that occupies the room.

“I told Ayo–”

“And I told Bucky–”

“It’s no big deal, right?”

“Right,” Steve says, mirroring your doubtful tone.

You both gingerly approach, like two idiots who have never seen a bed before. He cautiously approaches one side while you approach the other, slipping in and leaving as much space between you as possible. Steve scoots closer ever so slightly, but grabs a pillow, fluffing it and placing it between you two.

You and Steve spend a few minutes staring at the ceiling until your eyes form warped images in the darkness. Eventually, he sighs. You turn to ask him what’s wrong, but instead see him take the pillow and toss it across the room.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, pulling you into his muscled chest.

“Language,” you mutter. But your eyelids already feel droopy as sleep pulls you under. Tonight, sleep smells like sandalwood and feels like heaven. Tonight, your dreams are blonde wisps and bright eyes that threaten to pull you into the ocean deep.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve is just broad shoulders and sullen disposition from your spot in the darkness.

“...Tony Stark, also known as the hero Iron Man, has been reported missing…”

“Get your things, Steve,” you say, stepping out from the shadows.

You’re the only thing that can pull Steve away from his racing thoughts. He forces his eyes off the screen, away from the image of a grinning Tony.

“Where are we going?” he says as you reach out to tug on his shoulder, a silent urge to gather his things. His hand finds a home over yours, holding it in place.

“Edinburgh.”

⋆⋆⋆

You start the search again, maybe the fifteenth time in the past five minutes.

The bar slowly fills up, reaching one hundred percent…

No results found.

“Nothing, Steve,” you tell him, your voice hoarse. Thanos might as well have vanished.

The captain is still for a moment before his hand comes down on the console table. After the glass breaks and the books clatter, you can only hear Steve’s deep breaths as he tries to calm himself. He takes long strides towards the door.

No results found.

“Steve–don’t take any chances. We’ll find him,” you say pleadingly. “He knows we’ll find him.”

As Steve mourned Bucky back in 1944, he wished he had something to bury. A final home for his best friend. A meeting place for him to visit. Something, anything to remember him by. Now he has his ashes, and he realizes how stupid he was to think it would bring him any relief.

No results found.

“Then he should be here to tell me himself.”

You flinch as the door slams shut behind him.

⋆⋆⋆

You pull a brown plaid shirt from Steve’s closet. You hold it up to his frame.

“I should’ve told you this eleven years ago,” you say as you pull the shirt off its hanger, “but you should really size up.”

He chuckles as he takes the shirt from you, slipping it through his arms. You begin to button the shirt as Steve looks on through the mirror. These days, he’s not quite sure who it is looking back at him.

“I don’t know what to tell them,” he says. If he wasn’t so numb, he might feel anxious. His stomach may have flipped at the thought of the support group sitting in a melancholic circle, staring at him, waiting for his words of wisdom.

You give him a sad smile, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He captures your hands in his before you can pull away.

“Tell them what you told me,” you say, and your hands slowly slip from his grasp. “About Peggy.” You give one final tug on his shirt before sending him on his way.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve looks anxious at your weekly dinner. He pushes around the contents of his plate without taking a single bite. You watch him, waiting for him to speak. When nothing ever comes, you ask him yourself. He drops his fork, finally stopping his nervous assault on his sliced carrots. He can’t stop thinking of Scott Lang, waving at him from the security cameras.

“What have you heard about…time travel?”

⋆⋆⋆

“Buck, can I…talk to you?”

Steve’s hesitant question causes you to put down the bandage. You’re not quite sure why Steve called you to the compound at this hour, and you’re even more unsure of why he was nowhere to be found while you made yourself comfortable in the kitchen. You feel lucky enough that Bucky made his way down, looking for something to sterilize his wounds. Usually, you would kill time talking to Nat, but–

“Sure,” Bucky answers. He gives you an unreadable look as he disappears with Steve into his room. You keep yourself busy, cleaning up the used medical supplies, until the super soldiers reappear. You see Bucky’s jaw clench ever so slightly; otherwise, he is nearly expressionless. He approaches you, nodding towards Steve. You slip off of the kitchen counter stool and Steve places his hand on your lower back, leading you into his room.

His room in the compound is nearly bare, save for what Tony has furnished himself. Not even the record player that he proudly found years ago, the only possession in his former SHIELD apartment.

You sit at the edge of Steve’s bed while he moves his armchair and plants himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, leans forward, and stares earnestly into your eyes.

“Steve?” You can’t ignore the feeling churning in your gut.

“You have been so good to me,” he begins. The inner parts of his eyebrows raise up in sincerity. “And I just want to say thank you.”

“You’re…welcome,” you say, a quip getting lost in your confusion.

“Tomorrow, I return the infinity stones.”

You nod. You knew that. He knew you knew that.

“And…I’m not coming back.”

You let out a wry chuckle. “Don’t worry,” you say, finding your voice suddenly hoarse. “You know Dr. Banner will make sure–”

“The last stone I have to return is in 1949,” he explains. Are you shaking your head at him? Is your entire body quaking? You’re not quite sure. “And I’m going to stay.”

I love you, Steve.

I love you so goddamn much.

I’ve loved you from that moment you sat in Fury’s stupid, flimsy chair.

I’ve loved you since you looked at me like I was your entire world, all because I took you to the worst gym in New York.

I’ve loved you in every moment, in every iteration, in every semblance of you.

And Steve Rogers, I know you love me, too.

You want to reach for Steve’s hand, but you’re frozen, and your clammy hands stay rooted in your lap. You give him a smile that you hope looks genuine.

“You had a date.”

⋆⋆⋆

You leave Steve behind in his room, insisting he didn’t need to walk you out. Insisting you didn’t need to spend the night, or ask any more questions.

Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, unmoving. You move to stand beside him.

“He can’t,” you whisper as you approach. Your fists are clenched so tightly that you’re nearly drawing blood.

“He made his choice,” Bucky responds. He matches your hushed volume, but his collected tone contrasts your panicked timbre.

“He can’t,” you say again. Maybe he didn’t hear you correctly.

“It’s his life,” Bucky tells you, in the same even voice.

“He can’t.” Your knees can’t hold you anymore. You’re falling, and Bucky catches your wrists in an effort to keep you from slumping to the ground.

You fight against his grip. You find the sides of your fists beating against his chest. Bucky falls with you. His cold eyes stare ahead, into the darkness beyond the compound. Your tears are hot, pouring onto your face like streams of lava.

He can’t

He can’t

He can’t

⋆⋆⋆

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

You watch the best friends pull each other into an embrace. Bucky’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Steve turns to you, and your bitter frown turns into a painted smile. His muscled arms pull you into a hug next.

“Check in,” he says.

“Stay close,” you respond, closing your eyes and breathing him in. Your eyes squeeze shut as you pull him into a tighter embrace. When you release, Steve flicks away a stray tear from your face.

“Don’t take any chances.” He lingers a moment too long with his hands pressed against your jawline, his eyes searching for something unknown in your expression. Eventually, all too soon, he steps into Dr. Banner’s machine. At the press of a button, he’s gone.

Bruce counts down, preparing his machine for Steve’s return, one that you know won’t ever happen. Eventually, beside you, he and Sam break into a frenzied argument, but somehow they sound so far away.

“Sam.”

Bucky’s sharp voice draws the attention of the three of you. You follow Bucky’s gaze to an elderly man sitting on a bench. You can only see the back of his head, but you gasp.

Your feet are carrying towards the man, right alongside Sam and Bucky.

You can feel Sam’s perplexed gaze shift from you to Bucky.

“Go ahead,” Bucky urges.

You feel like you’re watching from miles away as Sam slowly approaches the captain. Every heartbeat feels like your heart is sinking further down into your stomach, and you force yourself to walk away. As soon as your back is turned, the tears flow freely. You stifle your sobs, disappearing behind a tree, out of sight from the other four heroes.

Bucky keeps his smile as he watches the astonished Sam receive the shield, just as he and Steve discussed. He sees the journey ahead for Sam, the man with a future yet to forge.

He glances back, seeing only a portion of you behind a tree trunk, heaving with the weight of your burdened cries. His heart aches for you, a lifetime of possibilities turned into memories of the past. The light at the end of the tunnel was simply a mirage for the woman left behind.

[rosanna-writer]

sit with you in the trenches

Summary: Azriel's tendency to overwork himself has left his study in disarray and Gwyn on her own too often. After years of working in a library, she fixes it the only way she knows how: filing and color-coding.

(Also: The desk has too much paperwork on it to bend someone over, and she doesn't like that one bit.)

Pairing: Gwynriel

A/N: Just a short Gwynriel oneshot with some fluff and explicit smut. You can read the rest below or here on AO3.

Gwyn has the house to herself. Again. At least Azriel had been considerate enough to send a note this time, letting her know he'd be working late and not to wait up for him.

(She always waits up for him.)

It's nothing new— Azriel has always worked too hard. Their friends had confirmed that he'd always been this way, since long before he met her. Once over dinner with Cassian and Nesta (who were keeping her company because Az was off collecting secrets again), her brother-in-law told her he'd hoped Gwyn's influence would get Azriel to relax a bit more.

Apparently not.

He's not avoiding her, and if Gwyn had asked him to stay home tonight, he would have. But she shouldn't have to make plans just to see her mate.

There's no use in brooding about it or seeking her friends for company while she waits around, not while she can find a solution.

She lets herself into his study. Azriel's desk is covered in stacks of reports from spies, reference books, and his own notes. Any protective magic surrounding the documents won't keep her out. Azriel might know more secrets than anyone in Prythian, but he never kept a single one from her.

So Gwyn gets to work.

Azriel takes beautifully thorough notes— it's one of the many things Gwyn loves about him— but they are located all over the place. She groups related reports together, adds tables of contents, and drafts brief summaries at the beginning of each stack. She finds folders for everything. She color-codes. She rearranges his shelf of reference books so he'll be able to find what he needs faster.

(Mother above he'd been sorting them by color.)

She's still at it, drafting another summary document, when he appears in the doorway. Even though he hasn't made a sound, she still looks up as soon as he's there.

(She always knows when he's around.)

"I thought you'd be in bed," Azriel says, not bothering with a hello.

"Az!" Gwyn says, smiling at the sight of him.

Azriel crosses the room, too worried to return her smile. "Have you not been able to sleep?"

In truth, Gwyn hadn't noticed how late it had gotten or even bothered to change into nightclothes. "Actually, I haven't even tried to."

Then, Azriel's attention finally leaves his mate, and he takes in the new labels written in her neat handwriting and the distinct lack of piles of paperwork on the desk. "What have you been up to?"

Gwyn doesn't answer at first, just gets up from the chair and kisses him hello. Even with Azriel distracted, his shadows curl around the desk and the bookshelf, examining it.

The two of them break apart, and Gwyn sits down on the desk, her legs dangling over the edge. "You've been busy," she says, a little accusatory. "And that's fine, it's who you are, but for Cauldron's sake, Az, work smarter not harder."

"How is this supposed to help?" he says. It's a genuine question.

"Az, I work in a library," Gwyn says, letting out a huff of frustration. "I organized the information and books for you. Anything you need to refer back to should be easier to find now, and there are summaries so you don't have to re-read entire documents. I can walk you through the whole system in the morning."

Azriel doesn't say anything at first, and for a moment, Gwyn worries she's overstepped. She's good at reading him, better than anyone else, but it's not always easy when he's so stone-faced.

After a moment, he says, "Thank you, but you didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It's not trouble— it's what I'm good at."

That, at least, gets him to smile, something that everyone else used to say was so rare for him.

(Azriel's smiles were never rare for her.)

Azriel leans down to kiss her, and it's gentle, but Gwyn's missed him too much today to be content with gentle. She places her arms on his shoulders to steady herself, then wraps her legs around his waist and tugs him closer. He trails his lips down to her neck.

"Should I take that to mean all this work didn't tire you out too much?" he murmurs.

Gwyn tilts her head back, pushing her chest into his as if she's trying to touch him with every square inch of her body. "I could have been tired out by now if you'd been home on time."

Azriel pulls back, and Gwyn can't fully hold back a small, disappointed noise at the sudden distance between them.

"You're not upset with me, are you?" he says, watching her carefully.

"No," Gwyn says, and she means it. She knows Azriel only throws himself into the work because he wants to get ahead of any threats to her, their family, or the Night Court. And those threats never cease. "But I don't like missing you, so I wanted to save you time. You don't ask for help enough."

"I love you," Azriel says, because that's all there is to say. Gwyn starts to say it back, but before she can get the words out, Azriel has already dropped to his knees in front of her. He rests his hands on the tops of her thighs. "I should have been home for dinner. Let me make it up to you."

With the way he's on his knees before her, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the inside of her thighs, it's obvious how he's planning to do that. Gwyn unbuttons her pants, then holds onto the desk while Azriel slides them off along with her underwear. She pushes herself forward, all the way to the edge of the desk.

He runs a hand up her shin as he presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. Her toes curl. Gwyn stares at his wings, wondering if there's a way she can run her fingers along them without potentially leaning too far forward and falling onto Azriel.

(Not that he'd mind having her on top of him.)

But as he kisses up her thigh, it gets harder to form a coherent thought. She runs a hand through his hair, then digs her fingers in. When he gets to the very top of her thigh, just inches from her center, he sits back on his heels.

Gwyn starts to ask why he stopped, but when their eyes lock, the words die on her lips.

Azriel is looking at her, pupils blown wide, with an adoration that makes her chest ache. He doesn't say anything because he doesn't need to. It's the pause he always takes, checking with her, making sure everything is alright and he hasn't moved too quickly.

(The days she needs to stop and breathe until her heart stops hammering in her chest happen less now, but they still happen.)

Gwyn can feel the bond connecting them, so strongly now that she could almost reach out and touch the golden threads connecting them. Mates.

She releases her grip on his hair and moves her hand down to his cheek. He leans into the touch as she says, "I love you. Keep going please."

It's all the encouragement he needs. Azriel runs his tongue up her center with maddening slowness. Once, he'd challenged her not to ask for more when he did this over and over. She'd agreed on the condition he'd submit to the same test. They'd both succeeded.

(Gwyneth Berdara doesn't break, even under the sweetest torture. Neither does Azriel.)

His tongue darts in and out of her, and he takes his time, making lazy circles around her clit but never getting quite to the spot that will send her over the edge. She tugs at his hair just hard enough to hurt a little, the way he likes. When her breath starts coming in pants and she lets out a moan, he estimates it won't be much longer until she can't string a sentence together.

Sitting back on his heels again, he takes in the sight of her flushed red and gripping the edge of the desk so hard it turns her knuckles white. "What do you want next?" he says.

Gwyn might be close to being undone, but she's not so far gone that she can't get that mischievous glint in her eyes that he loves so much. "I didn't just clear this desk off for work reasons."

Azriel rises to his feet and steps between her legs, and Gwyn tips her head back to see his face. "You want me to bend you over it, don't you?" he says.

"Yes," Gwyn says, a little breathless.

She expects him to lift her off the desk and turn her around, but he doesn't. Azriel leans down to kiss her, to make sure she can taste herself on his mouth before he's inside her. She pushes her tongue against his lips and he parts his immediately for her. When she runs her tongue along the roof of his mouth, she's rewarded with a desperate-sounding noise from him, too. He's finally close enough that she can draw slow circles on his wing with one fingertip, and he sighs her name against her lips.

He's forced to step back and says, "Don't end this so fast that I can't give what you asked for." Gwyn just smiles and hops to the floor.

(She always gets what she asks Azriel for.)

She's unbuttoning his pants before he can do it himself, so Azriel dips his hands under her shirt, running them up her chest and grazing her nipples with his thumbs. Her fingers pause on the fastenings for just a half-second.

"Is this really all it takes to distract you?" Azriel says.

"If you want to distract me, you'll have to do better," Gwyn says, then pushes his pants down.

Azriel laughs and pulls her shirt over her head, then gets rid of his own and strips the rest of his underthings off. Gwyn kisses him again, pressing her body to his and delighting at the feeling of him against her without any layers between them. The hard length of him presses against her abdomen.

Gwyn could probably spend the rest of her life kissing Azriel, but it would mean not getting what she asked for. She pulls away and turns around without a word, bending over in a silent invitation.

Azriel runs his hands up the backs of her thighs and squeezes her ass. Since she started training, Gwyn's legs have become more visibly muscular. Gwyn has always been strong, but now she looks it. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight, then presses a kiss to the base of her spine.

"Azriel…" Gwyn says, the impatience obvious in her voice.

But there's no rush, so he runs a hand along her center, feeling the wetness there and enjoying the sight of her back arching a bit. He dips a finger inside her, and she pushes her hips back, impaling herself more deeply. His finger curls, and she moans again.

The sound of it is too much, and he slides into her, resting his hands on her hips. He thrusts into her with the same excruciating slowness he used with his tongue, and she drives her hips back again, greedy and impatient.

They find their rhythm like they always do, moving in time instinctively, coordinating without even needing to speak. Azriel's grip on her hips tightens as the tempo increases and the world narrows to just the place where their bodies are joined.

Gwyn moans his name as she finds her release, and the sound of it and the feeling of her clenching around him is enough to send him over the edge just after.

He pulls out of her, and Gwyn straightens up and turns around with astonishing speed.

(All that training has her moving like lightning now.)

She gives him a contented smile, then grabs his face in both hands and kisses him again, soft this time. "This almost makes up for you missing dinner. Almost," she says.

The challenge in her voice makes him smile back. The tenacity is just so Gwyn that he kisses her again because there aren't words for what it does to him. When he pulls away, he says, "Would a second round change that?"

"If you can repeat your performance and keep this desk clear so we can do this more often, we'll call it even, shadowsinger."

Something tells him that with her organizational system, it won't be a challenge at all to keep the paperwork filed away. It will be harder not to let his work consume him, but when it gets tough, his mate will be there, just like he would for her.

(Gwyn and Azriel don't let each other fail.)

[multiplicity-positivity]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to separate from their source? I've got a headmate who is very much struggling with/unhappy with his source and I'd like to help/give him some advice if y'all have any to pass along

hello, cecil is cofronting and right now so we do feel confident enough to try and offer some advice.

source separation can be tricky, and may be a process best undertaken in therapy. if you have a therapist, it may be wise to bring this up with them to discuss possible solutions. additionally, the process of source separation may vary from system to system and even headmate to headmate. so what has been working for cecil may not work for your system.

some of the best advice we can give you is to branch out and try new things. it seems like many introjects try to adhere strictly to their source as much as possible, trying to maintain the same hobbies as their source, act the same, and basically live their source’s life as a headmate in a system. in order for source separation to happen, this has to stop.

it may help for your headmate to remind himself that he is his own person. introjects are not their sources, even if they feel the same or incredibly similar. his source is not living life as a headmate in your system (unless he happens to be an introject of another headmate!). his source is not experiencing life in the same way that he is, is not making the same decisions or interacting with the world in exactly the same way. these ideas helped put cecil’s mind at ease - maybe they’ll help your headmate too.

if your headmate is a fictive or a factive of a content creator/celebrity, it may be helpful for your whole system to try and avoid his source for your headmate’s comfort and well-being. i know this can be hard, especially if his source is a beloved piece of media, special interest, or hyperfixation. but distancing your system from content related to this headmate’s source could really help him start to find himself and flesh out his own identity. we know for cecil, there was always this unspoken expectation hanging over him that as long as we were playing disco elysium, he would have to witness his source and (consciously or unconsciously) try and behave similarly. the whole system taking a break from the game has helped cecil’s mental health immensely. we value the feelings and needs of our headmates more than games or media we enjoy.

we’d encourage your headmate to experiment with all sorts of things. he can question his gender and sexuality, try out different names and pronouns, research otherkin or therianthropy. he could learn about different fields of science or humanities, learn to craft, bake, code, knit, or play disc golf. he could seek out a favorite color or aesthetic, and experiment with his sense of fashion and style. learning not to let his source govern the decisions he makes day to day will greatly benefit his process of source separation.

finally, getting support from loved ones (even within the system) may help this transition be smoother for him. so diligently using his new name (if he chooses one), encouraging him to keep branching out with his choices, and having his back when he does could all help. defending him when others shame or look down on him for separating from his source would be excellent. showing interest in his new interests, and generally just acknowledging his changes and still caring for him through it all could be incredibly beneficial.

remember source separation is a process - it doesn’t happen overnight. so some patience and determination will be necessary. it truly can happen though, even if it seems hopeless at first.

we’re wishing you, this headmate, and your whole system the very best. we hope something written here will be of use to you. thank you for reaching out.

🐢 kip and 🖋 cecil

[anxietywriter]

Studying Prompts

an assortment of prompts and lil way a character might study (or lack thereof)

study dates!!! much love to study dates, maybe they're less productive when they're together, but being together makes it a lot more bearable. plus they can ask the other question if they're confused. plus they share snackies and study tips

they got into a nice groove for an hour or two but they noticed a lil smudge on their laptop so they go to wipe it and oh no their desk is a lil messy better rearrange it and oh i'm already up so i might as well get something to eat and oh- it has been several hours i need to get back to studying

a whole lil schedule and plan on how long they want to study each subject and break times. they're very organized with their planners and notes and it's frankly amazing. color coding and everything

study date between a stem major and an art major who both have to take an anatomy course??? and they're both sat down helping each other remember the names for human bones and muscles. or a lil meet cute where one sees the other studying anatomy and joins them, thinking they're in the same major when they could not be any more wrong. just a lil silly y'know. for reference i am studying figure drawing as an art major and my friend is taking anatomy as a bio chem major. Y'know in case u need ideas.

the characters that are almost failing out of class and the A+ student having to tutor them for extra credit or out of the goodness of their heart. the slow burn when the nerd just wants to keep their distance and doesn't think they're good enough. the other thinking they're also not good enough but falling in love with what they think is an angel. but making snarky remarks the nerd hates because damn it can't happen, they have to make the nerd hate them. because if they ever ended up as friends they'd pine for something they cannot have.

im so weak for pairings where one is a workaholic, neglecting their health and just studying for the whole day with a furrow in their brow. and then the other is walking in periodically to give them water and massage their shoulders and then eventually pulling them back into a hug and pulling them away from their desk, muttering about how their partner needs to take better care of themselves

a character studying with the other, not because they need to, but because they just want to spend more time together. like, they ace every test and are crazy smart, top of their class, they don't really need to study. yet they can be found after school, sitting at the library table everyday with the other. cue the other eventually finding out and asking why they would do that when they could've done anything else and feeling bad for wasting their time and just. feelings reveal.

snarky student being tutored teases and flusters their classmate while they're working together. the tutor denying their feelings and telling themselves that the snarky one is just like this and it'll only last for as long as they're being tutored. then the snarky one gets their first good grade in the class and, it's a surprisingly bittersweet feeling for them as they realize they quite enjoy hanging out with someone after school outside of their usual group.

[silver-heller]

Hi again! I hope you don't mind me rambling. Also thanks for answering my questions! ^^ (Warning this is really long cause infodump, also a suprise at the end.):

I just dreamed a random dreamed where Wick confronts his sister aka Maristella. And then they reunited after a bit of a talking only of Maristella to syringe over the back his neck in sudden force. Shocking him as he look over to her eyes, they were filled with remorse, something that Wick rarely ever seen. He felt she embraced him tigthly whispering to his ears.

"I am very sorry my dear brother.." She softly whispering. His eyes submerged into to the pit of darkness, sleeping.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Maristella or Maire in my 'au' called Orchids jewelries.(A temporary name)

A sister of Wick who has been gone for a while, she once wrote a letter to Wick and Susannah (another younger sister of Wick)  that she only been out for a 'vacation' to take a break at her job, however stopped sending letters to them causing her relationship to Wick and Susannah to drift away. (She works as a dressmaker. Credits to my moot who helped me.)

In reality she may have half lied about it. The reason why Maristella haven't came back for like who knows how long, it's because she doesn't want to be involved with the family's drama. And yes she's could've have got married and live somewhere else but she didn't have any interest of those.

Lawrence (Wick's twin) asked Maristella for help as he unintentionally got framed, being accused of it. Hence Maristella helped him in a exchange for a deal.

One is keep the secret to prevent anyone knowing especially the family. Lawrence knows the true reason why Maristella left in the first place because they had been kept contact discreetly. (They used code names, and often go to private places, however since Maire doesn't really wanna go back, Lawrence just wrote a letter or chat her over a telephone.)

So basically I just spoiled my old au that needed some reworking to do, and is the family a bit mess up? Yes. Now infodumping for my oc's aka Wick's hc sibblings:

Lawrence Sable:

He is the eldest twin. His personality is stoic, strict and harsh twisted with arrogance since. His father raised him as the 'perfect man' so Lawrence once a young lad done several things what his father had told him just to get the approval, even it's meant breaking his bones. Until Wick came in part. because he think Wick wouldn't go ruined over his way to become a 'perfect' since Wick is too timid. Only for that to demolish when his father chose Wick over him. Hence he grew a resentment towards the family, moreso gaining a rocky relationship towards his own twin. Summary he is the more colder version of Wick.

While he deeply cares for his family, it's no longer the family he once knew or wanted.

(He's fur color is sliver but with brown undertones, blueish sliver eyes. And has more different markings than Wick usually has.)

(He also feel guilty for almost physically hurting Wick in the past due to releasing his anger, but again he kept his feelings locked. Not really having the courage to say sorry, hence Wick felt intimidated around him.)

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Susannah 'Sookie' Sable:

She is based on the Lackadaisy wiki I just read so this is like my hc of her, unlike Lawrence she's much generous and kind to her family even she knew the heinous side of it. She even comforted Wick once in childhood, after he was forced to shoot a duck, the two buried it to somewhere in the garden together. She visits Wick's mansion often to check him up making sure he has good sleep or have eaten foo. She also greets Lacy too. A mother hen type, she simply refuse to leave until Wick takes a break, that goes same for Lawrence.

I like to headcannon Wick called Susannah 'Sookie' is because for her passion at baking, and that some of the family members loves eating one of her pastries, especially cookies. She and Maristella also used to be really close but grew distant.

(Her design is still not decided, but I want to make her a brunnette, she dyed it over her giner hair. Her fur is much warmer brown color.)

She lives separately from her family, she doesn't really want her daugther to witness the ugly side of it really. Yes Sookie has a daugther named Lumi, Sookie used to be married but soon got divorced because of her husband, who was caught having a affair with another woman leaving her heartbroken.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Maristella 'Maire' Sable:

Maristella lastly is the youngest but more older than Charlotte (and probably as tall as Wick lol) She's was a former ballerina but soon retired for reasons, which is pure boredom. Maire soon took interest in outfits that were made by her aunt. So she participate on learning historical fashion and soon became a dressmaker. She's more closer to her auntie instead of her own mother, because she felt pressured or irritated whenever their mother is around.

She's seen as a mischievous lady towards her family mainly her 'mother'  because of her "rebellious" personality but she didn't care. She's the person would do whatever she please, sassy and cunning, willing to use her brains in situations. Their father loved her for her fierceness personality, though wished she was a boy instead.

(As the design, shes a lilac point siamese, her outfit would be elegant. Yet she won't hesitate to show off different types of outfit for experimenting, a bold kind of lady whether you like it or not.)

Relationship wise: Lawrence and her aren't best term of getting along well as usually the tend to insult each other's face, the good thing is they didn't killed each other. Which a lot of people questioned but brush it off as they only see it as normal sibblings bickering. After Maire left for a vacation, she and Lawrence had been in contact for a year dealing with well... Not good matters. (The two both wanted to deny the fact they care eachother, and that the reason why they are helping eachother is for business only.)

Sookie or Susannah, Maire thinks she's a decent woman, a kind one. In the past She felt much pride when her older sister admired her performance as a ballerina, they are close, but not as close as Wicks. Sadly she had to cut her connections to Sookie.

Next is Wick, her relationship with him is close really close. She finds Wick humorous and intelligent, at the flip side she finds Wick too.. Gullible for his own good. (Thus her being overprotective of Wick whenever a woman was flirting at him.) Shame again she distant herself towards her family.

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Questions:

1. I wonder how would Charlotte react to Lawrence, Susannah, and Maristella? Especially if Sookie had told her she's a aunt now. (Aka Lumi is now her neice.)

2. Not a question but here are scenarios what I think would happened if Charlotte meets them:

•If Lawrence meet Charlotte, let's say he'll treat her as the same he treat his family, distant. Unless if she get herself in secrets Lawrence has been hiding then sadly he'll won't spare her life, besides he had to finish what needs to be done. (He already dislike her.)

•If Susannah meets Charlotte she would try her best to be nice to her like she always does. But that doesn't mean won't call out the things Charlotte done, she just wish Charlotte learn good values like being humble, instead whatever their father did. If Charlotte misbehave towards her daugther then she will be mad at her. (Threatening "You hurt my daugther, and I'll make sure you'll never see the day of the light again." Kind of.)

•If Maire ever meets Charlotte after or before she disappeared, then she would absolutely teases and annoy the ever life out of her. Will 100% use her as a bait, revenge for stealing one of her dressing she made.

•••••

Edit: man writing this makes me think they have the most deadly silent akward family meetings or dinners (more akward when Maire left for no reason). They may look like a perfect family in outside, but inside you get a whole mess of a flood.

Also the suprise, I drew some fanart btw. A interpretation of Charlotte, the one in the right (I tried my best so feel free to do some changes.) And featuring Maire, the tall lady wearing a bun is in the left.:

Charlotte if she attempt to talk over Maire:

Eve if she did tried intimidating or insult Maire, it wont work otherwise the result wont be pretty, cause Maire is someone you don't just mess around with. And she's definitely going to use Charlotte weakness as her weapon. (Unless half of the sable sibblings minus Wick and Sookie, declare a war- Not really.)

That's all, thanks for listening my rambling, have a good Day/Night! (Feel free to give feedbacks or anything.)

Oooo, I found them all so interesting! Definitely an intriguing and chaotic collective for sure. I enjoy what you did with each of them to really flesh out the family dynamic.

I imagine Charlotte would be distant with the others, I could see her disliking how cold Lawrence is and Marie's rebellious side. I think she'd be jealous of Sookie though, wanting a family of her own.

Thank you so much for drawing Charlotte, I love it! Charlotte definitely deserves to be put in her place a little.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hi! so I have some questions based on operating a blog (i’m new and i have no clue what to do… sorry)

what would you recommend putting on a pinned post? how do you put links of other posts (like stories/hcs/etc) onto another post like for a master list? when you start a post for hcs/oneshots do you do it in drafts or on another app and copy and paste it? i’m sorry if this is a lot to ask :,)

Also! i love your blog sm! your writing is so good!!

Hello there! No apologies necessary! Happy to answer any and all questions about this sort of thing 🙂

I'll answer your questions in reverse order. So, starting with drafting posts... I personally have always used Word or Pages when I write (and I was cool with using Google Docs in college as well). And honestly, I would recommend others do the same, mainly to avoid issues with Tumblr drafts not always saving properly. There is no worse feeling than losing all your hard work and not being able to recover it! Tumblr's post editor is just, not the greatest, to put it politely. It's glitchy, difficult to format certain things, and way too easy to mess something up or accidentally delete it altogether. For peace of mind, draft your stuff in a more reliable app and then copy over when you're ready to actually post.

Links... The one thing I'll say in Tumblr's defense is it does have a fairly easy way to link to other posts.* You don't need to know html or coding or anything. I'll explain as a step-by-step:

Copy the url of the post you want to link to. Best way is to click the three dots in the top right corner of the post and then "Copy Link." You can do this part on mobile or a web browser.

Create or edit the post you want to contain the link. Highlight the words you want (ex: Read here!) and a little bar of options will pop up (below the color options on mobile, above the highlighted words on the web). Click the symbol that looks like a chain, then paste the url you previously copied into the designated area. That's it!

For a post with multiple links (like a masterlist), you need to do it on a web browser. Keep the post you're creating up on one browser tab, and then open additional tabs to grab the links to your other posts for copying.

And then one note of caution (because even though it's easy, it's not perfect lol): If you edit a post with links it in, like changing the wording or moving things around, the links will sometimes "break." So I usually open two tabs, one with the post in its original format, and one where I'm editing it, and I can grab from the original if I accidentally mess it up.

*These instructions are for adding links in a post. If you want to set up links in your blog's bio/description section (like in mine), then you do need to use some basic html codes. I referenced this post when I set mine up.

And then finally, pinned posts... this is really up to you. Personally, I think you can't go wrong with some kind of a masterlist, or a "welcome" type post that includes a link to a masterlist. As a reader, whenever I find a new writer I like, I want to be able to see their bibliography, to see a list of all the other stories and things they've created. It helps me get to know them, their style, their fandom preferences, etc. And if I ever lose it or want to go back to it later, it's easy enough to just pull up their blog without having to scroll or search their whole posting history.

But it really depends on what you want visitors to your blog (and yourself!) to see first. Is there an issue/take/sentiment you're especially passionate about? Pin it. Are you running some kind of a game or focusing your writing on a particular prompt list? Pin it. Is there one story you are really proud of? Pin it. And the best part, you can change your mind and pin something else later. I currently have pinned an "I'm back!" post after I went MIA for a bit last year, because idk, I figured that was important for people to see. But I'm probably going to change it back to my masterlist now that it's been a while and I miss seeing that dumb meme I edited for it 😂

I hope I answered your questions and explained everything well! Again, happy to answer anything along these lines! I know starting out can be overwhelming, but a lot of it becomes second nature the more you play around and take note of what other blogs are doing. Then your focus can be on just having fun with your writing!

[pedgito]

Being Eddie’s flirty tutor, and the only way to get him to pay attention is by taking a piece of clothing off for every answer he gets right. Vice versa for him, where he has to take something off for everything he gets wrong…

author's note: i sat on this for a few days and i’m starting to hate it, it’s just a quick little blurb but i wanted to get it out there before i scrapped it completely, still i hope you enjoy! (my brain was just all over the place during this)

cw: 18+ (minors dni), it’s pretty tame, just back and forth stripping between eddie & reader, a small bit of kissing and open-ended for your own imagination

word count: 1.5k

You couldn’t quite put into words how your relationship with Eddie has blossomed. It could’ve been the sheer fact that you couldn’t resist his ridiculous behavior, or his beautiful, rather majestic mane, or even the stupid jokes he’d tell his friends, catching you laughing off to the side, at your own separate table.

And you two weren’t an item. No, you couldn’t have been further from the idea of lovers—but friends, yes. Friends who enjoyed each other's company and touched each other too much, but whose business was that, anyways?

“Eddie, come on. I need you to focus.” Your voice doesn’t leave room for argument, slapping your hand down on the table in front of him.

He’s got that long, blank eyed stare as he glances down at your hand, seconds from falling asleep, bored out of his fucking mind. “Sweetheart, I can’t take much more of this.” He says honestly, peering up at you. “I’m fine with failing, at this point.”

“Hey, no,” You warned, shaking your head in disapproval. Eddie fell back in his chair, eyes staring up at the ceiling as his head fell back, hands resting against his chest, “do you need a break?”

“I don’t think a break is going to help.” Eddie replies, feeling ashamed that he couldn’t focus. You had put so much effort into helping him study and raise his grades (only barely, but it was a change, nonetheless), but he was nearing the end, out of the initial attention and patience he had when you started. “I can’t stay focused.”

“So, what? You just need something to help you stay focused?” You ask, smiling at his naivety, “Is that all it takes?”

“Look, I’m a simple man.” Eddie explains, pressing his fingers against his chest, “Whadda you got?”

It’s sitting there, in the deep, deep corner of your mind. It was a mindless game, something scandalous but effective, and what was wrong with having a little fun? You didn’t have any qualms, but you weren’t sure Eddie would want to partake. But, it was worth a shot, as wild as it was.

“Well,” You tilt your head to the side, closing the shared textbook and reaching into your bag for your color coded flashcards, “how about—for every question you get right, I’ll take something off.”

Eddie perks up instantly, sitting up fully in his chair. His eyes squint, examining you. You had to be joking. He was sure of it. He hesitated, mouth opening slightly before snapping shut.

“A-and if I get it wrong?” He asks timidly.

You smile, leaning forward over the table and into his space, far too close for comfort. “Then you take off a piece of clothing.”

Eddie didn’t even have to think about you naked for his body to betray him in every way imaginable, but he couldn’t pass this opportunity up. He couldn’t. Plus, he’d probably be naked before he even got your shirt off, and that was what bothered him the most.

He spent most of his days trying to convince you that you weren’t constantly on his mind, one of the only things he could think about aside from Hellfire and band practice—he spent more time with you then he did most of them, it seemed like normal behavior. Still, he was sure he’d scare you off if he let that slip, so he buried it—so far down it would never see the light of day.

“Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” Eddie asks, hands clasped in front of him, rings clinking against one another.

“You’re smarter than you think, Eddie.” You assure him, tapping the stack of cards against his hands, “If you really want me naked, you’ll figure it out.”

Eddie laughs softly, eyebrows drawing up in surprise. He commended your boldness, always flustered by how openly you flirted with him, like everyone and no one was watching, you didn’t care.

“Okay, go.” Eddie says, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest.

You flip through the cards, randomly choosing one from the bunch. You clear your throat noisily, holding the card up in front of you.

“Who proposed the concept of natural selection?” You asked, glancing down at the answer subtly.

“The fuck kind of first question is that?” Eddie asked incredulously, “I have no idea.”

You make a small noise, peeking at him from over the card. “Well, you know what that means.” The smile that spreads across your face is anything but sweet, riddled with smug amusement. “Off.”

Eddie huffed softly, flipping you off. He fiddled with his watch, letting it clash to the table loudly. He wasn’t giving in that easily.

“Please—just your watch, really?” It was child’s play, a cop out. You’d have to pull out the big guns if you really wanted to fluster him. “Whatever, next one.”

“What is the term for the set of all genes present in a population?”

Shit. He knows this one. Come on, Munson.

“Uh, gene—-“ You perk up, nodding slightly, “pool? Gene pool!”

“See, I told you!” You exclaim, watching as Eddie filled with pride. “Fair is fair.”

You slip your arm under your shirt, undoing the clasp of the bra in one fluid movement, moving the straps under your sleeves and pulling the bra out from under your shirt.

And just to fuck with Eddie further, you set it carefully in front of him—in all of its glory, intricate lace over a stark white, something that felt much too innocent. Eddie clears his throat, seemingly recharged.

“Next one.”

“Name the five fields of study that support evolution.”

Again, drawing an immediate blank and it didn’t help that Eddie could see your breasts through your shirt, flooding his mind with all the dirty thoughts he couldn’t say out loud. He inhaled deeply, accepting his own defeat.

“No clue, sweetheart.” He sighs, already reaching for the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

You grab the shirt from his hands, pilling it atop the other garments, eyes tracing over him. Admittedly, you couldn’t help but stare, admiring the smooth, milky skin of his chest, a few tattoos here and there.

It made your heart flutter, using the cards in your hand to hide the smile that stretches across your face—but Eddie notices. He doesn’t say anything, the small glint in his eyes is enough of a tell.

A few more questions and Eddie is nearly naked, sitting in nothing but his boxers—the socks were his last chance at pushing away the inevitable.

“We can stop, if you want.” You offer.

You both knew how this would end up. Eddie doubted himself too much, not leaning into his own instincts and second guessing every answer. You rearrange the cards, landing on one he was bound to answer correctly—that and you couldn’t be bothered to focus anymore, distracted by the way Eddie’s chest flexed with every wrong answer.

And the tension was…palpable. There was always something lingering between the both of you, but you never acted on it. It came through in teasing touches; a hand on your waist, a graze of your fingers against his wrist, right against the chain of his bracelet, or a causal arm around your shoulder, fingers twisting at a strand of your hair. It never strayed much farther.

Eddie flirted like his life depending on it, that was for sure—but that wasn’t something he reserved strictly for you, it was Eddie’s personality, though you could see the way he looked at you—watched you. It was far from friendly.

He doubled down.

“No.” Eddie argues, “Next question.”

“ ‘Kay, ready?” Eddie nods confidently, “The change of frequency in populations inherited traits, what is it?”

Eddie can’t explain why that was the only bit of information that stuck with him, but goddammit, he knew it. “Evolution! Ha, shirt off, sweetheart.”

You eyebrow quirks up at his boldness, tossing the cards aside. Eddie balks immediately, backtracking nervously.

“I mean—sorry, I don’t expect you to take your shirt off.” Eddie apologizes, “I got excited.”

You shrug, “I’m game.” You pray that the shake in your hands isn’t noticeable, reaching for the end of your shirt and pulling it swiftly over your head, tossing it into the endless pile of clothes. “Rules are rules, right?”

“Uh,” Eddie’s sentence dies on his tongue, glancing up to meet your eyes, trying so desperately to keep them there, “yeah.”

“You can look.” You tell him softly, “It’s only fair, since I’ve been staring at your chest for the past hour.”

“I-I don’t think I can.” Eddie admits, fingers bumping against the underside of the table, where he had them clasped tightly in his lap.

“Eddie,” It’s not an order, but a plea. He hears the infliction in your voice and you feel the levee break, that tight string snapping against the pressure, “I want you to.”

His eyes drop instantly, watching the way you lean back slightly, enough for him to get a full, unobscured view of your chest. His breath catches and you’re almost sure he’s never been in a situation like this or if he’s even seen a pair of breasts outside of his magazine stuffed messily in his bedroom nightstand.

“Fuck,” He says openly, “I really want to kiss you.”

You aren’t sure who reaches over the table first, but you’re on his lap in seconds, being kissed so fully that you can’t breathe, the feeling taking over your entire body. The fear, the anxiety, all disappearing, replaced by nothing but the desire to be consumed by him, by Eddie.

“So, I guess our study session is over?” Eddie asks cheekily.

And truthfully, it ended the second you stepped foot into his trailer.

[of-foolish-and-wise]

a uni survival guide: tips from a phd

if there's one thing i know about, it's college. i've done it, i've taught it, i've lived and breathed it. these tips are for first years in particular, but honestly for everybody. i think it's so important for people to have balanced lives in these years -- academics are not everything. you know what didn't help me in the real world when i was afraid i wouldn't live through it? my fancy college note-taking format. you know what did help me? the friends i made there who i knew would get on a plane and fly across the country in a matter of hours if i told them i needed them.

academic

- figure out where class is held ahead of time: don't be that kid who's late on day one, i beg of you

- use the writing center: especially for basic grammatical editing, which a lot of professors don't have time to mark on papers

- speak up in class: talking through ideas helps you work through them, and asking questions about something you don't understand can open up great lines of conversation

- find a regular schedule that works for you and stick to it: my college schedule was morning free time, class, lunch, class, practice, homework. that consistency was a life-saver

- keep a planner: it's so important to have a central place to track deadlines, assignments, and engagements

- annotate your reading: when you're stressing about a paper topic, being able to go back to what you've highlighted and written in the margins is a life-saver

- color-code your coursework: i use the same color highlighter, pen, and notebook for any given class. it's super helpful

- if you can't focus while studying with friends, don't: i reserved group studying for days when i didn't have important work because i can't be in a room with other people without talking to them. if your school has one, the quiet floor of the library is your best friend

- treat yourself to a "fun" class: art was always my place to just sit back and chill, a way to end the night all zen in the darkroom instead of conjugating russian verbs in a fluorescent-lit cinderblock prison. for you, it could be gym, it could be pottery, it could be some random course about, like, the history of cooking or something -- explore!

- profs are people too: don't be too nervous around them. also, know that if you're struggling -- even b/c of something in your personal life -- you can admit it, and they'll almost always understand why you missed a deadline or bombed a test

- go to office hours: it's the only way to get to know professors in big courses, and it's so helpful for both your grades and learning how to navigate relationships with authority figures

social

- don't let academia keep you from your friends: it's a case-by-case basis, but sometimes it's okay to let the reading slide and spend time with friends. i graduated seven years ago and my college group text still talks every day. that's so much more important to me than the fact that i never finished brideshead revisited

- joining a club is one of the best ways to make friends: i played ultimate frisbee through college and it was the source of so many lasting relationships, as well as the way i met all my local friends when i was abroad

- say yes to things you don't know if you'll like: you'll surprise yourself. me? turns out i love drinking games. and theme parties. and skinny dipping. and rock climbing

- don't be that person who looks down on their peers for partying: honestly? that person kind of sucks. you don't have to party if you don't want to, but actually, a lot of those people are super nice and also good at school -- don't just write them off!

- show up for your friends: go to their games, their concerts, their art shows, their standup nights. show them that what matters to them matters to you, too

- set aside a night to do a group activity with others: whether your vibe is wednesday night trivia, a weekly "terrible movie" showing, or a get-high-and-watch-nature-documentaries-type thing, these are great ways to liven up the week and de-stress

- this is a great time to figure out who from high school really matters to you: you don't have to force relationships that were built mostly on convenience if there are friends at uni with whom you click more. people you became friends with purely based on the coincidence of where your parents lived do not have to be your forever friends. they can be! but they don't have to be

personal

- don't expect too much of yourself: a 4.0 is not the end-all, be-all. if your family or somebody tells you it is, tell them to call me, and i will personally talk some sense into them

- take advantage of university support services: mental health counseling, free yoga classes, multi-cultural societies, etc

- drink water: please, please don't get kidney stones in the middle of the semester, says the girl who got kidney stones in the middle of the semester

- let yourself take breaks: if you need to lie to a professor and say you're sick when really you're just feeling down and you need to sit in bed and watch a movie, that's totally valid

- don't freak about individual assignments: my students come to me freaking over a B+ and i tell them, honey, no job interviewer is ever going to ask you about your second paper from communications 101. i wish i'd known that

- go see speakers if there's someone interesting coming to campus: these talks are always cooler than you expect. i'll never get over the fact that i didn't go see anita hill when she came to my undergrad

- do your laundry on the same night every week: i can't explain why this is so helpful but it really is

- keep up on the news and the memes: read the school paper, the school blog, the memes page -- college politics and inside jokes are fun and convoluted and fascinating

- set the groundwork for long-term self-care: all of the above is really just to say -- university isn't just for learning about the french revolution, it's also about learning how to balance, how to handle failure, how to ask for help, how to make a salad that doesn't totally suck, etc

[gothamslostboy]

Fine Dining 3

The Lost Boys

male reader

PART 1 PART 2

After a ride that felt both torturous and weirdly peaceful, David pulls his motorcycle up to my garage door before flipping the kill switch and helping me off the bike.

“So this is yours? Seems like somewhere Y/N Y/L/N would live.” He leans against his bike, watching as I enter the code. “Oh?” I don’t say anything else as I duck under the rising garage door, stopping once I reach the interior door.

“Yeah it’s small, semi secluded, but the shade of blue you’ve painted the outside makes it impossible to ignore, even if it’s the worst blue I’ve ever seen.” His face breaks out into a smug grin, eyes locked onto my face once again as he looks for a reaction.

“Small? You’re three inches taller then me at best and that’s when you wear heels David, not exactly the tallest either. Besides I didn’t choose the house color, just like I didn’t chose to be stuck with you tonight, things just happen that way.” Maybe that will bring that cocky bastard down a peg. I don’t break eye contact with him as I twist the knob of the interior down, satisfied with the quick glimpse of shock that passes over his face. David quickly composed himself, moving to stand with his arms crossed in front of the open garage.

“Wow, feeling feisty tonight kitten. For the record, the heels only add an inch, so I’m still taller. But I guess things like that are why a cocky bastard like me hasn’t been invited to come inside yet? I did drive all the way out here, it’s the least you could do for my efforts.” He has an annoyingly cute tight lipped grin on his amused face, scrunching his nose quickly at the end of his sentence.

“Get out of my mind,that shits invasive. And Oh yeah? What happened to it being no trouble puppy?” I turn to face the darkness of my house, praying that he missed at least one time I blushed tonight.

“Puppy? I don’t think you can pull off calling me that Y/N. Just let me come in, for a moment.” I take a deep breath before turning my head back around, body freezing for a moment when he once again finds my eyes.

“Yes I can David, and if you’re so desperate, I guess you can come in for a second. But you still need to work out what ever problem you had with Dwayne earlier.” He walks past me silently, quickly starting to examine my belongings. Thank god the house isn’t a mess. I turn on the lights in the kitchen and sit down at the dining table as I watch him move around the room, neither of us making any sound for a while. Opening the pantry, he breaks the silence; “so what’s the point of this plan anyway Y/N? Pretending to date him can only lead to two things, neither of them are options you’d like.” He pulls out a bag of plain chips, holding them up with a questioning look.

“Ok first of all, I eat them with dip. Second, what are you talking about? It’s one awkward dinner with Max, a few weeks of little white lies and we can say it didn’t work out. Done” I walk to the fridge and pull two waters and the dip out, going back to the table as David sits in the chair across from mine opening the bag.

“ you forgot somethings Y/N. Max isn’t stupid but he is an asshole. He’s either gonna know you lied, resulting in either death or turning as a punishment, or he believes it and forces you to turn so his son keeps his boyfriend forever. Are you really willing to be stuck with Dwayne as a boyfriend?” He dips his chip and settles into his chair. Probably already thinking of taunts for being right.

“What’s wrong with Dwayne? He’s a nice guy, kinda cute, and isn’t he like your brother? Why are you being mean?” My eyes widen a little when David growls, the icy blue I’m used to looking at becoming yellow. He moves to box me into my chair so quickly I couldn’t even see it, voice coming out deep and raspy when he speaks.

“He’s not right for you kitten. Don’t say there’s a possibility you’d like him ever again, you’re not his.” My confusion only grows, I don’t know David extremely well but I do know that he doesn’t let emotions or little things get large reactions out of him. I try to put some space between us, but he pushes my chair closer and turns my head facing him, only now I see what I assume is his full vampire form. Any other day behavior like this and seeing a transformation would freak me out, but something in his eyes is drawing me in, giving me the same butterflies his human face does.

“Hey, calm down David. I’m not gonna date Dwayne for real, he’s not my type. Why are you so pissed, we barely know each other.” He hesitates to answer, taking heavy breaths but staying in the same position as before, maybe a bit closer. Deciding to take a bold move, I hold the side of his face and it begins to return to normal. Only yellow irises remain, and with one final deep breath he answers my questions.

“Vampirism is a fascinating thing Y/N. It has many benefits that take a long time to learn and experience. There’s this thing, very rare thing, where a vampire will see someone and everything will click. Apparently, if this happens it means he has found his fated mate. The two will then be tied together if they continue to interact. Do you understand what I’m telling you Y/N?” I keep staring in his eyes, piecing together all the little things that now make sense. Him avoiding interacting with me when we first met wasn’t disinterest, it was him trying to ignore this pull, the same one I felt.

“Why’d you wait to tell me?” I rub my thumb against his cheek, going over every second I’ve known David for more clues I missed.

“Because you don’t want my life Y/N. Human emotions and thoughts are so easy to read, even if we weren’t mates. I can feel every time your stomach twist when Marko jokes about feeding. The second of panic you feel when one of us missed a spec of blood when washing off. You’re scared of us kitten. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to turn.” His eyes are like a pool, sadness and empathy swimming lap after lap.

“When you feel everything,” I lick my lips and try to calm my racing heart before continuing, “ do you also feel the shivers when you say my name? The electricity when you grabbed my hand?” I move our faces even closer, resting my forehead on his before whispering, “the desire to learn more, to know you David. I want to try this, I want to try us.”

Within a second David connected our lips, shrugging off his jackets before pulling away for only a moment.

“What my boy wants, he shall receive”

————————————————————————

END OF SERIES

@2525sc

[vaspider]

'only tenet of TERFism is transmisogyny' EXCUSE ME NO ITS ALL TRANS PEOPLE. They don't want any trans person to exist. What the hell.

Some people just gotta center their own suffering always, even when they're hurting other people by doing so. I've seen this a lot in younger queer folx of all stripes, this need to be the one that hurts the most, you know?

There's a reason the phrase Oppression Olympics exists, and it's because it's a common behavior or phenomenon in oppressed communities. I see it in the disability community, too.

What I think is important to understand when we talk about how trans people suffer under transphobia is that different groups are targeted differently. I'm not the first person to say this, of course.

Now, like, this is very rough sketchy stuff, and each person's individual experiences will vary, but in my general experience, the rough breakdown of the way in which transphobia lands on trans people kind of breaks down like this:

Binary trans women tend to suffer under a lens of hypervisibility. Everything they do is seen, analyzed, and torn apart. Their struggles are generally the ones centered in the arguments of allies, "allies," and transphobes. Even when trans women are the focus of helpful attention, that hypervisibility can cause exhaustion, because they need to perform perform perform, and be perfect, all the time. It's hard for trans women to just be without feeling like they're on camera, all the time. A lot of the time, they are on camera, because trans women's bodily autonomy and right to privacy are just never respected by transphobes (and often by supposed "allies" who feel free to ask the most invasive questions and get upset when trans women won't answer them), and even if they're not literally on camera, they're supposed to perform as the best examples of transfemininity, because if they don't, then they become the next 'look at this bad trans, all trans are this bad trans' example that TERFs point at and use as a broad brush to paint all trans women. If they're not perfect all the time and have a day where they snap at someone while someone is recording, or make a mistake, or anything, it has a horrible tendency to go viral. You can think of at least three instances right now off the top of your head, right? Right.

Binary trans men tend to suffer from hyperinvisibility. This comes from inside and outside the community -- a lot of trans men talk about being told they can't lead in community because they've 'got male privilege,' that their struggles are discarded, that they're talked over and unable to discuss the things they face, which means they don't get the support they need. Now, there are TERFs and transphobes who absolutely do focus their attention on trans men to the exclusion of or to the deprioritization of the oppression of trans women -- that's where we get Tavistock and Irreversible Damage and Fourth Wave Now and all the other bullshit which focuses on the idea that trans men are "transing the gay away," specifically "transing our butch lesbians" and "stealing butches." But again, generally speaking, trans men face harmful levels of invisibility where trans women face harmful levels of visibility. That's why transmascs in general have issues like lack of understanding even by supposedly trans-competent doctors as to how HRT affects our bodies, why trans men (and transmascs in general) report things like transphobes attacking them with transmisogynistic comments and assuming that every trans person online is a trans woman, etc.

Non-binary (here used as an umbrella term for all identities outside of binary man/woman, to include agender, genderfluid, non-binary, and infinite other identities) AFAB people tend to suffer from a different, very specific form of hypervisibility, unless they start to appear too masculine, and then they slip into hyperinvisibility. This is where we get things like "women and non-binary people" that codes all non-binary people as "AFAB people I can sort of squint and view as women," and people who fall into this category tend to get a lot of attention, a lot of derision from all sides of the spectrum. This is the "blue-haired tenderqueer" sneering that we get from both within and without the queer community, where there's an assumption that these people are just cosplaying an identity, that they're not really trans, etc. Having been in the visibility category and slipped into the invisibility category within the last, oh, year or so, and having two binary trans women in my family to compare notes with, the experiences are unnervingly similar. The difference between the experience that those women have had and the experience that I have had is that according to transphobes, I'm a traitor to my womanhood and performing femininity wrong and taking on a fake identity to escape female oppression because I'm not strong enough to bear up under it, but too cowardly to become a trans man, or... something, whereas they're taking on a fake identity to sneak into women's spaces because they're perverts.

Non-binary (umbrella identity etc) AMAB people tend to suffer from their own very specific form of hyperinvisibility, unless they start to present "too feminine", and then they slip into the hypervisibility which affects binary trans women, but with a little different fuckery in which everyone just assumes they're a trans woman, and therefore they get misgendered by everyone across the spectrum of queer/non-queer/etc. Non-binary AMAB people are generally treated like they don't exist, and when they are spoken about, are often discussed in the context of 'they should just admit they're trans women or gay men,' or if they present 'too feminine,' are subjected to the same sort of horrific attention that trans women get.

Again, a lot of this is very simplistic, and doesn't add in a lot of other complicating factors like race, disability, class, etc. Trans men of color, for example, can run into a different sort of hypervisibility because as they move further through their transition, they begin to be seen in the world as a man of color. It's not really mine to speak on beyond that, but I don't want to neglect saying 'this is really really simplistic and there's more to it than that' over and over.

I really hate breaking it down this simply because it feels like creating another binary (our society does like a binary!) for non-binary people, but like, I can't really talk about my shared experiences with other trans people without putting some framework around it. Someday, I'll be able to do that without categories. Wouldn't that be awesome?

I think we do our entire community a huge disservice when we talk about transphobia as if it's a single snake trying to take bites out of only one part of the community, and not a many-headed hydra, able to attack us from multiple different directions. I also think that focusing on one form of oppression keeps us from forming meaningful solidary and coalitions; the more divided we are, the easier it is for the people who literally want us all to stop existing to pick us off one by one. We see this all across the queer community and it's only ramping up as the attacks on our community escalate from without; people tend to turn on the ones closest to them when they get really scared, and to blame the person standing next to them for the pain they're suffering. It's the "close enough to hit" phenomenon, and it's why we see ridiculous things like "bi women make cis men think that lesbians can be won over," rather than acknowledging that bi women aren't the ones causing that: cis men are the ones causing that. The bi women in that case are close enough to hit. Transmascs are close enough to hit. Trans women are close enough to blame for the problems of transmascs, which makes it possible for TERFs to lure transmascs in and attempt to detransition them, subjecting them to gaslighting and manipulation and then using them as sock puppets.

TERFs do focus a lot on transmisogyny. They focus a lot on transmisandry, too. Debating which one is more prevalent and 'worse' not only misses the point, because transmascs and transfems face very different and totally rotten attention from cis society as a whole, including cis queers. We need to like, not do that anymore: we need to give each other the space to talk about our unique circumstances, but we also need to work harder on looking at each other through a lens of solidarity and trying to see that our struggles are different but not unrelated, and that if we keep downing on each other like this, we're not going to get anywhere except in a much more difficult situation as the people who don't want any of us to exist keep picking us off.