#this is gonna be my comfort thing for a while i think

[the-lady-bryan]

2-3.

It helps that when I was younger I was too big too soon for training bras that do up in the front and went straight to regular women's bras. So I never learned it any other way than behind me. I never have more than 3 hooks on any bra I bought. (I now only wear sports bras due to fabric/skin issues).

My trick was to hook the center hook first. Then the other two. Takes a few tries to get it down with different bras (some are stretchier than others). I also would move my shoulders back and towards one another while reaching back for my bra. This maneuver pushed my chest out but helped bring the back sides closer together for easier hooking.

You also want to make sure the back hooks area are on at least 1 - 1 1/2 inch of fabric vertically because when they are too close together it's difficult not to hook the wrong hook in the wrong eyelet. If your back strap is too thin, it also can mess with the stability of the whole bra, cause the sides will also be a bit too thin.

Think of it like this - a bikini top that only ties offers no support at all. You just go flopping about. That's too thin. 12 hour-support bras have the super thick straps in the back with a zillion hooks because you're not gonna want those things flopping at all and are gonna need more back support for a long day, too. 3 hooks tend to be the balanced spot of comfort plus support. Two hooks is mostly just comfort. 4 hooks is ore support.

But yeah, middle hook usually was first then followed by top and bottom. Try to move your shoulders towards one another as best as you can to close the gap and give the fabric a little slack so you can more easily feel the hooks and eyelets.

[girl-lostconnection]

i luv ur work and I'm just curious your thoughts on if bat reader got pregnant? Maybe a little clutch of 3 babies that are around 6lbs each so small but maybe most fruit bat babies are? Or since it's a hybrid of the one/all the boys maybe it's one baby but a little bigger and sweet reader is waddling everywhere constantly barefoot

Yk, anon, your idea is so cute I’m gonna give you a pass for pregnancy trope because god knows I’m not a fan of it. Don’t get me wrong, I have massive respect for people who decide to get pregnant but Jesus, if it’s not some prime horror material. Also I just personally don’t like pregnancies or kids

Okay, you will need to hold my hand with this one because the next thing will be wildly anti-scientific and borderline magical, but it’s fanfiction — we are gonna freestyle. No one can stop us from having fun, anon.

I can imagine Reader finding out they are pregnant and as soon as 141 find out, at least one of the boys is glued to their side.

Especially Price — Komodo dragons are incredibly protective fathers and he is no exception. The man would be patiently peeling and cutting all and every fruit, rubbing your legs and kissing your cheeks because you deserve it for working so hard.

Simon’s provider instincts would go haywire because your scent changes with pregnancy and primal part of him needs to make sure you eat enough, you are warm, you are safe, you are comfortable. He is slightly paranoid and doesn’t let you walk anywhere alone, just looming over your shoulder.

But he’s also the one who will relax once he sees that one of the lads actually come to take turn guarding you. Wolves separate responsibilities and in a wolf pack some wolves go hunting while others watch pups then they switch. So he’s okay if someone is nearby but he definitely feels more comfortable if he’s glued to your side and his hand is on your shoulder.

Man seriously doesn’t understand why can’t you all just move as the group of five if that would maximise the safety of you and the child. So what if it’s impractical? Doesn’t matter that he would look like he’s guarding a bloody prime minister, he will be advocating for you all to walk around together.

Kyle is relatively calm because he’s not velcro husband but make no mistake the man is velcro dad. Eagles are incredibly protective of their young and shield them from cold and heat and predators and literally chew food for them. Let’s hope Garrick holds himself together.

But he def would become more attentive, pecking kisses here and there, chatting you up before bed. I think it would soothe his human part that he can hear how calm and happy you are with everything and therefore it’s okay.

Soap is surprisingly the calmest of the bunch, he reads up a lot on bay hybrids and how long the pregnancies go and what to expect. He starts a journal with memories for the baby(-ies) when they grow up so they know how loved and cared for they were even before birth.

The man is there scratching and writing away, notating the side effects and doodling you devouring a melon all alone as he watches you in love. Soap would also be the calmest dad of them all but on the scale of 1-10 where 1 is protective and 10 is Simon Ghost Riley, he’s 11.

He’s all easy smiles and charm and then he just snaps his jaws when someone tries to touch the baby(-ies) or you without asking because hands the fuck off. Get your own, baby and mate, these are his.

He has no chill when it comes to this, I’m sorry.

And then there’s you, who starts sleeping exclusively head down and wrapping in your own wings and Kyle’s when he’s available. You get cold easier so you cuddle up to hot like furnace Simon and then you are too hot and snappy, scrambling back on your perch.

You start walking barefoot because cool is nice and because staying in half transformation is easier then wasting energy to be mostly human (Johnny blinks once, twice then his hind brain takes over and he’s grooming you for hours on end because omg, that’s fur, this is lovely, hen, come ‘ehe)

And then babies themselves arrive. In the scenario where there are multiple of them — like a clutch of 3 babies, they mostly all resemble only you in the first few months because they emerge as lil bat hybrids covered in bat fur.

They will loose most of it after the first year but before that — the only indicative of who might be the dad is the eye colour.

Doesn’t help that both John’s are blue-eyed.

In scenario where there is only one baby, which would be definitely rarer, I think it would be fun if the baby actually was a different hybrid, for example you have yourself a little seal!baby and Soap is ecstatic. I think his baby would be the oldest one and if you decide to have any more, the next would be Kyle’s, then Price’s and Simon’s twins would be the last ones.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

why praising someone’s fic while at the same time tearing down other writers’ fics may not be the positive comment you think it is

first of all, I feel like I should be bringing this up because I’ve gotten comments where people praise my works (which I appreciate) while in those same comments they later say what they dislike about other writers’ fanfics, in a rather harsh manner, and while I know my commenters probably don’t have any ill intentions towards me, and while they never actually name the writers whose works they don’t like, I still don’t agree with and I certainly don’t condone the way they trash talk other writers’ fanfics either. so I think I should just bring this up, not to attack or target anyone specifically, but to hopefully make general readers see why comments like these are… not actually helpful to anybody.

before we begin, I also like to humbly point out that comments I’m talking about aren’t “oh it’s so hard to find a fic this good” or “your work is better than most of the fics I’ve read” because personally I think comments like these are harmless, not because I think my fic is “that good”, not because I think my work is “better than others”, but because no other writers were insulted and if my readers say they prefer my work — it’s all personal preference — then I’m honored, and the last thing I wanna be is a Comment Police, but I’ve unfortunately seen a lot of comments, especially lately, where other writers were rudely insulted in the name of praising the writer whose work is being commented on. I’m not gonna provide screenshots because I’m not gonna put a target on anybody’s back, but here’s to give an example of what I’m talking about,

“I like your work so much. It’s so hard to find a fic this good when most of the (insert character’s name) fics I’ve read are so bad and so out of character. I hate when some writers write (insert character’s name) as some sort of (x) and (insert another character’s name) as some (x), I think it’s so out of characters and so cringe that it physically makes me want to throw my laptop away. It feels like reading a garbage written by a bunch of five year-old kids or something. I wish I could set those trash on fire. Your work is not like those shitty fics though and it’s amazing to finally see a good fic.”

this is the kind of comments I’m talking about. because for me, personally, I don’t actually feel good receiving a comment like this, even though the commenter praises me and never actually mentions other writers, whose works they dislike, by names.

and again, the last thing I ever wanna be is a Comment Police, because I usually appreciate every comment I got, no matter if it’s just a heart emoji or a simple sentence like “I liked this”, I love and appreciate them all. but here we go;

WHY INSULTING OTHER WRITERS IN THE NAME OF PRAISING A WRITER WHOSE WORK YOU COMMENT ON IS NOT A POSITIVE COMMENT

comment like this can put a harmful pressure on the writer whom you praised and make them think that they now have to be extra careful to make sure their work is “good enough to please you”, otherwise they might get torn to shreds too. and instead of writing for themself for fun, which should be the most important thing about writing fanfics, they now feel like they have to write because they have to be good enough to earn their readers’ approval. and that just sucks out all the joy of doing something that was supposed to be a hobby, something writers do out of love and passion and not because they were pressured into doing, not because they were pressured into “being good enough and staying good enough”.

“if you’re this comfortable insulting other writers under my work, how can I know you’re not insulting me and my work under someone else’s comments section?” is a valid thought the writer you praised may have, even if they were too polite to tell you that.

“I hate when some writers write (insert character’s name) as some sort of (x) and (insert another character’s name) as some (x), I think it’s so out of characters and so cringe that it physically makes me want to throw my phone away.” how do you know the writer you praised hasn’t already written something like this in their drafts? how do you know they don’t plan on writing something that you deem “cringe and out of character”? it may not be your intention, but your comment certainly can be read as a subtle “hey, don’t you dare write something like this because I don’t like it!!!! I better not see it from you!!!” I shouldn’t have to tell you how entitled this is.

“this is so out of character” if a writer wants to write their favorite character like this, they can. why? because they write whatever they want and they write for themself, not for you.

fanfiction is not — and never will be — your average novel you see while visiting a bookstore, buy it with your money and bitch about it when it turns out the book is not to your liking. because fanfiction is free. fanfic writers write for themselves and for fun. fanfic writers write whatever they wanna write, because they themselves are their own primary audiences. not you. they’re only kind enough to share with you their works. for free. if you dislike a fic, keep that to yourself and move on to something you do like. don’t be entitled by insulting something you got for free, something that wasn’t even made for you at all.

you obviously can dislike a fic. of course, it’s your opinion. I mean I won’t say I like every fic I’ve ever read, but the thing about disliking a fic is that you can just exit said fic, forget about it and move on to something else without feeling the need to insult the work or the writer, be it directly or indirectly, because, again, fanfiction is not a movie you watch on Netflix or a book you bought with your money. fanfiction is an art, a hobby and a passion created by an artist for the artist themself.

a reminder that comments are public for everyone to see, not just the writer you praise. so while you didn’t mention any other writers whom you insulted by names, there’s always a chance of innocent writers finding your comment and thinking the part where you insult other writers’ works is about their works. and that can very negatively affect them too.

fanfiction doesn’t have to be “good enough for you, random reader”. fanfiction just has to bring the writers joy. and that’s what make a fic good enough.

if you really enjoy someone’s work, tell them that you enjoy their work, tell them what you like about their work. don’t turn their comments section into your own space where you can vent and trash talk other writers, because you are bringing that negativity to the writer whose work you said you enjoyed. and I can only speak for myself but, as a writer, I don’t enjoy seeing my comments section turn into a negative and unkind space where my fellow writers are being insulted.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

wanna kiss his face with an uppercut

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — rafe is back to being a softie, talks of explicit picture

summary — rafe wants to know why you’ve been ignoring him.

authors note — this can be read as a standalone but is a continuation of that recent part in my mean!rafe series. it can be found in my rafe cameron masterlist under au’s. olease request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“you’ve been ignoring me,” he mumbled, sitting all tense on the sofa across from you in the living room of your house. “i’ve called and texted hundreds of times and you jus’ haven’t returned any of ‘em.”

you just shrugged and tucked yourself further into your blanket. “been busy. haven’t had the chance,” you replied bluntly. it wasn’t necessarily a lie. the only thing you were busy with though was sleeping and thinking about your relationship and whether or not it was worth the pain.

he looked slightly taken back. “busy with what? you don’t leave the house. your car hasn’t even moved.” if you didn’t hear the slight whine in his voice, you would’ve though he meant it in an aggressive manner. instead, he sounded genuinely curious.

“i have stuff to do around the house, schoolwork, i have to car for kiwi,” you listed. college was hard and even harder with a relationship. and your dog kiwi wasn’t exactly low maintenance. she needed a walk everyday, special meals for her specific diet, and pampering.

he leaned back in his seat and spread his legs to get comfortable while crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at you. “why didn’t you ask for my help? you know kiwi loves me. i coulda helped out with her or helped with the house. y’know i have before, right?”

you simply shrugged again. “i can handle myself,” you said dismissively.

“yeah, i know you can but you don’t need to. y’know i’m always here,” he said as if it were obvious. “did i do somethin’ wrong? why are you suddenly bein’ so cold with me outta nowhere?”

you rolled your eyes and huffed out a laugh of frustration. “are you fucking kidding me rafe? ‘did i do something wrong?’ you know exactly what you did,” you snapped sharply at him. “what do you think of me? because you clearly don’t respect me.”

a crease formed between his eyebrows as he stared at you. “what?” his voice was much smaller now. maybe it was the fact that yours was louder and he’d never heard you raise your voice, especially at him.

“don’t act all stupid with me. you don’t get to just go around showing your friends vulnerable pictures of me and basically tell them that i’m so easy and i just do whatever the fuck you say,” you spat. “i’m not your bitch and i’m sure as hell not someone you’re gonna boss around and walk all over. that little comment about me begging for a chance? seriously? i didn’t know you saw our relationship as a power play for you.”

you could see tears forming in his eyes. you’d never seen him get this upset over something. “baby, i didn’t—i didn’t think—“ he began to stutter over his words before just stopping all together.

“i have too much respect for myself to let someone talk to me like that,” you said, your voice much quieter now but still nowhere near gentle. you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose to try to relieve the pressure forming into a headache. “i don’t know if we should do this anymore, rafe.”

his head immediately snapped up as his teary gaze met yours and his wet cheeks glistened under the light. “no. no, don’t do that. please baby, don’t say that,” he pleaded desperately. he stood from his seat and took eager strides to where you were sitting. he kneeled down in front of you and gently took your hands in his own. “please jus’ work this out with me, angel. i don’t wanna lose you. i can’t. i’ll do whatever it takes, jus’ don’t leave me.”

you bit your lip and shook your head. “i can’t keep letting myself get disrespected. what you said—what you did, was absolutely insane. i would’ve never in my entire life thought to say that to someone, let alone someone i love. that was just cruel and it hurt my feelings. you didn’t even acknowledge that.”

“please angel, jus’ one more shot, okay?” he reasoned softly, fresh tears falling. he’d never had someone confront him like this besides his dad. “i’m sorry for bein’ so mean the other day. i know i was rude and all but i was havin’ a bad day and that’s not an excuse but you know its hard for me to control sometimes. once again, not an excuse but i jus’ let my anger get out of hand and i swear to be better about it.”

you looked to the side to avoid looking at him while thinking carefully bout your next words. “you don’t get it. you say all this stuff and i want to believe you but i’m not even sure thats possible after what you said the other day.”

he nodded in agreement. “i understand that and i know that things won’t just go back to normal. i’m not asking you to do that. i’m just asking that you try to work things out with me. give me time to prove to you that i can be better and i promise you, you won’t regret it.”

you knew it was a bad idea. you could feel it in your bones but the bigger part of you wanted to hold him and tell him things would be okay. you wanted to wipe his pretty tears and kiss his pink lips. it was terrifying. “one last shot rafe. i’m giving you one more try and thats it. you’re not jus’ gonna keep hurting me and expecting me to forgive you and have sex. thats not how this works. i don’t deserve that.”

“no, you deserve the world,” he whispered softly as his lip began to tremble. a sad smile graced his lips before he was laying kisses to your knuckle. “i promise i’ll be so much better baby. i swear on my life.”

you really did hope he was serious this time.

[linka-r9-vysocina]

you do sound like a broken record, sorry. I don't claim to be an expert on the history of my own country just because i live here, however I know some stuff. It is recent. People remember what it was like. Hell, my own parents remember the regime, even if I don't. And they are not OLD, they are in their 50s. It's recent history, and wherever you go you see all the ways the communist regime broke us.* I am not happy that someone who has probably never set foot in my country is trying to explain my own history to me, someone who hasn't ever tried understand and witness the ways we ended up where we ended up, to grapple with the role our own people played in what happened. You can look at us, from the comfort of your own home, and exclaim "well I would NEVER EVER let my country do that!". We don't have such luxury here, sorry. We KNOW FOR SURE that we aren't clean and we have to understand why that is, so that we can do better in the future.

I am really sorry that the world you see in front of you is either "morally pure" or "actively collaborating with Nazis". I am not gonna go point by point to refure what you are saying because I don't think there is any use - I am no gonna convince you of anything because you aren't really engaging with anything I just have said.

"Oh, and they didn't know what the nazis did? Well, I wasn't aware that they didn't know! But they still had ash in their feather dusters, didn't they?" I am sorry but like half of Europe only found out after the war. That's a fact.

"The USSR stopped fascism from spreading across Europe, at least for a while. They saved millions from concentration camps, poverty, and capitalistdeath squads." I don't know why those who died of poverty in Soviet Russia, were starved to death in Soviet Ukraine or were sent to concentration camps in Russia don't count to you.

I am really sorry, but "well no matter how many awful things they did to you, AT LEAST they saved you from the Nazis" isn't the winning argument you think it is. And it would be great if you stopped seeing the world in a binary. When I say that Soviet Russia was awful, I am not saying the Nazis were great. When I say that the Soviets invaded the Baltics, I am not saying that the West is clean and pure and I hate communism. Oh my god.

"the average anticommunist's Pavlov-doglike reaction to any appreciation of the Soviet Union." I went off on my long rant not because I don't appreciate the Soviets freeing half of Europe, but because the argument of Soviets freeing half of Europe is regularly used (by you, for example) to silence literally any voice of criticism of the SSSR by the average Soviet Union appreciator, and I am tired of that. "Well they freed you from the nazis, so why don't you shut up about the 130 000 Lithuanians deported to Siberia." I am tired.

How the hell did we end up here? The only thing I said, in the beginning, and I stand by it, is that "there were other ways to end up in SSSR as a POW than being a Nazi", which is a simple fact. I agreed that prisoners in Korea might have been treated well. I agree with the original post in full. I am not a great fan of the US, especially not now.

You then automatically concluded that we must have been Nazis because we were invaded by SSSR, and that I am a Nazi apologist because of my disdain for Soviet Union and because I, frankly, know a bit more about European history than you do and spent quite a lot of time thinking about the stuff. Do you haven any idea what it's like to think about, since you are a kid, what you would do during the Protectorate? During the Holocaust? Have you ever thought about how you would have acted if you were forced to choose between doing what's right and saving your children? Because I have, and I am aware how fucking hard those decisions are. I know that in the current climate "Things are not always black and white" can be used as a fascist dogwhistle. However if you start claiming that "several million people are basically Nazis because of who their country allied with", then yes, things are not black and white.

"I really don't care how you try to justify the Nazi collaboration. I don't care if it was a reluctant decision made out of fear. I don't care if they allied with the Nazis because they didn't know any better. I don't care if it was because they considered the Nazis the lesser of two evils compared to the Communists. I don't care if it's because they were intimidated, ignorant, or just greedy. A fascist is a fascist is a fascist." WHY DID THE SOVIETS ALLY WITH NAZI GERMANY AT FIRST. WHY DID THEY. EXPLAIN IT TO ME LIKE I AM 3. WHY IS IT UNPROBLEMATIC WHEN SSSR DOES THAT AND THEN, STILL ALLIED WITH NAZI GERMANY, ATTACKS THE BALTIC STATES AND POLAND. Hint: when they allied with Germany, they WEREN'T SAVING OUR NATIONS FROM NAZIS. You can't just cherrypick what is convenient from history.

Anyway. You act like the Soviet occupation was inevitable. That it was like, the only way. It wasn't. Nobody forced them to stay. And yet, they did. For 40 years.

If you are invoking dead people, then I will too. You know, for 40 years there was a fence on our border with Germany, to keep the people IN. There were people trying to flee their own country, shot by the communist regime that absolutely didn't want that - they didn't die at the border just for someone who (probably) never set foot in this country to claim that this was all inevitable and necessary.

rant over.

*that is not to say that it didn't bring us any good. Right now, I really wish for us as a nation to finally have a discussion about it, because there were definitely things the communist regime did right, and if you lived here you would have known how hard it is to have these discussions. Once again, you know nothing about me, about my opinions on this stuff, and yet you are so quick to call me an average anticommunist.

I've literally said for years but the idea of mind control being real is more valuable as propaganda than actual mind control

[yasikeu]

Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests (if not sorry just ignore) but I’d like to ask for a Jake x reader x Jay threesome IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE writing it :’) Jay has been wrecking me so bad lately and idk how to write it so thought I’d ask someone who knows how to do it 😭🙏 anyways thank you sm <3

note: this is my first time doing something like this so hopefully it isnt that bad 😭🫶

"You're new here, aren't you?" Jay asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “I would’ve remembered a pretty face like yours.”

You let out a giggle before nodding.

"I'm Jay, and this is Jake," he forcefully grabbed Jake by his arm.

Jake gave you a small smile, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. "I'm Y/n," you replied.

"Y/n," Jay repeated, his lips curling into a cocky smirk. "It's nice to meet you, Y/n. You're far too sexy to be left standing alone in a place like this."

You laughed shyly, a warm blush creeping up on your face. “That's quite a compliment, thank you.”

Jay leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Look sweetheart, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I think you're beautiful, and I think we could have a lot of fun together."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what about your friend over there?" you nodded towards Jake.

Jay chuckled, glancing at Jake before wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

���Two for the price of one,” Jay teased, a mischievous smirk beginning to grow on Jake’s face.

“Excuse me? W-what?” you almost choked on your spit from the unexpected reply.

“You heard him,” Jake chuckled.

“A-an-and what makes you guys think I would be interested in doing something like that?” you scoffed.

“I saw the way you were looking at us, your eyes told me everything I needed to know” Jay said, his finger extending to lift up your chin.

“And what if I am interested?” you spat out, surprising yourself.

“Then you could come over to our place, have a drink and see where things go from there,” Jake suddenly spoke, stepping closer to you.

You nodded as your breath hitched, this was definitely not how you expected your night to go but you weren’t complaining. "A drink does sound nice right now."

“Great, let's get out of here then, hm?” Jay hummed, grabbing your waist to guide you through the crowd, Jake following.

When you got to their apartment Jake closed the door behind you.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jay smirked. You sank into the couch, feeling the fabric against your skin, while Jay and Jake towered in front of you, their eyes burning with desire.

Jake brushed his thumb over your lips, “God, aren’t you just stunning,” he bit his lip, his erection beginning to grow.

“You know, we’ve been waiting for someone like you,” Jay began, caressing your hair.

“Have you ever been with two guys at once?” Jake asked.

You shook your head no, unable to form words as your mind went all fuzzy.

“Answer him,” Jay said through his gritted teeth.

“N-no I haven’t.”

“Well that’s gonna change tonight.”

With expert precision, they began to undress you swiftly as if they had done this countless times before. Your dress fell to the floor in an instant, revealing the black lace bra and matching panties you wore that night.

Jay's eyes roared with hunger as he took in the sight, while Jake's fingers gently traced the straps of your lingerie.

“Let’s take this to your bedroom.” Jake turned Jay.

“Good idea,” Jay replied before picking you up and taking you to his room.

His bedroom was dimly lit, creating an ambiance of sensuality. Jay dimmed the lights further, casting the room in a seductive glow. You were placed gently on the bed, the soft sheets caressing your bare skin as you laid back.

They slowly began to undress, revealing their toned muscles. Surprisingly, Jake approached you first, his hands gently pushing you back onto the bed. He kissed you passionately, his plump lips harmonising with yours, soaking up your sweetness.

His hands roamed freely, cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the lace fabric. You arched into his touch, moaning softly as pleasure coursed through you.

Jay couldn’t help but get extremely turned on as he watched before he decided to join in, his hands sliding down your body, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties before pulling them down.

As he exposed your glistening pussy, he let out a soft growl of appreciation. “You’re so wet.”

Jay leaned down, his tongue tracing delicate circles around your soaking clit, loud whimpers escaping your mouth one after the other. Jake continued to kiss you, his hands now exploring your inner thighs.

“Does his tongue feel good?” Jake cooed in your ear as he slowly inserted his thumb inside of your mouth.

You nodded frantically, overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Let me taste her too,” Jake begged.

He positioned himself between your legs, his tongue replacing Jay's, lapping at your juices hungrily.

Jay moved up, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, his tongue in sync with the motions of Jake’s.

As you neared your climax, Jake shoved a digit inside of you, joining his tongue, stretching you, pushing you to the edge.

“I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” you whined.

“Come for us baby,” Jake groaned, his lips soaked in your wetness.

“That’s right, be a good girl for us and come,” Jay muttered as he planted intimate kisses down your neck to your defined collarbone.

Your body arched off the bed, as you exploded in Jake’s mouth, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

Jay positioned himself at the edge of the bed, his thick cock standing proudly, glistening with pre-cum. You straddled him, your wetness enveloping his length perfectly as you began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as you became more needy.

“You take his cock like such a good girl,” Jake smirked as he began to fist his cock.

The sensation of Jay's cock filling you, combined with Jake's teases, pushed you towards another climax. You rode harder, your hips moving in a desperate rhythm, your breath coming in heavy gasps.

“Shit, that’s it baby,” Jay moaned, throwing his head all the way back.

Jay's hands gripped your hips tighter. Jake's fingers found your clit as he began to relentlessly rub it, his thumb in time with Jay’s thrusts.

You let out one last moan before coming all over Jay’s cock, coating him in your slick. “Come here princess,” Jake signalled you to sit on his cock. Your legs were practically shaking at this point, the back to back orgasms were something you had never experienced before, but you were secretly enjoying every second of it.

“Shit,” Jake cursed, slapping your ass after every thrust, leaving bright red handprints.

“I don’t think I can last any longer,” you bit your lip.

“Come on baby you can do it, we are so proud of you,” Jake moaned in your ear. Your nails subconsciously dug into Jake’s back muscles leaving scratch marks all over them.

Your sweaty bodies were moving together in a sensual rhythm, the room overflowing with your lewd and wet sounds.

The way your needy cunt was gripping onto Jake’s cock made it so hard for him to move, but he didn’t let that stop him. For the third time that night you came again, your walls still pulsating.

“Such a good girl for us,” Jay murmured before pulling you into a passionate kiss.

[creeksandsocks]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Eddie Munson X F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, kissing, parties, drinking, dubcon (just in case, Eddie was drinking in the fic but not drunk and they were apprehensive as they entered the closet) [3.8k words]

A nervous game of seven minutes in heaven make your first high school party memorable.

A high school party - it’s really not a big deal. A rite of passage for some, most, even. But, when you're a senior and you're about to attend your first, it seems like a pretty damn big deal. You cannot believe that Robin was able to convince you to go to this thing, Maggie McCoor’s party, with her, let alone be the designated driver. But you love Robin, Robin loves you. And she claims, given she had her license and you had one opportunity to talk to your crush out of marching-band uniform, she'd do the same thing for you.

No matter who will be at the party, though there is someone that you’d like to show off to, you want to look nice. If someone didn’t know better, anyone could mistake the mess in your closet that came from picking an outfit with a small twister whirling through your room. You’ve redone your hairstyle thrice, now and you're on the verge of banging your hairbrush against your head until it breaks. But, on your fourth try your hair is parted and wispies fall in a way that you decide satisfies you. You re-pierce your healed ears with cheap silver hoops, before putting on your shoes. Reeboks, they've had better days for sure. Because, unfortunately, the wear and tear of killing multidimensional monsters is not kind to shoes. But, they're cute enough to do with your dress, which is strapless (brave of you), and will survive whatever escapades you’ll get up to as the night wears on.

Right as you pull up in front of the Buckley’s, Robin is bursting down the pathway. Hands spayed against herself to keep her unbuttoned vest from allowing her body heat to escape. Before she even buckles her seatbelt she's urging you to punch it “Okay let's gooo!!!” she urges “Vickie might be there now, I cannot miss a second of being there without her. Can you imagine? The only time you've ever seen your crush is in a two foot tall marching band hat?”. She speaks with no pauses, stopping only when she runs out of air and pulls the seatbelt over her chest. “I mean c’mon really those things are like chastity belts!” she continues and you put off her nervous rambling “Robin, you look great”, you assure her “Vickie will think so, too”. She's brought down to earth by what you say, you were able to read between the lines of everything she said and comfort on the one thing she was most worried about. “Thanks” she admits, and takes a deep breath, probably the first one since she jumped into your car, “you too. He’s gonna think you look good, too”.

You abruptly top your car at the stop sign, jerking robin around in your passenger seat at what shes implying. You turn your face to her and poorly lie before easing your foot off the break. “Idunnowhatyourtalkinganouyt”. Robin sighs and curls her knees up, placing the bottom of her converse on the dashboard. “Oh my goooood” she groans, “I mean COME ON! Eddie obviously likes you and you're clearly…” she gestures trying to find a unique phrase “pink in the cheeks for him”. Raising your eyebrow at her shity idiom, “whatever. I mean- I'll make you a deal. I'll be brave tonight with Vickie if you make a move on Eddie”. You run your tongue behind your teeth, tracing the outlines of your molars as you mull over what she's proposing. You do have a burning crush on Eddie; and, while you don't want to be too sure in assuming he has the hots for you too, he does seem a little flirty whenever you see him. Besides, you’re not even going to a rager, anyways. It's more band kids, nerds and geeks listening to The Talking Heads that you and Robin know by association anyways - so if any advances you make do happen to be sourly rejected at least it's not going to be entertainment for Jason Carver.

 “Fine” you decide, “I get that rejection for you is worse for me, socially, in the grand scheme of things Rob”, you level with her. Because, it's not the same. A girl being rejected by a guy sucks and surely wouldn't make you be labeled as any less of a freak. But, being outed for confessing to the wrong person could be genuinely dangerous for Robin, especially in a widely close-minded town like this. “But,” you continue, “you have to try, too. You can’t bail out if you sutter or accidentally create an innuendo”. Robin sighs and holds her hand out to you, you remove one hand from the wheel and awkwardly twist it to solidly shake her hand. At that, your deal has been sealed. 

You slide your Chevrolet Citation into an empty parking space on CartersVille Dr. Parking a three minute walk from Maggie’s, all the closer spots were occupied by cars of other teens who were more eager to get to the dinky supply of beer. You check yourself in your sunshade mirror, checking for mascara crumbles under your eyes before flipping it up. Robin moves your bag from the passenger side floor and plots it into your lap. She unbuckles and tries to pep talk you both “Now or never”.

The cool night air is refreshing, soothing the biting nervous blush at your cheeks. You're close enough to the house now that you can hear music blasting from the bottom of the long driveway. “Okay: gameplan” Robin starts, “I need you to be my crutch tonight, just for a little bit. Help get the conversation grooving between me and her and then maybe dash off? I'll be your wing woman too, promise”. You nod as you listen to Robin, taking in all the aspects of her rambled plan.

Maggie’s paneled front door is cracked open. The act relives the uncomfortable ‘knock or just enter’ dilemma that is often commonly debated from porches at parties. Pushing in, music blares. Thankfully you recognize The cassette playing and it lures you in. With Robin following closely behind, you snake through the party, which is more crowded than Robin promised, and softly wave at every familiar face you pass. Once you reach the kitchen you slow your pace. You tell Robin to grab whatever drink she’d like ‘cause you're driving and you reach into the cooler beside you to grab a Pepsi. You carefully eye your best friend as she wanders over to the drink table, settling in a spot just besides Vickie. They seem to make small talk, debating mixers for their shitty cocktails when someone taps your shoulder.

You look over and are greeted by the near angelic face of Eddie Musnon. He’s cradling two solo cups to his chest as he leans in close to greet you. A pang of hurt hits your heart as you imagine that one of those cups could be for a girl, possibly even a date. Someone who's decidedly not you. But your eyes are drawn back up as he leans in to speak, “I didn’t know you were coming! I’m glad you did - I'm kinda lonely anyways. Doug handed his cup off to me so he could go play beer pong with some transfer student. "He's punctuated by a cheer in the other room, rowdy kids exacerbated at the idea that their friends are going to chug a glass of cheap beer. You're relieved to learn that the second cup Eddie’s holding is just for his friend, not for a girl.

You angle up towards his ear “I’m kinda playing wingman too, yaknow?”. Eddie nods and takes a swig from his cup, he winces at the taste, pulling the corners of his mouth down but offers some to you, anyways. As the music changed you responded to him near yelling “Thanks but I gotta drive later”. Eddie makes a sympathetic face at that “damn you really got screwed - designated driver and wingman. Or, wing…woman?”. You both laugh at his poor joke and he questions you “hey- who’s Robin after anyways?” You’re saved from an awkward conversation trying to explain why you can’t tell Eddie who Robin’s after because Doug comes galloping into the room. “Ed c’mon man” he slurs “im getting my ass beat in there, Jeff’s no good”. Eddie makes a disappointed sound at the fact that he's being literally dragged away from you. He mouths ‘sorry’ just before he disappears into the living room where beer pong is going at full speed.

Robin saunters over to you with a knowing look “what were you saying about him not liking you? He looked like a kid who dropped his ice cream when he was being dragged away from you”. You gently shoulder her as she leans on the counter next to you. “So vickie” you interrupt “awkward?”. Her face lights up, “actually one of our most successful yet! Aaand I got more proof that we’re perfect together: she likes grenadine, too”. You respond flatly “wow a match made in heaven” before you’re unsurely dragged onto the dancefloor by robin's side.

You're working up a sweat, dancing in a small group with Robin, Vickie and Eleanor from psych. You're all having fun, twirling around and bumping into each other while a curated mixtape fills the room. You turn to Robin, about to let her know you’re gonna run and grab some water when Maggie herself grabs you and Elanor by the biceps. She drunkenly leads you away from the dancing in the living room and into the grandeur of her dining room. The lights actually being turned on is a shock from the soft lamplight of the living room and many faces, some familiar, some not, crowd around the table; all chairs are occupied so many just press themselves against it. “Alright!” Maggie starts, pulling you and Eleanor up next to her at the head of the table, “Two more girls so that's…” she quietly counts to herself “... Even! Alright let's play!”. “Play?” you question Maggie, unsure about what's going on. She flips her head between you and Eleanor “Guys, seriously? Seven minutes in heaven! Were gonna spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is who you play with”. “No!” both you and your new acquaintance say. You continue, “I don’t want to, this is so lame”. Maggie side eyes you “C’mon, you're not a chicken are you?”. This catches the attention of everyone at the table who starts making chicken sounds. Anxiety of public humiliation is hitting you hard. You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress and scan the room, some douchebags, some people you've never seen before, some of the people around the table are nice, even. But, they aren’t who you want to kiss. He is perched in the archway of the living room, with Doug and Jeff beside him white knuckling as he watches you be embarrassed. Deciding it might be worse to just jett out now than to sneak up to a closet with a stranger and confess you don’t want to kiss, you calculate the probability that you’ll even be picked. 

There's about eighteen of you at this huge oak table, half are girls, anyways - these close-minded high school kids won't expect you to actually kiss. “Fine.” you agree, and avert your gaze, deciding that picking at your freshly painted nails is more interesting than all the hungry boys at the opposite end of the table. Maggie claps her hands excitedly before she leans forwards and delivers instructions. “Okay people - here's how it’s gonna go: one lucky player will spin the bottle, whoever it lands on will go in pairs to a closet, there are three in my house, so three couples at a time, and they will do whatever they want to each other for seven minutes. But, when the time's up the door is getting opened if you're in the act or not, capiche?”. Nods and hums are made from around the table as the game gets started.

Eric, who you know from chemistry two years ago, is picked to go first. His buddies encouraged him to ‘get some’ after his recent break up. He leans forward on the table and twirls the brown glass beer bottle. The room is silent with anticipation, you will do it with your mind to avoid you - if you’re lucky you'll be able to not be picked for all three rounds then disappear under the guise of needing to pee. Your wishing works! The neck of the bottle is pointing in a straight shot at Staci Meyers. She clasps her hands over her mouth and is pushed over to Eric. Dramatic oohs fill the room as they are guided into an upstairs closet. The girl who was just standing next to Staci, Milia, is picked to go next. The room goes silent again as the bottle twirls and lands on Pete Michelson. The room stays silent, besides a few gasps. Pete has a girlfriend and she's not here tonight. But, the room cheers on his infidelity when he stands up from his chair and rushes into the closest closet with staci in close pursuit.

The scandal seems to rile up the room even more, and you even feel a little excited to see what couple is getting paired up next. But, all excitement sinks from you when a finger is pointed your way. “Hey, why don’t you go? Learn it's not all that bad”. You look up slowly and realize the finger is pointed at you. All eyes are turned your way waiting for your response. You have a reputation for being a bit weird, some of the people in this room even perpetuate rumors. You being spotted hanging out with Eddie this year hasn’t helped with name calling either. You don’t really want to, but you don’t wanna be seen as a scaredy cat. So, you begrudgingly reach forward and spin the bottle.

Your blood runs cold as it whirls around in the center of the table, anticipation at an all time high. You can’t peel your eyes away from it, nervously predicting who it will land on as it slows its spinning. But, it isn't that simple. The bottle lands facing the entryway of the living room, nestled a perfect distance between Sammy B. and Dominic F. The room silently makes eye contact, debating which one you’ll be paired up with. You secretly hope it’s Dominic. He's the sweeter guy out of the two, Sammy is a total stuck up guy who thinks he's cooler than you for liking The Graduate and The Velvet Underground. “WAIT”, an unrecognizable voice blares out. “IT'S POINTED AT THE FREAK!”. You follow the line made by the neck of the bottle and it’s pointed exactly at Eddie. The room erupts in hoots and hollers, more debates forming if you should even be paired with him- he wasn’t even playing the game. But, the unrecognizable voice, who you later find out is an asshole from bio, continues. Seering “it’s fate. Freak king and freak queen!”. You're being urged by everyone in the room to an equally mortified Eddie. He hasn’t moved a muscle from the shadowed corner of the dining room since you spun the bottle. Waiting patiently for whoever you kiss to become his mortal enemy.

Stumbling while being shoved you and Eddie and shoved into the final unoccupied closet in the house. It sits at the end of a hallway, just next to the living room blaring music.

The insulation of unused coats and snow pants immediately muffle the blastic music that floods in from the living room. The random muscle man who herded you and Eddie into the closet smirks and wishes you both good luck before slamming the door shut and clicking off the lights from outside.

Though a light pounding of music is still heard, it feels silent in the coat closet. The toes of your Reeboks touching Eddies in the cramped space is the only reminder that you're not in here alone. You're not even sure either of you have breathed when he breaks the silence. “I’m sorry”, he says smally and earnestly. “What?” you give a confused look to pair with the phrase but it’s lost to the darkness. “I mean I'm sorry that you… have to kiss me. I mean, like I assumed you wanted Dominic? I mean- that Sammy guy next to him is an asshole��. He trails off and stops when you speak. “Don’t be”, you say - reassuring Eddie “I don’t know those guys, anyways. I honestly feel like you're my best-bet situation. Unless, there was someone else you wanted to go with?”, you cross your fingers in the dark, hoping that there wasn’t someone else he wanted. He laughs to himself and continues. “Um, actually, there is someone I wanted to go with”. Your heart drops and your mouth shuts. You cross your arms in front of yourself, trying to physically shield your breaking heart. He goes on like he doesn't notice “I didn’t even play because I thought the only girl I wanted to join wasn't gonna play”. You drop your arms to your sides again, and try to play it cool that your swinging arm uncool knocks into a clothes hanger. He takes a deep breath, steading himself before he finishes his confession “I wanted it to be you”.

Your entire body springs up at what he says, you process his words - wanting to make sure you're not about to completely embarrass yourself. But, you can’t find any other ways to process what Eddie says. You still can’t believe it. “You like me?”, you quietly say, into the darkness of the closet. The closet replied sheepishly “Yeah. I do - since the beginning of the year”. Jumping at the opportunity, you confess back. “Seriously? Because… because I like you too”. Eddie reassures you “seriously” he promises.

Moving on pure instinct you place your hands on his shoulders. At the motion he softly wraps his arms around your waist, ghosting over your body. You raise onto your toes and slowly try to find his lips with yours. When you softly kiss him, he doesn’t seem to respond. Only sucking in his breath. But then, he reminds you why heaven is in the name of the game. He’s kissing you back, arching his neck, chasing your mouth, pulling you closer as you two slam against the walls of the closet, pushing each other around in the confined space while desperately trying to get closer.

Being blindfolded by the dark closet gives you confidence - you focus on what you feel versus what you look like. Running your hands over the texture of his shirt, twisting loose threads between your fingers and gently caressing the top of his muscular back. You’re hungry for him, his lips pressing into yours. Hips shoving each other around. He cradles your face, you appreciate the unsure heat of his mouth, his sweaty palms cupping your face. Because you’re sharing your first kiss, and you’ve just been shoved into a strangers closet, things stay sweet. Tongues are kept behind cages of teeth as you mush faces. Pecking and slobbering as you appreciate the moment as much as you can. Kissing him feels like a dream come true. you're completely lost in the moment. Moments, actually. But you don’t realize how much time you’ve spent with him in the closet until he door swings open and a bright flash illuminates you both.

Eyes recovering from the flash, you take in the scene before you. A fraction of the party game participants crept down the hallway and waited until seven minutes was up. Then they’re ambushing you, ripping the coat closet open and snaking a polaroid camera into the space, capturing whatever they walk into before anyone’s been given the chance to process it. Pairs of wide eyes meet yours, shocked to find out you two were actually getting up to something raunchy in the closet. All their other attempts to catch closet goers in the act were futile - they had either snuck out or were found on separate corners of the confined space arguing.

You’re suddenly mortified - not that you’ve been caught kissing Eddie, but that you've been caught kissing anyone. Your quiet shielded moment will be the talk of the town once the polaroid develops. Rumors travel fast in Hawkins - if that photo gets out you're sure to be labeled a slut overnight, a stark contrast from previously being called other baseless names. You're still wrapped up with Eddie, pressed against his chest even though you've tilted to face the door, now. You feel like a celebrity being spotted by the paparazzi, questions flying at you from all around.

‘Are you guys dating?’, ‘wait I didn’t see? What did they do’, ‘did he do a fucking virgin sacrafice, ‘no way I need to see that photo’. You're still in shock, still not yet fully processing that you were kissing Eddie let alone all the questions bombarding your space. Eddie takes it upon himself to step in front of you. Shielding half your body from questions as he tries to scan for an escape. Avoiding the prying questions purposefully or not. You're panicking, being unsure what to do, push through the crowd of teenagers? There's about eight, couldn't it be too hard? Close the door? But you don’t even need to decide on a plan when you hear the scratchy voice of your best friend in the back of the group. She's honed in on the polaroid that has been passed back, eyes eagerly awaiting the photo to develop. As oohs and awes spread through the group you know your forms are starting to come into view. “Can I see that?” Robin asks, acting like she's part of the group eager to get a view of the scandalizing photo “Thanks!”. She grasps the polaroid tight in her hand and starts booking it down the hallway.

She thanks god that she’s a soccer team captain, stamina from previous grueling drills fueling her as she barrels it down the hall, nearly slamming into the wall while turning the corner. A drunk stampede follows her, shouting for the image, clambering down the hallway but accepting defeat as she disappears into the crowd of dancers in the living room. Clutching hands you and Eddie look at eachother, silently agreeing to follow before you push through following after Robin.

You’re eventually able to catch up to Robin just outside the front door, her hands are braced on her thighs as she bends over, panting as she catches her breath. She wordlessly hands you the slightly crumpled polaroid before Vickie storms out with a plastic water bottle in hand. Handing it to a thankful Robin and rubbing her back as she slowly guzzles it down. Now fully developed, and just slightly crumpled, you examine the polaroid. Thankfully the photo isn’t too scandalizing. Though clearly a candid photo, it's a sweet image of you two in the closet. Motion blur from being taken by unsteady hands makes the photo slightly blurry. But, you can clearly tell it's an image of you both kissing. 

Eventually, the photo can be found taped up on your vanity mirror. It often watches you as you get ready for dates with your boyfriend, Eddie.

[drdemonprince]

Re: what do dominant people need to recover after a harder-kink session?

Biggest things that helped me were taking some time afterwards to sit together, talk with her about what she had or hadn't enjoyed, just some reassurance that she knew I respected her IRL and that I only was willing to manhandle her in various ways because it turned her on, that I wouldn't ever purposefully do anything that she wasn't ok with, and so on. Basically just trying to get back into that soft/loving/protective mode, rather than rough/aggressive/etc

TBH, it's been a long time since I've had kinky sex, or any sex so I don't know what might help the best at this life point.

Something that I'm a bit nervous about wrt aftercare is having her confirm that she enjoyed it and wanted whatever we did to happen, but me going on some kind of shame spiral of worrying that she's just doing a fawn response and saying that because she wants to reassure me.

My current solution for that is that I'm just pretty tight about what types of harder kinks I'm willing to do at all, even if the woman says she wants it and enjoys it. Even if I might sexually enjoy certain types of CNC, for example, I kinda don't feel mentally/emotionally comfortable acting that kind of scenario out. Ignoring "no's" or getting really physically threatening, even as a LARP, are just things where I don't know if I can explore them in a way that won't make me feel like a bad person.

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Had an experience of this type that I had early in my sexual career and which went really badly, but idk if it's the kind of thing that you really talk about on here.

cliff notes: haphazardly established cnc, it was her idea, but I thought it'd be hot in the heat of the moment, she got really really into it and horny for it, I (man in the aggressor role) tapped out once it started feeling kinda real, I had a huge emotional crisis, we had a giant fight about it. It was not a fun weekend. We were too young and bad at communicating for that kind of thing, but also too horny and dumb to not try it. Rough combo.

Mostly just funny to try to explain to people that I was roleplaying the aggressor, and I was also the one of the two of us who had a panic attack.

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TBH, I had a lot of problems as a young guy with feeling guilt over how my sexual urges were bad or dirty in some way due to my libido being directed towards women.

I'd managed to internalize a really dysfunctional blend of messages about sexuality, growing up in a liberal family in a very conservative state. Like, when I was a teenager I felt guilty about things as benign as "liking doggy style", "enjoying receiving blowjobs", and "fantasizing about getting with two bi girls". The latter was a fantasy that I had like one time as a teen boy, and I felt so guilty about objectifying bi women that I was almost sick to my stomach. I was a weird teenager.

I did develop some kinks that are probably coping mechanisms or ways to avoid the guilt of being sexually forward, now that I think of it, as well as the anxiety of needing to make sure she's enjoying it.

While I am dominant-leaning I'm very much into being begged for stuff. The more I can trick her into begging for what she wants, and directing the encounter as the bottom, the better. Saves my attention and focus for doing a good job of getting us both off rather than having to decide what's gonna happen next.

Never understood the hate for submissive women who "top from the bottom", it's incredibly erotic to me.

omggg anon you sound like such a sweetie with such hot fuckin kinks that you also are so wound up about. understandably so of course. here are some of my thoughts.

"worrying that she's just doing a fawn response and saying that because she wants to reassure me"

I think you can get around this fear by being open-ended in the feedback that you request from subs. So, for instance, you can tell subs that one thing that you need as a form of aftercare and ongoing negotiation is for them to give you a reflection of their experience a day or some days afterward. This can happen in a conversation or via them keeping a journal or something similar. Ask them to describe what they liked, what they'd like to see go differently, what they want more of. This will get you a lot of feedback that is reassuring without you specifically having to ask for reassurance and feel like you're manipulating the conversation in some way.

I think once you have established a really good rapport with a sub and can communicate with them effectively (and TRUST them to tell you when things aren't working for them), then you can say, straight up "I feel like an awful person sometimes after doing CNC/etc, can you check in the next day to tell me you're doing okay and that I'm not evil?" Or whatever else you might need.

I get you very much about the gender political baggage that comes with wanting to be a Dominant man with woman partners... from the opposite side of things. One barrier to fully enjoying my kinks pre-transition was that I considered it totally socially unacceptable to be a "weak woman." I wasn't even especially feminist, it was more about not being taken advantage of and being worthless. I came from a cultural mileu in which women were expected to be strong and capable and practical, and in academia, women were similarly pretty no-frills and had to appear confident. I felt like being too passive would be unattractive or make me less human, almost. One way to get around this was transitioning. It was really a hell of a hack for this. I don't feel bad about being a passive hole getting used anymore, and I don't have to worry much about the motives behind my partner's Dominance... they're not seeing me as a gender stereotype of a woman anymore and so i'm freed of all that. For cishet couples, I think affirming one's shared feminist values etc is helpful for everyone involved, and clarifying that these roles are not inherent they are chosen.

My current dog handler/mommy interestingly needs a partner to beg for their cum before they can bust a nut inside someone. I don't know if it is for similar feminist/consent hesitation reasons because they're pretty good at letting loose on me otherwise, but they've articulated to me that it's a thing that they need. This was initially a challenge because we do pup play and I become really obedient and nonverbal. But we have found ways for me to signal to them that I want what they are doing and that i want more of it.

So for example, a few nights ago after they were really whaling on me for a couple hours, they stopped and said I'd been a really good puppy and they were going to give me a break. But I didn't want a break. I wanted them to cum in me. So when they rolled me onto my side, still inside me, I started wriggling against their dick and licking their hands and whimpering for more, which made them get really hard again and then they fucked the shit out of me for another 15-20 minutes before spraying a load way up in me. It was incredibly hot and tender.

Wanting your subs to beg for treatment from you is a great way of working with your anxieties and making an ongoing consent affirmation into a hot activity and another act of submission on their part. It's a great move. There's a few other things you can do as well when that fails. For example, when my Dom/mommy thinks that I might be getting too headspacey and zoned out of being fucked they will ask me to fuck them -- they'll stop moving and i have to hump at their dick and take it in as deep as I can get it myself. That shows that I'm still alert, motivated, and interested as hell in whats happening. just a really fun hot way to check in and get reassurance without breaking scene. I'm sure there's so many other options.

I hope you get to have fun out there with the kinky bisexual topping from the bottom women of your dreams!

[sturniololuvz]

Omg Hii!! I love all your sturniolo little sister fics and k was wondering if you could do one where she is maybe 14 or 15 and she goes to get her wisdom teeth removed and shes really scared and they comfort her while she’s getting them out and after she’s done? Sorry that was a really long sentence 😂!

lmaoooooo yes

“Wisdom Teeth & Secrets”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none

Y/N was freaking out.

She sat in the dentist’s office, gripping the armrests of the chair like she was about to be executed. Her heart was pounding, her palms were sweaty, and her brothers—Matt, Nick, and Chris—were standing around her, trying (and failing) to calm her down.

“Dude, it’s not that bad,” Nick said, sitting on the stool next to her.

Y/N shot him a glare. “Not that bad? They’re gonna rip my teeth out.”

Chris smirked. “Technically, they’re cutting them out.”

“CHRIS!” Matt smacked the back of his head.

“What? I’m just being factual.”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “I wanna go home.”

Matt grabbed her hand. “You’re gonna be okay, bug. I promise.”

She exhaled shakily. “But what if—”

“Nope,” Chris cut her off, grabbing her other hand. “No ‘what ifs.’ You’re gonna go in there, let them do their thing, and when you wake up, we’re taking you to get ice cream.”

Nick nodded. “And you’ll probably say some dumb shit while you’re still drugged up, so honestly, it’ll be fun for us.”

Y/N groaned again. “I hate you all.”

Matt grinned. “Love you too, kid.”

Then the nurse walked in, smiling kindly. “Alright, Y/N, we’re ready for you.”

She froze.

Matt squeezed her hand. “You got this.”

Chris nudged her. “Be a champ.”

Nick smiled. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Y/N exhaled, nodded hesitantly, and followed the nurse.

When she woke up, she was high as hell.

The first thing she saw was Matt sitting next to her, and she immediately burst into tears.

“Mattyyyy,” she slurred, grabbing his face.

Matt blinked. “Oh, God.”

Nick and Chris walked in at that exact moment, and Y/N immediately reached for Chris.

“CHWISSY!”

Chris cackled. “Oh, she’s gone.”

Nick pulled out his phone, already recording.

“Do you feel okay?” Matt asked gently, brushing her hair back.

Y/N sniffled dramatically. “I love you soooo much.”

Chris snorted. “Dude, we know.”

She turned to Nick, her face dead serious. “You’re my favorite.”

Chris gasped. “EXCUSE ME?”

Matt raised a brow. “Since when?”

Y/N just giggled, leaning into Nick. “He’s so cute.”

Nick lost it. “What?”

Chris looked offended. “You think Nick is cute? I’M cute.”

Y/N waved him off. “Shhh, you’re annoying.”

Matt smirked. “She’s finally being honest.”

Chris gasped again. “Bro, I’ve been carrying you all day, and this is the thanks I get?”

Then Y/N giggled. “I have a secret.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Oh, let’s hear it.”

Matt warned, “Dude, don’t take advantage of her being drugged up.”

Chris ignored him. “Nah, spill.”

Y/N grinned, looking mischievous. “I stole your hoodie last week.”

Chris gasped for the third time. “I KNEW IT!”

Nick laughed. “Oh, she’s wild.”

Y/N pointed at Matt. “You have a crush on that girl from the grocery store.”

Matt’s face turned red. “What?”

Chris and Nick turned to him immediately. “Wait, WHO?”

Matt groaned. “Y/N, shut up.”

She giggled. “I saw you looking at her.”

Chris laughed so hard he had to sit down. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER.”

Nick wiped a fake tear. “I’m so proud.”

Y/N yawned, leaning into Matt’s chest. “I wanna go home.”

Matt sighed, rubbing her back. “Yeah, okay, let’s get you out of here.”

Chris smirked. “I’m posting all of this.”

Nick grinned. “Oh, for sure.”

Y/N mumbled, “I hate you guys.”

Matt kissed the top of her head. “Love you too, bug.”

[qqueenofhades]

I only recently found your Tumblr and have been enjoying it. I wondered if you'd seen the new article in The Atlantic yet? It's everything I was afraid of and more.

https://www.tumblr.com/meret118/776013260973539328/faa-employees-say-trump-and-musks-purge-is-a?source=share

I have not, because I am very, very careful about my news and social media consumption these days. Not least because I have been here since at least 2016 talking about how bad Trump et al are and what they can do, will do, and are doing, so I don't see the need to expose myself to even more distressing information that confirms what I already know and which I can do nothing to control. So, like... I know that Trump and Musk are evil rapacious shitbirds who are doing their level best to turn the US into a tinpot theocratic oligarchy for their own personal benefit, and are completely uncaring of any consequences or impact on the American people. As far as they're concerned, breaking things and causing pain and suffering is the point, just like the cruelty.

As well, the American media played such a large part in getting us into this mess that I am especially wary of giving them more Panic Clicks (TM) in the Trump 2.0 era, considering everything they did to bring it about. They destroyed Biden and forced him out of the race in six short weeks after the first debate debacle; they could have chosen to do this to Trump at literally any time, and they did not. The billionaires who own the news media are already bending their knee and eagerly lapping Trump's bloated orange backside with its PROPERTY OF VLADIMIR V. PUTIN tattoo. The more "liberal" outlets, i.e. the Atlantic, are getting back into their Principled Defender of Truth mode, where they can once more whip up Democrats and liberals into a panic (hardly as if that needs much help) to do... what?

Obviously, accurate reporting about the current Shitshow Moment is an important public service, but we had four years of Trump loudly stating his intentions at every possible moment while only continuing to get worse. As I said before, nothing he's doing now, heinous as it might be, is a surprise, because he said it all many times beforehand. But because half the country nonetheless just shrugged and voted for him again, the problem of informing them goes much deeper than just reading another Atlantic article about how it's exactly bad as we thought. This isn't pointed at you by any means; you're doing the work to keep yourself informed and to think about what you're going to do about it. Right now, however, I myself really don't need any more information and everything I learn about politics in the present moment is often against my will. (See: ferocious blacklisting, avoiding national news sites, trying to comment only on constructive aspects of the situation, etc.) So at this point, I'm keeping strictly away from the kinds of alarmist reports that tell me stuff I already know: it's really bad, it's gonna get worse, and we are the ones who are going to pay for it. But because half the country is locked in the Trump bubble, how do we deal with that? They're not reading highbrow Atlantic articles about how bad it is. They're reading AI gobbledygook on social media websites owned by fascists, that comfort them in their belief that however bad it is, it's a justified punishment for those Bad People over there and it doesn't matter if they suffer too, as long as the Bad People do. So we've gotta deal with that first.

Anyway: I hope this didn't come off as too dismissive, and I'm glad you're enjoying my blog! It's just that I really, really try to keep these kinds of pieces at arms' length right now, for various reasons, and put my energy into thinking what we can do about this situation instead. We know (god, do we ever) the basic fact that Shit Real Bad. But we can't stop there. Etc etc., Gandalf, What We Choose To Do With The Time That's Given To Us, so that is what I try to do.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊(Oooooo the angst i cannot wait to break down from this Chris POV with complicated emotions is gonna eat)

🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀(CHANGLINGS!!!!! OH THIS IS GONNA SO BEAUTIFULLY DEVESTATING LOVE A GOOD MIX OF THE SUPERNATRAL AND ANGST IN 9-1-1 FICS)

96 for 🥊 (THANK YOU! I'm having a lot of fun with it):

---

When Chris spots him, he freezes. He’s standing right there, holding the worst sign Chris has ever seen; Diazes scribbled on a piece of cardboard. Like he cut up a cereal box or something. He probably did. That’s probably exactly what he did. 

He’s just the same. Same old Buck. But his hair is curlier than usual. 

“Hey!” Dad calls out to Buck. His face lights up a little. So that hasn’t changed, either.

Buck comes rushing over to them. He moves like he’s going to hug Chris, excitement in his eyes. Chris wants him to. He wants him to pretend things are normal. Just for a minute. But Buck stops. He pauses. He looks at Chris with uncertain eyes. It makes Chris want to die a little.

“Chris, buddy,” Buck smiles nervously. “Uh, can I hug you?”

Christopher’s expression must reveal how sad the question makes him. Because since when has Buck had to ask?

“Whoa, hey,” Buck says, when even Chris can tell his jaw is trembling a little. “Hey, Chris… I just wanted to make sure it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Chris mutters.

Buck steps forward and wraps Christopher in the only good hug he’s had in almost a year. Because his dad hasn’t hugged him yet. Chris didn’t let him. Because his grandparents always hugged him like they were hugging a baby, until they stopped altogether. So no one has really hugged him like they loved him in so long and Chris… Chris bursts into tears.

“Christopher!” Buck exclaims. He starts to pull away, alarmed, but Chris clings to him tighter.

“Christopher,” Dad says. “Buddy…”

Chris ignores him. He cries into Buck’s shoulders and he’s so embarrassed. He’s humiliated. But he can’t stop. 

Buck rubs comforting circles into Christopher’s back.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re home. We’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says to Buck. Because he can’t say it to Dad. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Buck says. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

Chris takes a few deep breaths. Waits until he can control himself. Then he pulls away from Buck. 

“Can we go?” He mumbles.

Buck nods. He looks at Dad. 

“Yeah, Eddie? We-we can go?”

Christopher can feel Dad’s eyes on him. Staring unintentional holes into him. But he doesn’t dare look. 

“Yeah,” Dad says after a moment. “Let’s go.”

🟦

Eddie should feel sad. Sad. Jealous. He should feel resentful. Something. Something about the fact that his child dove straight into Buck’s arms to cry. How he wanted him and not Eddie. 

He’s not. 

He’s not remotely jealous. He’s not sad. He’s fucking relieved. He feels like a cinder block has been lifted off of him. Like it had been crushing his heart. Maybe he was just afraid something in Chris was too far broken. Between him and his parents, maybe they messed him up so bad, Chris would never ask for comfort again. Never trust. But he does. He did. He trusts Buck. He wanted Buck. He let Buck hold him. That’s enough. Right now, that has to be enough.

Right now, it gives Eddie something like hope to hold onto.

Chris piles right into the Jeep while Eddie and Buck load his bags into the trunk. Eddie is thinking about his breathing, the cadence of it, more than anything else he’s doing. He’s not fully present. 

---

117 for 🔀 (THANK YOU!!!!) ---

Bring Maddie here? Now? It’s evening. It’s late. She’s… No. 

“I can’t,” Buck whispers.

“You said,” Evan accuses. 

“She-she’s been through so much,” Buck says. “You… You don’t know. She’s had… She doesn’t need this.”

“She’s my sister! I need her!” 

Buck turns to look at Bobby. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t handle this. 

“Chris,” Eddie whispers to his son. “Can you wait on the balcony? I think Buck needs a minute.”

“But I can help,” Chris complains.

“I know. I know you can,” Eddie says. “We’ll come out when we’re ready, okay?”

“Fine,” Chris sulks. Then he heads off towards the balcony. 

“Buck,” Bobby says once the door is shut behind Chris. “I know this is impossibly hard, but I think you need to do this.”

“Do what?” Buck asks. “Ruin Maddie’s life?”

“No,” Athena shakes her head. “That’s not what this is. Buck, think about it. Would you want her to keep this from you? If she were in your position?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. If Maddie did, he wouldn’t be mad she was secretly a fairy. He’d be mad she was a liar. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I have to, don’t I?”

“So far,” Bobby says. “You haven’t lied. You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t start now because you’re scared. You’ve got to trust Maddie to love you no matter what, the way she’s loved you for thirty years.”

Buck looks at Eddie. Eddie nods, encouragingly.

“I can’t see her when I look like this,” Buck admits. 

“Then fix your damn glamor!” Evan snaps.

Buck turns to look at him. 

“Fix my-my what?” 

“Your glamor,” Evan sighs. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Clearly not!” Buck shouts. 

The glass door to the balcony slides open. 

“That’s what I can help you with!” Chris exclaims. 

Eddie groans. “Chris. You weren’t supposed to be listening.”

“You’re all loud,” Chris shrugs. “Buck, I can help you. I can help you look like a human again.”

🟢

They come to an agreement. Bobby and Athena will stay in the loft overnight. They will keep Evan contained. Eddie and Chris will take Buck back to their house. And Chris - because somehow the fourteen year-old has the best grip on this situation - will help Buck get his glamor back. This is not, apparently, a fashion term. It is, as it turns out, a magic term. 

Because Buck is a magical being. Really wonderful.

He would have loved that as a kid. Magic. Being magic. What kid doesn’t want to be magic? What kid doesn’t want powers? Control beyond the limited agency they have. Every kid would love that. But being a creature? A thing? Not all it’s cracked up to be.

Eddie drives him to his house in the truck. He wears a baseball cap and a hoodie. Keeps his hands in his front sweater pocket. He hates the idea of even a traffic camera seeing him green.

Christopher, on the other hand, loves that he is green. 

It’s quite the dilemma for Buck. He loves this child. Potentially the most he could ever love anyone. He has loved him for half of Christopher’s life. He hasn’t seen him in many, many months. He has missed him severely. And yet, all Chris wants to talk about, is Buck’s newly discovered species. 

Buck wants to scream. 

Chris wants to chat, Buck wants to scream. 

“So, there are four books. And the first one pretty much starts off like this. Except, the main character, Leif, is sixteen, not old.”

“Old?” Buck protests. “You think I’m old?” 

“Well, yeah?” Chris says. “Anyway, it’s the same scenario. Except there’s no kidnapping. Leif-” “He’s green and the author called him Leif?” Eddie interjects.

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter six 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: you and daryl take some time to get to know each other while searching for sophia... and you both are quick to realize that the other isn't exactly all bad

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"So..." Daryl started, tightly gripping his crossbow as you both led the pack through the woods. "There any reason why you some sort of G.I. Jane?"

Confused, you cocked a brow, turning to him.

"'Scuse me?"

But he doubled down.

"You," he emphasized, plainly. "You got a city accent... but ye move like ye been raised out 'ere."

He sized you up, expectantly.

"I wanna know why."

You sighed, glancing around at the trees.

After leaving Dale and T-Dog behind to watch the RV, the group set off to widen the search.

You all managed to come across an empty, chiming church—save for a few walkers—and a graveyard in your travels; but no Sophia.

Just to be sure, Rick, Shane, and Carl hung back at the church to see if Sophia would come to the noise, while you and Daryl ushered the others forward to continue.

Which led you to this surprisingly normal conversation.

"I grew up in Jersey," you started with a grunt, stepping over a large log. "Spent my younger years runnin' amok... till I got shipped off to reform school in Georgia."

Using your hunting knife, you cut away some brush, slashing and slicing away some of the thinner branches.

"Made it 'bout a year before they kicked me out... and by then my folks wanted nothin' to do with me," you chuckled, dryly. "So I ran... hid from Social Services until I stumbled across a man."

Daryl raised a brow.

"A man?"

You nodded.

"Kehetu... native guy, Comanche..." you smiled, thoughtfully. "He took me in... brought me back to his cabin... raised me in the Georgia wilderness."

Daryl chuckled, things finally starting to click.

"'Splains all the yellin'," he nodded, glancing down at the ground.

"War whoop," you corrected, a small smirk rising to your lips. "Calls on strength."

"An' makes yer enemy shit their pants."

You snorted, shoulders bobbing with laughter.

"Yeah... that, too."

Deciding to take a page out of your book, he whipped out his knife as well, swiping at the overgrown leaves.

"But what was he doin' all the way over here?" he asked. "Thought all the Indians lived out west or sum?"

You shrugged, quickly scanning over another possible trail.

"He never told me," you answered, plainly. "Mentioned once that he had family in Oklahoma... but didn't get much into it... think it was a sore spot for 'im."

Pausing a moment, you turned to him, scolding.

"And it's Native-American, man."

"Native... Indian... same difference."

"It really isn't."

"What? Ye talkin' bout the lil' guys wit' the dots on their heads?"

"Please... stop talkin'."

"M'just sayin'..."

Just then, Andrea grabbed Carol's hand, comfortingly.

"We're all hoping and praying with you... for what it's worth," she assured.

Daryl scoffed, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"I'll tell you what it's worth," he sucked his teeth. "Not a damn thing."

"Dixon," you hissed, not wanting him to make it worse.

"It's a waste of time—all this hopin' and prayin'," he pressed on, not a doubt in his mind. "'Cause we're gonna locate that little girl. And she's gonna be just fine."

Quickly, his eyes scanned over everyone's face, huffing out another scoff.

"Am I the only one zen around here? ...Good Lord."

Turning around, he trudged back to the front, and you leveled Carol with a comforting look before following him.

He may be a little rough around the edges... but he was sweet.

In his own feral, Daryl-esque way.

He was plenty assuring and supportive when it counted, this—along with his words from last night—forcing you to really think on and reevaluate your previous judgement of him.

'Maybe there's hope after all...'

"How much farther?" Lori asked, picking up next to you.

"Not much. Maybe a hundred... hundred ten yards," you shrugged, slicing up a spider web.

"As the crow flies," Daryl added.

Andrea groaned, trailing a little ways behind, "Too bad we're not crows."

With the sun getting ready to set, you and Daryl thought it best to get the others back to camp; give them some rest before starting back up tomorrow.

Given how low morale was getting, you both figured it would do more harm than good continuing on from there.

But, of course, if it wasn't one thing... it was another.

Out of nowhere, Andrea let out a blood-curdling scream, making the lot of you nearly jump out your skin.

"Andrea?!" Lori panicked.

Whipping around, you turned to see the she was being pressed by a walker, her stabs to its chest doing nothing as it managed to get her down on the ground. 

You were moving before you could think.

Sprinting, you ran toward her, the others close in tow.

Besides the walker's snarls, you also heard a faint something beating against the ground from not too far away.

Like hooves...

Shaking your head, you focused up, drawing your tomahawk before winding up your throw.

"RAH!"

You chucked it with as much force you could muster, sending it soaring through the air with a sharp whoosh before punctuating the walker with a sick splat!

"Holy shit," Daryl marveled, wide eyed.

He'd be a bold-faced liar if he said he didn't find that hot... as fuck...

Andrea whimpered as she frantically crawled away, watching as the walker fell limply on the ground, dead.

"Lori?! Lori Grimes?!" a mystery woman exclaimed, suddenly riding over on her horse. 

'What the fuck?'

"Whoa. I'm Lori," Lori stepped forward, confused.

"Rick sent me! You've gotta come now!"

"What?"

"There's been an accident. Carl's been shot," the woman elaborated. "He's still alive but you've gotta come now!"

Shocked, Lori stood there for a moment, utterly dumbfounded.

"Rick needs you! Just come!"

Shrugging off her back, Lori dropped it on the ground, stepping forward to join her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! We don't know this girl!" Daryl exclaimed, incredulously. "You can't get on that horse!"

"Rick said you had others on that highway, that big traffic snarl?" the woman asked, turning to the rest of you as Lori mounted. 

"Uh-huh," Glenn nodded, dazed.

"Backtrack to Fairburn Road. Two miles down is our farm. You'll see the mailbox. Name's Greene. Hyah!"

And just like that, she was gone, riding off with one of your own and leaving the rest of you standing in the clearing, clueless.

'...What the hell just happened?'

"I won't do it," Carol denied, shaking her head. "We can't just leave."

"Carol, the group is split. We're scattered and weak," Dale sighed, leaning against the door of the RV. 

"What if she comes back? And we're not here? ...It could happen."

"If Sophia found her way back and we were gone... that would be awful," Andrea agreed.

Nodding, Daryl rested his hands on his hips.

"Okay... we gotta plan for this," he started. "I say tomorrow mornin's soon enough to pull up stakes. Give us a chance to rig a big sign. Leave her some supplies."

Glancing toward the others, he scratched the back of his neck.

"I'll hold here tonight, stay with the R.V."

"If the R.V's staying, I am, too," Dale stated.

"Thank you... Thank you both," Carol smiled, softly.

Turning to you, Daryl quirked a brow, somehow already knowing your answer.

"I'm in," you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Well, if you're all staying, then I'm—"

"Not you, Glenn. You're going," Dale denied before he could even finish. "Take Carol's Cherokee."

"Me?" he scoffed, annoyed. "Why is it always me?"

"You have to find this farm, reconnect with our people, and see what's going on. But most important, you have to get T-Dog there."

Pausing, you all turned to the man, who was hunched over off to the side, covered in a thick blanket.

"This is not an option. That cut had gone from bad to worse. He has a very serious blood infection... Get him to that farm. See if they have any antibiotics because if not... T-Dog will die. No joke."

Just then, Daryl turned around, sauntering over to his bike and tugging off a greasy towel, before rummaging through his side bag.

Out of it, he yanked a plastic baggie full of medical-grade pills of varying caliber.

"Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle," he ordered, shooting Dale a sharp look before plopping the bag down on the hood of a nearby car. "Why'd you wait til now to say anythin'? I got my brother's stash."

You scoffed, both amused and disbelieving.

Of course Merle had a secret stash of pills just lying around.

"Crystal... X, don't need that... some kick-ass painkillers... Oxycycline."

He tossed the bottle to Dale, plainly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Not the generic stuff neither. It's first class."

He picked up the baggie, moving to put it back with his things. 

"Merle got the Clap on occasion."

"You really think we're gonna find Sophia?" you asked, lowly, as you stepped around a tree root, gaze trained on the ground.

That night, Daryl had agreed to go searching the nearby woods with you, hoping to find that Sophia had managed to wander her way back.

But so far, you were coming up empty. 

Turning to you, Daryl flashed the light in your face, disbelieving.

"You got that look on your face... same as everybody else," he stated. "Hell's wrong with you people? We just started lookin'."

"Yeah, and things already ain't lookin' so hot."

"It ain't the mountains of Tibet, it's Georgia," he scoffed. "She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere... People get lost and they survive. It happens all the time."

"She's a twelve year old girl," you emphasized.

"Hell, I was younger than her an' I got lost. Nine days in the woods eatin' berries, wipin' my ass with poison oak."

'Christ...'

"They found you?"

He shook his head.

"My old man was out on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doin' another stint in juvie... didn't even know I was gone.

He shrugged, glancing down at the ground.

"Made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear... 'cept my ass itched somethin' awful."

You snorted, but quickly covered it up, guilt sinking into your chest.

"M'sorry," you apologized, lightly chuckling. "That's bad."

But he laughed along with, letting out a small sigh.

"Only difference is Sophia's got people lookin' for her... I call that an advantage."

Just then, a rustle sounded off not too far away, snatching both of your attention.

Without hesitation, you both readied your weapons, you drawing an arrow and Daryl taking aim with his crossbow.

Like a well-oiled machine, you both went back to back, not having to say a word as you both descended toward the disturbance, heading down the small decline.

Daryl scanned his flashlight over everything—the brush, the canopy, the roots—before he turned the corner, setting his sights on something hanging from a nearby tree.

"What the hell?"

Brows furrowed, you came out from behind him, only to find a snarling, chubby walker dangling from a branch.

"Got bit. Fever hit. World gone to shit. Might as well quit," he read the note stuck to the creature's chest, squinting in the darkness. 

"How poetic," you remarked, sarcastically.

"Dumbass didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Turned himself into a big, swingin' piece of bait... an' a mess."

"Probably ran outta ammo," you suggested, shifting your weight on your hips as you turned to walk toward a tree, drawing your tomahawk.

"I guess this is the closest he's been to food since he turned," Daryl continued, staring up at the thing. "Look at 'im. Hangin' there like a big piñata."

"You're real sick, y'know that?" you grimaced, chopping down a nice, long vine.

Moving his flashlight, he shined it on the walker's lower half, which was nothing but bone.

"The other geeks came and ate the flesh off his legs."

"TMI, Dixon..."

"Call it payback for laughin' 'bout my itchy ass."

"You were laughin', too."

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," he chuckled, turning to you. "Les' head back."

"You're not gonna shoot it?" you asked, wrapping the vine around the handle of your tomahawk few times before tying off a knot.

"Nah. He ain't hurtin' nobody," Daryl shook his head. "Ain't gonna waste an arrow either."

"I can make you more."

"These are my metal ones," he denied, flashing his quiver. "He made his choice... opted out. Let 'im hang."

Starting off back the way you came, Daryl trudged past you, but you continued forward, approaching the trapped creature.

Stopping in his tracks, Daryl turned around, sizing you up with a raised brow.

Adjusting your grip on the handle, you gave yourself some slack on the vine, tucking your mini-flashlight in your mouth and aiming up at the walker.

It snarled and gnashed his teeth under the shine, swiping its arms in an attempt to grab you.

'Easy... it'll be over soon...'

Winding up, you swirled the tomahawk in your grasp before throwing it like you did earlier.

And it was a direct hit.

Instantly, the walker was put down, your ax sticking out of its half caved-in head as it finally fell limp.

Shifting slightly, you grabbed onto the vine, gripping it tight before giving a harsh tug, snatching your tomahawk back and catching it.

Grinning, you turned around with a satisfied air, only to find Daryl staring at you with a look you'd never seen before.

You were something else...

"What?" you asked, scrunching your nose in confusion.

But he shook his head, biting back a smile as he turned around.

"Nothin'... les' get back to camp."

[mscherub]

Stupid friend stuff but Yuu making a bet with Ace, he can beat Deuce in Arm wrestling. Ace calls bs since he knows deuce is stronger, but the pc wins by confusing Deuce and forcing his arm down while he's distracted.

Loosing a Bet

A/N: Heyyy! Thanks for the request, I love writing silly things so you made me happy with this, and with this ur also feeding my favoritism towards Ace— anyways, this is in my usual second person POV perspective, it’s what I’m most comfortable writing in. With that said, I tried my best with it so I hope you enjoy <3

Tags: Fluff, funny, stupid stuff, friends

Warnings: swearing, bribes

Lunch was as busy and loud as it usually was with the table you sat at. Grim scarfed down his food in less than 5 minutes at the start, Ace got into some fight with a kid across the lunch room, Deuce is struggling with homework and not touching his food which Grim gladly helps himself to, and Epel, Jack, and Sebek are all being fairly normal. Grim keeps begging everyone for a small share of their food even after stealing Deuce’s portions, bugging them, and especially you, as he paws away at your shoulder, a pout on his face. You’ve been ignoring him for most of the time and you were trying to keep it that way.

“Heyyy, Henchhuman…go buy me s’more stuff to eat…” he huffs, moving to float in front of your face. “Can’t ya go get me something? Cmonnnnn…” he whines as he brings his face closer to yours.

You move back and you give a small glare as you set down your drink. “You already ate your food, you don’t need anymore—“

“But ima growin mage! Gotta buy me something so I can eat it and get stronger! The least my Henchhuman can do for me.” He huffs again, his tail flicking out of anger, but he knew better than most to test you. He sits back down with a small plop and crosses his arms.

“Here…how about…what if,” you look over at Ace who’s blatantly flipping off someone as they walk past, presumably one of the friends of the kid he has problems with. “I bet Ace can’t beat Deuce in an arm wrestling match, so if he looses he has to buy you another lunch. And if he wins…I dunno, I’ll let him decide.” You watch as he perks up at hearing his name and he gives you one of the most confused looks you’ve ever seen.

“The fuck do you mean by that…” He tilts his head.

Deuce looks over at you, then to Ace, then Ace looks at him, and then at Deuces arms. “No way I’m gonna verse him.” He rolls his eyes.

“So you’re just a pussy then? Mannnnn, I thought you had some balls, but this is just a new low, huh?” You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile at him. He bristles up at the words and he shakes his head in disbelief and against the statement you just had to provoke him with.

“I’m gonna get my arm snapped! No offense to Deuce but all the offense to Deuce, I don’t wanna even try that…I’d loose. And I’m no pussy— I just know when not to do shit!” He shakes his head even more, making an x with his arms.

“You had no problem eating that tart—“

“That’s different!”

“Hey, I said you can pick what you’d win, so at least think of that before complaining.” You quickly interject. He goes quiet again and he pouts at you. Just peer pressure him into it. You get a kick out of watching him loose and you also can get a quiet Grim. Win-win situation.

“Fine. You know what, I’ll do it. If I win, I want you to go over there and dump a drink on that kids head who’s been really pissing me off lately. So I don’t get in trouble for it.” He smirks right back at you and crosses his arms.

“That’s…a far stretch from what I said you’d have to do if you lost—“

“Ah ah ah, but that’s what I want. You said so yourself.” He wags his finger at you and points his chin up.

This guy…. “I did…fine. A bet is a bet. You loose, you buy grim another lunch, you win, I go and be rude to that kid. Is that it?”

He nods and seems proud of himself while doing so. There’s no way he’d win, I mean compared to Deuce, his arms are…skinnier, in the nicest way you can word it.

Deuce listened to the whole thing and he’s still confused, but when Ace offers up his hand, Deuce reluctantly follows along. Grim obviously wants Ace to loose so he goes over to the both of them and pretends to be the referee and watches closely.

Not even a minute goes by before Ace is already struggling. He lets out small puffs of air as his arm trembles, his other hand gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles are white as he tries to push down Deuces. It’s a sad sight, but he knew he’d loose, like he said so himself, so all you have to do is just sit back and watch the scene play out. You wouldn’t have to spend any other amounts of money on Grim’s food for today—

Ortho comes zooming in and pops up behind Deuce, Ortho watching the whole situation very curiously. He startles both of the boys, but in one swift motion, Ace pushes all of his reserved strength into slamming Deuces arm down against the table.

Silence. Everyone goes quiet and Ace just chuckles breathily before he looks back at you and smirks. “Let’s go! Now go do what I said. Since I won and all…can’t believe you didn’t believe in me! Now look! Hah!”

“Ok, hold on! That’s not…” you sit up quickly and put your hands on the table, leaning forwards in disbelief. “That doesn’t count. Ortho surprised you both so—“

“Ohhhh don’t pull this. Now look who’s the pussy. You too sacred to got get lil ol’ me some revenge?” He clasps his hands together and pouts at you, fluttering his lashes.

Wow. Just, wow.

“Like ya said so yourself, Prefect, a bet is a bet, no?” He chuckles even more.

“Fine. Which kid?” You mutter out as you swing your legs over the bench and stand up.

“The one with the brown hair. His name is…I dunno. I was paired with him in class and he’s just a huge dick. Go show him some hospitality for me.” He hums all happily like a literal school girl.

You grab Aces drink which makes him glare at you, but he doesn’t protest any further. You walk over to the guy and tap him on his shoulder before you dump out the contents into his hair and chuck the drink on the table. “Present from Ace.”

Bonus:

“Out of the time you’ve been here you’ve never done something as outrageous as this…” Crowley sighs as he looks down at his papers.

“What possessed you to do this?” He looks up at you again, his lips pursed, holding back many words he’d like to say.

“I…lost a bet.”

I hope it was close to what you wanted, and sorry it was a little shorter <3

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[sailormarijuanera]

𝗧𝗼𝗷𝗶'𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗱 (𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼)

𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚? He wasn’t even that close. He sat in the chair in front of you, legs spread out in front of him, shoulders back, and arms resting on the chairs beside him. You guessed he was just shy of six feet, but the way he carried himself made him seem much larger and closer.

You had a lot to do, even while in the waiting lobby to meet with a prospective client at their firm. Despite your almost constant shuffling between papers, files, and your tablet, you still managed to sneak a glance at him now and again. Every time you did, your eyes met and you felt a surge of embarrassment. You weren’t a fan. After the third time, you decided to stop trying. Hot guys weren’t fun if they were so aware. Truthfully, it was the most unattractive thing about him: how cocky he was. It didn’t leave you impressed or wanting more, it left you rolling your eyes. After getting off the elevator, the panic had subsided quickly enough; strangers consoled each other briefly before going their separate ways. No one tried to comfort you, of course, not with the mysterious figure looming behind you. Protection? More like a talisman to ward off energy, good and evil alike. You didn’t mind that part, in all honesty. You didn’t have much energy for socializing today. There was too much to do anyway, as always. You were scanning the stipulation sent by your dutiful assistant when you registered movement out of your top peripheral. It wasn’t overt, he didn’t seem to be drawing attention to himself. That might have annoyed you more, but you were trying not to think about it at all. Push him out of your mind, that was the ideal business relationship. One where no one thought about - Wow his arms are huge- Fuck, no! Your eyes snapped back to the screen on your lap. 

By the grace of the sweetest angel among the clouds, just then, the receptionist called your name and kindly gestured toward the meeting room. Your saving grace, you gave her a bright smile and quickly gathered your things. The meeting with the potential buyer had started not ten minutes ago, and Toji had already hijacked it. You did what you could to keep her on track, but there was no getting between her and her newfound love. Toji was eating it up, of course, calling her pet names and complimenting her on all the success she’d achieved. Like, really complimenting that part. 

Well, you got the contract. 

You had the decency to wait until you were out of the building to speak. “You are wildly unprofessional,” you whispered angrily. “She said she’s gonna work with you right? What’s-” 

You didn’t let him finish the question, “What’s what? Hm?” You stepped in front of him, cutting off his access to the sidewalk, all but shoving your briefcase into his chest. His hands shot up and grabbed the dark brown leather, effectively holding the thing in place so firmly you let go rather than give him a chance to pull you in. “That was the biggest buyer of this quarter, if I hadn’t gotten that contract, my ability to do my job would have been questioned. I could have lost it, do you understand?” All right, perhaps that was laying it on a little thick, but still. He had no right to intrude the way he did, especially when he was meant to be on duty. “I was just trying to help,” he said. His tone was far too casual for your liking and it did nothing to improve your mood.

 “Just give me some space,” you told him. He shrugged in what you deemed agreement and you turned to continue heading toward the parking garage. The transportation for the day was a bit annoying, as you lived in a city where walking wasn’t an option and Toji didn’t own a car. With everything that you were learning about him, that bit became less and less shocking. Fleeting thoughts danced around your mind, there was always too much to think about, until the ding! of the elevator door brought them to a screeching halt. There was no way you were getting on another elevator today. This resolution elicited something that was somewhere in between a sigh and a groan, but on you marched toward the stairs. You’re such a trooper. Lest you be left alone with your own thoughts, you plucked your phone from the purse that hung at your wrist. Emails, meeting notes, confirmations, scheduling, all the usual fun stuff to sort through. Before the heavy door could close behind you, you caught the low sounds of shuffled footsteps. After checking, you didn’t see anyone, or Toji as you suspected he might be following you after all. “Fuck off,” you said to the void, which left you satisfied enough. You began climbing the stairs, your heels clacking against the concrete steps was the only sound reverberating around you. You kept going on your way. There was a sound again. Not exactly the same, it was more muffled, but the effects were stronger yet. An uneasiness began creeping into your chest; something was not right. It wasn’t a feeling that could be easily brushed off, it was settling in the pit of your stomach. To make matters worse, Toji parked your car on the other side of the garage. Your pace quickened, and you were sure you heard another pair of footsteps. Someone was on the same floor, but you didn’t even want to risk turning around. You exhaled and continued walking. 

Finally, your car was in sight, in all its glory. You just needed to get past this wall, then the space would be open. No other cars to hide behind, no way to sneak up on you, just get passed this wall but try to stay focused but don’t look too aware, stay looking at your phone but don't get distracted by what’s on your screen, you’re almost there- 

Something slammed into your chest and knocked the wind out of you. It pushed down on your chest, forcing you back until somehow you fell against the stupid, traitorous wall. Without a moment to recover, pressure exploded across your lips, your chin, your jaw. Then came the numbness, then the warmth of the blood spilling. The pain would come later, but shock seemed to occupy that space right now. 

“Please,” you mumbled the word through a mouthful of blood. When you looked up, the face staring down at you was half-hazardly masked, but the eyes were not. They were a startling, disturbing blue, full of such visible hatred that you were thankful to still be alive. His entire head could have been covered, but that would still have meant nothing if you could see those eyes. Unmistakable and burned into your memory from the day he burst into your office with his first threat. He had something tied around the lower half of his face, but nothing to disguise the ash blonde hair on his head “Take. Purse-” you gasped, realizing it was hard to inhale properly. He backhanded you across the face. 

Your mouth filled up again, copper invaded your senses and your head began to spin. 

“Stupid bitch,” you heard. The voice was familiar. “You thought you could get away from? Stop me?” As he spoke, his hands tightly gripped your shoulders and shook until you felt the back of your head hit the wall.

The pain shot through your entire skull right before your vision began to blur. “N-No,” was all you could manage. 

“No? Your favorite word, right? I’ll show-” He didn’t finish his sentence and because it was still difficult to focus, you weren’t sure if that was good or bad. More sounds followed; blows landing, metal clanging against the cement floor, and then something heavy was dragged away from you. Fear had taken hold of every part of your mind and now crawled its way down, infecting your muscles and limbs. Nothing worked, not so much as a twitch. The haunting silence of the parking garage should have made noises that much more obvious, but you couldn’t hear a peep. So, when a hand all but slammed down onto your shoulder, you let out a scream that was both fear-ridden and cathartic. “Please, no!” you screeched.  “Jesus, it’s me,” came the voice. Somehow, just as annoyed as always. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

[pamwritessometimes]

The Great Invasion — Chapter 4

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: aftermath of a panic attack, visions and flashbacks, revisiting character death, being captured. Tell me if I missed something!!!

Series set after Season 15.

Somewhat canon-divergent.

Theme song of the chapter: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

Series masterlist

Chapter 4: Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

The tea wasn’t helping.

Sam had made it with all the care of someone who actually knew how to be nurturing, but at the end of the day, tea was just leaf water, and leaf water wasn’t gonna fix your brain. Not after the absolute trainwreck of a day you’d had.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, fingers curling around the warm mug as you tried — key word being here: tried — to pretend like you weren’t still shaking.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

Except, of course, for the part where you’d had a full-on panic attack in front of half the damn bunker. Cas had been there, Sam, some of the other hunters. All of them wanting to experience the circus. And Dean.

Dean, who had cleared the room like he actually gave a shit.

Like, actually stepped in and made everyone leave. Which was weird. Because yeah, he was protective of his people, but you weren’t his people. Not really. You were the weird outsider with a past so messy it needed its own Netflix docuseries.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there, arms crossed, eyes watching you with that signature Dean Winchester blend of concern and mild irritation.

And then — softly, carefully, quietly, like he was trying not to spook you—

“What did you mean back there? When you said everything you believed was a lie?”

Oh. We’re doing this now.

You took a long sip of your tea — mostly to stall, partly to avoid answering. It tasted like nothing. You stared down at it anyway, willing it to have the answers.

It did not.

“…How much did the others tell you about me?” you asked instead, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be.

Dean exhaled through his nose, tilting his head like he was deciding how much to say. “I know you came from a world that didn’t leave a lot of survivors,” he said finally. “Beyond that? Not much.”

You let out a bitter laugh at that, the sound of it was way harsher than you intended, but you didn’t respond immediately. What the hell was there to say? You weren’t sure you even knew where to begin anymore. There were so many lies tangled in your brain, so many goddamn things that you still didn’t understand about yourself.

“A survivor” you repeated, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Just waited. Which was somehow worse.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug. “I know people despise me here… Hell, I despise myself” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “While they barely survived, somehow, those goddamn demons wiped my ass clean with golden toilet paper.”

That got a reaction. His eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t just survival” you went on, voice bitter. “It was comfort. Luxury. Five-star meals. Silk sheets. A guard outside my door, making sure the wrong demons didn’t bother me. And the whole time, I told myself I wasn’t one of them. That I wasn’t working for them. But the truth is, Dean…”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I was their damn mascot.”

Dean leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t looking at you like he was judging, though. Just… thinking. Processing. “So what changed?” he asked. “When did you start seeing through the crap?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “When I started asking questions.” Your lips curled, the memory stinging. “But even then, Barbas always had answers. He had this whole story. A twisted fairy tale about why demons invaded Earth. About why Rowena was the real monster.”

Dean furrowed his brow, curiosity and concern flashing through his eyes. “What did that bastard tell you?”

You hesitated, because saying it out loud felt stupid. But you forced yourself to anyway.

“He told me Rowena was a tyrant. That she turned Hell into something worse than it had ever been. That she ruled with cruelty and chaos, making even demons suffer under her whims. According to him she was so power-hungry she made Hell unlivable, not just for damned human souls but for demons, too.”

Dean scoffed. A short, disbelieving noise.

But you weren’t done.

“Barbas said the invasion wasn’t about power. It was about survival. That Malgathor and his people were the good guys, fighting to escape Rowena’s reign of terror. He made it sound like Earth was their only chance.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, ugly thing. “And I believed him.”

Dean let out a slow, sharp breath. Ran a hand through his hair like he was physically trying to keep himself from saying something wrong.

“But you’ve met Rowena now” he said. “You know that’s not how it went down.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your face.

“Yeah” you whispered. “Now I know.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence sat heavy between you.

Then—

“Hey” Dean’s voice was softer now. “You’re here. You got out.”

Your breath hitched.

“It’s not that simple” you muttered, shaking your head. “I–I keep getting these flashbacks. Scraps. Pieces. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just— lies Barbas planted in my head. I—” Your voice cracked. “I believed him. For so long.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment again, but something really caught his mind.

Dean’s whole posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his expression hardening.

“That’s what those visions are, aren’t they?” he said, putting the pieces together out loud. “When you freaked out in the war room. When I found you in the storage room.”

You nodded as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked over you, scanning your face like he was looking for signs you were gonna crack again. “What do you see? In those visions?”

You should’ve lied. Should’ve brushed it off. But instead...

“I see Barbas. I see demons. I— I can’t move, and I don’t know why and there’s this awful metallic taste in my mouth, and—”

“Alright, alright, enough” he interrupted, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t… Don’t have to go through that again” He reached out, resting a hand gently on your shoulder, but deep down, something gnawed at him.

If you played the part they wanted you to… why torture you? Why go to all the trouble of breaking you down, only to wipe your memory? Was that just for control? Or was there more?

It didn’t add up. But he didn’t want to press further. He glanced at you again – the way your face twisted in pain, like you were about to break all over again. The last thing he wanted was to push you into another panic attack. Yeah, no way was he pushing that button.

Dean’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. Like he was pulling you back from the edge.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuckery they pulled on you” he said, “but you’re here now. With us. And we’re gonna figure this out.”

“Hey” he said softly, trying to catch your attention. “You want another mug?”

You shook your head.

Dean then stood with a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity like he wanted to fill the silence with anything other than words. He turned toward the door, his hand hovering hesitantly near the knob like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave. 

“Then get some rest” he said and his voice indicated it was an order disguised as a suggestion. “You probably haven’t had a proper sleep in a while.”

His fingers barely brushed the doorknob when you blurted, “Wait” The word came out rough and strained, like it had fought itself up from your chest.

Dean stopped instantly, glancing back at you with a mix of curiosity and caution, like he’d just spotted a landmine on a well-trodden path. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought… you’ll already sneak back into my room–”

“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.

You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”

Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher, and for a second, you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”

“No” you blurted out, the word tumbling out like you’d just been caught swiping the last cookie in the jar. It came out too quickly, too high, and you could practically feel the cringe ripple through your insides. You recovered as best you could, rolling your shoulders and adding, “But you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? So at least this way, I get to pretend it was my idea.”

It was a lie and you knew he sensed it too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that his presence right there in the room was the only thing keeping the creeping panic at bay

Dean stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, no… he was just looking at you. And for one terrible, fleeting second you thought he might actually say no, might leave you in the room to battle your messy thoughts alone.

“Alright” he said after a few agonizingly long seconds. He took a couple of steps back into the room and dragged the chair closer to the bed, leaning back into it. His legs stretched out, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You… sure you’re good there?” you asked, half joking, half genuinely concerned.

His mouth twitched at the corners, and you swore he was fighting off a full-on grin. Instead, he leaned back even more comfortably, folding his arms across his chest, like he was preparing for an impromptu nap. Of course, you knew better and you knew Dean didn’t need sleep.

“Chair’s fine” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m versatile.”

You snorted despite yourself. You settled back into the bed, sinking further into the blankets, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go. Hell, you hadn’t even known what you were doing when you opened your mouth a few minutes ago. But there he was, sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world, and it… it didn’t feel so bad.

“Goodnight” Dean said. “Try to get some sleep.”

The bunker’s library was a warzone of books and exhaustion.

Stacks of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts towered precariously on every available surface, as if daring someone to knock them over. Notes were scattered across the long table, half-finished theories scribbled in frustration. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment, ink, and coffee so stale it could qualify as an eldritch entity.

Sam sat at the head of the table, flipping through a thick, leather-bound text with the focus of a man desperately trying to find a needle in a hell-sized haystack. Castiel stood by the wall, staring at the demonic script with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax codes. 

If he even knew what tax codes were!

Several hunters were sitting around the space, their focus mostly on their respectively assigned books or the method of sneaking out to the toilet without having to come back anytime soon.

But most of them abandoned those attempts. Too much was at stake. 

 “Alright, uh…” Sam said earlier. “We’re looking for something, anything, on Malgathor. His possible lair or residence, his past, his weird demon cult of Hell traditionalists, whatever we can get.” He glanced around at the group, when his eyes landed on the stack of dusty tomes Joe had haphazardly flipped through and abandoned in frustration. “If you’re staring at the pages like that, you’re not gonna find anything. Focus. Please.”

They tried. But there was so much a pack of human could do.

In short, they were suffering.

And Joe was the loudest about it.

“Why the hell are we even doing this?” he groaned, shoving a book away. “Shouldn’t Champ Girl be handling this? I mean, isn’t she, like, the expert on demons?”

Sam sighed. “ “She’s resting. Had a rough afternoon.”

His tone made it clear: don’t push it.

Joe, of course, pushed it. “Must be nice”  he muttered, flipping another page with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced at gunpoint to read. “Getting beauty sleep while the rest of us are inhaling mold spores.”

Before Sam could respond, Inez — who had been quietly working and not being an ass about it — spoke up. “I swear if I have to hear you whine one more time, Joe, I’m gonna make you sleep and it won’t be beauty-related.”

A beat of silence.

Then, from somewhere down the table, a quiet “Oooooh, shit” from one of the other hunters.

Joe grumbled something that sounded vaguely like touchy, but he shut up, which was a Christmas miracle.

It was mind-numbing work but not the kind that lets your brain wander peacefully. No, this was the cognitive equivalent of running a marathon in goddamn flip-flops. The manuscripts the hunters were slogging through were a glorious mess of ancient scribbles, what Joe swore were drunk notes, and indecipherable symbols that looked like someone had sneezed mid-cursive. Some even resembled the result of a writer’s misguided attempt at art therapy. 

The room was filled with collective groans as the group flipped through the relics of some long-dead scholar who clearly had a personal hatred toward future generations… or had a vendetta against user-friendly design. Because fuck these books and myths.

Whoever coined the phrase knowledge is power clearly never met these very pages.

Useless. Absolutely useless.

And then—

“Oh my God.”

Inez practically leapt from her chair, slamming her hands onto the table so hard that one of the precariously balanced book stacks collapsed instantly.

Sam was immediately at her side. “What? Did you find something?”

She nodded so fast her ponytail nearly took flight. “Yeah. Right here—” She jabbed a finger at the text in front of her. “There’s a reference here to a place called the Vale of Ashes. Supposedly it’s a nexus point for higher level demons, a sort of gathering place for when Hell’s elite have business topside. It’s been inactive for centuries, but if Malgathor’s trying to pull something big, it’d make sense for him to use it.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the new information. “The Vale of Ashes… I don’t remember coming across that name before.”

“The Vale of Ashes…” Castiel stepped forward, and repeated the words. “Yes, I heard of that, I think. It’s more than a gathering place. It’s a sanctuary for demons powerful enough to shield themselves from detection, even from angels. If Malgathor’s there, it’s no wonder we’ve struggled to locate him.”

The mood in the room immediately shifted.

No more tired sighs. No more half-assed research.

This was real. This was something.

Joe let out a dramatic groan, flopping back in his chair. “Great. Just fuckin’ great. So, not only do we have to find this place, but we’ve gotta figure out how to break into a demon fortress without getting turned into ash ourselves.”

“Joe” Sam said with the measured tone of a man hanging by a thread. “Either help or get out. Your call.”

Joe put his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”

Sam ignored him, turning back to Inez. “Does the book say where it is? Anything about coordinates, landmarks, anything?”

“Not yet” Inez admitted, though she was already scanning the surrounding pages, her brow furrowed in determination. “But if this book mentions it, there’s a good chance the rest of the details are here somewhere.”

Sam took a step back, nodding. “Alright. This is good. This is the best lead we’ve had.”

The exhaustion in the room was still there, but now it had a different flavor. Less soul-crushing despair, more determined, caffeine-powered focus.

Because for the first time in weeks, they had a real shot at finding Malgathor.

And there was no way in hell they were letting it slip away.

When you woke up, the first thing you did was check the chair.

It was stupid. You knew that. But still… your eyes darted to the chair pulled close to your bedside, like maybe Dean was still there.

He wasn’t.

And that stung a little more than you were willing to admit.

Well. Not totally empty. His jacket was still there. A tangible sign that he hadn’t completely ghosted you — yes, pun intended.

You groggily glanced at the clock. 

7 a.m.? Wait, really? 

You did the math quickly: eight whole hours of sleep. A full night’s rest. 

This was… unprecedented. 

Who even am I? Some kind of… morning person now? you wondered.

For the first time in what felt like forever (okay, two years, to be exact), you hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat, gasping like you’d just outrun a hellhound. None of that today. No nightmares. No panic.

And that? That felt like a goddamn miracle.

You sat up, stretching your limbs with the grace of a middle-aged dad who just realized his alarm doesn’t go off for another 20 minutes. It was a nice change. Maybe you were ready to face the day. Or at least face the weird, slightly claustrophobic town this bunker had created.

As you made your bed like the grown-up you are, pretending to not be in a safehouse, your eyes lingered on the chair again, now with a better angle.  It wasn’t empty and not just because of the jacket. 

A shirt. Freshly folded. Just sitting there, like it was meant for you.

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as you picked it up, slipping it on without a second thought.

Comfortable. A little oversized.

Perfect.

And then came… hunger with an obscenely loud rumble of your stomach. The kind that hits hard, like your stomach suddenly remembered it existed and was personally offended by the lack of food. It grumbled so loud it was probably audible in Heaven.

You sighed. Okay. Food first. Existential dread later.

You ventured toward the kitchen.

But as soon as you got within earshot, you stalled. Voices. Clattering dishes. A full goddamn house.

Great. Awesome. Perfect timing, Y/N.

You hesitated in the doorway, self-doubt creeping in like a bad ex. Déjà vu hit like a truck, this was the war room disaster all over again. You scanned the room and— yep. There he was.

Joe.

Your greatest fan. (Hah, not!)

Breakfast is overrated anyway. 

The great escape was forming in your mind: quick pivot, retreat to your room, and maybe come back when the place was empty. But just as you began to shuffle backward, hoping no one had spotted you, a voice sliced through the awkward air like a hot knife through butter.

“Hey! You coming in or just standing there?” 

The words came from a blonde girl sitting near the center of the room. Her voice was so warm that it made it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear her. You glanced at her direction.

You recognized her immediately: the one who’d yanked you out of a stress-induced spiral in that same war room meeting from earlier that week. Not exactly your favorite memory, but at least she hadn’t treated you like an inconvenience. That earned her some points.

“I swear, if you stand there like a deer in headlights, I’ll drag you in by your ear.”

Well. That wasn’t a threat you felt like testing.

Sighing, you pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, playing it cool like you weren’t just about to run the hell out of there. Inez was already halfway through her coffee when she gestured to the empty seat beside her.

You hesitated.

Then, before your inner coward could talk you out of it, you sat.

She didn’t waste a second, sliding a tray of food across the table to you. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

You blinked at the offering. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Even a full mug of coffee.

Your stomach growled in approval.

“…Uh, thanks.”

She grinned smugly, sipping her own coffee. "No problem. And don't worry, everyone’s too busy with their own melodrama to notice you now. You were new, and yeah, it’s weird at first, but it dies down rather quickly. Well, except for Joe over there. He’s kind of a douche. I’m pretty sure he thinks hello is a hostile interrogation. But I get it, kind of. He’s still adjusting. He got here, what, two weeks ago? But the rest of the crew’s alright."

You could already feel Joe’s eyes drifting your way, the same way a cat stares at something just before knocking it off the table. Nope. Not today. You were out.

You turned back to Inez, and chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.

“I’m Inez, by the way.”

“Y/N” you offered.

“I know” Inez smiled, leaning forward.

You picked up your fork, finally digging in as Inez leaned back, watching you with an expression that was somewhere between amused and thoughtful.

“You know” she said after a beat, “you’re doing better than I did when I first got here.”

You glanced up at her, fork paused mid-air. “...What do you mean?”

“When I showed up here just about a year ago” she began, “I was the first woman to get brought into this bunker. And let me tell you, the guys weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. I got hit with every tired stereotype you can imagine. ‘She’s weak.’ ‘She’s no use’.’’

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or wince. “Ouch.”

“Yeah” she snorted, sipping her coffee, “Then I said I’d handle the groceries for as long as I can.”

You nearly choked on your eggs.“…Groceries?”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yup.”

“Like. Actual groceries?”

“Like running into demon-infested cities and hitting up the local supermarket, yeah. Luckily, they still exist. Apparently, demons care about keeping their humans alive.”

You stared at her. “…You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with way too much satisfaction.

“So you’re telling me—” You gestured vaguely. “You risk your life… for fresh produce?”

Inez smirked. “Either that or we live off canned beans and powdered eggs for a month. And then, well. Probably on each other.”

You blinked. “You say that so casually.”

“Survival, newbie.” She took another sip. “Gotta have priorities.”

“…And that’s how you earned their respect?”

“Pretty much. Turns out, men are very food-motivated. Who knew?”

You let out a laugh. Okay. Yeah. That was oddly impressive.

Then, your brain started piecing something together.

When you first got here, food had just... appeared at your door. Simple stuff — sandwiches, snacks — but someone had been making sure you didn’t starve. You suspected it was Jack or Cas or some other angel playing guardian for you.

But maybe—

You narrowed your eyes at Inez. “…Wait a second. Those sandwiches I got during my first few days here… was that you?”

Inez gave a small, knowing smirk and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty as charged.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope” she said, popping the p with a little too much satisfaction. “It’s kind of a tradition here for me now… helping the new folks settle in. Just a little food delivery service to help you get through the weirdness of being dumped in a bunker full of people who are way more comfortable with guns than small talk.”

“Well…” you said, a genuine smile creeping onto your face, “Thank you, then. You are the reason I didn’t die  first thing here. I wouldn’t have been caught dead coming out.”

Her smirk softened into something warmer. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s gone through it. The bunker has this way of making you feel like you’re the odd one out at first, but again, it passes.”

You nodded, feeling strangely reassured by her words. There was something comforting in knowing that even someone as seemingly self-assured and collected as Inez had faced her own struggles in fitting in.

She stood, stretching a little. “Alright, newbie, I’ll leave you to your thoughts and eggs. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or you’re just in the mood for a romcom that none of us will admit we love, my door’s always open. Room 13A.” She paused, giving you a mischievous look. “And just so you know, I may or may not have a bottle of tequila stashed away. Perks of being the designated grocery runner, you know?”

With a wink, she strolled off — leaving you sitting there with a sight so rare it could’ve been framed:

An actual smile on your face.

The vehemently falling raindrops soaked your jacket, sweeping through your undershirt, bra, making all its way to your skin. Your body trembled uncontrollably and a cruel mix of shivers and sweat plastered your hair to your forehead since the leaky roof of the stable did nothing to shield you from the storm’s fury.

You promised yourself you’d stay right there. By his side. You kept whispering the same lie over and over: he's just sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But no matter how many times you told yourself that, a cold, hollow truth settled in your chest. Deep down, you knew. You knew your father was gone.

Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of stone. You tried to keep them open, tried to look at the man you’d lost, but it was as though your own body was betraying you. The hypothermia was taking over and clouding your mind, making everything blur together.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. You didn’t feel them coming. You didn’t even feel the weight of their presence until it loomed over you, like a shadow swallowing what little light there was left in the world.

A figure smirked, bending down to look at you. His eyes flicked to the silver knife tucked neatly in your pocket, then to your father’s still body. “Master’s gonna be thrilled to see we’ve found two.”

“We can only use the girl, though, Barbas.” Another voice said.

You couldn’t lift your head. Words slurred together, forming an incoherent mess in your foggy mind. You couldn’t grasp the horror of what they were saying. All you could understand was that they were treating you like you were just some... object. Something to use. Just a tool in their hands. A very cold, very shivery tool.

When they finally dragged you up and tossed you onto something that felt surprisingly soft – like a leather car seat, if you had any memories of such luxuries – you only felt the warmth that spread through your body from the AC blasting on high. It was the kind of warmth that didn’t quite reach your soul but was just enough to keep you alive.

And with that, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 5):

Dean glanced at you. “Big Aerosmith fan?”

You nodded, stretching your legs out. “First concert I ever went to.”

That actually got Dean’s attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “No kidding?”

“Nope.” You propped your elbow on the window, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Me and my dad. He got me tickets for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the one who got me into classic rock. We used to listen to it all the time — long drives, fixing up the car, burning food in the kitchen. Just the usual.”

Dean hummed in approval. “Smart man.”

You smirked. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before his expression shifted, like he was debating saying something.

Eventually, he just exhaled and went for it.

“My dad never really took me anywhere.”

You turned to him, his voice so casual it almost sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

But you weren’t stupid.

You noticed that offhanded comment carried more weight than he’d probably admit.

Alright, I KNOW, it took me a while.🥺 Apologies, loves.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!🤍

xx Pam

🤍Series Taglist🤍

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @artyandink @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @hobby27 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @muhahaha303 @yeehawgiddyup13 @applelovesposts

🤍Jensen Taglist🤍

@roseblue373

[baymaxmuses]

Huh. She'd flirted with Amy, too? Unsurprising, the pink hedgehog was definitely a catch in her own right, and honestly, watching Sonic disrespect her feelings, and not even have the common courtesy of letting her down or reciprocating her feelings? It made him a bit angry, and not in the 'dammit Rouge, stop trying to steal my Emerald' sort of way.

Knuckles couldn't help but admit to himself that hearing Amy had also been on the receiving end of the (admittedly in retrospect, very genuine) flirting maybe made him a bit... jealous. Like he wanted that attention to go to him alone. Of course, he wasn't gonna say that now. Such was probably a feeling he'd only feel comfortable admitting openly to Rouge some 10 years down the line, when the two of them were married, or at least considering.

Of course, considering marriage when they'd just first made an admittance of love felt way too soon, so he elected to shelve that line of thinking for later.

After hearing that last part, his eyes grew wide, and he answered wholeheartedly, until he caught himself and had to self-correct. Didn't want her holding his potential obsession with having her attention over him, or letting it get to her head.

"Absolutely! I--"

"I-I MEAN, uh... yeah, that sounds alright."

Speaking of Emeralds... when he looked back into her eyes, he'd never properly noticed before (maybe because 90% of their interactions over the years had been confrontational), but her eyes definitely had that near-Emerald color. Maybe the reason she was attracted to the Master Emerald (and eventually him) had to do with the fact that the massive gem stone matched her eyes?

"I'm a bit ashamed to admit this, but now's as good a time as any... I kind of liked the cute way you say my name like that. It... feels kind of endearing. Even if it used to be teasing or mocking a bit. I suppose, looking back, you were serious when you said it, weren't you? I feel so damn dumb for not noticing your feelings were real... and I'm sorry it took me this long to understand. I'm... sharp as Amy's Piko Hammer sometimes, I know."

Screw it, he has nothing better to do, and last thing he wants is to send Rouge away, especially since he's not ready to deal with the stillness of the island again... at least not alone.

"Hey, uh... if you'd like, you could stay... a little while... here... with me... if you want. Uh... no pressure, you know? Just ah... just throwing it out there."

Knuckles being suave and sophisticated challenge, impossible? More likely than you think.

Warmth, that was the feeling she had as she held her, as they touched lips once more. She was a greedy woman, and she knew what she wanted and what she needed. To feel his arms around her finally, to give into that little emotion that she'd buried away in fear of what could be. It was a moment she'd dreamed of many times, usually while spying on him from the shadows. It was all the more blissful now that she'd gotten what she wanted. But then she didn't want that moment to end, and she nearly pouted when he pulled away.

She couldn't help but lick her lips, and snicker a little at her lipstick clearly on his own lips. Reaching up to brush it away least he die of embarrassment later. He was so handsome when he played the tough guy, but she always knew how vulnerable he was which is why she never pushed things further then she felt he was comfortable with. Just enough to keep him interested, and--- maybe she thought he was hot as hell when he was angry.

She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes and let him speak yet never missed a word of it. Despite maybe enjoying this warmth to much, knowing she'd have to leave sooner or later.

" ...I don't want you to compromise yourself either... I fell in Love with you because of our little competitions... our back and forths. Those moments made me feel ... Alive... i enjoy those moments and i wouldn't trade anything for them...."

She admitted as she looked up into his pretty grape hued eyes with a more serious look in her eyes.

" Though its impossible for us to be together and things not change a little ... but if you think i'll stop calling you Knuxie... and flirting with you don't expect that to stop. I flirt with you and amy because i've always liked you both... but she's always had Sonic, and i like to think i've got you now... so, i guess i'll have to stop making her blush even if she's adorable when she turns red like that "

She smiled at the thought more proof that Rouge's flirting was a sign of her liking someone, and that she may well have made moves on Amy if she ever got a chance.

" But guess i'll just have to put all my focus on you now, eh Big Boy--- think you can handle that? "