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elia-the-bibliophile · 11 days

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Tangled Love (Charles Leclerc x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst, Smut Word count: 6,5k

Picture this: Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc. The Main Driver for Scuderia Ferrari. Il Predestinato (The Predestined). Probably one of the hottest dudes on this spinning sphere we call Earth.

But here's the kicker: the only woman he's got eyes for? Yeah, she's got a ring on it. And not just any ring, mind you – it's a rock big enough to make even the Pope do a double take. Like a neon sign flashing “off-limits” in bright, blazing letters. Charles, the man who's used to getting what he wants with the flick of a wrist and the bat of an eye, finds himself at a loss. Irony, thy name is Charles Leclerc.

The atmosphere in the Scuderia Ferrari briefing room crackled with tension, like the air before a lightning storm. Y/N, the PR powerhouse, stood at the front of the room, her aura radiating authority.

“Alright, team, listen up!” Y/N's voice sliced through the tension like a hot knife through butter. “We're in a pickle, folks. The whole world's losing its marbles over Lewis Hamilton joining us, and poor Carlos is feeling more tossed aside than a soggy pizza crust.”

But as Y/N laid out the game plan, Charles found himself in his own world – a world where Y/N was the main attraction. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, his mind drifting into a fantasy where they rode off into the sunset in his Daytona.

Y/N's voice snapped him back to reality, and he quickly tried to focus on what she was saying. “Charles!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Charles! We're counting on you to deliver the right story here.”

Charles blinked, realizing he'd been caught red-handed – or rather, red-faced – ogling over Y/N instead of paying attention. “Uh, right, sorry!” he stammered, cheeks burning.

But try as he might, Charles just couldn't shake the image of Y/N from his mind. Every word she spoke seemed to dance around him, his brain too busy composing love sonnets to focus on the task at hand.

As Y/N outlined the key points for the press conference, Charles tries nodding along. On one hand, he knew he had a job to do, a role to play in shaping the team's narrative. On the other hand, there was Y/N, with her captivating smile and her hair that seemed to shimmer like the sunlight bouncing off a Ferrari's hood.

It was like a battle between his head and his heart, with Y/N emerging as the clear winner every time. But as the briefing came to an end and the team began to disperse, Charles couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. He knew he had let his feelings get the best of him, but somehow, in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

After all, who could blame him for being distracted by the most beautiful woman in the room?

Just as Charles was lost in his Y/N-induced daydream, a sudden rush of hot breath against his cheek snapped him back to reality. He blinked in surprise, finding Y/N standing inches from his face, her eyes boring into his with laser-like intensity.

“You have no idea what you're supposed to say, do you?” Y/N's voice was a mixture of amusement and exasperation, like a teacher addressing a particularly clueless student.

Charles felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. It was like being caught playing with his mother’s professional scissor back when he was just a little boy.

“Um, well, you see...” Charles began, his words stumbling over each other.

But Y/N cut him off with a wave of her hand, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Save it, Charles. We both know you've been distracted this whole time.”

Charles felt like shrinking into his seat, wishing he could disappear into the plush upholstery. It was bad enough to be caught ogling over Y/N like a lovesick teenager, but to be called out by that very same person? It was enough to make him want to bury his head in his helmet and never come out.

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. “Alright, Charles,” she said, “if you can't get it together, you're going to have to redo media training with me. And trust me, you do not want that.”

Charles felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought of spending more time with Y/N, but in a different context – one where he was the one on the hot seat, being grilled like a sausage at a barbecue. It was enough to make him contemplate deliberately messing up just for the chance to have some one-on-one time with her.

But as Y/N shot him a warning glance, he quickly pushed the thought aside. He couldn't risk sabotaging the team's efforts just to satisfy his own selfish desires – no matter how tempting the prospect might be.

“Got it,” Charles replied, his voice a tad too eager as he tried to shake off the distracting thoughts swirling around in his head. “I'll make sure to keep it together.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow skeptically, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You better,” she said, her lips quirking up into a half-smile. “Or else you'll be stuck in media training purgatory with me.”

_________________________________________

In the midst of the chaotic press conference, with journalists firing questions like they were in line of fire, Charles found himself sitting front and center, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. Thankfully, Fred was beside him, fielding most of the questions like a pro.

Charles let his gaze wander to the back of the room, where Y/N sat perched like a hawk, her eyes darting back and forth as she made notes here and there.

As if sensing his gaze, Y/N looked up and their eyes locked. Charles felt a surge of warmth spread through him as he watched her expression soften, her lips curving into a supportive smile. She mouthed “You're doing great” to him, accompanied by a thumbs up, and suddenly, Charles felt like he was on cloud nine.

Her simple gesture was like a shot of adrenaline straight to his ego, making him preen like a peacock and sit up straighter in his seat. If Y/N thought he was doing great, then by golly, he was going to knock this press conference out of the park – or at least, avoid striking out like a rookie at bat.

With renewed confidence, Charles turned his attention back to the journalists, ready to face whatever curveballs they threw his way. After all, with Y/N's encouragement spurring him on, there was nothing he couldn't handle – not even a room full of nosy reporters with more questions than a toddler on a road trip.

Just as Charles was basking in the glow of Y/N's encouragement, a journalist launched a question at him. “Charles, how do you feel about Lewis joining Ferrari? Are you excited to have him as a teammate, or are you secretly relieved to see Carlos go?”

Charles felt a nervous chuckle bubble up inside him, threatening to escape. He quickly clamped down on it, plastering on his best poker face as he searched for the perfect diplomatic response.

“Well, you know,” Charles began, his voice smooth as silk but his mind secretly racing, "I think having Lewis join the team is a fantastic opportunity for all of us at Ferrari. He's a proven champion, and I'm sure we'll all benefit from his experience and expertise.”

Beside him, Fred shot him a surprised glance, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. Charles couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his own performance – who knew he had it in him to spin a diplomatic answer faster than his pit crew when changing his tires?

“But,” Charles continued, his tone carefully neutral, “I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge Carlos's contributions to the team. He's been a formidable teammate, and I wish him all the best in his future endeavors.”

The journalists nodded along, seemingly satisfied with his response, and Charles felt a wave of relief wash over him like a cold drink on a hot day.

But of course luck would try him again.

Another journalist decided to put him on the spot once more, “Charles, in your opinion, how would Lewis fit into Ferrari since he has been with Mercedes for so long?”

Charles blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. It was like being thrown a curveball when he was expecting a straight shot down the middle – unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

“I think Lewis will bring a fresh perspective to the team, having been with Mercedes for so long. His experience and expertise will undoubtedly be valuable assets as we work to push Ferrari to new heights.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts before continuing. “But,” he added, his tone becoming more animated, “I also think it's important to remember that Ferrari has its own unique culture and traditions. Lewis will need to adapt to our way of doing things, just as we will need to adapt to having him as part of the team.”

Beside him, Fred nodded approvingly. He may not have all the answers, but he was determined to make the most of this opportunity – for himself, for the team, and maybe even for Y/N, who was watching him with pride.

_________________________________________

Y/N sat at her desk, scrolling through the social media updates about the press conference. Just as she was about to dive into the latest Twitter thread, she heard a knock at her office door.

“Come in,” Y/N called, her attention shifting from her screen to the doorway.

In shuffled Charles. “Hey, Y/N,” he said timidly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking up into a wry smile. “What can I do for you, Charles?” she asked, gesturing for him to take a seat.

Charles hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he took a seat opposite Y/N, his gaze drifting once again to the glinting diamond ring on her finger.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I just, you know, hang out here for a bit?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Hang out here? Why?” she asked.

Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, uh, I'm just trying to avoid... well, everyone, really. With this whole Lewis-Carlos fiasco, it feels like everyone's out to get me.”

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at his candid admission, the sound echoing through the office. “You're not wrong there,” she said, her smile warm and reassuring. “But don't worry, Charles. You're safe here. No one's going to hunt you down in my office.”

Charles let out a sigh of relief, sinking back into his seat. “Thanks, Y/N,” he said, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You're a lifesaver.”

Y/N waved him off with a casual flick of her hand. “No problem, Charles,” she said, her tone light and breezy.

Charles found his gaze drawn to the framed pictures adorning her office walls. Among them, a picture caught his eye – Y/N and her husband, captured in a moment of bliss. It’s a holiday picture taken during winter break. Courchevel, if Charles has to guess.

Jealousy seized his heart like no one’s business. He scoffed, mind racing to find a way to ease his own insecurities. “Pfft,” he muttered to himself, “what does he have that I don't?”

Charles began to mentally compare himself to Y/N's husband. “Sure, he's a good looking man with an excellent career in Finance," he mused, “but has he ever won a Grand Prix? I don't think so.”

As he continued his self-evaluation, Charles couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of his own thoughts. Who was he to compare himself to Y/N's husband? After all, they were two entirely different people – one a world-class racer, the other a... well, a guy with nice hair and green eyes.

With a final shake of his head and a rueful grin, Charles turned his attention back to Y/N. After all, he may not be perfect, but he was Charles Leclerc – and that was pretty fucking close.

He mustered up the courage to break the silence with a seemingly innocent question. “So, how's the husband?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Y/N's head snapped up. “Pardon?” she exclaimed, confused by the sudden interest.

Charles scrambled to play it off with a nervous chuckle. “Nathaniel, right? I was looking at your holiday picture, you know, the one with the... snow. Was that in Courchevel?”

Y/N wasn't buying it but she answered anyway. A small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “You have a good eye,” she said. “That one was in Courchevel. Nate's family has a chalet there – we try to go skiing whenever we can.”

Charles continue the conversation, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So, how did you two meet?” he asked.

Y/N's eyes took on a nostalgic gleam as she reminisced. “We actually met back in university.”

Charles felt a wave of relief wash over him – at least it wasn't some epic romance straight out of a Hollywood movie. But his relief was short-lived as Y/N continued her story.

“We both attended King's College,” Y/N explained, her voice tinged with fondness. “I was majoring in Digital Media & Culture, and Nate was studying Economics.”

Charles felt his stomach churn uncomfortably, a sour taste rising in the back of his throat. Digital Media & Culture? Economics? It was like the universe was conspiring against him.

As Y/N continued to recall about her university days, Charles struggled to maintain his composure. “That's, uh, fascinating,” he managed to choke out. “He is a proper smart dude, isn’t he?”

He fought to suppress the urge to vomit – both figuratively and, unfortunately, literally – Charles couldn't help but wonder whether he could do something to make Nate disappear of the face of the earth so that he could take his place.

“Why have I never seen him coming to any of the races?” he asked again.

Y/N shrugged, “His job keeps him pretty busy. And truthfully, Nate's not really into motorsport. He's more of a... horse guy.”

“Horse guy?” Charles echoed.

Y/N nodded, “Yeah,” she confirmed, “he much rather attend the Royal Ascot. You know, where he can watch horse racing and hobnob with royalty.”

He felt a surge of disbelief wash over him – Nate was more interested in horse racing than Formula 1 races? It was like finding out that the Pope preferred pizza to communion wafers.

Charles couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Nate, decked out in his finest attire, sipping champagne and placing bets on which horse had the fastest trot.

“But hey,” Y/N continued, her voice light-hearted, “to each their own, right? As long as he's happy, that's all that matters.”

Charles nodded in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. “Fair enough.”

_________________________________________

Charles had just wrapped up a strategy training session. His mind buzzed with new tactics and race scenarios as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway toward the exit. He was eager to get home, unwind, and perhaps indulge in a quiet evening of solitude.

As he neared the fire exit, Charles noticed a lone figure standing against the wall. The dim lighting cast soft shadows on her face, but he recognized her immediately. It was Y/N. Her eyes were closed, and the tension in her mouth was detectable, even from a distance.

He hesitated, debating whether to make his presence known. He didn't want to intrude on what seemed like a rare private moment for her. But just as he was about to turn away, Y/N's eyes fluttered open and found his. For a moment, neither of them moved

Charles took a tentative step forward. “Y/N?” he called softly.

She straightened up, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Hey, Charles. Done for the day?”

He nodded, studying her face. “Yeah. Just about to head home. Are you okay?”

Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh. “Fine, just… decompressing a bit.”

Charles walked closer, his concern growing. “You look like you could use a break.”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “It's been a long day. The whole Lewis and Carlos situation is more complicated than I expected. And handling all the PR fallout… it's exhausting.”

He leaned against the wall next to her, their shoulders almost touching. “I can imagine. You’ve been doing an incredible job, though.”

Y/N turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. Finding it, she offered a genuine, albeit weary, smile. “Thanks, Charles. That means a lot.”

There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment before Y/N suddenly spoke up, her voice bitter. “You know, I was actually supposed to grab a bite with Nate tonight. We had reservations and everything.”

Charles looked at her, concern etching his features. “What happened?”

“He cancelled. Sent me a text saying he has a new project that requires overtime. Typical, right?”

Charles frowned. “That sounds frustrating. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Yeah, well, I should be used to it by now. Nate’s job always comes first. Guess I’m just second place in that race.”

Charles felt anger on her behalf. He hated seeing her like this, feeling so undervalued. He saw an opening to comfort her, to let her know she wasn’t alone.

“Y/N,” he began softly, “you deserve better than that. You’re an incredible person, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a fool.”

YN's eyes glistened with sadness, something that Charles does not see often because of how good she is at doing her job. “Thanks, Charles. But it’s hard not to feel… I don’t know, insignificant sometimes.”

Charles took a step closer, he position himself a good distance beside her. “You are anything but insignificant. You hold this team together, and you make a difference every single day. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. Even your own husband.”

Y/N looked down. “I'm so sorry, I don't know why I am burdening you with all this.”

He offered her a reassuring smile. “Please, don't worry about that. I am just happy that you trust me enough to tell me this.”

Charles wanted to do more for her, to show her how she is supposed to be treated. “Well, since Nate’s busy, why don’t we make the most of that reservation? I promise you’ll have a great time.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then a genuine smile spread across her face. “Are you really offering?” and Charles gives her a confident nod before offering his arm.

Charles could see the tension in her shoulders easing, and it made him happy to know he had helped. His heart doing somersault as she slowly latched her hand onto his arm.

_________________________________________

As the evening progressed, Charles couldn’t help but notice how her smile became more genuine, her laughter more frequent. He reveled in the sound, determined to keep it going.

“Thank you, Charles,” she said, her voice soft as they finished their meal. “I really needed this.”

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Anytime, Y/N. You deserve to be happy. Don’t forget that.”

She squeezed his hand in return. “I won’t. And thank you for reminding me.”

When dinner is done, Charles and Y/N stepped out of the restaurant, the night air cool against their skin. They walked towards his Pista, laughing about the evening's conversation and enjoying the light-heartedness that had replaced the earlier tension.

Of course Charles has also offered to drive her home.

When they arrived at her building, Charles parked the car and turned to her. “Home sweet home,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks again for tonight, Charles. It was really… wonderful,” she replied, her voice soft.

He felt a surge of warmth at her words. “Anytime, Y/N. Seriously.”

They both got out of the car, and as Y/N reached for her keys, Charles decided to take a sip from his water bottle. In his typical smooth style, he attempted to do it with one hand while holding the car door with the other. Unfortunately, his coordination failed him spectacularly.

Water splashed all over his face, drenching his shirt and even a good part of his pants. He stood there, dripping wet, his mouth open in surprise.

Y/N turned around at the sound of his splutter. Her eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter. “Oh my God, Charles! What did you do?”

Charles, now looking like a drowned cat, tried to laugh it off. “Just thought I'd cool off a bit,” he said, attempting to wring out his shirt with little success.

Y/N walked over, still giggling. “You look like you’ve been caught in a rainstorm.” She took in his soaked appearance, biting her lip to suppress more laughter. “You can’t drive home like that. Come on, I’ll lend you something of Nate’s.”

Charles hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude…”

“Nonsense. I’m not letting you go home looking like this,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the building.

Inside her apartment, Y/N led him to the living room and handed him a towel. “Stay here, I’ll find you something dry to wear,” she said, disappearing down the hallway.

Charles toweled off as best he could, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. When Y/N returned, she was holding a pair of Nate’s sweatpants and a T-shirt. “Here, these should fit you.”

He took the clothes gratefully. “Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

She waved off his thanks. “No problem. The bathroom’s right there if you want to change.”

Charles made his way to the bathroom, taking a moment to appreciate the decor of Y/N’s apartment. He quickly changed into the dry clothes, which were a bit too big but infinitely more comfortable than his drenched attire.

When he returned to the living room, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him in Nate’s oversized clothes. “You look… comfortable.”

Charles struck a pose, attempting to look suave despite the baggy clothes. “I make anything look good, don’t I?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Sure, if you say so.”

They both sat down on the couch, and Y/N handed him a cup of tea. “Figured you might want something warm after your little… mishap.”

Charles accepted the tea with a grin. “You’re too good to me, Y/N.”

They sipped their tea in companionable silence for a few moments. “You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “this turned out to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a while. Even with the water incident.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Me too, Charles. Me too.”

As they hold each other's gaze, the room seemed to heat up. Y/N watched as Charles's gaze dropped to her lips, sending an electrifying thrill through her. They both hesitated, caught in a moment of uncertainty, as if waiting for the other to make the first move.

Charles saw Y/N start to pull back, and he couldn't let the moment slip away. He put his cup down and gently took hers from her hand, placing it on the table. He moved closer, watching for any sign of rejection, but found none. Her body language spoke volumes—she was gravitating towards him, drawn in by the same irresistible force.

“Y/N,” Charles whispered, his voice a seductive murmur. He traced gentle circles on the inside of her hand, deliberately avoiding her wedding ring, as if weaving a spell around her. He was so close to fulfilling the dreams that had haunted him for so long. Just a few more steps and she would be his.

Y/N's breath hitched as Charles's warm breath fanned across her face. The intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, the world outside fading into oblivion. Charles leaned in, his lips a mere whisper away from hers.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and filled with longing.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "Charles, I'm married. We shouldn't be doing this."

Charles, ever the confident bastard, smirked. “Then where is your husband, Y/N? I don’t see him anywhere.”

She hesitated, the bitterness from earlier returning. “He’s not here.”

“Exactly,” Charles murmured, his thumb tracing her jawline. “He’s not here, but I am. He’s the one who’s missing out on you, not me.”

Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. The way he looked at her, the intensity in his eyes, it was hard to resist. “Charles…”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. Peppering her with butterfly kisses that makes her toes curl.

His words were like a drug, intoxicating and hard to resist. Her resolve wavered, her heart and mind at war. “This is wrong,” she whispered, but even as she said it, she found herself leaning closer to him.

Charles’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. “It doesn’t feel wrong, does it? It feels right. Like this is where we’re supposed to be.”

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his voice overwhelming her senses. “Charles…”

“Let me make you feel good, Y/N,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers. “Let me remind you what it’s like to be wanted. Just give me one night, that's all I ask for.”

The last of her resistance crumbling. She leaned in, her lips finally meeting his in a kiss. Charles moaned and deepened the kiss, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with adoration. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Charles chuckled softly. “Believe it, Y/N. Tonight, you’re mine.”

They kissed again, this time with more urgency, their bodies pressing against each other. Charles's hands greedily roamed her back, pulling her even closer. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of his own.

Charles pulled back just enough to whisper breathily, "Ask me to stay, Y/N. Tell me how much you want this."

Y/N moaned deliciously between kisses, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "I'm going to hell for this," she murmured, her voice a mix of guilt and desire. "But God, I want this so bad. I want you so bad, Charles."

Her words were like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fierce blaze within him. He kissed her again, more fervently, his hands tangling in her hair. “Then let me give you what you want,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me leave my marks on you.”

Y/N's breath rattled, her body arching towards him. She felt his lips trail down her neck, nipping and sucking, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Her fingers digging into his shoulders as she surrendered to the heavenly sensation.

Charles’s hands moved to the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly as his lips continued their descent. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire.

Y/N shivered at his words, her skin tingling wherever he touched. “Charles,” she breathed, her voice a plea. “Please.”

He pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before capturing her lips again. He is a starved man, and her the forbidden apple. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her skin. Y/N’s head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips as he kissed down her collarbone. Leaving behind a few love marks that she would discover the next morning.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. Charles helped her, shrugging out of his shirt and tossing it aside. Bodies now pressed together.

Charles' hands slide down to her hips, pulling her closer. “Tell me how much you want this,” he demanded against her lips, his voice rough with desire.

“I want this, Charles. I want you,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Leave your marks on me. Make me yours.”

His eyes darkened, a predatory gleam in them. “How sweet of you to beg, chérie. Such music to my ears.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, casting a soft glow over the tangled sheets and the entwined figures upon them. Y/N’s moans filled the room, mingling with his breathy groans, their need for each other driving them to the brink.

The realization of where they were flashed through Charles's mind briefly, but it was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming need pulsing through his veins. He wanted her, needed her, and nothing else mattered in that moment. Nate be damned.

Charles descended with a trail of kisses along her body. Using only his teeth, he playfully removed her panties, drawing a gasp of delight from her. With a devilish grin, he looked up at her before tracing a long, tantalizing lick along her pussy.

Y/N's body twitched as Charles's tongue sent jolts of pleasure coursing through her body. "Fuck, Charles," she gasped, her voice desperate, "please that feels so good…"

"Please what, mon ange?" he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. "Tell me what you want."

Her fingers tightened on the sheets, her nails digging into the fabric as she arched her back, seeking more of his touch. "I want… I need…"

With each flick of his tongue, each teasing nip of his teeth, she grew more desperate, her body humming with anticipation. "I want to come, please," she screamed out, her voice a breathless plea. "I need you to make me come."

Driven by her urgent plea, he zeroed in on the spot that elicited the most delicious responses from her, his touch deliberate and calculated to push her to the brink. He slipped a finger inside her, the sensation sending her into a frenzy and got her seeing stars. He whispered words of encouragement, his breath hot against her skin, promising to take her higher, to make her lose herself completely in the pleasure he offered.

Each thrust of his finger pushed her closer to the edge, her world narrowing down to the delicious ache of desire burning within her.

As Charles felt her climax building, he intensified his movements. And then, with a shuddering cry, she shattered, her release washing over her in a powerful wave of sensation that left her gasping for air.

Charles watched in awe as she squirt, her body trembling as she released a torrent of fluid, coating his hand in her essence. The sight only fueled his desire further, igniting a primal hunger within him.

He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting her with a hunger that bordered on reverence. Savoring the sweet taste of her on his tongue. He can feel his own cock twitching.

Y/N's eyes remained closed in a state of bliss, her senses overwhelmed by the lingering waves of pleasure still coursing through her. But suddenly, the sound of Charles unzipping his pants and discarding them carelessly snapped her back to earth. With a sense of urgency, she forced her eyes open, her gaze fixing on him.

The sight before her sent another jolt of desire coursing through her veins. Charles stood before her, his cock on full display, his skin flushed with arousal. With each pulse, each throb, his desire seemed to ooze from him. Pre cum dripping down, taunting her to have a taste.

With wide eyes reminiscent of a doe's, she crawled towards him, determination shining through her gaze. "Let me return the favor now," she murmured.

Charles's pupil widened in anticipation as she took him slowly into her mouth. She circled the tip with her tongue, each touch drawing out guttural moans of pleasure from deep within him.

"Merde," he cursed under his breath, the words spilling out in a fervent stream of French expletives as ecstasy washed over him in waves.

"Yeah, chérie, right there." Charles encourages, his voice strained as he thrust into her mouth. Forcing her to take more and more of him.

Her hands explored every inch of him, fingers trailing along the firmness of his cock before delicately cupping his balls. With a gentle yet firm grip, she massaged him, reveling in the way his breath hitched and his hips arched in response to her touch.

Charles's head fell back, his eyes closed in blissful surrender, as waves of pleasure surged through him. The intensity of her ministrations was intoxicating. He has never felt anything like it. And Charles knew that he is doomed from this moment on. Nothing would ever compare.

"God, how did Nate ever pry himself from this bed?" Charles muttered with disbelief. "You're like a dream, Y/N. A damn heavenly dream."

Y/N's laughter reverberated on his cock, drawing yet another loud moan from him. He is putty in her hands, or in this case, in her mouth.

As the tension built within him, Charles's fingers instinctively tangled in Y/N's hair, gently guiding her away from his throbbing length. Y/N's puzzled gaze met his, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow as she searched his eyes for answers.

"Why… why did you stop?" she queried, her voice a soft whisper laced with uncertainty, her lips still tingling.

With a tender smile, Charles shifted his position, maneuvering Y/N until she lay beneath him, her body flush against the sheets, awaiting his touch.

"I want to feel you," he confessed, his voice husky with desire as he positioned himself above her, aligning his cock with her pussy. "I want to come inside you."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing at his words.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Charles teased the slick folds of Y/N's aching center with the swollen head of his cock, relishing in the way her breath hitched with each teasing stroke.

"You want me to fill you up, mon ange?" His voice, thick with desire, dripped like molten honey as he toyed with her, his grin wolfish.

Y/N's body writhed beneath him, her hips arching in desperate need to meet his.

"Fuck, Charles, please," she gasped, her voice raw as she pleaded for him to take her.

With a low growl, Charles surged forward, burying himself deep inside her with a harsh thrust that stole her breath away. Not even giving her time to adjust to his size because he knows that she is already a dripping mess. Her pussy would accommodate his cock just fine.

Slick with sweat, Charles's muscles flexed with each powerful thrust. The intoxicating scent of sex filled the air as he relentlessly pounded into her, his cock hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy.

Tears of ecstasy welled in her eyes as she surrendered herself to him. Desperate for more, Y/N's trembling hand found its way between her thighs, her fingers slick with her own arousal. With a gasp, she circled her swollen clit, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her already overstimulated body.

"Fucking hell, chérie, you like that? You like it when I fuck you like this?". With each thrust, he drove her closer to the edge, relishing in the way her body quivered beneath him.

"Yes, Charles, God, fuck me harder," she moaned, her voice fueled his desire even further.

With a madman grin, Charles's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her close as he whispered into her ear, his words dripping with sinful intent. "You want it rough? You want me to ravage you until you're begging for mercy?"

Y/N whimpered in response. "Yes, Charles, please, fill me up with your cum." she begged. She rubbed her clit furiously, desperate for a release.

Charles's hands suddenly gripped Y/N's hips, lifting her effortlessly and spinning her around to face a mirror. Their eyes locked in the reflection as he continued to pound into her with unrelenting force. Y/N moaned loudly as she watched his cock going in and out of her.

"You like watching yourself get fucked, huh, princess?"

Y/N can only vigorously nod in reply, her capacity for coherent speech vanished. Her mind consumed by sex.

Charles senses her pussy tightening, a telltale sign that she's teetering on the brink of cumming. Gazing into her eyes, he murmurs, "Come for me, beautiful," he commanded. Swiftly, he replaces her hands with his own, his touch assertive yet tender as he relentlessly stimulates her clit. With each skillful stroke, he sends her closer to the precipice of pleasure until finally, she shatters into a powerful climax, her body trembling with the intensity of her release.

A satisfied grin dances across Charles' lips as another squirt cascades out of her, dampening the sheets beneath them. Charles persists in his ministrations on her clit, his touch unwavering, even as she keeps on squirting uncontrollably.

"Please," she gasps between ragged breaths, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, "stop, Charles."

He pauses, his fingers lingering tantalizingly close to her clit. "You sure, mon ange? I was rather enjoying the show," he teases.

"Please," she repeats, her tone more desperate this time, "I can't take it anymore."

Chuckling softly, he relents, withdrawing his hand with a playful smirk. "As you wish, darling."

Charles continues his rhythmic thrusts, as Y/N leans against him, her body limp and spent. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he feels himself nearing the edge. As he nears the peak of his own pleasure, Charles releases a loud groan, his movements becoming more frantic. With a final thrust, he empties himself inside her, feeling the hot spurts of his cum shooting deep into her. He lets out a string of curse words in French, the words escaping him in a fervent rush of ecstasy.

As they come down from the peak of pleasure together, Charles holds her close, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

When their breathing has slowed down and their bodies relax, Y/N softly murmurs, "Stay with me tonight, Charles. Just sleep here."

A tender smile graces Charles' lips as he brushes a lock of hair away from her face. "Of course, mon amour," he replies, his voice filled with affection. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

They adjust their bodies, finding a comfortable position to rest in each other's arms. Charles presses a lingering kiss to Y/N's forehead before closing his eyes, contentment spreading through him like a warm embrace.

Y/N nestles closer, feeling safe and cherished in Charles' embrace. "I don't regret this," she whispers, the words a gentle caress against his chest.

Charles' heart swells with happiness as he tightens his hold around her. "I'm glad that you don't," he murmurs, his voice laced with sincerity. "More than anything."

In the tranquil stillness of the night, they drift off to sleep. The fall out far from their minds.

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cosmicanakin · 1 month

Text

Mile High Club

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

Pairing. Dean Winchester x Female Reader.

Outline. You and Dean slip away from Sam and Bobby for a moment to indulge Dean's neediness in the backseat of the Impala.

Warning(s). Smut (P in V – wrap it up folks), Praising, Explicit Language, Semi Public Sex, Pet Names, & Sam teasing both Dean & Reader.

Word Count. 984

Authors Note. I know that I've been slacking with writing nowadays, I'm so sorry. I was—am focusing on myself to better my mental health. But to make up for it, I give you this. So I hope you're taking good care of yourselves & I love you so much. Enjoyyyy!

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Here you were, bouncing feverishly on Dean Winchester’s cock in the backseat of the Impala, his hands gripping your hips as he moaned in pure ecstasy.

The case you were supposed to be working on with Sam and Bobby was the furthest thing from your mind right now. All that mattered was the delicious friction building between your bodies, the way Dean’s thick, throbbing length filled you up so perfectly.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean growled, voice gravelly with lust. “Ride my dick just like that. You’re such a good girl, taking me so well.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders as you picked up the pace, your hips rolling and grinding against him in a desperate rhythm. The sounds of your bodies joining together echoed through the confines of the car, only spurring Dean on further.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good,” he groaned, his fingers tightening their grip on your hips. “My gorgeous little slut, riding me so fucking good.”

The praise sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, and you felt the familiar coil of tension building deep within you. You were so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy, and Dean could tell.

“Go ahead, darlin’, come for me,” he demanded, his thumb brushing against your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Show me how much you love my cock.”

With a sharp cry, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, your body trembling as wave after wave of mind-blowing pleasure washed over you. Dean followed closely behind, his hips snapping up into you as he spilled himself deep inside.

For a moment, the only sounds were the heavy panting of your breaths and the occasional contented hum from Dean. Then, finally, he pulled you down for a searing kiss, his hands caressing your flushed skin.

“Damn, Y/N, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. “I could do this all day.”

You chuckled breathlessly, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “As much as I’d love to, we should probably get back to helping Sam and Bobby,”you said, reluctantly lifting yourself off of him.

Dean groaned in protest, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs again. “Do we have to?” he whined, his eyes pleading. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Yes, we have to,” you said firmly, already starting to redress. “The sooner we get this case wrapped up, the sooner we can come back here and pick up where we left off.”

Dean pouted, but he knew better than to argue. With a resigned sigh, he began to clean himself up, already mentally planning all the ways he was going to ravish you once this job was done.

Bonus Part.

By the time you and Dean finally emerged from the Impala, faces flushed and clothes slightly disheveled, Sam was waiting for you with a knowing smirk on his face.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he quipped, his eyes flickering between you and his brother. “And just where have you two been, hmm?”

You felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your mind racing to come up with a plausible excuse. But one glance at Dean’s guilty expression told you that Sam already knew exactly what you two had been up to.

“We, uh, we were just—” Dean began, only to be cut off by the gruff voice of Bobby, who came storming out of the motel room.

“Where the hell have you two idjits been?” he growled, his brow furrowed in frustration. “We’ve been waitin’ on you for over an hour! Sam and I could’ve used your help, you know.”

You cringed, fully prepared for the tongue-lashing you and Dean were about to receive. But to your surprise, Sam stepped in, his expression far too innocent to be believable.

“Oh, I’m sure they were, uh, otherwise occupied,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement. “Isn’t that right, you two?”

Dean shot his brother a withering glare, but Sam only grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. You wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground, your mortification notable.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, boy?” Bobby demanded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Sam chuckled, jerking his thumb in your direction. “Well, let’s just say our dear friend Y/N here has been, uh, keeping Dean “company” while the rest of us were working."

Your mouth fell open in shock, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from Dean's body as he shifted uncomfortably beside you. Bobby’s eyes widened with realization, and a gruff, disapproving grunt escaped his lips.

“Oh, for the love of—” he muttered, shaking his head in exasperation. “You two idjits couldn’t keep it in your pants for five minutes, could you?”

You felt the embarrassment coursing through you, and you resisted the overwhelming urge to bury your face in your hands. But Dean, ever the quick-witted one, managed to find his voice.

“Hey, come on, it’s not our fault you two were taking forever!” he protested, his tone defensive. “We were just, you know, passing the time.”

Sam burst out laughing, slapping his knees in amusement. “Oh, I’ll bet you were,” he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just try to keep it in your pants from now on, huh? We’ve got work to do.”

With that, he turned and headed back towards the motel room, leaving you and Dean to face the wrath of a thoroughly exasperated Bobby. As the older hunter launched into a lecture about professionalism and work ethic, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the most embarrassed you’d ever been in your life.

But as you glanced over at Dean, the sheepish grin on his face told you that he wouldn't have had it any other way.

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sunderwight · 6 months

Text

contemplating an SVSSS fic where Airplane transmigrates into Tianlang Jun instead of Shang Qinghua.

he wakes up before Tianlang Jun was about to walk into the HH Palace Master's plot, but too late to really do much about Su Xiyan's situation or the frame job. of course, being Airplane, he doesn't go face down the sects and get sealed under a mountain. but he also doesn't know what to do about the whole situation with Luo Binghe.

he was too vague in his outline and especially in his actual story. finding Xiyan or possibly some random washer woman who lives along the Luo river is a needle in a haystack situation, and he didn't ask for any of this to happen to him, so he just ends up leaving it alone. Tianlang Jun goes back to the demon realms with his confused (but relieved) nephew, and works on consolidating his power there and on thwarting the attempted incursions of Huan Hua Palace.

HHP has egg on their face because they riled up the other sects and got them into this alliance/ambush plot and then the heavenly demon they were supposed to fight didn't even show up. hasn't even been seen in the human world since. while HHP tries to spin it as them being so strong and formidable that they scared him off, the other sects feel like they're just blowing hot air and trying to take credit for something that never even happened. was that head disciple of theirs even involved with a demon at all? suspicious how she just disappeared, too. maybe it's a cover-up. no one's particularly impressed or convinced after the fact that HHP's claims are on the level.

which at least means that there's no concerted effort to wage a war or anything. Tianlang Jun meets a young Mobei Jun and Airplane decides to expend a lot of time and energy in helping the young prince consolidate his own power, so that's a whole thing. there's no system so Airplane's not obliged to preserve the plot, but he still knows it's out there and he's gotta skirt the line between giving MBJ absolute power on a silver platter and not setting MBJ up to be killed by the protagonist one day.

there are benefits and problems to TLJ mostly leaving Luo Binghe's whole journey untouched. on the one hand, he anticipates that everything around Luo Binghe will continue just like in the novel, so that's easy to predict. but on the other hand, that means he's in for some trouble when the blackened protagonist emerges all super-powered and unbeatable from the abyss and starts taking revenge on everyone who wronged him (a category which potentially includes the deadbeat dad who abandoned him for years).

so as the time of the immortal alliance conference approaches, Tianlang Jun starts to think that he needs to get ahead of this.

the most logical solution is to prevent Luo Binghe becoming quite as OP of a protagonist as he'd been the first time. since TLJ is plenty powerful himself (one of the things Airplane enjoys! as well as being very rich!) LBH really does need every edge he could possibly get to be a threat to him. so, why let him gain those edges?

this leads to TLJ's brilliant plan: just don't let Luo Binghe get thrown into the Endless Abyss! no blackening, no all-powerful weapon, no gauntlet of monsters to hone his skills, just a run-of-the-mill heavenly demon hybrid who could never in a million years take his old man in a fight!

TLJ decides he can two-birds-with-one-stone this situation by capturing Shen Qingqiu. then, one day if LBH does still make it to his doorstep, he can present him with his hated scum villain as a peace offering. like well son I know I abandoned you to suffer on your own, but plausibly I didn't even know you existed, so here, have your abuser to dismember in cathartic violence as you please! become a filial son and this old man will help fund whatever massive harems you want to build!

genius!

so, shortly before the immortal alliance conference is set to take place, TLJ goes and steals himself a peak lord.

Shen Qingqiu is... kind of different from what he expected? but oh well, it's been years since he wrote the novel and lots of characters have turned out somewhat different in person from how they were on the page, and the guy was always a mess of contradictions anyway. TLJ hands him over to his servants with strict instructions to keep him locked up, but not to harm or kill him (revenge is reserved for the protagonist, after all!)

Zhuzhi Lang, who witnessed the last debacle where his uncle took a sudden keen interest in a cold but beautiful human cultivator, makes entirely the wrong assumption (as do a lot of the palace staff) and figures that TLJ has just become more pragmatic about pursuing his lovers. Shen Qingqiu is given appropriate chambers (and restrictions) and word soon spreads that the Demon Emperor has captured a human cultivator to serve as his concubine.

so, this version of SQQ has actually been Shen Yuan since Luo Binghe joined the sect (and also doesn't have a system and thus had zero plans of throwing LBH into the abyss), and he is desperately trying to figure out what kind of changes he has unwittingly invoked here that Luo Binghe's father should be still alive, and free, and also kidnapping him to be his goddamn concubine?! that has to be a misunderstanding, right?!

Mobei Jun is mad. and jealous. and mad. but a concubine isn't an empress, so that job posting is still available, right? it better be, he has been waiting more than a decade for the official proposal!

TLJ meanwhile decides he's going to go secretly watch the immortal alliance conference just to make sure that the universe doesn't contrive to drop LBH into the abyss anyway, but weirdly enough, Luo Binghe isn't even there. listening to rumors, he gathers that uh... some stuff has changed? like Luo Binghe is head disciple of Qing Jing Peak? and apparently went crazy when Shen Qingqiu disappeared? except that some people think they might have eloped???

maybe he shouldn't get his rumors from Xian Shu disciples, those girls remind him of rpf conspiracy theory shippers from his old life. they're probably just way off base! hahaha... ha...?

well at least TLJ did a pretty good job of covering his tracks, so there's no reason for anyone to suspect that he captured Shen Qingqiu. or there shouldn't be, until he goes back home to find that every single demon seems to believe that Shen Qingqiu has been taken by him to be his lover. where did anyone even get that idea?! TLJ has been dutifully pining in his unrequited and inappropriate love for the young Mobei Jun for years now! whenever anyone asks he insists he's still mourning Su Xiyan! it's been a whole thing!

but oh shit, truth aside, there's no way those kinds of rumors have remained strictly contained to demon ears. both demons and cultivators have their spies after all, and even if they didn't, news moves along the borders.

sure enough, TLJ barely has time to try and dismantle this misunderstanding before a young Luo Binghe arrives on his doorstep, along with Yue Qingyuan and the very-much-still-alive lord of Bai Zhan peak, for some reason, all of them extremely pissed off at him!

#svsss #moshang #bingqiu #long post #scum villain's self saving system #i suppose frantic backpedaling and explanations would ensue #also potentially mobei jun and shen qingqiu having to fight a ceremonial battle in skimpy costumes #just 'cause

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blackcoffeeofmelancholy · 7 months

Text

the brothers protect you from another demon

words: 4273

warnings: depictions of blood and violence, implied sexual assault, and dark themes

notes: I'm reuploading my previous work from my old blog, so I have everything in one place. I still have sequels to Mammon's and Leviathan's parts I have outlined and plan to write one day. And I'm slowly working on some new stuff when my brain allows me to lol.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

LUCIFER

An unusual quiet fills the school, the halls empty. Lucifer appreciates the peace despite working after hours, the only sound that of his quill against parchment. Typically, he opts to retreat to his office after class; today he decides to stay behind while you attend your private study session. Unlike his brothers—save Satan—your grades are acceptable, aside from one class that is lowering your grade point average. He wishes to tutor you himself, unfortunately, his current workload is far greater than he’s accustomed to, completely monopolizing his free time. The least he can do is wait for you in the student council room and escort you home, allowing him to enjoy your company, although fleeting. He values every second he’s able to delight in your presence, your smile a light in the darkness of the Devildom, and the brush of your hand causing his heart to flutter, temporarily satisfying his temptations.

Collecting his belongings, he awaits your arrival, staring at the door in longing. However, you never appear, the minutes ticking by at an agonizing pace. He frowns, checking his D.D.D. in the event you messaged him—nothing. Perhaps the lecture is running over time . . . A cry cuts through the silence, true unadulterated fear chilling him to the bone and stealing the breath from his lungs. He recognizes your voice, the sound of your panic causing him to spiral, his usual composure lost to the demonic aura ominously swirling about him, wings drawn out and raised in all their glory. The frantic beating of his heart pounds in his ears as he rushes down the corridor, pulling the classroom door off its hinges and tossing it aside to reveal the sinful scene before him. You lay feebly on the desk, struggling to free yourself, your nails biting into the professor’s skin. Their hand covers your mouth, muffling your screams, and the demon is grinning, pleasure dancing in their eyes. Lucifer sees red.

The stern call of his name grounds him in reality. He turns to meet Diavolo’s solemn gaze, the prince commanding him to stand down. Lucifer is indignant, hesitating to follow orders, yet he relents with a bow of his head. Blood splatters the walls and floor, the demon’s body lying motionless at his feet, limbs dangling at awkward angles and an arm precariously thrown across the room. He’s certain his actions are justifiable, but a part of him is overcome with shame at his loss of control. Glancing in your direction, he feels a swell of pride knowing he protected you—the most important person in his life; what wouldn’t he do to ensure your happiness? He entrusts the aftermath to Diavolo, eager to return to the House of Lamentation where he keeps you in his sight. Thankfully, your injuries are minor, it’s the shock that leaves you trembling in his arms. To his satisfaction, you stay in his embrace the remainder of the night into the morning, leaning into his gentle touches and kisses against your brow. No demon will harm you again; that’s a promise he’s sure to keep.

MAMMON

Mammon takes pleasure in the high gambling provides him, unable to curb his addiction much to his brothers’ frustration. They berate him for his losses, though there are times he emerges victorious, amassing a decent amount of Grimm behind their backs. Today the Great Mammon feels generous, inviting you to hang out after class. It’s the start of the weekend, and he craves your company, wanting to steal you away from his brothers. Knowing he has you all to himself leaves him giddy, his excitement evident in the blush spreading across his cheeks, the heat traveling down his neck and straight to his heart. When you smile, he can hardly breathe, awkwardly avoiding your gaze in an attempt to collect his bearings. His act of indifference is steadily falling to pieces, the Avatar of Greed practically melting at the warmth of your hand in his, threading your fingers together. He can’t deny the happiness you bring him, his gaze softening as you eagerly thank him, looking at him in adoration. Sure, he’s greedy, but he enjoys treating you, preferring your love to the Grimm in his pockets.

The streets are quiet, stars shining overhead and lighting the path home. Disappointment wells inside him the closer you get to the House of Lamentation, desperately wishing the night could last forever. Perhaps it’s selfish of him, however, his desire grows the longer you’re together, fanning the fire that threatens to consume him. He stops, turning to glance at you. It’s easy to imagine himself holding you against him, his hand on your cheek, gently tilting your head up to catch your lips in a kiss. Instead, he rests his hands on your shoulders, mouth unbearably dry, his confidence shaken the moment you lock eyes. Slowly, he leans forward, closing the distance between you only to hear you scream his name. He’s on the ground before he can react, confusion and panic clouding his thoughts. A growl escapes him, wings snapping into place on impulse, and his demonic aura shifting around him threateningly. Anger, hot and intense, swelters below the surface at the sight of you at another demon’s mercy, struggling to free yourself of their grip, nails biting into and breaking your skin. Your panicked expression physically pains him, his mind racing, assessing the situation.

Initially, he’s overcome with the urge to kill, poised to attack and tear the pathetic demon limb by limb, their cries music to his ears. Yet he hesitates, cursing the bastard for using you to their advantage, your body their shield; he can’t put your life at risk. He feels helpless, repulsed by such a display of weakness. How can you call him your protector when he fails to keep you safe? If he’s so great, why is he the one backed into a corner, sensing the fear that clings to you and now overwhelms his senses? He regards the demon warily, exchanging his wallet for you, briefly mourning the loss. They grab your wallet as well as the shopping bags, disappearing into the shadows with their spoils. Mammon considers hunting them down and personally showing them how hellish the Devildom can be, vowing their crimes won’t go unpunished. Despite the rage still boiling within him, he wraps you in his arms, nearly in tears as he breathes in your scent. His apology dies in his throat at the gentle touch of your hands cupping his face, drawing him into a kiss, your lips trembling against his. You’re irreplaceable. His world. He can’t envision life without you.

LEVIATHAN

It’s not often Leviathan leaves the comfort of his bedroom, venturing out into the Devildom, though he makes an exception for you. Most of your time together is spent playing video games or watching anime. Your constant reassurance eases his mind at the moment, yet he can’t help worrying you’ll tire of what he has to offer. Compared to his brothers, he’s pathetic, a gross otaku who is undeserving of your love and attention. He doubts himself, finding it difficult to ignore the voice in his head telling him he’s worthless, wishing he could be as suave as Lucifer or as smooth as Mammon. Why do you give him the time of day? Asking you to accompany him took all the courage he could muster, and now he wonders if he made the right choice. He wants to return the favor, bringing you the same joy you bring him, a bright light in the darkness that envelopes him. Loneliness no longer plagues him, and he finally feels understood—accepted—but does he take more than he gives?

The aquarium is scenic, your eyes widening in wonder while he tells you about the Devildom’s sea creatures, smiling fondly at a colorful school of fish as they swim past. He planned your date with painstaking precision, initially proud of himself; now he’s uncertain. Of course, he’s enjoying the aquarium, reminded of the ocean. He pictures the gentle flow of the waves washing to shore, and the salty breeze tousling his hair, soothing his nerves. You seem happy—are you? Afterward, he takes you to a nearby café. Seated outside, the weather pleasant, he glances at you, trying to gauge your expression. He can’t help thinking how incredibly cute you are, swallowing thickly as he reaches over to grab your hand. His heart is pounding. Surely you can feel the sweat on his palm, but you don’t pull away, leaning forward. He could kiss you, instead, he blushes, wishing he could hide in shame the second you frown. Ready to apologize for being a spineless coward, he hesitates, the sound of laughter drawing his gaze to the table behind you.

A couple of demons leer in your direction, snickering loudly. Your hand trembles in his, and he can see the way their words wound you, each scornful comment a critical hit to your self-esteem. They call you pathetic, a disgusting human who’s tarnished the Devildom’s image—you don’t belong here, especially not at the Avatar of Envy’s side. He stands, confronting the demons. Leviathan is a stuttering mess, his anxiety rising, but he’s determined to defend your honor. You grab his arm, reassuring him it’s alright; the demons are amused. They mockingly apologize, making a point to bump into you as they leave, sending you and your drink to the ground. The look of dejection on your face crushes him. Before he knows it, he’s summoned Lotan, flooding the streets. Luckily, his tail is wound securely around your waist, anchoring you to him so you aren’t washed away in the chaos. He brings you closer, pulling you into an awkward hug. Your date is ruined; he can’t recover from this. He apologizes profusely, hoping you don’t hate him. Are you okay? Is there anything you need? Anything he can do? He’s stunned when you wrap him in your arms, pressing a light kiss to his lips. Head spinning, he sucks in a breath and kisses you back. He loves his Henry, and no one hurts you and gets away with it.

SATAN

Although he’s the embodiment of wrath, Satan is calm and complacent in your company, your soothing aura bringing him an inner peace that eluded him in the past. The day is perfect, the quiet of the bookstore with you by his side his ideal date. Your brows knit in concentration as you flip through a book, and he stifles a laugh, gazing at you affectionately. He’s drawn to you, the light of your soul mesmerizing him, leaving him breathless. A demon of knowledge, he resigns himself to the fact love is unexplainable, no longer questioning how a human managed to capture his heart; he welcomes the feeling, the fire you ignited burning relentlessly. You shelve the book, and he takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, lips curling against your skin into a satisfied smile at your blush. He pulls you into his embrace, thankful to have you in his life. The world was a dark place before you entered it, desolate and chaotic; now it is nothing but a distant memory.

Taking advantage of the bookstore’s café, he stands in line while you look for a table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts about him, and he eyes the pastries on display, deciding to surprise you with a sweet treat that will compliment your drink. When he turns to find you, you’re gone. Your D.D.D. lays abandoned on a table in the corner, no sign of you, his gaze flitting back and forth, scouring his surroundings. He waits, hoping you’ll reappear. Doubt begins to weave its way into his mind, a surge of adrenaline driving him to wander into the labyrinth of shelves, his anger and impatience growing the longer you’re not next to him—safe and sound. He comes across a trail of blood, his heart dropping. How could he leave you alone, vulnerable to the evils that still plague the Devildom? The bookstore gave him a false sense of security, becoming a place he could rely on to escape. Yet not for a human such as yourself, demons prowling in plain sight, considering you prey to hunt.

In the backroom, he hears your cries. To say he’s furious is an understatement, he’s beyond livid, repulsed by the hand around your neck, and the tongue of the demon trailing down your neck to taste your blood. The remnants of the self-restraint he clung to relent to a blinding rage exploding within him, electrifying the atmosphere. Wrath consumes him, knowing no bounds. You’re protected in his arms, the building in flames once he regains control, the mangled body of the demon lost to the inferno. It’s a shame, he thinks, that the books must perish along with them—innocent victims of his bloodlust. Nevertheless, you’re alive, face buried in his chest. He’s sorry he foolishly let his guard down, putting you in harm’s way and forcing you to bear witness to the true powers of the Avatar of Wrath. Satan expects you to fear him. However, you allow him to tend to your injuries upon your return to the House of Lamentation. He’s gentle, wishing he could rid you of your pain, but he’s a truly demonic being, only capable of hurting you further. Your hand on his catches his attention, coaxing him into bed with you, giving him a sliver of hope. Holding you in the darkness, he tells you he loves you more than anyone or anything and promises to protect you—always.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus takes pleasure in the praise of his adoring fans, their compliments and gifts are one of the best parts of his day. He craves their undivided love and attention, enjoying the feel of their eyes on him, enraptured by his ethereal beauty. There are demons who vigorously pursue him, going to great lengths to capture his heart, though it belongs to you, skipping a beat each time the thought of you enters his mind. He notices the jealous gazes that fall upon you as they wish they stood at his side instead, fantasizing they’re the object of his affection, not you. No one can replace you; his love for you is unrivaled. However, he finds their envy entertaining, relishing the fact he’s so passionately sought after, fanning the flames of desire. Demons stare heatedly at the two of you, the lights of The Fall accentuating his radiance; he’s a diamond, positively glowing.

Snaking an arm about your waist, he draws you close to whisper how adorable you look, his lips brushing against your ear. Your skin is warm and your mouth parts in a breathy sigh the moment he kisses you, hands sliding beneath your shirt to rest at the small of your back. He can feel your heart racing as you shyly touch him, your innocence captivating the Avatar of Lust. Temptation urges him to lead you away from prying eyes, appreciating all his human has to offer in privacy, until he tastes blood on his tongue, choking on the bitterness of it. Pulling away, he barely manages to catch you, dismayed by the gaping wound now marring your flesh. Through his tears, he glares at the demon that stands behind you, fingers wound tightly around the hilt of a blade tainted by your blood. They declare their undying love for him, expressing relief and happiness at getting rid of the competition—they hurt you to get to him. Asmodeus wants nothing more than to escape the Hell he’s forced to endure, for once resenting any love that’s not yours.

The club comes to a standstill. His anger is tangible, hanging thickly in the air, the crowd watching in awe at the dark beauty that is Asmodeus, wings arching gracefully and the sweet scent of roses encircling him, entrancing those in his presence. He begrudgingly leaves your side, promising to return, chest tightening at the sight of you, his poor fragile human. The demon is on their knees, proclaiming their love so all can hear. His stomach churns in disgust; he’s heard enough. Wrenching the knife out of their grip, he drives it straight into their heart, watching their body drop to the ground. He carefully gathers you in his arms, walking into the cool Devildom night. The breeze tousles your hair, moonlight shining on your eerily pale face. Holding you as if his life depends on it, he makes the excruciating trek back to the House of Lamentation, praying this nightmare comes to an end. He’s beyond grateful your injuries aren’t fatal, yet he continues to sob, crawling into bed next to you. In the darkness of your room, he tells you you’re loved, apologizing, hoping you’ll forgive him once you awake.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub smiles to himself, taking pleasure in the delectable aroma of the lavish meal spread before him. Hunger overwhelms the Avatar of Gluttony, the emptiness filling his stomach particularly strong following an exhausting but rewarding workout. Hell’s Kitchen never fails to satiate his appetite, and your company proves to be the cherry on top, his eyes catching yours from across the room while you tend to the customers, causing his grin to widen in unbridled joy. He considers himself lucky to have you as his server, giving him the chance to talk to you when you stop by his table. A blush warms his cheeks at your touch, your fingers brushing along his lips to wipe away the crumbs on his face. He laughs, and you smile in return; he wishes to taste the sweetness of it, the craving difficult to ignore.

Gathering his used plates, he watches you disappear behind the kitchen doors, absentmindedly shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. He hums happily, wondering what he’ll order for dessert, drool dribbling down his chin as his thoughts return to you, the sweetest treat in the restaurant—no—the entire Devildom. Angry shouts startle him, and he nearly chokes, glancing up to see you thrown into the wall, dishes and food strewn about the floor. A demon hovers above you menacingly, your apologies drowned out by their incessant shrieking; Beelzebub’s fork clatters to his feet at the commotion. His demonic instincts take possession of him, the table overturning the second he stands, wings propelling him forward until he wedges himself between you and the lowly demon he glowers down at, their bones shattering after they connect with the hardened muscles of his abs. Beelzebub growls.

The demon pleads for forgiveness, though Beelzebub is merciless, enjoying the satisfying pop of their arm dislodging from the socket as he pulls them back and throws them through the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole in the building; a heavy silence hangs in the air, the patrons and staff avoiding his gaze. Dust settles around them, the aftershocks making the ceiling lamps sway, and the door fall off its hinges. He pays no mind, gently picking you up to hold you protectively against his chest. Your body trembles, bloody cuts and scrapes covering your skin, yet you look at him in adoration, showering him with words of gratitude. He chuckles, merely thankful you’re safe in his arms; he’s not planning to let you go any time soon either. Stepping over the debris, he escorts you home, carefully tending to your injuries in the privacy of your room where the two of you whisper your love for one another. His hunger is long forgotten, replaced by an unusual fullness as he kisses you, his heart overflowing with emotion.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor’s heart stops when he hears you scream out in pain, falling to the floor at his feet. On instinct, he kneels beside you, arms pulling you into his protective embrace. He barely registers his own voice echoing in his ears, choking on your name in his desperation and fear. Blood stains your skin and his hands, slipping through trembling fingers despite his best efforts to staunch the flow. Your body grows limp, losing its familiar warmth, and his hope begins to vanish with it, the crushing weight of emptiness snaking its way into his soul. His gaze trails over the dark bruises on your neck to the blood at the corner of your mouth, tears clouding his vision and dampening your cheeks the moment he feels your pulse fade out under his touch.

Despair consumes him, his cries turning into howls of rage that shake the walls and shatter windows, unadulterated demonic energy rolling off him in waves. Looking up into the arrogant face of the demon who murdered you without mercy, he stiffens upon finding his own eyes staring back at him, an impish smile contorting his features. Your blood is on his hands, beneath his nails, splattered across his clothes. His doppelganger laughs at his stunned expression, tail flicking in amusement. Belphegor wonders if this is what you saw the day you freed him, the thought leaving him nauseated. Growling, he lunges forward to wipe that disgusting smirk from his lips as he wraps his hands around the Avatar of Sloth’s neck, tightening his grip until the bones give way, body sagging in defeat. He deserves far worse for hurting you.

The sound of his name diverts his attention, the world melting away around him, and he blinks in the dim light of the attic. Your face comes into focus above him, brows furrowed in worry. It takes him a second to gather his bearings, realizing your gentle fingers are wiping away his tears and brushing back his hair, his chest constricting at the sight of you alive. Sitting up, he draws you against him, savoring the heat of your body. He’s relieved when you simply hold him in return, allowing him to sob into the crook of your neck. Belphegor wants to apologize, to thank you for giving him a second chance although he never earned it, yet the words die on his tongue. Instead, he kisses you, pouring every ounce of the love he holds for you into the gesture. No one will hurt you again; that’s a promise he intends to keep.

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writingquestionsanswered · 4 months

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Stuck in Planning Stage of Writing

Anonymous asked: Do you have any advice on how to get out of the planning stage and more into the doing stage of writing? I’m up to my ears in notes for scenes and fragments of dialogue between characters. I know where I want to go with the story, I’ve even written a handful of scenes when the ideas come to me, but now that I have this lump of thoughts I need to start organizing and placing them all in their rightful spaces. The one thing I truly know is how much I’d love to see this through. Do you have any advice for a girl who’s unwittingly made herself stuck with a puzzle?

[Ask edited for length]

Planning a novel can sometimes be like digging a really deep hole for a specific purpose, then suddenly realizing you've stranded yourself at the bottom of the hole without a ladder. You've spent so much time digging the hole, you'd like nothing more than to get out of the hole and move forward with whatever project required you to dig the hole in the first place. There's just one problem: you can't teleport yourself out of the hole. You have to climb... or, ideally, build yourself a ladder to climb out with whatever materials are available to you.

That's probably where you are right now with your story. The hole you've dug was necessary, and it's good that you dug it, but as much as you'd like to just magically leap out and write your story, you can't do that. You have to build yourself a ladder to climb out of the hole first. So...

My go-to emergency "get out of the planning hole I've dug myself into" ladders are timelines, scene lists, and outlines.

Timelines: Your story may take place over a single day or several centuries, but either way, time flows in your story. All of those notes and fragments of dialogue and partial scenes are moments or events that happen within the time frame of your story. So, plotting those moments and scenes out on a timeline--according to when they need to happen--is about the easiest way to break your story down into its existing pieces and to see what's missing/where.

There are lots of ways you can format a timeline, such as a table, a list, a horizontal timeline, calendar, or a roadmap timeline. My go-to is a basic two-column document where the left column is date/time and the right column is the moment/event. There are also apps and online tools that will help you build a timeline in various formats.

Horizontal Timeline:

Calendar Timeline:

Table Timeline:

More info: Making a Timeline for Your Story Scene Lists: Stories are made up of scenes, so a list of those scenes is another great way to organize the events of your story. You may even find that creating a scene list is easier after making a timeline, because a timeline may help you see where certain moments or events need to be their own scenes and which can be combined together into a single scene. Just like timelines, scene lists can be as simple or complex as you want to make them. Once again, my go-to is a simple two-column document with the left column for the scene number and the right column for the scene summary, preferably just a sentence or two. Ultimately, once I have my rough timeline and scene list done, I usually combine them into one multi-column document along with my story structure beats.

Table Scene List with Beats:

Complex Scene List/Timeline/Beat Sheet:

More info: Scene Lists

Outlines: Outlines can be really any format you want them to be, and some people count timelines and scene lists as their outlines. My go-to outline is just an exhaustive beginning to end summary of everything that needs to happen. Sometimes, just working through your story from beginning to end can be the best way to make sense of all those disparate pieces you've been piling up.

More info: Guide: How to Outline a Plot Story Structure: Finally, I want to talk a bit about story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel!, Larry Brooks story structure, seven point story structure, etc. Story structure templates can be a really great way to make sure you're hitting all the right story beats--almost like a road map through your story. It's just important to know you do not by any means have to stick to any particular story structure exactly. Use it as a guide, take what works, leave what doesn't, and don't panic if your beats don't fall exactly where it says they should. As long as your story is working, that's what matters. Some writers even like to frankenplan their stories using a variety of different structure templates.

More info: Creating a Detailed Story Outline (story structure)

Once you finally have a roadmap for moving forward, whether that's a timeline, scene list, outline, or all of the above, you know you're ready to start writing!

Final note: I just want to add that planning isn't for everyone. Some people are discovery writers who let their stories work themselves out as they go. The above is just meant for people who are planners, who have done a lot of planning, but need to pull that planning together into a cohesive, organized document. And... if you have all of the above and still find yourself unable to start, you might find help in the links below. Happy writing! More help:

Beginning a New Story Figuring Out Where to Start a Story Deciding How to Open Your Book How to Move a Story Forward Trouble Getting Started Have Plot, Can’t Write

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novacqnes · 1 year

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a fool to want you // abby anderson

summary: abigail anderson’s a colossal pain in the ass with a roster full of a girls to match— unfortunately that only made you want her more.

**part 2**

warning: college!au, angsty, abby’s a player and very smug, smut; face-sitting, fingering, fem receiving, masturbation, top!abby

word count: 4.5k

pairing: abby anderson x fem reader

a/n: i wouldn’t be myself if i didn’t capitalize off my current abby obsession and write something

college is a fucking scam.

and no, not entirely in the way of paying tuition fees although that sucked too. the so-called fraudulent part of the institution lay in the housing, the very room that cost you upwards of thousands of dollars. hard-earned cash brought into fruition via your blood sweat and tears. aka the kind of money that cost you a liver, and then some. now you weren’t expecting luxury— far from it. all you required was a serene, tranquil vicinity to unwind from the burdens of post-secondary life. which was fair because you’d paid for it, right?

wrong. everything’s a fucking scam.

clutching the cotton pillow to your ears, you slammed your fist against the drywall to no avail. dorm room walls were cheap and astoundingly thin, making way for even the slightest movements to travel over to your room. it was three o’clock in the morning. a time for most to catch up on sleep, maybe even cram for an exam if the situation called for it. unfortunately, you didn’t fit into either of those groups— and it wasn’t by choice.

your neighbors had a deep appreciation for cordiality, it extended well into the early hours of the morning. so much so that they’d taken it upon themselves to lull you to bed with obnoxiously loud music— and for the third time this week. the cycle persisted for hours. culminating in an endless repetition of parties and copious amounts of sex. completely obliterating the possibility of you obtaining any sleep, especially the night before homecoming.

“one of us should go over there,” you spat, turning towards your roommate on the opposite side of the room.

dina shrugged, “i tried last time you should do it. i think she has a thing for you.”

you weren’t entirely familiar with the person behind the parties but from what you’d heard her name was abby and she was an asshole— a suave sweet-talker, but an asshole nonetheless. with a particular inclination to flowers, more specifically leaving them at your door. according to dina, the mystery woman had weaseled her way into just about every girl’s pants on campus, with record numbers flowing from her room into the hall. the girl had wicked stamina and that was exclusively based on what could be heard through the paper-thin walls. despite this, the plan was straightforward— be as direct as possible without dropping your pants.

you knocked twice before the door swung open, a half-naked woman standing before it. reddish-pink hickeys littered her neck and chest, trophies she wore proudly. a blue lace bra was lazily strung around her chest along with a torn purple thong that hung just below her navel. the woman was practically exposed but held not an inkling of shame— if anything she appeared dignified despite being borderline nude.

“can you turn the fucking music down?” you shouted, clamping your hands over your ears.

the woman eyed you with a particular level of indifference, crossing her arms over her chest. a strong musk of what seemed to be vanilla, sweat, and weed crept into the hallway, clouding nearly all of your senses. the smell lingered in your nostrils, sending your mind into a tailspin as the noise persisted.

she rolled her eyes, turning back towards the dorm, “some girl’s here for you.” from inside emerged a tall woman, broad and especially muscular. her face and shoulders were decorated with dark brown freckles that spread down her back. she was the very definition of intimidation personified, in a gray tank top that clung to crevices of her body carving out a perfect outline. by the time you’d realized what you were doing, it was already too late. abby extended a hand to the top frame of the door as she leaned against it, smirking.

stop gawking, stop gawking.

“i’m abby.” everything about her screamed cocky— from her voice to her face, even her posture for heaven's sake. it should’ve bothered you. the way she looked at you, the slight glint in her eye that seemed to sharpen as she scanned down your body— studying each of every component like it was within her right. thus you expected the annoyance or at least some indication of it to creep in. rather you were met with an unfamiliar warmth, one that made you nervous and strangely giddy. that should’ve bothered you, yet it didn’t.

“i know who you are,” you stammered, “uh i sleep in the dorm next door and i have an early class tomorrow, can you just turn the—“

“y/n, right?” her eyes, clouded by lust fell to your lips as you shifted from one foot to the other. your name rolled off her tongue effortlessly, and a part of you wanted to hear it again— just as much as abby wanted to say it again. she got off on it, she adored having the upper hand even in the most minuscule conversations. she could see it in the way you inched closer to her without even noticing. it was a power that you weren’t even fully aware of.

“yeah?” you held your breath as she ran her fingers along the rim of the door before dropping them at her sides. the silence was torturous, gnawing at you from the inside out. this is where the “asshole” reputation stemmed from. she was a tease in her natural element and unbeknownst to you it was worsened by your presence.

she smirked, “i sit behind you in chem, you look even prettier from the front.”

asshole.

incessant heat rose to your cheeks, consuming them as the rest of your face fell, victim. you felt like a stranger in your own body— it resembled a foreign vessel on the verge of collapse. you shouldn’t have felt this way. you couldn’t allow yourself to. abigail anderson was a conceited jerk who thought about nothing more than the hookups she could accumulate in a day. this is what she does— and you needed to believe it.

“didn’t notice you,” you shrugged, refusing to let her get the best of you. abby squinted her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. bulging green veins pressed along the surface of her skin as her muscles flexed. she liked challenges. at that moment it became about much more than just sleeping with you, she was practically infatuated.

you see, abby loved women. she adored the way they felt, their curves writhing underneath her. the subtle cries that fell from their lips at the slightest yet most intoxicating touches. and especially the addictive warmth she got just by being around them. it earned her the reputation of a womanizer across campus and while she wouldn’t deny it— this time her motivations were different. she wanted to charm you, she wanted to tease you, leaving on you edge while simultaneously granting you everything you could ever ask for. calling it crush felt strange but there wasn’t any other word for it, she was whipped.

“you get my flowers?”

you nodded, eyes darting toward the ground. images of purple lilacs crept into the corners of your vision. it was a reoccurring thing— each morning you awoke to a new bouquet splayed out in front of your door. there was no note, just a small card that read “to y/n, from abby,” and she’d been at it for weeks.

“good….we’ll keep the music down,” she offered you one last glance before retreating into the dorm. she lowered the speakers to a minimum continuing over to her bed. there she was awaited by a girl whose name she didn’t even know. not that it mattered much to her in the slightest. abby found her mind occupied by more pressing matters, all involving you. she couldn’t seem to shake the image of you in sheer pajamas from her memory. spurring it to do the complete opposite— latching on and burning its way to the forefront of her mind.

she wrapped her hands along the ankles of the mystery woman, gently pulling her toward the edge of the bed. abby forced her eyes closed, allowing pictures of you to pervade them. her hands trailed down between the woman’s inner thighs, teasing them as she cried aloud. she curled her fingers along the woman’s entrance, snapping them upwards in an almost ritualistic manner. abby repeated this over and over again until she was convinced it was you.

her chants grew fervently, “abby, abby, abby” traveling to the opposite side of the room where you slept. the noise was low at first and only noticeable to you. it began as a gentle whisper, prodding your ears before inevitably reaching your pussy. you didn’t want to succumb to it— secretly you adored the way it made you feel. the slight tingle that persisted with each chant. slowly you moved your hand to your navel, eyes darting over to a passed-out dina before proceeding.

you closed your eyes, pushing your index finger below the hem of your shorts. beginning slowly you rubbed your clit in controlled, delicate circles, suppressing the grunts and moans brimming the surface of your tongue. filthy images of abby intruded your thoughts, taking center stage as the cries of another woman became fuel. gradually you sped up employing another finger in the process. fragmented white spots clouded the outskirts of your vision as you worked faster, pressing down on your poor clit with much more force.

the woman’s chants become disheveled and scarce fizzling out as you chase your high, streams of pleasure ripping through your body. tears brimmed the corners of your eyes, you squeezed your legs together quickly breathing a sigh of relief. the realization was subtle initially, revealing the bits of truth you were reluctant to hear. however, one thing was for certain— the image of abby never once left you.

“so how’d it go last night?” dina asked, her voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

you snapped your head towards her, “what?” the two of you continued to class although your mind consistently found its way back to abby’s door.

maybe she knew? oh god, she knew.

technically you hadn’t done anything wrong but you couldn’t help but feel nervous. last night instilled you with a new, daring sense of bravery that you hadn’t experienced all semester. in your hands, you fiddled with the new bouquet— this time they were a collection of pink roses, all varying in color. you weren’t how long she’d keep it up but then again you weren’t complaining.

“last night with abby? they turned the music down so i’m guessing she must really have a thing for you.” her voice was drenched in all types of suggestive undertones, most of which you consciously chose to ignore. you despised yourself for feeling this way— there was nothing special about the way abby looked at you. she was the campus player and only a fool would be deceived into believing otherwise.

during chemistry you sat in your usual spot, secretly hoping abby would walk in. today you made more of an effort towards appearance, applying a bit more makeup than usual. wearing an even shorter outfit and dousing yourself in perfume. now that you knew abby was watching you wanted to impress her even if it was only for a short while. you rarely if ever sought attention from anyone in class but with her it was different. you wanted to stand out, vying for her attention amongst others.

halfway through the lecture, abby strode in, blue eyes directly locking with yours. a slight smirk took shape on her lips as she made her way towards you, taking the seat right beside you. your heartbeat sped rapidly, hammering against your chest. she leaned back in her chair completely disregarding the professor. to be honest, abby hadn’t planned on coming to class, and she had no intentions of staying.

she began, “y/n—“

“i have to focus.”

“i’ll be quick,” she leaned over closer, nearly brushing your thigh, “you got any plans for tonight?” shit— the thought of homecoming had completely slipped your mind. let alone what you planned to do. hanging out with dina was out of the question. and you preferred not to attend any fraternity party alone in addition to one of abby’s. you’d rather not spend most of the night watching her tongue your entire class for hours on end.

“i was thinking about having a party in our resident hall for homecoming, you wanna come? you can bring your friend—“

“i have a date,” you said louder than intended, it garnered a couple of stares from fellow peers and abby included. although this couldn’t have been further from the truth. yet it seemed better in hindsight. she fell silent for a moment, cerulean eyes peering through yours. for the first time, she was at a loss for words— and it was unusual for her. abby rarely had to chase, especially not against other people on campus but with you, she almost felt obligated to. somehow, someway it acknowledged the budding feelings that began to stir deep inside of her.

“if that falls through you know where to find me, promise i’ll make it worth your while— and if you do happen to show up, you should wear that perfume again, you smell really nice,” she whispered, the corners of her lips tugging up into a cocky grin. you expected her to leave right after although she made no attempts to. rather you felt her gaze settle on you, forcing the heat to buzz underneath your skin in response. everything about her demeanor was so arrogant and unbelievably hot. you hated admitting it you refused to. but you didn’t mind the attention, even more so you welcomed it.

soon the class drew to a close and you were the first one out. the surface skin felt like it was on fire, overwhelmed by an unprecedented force. you couldn’t think straight. memories of abby and last night refused to let up occupying more space in your mind than usual. you’d gotten yourself off to the thought of her. yet the only thing you could focus on was the fact that she’d complimented you. still, you could feel it, her breath against your ear and the gentle brush of her skin against yours. it was small but impossible to forget.

as time inched by classes emptied with most students choosing their preferred method of celebration, except for you. your room was empty so you took advantage of the extra space by dressing yourself for the second time that day. you opted for a tight outfit one that revealed your assets without showing them outright. from the room over you could hear people begin to pile for abby’s party, queuing your exit. not before spraying yourself with perfume once more.

you walked along campus with no real goal in sight. the sky was a captivating mixture of cobalt and rosè, a sight that left you in awe. the sun was slowly easing its way down, shielded by the fluffy white clouds littered across the expansion. it was utterly beautiful. high pitched sounds from nearby insects rang out into the void as more followed suit. you continued even further heavily immersed in the nature around you. and it communicated one thing.

college was most definitely a scam, but this certainly wasn’t.

in all your days of living on campus, you hadn’t noticed this. largely because you’d been so concerned with yourself to really explore and truly venture out of your comfort zone. in many facets, it reminded you of abby, and more specifically what you felt for her. honestly, you didn’t know what it was, or what to call it. you had these preconceived notions of her of who she was that you hadn’t even bothered to investigate yourself. thus it kept you in a bubble one in which you’d never be able to confront your desire for her.

upon realizing this you turned on your heel sharply, speeding back towards your residential hall. as you pushed past the doors you were gearing up to fight— homecoming parties were usually a battle zone. yet once you stepped foot inside it was completely silent— alarmingly so. you continued towards abby’s door searching for an indication of a party but there weren’t any traces of one person let alone dozens of people.

you knocked on abby’s door once before it swung open. there was no party, no music or stray girls, and beer cups scattered across the room— just abby. a small grin spread across her lips as you stepped inside, the room was dimly lit by white candles. the sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon wafted in the air, reminiscent of your first encounter yet with a noticeable difference. you sat on the edge of her bed, purposely leaving a few feet between the two of you. the mattress dipped as abby took a seat on the opposite side, allowing for more tension to accumulate in the atmosphere.

she turned towards you, “where’s your date?”

“i don’t wanna talk about that,” you whispered. a warm giddy feeling aligned the pit of your stomach stirring nausea. but it was almost pleasant? abby affected you, one that you couldn’t quite describe. it was powerful and enticing enough to lead you back to her room and stay. it mimicked a fierce wave edging along a wet beach shore— you knew what was coming, nonetheless, you chose to remain.

“why are you so far away?” her voice was light, bordering on insatiable. it took everything not to look her way, let alone even make eye contact. you pressed your legs together fighting to contain the desire that was slowly mounting itself inside you. abby could sense it but she wanted— no needed to ease it out of you.

“you make me nervous,” you admitted, biting down on your lip with enough force to draw blood. sheer hints of aluminum lingered on your tongue but a bloody lip couldn’t have been further from your concerns. the air was thick and the scent grew stronger as abby stirred beside you. she didn’t move any closer although you secretly wished she had. since the moment you’d laid eyes on her a part of you, although tamed longed to be near her. you wanted to feel her muscles against the surface of your skin, observing the way they contracted underneath her clothes, bearing the utmost strength and intensity.

she chuckled, “is that what you came here to tell me?”

you shook your head, silently picking at your cuticles. the pain was distracting but not enough to force the words from your mouth. it wasn’t a matter of knowing it— abby already knew it. she could smell the lust practically radiating off your skin but she wanted to hear you say it. it served as confirmation— the girl she’d wanted all along was in the very palm of her hand.

your eyes flickered between hers, “you meant what you said earlier….making this worth my while?”

“come closer.” hesitantly you lifted yourself from the edge of the mattress, taking a seat just a mere inches away. you hadn’t been this close to her since earlier on, but even then it was never of this magnitude— never this sexually driven.

“what do you think?” she whispered, cupping a hand over yours. slowly she ran her thumb over your skin, fulfilling only a portion of your desires. your eyes fell towards her lips before trailing back up to her eyes. a similar need lingered in her gaze but abby refrained from making the first move. which wasn’t a stance she took often.

you slipped your hand out from under her grasp bringing them to her face. you pulled her in closer, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. abby’s hands traveled up your arms stopping at your elbows where she held them there, ushering you closer.

breathless, you pulled away, “is this okay? am i doing this right?”

“you’re perfect y/n, keep going,” abby cooed. she scooped you up in her arms pushing you back on the bed. your tongue swirled over hers allowing a low moan to escape from your lips. abby pressed against you harder, bringing her hands further south where they slipped under your knees. her touch felt magical making it even easier for you to lose control of yourself. you reached for the hem of abby’s shirt pulling it over her head as you kissed down her neck. offering extra attention to the skin just above her shoulders.

“fuck— i wanna taste you,” abby purred, sliding the lace panties down your legs. you pulled your dress up, offering her an ample view of your body. however she refused to rush, she wanted to prolong the experience turning her attention towards your chest. she cupped your tits in her hands, bringing them to her mouth. needing at one mound she latched onto the other, swirling her tongue around your nipple. she continued sucking fervently allowing her free hand to roam down your thigh.

“yes, yes— just like that,” you cried digging your fingernails into the surface of abby’s skin. creating sharp crescents all along her bicep. she brushed her finger to your pussy watching as you shuddered away.

abby pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, “you gotta relax for me, alright?” you nodded, spreading your legs open further she began at your clit. going back and forth in slow torturous circles. you attempted to move your hips forward, desperate for more when abby pulled away, shaking her head.

“be patient. i’ll take care of you, i promise.” the pleasure was practically overwhelming. you threw your head back as abby applied more pressure to your clit, slipping her index finger into your dripping pussy. wet squelching sounds pervaded the air around you the faster she went. curving her finger up to meet your spongy g-spot. her pace increased, revealing veins that traveled up the expanse of abby’s arm- however it didn’t deter her.

“how’s that hm? better?” her tone was tauntingly low and addictive. moans spilled from your lips in response as you clutched onto her, near the verge of seeing stars.

“c’mon baby, tell me.” this time she slipped in her middle finger, watching as it slid in effortlessly. instinctively you clenched around her yelping at the newfound contact. your entire body was set ablaze, engulfed in flames as abby worked bringing you to new heights. soon began to move along with her hand, desperately chasing your orgasm.

“i’m so close— fuck— don’t stop, don’t stop please.” your voice became caught and your vision darkened, pitch-black shards clouding it. you buried your face in her neck as abby held you close. her arm pressing into the small of your back.

“i know it’s a lot, but you can trust me,” she whispered. you pulled away from her, hot tears brimming the corners of your eyes. you expected the sex but you hadn’t expected this. there was a certain level of vulnerability present between the two of you, it was both raw and completely unprecedented. before you even had a chance to comment on it, abby silenced you, pressing her lips to yours.

“i want you to sit on my face.”

“what?” you sputtered, unsure if you’d heard her correctly. however, abby’s face remained completely unchanged. she shot you a reassuring smile before laying flat on her back. huffing a quick breath you inched over to her, placing your legs on either side of her head. you lowered yourself on her mouth, moaning at the warm contact. abby wrapped her arms around both of your thighs, hungrily pressing you to her face.

it was nearly impossible to move under her grasp. abby kept you bound to one place as she ran her tongue along your pussy. sloppily lapping your fluids that escaped into her mouth. she hummed at the taste, relentlessly flicking her tongue against your folds. a small knot began to develop at the pit of your stomach, growing and tightening with each movement. abby worked tirelessly against you, desperate to push to your last and final high. your moans grew louder and more ardent, replicating that of the mystery woman from earlier.

“abby, abby, abby,” you cried, doubling over as your legs gave out, surrendering completely to abby’s will. she continued lapping your fluids, sucking feverishly until you were a babbling mess— way past the point of oblivion. triggering the massive knot at the basis of your stomach.

shakily you tumbled over on the opposite side of abby, out of breath and sweaty. when she joined you clear fluids coated the outskirts of her mouth and her chest was completely doused. with the last bit of strength you could fester you turned towards her placing a kiss on her mouth before pulling away. clear remnants of your orgasm still immobilizing you.

“thank you,” she whispered, running her hand across your back, gently easing you into a slumber as you nuzzled into her. the gentle thump of abby’s heart lulling you.

you awoke to hushed whispers coming from the door. abby’s space beside you was empty. she stood by the door, her face beet red and contorted. across from her was a blonde woman, she looked utterly unfamiliar but she blended in perfectly with abby’s past hookups. she wore little to no clothes and her under eyes were decorated with red at the rims. indicating that she was most definitely high.

“got your text abs, c’mon let’s get outta here,” she giggled, tugging on abby’s arm.

“now isn’t a good time, you need to go.” her voice was alarmingly serious which was a rare sight. you did your best to remain silent, yet the nature of their conversations left a bad taste in your mouth.

“why?” she sneered, pushing her way into the dorm, “is it because of her? she know you have a girlfriend?”

girlfriend? girlfriend?

“you hear that? i’m her girlfriend,” she shouted.

you could throw up. your head spun in circles, spurring nausea already building in your stomach. abby had a girlfriend? confusion laced with anger completely distorted your vision. yet you didn’t spare another moment. it was too late for explanations, now you were the fool.

you should’ve seen it coming.

abby whipped back towards you stammering, “shit y/n— just let me explain.”

it was too late. the girl wrapped an arm around abby’s waist planting a kiss to her cheek that only made you taste the bile. you needed to get out of there with whatever was left of your fragmented dignity. you pushed past abby and the blonde, ripping your arm from abby’s grasp when she tried to touch you. it no longer had that same effect— it was foreign.

“y/n wait— hear me out please.”

you tuned out abby’s voice storming into your room before slamming it shut. a sharp pang ricocheted throughout your body as you seethed, grappling with your emotions. you hated this. you hated the control she maintained over you, it was paralyzing. but what made it even more infuriating? all the more screwed up and deranged? you still wanted her.

college is a fucking scam.

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us smut #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson angst #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fanfic

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brostateexam · 3 months

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While public appetite for Covid news is low, experts say the stakes for communicating about respiratory illnesses are deceptively high. An ongoing bird flu outbreak and a small but deadly swine flu outbreak in Colombia this year have public health experts worried that another flu pandemic is all but assured in coming years. As government officials downplayed Covid, flu, and other deadly viruses in recent years—shortening Covid isolation times and lifting restrictions—misinformation about measles, another respiratory illness, has proliferated. A massive measles outbreak is currently roiling Europe, and Florida has now reported multiple cases at a single school. State officials who rose to prominence by opposing Covid measures said the 200 unvaccinated students who had been exposed did not need to quarantine.

Then there is the threat of more novel viruses; dangerous new coronaviruses have emerged every seven to nine years in the past two decades, which means we may be soon see another. In the meantime, Covid is still hospitalizing and killing people even with current guidelines; it could get worse when people are urged to move more freely while contagious.

In theory, we should be better equipped than ever before to counter these threats. “Covid has elevated the amount of access and information and awareness that we have [of] seasonal respiratory viruses,” said Erin Sorrell, senior scholar at the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security. Covid taught us that these respiratory viruses can be airborne, that asymptomatic people can still infect others, and that the time it takes to stop shedding the virus can vary widely; we also learned what we can do to lessen these challenges.

The CDC has yet to make the proposed changes public—or even confirm the Post’s report. When I contacted the agency for comment on this piece, a spokesperson responded that there are “no updates to COVID guidelines to announce at this time,” and the agency “will continue to make decisions based on the best evidence and science to keep communities healthy and safe.” But the guidelines outlined by the Post’s three sources would run counter to the available research on Covid and other respiratory illnesses—presumably in order to satisfy economic and political interests. The consequences both for contagion and public trust, should the agency follow through on these plans, could be severe.

#long reads #*coronavirus

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coochiequeens · 11 months

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Doctors and nurses who are not willing to listen to their patients should be replaced

BY VICTORIA SMITH

The third time I went into labour, I was determined to avoid getting told off. With both of my previous births, I had somehow managed to get things wrong. My errors the first time: going to hospital too early, then, when I returned three hours later, “leaving it so late”. The second time: ignoring assurances that I didn’t need to come in yet, then giving birth in the car park — an event I later discovered was being used in antenatal classes as an example of women “not planning ahead”.

“My previous births have been fast,” I said, when I went into labour with my third, “so I’d like to come in now.” I was speaking to the woman at the midwife-led unit that is the only option where I live. (If you need a caesarean section, you have to be transferred to next town.) “Third babies are notoriously difficult,” was her response.

What an odd thing to say to a woman already in labour. The “notoriously” suggested it wasn’t based on any actual evidence, but rather a kind of folk wisdom. It felt as though I was being warned not to tempt fate, not to assume that this baby would just pop out. I saw myself being categorised as one of those arrogant women who presumes to know her own body, only to be taught a harsh yet much-deserved lesson. “Third babies are notoriously difficult” sounded not unlike “third-time mothers shouldn’t get above themselves”.

In fact, I have never been particularly cocky about childbirth. When I was pregnant with my first child, back in the days when the Right-wing press were still obsessed with famous women being “too posh to push”, I wondered if I might be able to get an elective caesarean myself. I did not particularly care about childbirth being a wonderful experience, or about “doing it well”. I didn’t care if the Daily Mail thought I was a joke.

What I cared about was not having a child who would face the same difficulties as my brother, who was starved of oxygen at birth. This has had serious consequences for him, and for the rest of my family. Just how serious is hard to gauge. He was born traumatised; there has never been a before to compare the after with. What there has been instead is the hazy outline of an alternative life, one that runs parallel to the one he has now. It’s a life that began with the problem being identified sooner, with him being delivered quickly, perhaps by emergency caesarean. The difference between this and his actual life comes down to something small: mere moments, mere breaths.

I was born three years after my brother, in a larger hospital, where my mother was induced and monitored carefully. There is something very strange about being the sibling who had the safe birth. It feels as though I stole it. There is a constant sense of guilt, as if my life — my independence, my choices — constitutes a form of gloating. “This is what you could have had.” Everything I do feels like something owed to my brother (do it, because he can’t) but also something taken from him (you shouldn’t have done that, because he should have done it first).

Still, my family were fortunate, insofar as my brother didn’t die. Current reports on the Nottingham maternity scandal reference 1,700 cases, with an estimated 201 mothers and babies who might have survived had they received better care. What strikes me, reading them, is the enormous gulf between the cost of a disastrous birth and the trivial, opportunistic way in which childbirth is so often politicised — with mothers themselves viewed as morally, if not practically, to blame if anything goes wrong.

As a feminist who concerns herself with how the female body is demonised, my interest in debates about birthing choices is more than personal. I have read books railing against the over-medicalisation of childbirth, aligning it with a patriarchal need to appropriate female reproductive power. I have also read books protesting the fetishisation of “natural” birth, suggesting that it infantilises women, that it implies women deserve pain. To be honest, I find both arguments persuasive and dismaying. Both are right about the way in which misogyny and professional arrogance can shift the focus away from meeting the needs of women and babies. I feel a kind of rage that we are told to pick a side.

Representations of the labouring woman are so often negative: the naïve idealist, the “birthzilla“, the birth-plan obsessive, the woman who is “too posh to push”. This latter stereotype has gone hand-in-hand with a veneration of vaginal births, and stigmatisation of caesareans, that has had sometimes disastrous consequences. Midwives at the centre of the Furness General Hospital scandal were reported to have “pursued natural birth ‘at any cost’”, referring to one another as “the musketeers”; at least 11 babies and one mother died. But their approach was sanctioned by their employer: the 2006 NHS document “Pathways to Success: a self-improvement toolkit” explicitly suggested that “maternity units applying best practice to the management of pregnancy, labour and birth will achieve a [caesarean section] rate consistently below 20% and will have aspirations to reduce that rate to 15%”. Proposed benefits to this included “a sense of pride in units”.

Responses to maternity scandals now express horror that such an anti-intervention culture ever arose — responses in the same press that denigrated women such as Victoria Beckham and Kate Winslet for not giving birth vaginally. Instead, newspapers now stoke outrage over “natural” treatments during NHS births, such as burning herbs. Women have been shamed for having caesareans, but they have also been shamed for wanting births with minimum intervention — as though they are selfish and spoilt for seeking control over such an extreme situation.

In his memoir This Is Going To Hurt, former doctor Adam Kay writes disparagingly of women who arrive at the delivery suite with birth plans:

“‘Having a birth plan’ always strikes me as akin to having a ‘what I want the weather to be’ plan or a ‘winning the lottery’ plan. Two centuries of obstetricians have found no way of predicting the course of a labour, but a certain denomination of floaty-dressed mother seems to think she can manage it easily.”

Wanting to have some control over your experience of labour — which will hurt you and could kill you or your baby — is not akin to some messianic aspiration to control the weather. And in his mockery of the woman who wants whale song and aromatherapy oils, ironically, Kay deploys the same silencing techniques that might intimidate a woman out of seeking the very interventions he so prizes. What he and others do not seem to grasp is that their arrogance is a problem, regardless of which course of action they champion. It makes women feel they can’t speak, for fear of inviting hostility at their most vulnerable moments. It’s true that none of us knows our body well enough to know how we will give birth. But, looking back, I find it utterly insane, not least given my own family history, that one of my biggest worries during labour was “please don’t let anyone get cross with me”. Then again, I don’t think that fear is unrelated to the desire to remain safe.

Birth is not a joke. It is not a place for professional dick-swinging or political one-upmanship. I cannot describe — and, as I am not my mother, cannot fully understand — the shame of feeling that you “let down” your child before they drew their first breath, that they will forever suffer because of it. You watch an entire life unfolding and that feeling is there, every single day. This is the fear of the women in labour who are characterised as either idiots mesmerised by fantasy homebirths or cold-hearted posh ladies who can’t take the pain. If things go wrong, they are the ones who will bear the consequences, reflecting every day on what might have been, if they’d only done more.

When people discuss their siblings, my mind does wander to the one I don’t have, the one who was born safely. Perhaps he would have a job he loved, or one he hated, but in any case a job. Perhaps he would have a partner. Perhaps he would have children, and I would be their aunt. Perhaps we wouldn’t get on, wouldn’t even speak, but he’d have a life of his own. I know he thinks about this too. I wonder if the professionals who presided over his birth have thought about him since.

My third labour was not, by the way, “notoriously difficult”. My third son arrived into the world safe and well. No one can say why him or me, and not my brother. Mothers may long for control over birth, for which we are mocked; but we do not have it, for which we are blamed. Politics still takes precedence over our needs, and the needs of our babies.

#Traumatic births #Doctors not listening to women #There's no such thing as a birthzilla #Women aren't too posh to push #Doctors are so posh they schedule cesareans to accommodate their schedules not the mothers #Furness General Hospital Scandal #This is going to hurt #Keep Adam Kay away from women #Women wanting a say in their births are not acting like they want to control the weather #Nottingham maternity scandal #If the baby suffers during a traumatic birth it's the mother who will providing the care after they come home from the hospital

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mellowsadistic · 1 year

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Envy

“Dr Smith!” Jennie’s mother shouted furiously as she marched into the therapist’s empty waiting room, dragging her daughter along by the hand. It was after hours, and even the blonde bimbo secretary was gone from her place behind reception. “I know you’re here! Come out and explain yourself!”

Before she could reach the office door, Dr Smith had emerged, hands in his pockets, smiling politely. “Mrs Brown! And Jennie too. How nice to see you. What seems to be the matter?”

“What seems to be the matter?!” Mrs Brown raged. “What do you mean what seems to be the matter? What the hell have you done to my daughter?!”

Dr Smith’s eyes drifted over Jennie, and the faintest smirk twitched at his lips. The outline of a thick adult nappy was visible through her tight jeans, and an inch or so of the plastic waistband was sticking out of the top, leaving no doubt about what the twenty-one-year-old woman was wearing. Her thumb was planted firmly in her mouth and she was sucking on it rhythmically, but when their eyes met, she yanked it out, her mouth wet with drool, and shouted, “You makin’ me act wike a dumb baby! I can’t stop… can’t stop copying my wittle sister! Whatever she does, I hafta act wike dat too!”

Dr Smith chuckled. “I was only helping you with your little problem, Jennie. I’m sure it was hard growing up as an only child all your life, only for your mother to suddenly have another baby. You were telling me how jealous you were of your baby sister and all the attention she was getting. Well, this seems like a perfect solution to me. If you act like her, you’re bound to get just as much attention, if not more!”

“You’re crazy!” Mrs Brown shouted. “Just fix it! Undo it now or I swear to God I will sue you until you’ve got nothing left!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Brown,” said Dr Smith calmly. He walked over to them, taking his hands out his pockets as he went. “I think this should explain everything.” He held his phone up to her eyes, and at once Mrs Brown’s face went slack.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong, you see. Jennie’s just being silly, as usual. You know how immature she is. She’s jealous of her baby sister, so she’s acting out for attention.”

“Mummy, stop!” Jennie cried, looking at her mother’s blank expression in panic. “Don’t wook, Mummy!”

“Hush Jennie,” said Dr Smith sternly, and Jennie’s mouth closed at once. “The grown-ups are trying to have a conversation. Go stand in the corner and poop your pants while I talk to your Mummy.”

A whine bubbled up in Jennie’s throat, but she couldn’t stop her body obeying. She fought to put her feet back under her control, but it was useless. She walked over to the corner, facing it like a naughty child. Then she bent her knees slightly and started grunting. She could still hear Dr Smith’s voice behind her.

“During our sessions, Jennie told me all about her plans to start acting like a toddler. She told me she was going to watch what her baby sister did and start copying those behaviours. So if her little sister sucked her thumb, she’d start sucking her thumb. If her little sister made a mess with her food, that’s what she’d be doing every meal as well. And if her little sister wasn’t potty trained, then she wouldn’t be using toilets either. I tried to tell her not to, but she was insistent.”

There was an especially loud grunt from the corner, and Jennie felt a yucky mess begin to fill the back of her nappy. “Nooo….” she whined softly. “Dat’s not twue…” Her face was bright red with shame, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself straining to make a dirty diaper. A strong rush of pee flooded her nappy as well, and it began to sag inside her jeans.

“Of course, it’s totally ridiculous for an adult woman to act this way,” Dr Smith continued. “But my advice is to give her exactly what she wants. If she’s going to act like a baby, then treat her like one. That ought to teach her a lesson.”

Jennie was still facing the corner, and her face was scrunched up with the effort of messing her nappy like an overgrown two-year-old, but she could just picture her mother nodding blankly along with Dr Smith’s words.

“If she wants to embarrass herself by acting like this, then you might as well make sure she goes all the way. Dress her up in onesies and tutus and pink, frilly bonnets – or just let her run around in nothing but her nappy. Feed her baby food and formula. Change her Pampers in the public park. Invite her friends to babysit. And of course, make sure she gets plenty of strict discipline. Maybe that will persuade her to start acting her age.”

Jennie finally finished pooping herself, and she whined again in disgust at the heavy, yucky load in the back of her pants, and in fear at Dr Smith’s words. She looked anxiously over her shoulder, and felt a horrible shiver run down her spine. The doctor was putting away his phone, and her mother was standing there looking perfectly satisfied.

“Thank you very much,” her mother said. “I’m so grateful to have your advice. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Not at all, Mrs Brown,” Dr Smith said graciously. “I know little girls can be a handful sometimes.”

“Oh they certainly can,” Jennie’s mother agreed, looking over at her panic-stricken daughter sternly. “Come along, Jennie. It’s time to go home. You can finish your corner time when we get back, after you’ve had a spanking.”

Jennie burst into tears. “Mummy, no!” she wailed. “This isn’t wight!”

But her mother strode over to her, grabbed her by the arm, and started dragging her out of the room. “It certainly isn’t! Twenty-one-year-olds shouldn’t need spankings and corner times. And they certainly shouldn’t need nappies.” Mrs Brown paused for a moment, then she reached down and quickly tugged Jennie’s jeans down her legs and over her feet, leaving her in nothing but a sagging diaper and her socks and shoes below the waist. “There. If you’re going to wear nappies like a baby, then everyone’s going to know it. Plus it will be easier for me to tell when you need changing.”

“Stob it, Mummy!” Jennie sobbed. “It’s Dr Smith! He hyp… hypno… he did something to you too!” She looked back at Dr Smith. There was a wide grin on his face, and his eyes were sparkling malevolently.

“Don’t be silly, Jennie,” said Mrs Brown impatiently, pulling her daughter over to the door and dumping her jeans in the bin beside it as she passed. “Dr Smith is a wonderful man who’s only trying to help us. You’re just a naughty girl who’s acting out for attention because you’re jealous of your baby sister. Now stop struggling, or you’ll be getting a spanking every night this week!”

“Waaaaaaaah!”

#mellowsadistic

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vintagemulti · 2 years

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rainfall

pairings: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x pilot!reader

desc: you’ve always had a thing for your best friend. this mission didn’t help.

warnings: this is quite long😵‍💫, swearing, sex references and innuendos, alcohol and drunkness, death and family member loss, dissociation mentions, i know NOTHING about pilots/flying sorry, this WILL be a series !!!

a/n: someone tell me to stop making series. i beg. this is my little writer brain not being able to watch anything without making a character WHOOPS. anyways, i’ve not seen the first top gun. so. cannon? who? we don’t know her. also i hate called bradley rooster i can’t work out why but i’ll only refer to him as it when flying. soz.

series masterlist

masterlist

you had been in bali when you got the call. you and bradley, in bali, relaxing. but who ever said naval pilots get to relax?

it was something you had gotten far too used to, having to pack up your things and get the first flight back to the states. sure, you had been the one to chose this career and the disruptions you faced were consequences of your own actions, but you had really - really, really - hoped that you didn’t get called up when you did.

two weeks in bali with bradley bradshaw, the highlight of your year. it had been planned for almost a year, which was saying something. normally you and bradley would say you’d do something, and it would never actually end up happening. but no - this vacation had went ahead, and you’d had six days of utter bliss before the dreaded number showed up on your phone.

bradley had been phoned right after you, his reaction being about the same. annoyed, upset but somewhat excited. what the fuck was all this about? both you and him being on the same mission?

and so you had packed all your stuff and made your way back to california, dropped your bags off at your separate apartments and rushed to put together an emergency bag, with your uniforms and workout clothes inside.

that took you up to now, sat in the passenger side of bradley’s new range rover, forty minutes into the drive back to the naval base on lake tahoe. it wasn’t far away now - only ten or so minutes, but the sun was beginning to slowly dip it’s head, ever so slightly.

you were still dressed in your summer clothes, a tight, black dress with white lining and held up by a strap around your neck. it was low cut, a little lower than you’d like for the first time meeting your other teammates, but there wasn’t any time to get changed.

bradley was dressed in the same way, tight white tank top covered in a hawaiian shirt, nude-coloured cargos covering his thighs. and, of course, his aviator glasses. was it really bradley without them?

he turned into one of the roads leading to the hard deck - a bar frequented by everyone within a mile vicinity - and you turned to look at him, right as the sunlight hit him. golden rays washed over his skin, his collarbones shining and under his sunglasses you could see his brown eyes - turned like honey in the light.

you thought he looked beautiful, but you’d never tell him.

“this better be good,” he spoke, breaking the moment of silence. “that hotel cost a fuckin’ fortune.”

rolling your eyes, you nodded. “you’re lucky i remembered we get travel insurance. who was it that was determined we didn’t, again?”

“oh, shut up,” bradley said, but you could see the outline of a smirk on his mouth. “no one ever told me we get that.”

“lies!” you laughed. “they put it in the ads, that if you get called up while away, they pay you back whatever you lost.”

it was bradley’s turn to roll his eyes. “alright, miss ‘i always read the fine print’.”

“at least i can read,” you joked back.

electing to ignore the snide comment he made back, you reached into the passenger side compartment, searching for your own sunglasses - feeling nothing. you looked around the car, sighing in defeat as you realised you must have left your pair at home.

spotting another pair of aviators on the dashboard, you picked them up. “can i borrow these?”

bradley looked at what you were referring to, almost laughing when he saw his spare glasses in your hand.

“go ahead, sugar, i won’t need ‘em.”

putting the sunglasses on, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach that flew around with the pet name.

the hard deck came into view, looking busy already. it was so loud - you could practically hear the music playing from the jukebox all the way out here.

“takes you back, huh?” you asked.

“that it does,” bradley pulled into a parking spot. “feels like yesterday we were here last.”

“wrong,” you undid your seatbelt. “yesterday we were in a five star villa in bali.”

opening the car door, you stepped onto the concrete, your heels clicking against the ground. why did you wear these again? good god, it would be a long night. bradley joined you, walking towards the front door of the bar. it was so loud now - it was like you were already inside.

he pulled the door open, letting you in first. fireworks exploded all over your body as his hand moved around your waist, letting him manoeuvre himself to be standing next to you. you let him take the lead to where the rest of your team appeared to be, and you watched him walk - his swagger that was just so fucking hot almost making you forget you were stood completely still.

most of the faces you recognised - actually, you recognised all of them. pheonix, hangman, fanboy and payback we’re speaking to bradley, and someone you had recently been introduced to was the first person to notice you.

“rainfall! hey, how’s it going?” bob smiled at you, the other people snapping their heads to look at you as well.

“yeah, alright, how’re you?” you answered, him nodding a reply.

“wow,” hangman spoke first. “both rooster and rainfall arrive late, not in uniform? been busy, you two?”

“about as busy as your mum, hangman.” you retorted, those around you letting out a surprised laugh.

“that’s not the most important question,” pheonix tilted her head. “what the hell is this? what can they possibly be trying do here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, prompting her to go on; “well, we’re the best there is. who the hell can teach us?”

the question took you by surprise - but it wasn’t irrelevant. the only briefing you had was this was a training program for an intense mission, and only those who had came top of the top gun class would be accepted, so, pheonix was thinking right. who could possible teach the best pilots out there?

a bell rang throughout the bar, interrupting your thoughts. everyone cheered, knowing exactly what the bell meant.

“poor guy,” rooster mumbled. “i’m going to the restroom, get me a drink?”

you nodded, walking over to the bar.

he wasn’t recognisable at first - he looked so different. but it was the eyes that gave it away, he was still young behind the eyes.

“it’s you, then.” you mumbled, taking the empty spot next to him at the bar.

maverick looked at you, realisation hitting when he clocked who you were. “nice to meet you, rainfall. i’ve heard lost about you.”

“so have i.” looking at him, he wasn’t the man you had built up in your head. he looked nicer.

sighing, maverick nodded slowly. “i thought that’s who you came in with.”

“he won’t want you to teach him, you know that, right? you… you ruined his life, maverick. his mum’s, too.” you said, although you knew it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times already.

“yep,” maverick clicked his tongue. “i thought that would be an issue.”

“he hates you.”

“i know.”

bradley might have hated maverick, but you didn’t. sure, he was an arrogant ass from what you had heard and he destroyed your best friends family, but you personally had nothing against him.

penny walked over to you, interrupting your conversation with her greetings.

“wow, y/n, you’re here too? damn, what a mission.”

“hey, pen,” you smiled. “i know, i know.”

she raised her eyebrows. “must be serious, huh?”

you raised your hands in defence. “i have absolutely no idea what this mission’s about, swear.”

humming in response, she changed the subject; “what’re you for?”

“uhh, a blue WKD for me and the house beer for brad.”

she nodded, looking at the man next to you. “he’s paying, by the way.”

you almost laughed, turning to maverick. “unlucky son of a bitch. you better take a loan out, maverick.”

“how was i meant to know the rules, huh? i’ve not been here in god knows how long.” he grumbled.

both you and penny chuckled as she served your drinks, taking one in each hand and moving away from the bar, you turned to look at maverick again.

“mav,” you called, and he looked around. “good luck.”

he smiled, nodding. you would admit it would be hard work for him, and it must be difficult to teach the boy who’s father you watched die. but then again, he could have declined the job.

spotting bradley, you walked over to him and handed him the glass of beer. he thanked you, face contorting in disgust as you noticed what you were drinking.

“i don’t know how you stomach that stuff, sugar, it’s all sweetener.”

“says the man who threw up after three of them. they’re only like, three percent as well.”

bradley narrowed his eyes. “all sweetener.”

laughing, you walked with him to join the rest of the group. your feet already began to ache with every step you took, straps digging into your ankle. god - it would be a long night.

if you were counting how many drinks deep you were, you’d have used up all your fingers. you’d been here for a few hours, at least, the sun was almost setting now.

you could see it from the small window in the bathroom, the blur effect on the window turning the sunset into just colour. you didn’t need to pee or anything, just a minute. it was a fair assumption to say you were an extrovert, and loved to be around people, but the noise of the crowd in the bar had become slightly too loud, especially as maverick had just been thrown overboard.

the sound of a piano playing came muffled through the door, followed by a familiar singing voice. it made you smile; hearing bradley drunkenly scream out ‘great balls of fire’.

washing your hands and quickly drying them, you walked back out of the bathroom and into the crowd, thanking the girl who had been holding your drink for you. you walked towards the piano, seeing bradley completely in his element.

“kiss me baby, ooh! that feels good, good!” he sang, everyone joining in.

leaning against the piano, you joined in, the lyrics coming as a second language, this song was practically indented into your brain.

as you sang, you watched bradley’s hands hit every note perfectly, his fingers tracing the keys with a gentle-harshness, something that just about set you off. a man who was good with his fingers? lord have mercy.

he looked at you, as if on cue, smiling as you sang out the words. bradley took a spilt second to remove his hands from the keys, gesturing to his lap.

you tilted your head. he can’t be serious, can he?

“sit!” he called, hands going back to playing the instrumental section.

maybe it was the drinks you’d had, influencing your system. but it took you the whole of two seconds to decide to follow his order, slipping under his arm and placing yourself down on his lap. people around you whooped, especially the ones in your team. had this happened before? you couldn’t remember through the tipsy-horny-lovesick haze that had clouded your vision.

bradley’s leg bounced, making you laughing against his chest. when he started singing, you joined in with him, your voice coming out as more of a tuned shout compared to bradley’s angelic singing voice.

“kiss me baby,” you looked up at him. that second you made eye contact - that whole second - felt like an eternity. it felt like no one was watching, thay for once the love that remained behind your eyes finally appeared behind his, too.

or maybe that was the vodka shots talking.

“ooh! that feels good, good,” he sang.

you looked away, staring at his hands once again while you sang the words. if you had kept staring, you would have seen the way he looked at you while he sang; “i’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

if you had seen that, you probably would have melted on the spot.

the song came to an end, everyone cheering for bradley’s fantastic piano performance, yourself included. you fell against his chest, laughing like a schoolgirl. he laughed too, taking his hands off of the keys to embrace you.

was this normal for best friends, you wondered? did everyone do this when they were drunk? the answer: wait and find out.

“i’m gonna get a drink,” you smiled at him, finally standing up.

“alright, darlin’, get me a beer?”

“god,” you feigned annoyance. “one day you’ll pay for your own beers, bradley bradshaw.”

you walked away before you heard his mumbled comeback; “yeah, our wedding day.” but, even if you hadn’t walked away, what would you have done?

walking to the bar, you leaned against it, ordering with penny for the god-knows-how-many-th time that night.

“thanks,” you smiled.

“is that a tan line i see?” penny asked, pouring out a beer.

“yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “i was in bali with brad, was supposed to be there until next week.”

“oh,” she sat down one of the glasses. “but you got called up?”

nodded, you took a drink of bradley’s beer, instantly regretting it. “fuckin’ hate the navy sometimes.”

penny stopped in her tracks. “oh, y/n, did i just hear what i think i did?”

your eyes widened. “no, penny, please, i’m seriously broke right now, i’m begging-”

the bell ringing cut you off. hanging your head, you felt multiple people clap your back.

“oh, no, what do we have here?” bradley appeared at your side, laughing.

“this one,” penny giggled. “was insulting the navy.”

bradley exaggerated a gasp, putting his hands over his mouth. “no!”

“yep!”

“tut, tut, tut, lieutenant l/n!” he joked.

you raised your middle finger in response.

“honestly, rooster,” penny was half way away, walking to serve another customer. “get your girlfriend under control!”

the heat rose to your cheeks, head snapping up. luckily for you, you were ninety-nine percent sure that bradley didn’t hear her, but when you were sober, you’d have to tell her off about almost spilling your decade long secret.

“my god, brad,” you walked away from the bar. “i’m gonna be so broke tomorrow.”

he giggled, a sound your drunk mind would have registered as the trumpets of heaven, the best music in the world - every lovely sound put together. god, how in love were you?

“come on, rainfall,” bradley led you to the table the group were all sat at. “the night is young!”

there’s a saying, if you had a dollar for every time this happened, you’d be rich. well, if you had a dollar for every time you’d gotten blackout drunk the day before the first day of training and had to get up at the crack of dawn, you’d have slightly too many dollars. every time, every single time.

as you sat, shoulders straight and hair tied ever so slightly too tight, the commander speaking about something you weren’t properly listening to - the thought of about seventy aspirin was popping into your mind, almost soothing your headache with the sheer thought of it.

footsteps came from behind you, but you didn’t turn around. you knew who it was. instead, you looked at bradley, who was sat in the chair next to you.

as his eyes fell on maverick, you noticed the way his whole smug demeanour fell - for just a moment. you then noticed how he put those walls straight back up, clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. he cleared his throat, making eye contact with you and raising his eyebrows.

looking away, maverick started speaking.

you must have been truly hungover, because from the second maverick opened his mouth to right now felt like it went by in a blink - you couldn’t tell if you had dissociated the entire time or if you weren’t interested enough to actually pay attention.

zipping up your flight suit, you smiled to yourself. this was your first training exercise for what seemed to be an impossible mission. getting in and out of a thin passage within a minute and a half seemed unrealistic, but compared with the insanely low hard deck and the pull up? you’d be lucky if you made it out alive.

a few planes were already in the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, helmet in hand. looking to your right, you saw two planes, to your left; pheonix and bob doing push-ups.

the exercise was simple; don’t get caught. if you do, you have to do two hundred press ups.

you had almost laughed when maverick set the exercise, how insanely easy it sounded. unfortunately for maverick, he had never flown with you before - he hadn’t quite learnt the meaning of your call sign.

radio chatter sounded from your headset as you climbed into your plane, spotting bradley on the tarmac as well. everyone had insisted you two went last - the top two of the class. even hangman bit back his ego for two seconds to admit that you had finished top of the class, so you should go last.

that’s right, you came top of your class. one of the best pilots of the last decade, apparently. it had earned you quite a reputation, pilots almost always recognising you wherever you went. you were some kind of a legend.

buckling yourself in and triple checking your belts were secure, you pulled your helmet over your head, and your ears were filled with radio chatter. bradley got into the plane next to you, doing the same thing.

“when are we ready to take off, mav?” you asked, closing the top of your plane.

“any time now, rainfall.” he replied.

it was a feeling you always craved, taking off. as a little girl, you used to love going on holiday, just because when the plane would take off and your stomach would turn, it made you smile. from that moment, and from the moment you saw the pilots in all the different documentaries, you knew you wanted to fly planes.

just in a little more extreme way. a way, way more extreme way.

gaining speed, you clicked the needed buttons and flipped the right switches in order to take off, and the tarmac got smaller and smaller as you flew higher into the sky. hearing bradley take off a few moments later, you knew the game was about to begin.

you knew this would be personal for bradley - getting beaten by maverick. anything maverick did to him, it would be personal. you prayed he would be able to separate the pilot from the person, just for a minute.

“good morning aviators,” maverick spoke. “ready to play?”

“oh you are on,” you smiled, still gaining height. “old man.”

bradley laughed over the radio, making you smile even wider.

“for everyone listening over the radio,” you spoke. “get ready to listen to the best flight of your life.”

down on the ground, the rest of the team laughed.

“ready?” maverick asked. “three, two, one… the game has begun.”

you understood the purpose of this exercise - dogfighting. to watch out for yourself while attacking at the same time. playing both offence and defence.

seeing bradley slip into your peripheral, you looked around for the other plane. still gaining height, you hoped to god that your technique would stay reliable.

everything felt like a blur - you were flying so fast, so high, nothing felt real. keeping your eye out for maverick, you swerved through the clouds.

“all alright, rooster?” you hated calling him by his call sign. if felt so… impersonal, weird.

“all good here, rainfall. you?”

you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see it. “no sign of him.”

looking down, you could see bradley underneath you and to the right. he wouldn’t even notice you, if he hadn’t learnt to always look up.

“oh hello, you,” he said, the smugness seeping through the radio.

“hello, rooster.” you smiled.

as you stared down at him, a second plane came into view, far enough away that bradley wouldn’t notice him.

“rooster, on your left!” you called, swerving away as soon as you said it.

“shit,” he mumbled, and you could see him fly away.

“language, folks, come on.” maverick laughed.

“alright grandpa.” you joked back.

looking below you, you could barely see the two planes dogfighting, but from the small glimpse you got, it wasn’t looking great for bradley. maverick was too fast.

“hurry up, rooster,” you spoke your mind. “he’s faster than you.”

“yeah, thanks for that observation.” he grumbled back.

“cheeky.”

from your point of view, the dogfighting was getting even more intense, bradley constantly being tailed by maverick. you hoped once again, that bradley didn’t take this too seriously.

a dial tone broke your thought.

“and rooster, you are out.” maverick spoke over the radio, making you sigh.

“fuck you.”

and there it was; all of your proof that bradley had taken it personally. fuck, this would be a hard one to calm him down from.

“ready to fight, rainfall?” maverick said, and you could almost see his smirk.

pushing everything else in your mind to the side, you let the calm, slightly arrogant side of you take control.

“do you know why my call sign is rainfall?” you asked, already spotting maverick below you.

“i suppose you’re going to enlighten me?”

you let a beat of silence pass, making sure you were in the right position. it was obvious maverick was looking for you, but you were at least fifty feet above him, slightly in front of him. why did no one ever look up?

“or not?” maverick added.

“because,” you paused, gripping your gearstick a little tighter. “rain always comes from above, and you don’t see it until it’s on you.”

with those words, you descended with absolutely no warning. as you came closer to maverick, he seemed obviously surprised, fumbling for a moment to move out of the way so you didn’t fall straight into him.

“jesus, kid,” he mumbled.

“did you know that i came top of my class?” you pulled back up without hesitation, g-force pushing you back ever so slightly.

“yeah, i read it somewhere,” maverick was flying parallel to you. “i wasn’t too of my class.”

“oh, i know,” you somehow managed to keep your tone casual. “iceman, right?”

maverick hummed over the radio, obviously too focused on getting you out.

but your technique was working perfectly. descend on them, climb up, and when the least expect it….

pulling away, you circled around maverick, seeing the outline of a target appear in your helmet. he hadn’t even realised what you had done.

a dial tone sounded through the radio silence, everyone on land holding their breath - even bradley.

“you,” a voice cut through the radio. “are out. good game, maverick.”

the people on ground cheered almost loud enough for you to hear all the way up in the air.

“what the hell?” maverick was in disbelief. “what?”

“i’ll see you on ground, mav.”

the sun was already setting by the time maverick had finished his press ups. he must not have taken in personally, offering to buy you a drink for how well you had flown.

but you didn’t want a drink, you were too concerned with other things. it had been hours since the training had ended, and bradley was still outside, doing press ups.

you walked onto the tarmac, out of your flight suit and in casual clothes, the figure of bradley noticeable - everything still apart from him.

he was shaking, sweating, almost sunburnt. the most noticeable thing was his red eyes, they were so red you thought he must have burst a blood vessel.

“bradley?” you called, getting closer to him. he didn’t answer.

walking right next to where he was, you sat down. sat, right on the hot tarmac - it heated up your legs. “bradley, please,” you called again.

this wasn’t new - for him to do exercise until he just about burst. some people punch walls, some people drink - bradley worked out. maybe it was just as unhealthy as every other coping mechanism.

his arms were so shaky, he almost couldn’t even keep himself up right. you wanted right then and there to take him into your arms, let him cry his heart out and tell him that one day - one day in the future - it will get easier.

as if he could hear your thoughts, he stopped. collapsed onto the ground, arms finally giving in. you could hear him, choking out sobs between breaths - it just about broke your heart.

“come here,” your fingers brushed his arm, and it was like he just needed the instruction to do so, because he moved into your arms and clung onto your shirt, just like a baby.

you didn’t care where you were. no one was looking, anyway. everyone went home or went elsewhere hours ago, you and bradley were most likely the only two people left there.

“what is it?” you cooed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“he- my dad, he- maverick-” and that was all he had to stutter out for you to understand.

“i know, i know,” you bent over him, almost encasing him in your body. kissing his head, you repeated the phrase over and over again.

it was in that moment that for the second time in twenty four hours you thought to yourself - is this normal for best friends to do? it is, right? like, you would do it for any of your other friends?or maybe that’s what you liked to tell yoursef to deny the simple fact;

you were in love with bradley bradshaw, your best friend.

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cosmicanakin · 5 months

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morning muse.

pairing. vinnie hacker x female reader.

outline. you wake before vinnie one morning, deciding you want to photograph his adorable sleepy form with your new polaroid camera he gifted you, resulting in lazy morning cuddles and kisses.

contains. fluff, kissing, & cuddling.

authors note. my drafts are full of half-finished wips. oops. i'll try my best to get them out soon! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

warm morning light filters through the window as you start to stir from sleep. blinking awake, you take in vinnie’s still-dozing form next to you, chest rising and falling steadily. a lazy smile tugs at your lips as memories of christmas day surface - exchanging gifts by the tree, vinnie presenting you with the vintage polaroid camera you’d been eyeing for months.

your fingers itch to try it out as you take in vinnie’s handsome, relaxed features. his curls falls gently over his eyes, lashes fluttering lightly in dreams. you just have to capture this moment.

carefully slipping out of the bed so as not to disturb him, you retrieve the camera from your dresser. climbing back onto the mattress, you slowly straddle vinnie’s lap, holding the camera up to frame the shot. but as you go to press the button, vinnie stirs from underneath you with a sleepy hum.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you greet him softly, brushing his hair back tenderly. vinnie blinks up at you, taking a moment to focus before smiling drowsily. “morning, baby. what’re you up to?” he rumbles, voice husky from sleep. you lift the camera briefly.

“just wanna get some shots of you while you’re all cozy. is that okay?” you ask sweetly. vinnie chuckles, stretching below you like a contented cat. “you sure know how to wake a guy up. go ahead, beautiful, do your thing.”

grinning, you angle the camera down to capture your view—vinnie gazing up at you adoringly with sleepy eyes and bedhead, arms folded casually behind his head. when it prints, vinnie peeks at the square photo emerging.

“not bad for a first shot,” he notes appreciatively. thrilled, you take a few more pictures from above; vinnie flashing lazy smiles and smug smirks, winking playfully in one. after the third print develops, you line them up on the nightstand with care.

“thank you for being my early morning muse, babe,” you coo, planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. vinnie hums contentedly, large hands drifting up your bare thighs.

“no problem at all. i think i deserve some morning cuddles now though,” he rumbles cheekily, strong arms wrapping around your waist to flip your positions. vinnie cages you below him, nuzzling your neck. sighing happily, you thread fingers through his messy curls as he trails kisses along your collarbones.

“thank you again for the camera, vinnie. i love it,” you murmur gratefully. vinnie lifts his head, dark eyes glittering warmly. “only the best for my girl. i’m glad you’re getting use out of it already. feel free to photograph me whenever you please,” he teases playfully.

you laugh softly, tracing his defined jaw. “oh i plan to document all your cuddly, sleepy phases. might have to start an album,” you muse. vinnie pretends to groan, burying his face back in your neck. “i think i’ve created a monster,” he mumbles into your skin, making you giggle.

arching into his body heat, you exhaled sharply. “your handy work. now do these morning cuddles include kissing?” you inquire jokingly. vinnie chuckles, hovering over you with a playful smirk. “well, i suppose i could spare some kisses for my favorite girl,” he drawls, dipping in to capture your lips warmly.

you hum happily into the tender kiss, hands sliding up vinnie’s bare back. he holds your face gently between his large palms, slowly deepening the embrace with quiet reverence. you lose track of time drifting peacefully in vinnie’s arms, exchanging sweet caresses and kisses under the golden morning light.

when you finally break for air, vinnie gazes down at you with so much adoration it takes your breath away. brushing back your tousled hair, he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. “i love you so much, baby. thanks for starting my day off right,” he murmurs against your skin.

beaming, you squeeze vinnie tightly against you. “i love you too, babe. thanks for making every morning with you a gift.” he smiles lovingly, pulling the blankets up cocoon-style to envelope you both protectively. your polaroid camera sits on the nightstand, ready to continue documenting all your cozy mornings together. and with vinnie’s strong, comforting embrace all around you, you drift back to a peaceful doze with eyes full of promise for sweet tomorrows yet to come.

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sas-soulwriter · 8 months

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Research Tips for Writing Your Book

Are you diving into the exciting world of writing and researching for your book project? Here's what you need to know to make your research journey a success:

Define Your Purpose: Before diving into research, have a clear understanding of your book's purpose and goals. Know the themes you want to explore and the message you wish to convey. This will give your research a focused direction.

Create a Research Plan: Outline the specific areas you need to research, set milestones, and establish deadlines. A well-structured research plan keeps you on track and helps you manage your time efficiently.

Use Multiple Sources: Diversify your sources. Books, academic papers, interviews, and digital resources each offer unique perspectives and insights. This diversity enriches your understanding and adds depth to your writing.

Organize Your Notes: Keep your research notes well-organized. Consider using digital tools like note-taking apps or physical notebooks with labeled sections for different topics. Efficient organization will save you time and effort later.

Fact-Check: Ensure the accuracy of your research. Verify any details that are crucial to your story or argument. Misinformation can erode your credibility and disrupt the reader's immersion.

Cite Sources Properly: Keep meticulous records of your sources and be diligent about citations. Use a recognized citation style (e.g., APA, MLA, Chicago) to give credit to the authors and avoid plagiarism.

Interview Experts: Reach out to experts or people with firsthand knowledge relevant to your topic. Interviews can provide you with valuable insights, real-life experiences, and unique anecdotes to enhance your book.

Visit Relevant Places: If your book is set in a particular location, consider visiting it if possible. Experiencing the environment firsthand can help you capture its atmosphere, culture, and nuances more authentically.

Take Breaks: Research can be mentally taxing. Don't forget to take breaks to recharge and maintain a fresh perspective. Stepping away from your work can also lead to new insights and ideas.

Stay Open-Minded: Be open to unexpected discoveries during your research. Sometimes, the most profound insights come from unrelated sources or tangential information that you stumble upon while researching.

Keep a Journal: Maintain a research journal where you can jot down notes, ideas, and thoughts as they occur. This journal can serve as a valuable resource when you're writing your book.

Join Writing Communities: Connect with other writers in person or online. They can offer guidance, share their experiences, and provide emotional support when you face challenges during the research and writing process.

Revise and Refine: Don't think of research as a one-time activity. Continuously revisit and refine your research as your book evolves. New ideas or directions may emerge, and you may need to adjust your research accordingly.

Respect Copyright Laws: Understand the copyright laws applicable to your research. Ensure you have the rights to use specific materials, especially if you plan to incorporate them into your book. Obtaining permissions or licensing may be necessary.

Balance Research and Writing: While research is crucial, there comes a point where you must transition from research to writing. Avoid getting stuck in a perpetual research phase. Once you have enough information to start, begin writing and integrate research as needed in your work.

Remember that your research phase is an integral part of the creative process. It's where the foundation of your book is built, and it can be a fascinating journey in itself.But keep in mind, as you're writing your first draft, you can never know everything, never research everything. A second opinion is always good, and for that, you can ask friends, family, or even me on this blog.

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cripplecharacters · 24 days

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Complex Dissociative Disorders Terminology: A Basic Primer

[Large text: DID Terminology: A Basic Primer]

Here are some common terms you may see when researching complex dissociative disorders!

Basic Terms

[Large Text: Basic Terms]

Dissociation - An internal feeling of disconnect between one's body, history, thoughts, emotions, memories, acts, and/or environment. Not everyone who experiences dissociation has a dissociative disorder. Dissociation is a common coping mechanism in times of stress.

Alter - A dissociated part of a personality that failed to integrate into the self due to trauma. These parts may have their own age, gender, needs, wants, sexuality, species, memories, actions, urges, opinions, skills, abilities, etc.

Fragment - An alter who is not fully “fleshed out” or differentiated. They may have a single function, emotion, or memory.

System - The entire collection of alters in one body

Front - The alter who is “in front” or “fronting” is aware of the outside world, and controlling the body.

Switch - “to switch” is to change what alter is fronting (controlling the body). This can be slow or fast, planned or unplanned, accidental or intentionality.

Co-consciousness (co-con) - When two or more alters are aware of the outside world they are co-conscious.

Passive Influence - When an alter who is not currently fronting affects the fronting alter. This can be in the form of memories, thoughts, emotions, desires, preferences, actions, etc.

Splitting - To split is to create a new alter

Amnesia - partial or complete loss of memory (not exclusive to CDD)

Disorders

[Large text: Disorders]

Complex Dissociative Disorder (CDD) - An umbrella term for all dissociative disorders that cause systems. This list includes Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), Other Specified Dissociative Disorder Type 1 (OSDD-1), Unspecified Dissociative Disorder (UDD), and Partial Dissociative Identity Disorder (P-DID).

Dissociative Disorder - To quote https://did-research.org/ “a disorder characterized by a separation of consciousness from emotion, sensation, memory, personal history, sense of self, or sense of reality.”

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) - DID is characterised by two or more dissociative self-states "Alters" that are linked to some degree of amnesia and are capable of assuming executive control.

Other Specified Dissociative Disorder Type 1 (OSDD-1) - OSDD-1 is a disorder that is very similar to DID but lacks fully differentiated selves (type 1a) or amnesia (type 1b). OSDD in general is a category of dissociative disorders that while not fitting the criteria for any other dissociative disorder, can still be specified.

Unspecified Dissociative Disorder (UDD) - A category of disorders that can not be labeled, or are unable to be fully understood. This diagnosis is most often applied in crises or emergencies.

Partial Dissociative Identity Disorder (P-DID) - As outlined by the International Classification of Diseases is a condition similar to DID where “One personality state is dominant and normally functions in daily life, but is intruded upon by one or more non-dominant personality states (dissociative intrusions).” Essentially one alter is always in front, but they regularly experience passive influence or co-consciousness.

Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) - This is a former term for DID. The name was changed because DID is not a personality disorder, it’s a dissociative disorder. Many people today find this term insensitive, outdated, and offensive, although some systems may choose to self-identify with the term.

The Theory of Structural Dissociation (TOSD)

[Large Text: The Theory of Structural Dissociation (TOSD)]

This is the current understanding of how dissociative disorders as well as other disorders caused by trauma are formed and function. To quote https://did-research.org/ “this theory centers around an inability to integrate traumatic memories and materials into one’s primary personality, sense of self, and self history that results in an overall inability to integrate parts.”

To learn more about anything referenced above I would recommend checking out https://did-research.org/

Thanks, Mod Patch

#mod patch #long post #cdd representation

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year

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Moves & Countermoves (Part 15)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Warning: depictions of labor/childbirth and violence/death.

“Y/N,” Effie all but accosts the woman emerging from the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N frowns, bewildered by Effie’s urgency.

She is in tears, “it’s Cinna.”

“What happened to Cinna?”

“He’s…he’s dead.”

Again the floor is falling out from beneath her, sinking, never ending. “How?”

“I don’t know, dear.” Effie breathes, it’s all being kept hush.

“I have to-” Haymitch left before Y/N, allowing her to rest. Her eyes are still swollen from the tears, no amount of sleep or makeup will hide it. “Haymitch is waiting for me.” Does he know?

“Of course,” Effie nods, excusing herself.

Y/N moves for the elevator, jamming the call button repeatedly with her finger. It dings upon arrival, moving at a snail’s pace to the ground floor.

The outdoor viewing area is open today. As if nice weather is reason enough for a picnic, while tributes slaughter each other on screen.

Chaff is still alive; hiding, waiting it out.

The current threat is monkey mutts, blood rain and the giant tidal wave; that sends Peeta and Katniss’ alliance to meet up with Johanna, Wiress and Beetee on the beach.

“Johanna?” Finnick spots her first, covered in blood from head to toe. “Johanna.”

“Finnick!”

“Looks like we have more allies,” Peeta remarks.

Y/N finds her husband, near the far wall of the indoor viewing area. He’s easier to spot in a crowd after all these years, the width of his shoulders, the color of his hair.

“Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” He is tired, worn down and unfortunately, the only news she has to share does nothing to help.

“Cinna’s dead.” Y/N whispers, plopping down in the seat beside him.

“Blight hit the forcefield, died on impact. Female morphling sacrificed herself to save Peeta.” Haymitch adds to the death toll.

“Do you think he lied? Plutarch.” That’s what gamemakers do. They lie to get in your head.

“His plan is to get Katniss out. I don’t think he lied about that.” If they keep this alliance going long enough-

“What about Peeta?” What about everyone else?

Can’t protect anyone in an arena. “He’ll be with Katniss.”

“Tick tock,” Wiress says, for what must be the hundredth time. Grabbing Johanna by the forearms to spin her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Katniss asks.

“She’s in shock, dehydration isn’t helping.” Beetee tells Katniss.

“I’ll get her some water.” Gloss takes the spile into the tree line. His back is torn up pretty good from the mutts.

“Tick tock.”

Katniss leads Wiress out into the water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Johanna follows, while Beetee stays closer to shore, winding something on a spool.

“What’s Beetee got there?” Katniss wonders.

“Some kind of coil.” Johanna picks pieces of debris from her axe.

“Did he get it from the cornucopia?”

“Took a knife in the back to get it.”

“Tick tock.” Wiress gasps.

“I can’t,” Johanna holds up a hand in defeat. “Have fun with nuts.”

“Tick tock,” Katniss repeats, though it makes little sense to her. Allowing the water to wash away any blood clinging to Wiress’ hair.

Y/N looks to Haymitch, “tick tock?”

He lifts a shoulder, hell if I know.

Lightening strikes the large tree, at the far end of the arena, twelve times. Almost like- “a clock.” Y/N mutters under her breath, “chimes on a clock.”

“Twelve sections.” Haymitch realizes, “everything stays in its own…the forcefields in between.”

“Oh,” Wiress bobs up from the water. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” Katniss says again, “it’s a clock. Wiress, you’re a genius.”

————————————————————————

With this new knowledge, the alliance heads back to the cornucopia.

“It all starts with the lightening. Then the blood rain, fog and monkeys, that’s the first four hours. At ten, that big wave hits from over there.” Katniss pauses to watch Peeta sketch a crude outline of the arena, with his sword.

“The tail points at twelve,” Peeta adds.

“That’s where the lighting strikes, at noon and midnight.”

“Strikes where?” Beetee asks.

“That big tree.”

Beetee cocks his head to the side, “good.”

“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock,” Wiress is singing softly to herself, beside the water.

Gloss takes a seat beside her to keep watch, smiling kindly. He doesn’t know this song.

“What about the other hours, did you guys see anything?” Cashmere asks Johanna and Beetee, hoping to fill in the other six wedges.

“Nothing but blood.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Peeta moves to stand, “as long as we steer clear of whatever sector’s active, we’ll be safe.”

“Yeah,” Finnick chimes in, “relatively speaking.”

Wiress gasps in surprise, drawing their attention.

Brutus is there with his sword buried in Gloss’ sternum. He had shielded Wiress with his own body. Gloss tumbles into the water. Cannon.

Leaving Wiress dead by Enobaria’s hand. Cannon.

Katniss draws her bow, the other victors now on defense.

Cashmere is lost in a fit of rage, knocking Brutus from the rocks.

The archer lands an arrow in Enobaria’s left arm, the career diving back into the water.

Haymitch scrubs a hand over his face. No time to digest the news as the entire cornucopia begins to spin. What the hell are you doing, Plutarch?

Johanna keeps hold of Katniss for as long as she can, but she is eventually lost to the whirling water.

She’ll drown. Y/N gnaws at the inside of her cheek. She’ll drown while I’m sitting here and all I can do is watch.

The spinning stops, the same way it started; suddenly and without cause. Eventually Katniss is able to kick to the surface, the viewing room cheers.

“Let’s just get what we need and get off the bloody island.” Johanna scowls, patting at Katniss’ back while she hacks up water from her lungs.

————————————————————————

“Besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asks, sifting sand between her fingers.

They are back on the beach now.

“Maybe Chaff,” Peeta offers, “just those three.”

“They know they’re outnumbered, I doubt they’ll attack again.” Finnick reasons, “we’re safe here, on the beach.”

Cashmere hasn’t said a word…not since Gloss.

“So what, we hunt them down?”

“Katniss!” Prim’s howl ends the conversation prematurely. “Katniss, help me!”

“Prim!” Katniss takes off; without back up, or logical thought. Prim is in danger and she needs to save her.

“Katniss, wait.” Peeta chases after her, his leg becoming more irritated with every step. Still he presses on, ignoring it as best he can.

The bird carrying Prim’s scream is shot dead. Jabberjays.

Finnick is the fastest, joining Katniss in the clearing. “Katniss, are you ok?”

“Finnick! Ahhhh!” Annie’s voice draws him deeper into the forest.

“Annie! Annie, where are you?”

Peeta pounds his fist uselessly against the forcefield. They can’t hear him, he can’t hear them.

Katniss and Finnick run back towards the beach, only to realize that they are trapped. Birds wailing all around them. Katniss sees Peeta before she collides with the forcefield.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. They’re just mutts, they’re not real.” Peeta yells, hoping Katniss can make out the words.

She screams, covering her ears, crumpling to the ground. Peeta follows; touching his forehead to the forcefield. They wait for the hour to pass.

Y/N’s lower back is taut, spasming and releasing, stealing the air from her lungs.

Haymitch notices the uncomfortable shifting beside him. “You ok?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her own voice.

Haymitch begins thumbing circles along her spine.

————————————————————————

Word comes from Plutarch, the extraction is happening tonight. A hovercraft commandeered by district thirteen will arrive shortly and they will go. Collecting the remaining victors, under the guise of death.

Beetee’s plan is a good one, it will cause enough of a distraction. Using his wire to conduct electricity from the lighting strike at midnight.

“How do we know the wire’s not gonna burn up?” Johanna demands, leaning heavily against a tree branch.

“Because I invented it,” Beetee looks up at her. “I assure you, it won’t burn up.”

Cashmere stares out at the water. The hovercraft never came to collect Gloss’ body. Did the cornucopia tear it up? Or do they just not care enough to recover it?

Finnick returns to the sea, waiting out the sunset.

Katniss and Peeta find solace in each other, the way they always have.

“I think we need to go.”

“This plan’s gonna work,” Peeta disagrees.

“I think so too,” Katniss whispers. “Once the careers are dead, we all know what happens next. I don’t wanna be the one that shoots first.”

“What if they don’t either? What if all of us refuse to shoot first?”

The gamemakers will send mutts, or perhaps gun them down if they’re feeling impatient. “We might still end up dead.”

“Maybe not,” Peeta lifts a shoulder, “I mean it worked for us last time.”

“They’re not gonna make that mistake again. We both know there’s only one person walking out of here and it’s gonna be one of us.”

“The careers are still out there. I say we stick with these guys till midnight, and if we hear a cannon, we go.”

Katniss nods in agreement.

“Katniss, I don’t know what kind of deals you made with Haymitch, but he made me promises too.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, kid.�� Haymitch raises his glass to Peeta before chugging it down.

Y/N just shakes her head. For a man who claims he doesn’t love those kids, he sure does make a lot of deals. With them, for them, doing his damnedest to keep them alive.

When the star crossed lovers kiss, there is no denying it’s real. Katniss loves Peeta, Peeta loves her. Finally she understands, what Y/N had been trying to tell her, that day on the train. Peeta is that person; her best friend, her partner, the one who waits.

“Alright, lovebirds.” Johanna calls them back.

What’s left of the alliance heads to the lighting tree.

————————————————————————-

“You two girls go together now.” Beetee hands Katniss and Johanna the wire. “Unspool it carefully, make sure the entire wire is in the water. Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector, we’ll meet you there.”

“I’m gonna go with them as a guard.” Peeta insists.

“No,” Beetee’s head snaps toward him. “You’re staying here to protect me…and the tree.”

“No, I need to go with her.” Peeta is not backing down.

“They’re trying to separate them.” Madge realizes, pulling the throw pillow into her lap. The children and her mother are asleep, leaving only her and her father on the couch.

Y/N’s family set up camp in Victor’s Village, providing Everest and Arista some normalcy. In their own house, in their own beds. They are often found in their parent’s room, clinging to pieces they left behind.

“I’m sure there’s a reason.” The mayor shoots his daughter a reassuring smile.

They rarely watch the games together, not since she was a child. Under different circumstances Madge might think their time spent together was nice.

Katniss leaves with Johanna. Staring back at Peeta until the darkness swallows his silhouette.

A few feet later Katniss feels a bit of resistance from the line, tugging lightly. Must be stuck on a rock. “It’s caught on something.”

Brutus cuts the wire, sending the loose end flying back toward Katniss.

Johanna turns on her then, slicing a gash in Katniss’ arm and smearing the blood across her neck. “Stay down.” She tosses her axe at the careers and darts off into the woods.

Katniss pushes herself upright once their footsteps are out of earshot. “Peeta.”

“Johanna,” Finnick comes to check on his friend, after the commotion.

Katniss remains silent, allowing him to pass her by. Gathering her bow, she heads back to the tree.

Cashmere is missing and Peeta is gone. Leaving only Beetee; unconscious and twitching after an ill fated tryst with the conductor.

His spear harbors the evidence, wire still wrapped around it’s blade.

A cannon sounds, symbolizing Chaff’s death.

“Peeta!” Katniss screams.

Finnick sprints back toward the sound, “Katniss, where are you?”

She draws her bow, aimed at Finnick as he returns.

“Remember who the real enemy is.”

Just like Haymitch said…

The artificial storm cloud looms above them, and Katniss knows what must be done. There is only one shot at this, one way it ends.

“Katniss, get away from that tree,” Finnick warns.

She does not heed it, preparing for her final act. Twisting the wire around her arrow, a single shot toward the bolt of lightning. Her body is sent flying when it collides.

The screen goes black, Madge’s mouth agape. Nothing like this has ever happened. What will happen? What will Snow do?

She doesn’t have long to agonize over the prospect before the old communication system hums to life. Static cracking through the speaker. A jumble of nonsense and then a voice, her voice. Madge would know it anywhere.

“Into the woods-”

“Y/N,” Mayor Undersee nearly trips in his haste to reach the receiver. “Sweetheart, are you there?”

“District twelve…” the line crackles, “into the woods.” Then she is gone.

They aren’t able to revive the signal.

“We have to move.” Madge understands.

“She wasn’t making any sense.” Her father argues. “It might be safer if we stay-”

“Y/N is stuck in the Capitol, that may be the last message she ever sends and she sent it here. To you, to me. So we have a chance.”

He squares his jaw, struggling to accept this news. Not because he thinks his daughter is wrong…because he knows that she is right.

“I’m gonna warn the Everdeens and then I’m taking Everest and Arista into the woods where it’s safe. Pounding on doors and screaming, all the way, for our people to follow.”

“Get the kids ready to move, I’ll get your mother.”

“Thank you.” Madge says, chest heaving as she turns on her heels. Waking the children, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Her parents are waiting at the door, with Gale and Katniss’ family.

“How long do we have?” Gale asks, Primrose and Miss Everdeen tucked away behind him.

“Hovercrafts could be here in an hour, maybe two.” The mayor informs him.

“Something tells me they’re in a hurry.”

————————————————————————

“I need you to take a big breath for me.” Haymitch is kneeling in front of his wife. Cupping her face in his hands, the line is down, they can no longer communicate with district twelve.

“I can’t.” Y/N claws at his hands, unable to deny that she’s having contractions, no more than two minutes apart. “Haymitch…” what if they didn’t get the message.

“Everest and Arista are gonna be waiting for us. Madge too.” Haymitch knows it. There is no other outcome. “Thirteen is sending hovercrafts for evacuation as soon as possible.”

“Did we get Peeta?”

“We have Katniss, Beetee, Finnick and Cashmere, for now. The pilot is swinging back around for Peeta and Johanna.” They only have a few minutes before the Capitol fleet arrives. “We’re gonna get them, ok?”

Y/N nods, breathing out through her nose.

“I need you to focus on this.” He runs a hand over her belly, tense with another contraction. “Healthy baby, healthy you.”

————————————————————————

Katniss startles awake, an oxygen mask tied to her face. She’s in the hovercraft. They’re taking us to the Capitol. Beetee is beside her, still unconscious. They must be holding Peeta elsewhere.

The last thing she remembers is the arrow firing, broken pieces of the arena falling around her and the claw.

“Ahhhhhhh!” A piercing scream echoes through the hovercraft.

All the more terrifying because Katniss knows it, she heard it among the jabberjays. Y/N. They are torturing her. Katniss can’t say how, but it must be something awful. Tearing the flesh from her body…

Removing the mask, she scans the area for something, anything she can use, a syringe. All she needs is a clear shot at one of her veins, save Y/N from whatever they’re planning to do next. Then she would move on to Peeta, spare him this hell.

Katniss hides the weapon behind her back, tapping the glowing access panel to open the door.

Y/N is there, sweat clings the material of her dress to her body; mouth open in an agonized howl.

Haymitch is seated behind her, keeping her upright, holding her hands. Cashmere is perched between her legs.

Finnick spots Katniss first, from his place beside Plutarch, at the holographic display table. “Katniss.”

“Katniss?” Y/N repeats, eyes searching for her.

The syringe clatters to the ground, Katniss charging toward her and crouching at her side.

“Honey, are you ok?” Y/N shakes one hand free from Haymitch’s grasp, reaching for her.

Katniss, takes it, pressing her cheek against the back of her mentor’s hand. No. “I thought…”

Y/N bears down as another contraction ripples through her abdomen.

“That was good.” Cashmere nods, patting Y/N’s knee.

“What is that?” Y/N’s given birth twice before, this is different.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Cashmere encourages as tiny feet appear, “everything is ok.” It’s not ideal, but if they keep the baby moving-

“Where’s Peeta?” Katniss turns to Haymitch.

His eyes are glossy, hesitant to reply, “he’s in the Capitol. They got him and Johanna. We couldn’t get to him in time. But we’re gonna talk to President Coin when we get to district thirteen and figure out the best way to get him back.”

You’re a liar. Katniss wants to scream it, to slap him, hard, for breaking his promise. But it will have to wait. You promised to save him over me.

Exhausted and frustrated, Y/N reaches a hand down to make sense of what’s happening. “Breech?”

“Yeah,” Cashmere breathes.

Finnick is just beyond the blonde’s shoulder, a pained expression on his face. Or perhaps nauseated, watching over Y/N without actively watching.

“Once we deliver the shoulders, it should be easy.” Katniss has seen this before, her mother delivered a handful of breech babies, as a healer. The women of district twelve would call on her when the babies got stuck.

Y/N pushes again, crying out as she does.

Haymitch rests his cheek against the crown of her head. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes to the sound of her sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N continues, the same way Haymitch has known her to face any difficulty, with fierce determination. The infant is placed on her chest, kicking and crying. Healthy; same as her brother and sister before her.

Part 16

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