#i feel like i shouldn't tag this but oh well. some of these are technically standalone images so... Meh? there is never enought satbk

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Make a Rich Woman Beg

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, hate sex, degradation, name-calling, slow burnish, power play/dynamics, boss/employee themes even if reader isn't technically Sam's boss, teasing, denial, tit-fucking, oral sex, fingering, some dom/sub themes if you wanted to read it that way

Words: 12.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: As the heiress of an exclusive country club, perhaps you were spoiled, and maybe you had a superiority complex, but so what? Everyone has their flaws. But your most recent flaw? The fact that some playboy pool boy refusing to worship the ground you walk on shouldn't bother you as much as it does and, unfortunately for him, you aren't one to accept anything other than exactly what you want.

18+ / MINORS DNI

(A.N.: Looking at the greta van fleet smut tag, Sam girls -- how does it feel to have three fics published in the past two days after being neglected for so long? There's too much twins, not enough rhythm section in my opinion, so I'm working on filling that gap when I can.)

~~~

“Do you think he does it on purpose?” Tara asked, dark sunglasses not giving away where she was looking, but her words pointedly specific.

Although, glasses or none, it didn’t take a genius to know who she was talking about. Amongst the long-legged, model-esque women lounging in sun chairs around the pool, there was another long-legged, model-esque person flaunting their youth and beauty. But that person was a he and he was not a rich loafer.

Oh no. He was the pool boy.

And everything he did certainly had a purpose, down to the way he brushed what you were sure were strategic wisps of hairs left out of his bun from his face. The way he wiped away the sweat from his throat by baring it unnecessarily long to show off his slender lines and sharp jaw. The way he leaned against the doorframe to the pool house as he observed all the beautiful women and loaded men like some 90’s flick love interest. The way he let his eyes droop and linger when some unfortunate soul caught them and gave that smug little smirk that you knew drove all the women here wild.

You snorted, flipping through your phone as a slight breeze caught your skin and pebbled it with goosebumps. There was enough of you on display that anything other than the sun gave you a chill, but you didn’t care. You’d grown up with most of the girls at the country club, the tennis moms all knew your parents’ names, and the gentlemen knew to keep their thoughts to themselves  – the club was exclusive enough, but if there was anyone outside the reach of outward judgment or pious scorn of the others, it would be you, heir to everything in its entirety because your parents owned the place.

You were in your element here – untouchable until you wanted to be touched, and then you had your pick of the litter, the latter something this man seemed to experience on the daily, as well. 

But that was no concern of yours. You were more dedicated to getting to your spa appointments on time than you were keeping up with who was fucking the pool boy that particular night. 

You didn’t look up from the article you were reading. “Of course he knows what he’s doing; he’s a little peacock,” you sighed, unaware that the reason she’d asked was because the man himself was coming around to your spot with a fresh pile of towels to deposit at the pickup station nearby. 

And even if you had noticed Tara’s emphasized cough, or her muttered, “Y/N,” you weren’t sure if you’d care enough to halt the blissfully casual in the way you talked about Sam. You knew his name, not because you’d ever had a full conversation with him, but because enough of the other women at the club could be overheard telling others about their nights moaning it that you knew it well enough by now. It was just one of the reasons you felt justified for the impression you had of him. 

Anyways, you weren’t exactly known for holding your tongue around these premises, so even if you’d known that Sam was within earshot, your acute observation wouldn’t have been any less true, and therefore, any less worthy to be said aloud. “He’s an attention-loving whore like every other pool boy has been in the history of this establishment. I don’t know where Rico finds them, honestly.”

“Y/N,” Tara hissed again, louder this time and followed by an embarrassed giggle, before pointing subtly to where Sam was fixing the last towel on the stack with a small shake to his head and a crook to his lips that was less than warm.

His brows picked up when he turned your way and saw you looking back to see what Tara had been pointing at, but you didn’t flinch at his wordless challenge to blush and splutter out an apology in an attempt to not look like the heartless, rich bitch stereotype that came free with a membership at this club.

Call you haughty, but you didn’t see yourself as those things. Sure, you knew what you wanted, and you knew what you had – humility just wasn’t one of those things, and you saw no wrong in knowing where you stood in a space. But pride? Pride surely was one of the things you knew you had, which was why the only answer Sam got to his cocky little power trip was a returned silent challenge: what are you gonna do about it?

His expression didn’t change, but there was an intentional hold of brazenness in his attitude as he swaggered up behind your chairs. “Good afternoon, ladies. I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation about little ol’ me. I didn’t catch it all, unfortunately,” he tsk-ed, patronizingly. His next words were directed at you, darkened slightly in an attempt to intimidate you. “Care to repeat it?”

Ah. A wordless challenge to a blatant one. “Let’s see,” you murmured back, unfazed by his imposition but not wanting to disrupt any of the other pool-goers with your tense little exchange. Not only were you unfazed, but you felt yourself become strangely excited at the potential confrontation. It was your fatal flaw – you could never just step away from a fight coming your way; you liked being right, and the sweet taste of victory was just as addictive on your tongue as money in the back of some people’s pockets was, as the filthy, secret orgies that the rich and famous partook in because they could. It made you feel powerful. “I believe I called you a peacock, and then an attention-loving whore just like all the other shirtless pool boys that come and go.”

Sam puckered out his bottom lip and simpered at you. “Oh, well isn’t that just cruel,” he bemoaned. Turning to Tara, his long middle finger just barely grazed her bare shoulder, and he leaned in, voice lowering to wring every last drop of pity from her in any way he could. “Is she mean to all the staff? Or is it just me?”

Tara huffed out a laugh, gaze trapped in the siren song of Sam’s. “Um…no, I think just you. But she’s not being mean on purpose, that’s just–”

“How you know she has a little crush?” Sam finished for her, regardless of what she was actually going to say. 

Tara looked a little put out, because it was obvious Sam was only toying with her as a means to whatever end he had in mind. It made you scoff scorchingly, turning back to your phone to signal that the time Sam had to waste from your day of wasting time had expired. “Don’t waste what little brainpower you have left in that skull – if I had a crush, you’d know it. Now, don’t you have a chair to wipe down?” you asked dismissively. “Maybe a mistress to tend to?”

Tara kept out of the conversation this time, not wanting to be brushed off again; this was clearly between you and Sam, and your indifference had quickly shifted to dislike once he put up a fight that had an edge, that wasn’t just the silly product of flirty banter.

“Nothing pressing,” Sam responded, deliberately refusing your expulsion. “I’ll leave, but I have to know something, first. I might be a peacock, sure.” His admittance held no shame; in fact, he seemed proud, almost, of his status. “My cocking around certainly hasn’t been a problem for most women; frankly, I don’t care what you think about my rotating door. But surely,” he murmured, leaning in closer under the guise of getting up, “there’s something that sets me apart from all the other attention-loving whores around here.”

Your throat burned with a reply, scathing and with salt to back up the wound you so sorely wanted to make, but Sam had taken a coward’s retreat, leaving you no time to reply with dignity as he ambled away. His face was smoothed back into that serene arrogance as he made his way back around the pool, winking at a few loungers as if he owned the place instead of worked for it. 

“Little fucker,” you sighed, reigning your spite back in. “Only small-dicked assholes leave an argument as unfinished as their women.” The pout was clear in your tone - you didn't like it when people ignored you when you didn't want them to.

Tara snorted, but shook her head. “He’s too hot for his own good, and you’re too stubborn. It would never work.”

Never work? What, an argument? You shot an arched brow towards your friend. “It doesn’t matter how hot he is, I’d dominate him in a debate.”

You were bluffing – it was obvious that the man had some wit to him, as much as the admission made your lips pucker in distaste. But you were still fairly certain that you’d come out on top if you ever had a verbal spar that he couldn’t run away from. 

Obviously, that wasn’t the answer Tara had been looking for, because she sighed as she laid back into the sun, soaking up the warmth. “Not in a debate, Y/N. Romantically. Carnally,” she teased, a small smile on her face as she knew you’d look over in offense at the prospect that you’d ever give the pool boy, who’d been around the block a few times, a pass to your bed. 

“Oh god,” you scoffed, “you can have him. Please. Just keep him far away from me.”

…

Seeing as the pool made you unreasonably grumpy for the next couple of days, you spent your time doing other things. Yoga, pottery, cooking lessons, the dog run – they were all just as satisfying as laying by the pool was. Plus, it meant you didn’t have to see Sam, who you’d been content to forget about until Tara showed up at your room one day for lunch looking disheveled. 

You didn’t pry, per se, but you made it clearly known that you wanted to know why she was in such a state, and eventually she’d come clean about having spent the night with the very man you claimed not to care about in a negative nor a positive way – he wasn’t worth it, after all.

But as she’d laid on your bed, recounting how many times he’d made her come, how he’d cleaned her up and taken a shower with her afterwards, how he’d invited her to spend the night with him instead of kicking her out of his quarters – a knot grew in the pit of your stomach, something ugly at the center of it.

Far from wanting to make her experience about you, you didn’t say anything at the time, only humming and interjecting with appropriate phrases every now and then. But you couldn’t help but think back to how he’d used Tara at the pool to get to you, and wonder if this was the same. Wondered if he knew she’d come and tell you everything in hopes you’d hear.

Now that, perhaps, was a more fitting behavior of the self-centeredness most expected from women of your status and inherited wealth. The narcissism. After all, Sam was a known player in a game you weren’t keen on participating in and, at the end of the day, the small tiff you’d had by the pool was the longest conversation you’d ever had with him. 

Perhaps he’d forgotten about you by the time he locked the pool gates that night, and perhaps his tryst with Tara so soon after was coincidence, or because her name was the next on his list. But you supposed being around it all your life tuned you into the intentional behavior of others  – your own mother was the one who’d told you, at the ripe age of 12, that sharks were still invisible to other sharks in the water, and that you always needed to keep your head swiveling. 

“All I can say is that…” she glanced over, knowing that you were gritting your teeth and bearing it for her benefit, but still finishing her thought anyways, “He definitely doesn’t leave his women unfinished.”

Your lips quirked up at Tara’s statement, and even though you had living evidence that he didn’t, still found every cell in your body unable to admit that perhaps Sam wasn’t as incapable as you wanted him to be. Not as much a bimbo, not as much a careless pretty-boy as he seemed.

You weren’t used to not getting what you wanted, but that was the problem with people, wasn’t it? Factors out of your control and reach.

“Well…” You chewed on your words for a moment, not wanting to spit them out without proper filtering. “I’m glad you got what you wanted, even if your partner was a bit…inferior.” Tara raised her brows, shocked at your blatant classism, but you just smiled. “Intellectually, of course.”

Him being the pool boy had nothing to do with your spite. Not really.

Well...if in part, only because you were used to being waiting on, hand and foot, and Sam’s disregard for the people who paid his bills spoke of an arrogance you couldn’t stand. But god, did you sound like a bitch, no matter which way you put it.

…

As fate would have it (and a bottle of wine, as well), you found yourself out walking later that night, down towards the pool in an unconscious search to finish your argument from days before. If you were bold and brash sober, with a little alcohol in you, it was only exacerbated.

Your path wasn’t a beeline to the pool; it was unconscious, after all, but after meandering the grounds for a while, you’d found yourself staring at the locked gate, so deep into a mental debate with a made-up Sam who was a stuttering mess of a douchebag that you didn’t hear the rustle of someone coming down the path until you were faced with the real Sam, who seared you with an unimpressed stare as you each waited for the other to speak. 

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “Is there something I can help you with or should I leave you to fantasize about me outside my place of work? How often do you do this?” he asked condescendingly, taking a key from his pocket and walking right past you.

While he words technically rang true, you certainly weren't fantasizing about him in any normal regard, at all. “The only thing I fantasize about when it comes to you is watching as security escorts you off the property.”

Sam whistled, appraising you again with that god-awful, lazy look. “That’s a bit of a leap from the last time we spoke. All because I peacock around the pool that I work at?” 

No. No, actually – it was because he was disrupting your flow, and you didn’t know why you were letting him. By all means, you should care much less than you really did about Sam’s presence. His very existence. But something about him wriggled under your skin and locked onto a part of your brain that only bled disdain and a poorly-managed superiority complex. 

“Peacock all you want, pool boy,” you said, shaking yourself out of your daze. “It makes no difference to me. I’m here because…I left something. My watch.”

You didn’t wear a watch. They were too clunky, no matter how expensive they were, and if you did have one, the pool would be the last place you would wear it. Why would you want a wrist-strap tan line?

Sam apparently didn’t pick up on it, though, because he sighed and motioned you in. The deck was dark save a couple of lamps that served as security, and Sam took another key and unlocked the office door. “Any other night, you’d have been waiting until the sun came up again,” he warned, shuffling a few things around on the desk until he pocketed a slip of plastic. “You’re lucky I left my meal card here. Lost and found is in the bottom drawer.”

You eyed him, and he nodded to the door by his shins, making no move to open it. He did, however, stare at you as you leaned down to get your hand on the handle, tugging before you felt the resistance of a lock. You huffed, righting yourself and glaring at the man. “It’s locked.”

He nodded. “I know. I was the one who locked it.”

“Then why did you tell me to open it if you knew it was locked?” Everything he did seemed to have the sole intention to get you to act as he wanted you to, and you hated being played. This whole situation was stupid, and you would consider asking your parents to send you somewhere else for a few weeks to right yourself where Sam had lopped off your ability to be level-headed if that wouldn’t imply that Sam had run you off of your own pitch.

Sam crossed his arms and took a step forward, but you didn’t let him push you around this time, so you were stuck staring him down as he got closer. “Because I know you didn’t leave your made-up watch here.” Shit. He had noticed. “Why were you really here, Y/N? It’s just you and me here,” he cooed, eyes alight with mischief. “Tell me. Why do you hate me so much? What is it about me that makes you squirm?”

God, you wished you could tell him, but you didn’t know the answer. Perhaps if you looked deep enough, you could find it, but that wasn’t on your bucket list. The way he seemed so cock-sure of himself and what he mistook as a raging playground crush really ground your gears, and you pushed him away a bit with a finger on his bony chest. “Please,” you murmured, keeping your eyes firmly locked on his, “I have more important things to do than the trampy pool boy. Don’t flatter yourself.” The denial of the accusation was weak, at best. For all that you’d told Tara that you’d best Sam, you seemed to have lost your words now that you were alone.

Sam searched your face for any tell of a lie, and when he found none, he pulled back, smooth façade back into place. “I don’t think you know why you're here.” 

Bullseye, and you hated it.

“Oh, I do," you disagreed, contrary to you own inner confusion. "It's because I know you think that I’m a rich, spoiled, Daddy's girl,” you said, keeping his attention and prompting him to shrug in agreement. “I know you think we’re all just wastes of space in society. I see the way you use and discard the women here, and I'm here because I don’t want to be one of them.”

Sam’s face twisted into something unpleasant. “Then don’t be. I don’t force anyone to sleep with me, god–”

You cut him off with a hand. “I know,” you said, quieter. “I just hate that part of me is still interested.”

The confession discredited everything you'd just said, and you stopped in your tracks, horrified and entirely surprised that those words had come from your lips.

Once he knew he wasn’t being accused of anything nonconsensual, Sam relaxed again, rolling his tongue in his mouth as if your semi-admittance of wanting him was a 5-star meal, and he leaned against the sliver of wall between the doorframe and the desk. “I won’t tell,” he smirked, whispering conspiratorially.

“No.” You shut down the prospect immediately. You didn’t know where your little confession had come from, or why you were telling Sam, who happened to be the object of your ‘should I, shant I.’ Deeply in denial, you wish the little sprout of truth would just bury itself in the ground again, but it had already been seen. “I’m not one of your games.”

Sam let a small, smug smirk crawl up the corners of his mouth. “The women here like games. Tennis, BINGO, mini golf, poker – you name it. And they like it when I play with them, too.” He fixed you with a steady gaze, challenging you to argue what he was about to say next. “And you are exactly like all the other women here.

Your chest tightened, and you got a sick sense of arousal from the casual way he spoke about the women you regularly dined with, the ones you knew by name. What was wrong with you? Just a few days ago, you’d wanted nothing but to get Sam alone so that you could give him a piece of your mind, and now you were letting him stand on his self-appointed pedestal and look down on you like he had since he acknowledged you existence.

You wondered if he knew who you were, but you figured that would reveal itself in time, when you eventually did slip it into conversation. If he fixed up that problem of an attitude, all would be righted. If he didn't, then you didn't know what you'd do. That would be a brand-new scenario for you.

“Did you sleep with Tara to make a point?" you asked instead, not intending to drop that bomb yet. "Was her piece in your game intentional or just another coincidental pawn?”

With a quirk of his brows, Sam scoffed. “Everything’s always about you, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, running your tongue across your teeth. “Not everything," you denied. Just most things. Around here, at least, they could be. "But I think you’re selfish, and petty, and egotistic enough to make an exception when it comes to women who don’t fall at your feet just to get a taste of something different from their usual menu.”

Sam toed the door open further from where it had crept in with a draft. “What was it that you said,” he asked, mulling it over facetiously. “Oh, right. Don’t flatter yourself. Your friend came to my door. She knocked last night because she’d asked someone for my room number, and then she told me that she wanted me to fuck her, so I did,” he told you simply. “It had nothing to do with you. You were never a thought in the room.”

Again, hearing about his conquest of yet another woman at the club, your stomach clenched, and a deeply repressed part of your brain wanted to play into the hot pool boy, rich employer trope, even if you weren’t technically his employer. Not yet, at least. Soon, though, you intended to become more active in shadowing your parents. Perhaps you could start by fixing this staffing issue.

“That’s not how she told it.”

“Of course that’s not how she told it,” he scoffed, lips curling. “Why would she tell you about how she begged for it? About how she showered me with compliments and pulled my hair and about how wet she was when I fingered the fuck out of her or about how she told me how well my cock filled her up–”

“Shut up,” you snapped, face reddening. “Stop trying to make this about something it’s not. If you want to recount everything that happened, invest in a diary.”

You weren't jealous. That wasn't it, if that was the angle he was playing.

But Sam wouldn’t stop, and with each act he let out of his mouth, he took a step towards you. “Why would she tell that to someone as judgemental, snobby, and condescending as you–”

But hell no. Absolutely not. In no world would Sam the pool boy get away with calling anyone condescending with the medals he held for pretentious behavior displayed towards others. “Fuck you, calling the kettle black,” you spat, temper flaring.

But Sam met you halfway, pointing an accusing finger in your direction, “It takes one to know one, so don’t even try to go there.” 

He was insufferable. Everything about him made you want to rip your hair out and swan dive into the shallow end of the pool, but you simultaneously wanted to fuck him, and it was tearing you in two and giving you indigestion.

“How anyone can stand you is a mystery to me,” you huffed, patting your pockets to make sure you had everything, even though you’d never put anything down in the first place, and fully intended on stalking out, away from Sam, who was still lingering unnecessarily close.

He scoffed. “You’re the one who came here without knowing why. Freud, anyone?” 

“Don’t throw Freud in my face.” You needed to leave. Needed to gain a little clarity, to ruminate on these new discoveries about yourself. Or, at least address it without the scent of sunscreen and saltwater in your nose and an unbuttoned shirt staring you in the face. “I think we’re done here.”

“I’m not sure why we were here in the first place.”

He watched with guarded eyes as your gaze flitted towards the open door, and then they dipped further down your face when you hesitated, body turned towards him but every line still aggressive and confrontational. “Then you won’t mind locking up after you leave after me.”

“Fine. That’s my job.”

“Fine. Good. I’m glad you know your place.” 

“The only place I have is inside every little friend you have here that isn’t as much of a stuck up bitch as you are.” 

Nearly sharing breath at this point, your chest heaved slightly as you tried to take in more air, convinced that he would kiss you right then and fuck you like he had the others without you having to admit that you wanted him to at all. But your tongue was still sharp, even if your senses had been dulled until Sam was the laser focus of them all. “That’s none of my business; I hope you have fun being the neighborhood bicycle.”

“I will,” he said with a patronizing smile, even if it didn’t match the way he leaned in even closer. “I always do.” With a tensed jaw and a grind of his teeth, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a rough breath that fanned across your face. You shifted on your feet, and your thigh grazed the front of his shorts.

He was hard, but you didn’t say anything about it. You couldn’t say anything at all, at the moment, too close to something to want to ruin it. Everything about his body communicated that the tension between the two of you would be resolved.

The next step between the two of you was teetering on the edge of realization, but Sam met your eyes, pupils blown out and lids hooded, but shook his head. “No.”

His denial of the unspoken twisted your gut and, too proud to give him what he wanted, you shrugged as if it was no skin off your nose and breezed out of the office without another word. 

You knew getting the last word was not always the way to win an argument, so you let his petty rejection stretch out behind you and dissipate into the darkening sky, beautiful in the sunset. Not that you noticed. Needing something – anything, to get your mind off of Sam and the embarrassing presence of wetness being your legs, you stopped a little further down the path, right near where it split to go towards the stables, and tipped your head back to the sky, letting out a big sigh filled by, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t deny it anymore – you wanted him. You wanted him, and you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to beg. To breakdown and ask. But you very rarely had to ask for what you wanted around here, and you weren’t going to start now for an asshat like Sam.

That’s what you told yourself as you met your parents for a late dinner. 

That’s what you told yourself as you wound down with a personal masseuse. 

That’s what you told yourself as your fingers crept down your body as you soaked in your bathtub, and it’s what you told yourself even after you accidentally splashed an armful of water onto the tile with how hard you came thinking about him. And after you grew frustrated when your orgasm didn’t satisfy the throb in your center. 

But it certainly wasn’t what you told yourself when you found your way to the front desk and begrudgingly asked for Sam’s room number, not an eyebrow raised your way because of your status. Had it been any other woman, more care would be taken in who that information was dealt out to, but not for you.

However, even when you had the information, you found yourself hesitating outside his door, stuck in a loop of want and pride. It took all of one very small thump as you rested your forehead on the wood to decide that one night was not worth your dignity. In fact, you’d been about to turn and leave when the door opened on its own and Sam stood in the frame, shirtless, hands braced on either post, and fixed you with a smug expression that ticked his features up.

Before he could get a word out, you spit, “I was just leaving.”

“After standing outside my door for the past 5 minutes?” Dammit – just what didn’t this man know? “You seem to end up in my space more than what one can call coincidentally.” When you didn’t leave, nor did you speak. Because he was right. Perhaps Freud did have a place in the conversation. Sam crooked a brow. “Well…if you’re gonna stand there and just…not leave, come in, I guess.”

There was no internal debate this time and, silently, you stepped into his room. You realized after seeing his pajama pants and a towel laid out on his bed that he must have been about to shower, and that was further cemented when he shucked his pants off, leaving only his boxers, and then grabbed everything from his bed, casting an amused glance in your direction. “I’m not stopping for you,” he said flippantly before heading to the bathroom and leaving the door open.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised at his bold behavior anymore, but you still instinctively looked away when his pants came off. You weren’t sure if either of you really knew what you were doing or what was happening but, the door seemed like an invitation and though you didn’t plan on taking another shower today, it beckoned you towards the bathroom.

The small room was quickly filling with steam and, through the mirror, you caught Sam’s bare ass as he climbed into the shower cubicle, the glass around it steamed just so that you could only make out the blurry outline of the naked man. 

You were a voyeur here, not having asked to watch, but having been invited, and you took the opportunity to receive anything that Sam gave up without you having to say one word to him. If you opened up your lips, you weren’t sure if what came out would properly keep your reputation, and you’d be damned before the pool boy gained one inch in this war you were waging.

But oh, you were sorely tempted to when his reflection in the mirror lifted a hand and intentionally wiped away a spot near his hips, so that there was a clear view to how he reached between his legs and sucked in a breath, hand wrapped around his cock as the other planted itself on the wall. 

Without consciously telling your body to, you moved further into the room, around to a small bit of space that separated the toilet and the sink, where you dug your nails in and watched as Sam’s elbow moved back and forth, deep breaths filled with steam barely audible over the sound of running water. 

The head of his cock peeked out from his fist every time he squeezed down at the base, and he grunted when he brushed his thumb over the tip on the way up, feet shifting as his hips bucked into the sensation. “Jesus,” he grunted, head hanging lower than his braced arm, looking directly where he was touching himself. Or, perhaps he was stealing side-eyed glances at you which, after hearing him groan high in his throat with a murmured, “Oh, god…shit,” escaping from his lips, was likely the more probable answer. Although with his own narcissistic habits, perhaps he liked the view. Auto-eroticism or something.

Regardless, your own hand had snuck down again, and you were helpless in your search for the same pleasure Sam was giving himself, dragging the pads of your fingers through the slick mess down there, clit singing with pleasure as you circled it until you felt like your knees were going to give out.

Just a few minutes later, Sam gasped and moved his hand faster, fist flying across his dick as he tilted his head back. “Holy shit – holy fuck, ah– ahh,” he moaned, a hard ‘guh’ sound finishing out his syllables as he sucked in air. He tugged at his cock sporadically, and you could only imagine the spurts of come he stroked out of himself hitting the wet tile and washing down the drain immediately, all evidence washed away. 

The high whimper that escaped your throat as you came as well, clutching the edge of the sink and rubbing furiously at the little bundle of nerves under your fingers while you wished you had something to clench around as your walls contracted, seemed loud in the silence that followed Sam’s orgasm, and he groaned a bit as he listened.

Without washing his hair or soaping his body, Sam shut the water off and squeezed the excess out of his hair quickly, sliding the door open and locking eyes with you as he closed in. You were backed against the unforgiving line of the counter, your hand still tucked into the waistband of your pants as you came down, but as Sam closed the space between you at a lightning pace, you jerked it out.

That one small movement brought the skin of your knuckles scraping against his cock due to how close he was, and he gritted out a strangled sound at the overstimulation, the product of his own action. “You drive me absolutely insane,” he huffed into your face. He didn’t specify if it was in a good way or in a bad one.

“Ditto,” you breathed. The fingertips that had just been tucked in the warmth of your cunt grazed his stomach until he grabbed your wrist and lifted those digits to his mouth, staring you down as he flattened his tongue, dragged it up, and then encased the entirety of your middle and ring fingers in his mouth, suctioning and letting his tongue dance around each knuckle.

When he popped them out of his mouth, he said, “Say it.” He knew you were aware of what he wanted, so there was no need to waste words on asking you specifically to lower yourself down to where he wanted you and beg him to fuck you.

You shook your head.

“You have to ask for anything you get from me,” he said in response, shaking his head. “You get everything for free, but not from me.”

Since he had no qualms in taking what he wanted, though, he flexed his hips and ground his quickly-recovering dick across the fabric of the sweats you’d thrown on for the walk over. Perhaps it felt better than he’d anticipated, or maybe he really was just some hyper-sexual young adult, but as he continued his slow thrusts against you, he readjusted and seemed to lose himself in the feeling, eyes fluttering when you pushed your thigh forward for him to grind against harder.

This was fine. You didn’t mind having the control.

“Come on, Sam,” you murmured, pressing your palm into the small of his back to scoot him closer. “You know I won’t ask you. But you can hump my leg like a bitch in heat however long you want.”

He let out a shuddery breath and his dick jumped at your words, but he pulled away quickly regardless, still unwilling to take your shit. “Just because it seems like you want that too – no thanks.” And then he turned, newly hard and seeking touch, and grabbed his pajamas from where they were laid on the closed toilet seat. 

You took a deep, frustrated breath in, but followed him out into the main room again, crossing your arms and pouting when you saw he’d already gotten the material up his body - even if it tented out - and was settling into the mattress on top of the blankets. You were sick and tired of waiting for him to give you what you wanted, so you didn’t stop following him at the edge of the bed, and instead climbed on and then up his body.

Now, technically, you were on your knees but, since Sam was on his back, you counted the positions as canceled out when it came to power dynamics, and that was something you were very aware of here, in Sam’s space.

In this position, it would have been easy to make a connection where you both wanted it, but Sam didn’t let your hips lower enough to create any friction for you or for him. “Stubborn,” he muttered.

“Bull-headed,” you replied, and then slithered out of his grasp. He let you, and propped himself up on an arm to watch as came face-to-face with his covered erection. Knowing that he wouldn’t let you touch him directly, you pushed your luck and instead raked your nails down his stomach and across his happy trail, veering off afterwards to sink them into the meat of his thighs.

His abdomen tensed and flexed as you looked up at him from under your lashes, but still, he didn’t give in to your silent question and said, “Use your words. Ask me so that I can hear you say, ‘Sam, please let me suck your cock’ and you can give me all the head you want.” 

“That’s a little backwards,” you remarked, fingers still crawling across his legs. “I’ve got dildos I can suck on if I wanted something in my mouth. You don’t have anything I don’t already own.”

Sam’s eyes darkened as he gazed down at you, flicking a strand of hair away from your forehead. “You’d just love to own me, wouldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to ask to use your toys, hmm?”

His words sent a lightning bolt of arousal through you, and your hips chased friction without your say-so, but the mattress was too flat to give you any relief. “One of these days I’ll own this place, then what?” you asked breathlessly. Obviously, you didn’t mean a single word of what you said – you weren’t into illegal business or gross misconduct between an employer and employee, but he’d opened a Pandora’s Box you weren’t even aware you housed in your body.

“I’ll find another hoity-toity club to fuck my way through. Got a job here, it was easy enough.”

At the mention of his activities, you squeezed his hips, hard. You hoped you’d leave bruises, but Sam didn’t react other than a flex of his ass, just out of reach. “Oh please,” you mocked, darting down to steal a lap of your tongue against his skin, “everyone knows you and the golf caddy get high on the greens every night. What is he, your best friend? He’s been around longer than you, I know that. He got you this job, didn’t he?”

Sam blinked down at you, taken aback for a moment. Ha. Finally, a leg to play up. “Shut up,” he spit, very little heat behind the words. You wouldn’t expect anything else – you don’t know if you’d go through with this if the two of you didn’t still fight just for the sake of the adrenaline and excitement that came with it. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Uh oh,” you clucked, resting your chin on his belly button, just so that your throat would be pressed against his cock. You felt every twitch and jump, as well as his initial bump up into you, and hoped that he felt the vibration of every word that came from your mouth. “It seems like someone doesn’t like it when his women aren’t as vapid as they let on.” 

What could you say – you took an interest in psychology when your parents began forming you into their perfect successor, and Daddy had immediately hired a private tutor for you some years ago so that you could study it alongside business. And Sam was an open textbook – he was just like you: intelligent, privileged, perfectly satisfied with being handed things on a silver platter but never able to turn away from a challenge. You might as well have been reading words straight off of the page. 

“Just because you looked at my file doesn’t mean you aren’t the same dumb bitch you were before.”

His words stung, but in the best way. In a way that stoked the fire of your temper. Angry sex was superior, and you could feel all your emotions growing hotter, more volatile, until they were simmering just below boiling point. “Maybe I shoulda fucked him instead. Daddy always did say he liked the curly-haired caddy. Can’t see why he’d waste his time on someone like you.”

“Danny wouldn’t glance in your direction, Y/N. He’s too good for you. I wouldn’t let him.” 

It was the first time your name had painted his lips, and you smiled at the use. So he did know who you were all this time. “And you aren’t?”

Sam cocked his head. “Why do you think I haven’t touched that soaked pussy that I know you’re dying to get your fingers on again? Tell me,” he asked, eyes burrowing into you, “was that the first time you’ve played with yourself thinking about me?” You didn’t hesitate giving a small, coy shake of your head. “Have you fucked yourself with that dildo you say you own wishing it were mine?”

This time you shrugged. “Maybe. I’m about to go get it, though, since you’re the worst guy I’ve ever been in bed with. Hell, maybe I’ll just knock on one of your neighbors’ doors, see if they think they’re too good for me or not.” To really hammer your point home, you stretched back into a downward dog pose, letting your face gently drag across his cock, and then lifted onto your knees, not touching him at all. “I’ll let them fuck me. I’ll beg them to. I’ll gag on their cock, and I’ll let them put their tongue anywhere they want to. I’ll take off my shirt,” you said breathily, grabbing one breast in your hand and moaning when you gently pinched your nipple through your shirt, “and maybe, if they beg me extra pretty, I’ll get down on my knees and put their dick between my tits. Fuck, Sam – you can imagine how hot that’ll be, right? How much your neighbors will like that?”

Sam looked up at you as he reached down to palm himself through his pants, trying not to look as affected as you knew he was. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he promised, but he didn’t make any effort to move. You knew he wouldn’t be able to end the night without some sort of closure., though. “And if you leave right now, you never will.”

A promise and a threat, all wrapped up in one package that was still being withheld from you.

“Well, I’d make sure you heard, so at least you’d have that,” you simpered, shooting and exaggerated frown his way and swallowing harshly. “All alone in your room, listening to some other staff member get a tit-job because you were too dumb to know what I wanted. That’s a sad reality.” 

Sam’s breath quickened and he took his hand away from his cock in a show of great restraint, instead sitting up so that his head was level with your chest. His big brown eyes looked up at you sweetly, if analytically, and you were suspicious of his change in attitude. “You’re really not gonna ask on your own?” 

Without a word, you shook your head. No. You weren’t. 

He seemed to mull things over in his head before taking in a deep, defeated breath. “Then I guess…I surrender,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. “I can’t take it anymore, Y/N, you win just…touch me, and let me touch you. I’m too hard to fight you right now.”

His words were muffled in your skin, and you placed your hand on the back of his head, the damp strands tangling between your fingers. You didn’t trust him, but the relief was too great to push him away.

He sucked his way up your throat, pressing a kiss to your fluttering pulse before coming to rest nose-to-nose. “I don’t think you’ve given up at all,” you said, running a finger underneath his waistband. “I’m onto you.”

“That’s right,” Sam nodded, nudging your face with his. “I want you on me. Just for tonight, just so that we can both get what we want, and then we can go back to hating each other.” He closed the gap, and finally, after waiting for longer than you were used to, kissed you.

You noticed his redirection and deflection straight away, but the taste of his tongue was a more pressing matter at hand, so you let him pull you in closer, taking kiss after desperate kiss, and paw you with his big hands. It was all pouring in, everything you wanted, and insofar, you hadn’t had to ask for it, so you let him continue.

Your shirt came off, and Sam groaned when saw your bare breasts, unhindered by a bra. Immediately, he got to worshiping them, holding them up to his mouth so that he could ravenously suck on them, letting your nipples pass through his lips before gathering them in his mouth again, one after the other, until he pressed your tits together and buried his face in them. “Will you still let me fuck them, Y/N? Please?” he begged, dragging his tongue up your chest. “God, you made me so hard talking about it. I didn’t want to come, but I was so close and you weren’t even touching me.”

He sounded so desperate. So genuine, that you figured you’d still have the power over his pleasure and gave in, saying, “Yeah. You can fuck my tits, Sam, since you asked so nicely.”

Because the floor was uncomfortable, you just lowered yourself, letting your chin catch on his skin as you descended, and he groaned at the visual, immediately backing off when you gathered his wrists in your hands and pushed them away as he tried to take his pants off himself. Instead, you insisted on being the one to hook your fingers into the plaid and tug until it pooled at his feet, and then surprised him by dipping down and taking his tip in your mouth, holding it on your tongue as you suckled lightly.

“Oh fuck!” he cried out, hand flying to the back of your head. “Shit, Y/N, you can’t do that to me. I have a reputation to maintain.”

You let him slip out of your mouth and smiled sweetly. “You didn’t seem to care about my reputation when you asked me to beg for what I wanted.”

Sam licked his lips and swallowed. “And I’m regretting that now,” he assured you.

Humming in satisfaction, you gave him one more lick, then retrieved the lube from where Sam directed you, clicking the cap open before letting Sam watch as you drizzled it between your breasts, his Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes never blinking. “Come here, Sam,” you instructed, manhandling him by his thighs forward. The mattress gave under his feet, and you felt the flex of his legs to keep himself upright. “Now, say please.”

You thought that he might say no for a second, but he just rolled his shoulders and put his bottom lip out. “Please?” he inquired. He couldn’t contain the rock forward into friction as soon as you laid his dick against your sternum, gently cupping your breasts and pushing them together around it and giving him a nod to signal that he was okay to start moving.

Since you were too far away to hold onto at any point on your body other than your head, as he began thrusting into the pillowy weight of your tits, he made do, even bending at the knees to get a better angle and a more anchored hold.

“Feel good, Sammy?” you asked quietly. You weren’t getting any stimulation from this, but watching the expressions of pleasure washing across Sam’s face as he tried to keep the wanton noises in was enough for now. Power. You were getting your pleasure from power.

He nodded, trying to wet his dry lips as his hips moved on their own accord, the unstable footing he had on the mattress throwing off any rhythm he established. Still, his face screwed up as he pitched up, breath uneven. “Yeah, I– it’s so good, Y/N,” he whined, a whole different person than the one who refused to give into you just a little bit ago. He let out a breathy chuckle. “They’re obviously not just for show. And I’ve watched you show them off, every fucking day you’re laid out in that little swimsuit of yours.”

It gave you an inordinate amount of pleasure to know that he’d noticed you and that he wasn’t as impervious to your presence as he’d been leading you to believe. As a reward for his little slip of honesty, you ducked and stuck out your tongue, the tip of his cock hitting the slick muscle each time it peeked out from in-between the tops of your breasts. And Sam faltered, staying buried in the warm cocoon of skin as he shifted forward and tried to get more of your tongue on his dick. 

It was obvious he was getting close with the small shake of his legs, trying to hold Sam’s tall figure up on shaky ground while he was chasing pleasure, so you let go of your tits, freeing his cock, and Sam protested. “Wait, just– just a little more, please,” he asked, gently guiding you onto your back before stripping off the rest of your clothes and taking your hands to resume the position laying down. “Like this,” he said before he straddled your chest and guided his dick back to the warm, slick channel it made, eyes closing and mouth falling open as he rode you. “Good god, save me,” he pled, back where he wanted to be. “Just like this.”

From here, you had a better view of the faces he made, and the ripple of subtle muscle under tanned skin as he moved his body. He lifted his hands to grasp the top of the headboard, using it to steady himself as he put more force into the punch of his hips, at the mercy your control over how tightly you pressed your breasts together. You could give him a nice, tight grip, or you could tease him, relaxing your hands and watching as he chased a barely-there friction. God, you felt drunk off of it. 

The drag of his balls against the top of your stomach along with the sensation of each ridge on his cock against your skin made you squirm, and you were ready to move on, having sufficiently allowed Sam to fulfill his little fantasy that you’d put in his head. 

Even though he made a weak objection when you let your breasts go slack and fall away with gravity, he didn’t fight you when you pushed his hips away so that you were eye-to-eye once more. However, he also didn’t let you get a word in before he resumed his writhe, his cock brushing against your pubic hair until he readjusted so that he was in-between your thighs, and increased the pressure of his grind until he was able to nestle himself against your soft, warm, wet core, your lips cradling him as he collected dewey slick with each thrust. 

Now that he was catching your clit with each shift, you craved him more than ever. He was so close, and if he pulled back just a bit, and angled himself just so, he could slip inside your body and show you what the fuss was about.

But first, you needed to get him in a condom. In fact, you probably shouldn’t have let him near you without one, knowing how many women he’d fucked over the course of his employment. “Condom, Sam. Who knows if I’m the first girl you’ve fucked even today, little slut.”

Sam let out a displeased whine, but he held you tighter, and you knew he was still getting off on the animosity. He pulled away, though, knowing you were right, and went right back to what he’d been doing once any excess lube had been wiped away and the latex had been rolled on. Lips at your neck, he licked and sucked a mark into you, grunting as he worked up to your lips again. “Let me taste you,” he pleaded. “I know you’ve been so worked up today. I’ll make you come, princess, I promise.”

You fisted his hair and he gasped out a curse, lashes fluttering. “Show me what that tongue of yours can do besides nettle the hell out of people, then.”

Sam groaned at your acquiescence and immediately trekked down your body, pausing to suck each tit into his mouth as if in thanks for providing a soft place to land for a while, and then continued down, physically wrapping your thighs around his ears so that there was no space left for him to breath.

“Sam,” you chuckled, genuinely amused. “We’re not gonna fuck if you suffocate yourself.”

As if it was the most irritating thing in the world, Sam groaned and reluctantly let you spread your legs wider so that he could reach his final destination. “Mmmm,” he hummed, flicking his tongue out to catch the crease where your thigh met your pelvis. With a deep breath in through his nose, he kissed your lips softly, bringing his gaze to look up at you. “You smell delicious. Let’s see how wet you really are.”

Watching as he spread you apart and never breaking eye contact until he dipped below the line of your stomach, the tip of his tongue running from your entrance to your clit and then down again, tracing a map of each nerve that lit you up and made your legs twitch. “Oh god,” you gasped, relishing in the feeling. You could tell he was just warming up.

Once he was more familiar with what made you tick, he gave you everything, fitting his top lip against the very top of your cleft and letting it rest there as he settled in for the long run, tongue laving hot pressure against your clit, softer than your fingers, more human than a vibrator.

He flicked and soothed, drew and stayed still for you to grind against his tongue, and at times he brought his teeth and lips up, chin grazing the wet skin below as he rapidly used his whole to complete a lick, suck, teeth, lip combo, each round allowing explicit noises to escape, from his own grunts and gasps to the suction and wet connection between your cunt and his mouth. And when he added his fingers, pressing one in but immediately following it with another, your stomach clenched and your back had arched up a bit, a curse and a multitude of other noises leaving the barrier of your lips to let Sam know that what he was doing was working. “That’s it, Sam,” you nodded as he curved his calloused fingers up. “Good. Right there. Shit, yes,” you sighed, sinking into the pleasure. 

With his mouth dutifully attached to your clit, he was in no state to speak, and when he disconnected from you, he followed it up with a series of kisses and undulations that let you feel a spectrum of pleasure only your toys gave you.

Seeing as you’d already come two times prior, you didn’t know how tired your body would be after your next, so you gave him a short tug on his locks and watched as his hips twitched in time with it. “Alright, enough.”

Sam looked up, mouth wet as he ran his tongue around the perimeter of it. “Already?” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but gave him a small smile, pulling him up and allowing him to replace his mouth with his cock, sighing in relief when he resumed the position he’d been in before his meal, all of him pressed against all of you with a small rock to stave off the edge of desperation.

“Come on, you said I hadn’t seen anything yet. Where’s the bravado? Where’s the bedroom master that I’ve been hearing about?” you taunted in his ear, your words offset by the way you swiveled your hips and attempted to get him where you needed him to be. “Or was that it?”

He didn’t answer you, only reached down and grasped his cock, positioning himself at your entrance so that all he had to do was push.

But he didn’t.

The lips against your throat shifted into a grin that you couldn’t see, but could feel, and you groaned instantly, knowing that you’d been lulled into a false sense of security. You knew he'd been up to something. “Oh, you conniving little–”

Sam took your lip between his teeth and bit down. No blood was drawn, but the force was enough to make it swell and indent the shape of his front two teeth. It was effective in making the insult shrivel up and die, and Sam used his hand to run his tip up and down your pussy, never giving you anything more. “We’re playing chess, darling,” he murmured in your ear. “You said it yourself – you didn’t trust me. Were my pawns that convincing?”

Yes, they were. His desperation, his compliance, his constant feed into your power complex. But you’d played chess before – it wasn’t your favorite game, but you could hold your own. Your mother was a chess champion, though, and she’d always told you the same thing–

Never take your eyes off the Queen.

Sam paused altogether, not inside of you, but pushing so that you could feel the resistance. “We’re gonna stay here for as long as it takes for you to make a decision,” he whispered in your ear, gloating, but calm at the same time. He was back in the driver's seat of his own actions, and he was trying to reach over to commandeer the wheel of yours, as well. “Say stop, and I’ll get off. You can leave.”

“Don’t tell me there’s only one other option,” you said, your bad feeling that there was unfortunately just one way to proceed only complemented by Sam’s dark chuckle. 

“You’re really not that dumb. All the time, at least,” he scorned. “The only option to get what you want is to ask for it. And, since you wanted to lord yourself over me so badly earlier, let me return the favor: you’ll have to ask for it, and don’t forget to say please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, already dreading what was coming. But there was no way you were going to tell him to stop – not with his dick poised so intimately against you. “Sam,” you said, and he gazed down at you, raised eyebrows as if he was interested and curious about what you had to say. “Sam. I want you to fuck me.” He said nothing, only looked at you expectantly. “Please,” you tacked on, teeth clenched and nose wrinkling at the word.

“But I already did, Y/N,” he tsk-ed. “I finger fucked you, I fucked you with my tongue – you really are just a spoiled heiress, aren’t you? You have so much, you’ll have to be more specific.”

You pinched him, and for your efforts, he reared back and gripped each wrist in his fingers, away from his body and against the bed. You had no other option now than to finally give in. To lose the ground you’d so staunchly defended up until now. “Fucker,” you hissed. “God, I hate you so much. I want you to fuck me, Sam. What else do you want?” you asked, temper tantrum rising up in this rare occasion that you had to do something you didn’t want to. “I want your cock, okay? I wanna feel you for days, and I want you to be so fucking deep inside me that you think about how well you fucked the owners’ daughter everytime you even so much as look in the direction of another woman for the next week.”

Sam seemed to be savoring the satisfaction of your words, but he still looked at you with a cheeky grin. “And?”

“Fuck you,” you said venomously. “Please.”

“Good answer,” he grinned, letting go of your wrists and gathering your knees in the crook of his elbows. 

After that, he let go of his restraint and stopped playing a role, sucking in breath and letting it out on a grunt as he slid home, low mutterings seeping from his lips as he knee-walked forward and bent you back until the backs of your thighs were skin-to-skin with the front of his. Only then did he pull his hips back and jackhammer them back in, giving you time to adjust before he reached in further with his fingers and pressed them into your inner thighs. 

With his proximity, there was a small slap when his hips met yours, but the soundtrack of the evening otherwise was made up of slick, wet noises and the posts of his bed knocking against the wall every so often.

And the steady back and forth stream of curses and unintelligible noises from you both. Not to forget those.

He kept pummeling into you, watching you bare your teeth, feral with the ecstasy of resolution after such a long build-up. You were glad you hated him. Glad he hated you. It all made this so much better, and Sam seemed hell-bent on keeping the curses to his name (and now his dick) spewing from your mouth.

“That’s it, princess, tell me how much you hate me. How much you hate the fact that I’m the best lay at this godforsaken club.”

“No,” you gasped. “You still aren’t shit, pool boy.”

He let go of one of your legs, roughly turning you on your side and straddling one leg, slotting himself between like a tetris puzzle piece. “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he huffed. “Bitch.”

“Bastard.”

He groaned, your cunt tightening around him and making him stutter. “You’re lucky you're the daughter of people who actually did something with their money,” he seethed, not actually angry but his hips colliding with yours as if he was. “I’d love to see you somewhere where no one gave a fuck about who you were. See how you do in the real world.”

Again, Sam flipped you over, his thrust of re-entry pushing your face into the pillows. “Complaining as a grown-ass man who cleans a pool for a living and gets paid generously for it is– oh fuck, oh god–” you gasped, orgasm building as Sam’s fingers sloppily rubbed fast, tight circles around your clit, “-bad taste,” you finished.

Sam hitched your hips up more, trying to get even closer to you than what was physically possible, already buried balls-deep inside you. “For once in your life, maybe you’re right,” he grunted, pressing his palm into your back and arching it until you moaned, the tip of his cock catching your g-spot. He held you down in that position and gripped a handful of your hair as you’d done to him. “I do love my job.” He punctuated his words with a harsh stroke that bumped somewhere deep inside you that you hadn’t even touched doing your own exploration.

“Sleeping through the clientele wasn’t in your job description. Being a whore just seems to be your favorite hobby.” With each slowing thrust, Sam kept his depth but was losing his speed and his coordination. He had to be close, but he stopped once more to turn you around and push back onto the mattress. “Jesus christ, do you rotate every girl you fuck like a gas station hot dog?” you asked, dropping the act for a second as a smile threatened to break out. Sam’s eyes widened, once again visible since you were on your back after changing positions for the third time within a few minutes.

“...Sorry.”

You shook your head, a bit of mirth still lingering in your tone. “S’fine. Just keep going this time, I was close.”

Sam nodded, restarting with something a little slower, a little less intense than the rest of your coupling had been. It was just as good, though, and you closed your eyes as your high began building again. Since his hands were busy holding himself up as he undulated and kept the roll of his hips going, Sam paused and took your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips for the second time that night. He wet them in his mouth and guided them to where he was still buried in the sweet heat of your body. “Touch yourself for me, princess,” he rasped, voice low and rough.

Lost in his own arousal, his edges dulled, and you watched the unfettered desire take over him as he watched you do as he asked without a fight, for once. 

He really was entirely too good-looking for his own good. All of the features you spent days building up a disdain for, for reasons that didn’t reveal themselves until you stuck in his web lost the veil of contempt that sullied them, were on display and for the first time, you admired Sam without feeling the need to punish yourself afterwards for thinking such thoughts. 

The steady push, pull, fill, drag of Sam’s thrusts into you finally pushed you over the edge with the help of your experienced fingers, and you threw your head back in ecstasy, gasping out Sam’s name as small noises crawled their way out of your chest and left it heaving.

Sam followed you off the edge, enticed by the flutter of your walls around him and the sound of his name on your lips. He echoed you with a low, drawn-out groan, pausing when he was as deep inside of you as he could be. “That’s it,” he breathed, lowering himself to his elbow as his other hand smoothed up and down your side, one of the first gentle interactions between the two of you.

You couldn't keep the jab in, this time - not with how much you found yourself liking the new, softer atmosphere. “You’re not falling in love with me, are you, Sam?” you jested softly as he kept his hands roaming your skin. But you kept your voice low, and your leg wrapped around his hip, keeping him lodged in your warmth so you didn't have much ground of defense if he turned your argument against you. “After all that effort acting like you wanted to eat the rich…”

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “Like I said, we can go back to acting like we hate each other tomorrow but, for now, we can pretend to like each other. Also,” he said, finally withdrawing and discarding the condom before wrapping his arms around you from the back, “I definitely did eat the rich.”

You let out a half-hum, half-chuckle, and laced your fingers over the backs of his, snuggling closer to him and enjoying the butterfly kisses he was slowly placing across the nape of your neck, nose barely brushing your earlobe. “I suppose you did.”

With both of you basking in the after-effects of your orgasms, it was a while before you got up to pee and clean up the mess between your legs – or, let Sam do it in the shower.

Part of you thought back to how Tara described him doing the same for her, so you didn’t allow yourself to think much of it. But you still spent the night wrapped in his arms, and when you woke up, his soft snores muffled by your skin, you counted yourself lucky that you found it rather difficult to fall in love with people. There were many women at the resort that couldn’t say the same, and you wondered just how long the trail of broken hearts that Sam left in his wake was.

Finally, you were too restless to remain in bed, and you managed to wriggle out of Sam’s grasp to collect your things, throwing your outfit on from the previous night and thanking the universe for being an early riser. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and you could make the walk back to your room in peace without running into anyone who might want to stop and talk.

“It’s not time to wake up,” Sam mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes and yawning from the bed. “You don’t have to sneak out,” he said with a frown when he registered that you were making to leave.

“I know,” you assured him. With a small half-smile, you said, “I do own the place, after all.”

Sam got up when it was clear you weren’t going to come back to his bed and walked you to the door, leaning on the frame in that annoyingly attractive way of his when you stepped into the hall. “So...come by the office and maybe I can give you the ‘pool boy special’ sometime,” he said, and you softly flicked him on his bare chest.

“And watch you offer the same ‘pool boy special’ to every other woman there? Yeah, no thanks,” you refused, under no pretense that Sam would stop being Sam just because he slept with you. “But I do appreciate the reminder as to why I don’t like you.”

Sam hummed, tilting your head up by your chin to languidly press a kiss to your lips. “And why is that, again?”

It was a nice distraction, sure, but the pride you held to be able to say that you could see through the water, no matter how murky it was, kept you focused on the conversation. “Whore,” you scoffed, both in insult and in explanation, and Sam smiled down at you, almost affectionately. 

“You’ll take every opportunity to call me a whore, won’t you?”

You were about to confirm Sam's suspicions when the door across from you opened and a very tired looking man stepped out, looking surprised to see you. Dark, curly hair, a pressed polo, lightweight, quality trousers, and a belt that matched his shoes – the golf caddy. “Oh! Uh…good morning, Miss–”

“She doesn’t need the ego boost of an honorific, Daniel, please.” Sam smirked at you as you narrowed your eyes.

You ignored Sam’s words, instead sauntering over to a wide-eyed Daniel, smoothing a finger over a flip in his collar. “I appreciate the respect, Daniel. Sam needs to learn a little more of it. You’re the head golf caddy, aren’t you?” Daniel stuttered out an affirmation, and you smiled warmly at him, feeling Sam’s eyes on you from behind. “That’s impressive. So young, and my father talks very highly of you. It’s quite difficult to earn his approval, but you’ve managed to do it. Perhaps I’ll stop by for a private lesson one of these days; you’ll have a spot for me in your schedule, won’t you?”

It was a shameless power play, and a gross misuse of your status, but that familiar wave of satisfaction when Daniel didn’t even check before he said you could come anytime and he’d be available sent your brain whirring with pleasure. A different kind than you got from your spars with Sam or the physical kind you experienced the night before, but you liked the feeling, so you had no plans on denying yourself of it.

Turning smugly back to Sam, just so that he could see that you still held the power he wanted to fuck out of you, you shot him the bird. “Well, invigorating conversation, Sam, but I still think you’re a lazy asshole and a shameless, attention-seeking–”

“Whore,” he finished for you. “I know.”

As you walked away, you heard the muted slap of an impacted hand, and Danny hissed, barely audible, “Goddammit– are you kidding me, Sam? The one person I told you that you didn’t want to piss off and–”

“Chill out, Daniel – that was flirting, not fighting.”

~~~

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~~~

Feel free to talk to me in the comments or my ask inbox!

#greta van fleet fics #gvf smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic

[s-creations]

26 Ways to Feel Mortal - I: Illumine

26 Chapters based around experiences that newly arrived Geno experiences while trying to find the Star Pieces.

Fandom: Super Mario & Releated Fandoms, Super Mario RPG Rating: Teen and UP Audiences Relationship: Mario/Geno (Nintendo), Mario/Princess Peach (Nintendo) Additional Tags: Rating for Teen needed for later chapters, but shouldn't be to worrisome, I'll have warnings if I'm worried, Poly relations!, Main characters will always be named, Minor characters will arrive as needed, the chapters are not in a specific order, just meets the needs of the given word, please be aware of spoilers.

Warning: It's getting a little gay in here. XD

Illumine: (verb) Light up; Brighten.

Nimbus Land was still in full swing even as the sun started to sink below the horizon. All thrilled to know that their king had not been sick and that Mallow had finally returned home. Much like the celebration at Seaside Town, there was an array of food and music filled the slowly chilling air. 

However, there were a few stark differences this time. This celebration took place in a large, outdoor dance hall. Ornately decorated and lit with the largest golden chandeliers the party had ever seen. Garro demoed his creations, each party member getting their own golden statue. Finally, Geno was actually participating this time around. 

He joyfully partook in the food that lined the large table, mainly the sweets. Even after Peach asked that he eats something sustainable. The conversations, while few and far in between, were flattering with the citizens thanking Geno from saving them. Eventually he claimed a table and chair, feeling a little overwhelmed by everything. Deciding to just enjoy his pile of sweets while he watched everyone dance. Foot tapping to the beat of the music.

“Hey you,” Mario approached, “You doing okay over here?”

Geno nodded, swallowing his latest bite before answering with, “I’m not one for socializing, apparently.” 

“That’s fine, you don’t have to. Hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

“No, go ahead.” Geno smiled as he watched Mario pull up a chair so they sat next to each other.

“So, this is, what, the second party you’ve been to?” asked Mario.

“Well, technically I wasn’t very attentive during my first one.”

“Oh, right.”

“I will note that this one is far more enjoyable.”

Mario laughed at that, Geno holding back his laughter as he’d just taken a large bite.

“That’s good to hear.”

They fell silent for a while. Geno casually follows the dancers before him. Fascinated at how people could move in such a way and make it look effortless. Some even appeared to be gliding, floating across the floor as if not held down by gravity.

“Did you want to dance?”

Geno was pulled back to Mario, the human’s cheeks holding a soft pink. “What?”

“Dance, did you want to dance?”

“Oh, uh, probably not the best idea. You didn’t see my first few steps. Not exactly graceful.”

“It’s been awhile since then. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Geno shifted nervously, “...I’d rather not risk ruining everyone’s good time.”

Mario frowned at that, “You won’t.”

“I’ll be safe over here. I’m okay, trust me.”

The attempt to move away from the request fell on deaf ears. As the next second Geno was gently, but strongly, pulled from his chair. His soul shivering with nervousness as Mario led him further onto the floor.

“W-Wait, Mario!”

“You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Geno’s nerves were not helped when they stopped near the center of the floor. “Are you sure about this?”

“Everyone’s enjoying themselves, no one’s even looking at us. Here, put your hands on my shoulders. And I’ll place my hands here…”

The panicked fear Geno held fell away and replaced with absolute joy as Mario placed his hands on the puppet’s waist. “O-Okay, what do we do now?”

“We just say to the beat,” Mario said easily, already moving to the music. Geno felt a little jittery when he started to move as well. Eventually falling into the same rhythm as Mario. “There, see, you got it.”

“I still feel strange,” Geno mumbled weakly, “and we’re not moving like everyone else.”

“Dancing has a lot of different movements. We’re just taking it slow. Don’t worry about what everyone else is doing.”

Letting out a slow breath, Geno lowered his shoulder to try and relax further. His eyes couldn’t remain still though. With Mario so close, Geno felt weird just staring at the human. But looking elsewhere resulted in watching everyone else dancing which would raise Geno’s worries once more.

“Have I told you that Peach attempted to teach me to ballroom dance?”

Geno’s eyes landed on Mario, who was smiling softly.

“No. I don’t think you have.”

“It was a disaster. Apparently, I can combo jumps like no one before me, But moving in an elegant formation is just not for me. Just can’t do it.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Peach couldn’t walk for a week.”

Geno couldn’t help but laugh. The sound somehow rang louder than the music playing. But he didn’t seem to notice, slowly calming down “I thought you were supposed to keep her safe?”

“Hey, I do that just fine!”

“Uh huh, sure you do.”

“Well, just for that.”

Geno let out a rather unflattering shriek as he was suddenly lifted off the ground. It quickly turned into another round of laughter as he was easily swung around. Gently being put down on the ground with Mario wrapping his arms around Geno gently.

“Don’t do that!” Geno hissed, still giggling.

“You’re laughing, you liked it.”

“Shush, I can’t believe you did that.”

“You’re still giggling.”

“Shush! I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Oh, guess it’s time to fix that.”

The joyous laughter rang out once more. This time joined by Mario’s. Both seemed to ignore the music as they continued to rather clumsily twirl around the dance floor. Others were enjoying the display with their own, far more quiet laughter. 

This interesting dance stopped when the song started to come to an end. Both breathless from the movement and laughter, which was dying down to heavy breathing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Geno pointed out.

“You love me for it.” Mario easily argued back.

His already furiously thumping soul seemed to leap from his body. Geno gave a nervous but please smiled as he whispered back, “I do… I really do…”

The room suddenly started to grow dim. The previous song ending with a new, slower song now starting. Following with the quiet calm, Mario silently pulled Geno closer. Wrapping his arm around the puppet’s waist tighter, having Geno rest his head on the human’s shoulder. The other hand gently gripped onto one of Geno’s.

It felt as if he soul was singing. Geno closed his eyes as he relaxed further into Mario’s hold. He hadn’t felt this comfortable, this content, this happy before. It was a confusing feeling but something that Geno was more than willing to immerse himself in the feeling. For as long as he’d been alive, even with the lowest points he’d met, he’d never felt so alive before. 

He loved being here. He loved fighting for and defending those who couldn’t. And he absolutely love and adored- 

“Geno?”

Said puppet hummed softly.

“Are you…glowing?”

At that, Geno opened his eyes. The cracks where the joints connected had beams of lights emitting from them. The hollowed portions of his body seemed to shine from the same light. All of this was made more apparent by how dark the room had become. Geno hyper aware of how many eyes were on him. 

“T-This is new…” Geno said weakly, offering a little laugh. He looked back to Mario when he felt a hand placed on his cheek. The human looking absolutely star struck. 

“Mario?”

Face breaking into a warm smile, Mario gently pulled the other forward to press his lips to Geno’s cheeks. 

“You’re beautiful.”

Geno was certain his Star companions could see him from their home with how brightly he shined.

#geno smrpg #geno #mario #mallow #princess peach #bowser #genario #s-creations #fanfiction #if anyone can guess where I got the inspiration from I'll give you a cookie #oh and a small one-shot written for you #XD

[playdoughtiny]

Nap time, Leon 💤

caregiver!Luis Serra & little!Leon Kennedy

Rate: Teen up audiences

Characters: Luis Serra Navarro & Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil 4 Remake - 2023)

Warnings: PTSD (?), Anxiety, Light Swearing.

Tags: Fluff, Hurrt/Comfort, Coping, Leon Kennedy has PTSD, Protective Luis Serra, AU — Canon Divergence, Babytalk, Pacifiers, Cuddling, Sleeping.

Reblogs are appreciated!

...

Finger fidgets on the ocean blue blanket, pinching at it's soft fabric. A dim soft light stand is the only source of light in the room. The digital alarm flashes red with pairs of numbers, separated by just a colon.

00:10

Agonized with so much fatigue, Leon lies on his stomach, huffing and mumbling incomprehensible murmurs into his pillow. How many nights would he need to stay awake before he could finally sleep? The hours passed torturously slowly, the minutes lasted months. Leon stared into the darkness of the room, his eyes filled with slumber.

His wrist rests upon his forehead, voice low like a whisper. "What I've done to deserve this..."

That was the question that tormented him. What had he done to be... Like this? How many lives could he have saved, how many people would have been spared if Leon just did the right thing?

Did he actually did what was the best option? Or he's just selfish? His heart pumped in his chest faster. Could he be so egoistic to let people die just to stand by his reasons? Fingers twitched and spammed.

"Damnit!" He hiss under his hands that covers his face. Nobody sees Leon crying. Not even close ones. No, he doesn't give them the luxury of seeing his "weaker" side. It's just a passing thing, bullshit. Why does someone need to see someone sobbing? That's futile. At least, in his mind, that's how the world goes.

Knees draw into your belly, elbows above them. Why was he crying so much? Come on, Leon was a man! He's been through absurd and chaotic things, and come out of them with just a few cuts or scratches! Now's he's crying like a damn child!

His thumb nail slips to his front teeth, wearing away the surface. Eyebrows wrinkle. He feels his eyes burning. Are those... Tears?

"Please make this stop!"

He rocks himself back and forth, failing miserably to sooth himself.

"Please

Please

Please—"

A thic accent voice surprises Leon. "Cabron?"

Luis. Oh yes, he forgot he was here. After the events in Spain, Leon opens the doors of his home for him. He basically saved his life so it's some sort of repay.

Leon gasps stupidly loud for a grown man. He turns his back at the spaniard, considering that he already knows he's awake. The blonde plays dumb and closes his eyes.

Luis chuckles at the sight of Leon, shaking his head and making his way into the bedroom. "Ay no need to play dead mi amigo." He sits at the edge of the bed, hands laced, voice incredibly calm. "What's wrong cowboy?"

Leon hasn't gained too much intimacy. He considered Luis as a... Colleague. A roomate. He was a nice person, weird most of the time and annoying, but nice. Luis is the type of person that you can trust just by looking in his eyes. Like a random stranger that you suddenly meet in your life and feels that you can trust your darkest secrets to him.

"Can't sleep. That's all." He says. Technically true, but that's not all.

"Shouldn't be up this time." Luis convenently sighs.

"But you're too." True.

"Unforeseen. I had to use the bathroom." He chuckles. Leon mirrors his smile.

"Y'know," Leon sighs, sits up straight, hand in his hair. "M'just... Tired of all of this... Can't remember the last time I slept well."

Luis observers the soldier, like an owl. Baggy eyes, fuzzy blonde hair. Leon looks lost and hopeless. He has see this look before. The same when he dismissed Ada. The same when he thought that Luis was dead. The same when the Illuminados captured Ashley. He knows what Leon has been through. He feels it.

"It must be very difficult for you Leon," Luis looks down for a second and immediately turns his eyes back on the agent. "But that's all over. You, me, we are all safe now."

Blue eyes flush with realization. Safe. He repeats that out loud. Luis affirms. Leon is safe. There were times that he thought he wouldn't last, he would let his companions down, fail his purpose. But no. He did it. He's safe now.

"Leon." He calls.

Luis tucks the golden hair behind his ear. How did he got so close to Leon? Not that it was bothering him, quite the opposite. Leon looked back at Luis, as if he had all the answers in the world. Luis was kind. A shelter for all the cruelty and horrors of the world. He opens a smile. What a beautiful smile, Leon thinks. There is no malice, no playfulness here. Luis actually seems to be worried about the state of Leon.

"If there's anything you want to tell me, or if you just want a friendly shoulder to cry on, I'm here." He cups the side of his face. "I'm here for you Leon."

Lips quiver. There's no turning back now. Leon throws his arms around the spaniard, who welcomes him in his arms. He breathes in and sobs. Sobs loudly. Muffling against his chest. Luis pats his back, a calming hand runs on his hair, lips giving him small kiss on top of his head.

"There there," Luis coos. He can feels his nose on his scalp. "Cálmate, está bien. Estás bien." His voice as relaxing as a lullaby.

...

Leon finally composes himself, backing away from his chest as he wipes away his tears. Never does anyone look as serene as he's right now. "Thanks." He nods.

Luis smiles, as if he has nothing to be thankful for. "Feeling better?"

Leon hums a "Mm-hm."

Both remained in a comfortable silence, just the sound of his breaths hanging in the air.

"Do you think you can sleep now?" Luis asks.

"Mmm..." Leon bites his nail, shrugging while responding "Dunno" behind his teeth.

"Do you want me to stay here? I can... Tuck you in." He grins.

Leon spots him suspiciously, a light pink shade forming on his cheeks. "Tuck me in?" He scoffs. "What you think I am, five?"

"That's not what I said." Luis answers teasingly. "But you expect me to leave you awake? At this time?"

"I'm fine Luis..." Leon shakes his head. "Nonsense!" Luis spits. He extends his arms, fingers calling him. "C'mon." Leon raises his brow.

He whistles in, tapping one of his thighs. "Come here!" Leon never looked so confused. Why is he— did he actually just whistled?

"Absolutely not." Luis smirks with a cocky look. "Look you gotta sleep now, so you either sit here or I'll drag you myself."

At this point he got it. Leon felt himself slipping. It wasn't the first time he felt like this either. Something in his past made him feel this way. Sometimes he felt small. As if his clothes were too big for him. He didn't want to work or act like an adult. He wanted to hide under the covers and read a book. She wanted to take her teddy bears that she got as a gift and play with them. But it's okay because everyone wants to be child again!

Right?

"C'mon Leon. Let Tío Luis put you to sleep." He calls him one more time, in a husky voice.

Leon curl up in his shoulders, knees navigating to the man's lap. He clungs on him like a koala. "Muyyy bien..." He whispers. Leg bounces Leon, while he melts in Luis' arms. He doesn't want to admit this is actually working. He can't slip. He's not a child! Eyes widened with this thought. This should end.

"Are you sure this is-"

"Shh..." Luis get back to run his hands on his blonde hair. "Quiet. Close your eyes."

Leon is in no space to complain. He would but- well he's too exhausted. He will talk to him in the morning.

He clears his throat. "Luis..."

"What now, mi vida."

"Can you uh..." Nails dig into the man's shirt. He feels his face warming, so he tries to hide in his chest. "Take... My paci?"

He chuckles. "Your what? Your paci?" Luis stares at Leon amusedly. The blonde snorts, turning his eyes away. The other man laughs and forgives himself. "Aww I'm sorry mi amor! Sure I'll get your binky!" Leon gets surprised at how easily he accepted.

Carefully holding the boy in his arms, Luis pulls the drawer of his nightstand and finds a adult pacifier, blue shield with a paw print on the middle. Leon lightly parted his lips so that the plastic nipple could enter his mouth. Luis smiles proudly at how adorable Leon looked.

"There we go. Feeling good buddy?" He asks. Leon nods.

Luis gently wraps his arm under the boy's shoulder, other holds his knees while slowly rocking the already sleepy baby in his chest. "Good boy."

His head rests on top of his clavicle, secure chest keeps his torso close to him. Luis adjuts himself against the pillows, his back resting on them. He rocks the baby in his arms, slowly. He looks down at the boy. So calm in his sleep. Chest rising and falling with each breath, paci pecked in his lips bouncing. Eyelashes kissing his cheeks. What could possibly Luis ask more than this. He couldn't be more grateful.

Finally, comfort. All the solution for his problems were right here. Luis would look after Leon, like he always did. Keeping him safe in his arms scaring away all the bad stuff in the world. His eyes fluster until there was no left strength, and they eventually close. Luis smiles proudly of his boy. His sweet and lovely boy.

Luis brushes a strand of hair from his face, leaning down to leave one last kiss on his crown.

"Sweet dreams mi angelito."

...

#playdoughtiny writes ! 🚧 #resident evil agere #agere fanfic #horror agere #fandom agere #leon kennedy #luis serra #sfw age regression #sfw agere #sfw agere blog

[rebel-walnut]

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Steddie Season 3 time travel fic, Part 5

Ao3, Pt. 1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.6

Every time Steve looks up from his and Dustin's shared booth he sees Eddie break another health code violation. While he accepted Steve's generous gift of his very own prized sailor hat, Eddie's left his hair down and unruly beneath it, right in reach of the ice cream tubs. There's been no complaints yet, but it's only a matter of time before he drags all the curls on the left side of his head through the untouched tub of rum raisin. 

Eddie catches Steve staring and throws a wave of his ring clad fingers at him -which is another health code violation it should be noted, the manual was very clear about no hand jewelry getting in the way of serving U.S.S. Butterscotch's- and keeps eye contact over his shoulder as he heads to the freezer in the back for another tub of vanilla. As he turns Steve spots a familiar flash of black hanging out of the pocket of Eddie's borrowed sailor shorts, because of course he still has his bandana in his pocket even in this stupid costume. 

So if we're keeping track of rule breaks and health code violations, that's long hair, rings (and his dangling guitar pick necklace), his stupid bandana, and just general uncleanliness. Oh, and he's covering his name tag with a pin off his vest that says WASP. Let it be known that Steve Harrington is not handing over his scooper willingly, ladies and gentlemen. It's purely out of necessity.

The worst part though in Steve's opinion is that the strange hodgepodge of nautical-meets-metalhead is sort of working. By all laws of the Harrington Charm, it shouldn't work together. Hell, even the nautical elements on its own did nothing to help Steve's game. Probably hurt it, if anything. Yet here Eddie is, replacing the vanilla with the weirdest outfit mashup in history, sucking the ice cream off his thumb (unhygienic by the way) from replacing the bin in such a way that has three girls in a booth across the shop giggling and blushing. Maybe time travel isn't the weirdest thing that's happened today, maybe it's Eddie Munson emanating charm left and right through the power of metal, tattoos, and cheap polyester sailor costumes with Steve's name on them.

Eddie looks back up to Steve as he pops his thumb out of his mouth, his head falling to the side and his eyebrows quirking up when he sees Steve staring. Steve feels a familiar heat rise to his ears and his cheeks for reasons that he's not quite sure of.

"...even listening? Steve? STEVE!"

Every head in the shop snaps to Dustin and his expecting stare directed at Steve. After a moment, chatter starts up again and Steve turns back to Dustin. "Dude, what. Quit yelling."

"Not my fault you're too busy staring at Robin instead of answering my very important questions that could frankly save the universe, Jesus Steven, try to keep up instead of ogling your coworker."

"What?! I'm not staring at Robin, gross."

"Ok, I get it, just because she wasn't popular in high school means you can't-" Steve clamps a hand over Dustin's mouth and suppresses a gag at the thought of him and Robin. Sure, he liked her before, but now? Robin?

"I'll cut you some slack since technically you don't remember this conversation, but we've had it before, and Robin and I will never be a thing. May as well get that out of the way now- hey!" Steve pulls his hand back from Dustin's mouth as Dustin sticks his tongue out and contaminates Steve's palm. "Didn't anyone teach you manners? I know Claudia did," Dustin's smug little look is back the second Steve's hand is away.

"Didn't anyone teach you to pay attention when your friends are trying to help you save the world? As I was saying," He drops one of his grubby fingers onto the whiteboard where Steve's written as much information about the Mindflayer as he can remember. "You said there's only one gate this year, the one from the Russians. That's how the Mindflayer was activated. But," He slides his finger over to Steve's information about the gates in '86. "Next year there's three from the kids that died, plus whatever gates opened up in the earthquake that you and Eddie fell through. Meaning, we only have one gate to send you through this time unless we can open another one."

"You think we could do that? Open another one?"

Dustin grimaces as he rolls over the options in his head. "Maybe El could since she opened the first one and she closed the gate last year, but we don't necessarily need a different gate. We just need the gate to not be guarded by, well, evil Russians."

Steve reads over the writing on the board, going through the details that he remembers from the Russians as well as the Mindflayer and the Upside Down stuff, but since he was trapped in a Russian bunker for most of it there's clearly less writing on that side of the board. "God, we really need El," Steve says as he scrubs a hand down his face. "She comes in tomorrow with Max I think, so we can all talk to her then. We still have a few days before shit really hits the fan, today and tomorrow I don't think anything really happens that I can remember."

Steve's watch is flashing 1:07 PM. Eddie's been handling the lunch rush for about an hour and a half, and as much as Steve is enjoying witnessing Eddie's complete lack of health and safety competence, there's not much more Steve can add to the board. They've covered everything with the Russians from the gate to their torture devices, and Steve has down everything he remembers about the Mindflayer and it's victims. There's a small section in the bottom right with the locations of the gates in '86 and what Steve knows about Vecna (which is not much if he's being honest), but at least one concussion every year starts to take a toll on your memory. 

Steve looks over to see Eddie struggling with a strawberry cone as Robin rings up a little girl and her grandmother, half his scoop falling over the side of the cone as he tries to push it back in with the edge of the scooper. His meddling ends up cracking the cone as the scooper breaks through the wafer instead of gently nudging the ice cream, and Steve has to suppress a snort at the disaster that is Eddie Munson trying to work at Scoops Ahoy. 

Steve slides out of the booth and leaves Dustin to contemplate the board, rounding the corner of the front counter and sliding a hand over Eddie's shoulder before leaning in close. "You're off duty, sailor," Steve says just quiet enough for Eddie to hear, taking the scooper from his hand.

"Thank fuck," Eddie says in return not as quietly as he should have, given the small child standing right in front of the counter. Eddie's fingers brush the small of Steve's back as slides behind him and Steve tries not to light up at the contact. In a practiced motion, he replaces the disaster strawberry cone that Eddie was trying to make (and adding a little extra on top to make up for Eddie saying fuck) and hands it off to Robin, his eyes still on Eddie tentatively taking a seat with Dustin at the booth. 

Robin gives him another quizzical stare as she finishes up with the girl and her grandmother, only a couple other people still milling around the shop after the rush. 

The last hour of Steve's shift goes by uneventfully. Dustin spends the remainder of his time at the shop alternating between grilling Steve for details that he doesn't have and demanding more root beer floats. Eddie sits across from him and distracts him with rambles about his latest D&D campaign which seems to be about sixty percent effective at getting Dustin off Steve's back during work hours. 

Steve finishes wiping down the booths lining the wall before going to join Eddie and Dustin at the table, drying his hands and flipping the rag over his shoulder. There's a little doodle of what Steve thinks is supposed to be a demo-bat in the corner of the board, with an arrow pointing to it that says 'flesh eating.' Steve drops his finger down beside it. "Those little shits did a number on me and Eddie," Eddie, still in his sailor hat, looks up to meet Steve's eyes.

"Not in this timeline Harrington, my skin's smooth as a baby," Eddie lifts the edge of his shirt to expose a sliver of skin that should be puckered with fresh wounds and weeping bites, but is instead only one shade of pale with a small smattering of freckles. He pats his shirt as he lays it back down and Steve almost misses the small tremor in Eddie's fingers. "Which, speaking of, we should find a way to keep that from happening this time."

"Well, so far there's been no real consequences of us being here. I don't wanna push that theory too far, and I don't know if going back will put us back in our original timeline or this one, but I think we're safe enough to talk to El and see if there's anything we can do," Dustin's got his thinking face back on at Steve's words, but surprisingly says nothing even when Steve nudges his shoulder. "My shift's over anyways, so we can just lay low for the rest of the day until we can talk with El tomorrow."

Eddie's still staring at his hands as he slides out of the seat, watching as the door closes behind the last customer in the shop. "So like, we just go home? That's it? Hope the world doesn't explode?" Eddie glances around the four of them in the midst of his gesturing, Robin joining them at the front of the store.

"Pretty much," Steve says as he bumps Eddie's shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. "We can't do anything right now, and we don't wanna mess with things more than we already have. The Russians can wait a day for us to get our shit together before we get Owens and Hopper involved," Steve's chest twinges at the reminder that he'll be facing Hopper again after not seeing him for a year. 

"Oh, wait-" Steve starts as he grabs the marker off the whiteboard, grabbing Eddie's arm and flipping it to the blank canvas of his inner forearm instead of the bats adorning the rest. He uncaps the marker with his teeth and starts scrawling as small as he can, Eddie's stare boring into the side of Steve's head as he writes. With a small flourish he caps the pen with one hand and throws it back to the table, keeping Eddie's wrist in a vice grip.

"There. My address and my phone number," Steve tightens his grip and stares back at Eddie. "If anything happens, even if you think it's nothing, you tell me. Call me, find me, whatever. Just tell me," he squeezes Eddie's wrist once more for emphasis before dropping it, but Eddie keeps it held in the air. He ghosts his fingers over Steve's writing before glancing back to Steve, his stare burning. Eddie gives a slow solemn nod and Steve is sent back to just before everything went to shit, when Eddie nodded just like that and said 'make him pay' and fuck Steve tried, but it's never enough, is it. Except this time Eddie's in front of him with his skin intact, and maybe Steve shouldn't believe the nod this time around, but he finds himself swaying into Eddie's space anyways.

During the drive home Steve keeps expecting a gate to open up in the middle of the road that swallows the beemer whole and dumps him back into hell, but despite all of his antsy stares and white knuckling Hawkins remains mundane.

Fatigue sweeps over him easily as soon as the front door is open, Steve only stopping momentarily to grab a beer from the fridge and popping the tab with his teeth as he settles onto the couch. His eyelids blink heavy, the beer quickly forgotten in his hand while the force of sleep continues to pull him under like a hand holding his head underwater. 

Steve's lying in a black room, a thin sheet of water covering the floor. Or maybe he's floating on the surface, he can't tell. The black stretches on in every direction as far as he can see, and what Steve thought were walls continue to be nothing but void as he sits up and reaches for a perimeter. He pushes himself to his feet and tries to grab for a wall again, but still nothing.

A sharp whistling noise starts out small in the back of his head as Steve walks farther from where he was laying, quickly suffocating any other sense of sound and burrowing in behind his eyes. He clutches at his temples as a noiseless scream rips itself from his throat, the whistling carving itself a permanent place in his skull.

There's a pressure at Steve's feet that's working its way around his ankles, leaving behind a trail of cold that seeps into his bones. He manages his eyes open a crack to see the floor shift from water into a swirling mass of vines that writhe and breathe together as one. They swell in the center and slide over each other as they make their way to Steve, streaking Steve's skin with a familiar blackish-blue slime as he struggles to free his legs. 

One of the vines shoots out from the mass covering his feet and latches itself around his wrist, pulling him onto his knees. The vines work their way around his hips and up to his chest with a strange suction that keeps Steve from moving. They pull his arms behind his back and wrap themselves around his wrists and his fingers while one starts the slide up the side of his neck. He tries to scream again but he can't hear past the whistling to tell if it worked. 

The whistling fades into a deep hum, still loud enough to hide any other noise but less piercing to the point that Steve can think again. A scratching sensation weaves itself up his spine and circles around the crown of his head before settling at his ears. The scratch warbles and combines with the deep hum, hissing and choking in his ears as it forms words out of air.

"You don't belong here," it screeches in three different octaves. "But I can use you anyways," Steve yanks against the vines holding his wrists to no avail, glancing between the vines for any sort of gap he can use. He catches a figure off to his right that seems to be another mound of vines writhing over each other, but it's too dark to make out any details. 

"You will make a great addition to my army," Steve is drowning in the hissing and mumbling of the voice, choking on it like smoke and struggling to breathe. The vine that was resting on his neck springs to life and pulls away from his skin with a sharp release, then plunges itself back towards Steve as the tip of the vine splits open into five different segments and latches over Steve's mouth. It's a frigid shock to the system as the slime and suction pulls Steve's conscious into the vine with no air to-

-breathe. Steve's lungs wrack with shuddering breaths as he shoots upright, the beer can falling to the hardwood floor with a crack. His hands fly to grip over his mouth and his neck in search of the vines that were there just a moment ago. His tremor ridden fingers find nothing, despite the rotten and gritty taste that's lingering on his tongue. 

He stumbles up from the couch and into the kitchen, hitting the door on the way in his frantic stupor. Steve wastes no time scooping tap water into his mouth to rinse out the foul taste that -while probably a phantom taste- plagues his senses nonetheless. He's gulping down his fifth mouthful of water when the phone rings.

Steve rounds the kitchen counter and pulls the phone off the stand, not entirely sure if his voice will come when he calls.

"Steve?" Eddie's voice is timid and shaky on the other side, matching Steve's own tremor. It takes Steve two tries to form words around his tongue.

"Eddie? What's wrong?"

"I-" Steve hears Eddie swallow over the line, can hear the ragged panic in his voice, too. "I had a dream."

_____

TAG LIST (reply to be added): @estrellami-1 @melodymeddler @songbird-garden @gregre369 @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @bestwifehaver @mediguro @goodolefashionedloverboi @huniiibee @rhyswritesreadsandcries @i-have-three-feelings @mightbeasleep @grtwdsmwhr @hirikka @starlight-archer @clumsiluni @celestialrebel1

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #shovel writes

[smaller-comfort]

Well, it's the reason the story is rated M! I wish I could figure out how to tag this, but I'm pretty sure "sex from a non-human pov wherein everyone involved is completely alienated from their physical body in some way but they're just going to make the best of it" is over the character limit.

Technically the sex is not particularly explicit, but it kind of feels like it actually is, to me. I don't know anymore. I realize the line between an M and an E rating is often pretty blurry; the Ratings Police probably aren't going to arrest me for using the word "sphincter".

Anyway. Notes below the cut; you know the drill, I like to hear myself talk.

I really, really love some of the language in this, but I recognize that I may have gone overboard a little bit in places.

'I may have gone overboard' sums up my feelings about this one in general, actually. I'm not about to provide a fully annotated draft where I justify my word choice, phrasing, and characterization line-by-line, but I probably could. (I definitely could.) I kind of really, really love this story. A lot. I'm not gonna lie, I'm really proud of it, even if it probably could've been like...half as long. Anyway. You get a cookie if you can figure out which bits are my favorites.

I almost decided to rewrite this whole thing in past tense. I'm still not entirely sure I shouldn't have, but it would be way too much work at this point. I tend to write smut in present tense; make of that what you will.

The game itself has a fairly distinctive "voice," and I do try to mimic that at least a little. B'st in particular walks this funny line between a formal register (doesn't use many contractions, 'Great Alchemist') and goofiness (taking out the trash, his transformations). (When people tell me I hit the voices right it makes me giddy for hours.)

Still operating on the premise that Songsters are funky little guys and not humanoids. Don't ask me how they have sex, though, I really haven't gotten that far and I'm probably not going to. "Not like this," thanks B'st, that's extremely illuminating. He's never actually going to get around to drawing that diagram.

('Safe sex' for human/songster couplings typically involves earplugs. Ancient Repine sex ed would've been a trip.)

"Hey, v, anatomically speaking-" shhhhh. It's magic glass. Don't worry about it. (Is any of the sex here actually sexy? Is it supposed to be? These are questions I ask myself frequently; I have no answers. At any rate, I think I nailed the 'weirdly alienating with lots of feelings' vibe, and that's mostly what I was going for.)

I like to headcanon Songsters having extremely complicated extended familial structures. B'st and T'kor might not have had kids of their own, but they would have shared childrearing responsibilities for members of their extended family. In that respect, Mooncradle's communal society is very familiar to B'st.

I know about the T'kor=AI Core theory, and it feels like exactly the sort of thing where Thierry would go "Oh, I thought that one was way too obvious, actually." I kind of hate it, though, because it's too tragic and it makes me too sad.

Speaking of things that are too sad! I cut some extremely depressing dialogue about how the abandoned lab and the lost souls were actually left behind for Resh'an to find. Aephorul intended for them to be another "gift"- he knew about Resh'an's work on living glass, and what he needed to finish it. It wasn't a coincidence that all the materials Resh'an needed were there.

B'st was already aware of this; Resh'an figured it out on his own. At this point neither of them is going to bring it up. B'st assumes it will just make Resh'an feel pointlessly guilty all over again, and Resh'an...is already feeling extremely guilty about it! Imagine that.

Living Glass was supposed to be Resh'an's solution to their decaying bodies. But by now Resh'an doesn't actually think he has a strong enough will to live to survive the process anymore (as he's got the depression) and Aephorul was never a fan of the idea of having a non-organic body to begin with.

(Not to say that Resh'an doesn't have an unshakeable sense of purpose, but that's not quite the same thing. Living Glass vs Borrowed Time rules.)

When I first started this one, it actually was going to be set in the same timeline as Loser Takes All, because it was much funnier that way. (Resh'an is not equipped to handle getting laid this much.) My thought was to make it a series where various characters find increasingly ridiculous ways to pin Resh'an down and fuck him stupid, since that's...kind of a recurring theme with me, I guess! Yomara was going to be next on the list.

Somehow my scrap file is almost 4000 words long, but I didn't actually end up cutting very much. The ending got rewritten like six times; the majority of the first chapter was originally supposed to take place after the sex. It flows better this way, though.

I did cut one of my favorite lines, though, so here you go:

“You may feel conflicted about what I am now and how I came to be, but I do not. Have faith in that, if nothing else. In this moment, in this time, I am exactly as I am meant to be.”

I'm not saying I'm not gonna write that eventually, mind you. Welcome to the niche corner, etc. Yomara deserves something nice, and the Three Sisters have been eating the corners of my brain a bit lately.

(B'st/Romaya is probably more likely at this point, though.) (Shout out to that one Serai/Romaya fic on ao3 that rewired my brain slightly, you're a real one.)

I've got Winter and Spring now, so the next story in the series should be Summer. But I might have more than 4 stories to tell in this particular universe. So maybe I'll jump straight to Autumn and keep with a general theme of "seasons" for everything.

#nattering #my fic #sea of stars #musical theorems #b'st/resh'an #this one feels a bit like Limitless in terms of the way writing it has kicked holes in my brain #in the same vein i am very proud of this but i know it's a little more niche #i *do* wish i could figure out how to tag it though

[theliterarywolf]

Your "foot in the door" tag about this writer's strike actually highlights what I think is the issue a lot of people have with this situation. Specifically with the idea that they shouldn't take any jobs.

"you want to write for TV or movies? You have to join our special club! How do you join the club? Why you do work for the club of course! No silly, you can't do work for the club unless you're in the club, don't be stupid."

"hey everyone in our special club is refusing to work. By the way, if you think this is your opportunity to do jobs that we were keeping you from doing before, don't. We'll go back to work at some point. And then we'll blacklist you for life."

It is. Disheartening

Okay, but I would argue the fact that, technically speaking, you don't need to be part of the WGA in order to work in Hollywood. It's just a much harder route and you don't get the support-system and legal protections that the union offers.

These are two completely different fields, but I'll draw a connection to the sector I work in (primarily): education.

When I started solo-teaching, I actually wasn't a member of the teacher's union because the registration process seemed wonky and I didn't think that I would have any situation where I would need representation or delegation, as well as the whole 'giving part of my paycheck away? No thank you~' mindset.

However, when I had that first altercation with a student (long story short: kid was shouting profanity across my room and being belligerent so, right before the bell was due to ring, I told the side of the room that he had been disrupting 'Also, spoiler-alert, folks: You shouldn't call anyone a bitch when you yourself are acting like one. Now get out.') and the principal sent me an email that reeked of 'I want to fire you so damn bad but if you have a union rep I have to mind myself', I thought 'You know what? If this is going to be a thing, I should probably sign up with the Teacher's Union.

If you don't want to be part of the WGA and just want writing as an Uber-style short-term gig, you can do that. Just not now. Because if you do it now while people are fighting against the exploitation of writers and creatives in Hollywood and people in the WGA find out and, later down the line, you want to move into longer-scale work with more risks and you can't afford your own lawyers and representation, then they're going to justifiably feel like 'Oh, so now you want to eat the bread! Where were you when the rest of us were toiling the field?'

#Replies

[maglor-my-beloved]

read on Ao3

My entry for @silmsmutweek day 2

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Relationships: Maia of Vairë (OC)/Míriel Þerindë

Additional tags: Implied/referenced past character death, Halls of Mandos, Let Míriel Be Angry, Ghost Sex (technically), Casual Sex, Vaginal Sex, Tender Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy

Míriel, stuck in Mandos, is lonely. And angry. And perhaps a one-night-stand with a cute Maia isn't the best way to deal with her situation, but hey, if Finwë gets to remarry, why shouldn't she have some fun? The consequences of this are... unexpected.

---

Míriel stares unseeing at the tapestry before her, tears blurring her vision. She had not known spirits could weep, but weep she does, for her son who would never know his mother, for herself who would never walk among the living again. She weeps in anger, too, anger at her husband – no, no longer husband – who could not be content with the son she had given him, who still wanted more, and when she could not give it had simply replaced her, and with one she had thought a friend.

Oh, but she must not weep, must not be angry, for she had agreed to this, after all. An eternity in the gloom of Mandos had seemed to her better than the prospect of bearing yet another child for Finwë, nourishing a fëa with strength she did not have, and though he had not said it she knows that he would have expected her to, had she chosen to return.

No, she prefers Mandos, despite the gloom and loneliness.

Indis’ children will be great, they say, though little consolation that is to Míriel. Is my son not great, too? she thinks. Is he not enough? Must I, must he endure all this sorrow for someone else’s greatness?

But she cannot change it, can do nothing but weep as she stares at Finwë’s face woven in thread before her, his smile as he beholds his daughter, and beside it another tapestry, her son weeping quietly as he, too, is replaced.

She does not know how long she has wept when she senses a presence behind her.

"Lady Míriel," a soft voice says, and she turns to see one of Vairë's Maiar, looking at her with gentle concern. "Are you well?"

"No," she says, her voice devoid of emotion. She has no tears left.

The Maia sighs. "No, I did not think so. I come with an offer from my Lady Vairë – she wishes to invite you to join her in her Halls, and dwell there with her."

"I cannot," Míriel says, turning back to the tapestry. "I am bound to dwell in Mandos forever."

"And yet Lady Vairë's Halls are a part of Mandos. There you may be – not alive, but more than spirit. More than memory.”

More than memory. It sounds nearly too good to be true. She cannot abide this static, unchanging stillness, longing to create as she had in life, ceaselessly. Perhaps she can again.

“Let us go, then,” she says sharply, impatiently.

Vairë’s halls are far less gloomy than the ones she has left behind, and they certainly are not silent. The rhythmic crashing of wood on wood fills the air, and Míriel realises how much she has missed the sound of looms, the feeling of wool between her fingers. She cannot wait to start creating.

“Let me show you to your rooms first, my Lady,” the Maia says with an amused smile. It looks good on them, Míriel thinks. Their eyes are brighter than any Elda’s, their hair fine and of ever-shifting colour…

So lost is she in studying every detail of their face that she nearly collides with them when they halt in front of a door and open it.

“I hope you will find everything to your liking,” they say, but Míriel cares not for the rooms. She shuts the door and steps closer to the Maia, so close that she can feel the power radiating from them.

“You are pretty,” she says, and then, before she can stop herself, “I want to kiss you.”

The Maia steps back, their eyes wide and surprised. “My Lady, you are married…”

“It has been made very clear that I am not,” Míriel replies, and her hand curls around their wrist, pulling them closer again. They let her.

“Are you certain this is wise?”

“I care not,” she says. “Was it wise of Finwë to remarry? Why should he be the only one to get what he wants?”

Slowly, hesitantly, the Maia lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair from her face. “And what do you want, my Lady?”

They are close enough that she can feel the warmth of their breath of her skin, and it feels so good that the last of her inhibitions fade away.

“You,” she breathes. “If you will have me.”

“I – yes, my Lady,” the Maia (and she does not know their name, Míriel realises, but she does not care) says softly, and they are blushing faintly.

Míriel had not known that Maiar could blush. She lifts a trembling hand and touches their cheek, warm and solid beneath her fingers, more real than anything she has touched in a long time. Slowly, gazing deep into their too-bright eyes, she leans forward and presses her lips to theirs. She means for this first kiss to be chaste, just a press of lips to lips, but their breath hitches ever so slightly, their hand tightening in her hair, and she cannot help but deepen the kiss, hungrily exploring their mouth as they yield to her. Eager for more she tears at their clothes, and with a flick of their hand her lover makes them vanish, and hers as well, so that they are pressed skin to skin, her hands roaming their body even as her lips never leave theirs.

Neither of them needs to breathe, and she takes full advantage of that, kissing them for what feels like hours until they are moaning into her mouth, and without breaking the kiss she pushes them towards the bed and down, until they lay on their back beneath her. Only then does she draw back, and only to look at them, their skin dark and gleaming, their hair spread out on the pillows like threads of silver, and there is a strange ethereal quality to them, as though she is seeing them through foggy glass, until they ask, “What would you have of me, my Lady?”

“I want you inside me,” she says, unable to resist the way they look up at her, sweet and unsure. They are utterly inexperienced in this, she realises, and it thrills her to know that this ancient and powerful being will follow her lead, yield to her wishes.

Their body grows clearer, more solid at her answer, and now she can see the long, shapely erection between their legs. She sits up, straddling them, and teasingly grinds against it to hear them moan, watch them helplessly buck their hips.

“How…” they gasp, “how do you…”

“Keep still,” Míriel says with a smile. She holds their hips down with one hand and grasps their erection with the other, guiding it inside her as she slowly sinks down. Her lover trembles beneath her, desperately struggling not to thrust up into her, and their sweet, helpless whines make heat pool between her legs. It seems like an eternity until they are fully sheathed inside her, but she refuses to speed up, intent to draw this out as long as possible.

“My Lady,” they whine softly when she does not move, their eyes wide and pleading. “Please…”

Míriel smiles and strokes their face, then trails her hand down their chest, brushing against a pebbled nipple, and along their stomach until it comes to rest at the place where they are joined.

“Touch me,” she says, slightly breathless at the sheer rush of power from having one of the Holy Ones pleading beneath her.

Gently, almost reverently, their hands come to rest on her skin, gliding along her body, caressing her breasts, her thighs, and she sighs in pleasure, beginning to slowly move up and down, all the while holding their hips down, not letting them thrust up into her as they so clearly want.

“Ahh,” she gasps, throwing her head back as pleasure builds inside her. “You feel so good… don’t stop…”

Oh, she had not known how much she needed this, to touch and be touched, to be with someone in this most intimate embrace. She moves relentlessly, never going faster nor halting until she feels her pleasure mount and crest, reaching her peak with a strangled cry just as her lover spills deep inside her.

She collapses beside them, boneless and trembling, and reaches out one shaking hand to grasp their wrist.

“Stay,” she says, tears pricking at her eyes, and they assent, holding her close as she weeps from relief and exhaustion.

---

When she has come back to herself, something is different, a feeling strange yet familiar as of a spark flickering inside her, and she gasps, her hand flying to her stomach.

“I…” she breathes, “I am…”

“You are with child, my Lady,” the Maia says softly. “Forgive me, I had not known such a thing could happen.”

“I do not have the strength to…” Her voice breaks as she fights for air she does not need, clutching her lover’s hand.

“I shall lend you my strength, for as long as you need it,” they assure her. “You shall not go through this alone."

---

They keep their word, and after a time that may be a year, Míriel’s second son is born. His hair is silver like hers, his dark eyes lit with a light unlike that of any Elda, and she wishes that her eldest were here to greet him.

“What will you name him, my Lady?” the child’s other parent asks as they kneel beside her bed, holding her hand.

“Eressëtoron,” she says. “Lonely brother.”

#miriel #oc maia #miriel/oc #maglor writes #silmsmutweek

[thegiantsansshipkidproject]

Faq

Just questions I anticipate being frequently asked. Will be extended as new questions are well... Frequently asked!

Why no dreammare? Why no Fresh x minty? Why no incest ships?

They fit the stipulation I put forward in the disqualifications page that I won't do incest related things. Itd feel like I'm condoning it or I was making it seem cute in some way and incest isn't cute/attractive and shouldn't be condoned. It literally only removes like 6 ships total out of a hundred plus possibilities, cope.

Why are all the ship kids gay/trans/etc?

Cause gay rights and gay wrongs :) there are completely cishet kids though too they are just ~ rare ~

Will you ever consider adding *insert au here*?

Like I said in my disqualifications post, if they don't fit any of those to an extreme degree, especially number 2, I will consider adding them to the second list with a bunch of other Sanses.

Can I draw these ship kids? Can I ship shipkids with other ship kids/Other characters? Can I self-ship myself with shipkids here?

Absolutely! Id love to be tagged in it too! I may even reblog the post here so others can see it! All I ask is you don't put them in ships with adult characters/gen 0 Sanses/original au Sanses (like the ones on my list), don't ship them inappropriately (like a 17 year old ship kid with a 10 yr old, have some decorum) or ship them with their siblings/half siblings/other related family. In the end, I can't stop you from drawing/writing whatever you want but I sure can ignore your art and block you >;)/srs so maybe dont tag me in or send me the art where your breaking my very simple rules.

Do you ship the ships you draw for? Do you have any ships between ship kids?

Not all of the obviously but I do have a few sans amasui ships I really love like dreamfresh, kustard, outersci and others but I tend to like rarepairs the most. Also yes! I do ship some of my ship kids together with each other (blossom and moon) and with ship kids outside of my own (like luna x goth is an ancient love of mine and Doom x lux). It's abit uncommon for me but I do ship some! None of them are really canon though so if you ship them a different way, as long as it's abiding to their sexuality, I don't mind!

What dose MLM/ILW/NbLnb mean?

These are conjoining community labels and I use them more for bi/gay/hetero curious ocs. MLM means men love(ing) men and describes a man that likes other men, this label includes bi men and gay men. When I say a male oc is MLM, I mean that he knows he likes boys but he doesn't specify his sexuality further. He could like girls or enbies or he couldn't, he's not sure yet. Oh and since it's related; ILW/ILM/ILNB means intersex/intergender so ILW means intersex/Intergender loving women. I means intersex/Intergender, W means woman, M means man and NB means nonbinary.

"lesbians can't use he/him pronouns"/"Neopronouns are stupid"/*insert some other form of lgbtphobia here*

I won't entertain this. Anyone can use any pronouns ever, Neopronouns are older than Shakespeare and all LGBT discourse is poison. " I can't physically pronounce Zey/Zem!" Ok that's why the auxiliary/acceptable exipronouns(she, he, they or it) are written right next to them :) its almost like you have no excuses to misgender and mispronoun my characters :)

What's this nonbinary character's birth sex/dead name?

Although I do know (because I made them), why do you wanna know what genitals this 5 year old character has? :) that's awful fucking weird dude. Idk about youuu :) (<- not thinking about smashing your creep ass head in/hj)

"Intersex is a sex, not a gender"

Putting this to the side because I'm intersex, I've had Perisex(non-intersex people) genuinely say this and yes, people can and have and will describe their gender as Intergender/intersex. It just means that because your intersex, you can't nessesarily be labeled as cis or trans or nonbinary. Your technically cis because you identify with your gender/sex assigned at birth and that gender/sex is intersex. Technically the label is cintersex/cintergender but Intergender is basically the same. It just means your gender is your intersexuality. It's not that complicated and if you arnt Intergender, especially if you arnt intersex at all, you have no business telling us what our gender can and can't be.

How does a 3 year old know their full gender, sexuality and pronouns?

They don't! The guide is applicable to them throughout their whole lives. That 3 year old doesn't know that their polyam and bi right at that age but when they grow up, they will know and that will be their orientation and relationship desires. The ages present are really just to show the age differences between them, their siblings and the other ship kids. That 3 yr old has a version of them in a timeline right now where they are 30 years old, its all relative.

The birthdays/orientations/genders/pronouns/etc you put for the main Sanses arnt right.

Your correct. It's because I did my own takes on them and I'm basing them off my own headcanons and also because not every creator of those Sanses ever answered those questions. Technically these ship kids could both apply to my versions as well as apply to them canonically.

How do you decide their birthdays/orientations/pronouns/etc?

I spin a wheel with all the options and just pick what it lands on! (Of course with some basic stuff like no lesbian trans men, no Aro/ace/Aroace pre-teens and below, etc)

What's your name/pronouns/gender/etc?

Although my pronouns were already added to the main post, all the information on my sona's sheet applies to me, the real Zen and runner of this blog! (I go by Zen or Zenia, I'm two spirit Genderfluid and intersex, I'm bi Arospec and polyam, my favorite color is a minty teal green, I'm 23 yrs old, my birthday is June 4th, etc etc)

If you have another question and don't see it present, like I said on the main post, please feel free to send in my inbox! I'll happily answer and if I think it could come up again, I'll add it to the FAQ so it won't need to be answered again.

#the faq #faq #pinned post links

[aviswriting]

Navigation

Okay, instead of just making a list of all the topics I'd like to write articles for, I decided I'd make a massive navigation post. It can be tiresome to scroll through a whole blog to find the right chapter, so here's links for all the stories, the titles of articles (well it's just the one for right now) I've completed, and a list of questions/subjects I will write about. :)) This will be edited as that information actually becomes relevant. I don't have much on this blog yet.

🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌

The Curious Cases of Caddel

Prologue . . .

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Articles I've completed!

1st Corinthians, 6:12

Creation vs. Evolution (not technically an article but I don't plan on expanding past what is said here)

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Dragon Borne/Morana (sorry if the title is confusing, the tag is #morana, who is the oc for that story)

Prologue

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List of Subjects I Will (or Want to) Write About

Predestination Vs. Free Will (oh boy. I won't be doing this any time soon xD)

What does "humanist" mean? And how is it used?

What does "totalitarian" mean? And how is it used?

What does "Arminian" mean?

Review for [x] book

Why aren't Mormons Christians? (I don't mean to alienate anyone with this one, but whether or not tumblr likes it does not matter. It's an important question)

Why Unity in the Church is of the upmost importance (speaking of... I will probably/hopefully read Bede's history before I answer this :)) I have it somewhere, it's a matter of finding it in my... millions of books.. I don't have a bookshelf.....)

[Bible chapter, verse(s)]

How should modesty be handled in the modern age?

Should we reference books outside of the Bible for Biblical guidance/answers?

Nakedness in art (I will be reading Francis Shaeffer before answering this)

Salvation (I should maybe work on this article next. It's to be decided though)

Can/should women be in positions of worldly power and/or leadership? (I'm either gonna piss a lot of people off with this or tumblr will be surprisingly normal about it)

Why women shouldn't be pastors or hold positions of authority in the church (all based out of the Bible baby)

On Catholicism (yet another thing that might alienate me from some of tumblr, but it's an important subject within the Christian realm)

How should Christians interact with other cultures and religions?

How should Christians interact with cuss words?

The Medieval dragon vs. the modern

What does being "Reformed" mean?

What is an "Evangelist?"

Is subjectivity a Biblical concept? Or: Can we interpret God's guiding words to apply different to different people? (A bit of a weirder or more nuanced concept?)

On meditation

🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌

PLEASE NOTE: The articles are for my own education and to teach me about the world. You might notice the "what does [x] mean" subjects. I like defining my terms.

I'm not here to argue or stir up controversy. I'm here to learn. If you want to interact and discuss, (with overall friendly tones), please feel free to do so! I love seeing other people's ideas and thoughts. I however have some anger issues so if you want to argue or debate... I will either lose motivation really quickly or won't engage. It's not good for my health to argue with strangers online (wow imagine that) and it just causes me to be extremely negative. Please understand; I apologize if my weakness irritates you or you think I'm a "snowflake" for being like this, but no amount of exposure therapy seems to "fix" this. It's just how I am and it's not conducive to my learning. If you want to discuss, however, and simply present what you think, please don't think it falls on deaf ears even if I tell you I disagree. I don't imagine I would respond to you in a cavalier manner, (I mean, for Lord's sake I can't seem to shut up), but even if I do just please be aware that this is the internet and you can't see my face or the time I'm spending sitting around thinking about stuff.

That being said, I love sharing ideas! It's my high. :)) I mean, I want to be a journalist with an interest in culture and theology, so .... checks out. And please do correct me if something is factually and objectively wrong (though if it's simply a difference in theology... You'll have to prove it). I want this blog to be very friendly but dealing with serious ideas. It's for my own personal enjoyment and I will put myself first when it comes to how I operate my blog; but it's a blog for all to see and I really do hope you enjoy. :))

Sincerely, Avis 🐌🦇

#genres #navigation

[sonicstorybook]

Happy SatBK Day! :D

I do not think I will have time to finish/do what I wanted today, so here are some WIPS and SatBK doodles instead!!!

Nimue (more like NiMOMue hehe) teaching baby Lancelot how to make flower crowns! Really want to play with the fae/magical part of her some more, and kind of like the idea that she doesn’t need legs while in the water, so she’s got a mermaid kinda tail instead. 

Sir Percival and Sir Lamorak WIP! I got bogged down by the detail... Um, basically, I think it’s impractical of them to run around with their weapons unsheathed all the time, so I wanted to make them scabbards! Which worked for Percival, but then I looked at Lamorak and decided he’s just gonna have a belt with like, a holster kinda thing.

This is my ‘I am lazy but this needs color’ style of coloring that actually takes me a lot longer to make passably good. I like the effect even if it’s kinda crazy? My younger Lancelot re-design! C:

Lamorak Doodle!!! That actually looks super hideous, ugh, I’m sorry man. :C Your head is so funky, how do your head feathers work??

Naked Sir Hector, aka Lancelot’s younger half-brother aka Shadow android! C: I like the idea that while they both take strongly after their father, there are also clear physical differences, especially with regards to markings. But Hector has more chest fluff and longer ears, too!

#my art #WIP #satbk sir lamorak #satbk sir lancelot #sonic and the black knight #satbk #i feel like i shouldn't tag this but oh well. some of these are technically standalone images so... Meh? there is never enought satbk #content right? right. XD #i'll just tag the nicer more standalone pieces there we go #satbk sir hector #shadow android #yess there we go!

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Words | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! I hope y’all enjoy this quick lil thing I came up with while in horrific traffic 🥴

Send any comments, questions, and/or suggestions my way 🥰

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @emetophilily @breakablebarnes 💘

Warning: PTSD, anxiety

——————————————

No more than three seconds ago, Bucky had been standing right behind you, grabbing a few plums from the produce section while you checked your grocery list. When you'd turned around to ask if he wanted you to grab him some potatoes to go with dinner, he was gone. He'd somehow completely disappeared without you noticing, making a silent getaway thanks to his old training, no doubt. Your heart raced as you searched for him, abandoning your grocery cart and scanning every aisle for him, fearing that he might've had a panic attack and didn't want to bother you with it.

After what felt like forever, you found him on a bench outside with his head bowed. "Buck..?" you called as you made your way over to him, "is everything okay?" His head snapped up when he heard your voice, and you saw a bit of the tension in his face melt away. "Hey, what are you doing out here?" you asked as you sat down next to him, placing a hand on his knee. He sighed and shook his head, absentmindedly playing with his dog tags and letting them clink against his vibranium fingers.

"It's not that big of a deal, really," he said flatly, "I shouldn't have let it bother me." You stared at his tense features, watching as the muscles in his jaw flared ever so slightly. "Some guy- some asshole in there thought it would be funny-" he cleared his throat and gave your hand a squeeze before continuing, "I don’t know how but, he knew those words- he knew them and he stood right next to me, muttering them under his breath...like it was a joke, or something".

Your heart sank and you gave his hand a squeeze, watching as a tortured expression flickered behind his stormy eyes. "I know they don't technically have an affect on me anymore, but- I still hate hearing them." A deep sigh left his lips and he shook his head a bit, trying to rid his mind of the horrifying memories associated with those words. "Well of course you don't like hearing them, Buck..that makes perfect sense," you reassured him.

"I don't know...I just feel like I should be over it by now, I guess," he shrugged, letting a sad smile flash across his face. "As far as I'm concerned, you never have to get over it. You had some fucked up stuff happen to you, babe, you deserve to take your time," you murmured, "There is no deadline for healing".

He nodded and leaned toward you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "Come on, let's finish shopping," he muttered with a sigh. You stood up with him, but held him back from walking back inside. "Oh, I don't think that's a good idea..." you stated, "cause if I see the guy who did this, I'm gonna straight up commit murder in the cereal aisle or something". Bucky's head fell back in a laugh and he pulled you tight against his chest. "Oh, so now you're gonna go all Winter Soldier on some guy in the middle of a grocery store?" he teased.

"I just might!" you replied, "If someone messes with you, they mess with me". He left a kiss on your forehead, and you felt his smile pressed against you skin.

"Alright then," he said, "so if we're not going back inside...pizza tonight?"

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barns x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

[morosemagick]

Warriors of Menace | Finan x Reader One Shot

My entry for Rosie's 100 Follower Challange!!

Prompt: “You are very well behaved today. What have you done?”

Warning: Absolutely none, just a shit ton of fluff lol

Words: 2121

Tagged:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @for-bebbanburg @evelynshelby @lauwrite1225 @obipoelover @magravenwrites

Life is much different for you now than it was five years ago. Long gone are the days where there was a shyness about you, and your nerves rattled at the idea of forming friendships of this ragtag band of warriors. Time has been good to you, and after years of being a part of this little, mix-matched family founded by Uhtred of Bebbanburg, it’s safe to say you knew these men well. You understand all of their quirks and knew all the signs of how they behaved. The good days and the bad days were easy to recognize, and when mood swings would accord or the occasional argument between them would happen you’d know just how to put out the fire.

It’s this ability to understand these misunderstood warriors that brought you close to Finan, and in what felt like a blink of an eye… you were his wife.

And he was an excellent husband.

You understood him the most. Finan could not hide his moods from you. Happiness, frustration, anger. You knew the calling card for all of his moods, and he knew all of yours. When you first realized he had feelings for you, you could pinpoint all the little things he would try to do to get you to realize he loved you. It was heartwarmingly adorable and you didn’t let him go long without telling him you felt the same. Since your marriage, you have been a unit in sync. There is nothing Finan can hide from you after almost four years of marriage.

Including when he’s being an absolute menace.

You're in your kitchen making lunch, a large pot of stew over the fire because part of you already expects to feed more than just your family. It’s what you do at this point. You may have married Finan, but you feel like you married the whole crew of warriors with the way you care for them. The food is just about done when, just as expected, Finan comes bursting through the front door with Sihtric in tow.

By the way they come in giggling like children, you know they’re up to no good.

“I know you are not tracking dirt through my home, Finan,” You tell him as you stir your wooden spoon through the pot, and you can hear your husband coming up from behind you.

He kisses the side of your head, “I would never, darlin’,” Finan snickers, placing a hand on your rather round belly, “And how is the wee man today?”

“You are going to regret calling her that when she reveals herself as a daughter,” You smirk as you glance his way and he gives you another kiss, “Speaking of wee men, where is Aethelstan?”

“With Osferth and Eadith,” Sihtric explains as he sits at your table, and you can hear Finan walk around your home. When you glance back, he’s making the table for four.

“And what is he doing with Osferth and Eadith?” You ask as you fully turn around to look at both men, only to find them poorly failing at hiding their smiles, “Finan?”

“Yes, my love?” He asks as he returns to your side, and by his smile you know he's up to no good.

"Where is that boy of yours, and do not lie to me," You tell him with a raised brow and arms crossed so he knows you mean business.

You call Aethelstan just his when the two of them are on your nerves, but the boy is yours. Even though, technically, he is not.

"He's doing us a favor, Y/N, he will be home shortly," Sihtric tells you, trying to save Finan from whatever hole he's currently digging himself.

"Uh-huh," You smirk and now Finan is carefully trying to push you away from the food you are cooking, "What are you doing?"

"Finishin’ for you," Finan tells you with another kiss on your head, "Go sit, I'll bring the pot to the table."

You glance between the two men and head to the table anyway, sitting down next to Sihtric, "Who are you two, and what have you done with my husband and his best friend?"

"We are always this compassionate, Y/N," Finan chuckles as he brings over lunch, "Oi, go grab bread," he whistles to Sihtric and the Dane stands and does as he's told, "You shouldn't be workin' so hard when you're busy makin' us such a wonderful child."

Okay, now you know they're up to no good.

Before you can ask what they’ve done, Aethelstan all but bursts through the front door, slamming it rather hard for a child before realizing you are at the table staring at him. He smiles wide, the cheeky grin a telltale sign of trouble he picked up from Finan in the year of you raising him. He walks directly to you, like he hasn’t done a thing wrong, and places a kiss on your cheek. (Another sign he’s gotten from Finan, as well.) “Hello, Mother.”

“Go clean yourself up before lunch, you little trouble maker,” Your smirk at the boy, and Finan ruffles his hair as he runs off. The two of you aren’t really supposed to let him call you by those names, but neither of you has the heart to tell him otherwise. Besides, it’s already been a year and if he wants to call you Mother and Father that’s exactly what he’s going to call you.

Aethelstan cleans himself up and then joins you all at the table, sitting down across from Sihtric and next to Finan. The two of them move in sync as they fold their hands over together above their food, and to the side of you, Sihtric lowers his head in respect for your religion.

“Thank you, Father, for this delicious meal we are about to receive, and for this family you allowed us to grow,” Finan prays and you just stare at him with eyebrows scrunched and your lip curled into a smirk.

Because you know that getting Finan to pray before meals is usually a hassle.

“In your name, we pray,” Aethelstan continues, “Ahem.”

The three of you sign to your God and Sihtric just keeps his head down till you are done, and then the three men start to eat. You, however, just continue to stare at your husband until he finally looks at you and smiles, “What?”

“You are all very well behaved today,” You start to tell them all, and Finan just smiles wider as you lean forward and rest your chin in your hand, “What have you done?”

“You know us, Y/N, nothin’ too awful,” Finan starts to explain.

“It’s true, Y/N,” Sihtric adds as he rips himself a piece of the bread loaf, “We only do things out of love. That’s just the kind of warriors we are.”

“Aye, he’s right.” Finan agrees as he continues eating.

“Oh, I am sure,” You say in response even though you don’t believe any of them, but luckily enough for them your too hungry to push the topic further. So instead, you start to eat the lunch you’ve slaved over and enjoy this time with your family.

The meal is mostly quiet, albeit some sweet words of gratitude from the men at your table, thankful for the meal you prepared for them. You almost make it through the whole thing in peace, when a knock at your door startles the men.

“Finan? Sihtric! I know you are in there,” It’s Osferth, and he sounds rather frustrated. He knocks on the door again, a little harder, as the two men at your table start to slowly rise and head for the back room. “Open up! We need to talk, now!”

Finan and Sihtric start to sneak for the back door, shit-eating grins on both of their faces, “We were not here, Y/N, we have not been home all mornin’.” He tells you as they make their escape, leaving you there to roll your eyes and answer the door yourself.

When you open the door to greet Osferth, he looks absolutely flustered, “Osferth, how are you today?”

“Lady, I have been better,” He’s always so polite, the sweet former monk, and no matter how many times you tell him not to call you lady, he cannot seem to shake his manners, “I hate to bother you, but I need to speak with Finan and Sihtric.”

You chuckle, folding your arms across your belly, “You just missed them, but I have some stew left over from lunch if you are hungry.”

“I should be on my way, I really need to speak with them,” Osferth explains as he rubs at the back of his neck and you chuckle at the shyness he holds after years of friendship.

"Osferth, come in and tell me what my husband and Sihtric have done," You open your door wider and move to the side so he can come in, and after a second of hesitation, he sighs and complies.

Osferth walks over to the table that Aethelstan has managed to vanish from without you noticing and slumps into his seat, "I am going to kill them." He groans half-heartedly.

You laugh, grabbing him a clean bowl before joining him at the table, "What did they do?"

"Sihtric told Eadith I am interested in her, and then Finan had Aethelstan pick flowers for her saying they were from me," Osferth sighs heavily as you serve him some stew, "They've ruined everything."

"I thought you did fancy Eadith? What's the problem?" You ask him as you put the bowl of stew in front of him.

"She does not think of me in that way," He groans, looking defeated, "Now she'll think I'm a pervert who only wishes to hump her."

"Or she will think you are shy, and that Finan and Sihtric should mind their own business," You tell him as he eats through his frustration, "My husband may be a menace, but he does the stupid things he does out of love."

"She does not think of me in that way, Y/N," He tells you as he temporarily lowers his spoon, "She is beautiful… and I am just- a baby monk."

You laugh with a big smile across your face because your friend couldn't be any more wrong, "Is that really what you think? Osferth, she is clearly fallen for you."

"Do not pity me, Lady, I do not need your lies to lift my spirit," He tells, looking defeated as he finishes his stew.

"Enough of this," You tell him as you take away the dirty dishes and rise from your seat, "You will go to Eadith and confess your feelings, or I will send Aethelstan to do it for you."

"Y/N-"

"Go! Now, before the day is over," You command, shoo-ing him from your table, as he reluctantly rises, "And be sure to come back to thank me when it's over."

He groans as he walks out of your home, making you laugh as you start cleaning plates. A moment or two after he's gone, you can hear creaking coming from your bedroom, and then two big arms wrap around your body.

"Where is Sihtric?" You ask your husband, not needing to turn around to confirm it's him because you would recognize these arms anywhere.

"Gone home to his own wife," Finan tells you with a kiss, "Enjoyin' his final days before Osferth certainly murders us all."

"He will not murder anyone," You chuckle as you turn around, still in his arms, "Osferth may not have your confidence or Sihtrics' flirting skills but I am positive he will find that Eadith shares his feelings."

"How are you so sure?" Finan scrunches his brows in confusion, "And what do you know of how Sihtric flirts?"

You chuckle, standing on your toes to reach your husband's lips as you give him a kiss, "I just know things, my love, it is my gift from God."

Finan grabs you by the cheeks as you lower yourself, kissing you with much more passion, his lips still on yours as he growls, "If I find out Sihtric has tried to bed my wife-"

"It was long before you were mine," You tell him with a smirk, "No need to start anything over it now."

"That is my gift, mo ghrá," He snickers as his kisses move from your lips to your neck, "I am a Warrior of Menace, after all."

You couldn't argue with that as your warrior brings you back to bed, determined to show you just how much he was yours.

An excellent husband, indeed.

#finan x reader #finan #finan the agile #the last kingdom #tlk fanfic #tlk #tlk osferth #tlk sihtric #tlk finan #tlk aethelstan #rosies100 #mcloveproductions

[many-gay-magpies]

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @ofaffectionate @yixiangs @cherry-riki

so uh. heyyy <3

pt 2 (technically pt 1 because it happens before) of blood bonds is here!! tagging everyone that i tagged for blood bonds (except for kyu </3) bcs why not

i'm not 100% on this, but that's mostly because i've been staring at it for a week, and y'all haven't, so i hope that you'll enjoy it thoroughly more than i do

wc: 1.7k, tw for blood, blood-sucking, death and mentions of death, and vague descriptions of a car crash. same as the last one pretty much, let me know if there's anything i missed!

that being said, have some bloodlust.

It's a scent that stops him in the middle of the street, blaring alarms through every inch of his body—thick and sweet, intoxicating, like the richest chocolates and tenderest meats. For a second, it brings him back to his days in the castle; feasts coating tables upon tables in every decadence he could imagine. He hasn't felt that kind of indulgence in a long time.

Jungwon is immediately aware of his instincts overcoming him; he knows what the smell is, he's smelled it coming off the other boys enough times to be familiar with it. But not this strong. Never this strong.

His head swims. Stars cloud his vision, and yet everything is ten times brighter, more crisp; his senses sharpened, sensitivity heightened. Jungwon battles with himself for a moment, there, on the side of the road, watching the car with the contents of it's driver's seat smelling so delectably like food as it drives by; no, no, don't give in, don't succumb, you've made it so far already, just hold on a little bit longer—but the gut-wrenching hunger inside him is like none he's ever faced before.

It tears at him, the unbearable hunger, the emptiness; twists his insides into knots and makes him double over against the brick wall beside him. He doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to take, doesn't want to hurt—but he's so, so hungry, and it smells so, so good and he just can't take it anymore. It's a kind of longing that burns him from the inside out, and maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt, to... to give in, just this once.

He's hungry. He needs food. Really, when he thinks about it for long enough, rationalizes it in his mind, that's all there is to it. Lions don't feel bad when they hunt gazelle, do they?

(Something is different here, though. Lions, unlike vampires, will stop. Lack of food will make their body grow cold, their energy sapped until there is nothing left; they grow tired, bodies moving slower and slower, until they breath their last breath. Vampires do not. Vampires will not stop. The hunger depletes them, eats at them, and then when it can eat no more it consumes them completely—writhing black hole taken ghastly, human shape. Death evades them, and so they become death in it's place—emptiness so great it would eat the whole world if it could.)

So, with his resolve melting as his hunger rages, Jungwon presses onward—taking advantage of the scenery's sudden clarity to slink towards the moving car at a truly frightening pace. Plus, it could be... fun, he finds himself thinking; fun, to play around a bit, see how much fear he can truly instill. In the past, Jay and Sunghoon's jokes to Sunoo to "not play with his food" when me mentioned spooking his victims the tiniest bit before feeding had left Jungwon feeling sick to his stomach—but now, the idea doesn't seem so bad.

A voice in Jungwon's head (the more logical Jungwon; the one that isn't starving, the one that's still on the edge of rational) tells him, you're being stupid, as he throws caution to the wind and teleports directly in front of the car. Someone could see you, do you even have any idea what you're doing? But the voice of hunger rises above all others, and Jungwon, smirking at the screech of tires on asphalt as the car skids to a stop in front of him, tells the voice, it's dark out, and we're in an abandoned part of the city; who, really, do you think could see us?

The voice protests, but the drone of Jungwon's hunger drowns it out. He feels cool metal on the palms of his hands, hears the metallic clang of his boots against the car's hood. The trembling of the man inside tinges his nerves with delight.

He raises his finger to his lips in a single gesture, shhh, and wonders if his eyes gleam red.

Thoughts run one by one through his mind, though they are fleeting, like mice; skittering into the darkness as soon as he catches sight of them. He should have listened to the hyungs, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have waited this long—he knows the consequences of vampires going too long without blood from Sunghoon's stories, how could he have been so stupid?

But it all fades, irrelevant, in face of what sits before him now—food. A meal. Satiation, finally, an end to his hunger. He can feel his conscience slipping away more and more as the moments pass, the little Jungwon in his head letting go of it's logic.

It is with this quieting of the rational voice and sudden booming of the instinctual one that Jungwon teleports himself to the back seat of the man's car. It doesn't take long for him to be noticed—even the lack of his reflection in the rear view mirror cannot disguise the creak of expensive leather and the sigh he lets out.

"Jesus Christ--" the man nearly shouts, car jolting forward as he slams on the breaks. Jungwon doesn't flinch. He turns to look over his shoulder and meets an unblinking vermillion stare. "W-what the hell are you, kid?"

"Go on, guess," he says, brow raised. "I have all night."

Though even as he speaks, Jungwon knows the statement is a lie—he's the closest to the man, the closest to a human he's ever been since turning, no plexiglass or metal barrier between them—the smell of the man's racing heart and pumping blood chokes his senses like smoke, so thick he can barely breath. Jungwon doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold out—but he can feel how the seconds tick by, as if there's a pocket watch embedded in his skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Agonizing. Even so, Jungwon delights in the fear, the rabbit-quick pace of the man's heart. Equally as amused as he is overwhelmed, he decides that quickening it a little more won't hurt, and smirks, doing well to lick over his fangs in perfect line with the man's eyesight.

"Shit--" Eyes widen comically, and breath grows shaky with the reckless fumbling at car door handles in an effort to escape, pure, cold fear jolting through bones and bringing goosebumps to unsettled skin. It's useless, though; because all the doors lock, jammed shut, and the most he can do is huddle as close to the door as he can, as far away as possible from the boy with glowing eyes suddenly perched in his passenger seat.

"Surprised?" Jungwon asks with a grin.

The man gulps. "Th-this isn't happening," he mumbles, eyes focussed somewhere off in space, past Jungwon. "This can't be happening to me. This... this is impossible."

"Oh, it's very possible," hums Jungwon. "You'd be surprised to find out how much is." And he smirks wide again. He probably looks like a madman, but he doesn't care. He can taste the man's blood on the air.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispers. "W-whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just-- I don't wanna die. Please."

Any other day, the pleading would have gotten to him—any other day, Jungwon would have cried and screamed and torn at his own skin at the prospect of ever killing anyone, let alone drinking from them. But now, the logical him (the human him, he thinks for a moment) has been tucked into the deepest recesses of his mind, and the sound is like music to his ears.

"H-have mercy," the man stutters quietly.

Jungwon tilts his head. Mercy? a voice in his head whispers. It is a voice he hardly sees himself in, and yet it consumes him completely. There is no mercy. You are only prey.

It's funny how suddenly it hits him—how long he's waited for this, and how he can't stand to wait a second more. Faster than lightning Jungwon blinks on top of the man, pinning him down; the protests (physical as well as verbal) make no difference to him. He searches for a carotid artery with shaking fingers and, once he finds it, sinks his teeth in with a groan.

The car swerves in a panic, and the sound of it crashing into a streetlight is a distant ringing in Jungwon's mind. Everything is muffled, as if he's been thrust underwater, and he might as well have, with the way the smell and taste of blood blooms around him, inside him. He feels himself wanting more, needing more, craving more, the hunger never-ending as he sinks his teeth even further into his victim's neck.

Nothing else matters in that moment, and he knows, now, he knows what the others were talking about—how good it feels to feed when you've starved for so long.

His victim loses consciousness soon after that, but still Jungwon drinks. He can't find it in him to stop—it tastes so, so good and he's still so, so hungry, and it seems his hunger only grows the more he feeds; every bit of blood he drains, the sickness and lethargy drains away with it, leaving a hunger larger than he had known behind. Eyes closed, the world spins around him, and Jungwon can feel himself slowly revitalizing as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Jungwon loses track of time the longer he sits there.

The hunger is less ravaging, now, only a low growl in the back of his throat; and soon it peters out entirely. The body under him has grown cold—it's warmth taking new ownership. He feels the stolen blood and pulse humming under his skin.

There is plenty to worry about, he knows—plenty things he should, realistically, care more about than he does. But for the life of him he can't pick out what they are, buried beneath layers of cotton he doesn't care to reach through.

His mind is heavy with fullness, and heavy with sleep, and for the second time that day a little voice in the corner of it urges him to just give in—so he does.

#magpie writes #magpie's writing adventures #enhypen fanfiction #enhaverse fanfiction #enhaverse writing #enhaverse #enha theories #gay yearning #bloodlust

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 18*

Okay don't hate me that it not's terribly long, but I started a little too late and now it's 3 am. I kinda had a busy day.

But I knew you needed some floof. 😉

Chapter 17

Chapter 19

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

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@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

----

Meanwhile back in your room

The doctors had finally gotten you rebandaged and calm, before leaving you both alone in your room at last.

"Alright now that you're ok…" Rafael gave you a look. "What is wrong with you?! Why would you come here?!"

You made an annoyed face back at him while pointing to your throat. Obviously you weren't going to be able to tell him.

".... Right," Rafael sighed, then saw your phone. He picked it up and handed it to you. You opened the notes app and typed something, then handed it to him.

"You left me," he read aloud. "I didn't! I tried to see you so many times, bur Sonny made it his mission to keep us apart so I--"

You reached over and tapped the phone screen rapidly, emphasizing your statement.

*...I left," he conceded with a defeated look. He knew you were right; he had just taken off without thinking about you, he just knew what he had to do for him and his feelings.

"But you couldn't have just waited for me to come home?" He asked.

You grabbed the phone back and quickly typed a reply, handing it back to him with a cross face.

"How was I supposed to know you would come back?" He read aloud again. "Because it's my home? Because presidential campaigns don't last forever?! Because I love you? Because--"

Your ears perked up and your eyes went wide at the last statement and you clamped your hand on his arm, making him stop listing things.

“What?” He asked. You made a face at him like, “Are you serious?”

“Oh, why are you so shocked? I already told you this?” Rafael asked, completely confused

You realized that everything he said at the apartment was true, you hadn’t made it up.He really did love you. You started to tear up at the fact that you had for once not made up the most beautiful thing anybody has ever told you in your mind. Pretty soon you were full on sobbing thinking about how you had thought about nothing but this moment for so long, through all of the terror and torture you had gone through in the last few weeks.

“Oh my God, Y/N calm down!” He started to freak out while you silently cried, your bandages starting to fill with blood again as your chest heaved from your sobbing.

“Calm down baby, just breathe,” He pressed his forehead against yours, whispering softly.

You took the phone again and tried to calm yourself as you typed quickly, then handed it back to Rafael.He read it out loud:

“I thought I made that up in my drunken, stupid head,” He looked at you with a soft smile. “No you didn't make it up. “In fact, I technically told you twice, if you can remember,”

You took the phone again and typed, “The operating room,”

He nodded back with a yes. “It took me a while to remember it too,”

You did your best not to start crying again from happiness this time because you knew that any sort of major emotion was going to rupture your bandages. So you just gently squeezed Rafael's hand as if to say you loved him back.

“....Okay but that still doesn't excuse you from just taking off without telling anybody, and nearly getting yourself killed!” He scolded you, but kept his head pressed against yours.

“I don't know what I would have done if the chief hadn't found you sooner. I don't want to think about it,” Rafael shook off the intense fear he had had when Andrew had first mentioned you as a Jane Doe, and then told you the horrifying way that he found you.

You took the phone again and began typing away, and once again handed it back to him. He read aloud,

“Yeah, probably not one of my best ideas. But I would have been fine if not for Chicago,”

His face fell and his voice fell soft as he said “In Chicago,” He gave you a very serious look. You had a sad and scared look on your face, as if you were ready for him to start yelling at you again when he found out what happened in Chicago.

“So something bad did happen to you in Chicago,'' he said softly. You nodded in shamed silence. He took your hand. “That nurse said you had severe tearing....down there,”

He took another long pause really not wanting to ask you the question but he had to know. “Did you get assaulted in Chicago?”

You couldn't help it, the question made you break down into silent sobs once again. Your blood began to soak through your bandages. Rafael wrapped his arms around you, trying to calm you down. He looked up to the sky and tried to keep tears in his own eyes as he held you, thinking about the hell you must have gone through to get to him. He felt like all of this was his fault.

“What happened?” He pulled you away from his chest for a second and asked you. You took the phone once again and softly typed a long-winded story then handed the phone back to him, ashamed. He was scared to read it but he knew that he had to if he was going to help you through this.

“I was an idiot,” he stopped. “First of all, no, you're not an idiot. Don't ever say that,” He told you sternly before continuing.

“I hadn't eaten since I left the city, which was about 20 hours and I was starving. There was a two-hour layover, so I went to an ATM and emptied the rest of my bank account so that I could carry cash and stay off the grid. Then I decided to get food down the street but I didn't know that the train station was in such a bad part of Chicago. I should have known,”

He stopped again. “No you shouldn't have, none of this is your fault,”

You shook your head like you didn't believe him, and then tapped the phone, signaling him to keep reading. He sighed reluctantly, but obeyed.

“On my way back to the train station it was dark and this guy asked me if I had the time and when I went to go get my phone he grabbed my purse and somebody else hit me from behind. Next thing I knew when I woke up... “

Rafael paused, he really didn't want to read this part you really didn't. But he knew that if he was going to help you get through this he needed the whole story.

“When I woke up I was… ’stuck’ between two guys while a third one videoed it.They were all laughing and high-fiving each other--”

Rafael stopped once more and put the phone down, unable to bring himself to read the rest. He looked at you and you got ready for the lecture, but to your surprise he just started to cry and crawled into the bed next to you, holding you as close to him as humanly possible.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, fuck I am so so so sorry,” He sobbed into your chest. You shook your head violently, making him look at you while you typed.

“No, it’s not your fault. If I hadn’t been so stupid--” He stopped you from typing any more.

“Alright, enough. You’re not going to blame this on yourself, do you hear me? It is one hundred percent not your fault,”

You typed: “Not your fault either,”

“...Alright fine, if I don’t blame myself will you stop blaming yourself?” He compromised. You nodded ‘Yes’.

And then you typed: “Bad things happen.”

“Yes but too many bad things have happened to you lately, ever since you met me,” He shook his head sadly while stroking your face with his thumb.

“Not true,” you typed. “The best thing happened after I met you,”

“...The amazing sex?” He was finally able to tease you a bit. You nodded vigorously with a silent giggle. “Well yeah, obvi,” You typed. “But also, love,”

“Yes, very true,” He agreed. “But love shouldn’t be this hard, carino,”

You looked at him very seriously before typing “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” He got up from the bed. “I’m saying look where loving me has gotten you! You almost died trying to find me. You got assaulted because I took off on you. Nothing good has happened to you since this started, and loving me doesn’t count because it’s what’s killing you!”

“Okay counterpoint,” You typed furiously. “I almost died trying to find you, and now that I did you’re not going to let that be for nothing, are you?”

“I don’t…” He sighed and sat back on the bed next to you. “No, I guess not. I just--I can’t believe you did this,”

“You’re never getting rid of me,” You typed and then gave him a sly grin.

“Yeah well, I think I already knew that carino,” He chuckled, once again revealing the matching scars you had.

“You’re a part of me,” You typed while he resumed nestling back into your chest.

“So if I need a kidney, we’re square?” He gave you a tongued smile while you hit him playfully. It was then that you realized this entire time since you had been reunited, he hadn’t kissed you. You repeated the gesture of typing and handing him your words, as he read aloud:

“Kiss?” He gave you a look. “Baby I have wanted nothing more since I saw you alive, but I don’t want to...break you, any more than you already are,”

Type type type. Hand. Read.

“...I’m broken without you inside me,” He laughed out loud. “Kinky, carino,”

You gave him a pout before he shook his head with a chuckle, and pulled your face towards him, his lips inching towards yours for the first time in months….

“Alright, Mr. Barba,” Nurse Ratchet aka Laverne busted back in the room with a clipboard. You both snapped to attention at the sudden noise, the moment was gone.

“...The hell is your problem, lady?” Rafael snapped, not moving from your side. In fact, he wrapped a protective arm around you, as if she was going to try and take you from him again.

“Well I’ve spoken to Mr. Carisi, and he tells me that you two shouldn’t be fraternizing, that it’s detrimental to her sobriety,” She informed him with a scornful look.

“Oh for the love of--” He muttered obscenities in Spanish under his breath.

“So I’m afraid at his request, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” She smirked.

“The hell I am,” He held onto you tighter. “Do you have any idea what this girl has been through to get to me? To get to us again?”

“Exactly his point, Mr. Barba,” She crossed her arms. “She clearly has no logical thinking when it comes to you. Her feelings make her completely unstable mentally and lead her into harm’s way, now you don’t want that, do you?”

“No…” He was letting her get in his head, he shifted uncomfortably and started to move his arms away from you but you clenched it to keep him from letting go of you.

Oh no, FUCK this. You did not come this far for your insanely overbearing cousin strong-arming Rafael through a nurse with a ‘mama bear’ complex. You waved your arms back and forth in a big X formation, letting her know Rafael was not going anywhere.

“Sweetie, this is for your own--” She tried the ‘good cop’ bullshit on you, but you weren’t stupid.

You put your hands up to your throat, clutching the bandages around your neck. You tugged at them ever so slightly, a sign you were threatening to rip them off if she didn’t back the hell up, right now. Both Laverne and Rafael reacted, both reaching towards your hands. You put a hand up to Rafael’s face, and a wagging finger up to Laverne’s.

“...She’s going to kill herself if you don’t leave right now, do you think Mister Carisi would appreciate that?” He warned, and you nodded in agreement with a scowl.

“This is only proving your cousin’s point, Y/N,” Laverne pointed out. “You’re acting insanely right now!”

You grabbed your phone and began to type away. Threatening looks wouldn’t work anymore. You handed your phone to Rafael and nudged him to read it out loud to Laverne,

“I don’t care what you, or my cousin thinks. I don’t care if you think I’m being ‘insane’, because what matters is I’ll still do it. I swear to God if you do not leave this room right now I will rip these bandages off so fast, it will be a bloodbath. And my…”

He stopped reading, blinking a few times before continuing:

“...My boyfriend is the best lawyer in New York City and he will sue you and this hospital so fast for malpractice. And he will beat you so hard, you’ll have to rename the whole hospital after him!”

You saw the surprise and sensed the hesitation in his voice when he said ‘boyfriend’, but he did say it-- so that had to be a good sign.

“Your boyfriend?” Laverne said with an unbelievable laugh. “Seriously? Honey…”

“Yes, her boyfriend,” He doubled down on the label, making you smile. He then stood up and took a step towards her as he kept talking.

“And if her cousin has a problem with it, he can take it up with me if and when he gets here. As for you, it’s none of your damn business, so you can take your threats and your judgement out of here right now,”

You crossed your arms and gave her a shit eating grin with a huge YES nodding notion.

“....Fine, we’ll see what’s what when he gets here, and he IS coming. He’s on his way,” She muttered as she walked out of the room.

“Ohhhh I’m sure he is,” Rafael rolled his eyes with a sarcastic smile as he resumed his place at your side. He looked at you, you had the giddiest smile on your face. “What?”

Type Type Type. Hand.

“Boyfriend,” He gave you a small amused smile. “Well, I’d hope so after all this, don’t you think?”

You nodded an enthusiastic YES once more, absolutely in heaven. The only thing that would make it better right now was his mouth on yours.

As if reading your mind, Rafael took your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. You felt your throat moving as you kissed him back, as did he. He quickly stopped, but you just took his hands and moved them gently around your neck, pressing them down as if to say ‘just keep pressure on them,’

“I’ll be gentle,” He assured you, putting pressure over the wound as you kissed, keeping the bandages in place. Then he pulled back for a second as he added “....For now,” with a cheeky grin.

You hoped your happy little bubble wouldn’t be busted when Sonny showed up.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanfiction #sonny carisi #sonny carisi fanfiction #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba angst #weird secret friends

[barnesandrogersfanfics]

Ocean Eyes - Part 12

A/N - Finally an update!! i promise to not leave it as long for the next part.

Please like/comment/reblog, it gives me incentive to write quicker if i know people are actually enjoying my madness 💕

"You okay?" Chris asked suddenly making me jump, i thought he was asleep! He was currently wrapped around me acting as the big spoon.

"Jesus christ! You scared the crap outta me!" I chuckled quietly feeling stupid that he made me jump so bad.

"Sorry dahlin" he chuckled close to my ear "but are you okay?".

"Yeah just can't sleep, I've got so much going through my head i can't switch off"

"Its not because you're in here with me is it?"

"No of course not, this is actually just what i needed. I've missed laying in your arms...." I had caved and agreed to stay in Chris's room tonight, no funny business just sleeping. I felt Chris smile before pressing a kiss to my neck.

"I've missed this too. So what exactly is it keeping you awake beautiful? Talk to me..."

"Honestly? The whole thing with Brian.... how did he find me here??".

"I have no idea, but its very creepy!.... then again we shouldn't really be surprised, he had a habit of always knowing where you were. I got bad vibes off that guy the second i saw him".

We had called the police to report Brian but they couldn't do much about it as he technically hadn't done anything wrong, they said to call them again if we saw him around anymore.

"I don't understand why he's doing this! Its not like i led him on or anything, I've never shown that man any interest. I barely even talk to the guy!"

"He's clearly unstable"

"It scares me Chris...."

"Hey, i won't let him hurt you.... i already warned him to stay away...." Chris said through gritted teeth.

"What?...."

"It doesn't matter...."

I turned in his arms so i was now facing him "yes it does, what do you mean you warned him to stay away?"

"The day Scott and I came to get you and Mason to bring you here, you remember how he kept going on about where you were going and when you were coming back....then he asked you to dinner?"

"Oh yeah, you kinda snapped"

"Yeah.....I told him nicely to stay away from my family, that you were unavailable and uninterested.... that he should move on. I said if i found out he was harassing you still id make his life hell" he looked a little sheepish as he confessed to what had been said between the two of them.

"Well I'm guessing he didn't like to be told to stay away huh?"

"Apparently not. But lets not worry about  him right now, you need to sleep"

"Ive been trying...."

"Come here" Chris said and rolled onto his back pulling me close until i was laying with my head on his chest, his hand stroking up and down my back. Back strokes were my weakness and he knew it! "You'll be asleep in no time" he mumbled pressing a kiss to the top of my head. And he was right, with the steady thumping of his heart and his fingers stroking my back i was a goner.

I woke up alone, the bed already cold meaning Chris had been gone for a while. I reached for my phone on the bedside cabinet, it was nearly 10am!! I quickly got up and headed to the bathroom to pee and check how bad i looked. Once i was done i headed downstairs to find Chris, Mason and Scott.

"Hey" Chris smiled at me as i entered the kitchen, he was sat at the dining room table in front of his laptop.

"Hey, why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked too peaceful, besides you didn't get to sleep til late"

I nodded walking over to kiss him "thank you" i smiled running my hand over his bearded jaw "you're the best".

Chris pulled me down into his lap and deepened the kiss until i had to pull back enough to catch my breath and we both laughed.

"Where's Mason?"

"Walking Dodger with Scott, i gave him breakfast and helped him get dressed before they left"

"He wasn't any trouble was he?"

"Not at all. He's like the best behaved kid I've ever met"

"He has his moments don't be fooled" i chuckled thinking back to some tantrums id witnessed over the years.

"I don't believe you, that kid is an angel"

"You just wait and see Evans" i laughed before getting up and walking into the kitchen so i could get a coffee and some toast.

"So um, I've got to do an online interview tonight with Jimmy Fallon" Chris followed me into the kitchen.

"Okay" i nodded.

"I just thought id let you know i'll have to disappear for a while"

"Thats fine, Mason will probably be in bed by then and i'll just stay in the living room watching a movie with Scott"

"Now i feel left out" he pouted.

Later that day we all went outback and played some Wiffle Ball to pass the time, Chris and Scott getting competitive again.

"Mom I'm tired" Mason said wrapping his arms around my waist and cuddling up against me.

"You wanna go take a nap before dinner buddy?"

"Yeah"

"Come on then" i picked him up and he rested his head on my shoulder "guys Mason needs a nap, i think you've worn him out"

"I think i need a nap too!" Scott laughed.

"Well I'm gonna make a start on dinner, you have time for a nap if you wanna"

Walking back up to the house i started struggling with Mason, he was getting too big for me to carry around now! My baby was growing up too fast!

"You want me to take him?" Chris suddenly asked, i nodded and come to a stop before passing a sleeping Mason over to Chris.

"Thanks, he's getting heavy" i said sadly.

"No problem"

"I hate that he's getting too big for me to carry him when he's tired"

"I know but its okay, I'm here to help now"

"Who's gonna carry me? Im exhausted!" Scott added making us laugh quietly so we didn't wake Mason.

The evening flew by, we all had dinner then sat and watched Toy Story with Mason. When it came to bedtime Mason insisted that Chris read him a story and of course he couldn't say no. Once he was asleep Chris headed to his office to get ready for his interview while Scott and I headed to the living room to find a movie to watch.

"Sooooo....." Scott said dragging it out to sound scandalous as he wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"What?"

"What?.... don't you what me Missy! I know you spent the night with Chris! So come on spill the tea sister!"

"You're ridiculous you know that?" I rolled my eyes at him and laughed at how comical he looked right now.

"Like i care" he shrugged "come on! Tell me what happened"

"Sorry to disappoint but nothing happened we just slept"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, we're taking things slow"

"And who's decision was that?"

"We both said we don't wanna rush it"

"But you suggested it right?..... hey I'm not judging you for that" he quickly added when he saw me look away sadly.

"You're scared you're gonna get hurt again aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be? I just wanna make sure we're gonna be okay, that its more than just sex. We were always good at that, the emotional stuff.... not so much"

We were halfway through the movie when Chris rushed in asking Scott to join him for a game that Jimmy Fallon wanted them to do.

"Really? I can't just leave Y/N on her own....."

"Go i'll be fine" i chuckled.

"Sorry dahlin, i hate leaving you on your own.... we wont be long though 15/20 minutes tops.

"Go do what you gotta do, I'm fine here watching this" i nodded to the TV.

While they were off doing the interview

I texted my mom and Hannah to check in, they were doing good all things considered. I quickly settled back in to watch the rest of the movie but was interrupted again by multiple message alerts on my phone. I looked to see it was Hannah blowing up my phone.

When i opened the thread i gasped, my heart was racing so fast.... i felt sick as my eyes landed on one thing in particular....... the headline!

"CHRIS EVANS HAS A SECRET FAMILY!"

Everything taglist: @jesseswartzwelder @dumblani @barnesandrogersworld @patzammit @rynabarnesrogers-reading @rainbowkisses31 @rororo06 @supernaturalwintersoldier @fairlightswiftly @hiddelstannerbarnes @bellamy-barnes @buchanansebba @rosalynshields

Ocean eyes: @supraveng @michelehansel @melissaglenn5 @denisemarieangelina

@mrsjeffwittek @mery-be @marvelfansworld @cmalass @capstopavenger @fallenoutofrose @kelbabyblue @biebsmylife95 @loser-alert @traceyaudette @w3lissax @jennmurawski13 @ford66steal @saiyanprincessswanie @christocrave @jakiki94 @torntaltos @my-dearest-agent @ms-betsy-fangirl

If your name is crossed out i couldnt tag you.

#chris evans #ocean eyes #chris evans x reader #reader insert