#go to grad school? go to law school? everyone I know says not to do it

[marnz]

scrolling through non profit job postings with ludicrously low salaries like “could I do that? I could do that. Wait for that salary? No I couldn’t.”

#currently #I live in a city with an insanely high cost of living and you value equity & inclusion & Justice but want to pay me poverty wages #what gives man????? #I have heard so many horror stories about non profits…. #it’s fine I shall negotiate my salary with an iron fist etc #I hate my current job & field so much & due to [redacted] working conditions can’t change or be fixed #so I need to get out. but do what????? do WHAT???? #go to grad school? go to law school? everyone I know says not to do it #idk man 🥲🙃😶

[saiidahyunie]

ballroom extravaganza

minatozaki sana x f!reader || cont. of fake and true ! pt.3 here

synopsis: you scored the date with the girl from the bar, things are shaping up for the better (maybe/maybe not), and your cousin mina is starting to raise some suspicions.  

warnings: fluff ; smut!! ; sana giving/recieving ; reader recieving/giving ; fucking in the car/office/bedroom (freaky deaky) :D ; sana being needy ; sana praising ; cursing ; anything else i didn't let y'all know ; might be proofread

a/n: dang y'all really like sana don't ya? (bias wrecking me ill never recover) hope you guys enjoy this second part as much as the first one!

you’re basically jumping out of your own skin when you hear the knock on your door, and twirl around to see the bedside clock. 

8:29 

a minute early. you’d be impressed to keep the hefty lunch in your stomach to not vomit it out. 

“coming!” you cry out, before taking a second to fuss with your current appearance. you played it simple, the flashiest part of the red dress that shuhua loaned you. like the black one, it’s slim-fitting and short, the neckline cutting above the swell of your breasts. your lips are a stained deep red, just to match. tzuyu always said to you that the color was striking for you to pull off. 

after straightening the dress, you step out of your room and walk towards the entryway of the door, taking a second to toe on your black pumps. and then, with a steady exhale, you open the door. 

sana stands on the other side of it, one hand in her pocket of your black slacks and the other carrying a bouquet of roses that she promptly shoves at your chest. you take them, cradling to your body, and look up to find her already gazing at you, eyes raking from the top of your head and down. again and again. 

“hey.” 

“hi.” you smile at her. “these are really beautiful, thank you.”

sana jerks her head in acknowledgement, and you can see the faintest flush of pink spreading to the tips of her ears. you bite your lip as you set the flowers down, staving off the rare urge to giggle. 

she’s still standing by the door, holding her arm out. “so are you ready to go?” 

you take it, curling a hand around her bicep, letting her lead you out. “please.”

—

“alright,” sana says, laying her menu flat on the table, staring at you with grave seriousness. “speak.” 

“huh?” you look away from the giant, crystal chandelier hanging above you two. the restaurant she’d take you to was only slightly less fancier than the one at the four seasons hotel. 

slightly. 

“i can tell you want to say something.” 

you smile nervously. “yeah, about your driving, maybe. i thought we were gonna—” 

“y/n.” she says firmly; it has the same affect as dumping a bucket of ice water over your head. “no bullshit. you might as well say what you wanna say.” 

“fine.” and this is easy to sink into, your mode of no-nonsense: the compartmentalization of what stresses you. “why did you give me the money?” 

“because i wanted to.” 

“i know, but why? did you feel bad for me?”

“a little.” 

you grit your teeth. “did you pity me?” 

“no.” 

“then what?” 

“i’ve been in your position before. kind of.” 

“what do you mean.” 

“struggling college student, a shitty job, caming from harebrained ways to get money. everyone who’s gone on the path to grad school, doesn’t matter if it’s med, law, blah blah blah whatever, knows how fucking hard it is to survive.” 

your cheeks flush from sana’s words, picking at the white table cloth. “so you empathized with me?” 

“basically.” sana says, sitting back in her chair, smiling at you. your eyes follow along the lazy draw of it. “i didn’t expect you to be so difficult about it.” 

“it’s not like it’s common to give strangers hundreds of dollars within an hour of meeting them. forgive me for being concerned.”

“do you still want to give the money back to me?” sana asks. 

“yes.” 

“okay. then let’s change the subject.” diverting to the basic cookie cutter icebreaker in existence. “what are you majoring in?” 

“sana—”

she reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing it slightly. dazzling brown eyes swallow up your field of vision as she leans into you. “what are you majoring in?”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to relent into sana’s charms; mina would have your head if she knew that sana was running away with it. but she’s making it so so easy, smiling when you answer, “i’m finishing up my bachelor’s in child education. aiming to get my masters in child’s psychology.”

“you like kids?” 

“yeah,” you reply, visibly softening to sana. “last summer i did my internship at a local kindergarten and i love it. kids are…easy in a way that people aren’t.” 

“what do you mean?”

“they don’t expect anything from you. not anything beyond food or water or playtime. you know, nothing super sophisticated or adult. and they’re easy to talk to. they don’t care what you say to them or if you don’t talk much in general. they’re not judgy and it’s nice.” you hit that right out of the ballpark, and sana stares with lips parted as the facts are laid out for you. 

“i’ve never thought about them that way,” she says, her hand shifting atop your own. her thumb skims across your knuckles. “it sounds nice.” 

your heart thrums like a hummingbird against the walls of your chest. every languid caress pulls a shiver from you. “you don’t like kids?” 

“i don’t dislike them. i’m neutral, i guess. i know i’d like to have my own.” sana replies. 

“do you have any siblings?” 

“nope. i’m an only child.”

“i would’ve never guessed,” you say dryly. 

“ha! has anyone told you you’re funny?” sana inquires, and you’re stifling a laugh while she’s smiling at you, gaze fond. “what about you?” 

“well, i’m an only child.” you reply. normally you’d leave it at this. you don’t really like the notion of getting into the nitty-gritty of your past, but sana’s presence robs any reticence from you. “my parents passed when i was younger so i was raised by my aunt and her cousin.” 

“oh.” sana slips her fingers into the spaces of your own and squeezes gently again. “i’m so sorry.” 

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling awkwardly. “it happened when i was little. i’m kind of accustomed to it now.” 

“can i ask you a question?” 

“a personal one?”

the corner of sana’s mouth quirks. you want to trace it with your fingers.

“if you were in that desperate of a situation, why didn’t you ask her for help?” 

“i can’t afford to take any money from my aunt or cousin. she can’t afford it.” 

“did you try asking?” 

“i’m not saying she would’ve said no. but if she tried, i wouldn’t have accepted it.” 

“sounds startlingly familiar.” 

you pull your hand from hers with a smile and an eye roll before picking up the menu in front of the table, raising it up high enough to cover sana’s face. 

“can we order something now?”

—

when you get back in the car, you’re warm, languid with a stomach full of risotto and red wine. sana’s hand rests on the gear shift between you, the other one on her wheel. you like watching the motion of them as she drive, like the curls of sana’s knuckles and the rasp her palm makes against the wheel when she turns it. you wish to feel the warmth of it against your leg. 

well, in a city like new york, it’s nothing more than unpleasant. 

“you know i wasn’t kidding when i told you that you’re a horrible driver.” 

“do you own a car, y/n?” 

 “i usually take the subway.” 

“okay. pro-tip if you ever do drive in these streets, better to be offensive than dead. or stuck in traffic for two hours. which, believe it or not, is fucking worse.” 

but despite sana’s words, she seems to listen to you. the drive stretches longer, and you lean into the plush leather seats as you stare out the window, dreading the sight of every familiar building, the street signs that you know lead to your apartment. for a moment, you debate asking to get ice cream, or go to the park, a movie theater–-anything and everything to extend this. you don’t want to leave the pleasant warmth of her car. 

“y/n?” 

you look over to see her smile. “i thought you were asleep.” 

“i’m not tired.”

she takes her hand off the gear shift, thumbs a lock of your hair without breaking your gaze. unwavering. 

“neither am i.” 

when she pulls into your squat, little apartment complex, you’re gripping the edge of your seat, nails squeaking against the buttery leather. she smoothly pulls into an empty space, parking backwards—what a show off—-before turning to you. with as huddled into the seat as you were, her hand is behind the headers, arm bracketing you, you feel consumed. surrounded by her scent, in her car, the engine humming beneath them, with her so close. you can’t breathe without inhaling her.

sana’s noticed it too. her eyes have gone dark, swallowed by her pupils. 

“i had fun,” she says. 

“me too.” 

her mouth twitches. “you gonna try giving me the money back now?” 

you jolt at the reminder, bending to snatch you purse, but sana’s hand flies from her headrest to your hand, hot over your knee.

“i was kidding. i don’t want it back. i don’t need it.”

“sana—” 

“y/n.” she interrupts firmly. “i don’t need it. and in my opinion, i think you can do a hell of a lot more.” 

your defenses waiver before they crumble completely, and you feel your chin wobble. to your horror. “you’re too nice to me.” 

she grabs it, pressing her thumb into the plush of your bottom lip. your stomach clenches as sana’s eyes flicker down, anticipation making your headlight. 

“i don’t think i’m nice enough,” she whispers, but it barely registers. you’re already reaching for her, mouth open to beg; hand on her wrist, and she meets you half-way, swallowing your muted please. 

sana’s kiss is desperate, intense like the rest of her. one hand buried in your hair while the other presses against your knee, a searing, overbearing heat that sinks into your insides, coiling tingly in the pit of your gut. despite your furious protestations to tzuyu, you haven’t felt this in a while, the wet-warmth of another mouth against your own, the life of someone else’s tongue, opening you up further. 

you press closer, so frantic you almost climb over the armrest, but sana pushes you back down to your seat. she breaks away from your mouth to kiss down the line of your throat, flicking her tongue out to taste your overheated skin, smiling when you sigh. your hips jerk beneath her hold when she sucks at your pulse point. 

she grins, teeth nipping at your jawline. “you like that, sweetie?” 

there’s a shock-wire running from the heat of her mouth to her clit. sana’s barely touched you and you’re already keyed-up, on the cusp of euphoria. if you touched yourself now, you’d be so far gone, but you’re not sure she’d let you.

sana returns to kissing your throat, pausing to suckle at it with teeth and tongue, laving it against your skin in soft, wet strokes. she uses the hand in your hair to tilt your neck towards her, directing you like a puppet on strings. her other hand roves up and down your exposed thigh in gentle motions, more exploratory than anything, as if she can’t keep from touching you. and the thought sends a jolt of electricity to pass through you, sparking between your legs. it makes your hips can’t, makes the desperate need for friction a burying, voracious thing, primed to consume you. 

when she kisses the swell of your bottom lip, it comes out of you in a breathless pant, nails biting the seat. “p-please touch me.” 

“where?” sana asks, thumbing the hem of your dress, close enough to be a physical pain. “where, baby? here?”

“n-no.” 

“then where, y/n?” your eyes are black, eager with predatory intent, and you hate how much you love it; the consuming weight of her attention, like she wants to eat you whole. 

without much coronation, you take sana’s hand and shove it between your thighs, spreading them wide. you’re initially afraid that she’ll keep teasing you, that she’s lost in the power trip, but she surprises you when she groans and kisses you roughly, fingers tracing up your slit. 

“so fucking wet you are,” sana raps when she breaks away, almost crazed. she dips her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, the sensation of her fingers against your sensitive skin sending your eyes rolling. your hips buck, demanding delicious friction, and she surges in, laughing into your mouth. 

“you can cum just like this, can’t you?” she asks, voice rumbling against your cheek. her thumb slides up and down the seam of your cunt, the heel of her palm adding the barest pressure to your clit, but it’s good. the mere taste of it almost enough to send you over the edge, just for the sweet torture. 

her knuckles pull against the gusset of your panties as two of her fingers center over your clit. her pace at first is light, slow, exploratory like the way it’d been on your leg. her eyes on your face are focused. she wants to know what’ll take you to the edge, and you know it isn’t this. so you grab sana’s wrist and raise your hips to force pressure. 

“faster,” you pant, liquid gaze cutting to her. “h-harder. i like it–” 

she steals the words from you, kissing again with a mouth full of bite. the motions of sana’s fingers quicken, slide down to the tease of your e trance while you grind frantically into her palm. you’re so wet you easily accept the glide of her first finger, and when she pushes in the second, the stretch is sweet, a welcome thing. you thrust onto them, wishing vainly that she’d toss you into the backseat and fuck you with something more.

the thought makes you clench around her, and she curses loudly, burying her face into your sweaty neck. 

“are you always this depsrate when you’re getting fucked?” sana hisses, thrusting her fingers into you harder, without relent. “you always feel this good?” 

you choke out a sob, feeling the familiar swoop in your belly, the swelling tide that welcomed euphoria. as you clutch her wrist, chasing it, sana rests her head atop your shoulder, her voice going soft, reverent. 

“you’re so good, y/n,” she says in a frantic stream, mad with want. “so good. so, so fucking good. my perfect girl.” 

you keen when it washes over you, that white-hot heat that robs you of sense. you shudder beneath sana’s grip, clutching her wrist as you ride it out. she helps you come down from it, kissing you languidly and keeping her pace inside you slow. when you can breathe again, she pulls them out of you. you flush hotly when she sticks her fingers in her mouth, but the embarrassment doesn’t linger long. you surge toward her, hands flying towards the button of her pants. meets her in another frantic kiss.

“i wanna make you feel good now,” you whisper, palming her. “i want—”

sana uses her hand in your hair to bind you up against her and kisses you again, long and full enough to make the words melt from your tongue. you’re hazy when she pulls away, pliant. 

“i think,” she says. “that there’s always next time.” 

“next time?”

“next time,” sana repeats, rubbing your cheek with her thumb. “it’s late anyway. you should go to bed.” 

“oh,” you say blankly. “okay.”

sana kisses you again, twice on your nose, before leaning over to open your door. you stumble out of her car, binding your purse tight against your chest. you wave at her from the entrance of her building before you step inside, and see the shadow of sana’s hand as she waves back, driving off. when she turns onto the street, you rush inside, a hot, sharp balloon swelling in your chest. 

your hands shake when you slot the key into your door and turn the knob, switching on the lights. you kick your shoes off and toss the purse onto the couch, moving on muscle memory. you can’t think beyond the warm, floaty haze that’s clouded your mind, and when you shut the door behind you, you laugh. 

over and over. carelessly. all the while remembering the firm grip of sana’s hand and the scent of her, clogging your nose even now, a smell you want to bottle up and keep. 

next time, you think, giddy, nearly dancing in the small space. she said there’d be a next time. 

just then, you hear the high trill of your phone and dart to the couch, yanking open your purse to fish it out. you flush a pink when you notice the notification next to sana’s name– a text that reads, goodnight- and as you go to type your response, another notification pops up. one from venmo. 

a cold spike of adrenaline shoots through you when the app opens, fingers trembling. you almost drop your phone entirely at the number attached: $1,000 dollars. 

“for school,” it reads. 

your breath quickens. the hot balloon in your chest expands and expands until it pops, a physical pain against your ribcage.

i thought— your eyes burn. the realization sinks into your like molasses. i thought she—

the night you met sana, she expressed concern when she learned why you were there. she’d condemned jihyo and implied that you deserved something more, something better. she’d left you money as a gift, to be kind. 

a gift, sana told you. you don’t owe me anything. 

so why is it, then, that you have the distinct impression that jihyo had been simply outbid. 

—

you’re thinking about next time. sana said that there’d be a next time. 

that next time would come, then twice.

then a third.

and after.

the day after that, and the day even after that. 

the room is reverberating the echoes around you, loud with the sounds of heavy pants and wet slaps of skin. you’re clinging to the sheets beneath you, pushing yourself up, moving your hips to meet the frantic pace of sana's fingers curled up inside you. sana then buries a hand into your hair and hitches you up for a kiss that never takes. it’s broken quickly, leaves both of your swollen mouths parted and breathing of each other’s oxygen. you’re relishing the intimacy of the moment. 

when the building pressure at the base of your stomach grows to become too overwhelming, you fall back on the mattress, unmoored without sana’s presence, but she follows you as she always does. she’s binding her arm around your waist and raises you up, hand cupping your cunt while she’s all over your neck again. 

“c’mon,” sana says, voice wrecked, torn from her. “c’mon, honey, one more.” 

you gave sana the opportunity to sit on her face earlier, brown eyes flashing dark and predatory at you while you grind all over her mouth. the hot curl of her tongue relentless against you, reducing you to a living nerve ending. sana wrung out two splintering orgasms out of you, flipping you on your back before you could even recover. you loved it, and you still do, seeing all the ways that you can challenge sana. 

her slender fingers dip down to your clit again and causes you to moan loudly, rocking into her as she circles it firmly: rough, fast motions that she’s learned that you love. to bring you back to that edge quick. 

sana kisses you again, her other hand slipping to your breast above and squeezing. she’s groaning into your core, it’s making you fall deeper into the madness of your situation. 

“you’re so—” she barely mumbles out, her hand on your breast slides down to clamp the divot in your hips. sliding the pillow under the arch of your back in one seamless motion. she’s too good with her hands. “fucking unreal, and perfect.” 

her mouth against your other mouth starts the chain reaction. you’re moaning out more strain behind it. a star-burst of affection igniting in your chest. sana continues to swipe her tongue, the unyielding pressure that makes your vision swimmy, and you let go. 

you’re sobbing out while your hands are trying to find what’s left of the comforter as ecstasy steals over you. sana continues to drive her fingers and tongue into you, letting you feel it: in the air, at the base of your throat, between the rapid, uneven pacing of thrusts from her fingers. when you’re all tuckered out, the clenching fading out from your cunt, soaked with slick while it gets on different parts of your skin; from the leg, to one of your obliques, to the small peak of your boob. 

“o-okay, that’s e-enough.” 

“you taste so fucking good,” sana murmurs, mouth hot against the column of your neck. her hands trailing up and down your stomach. “when you clench around my fingers is just—” 

fucking shit this woman. “sana, please.” 

she sits up with a chuckle, and you’re at the same level too, instantly resting your head on her shoulder, kissing it. sana wraps her arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head, her fingers are tapping away at the v-line. you look up and she kisses you, grinning with delight. 

“will you stay over?” you ask, too plaintive when she pulls away. sana’s smile falters and you feeling the realization, disappointment inbound. 

“i can’t.” a spike lances through you. “my department has a meeting early in the morning. i can’t skip.” 

“oh.” you hate yourself for being upset—she’s a doctor, of course she’s busy—but the feeling rises up anyway, along with the insidious notion that she’s gotten what she wanted and so has little use for you now. without thinking, you start to drift away from sana in slow little increments that she catches, and she pulls you up tight against her, pressing her lips to your hairline. 

“i wish i could say,” sana whispers. “if it were up to me, i’d be here with you everyday.” 

the words are cruel, considering what they are–what you are—but the pain is stamped down. masking it with teasing. “how would you work then?” 

“i’m sure my supervisor could find someone else to fill my place. someone as equally ecstatic to dig their hands into some guy’s intestines.”

“you’re so…casual when you talk about your job.” you say out of respite. 

“are you worried?” sana asks. 

“no.” answering while tracing fingers across sana’s chest, over her still-racing heart, before tapping her chin. “but it makes me wonder if i should be.” 

“is the child psychology major going to psychoanalzye me right now? when i’m twenty-nine years old nearing thirty?” 

“you know the issues of childhood can be far-reaching. you never stop feeling the effects of it.” 

“incredible.” you laugh when sana dips her head and takes your finger in her mouth, biting it gently. “but i’ve always been this way.” 

“which is?” 

a half-feral grin spreads across sana’s face before she abruptly flips you over. you yelp into her mouth as she kisses you, long and slow, and settles over you. she breaks away, still grinning. “crazy about you.” 

you’re flushing hotly, which makes her bark out a delighted laugh, and sana kisses you again. over and over and over. her lips trail from your fluttering eyelids to the tip of your nose to your chin, every nook and cranny of your face that she can reach. when her lips meet yours again, you can taste the sugar on her tongue.

“god, i wish i could stay,” sana rasps, breaking away, and you cling onto her. 

“then stay.” 

“if i did, i’d have to leave at 5 to get ready at my apartment in order to be at the hospital on time. also you have an early class tomorrow. chances are i’d wake you up and you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.” 

your jaw tightens, and teeth catch your tongue. you don’t want to accuse sana of making excuses, because you know she’s right; it’s happened before. and that’s what burns you, the idea that your angst could have no standing. the operating off of your injured feelings and nothing substantial. this is transnational after all. 

“okay.” you say, coolly. “guess this is goodbye then.” 

“bye y/n.” sana says, kissing your mouth. “goodnight.” 

sana kisses you several times, smothering you in affection. she only stops after you simple, nipping at your nose once before rising off the bed. you watch as sana peels away off the bed, walking around your room, picking up her clothes from the floor and pulling them on. when she’s done, she strides over to you and slides a nick of your hair back, kissing your forehead. 

“i’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

“okay.” 

sana ducks down, skating her nose along the edge of your hairline, keeping her mouth close to your ear. “i’ll see you later.” 

you move your head and catch sana’s lips. against them, whispering. “mn, see you later.” 

you notice with some satisfaction that sana’s eyes are fevered as she pulls away, dark with wanting, and you shove your face back into the pillow, clinging to it. sana mutters a soft curse and makes her way to the door, only to immediately jam the knob when she goes to close it. she mutters a curse again, much louder. 

“just give it a little wiggle,” you say, sitting up. “it gets a little tight sometimes when you twist it.” 

“how long has it been like this?” 

“since i got the apartment.” 

“what the fuck?!” sana exclaims. “did anything else come broken?”

“sometimes the water pressure in my shower is really low.” 

“jesus christ, y/n.” sana says again, louder, angrier. “why haven't you told your landlord?” 

“trust me, i have.” you say shrugging your shoulders. “if i said anything more than that he’d just shut off the water entirely.” 

sana sounds pressed, jiggling the knob harder. “i’ll kill him then.” 

“it’s really not that ba—” 

“i’m coming back next week with a repairman,” sana interjects, tone brokering no argument. “i can fix the doorknob myself but i’ll get a plumber for the shower.” 

you duck your head, embarrassed. “you really don’t have to do that, sana.”

“i want to,” she replies, eyes softening when she looks at you. “i don’t want you living in some shit-hole with no running water.”

“i have running water.” 

“we’ll see what the plumber says.” and with that, sana gives up on fixing the jam and breezes past the doorway. a few seconds later, you can hear sana at the front door shut behind her. with a deep sigh, you fall back into the bed and reach for your pillow, thick with her scent, and curls around it to fall asleep. 

in the morning, you wake up to a ten dollar venmo notification for coffee and the contact information of the plumber sana mentioned. 

—

“why haven’t you got my calls or texts?” is the first question that mina asks when you answer the phone. you stifle a laugh. 

“well, good to hear your voice mina.”

“you haven’t called me,” she says again. “is everything okay?” 

you sigh and sink into your loveseat, socks skipping over the fractured leather. your fingers cradle the coffee mug. “nothing’s wrong.” you say. “i’ve been really busy.” 

“with what?” 

“school,” is what you reply with. “not sure if you’ve kept up, but i’m in my last year now. i’ve been getting most of the important work done as much as i can.” a second passes before you add, “and communication is a two-way street. you haven’t been calling me either.” 

“busy with work.” is what mina says in defense. 

“see?” you quirk, a sip of coffee passing through your mouth, tapping your fingers on your knee, waiting for mina to speak. neither of you are particularly verbose, so the shared calls usually play out like this: tense silence, quick updates, the voids that harbored resentment. but you’ve grown far from the desire of mina to be soft for you (she has, doesn’t want to admit it) and you’re just accustomed to the dispassion. 

for the final question on the script: “do you need any money from me?” 

“no, mina. i don’t need money from you or auntie.” 

“i assume the tips are good at your job then?” 

“even better.” 

she hums, like this was real answer, saying, “if you ever need anything, call me.” 

“you know it when i do.” 

“okay then.” 

mina hangs up with a click before the goodbye is even truly articulated on the tongue. 

—

your ears perk up when a knock is heard on the door, moving from your kitchen to walk to the entrance. curious, you open it, only to be swept up into sana’s arms before you can even say hello. she kicks it shut behind her and pins you to the old wood, lips roving over your face. 

“what—” she kisses your mouth twice in quick succession. “—are you doing here?”

“left the hospital for my lunch break,” sana breathes, hitching you up so that a leg is wrapped around her waist. she dips to suck your collarbone, mouth curling when she hears you mewl. “decided to come here.” 

“d-did you eat?” 

“no.” 

sana’s hand slides up from the curve of your ass to your breast, squeezing gently. you moan softly, head thumping against the wood. “you—you should.” 

she separates from your throat to shoot a sly grin. “i’d rather eat you out first.” 

mindless, spurred by sana’s passion, you surge down to kiss her. tightening your legs around her, thighs squeezing as sana’s hand cups your clit. with every pass of the hand, you can feel the shift of your underwear, panties clinging. 

sana buries her hand into your hair, yanking back to expose your throat. she ducks her head to you for another kiss, trailing her lips up and down the line, tongue darting out to taste. her other hand dips down to your ass to bind you up against her, rolling until your toes curl. you sigh and slide your hand into sana’s hair. it would be so easy to just cum from this, but you’d rather put sana’s mouth somewhere else. 

you pull her up by her hair, stomach clenching at the naked want on sana’s face. her eyes, half-lidded and hazy, are trained on your open mouth. when you lick them, her thumb catches your bottom lip. 

“please,” you gasp, moving against sana’s hips. arching. “we need to go to my—” 

sana grins, almost madly, and kisses you hard enough to steal your breath. “what? you’re afraid your neighbors might hear me fuck you again?” 

you blush hotly and sana laughs, but ultimately decides to appease you, heaving you off the wall. she seeks out your lips again and stumbles into the room. impatient, sana kicks open the door, heedless when it slams loudly into the wall. 

you hardly notice also, giddy when sana pushes you onto the bed. it’s a race to get clothes off, pairs of hands fulmbling with the zippers and buttons until sana bats her pants away, you yanking your sweatpants off, meeting for another kiss as she lowers herself over you. you moan loudly when her fingers tease the opening between your legs, feeling the wetness in an instant. 

“my god,” you sigh out, clinging to sana, blood burning beneath your skin; every movement a siren call to your own pleasure. “please, just—just touch me, sana.” 

sana grins rakishly, eyes glittering with mirth. ever the eager observer to your own demise. 

“you’re always so polite, sweetheart.” sana says, and moves down to kiss you. you yourself arch to meet her, pulse skittering at her proximity, at the heady invertibility of mindless pleasure, and—

the lights go out. 

sana stills above you. at first, you’re surprised, waiting for them to flicker back on. this happens sometimes. i mean—the building is old as in 1920s red stone–faulty wiring and out-dated, but nothing comes to fruition. 

“fuck,” you spitt, arousal plummeting to now nothing. you move from under sana. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

“what’s wrong?” sana asks. you rise from the bed and she follows you to the kitchen. you snatch a pile of envelopes from your counter to dig through them, only to stop when you notice that the lighting outside is too dim to see. you sigh heavily, marching over to your couch to read by the flickering candles. sana sits down beside you, eyeing cautiously. “what’s wrong?” 

“the light bill,” you croak. “the rental agency upped the price recently but i must’ve paid the old amount without ven thinking. god, how could i be so stupid?!” 

“you’re not stupid. don’t talk like that,” sana snaps. she then takes a deep breath, voice much calmer when she adds, “and this is an easy fix. if you pay it now, it’ll be back on in a few hours. this shit happens, y/n.” 

“but i don’t–” have the money. you clench your jaw tight, forcing the words down, but sana can see the pain on your face, can hear it lingering in the air, unsaid. 

“i’ll help you—” you shake your head; you don’t like this, the reminder—” let me help you.” 

“no, sana.” 

“it’s not a big deal. i want to.” 

“i can’t ask you to—”

sana suddenly shifts closer and grabs your face, cupping it between her palms. she looks int your eyes, gaze probing.

“let me,’ she cajoles. “you don’t have to bear the burden of this all on your own. if i’m offering to help you, let me help you.” 

your heart swells. with relief. with dismay. “okay.” 

she pecks your lips before standing up, thumb trailing down your cheek. “where’s your laptop? if your account is set up online, i can pay it now. i still have about forty-five minutes until i have to get back so i can wait with you until then.” 

“it’s on my desk.” 

sana nods once, turning on her heel to march into your room. the second she’s out of sight, you bury your face into her hands, burning with shame. 

—

right after class ends, your phone vibrates. 

you pick it out of your pocket, thumb grayling over your cracked screen to see sana’s contact photo flashing up at you; it was the one taken three weeks ago, with her smiling while you pressed a kiss to her cheek. you’re clicking the green button. 

“hello?” 

“i just realized you’ve never been to my apartment,” sana says, surprising you. “we’ve been together for almost two months and you’ve never seen my house.” 

“oh.” your cheeks flush, pulse skipping at together. “you’ve never really brought it up before.”

“like a fucking idiot. do you wanna come over?” 

your body warms in a near–sudden response, to your eternal horror, and with a bite of your lip. “sure.” 

“cool! i’ll pick you up right now.” 

“you're not working today?” 

“no. i worked eighty hours last week so they gave me a day off. i’m on call, though, which is shitty anyway.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“it’s fine,” sana dismisses. “so you’re still on campus?” 

“yeah. i just got out of class.” 

“alright, i’ll be there in twenty.” 

“okay. bye.” 

“bye.” sana says, but lingers on the line. for a moment, you think she’s forgotten to hang up, and moves to do it for her until she adds, softly, cutely you might think. 

“i’m excited to see you.” 

your heart thuds, and she hangs up before you can even say something back. 

for twenty minutes, you wait near the entrance of the school, fiddling with your phone until sana texts you to come meet her. finding the car quickly, walking towards the sleek, gray two–seater of her vintage mercedes, and opens the door to see sana grinning at you. a pair of dark sunglasses sit on the bridge of her nose. 

“hi,” sana smiles. 

“hi.” you say back, hating at how shy you still get around her, considering. sana, though, always appears to take a bit of pride to it. 

she chuckles, leaning back in her seat and shifting the car into drive, pulling into the main road. you settle in to watch the hypnotic motion of her hands as she turns the wheel—it almost makes you nostalgic for some reason. 

“so,” sana says, turning onto the street. “how was class?” 

“fine. just sat through a lecture.” 

“about?”  

“well, just the study of psychosocial development of erickson. how the different stages can be embedded by sociological challenges. you don’t want to hear the rest from me.” 

“ah.” you suck a smile in; seeing the cogs in sana’s brain turning. “sounds interesting.” 

“it’s a lot to cover. my professor was telling us about how some guest speaker that’s gonna be presenting next month. apparently she specializes in existential psychotherapy so i’m thinking of seeing that when it comes.” 

“that’s really cool. do you know the name?” 

“no.” you appreciate the effort that sana is showing. elizabeth, as wonderful and cool she was, tended to block you out sometimes: on the occasion she ever needed to. “what about you? how was work?” 

sana groans. “terrible. a guy was rolled in with a bullet wound and was hemorrhaging like crazy. i was able to stop the bleeding and get the bullet out, but the anesthesiologist almost od’d him and killed him. idiot.” 

“wow,” you say. “is he okay now?”

“yeah. but i’m never having that dumbass with me at the table again.” 

“you might have to, though. you’re a new doctor, sana, i don’t know if you have the luxury of writing off your co-workers.” 

sana smirks. “i might.” 

flicking the blinkers on, she turns on the road that leads them deeper into the upper west side. sana drives into a small parking lot behind a tall building before pulling into a space. once the car shifts into park and the keys are yanked out, you step out, mouth parting as you take in the veritable skyscraper in front of you. 

“you live here?!” 

“yeah,” sana says, taking your hand. seeing the stupefied expression, grinning and leading you inside. a red-headed doorman greets sana as you make your way across the lobby. the elevator didn’t even feel like an elevator and once you got past sana’s front door, you’re in full flabbergasted mode—eyes open like saucers. sana smiles at your gasp but when her eyes flicker to you they narrow. 

“i thought it would be a penthouse of sorts.” 

“trust me, it is but at the same time it isn’t.” 

sana’s apartment may not be as lux as you initially thought, but it’s still nice regardless. you can tell that it was costly, dark furniture andwide, open spaces and tall windows. the walls are painted with a light grey. a flat-screen plasma tv hangs in her living room, mounted over a fireplace. the black velvet leather couch is in front of it, clearly brand new. 

her voice echoes the walls. echoes. you’re left marveling. “are you hungry?” sana asks from the dining area, “i have some food from the other day.” 

“what do you got?” 

“some leftovers from this dimsum place, pretty good actually.” 

you giggle. “i thought you would have a much more sophisticated diet to fall back on.” meeting her at the kitchen island while she opens the box of food, tossing a bite into her mouth while you’re scanning through the dumplings. 

“this is delicous.” you say in between bites, sana leaning over pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re not eating as much, not enough craving?” 

“i had some food earlier.”

“how earlier are we talking?” 

“before i scooped you up.” 

you hum while she feeds you another bite of the warm dumpling that melts so tenderly into your mouth. 

the relaxing downtime with sana felt like a completely different world in her house. you got to know sana’s rough run down backstory of how she got to some form of power when it comes to dealing with which practitioner helps with her or not. being well-connected in her line of work was something to be fortunate with, but sana doesn’t like the idea of wealth being wrapped around her. sure, her clothes may be nice, demeanor brash and language abrasive at times, but she sees the world in a more different light compared to tzuyu and elizabeth on the topic of privilege. 

as for how she got into her career of being a surgeon, she signed up for dual-enrollment in the last two years of her high school to graduate early. the calling of med school already being long in terms of time, so the sooner she could get out, the better. 

“i like that,” you say. “i like how your mind works. i like—”

you. you almost say it. and it aches to not project it, the sudden sting of yearning. you, you, i really like you.

but catching yourself tripping up was something more of a simple defensive mechanism. “the story,” you finish. “pretty funny.” 

“i have better ones.” sana says, grin lighting up her face, more radiant than sunlight. and her obliviousness burns twice as hot. “do you wanna hear about the time my friend bang chan and his best friend felix got mutual restraining orders back in college?” 

—

you’ve read the name of tobio kageyama for probably the thirtieth time in two manga volumes before your mind decided to call for a needed break. 

sitting upright from the couch, stretching and popping joints across the body. a look at the clock shows that it’s a little past eight, realizing that you’ve studied for roughly about two to three hours. too bad you didn’t notice it before because your brain is already bugging and battered into mush. 

so you head to the kitchen, glass cup filled before drinking it once or twice before noticing that sana hasn’t drank any water since she took up a fortress in her office two hours ago, claiming that she had a work call. you fill another glass again, dropping a few ice cubes, before making your way towards her office door–knocking once, “hey, you busy?” 

sana’s voice sounds muffled, weary. “no, come in.” 

entering the room, hesitant like you were intruding on some sacred space. like the rest of her house, sana’s office was nice, richly-furnished. she has a tall, wooden desk in front of her, several files and stacks of paper placed on top. there’s a bookshelf behind in the corner, thick tomes marked by names that you don’t even want to try to read or recognize. the walls are also painted in a dark gray, and there’s a leather couch off to the left side with a blanket placed over it. even sana needs to have her naps sometimes. 

sana then calls for your attention, glasses perched on the bridge of her perfect nose. “did you need something?” 

“no,” you say, inching closer. raising the glass, “i just wanted to get you some water.” 

she smiles in thanks, taking it from you while she approaches with an outreaching hand, grabbing the glass downing it in one gulp. frowning with a mild concern once she gave you back the glass, “were you thirsty?” 

“a bit. i didn’t feel it until now.” 

“are you hungry?” 

“not right now. i’ll eat when im finished with this.” 

“you should take a break,” you say, stepping towards sana. you lean back with your butt to the edge of her desk, half sitting. up close, you can see sana’s stress more evidently, eyes low with exhaustion. “sit on the couch with me. we can watch something together.” 

“i can’t do that, y/n.” 

“why not?” would a short film be better?” 

“i have paperwork. a lot of paperwork. not to mention forms, test results, patient files. i want to try to get through them by tonight.” 

“and you will,” you reply softly, stepping between her legs, resting your hands on her shoulders. “just ten or fifteen minutes of your time, please.” 

“no way we’re watching a movie in ten minutes.” 

“not the movie, you idiot. i was gonna say food instead, you should eat.” 

“‘m not hungry.” 

“not even a snack?” 

sana lets out a smile, placing her hands on your hips. “i appreciate you for being concerned, baby, but i’ll be done soon. i promise. then we can go get something to eat together.” 

looking down at the ground, hands still on shoulder. you’re smoothening the crinkles of sana’s large shirt, fingers brushing up from her neck up to her hair. you lean down and kiss sana fully on the lips, slowly, once, twice, a few times, and rest your knee on her chair between her legs. you break away a bit to pepper languid kisses across the slope of her jaw. 

“relax,” you croon. “take a break with me.” 

sana sinks into you, sighing like she’s expelling a pressure from deep within her chest. her eyes flutter closed, hands twitching around your waist, and when you dip down to kiss her throat, you feel the flushing heat rising from her body.

desire races to the forefront like a freight train, bowling over you with its inteistiey, and you’re running a hand up her thigh towards the center. sana gasps sharply into your parted mouth, fingers clutching around your waist. you’re nearly smiling. 

“you’ve eaten me out before,” you whisper. “but you’ve never let me do the same for you.” 

sana laughs but it’s off, brimming with echoes of a dark promise. “i find it more enjoyable when i eat up your pussy then have you eat mine. better for me to see you cry the way i want you to.” 

there’s a thrill pulsing through your body, throbbing dully in your cunt. you’re ducking down to kiss her again, practically panging into sana’s open mouth as you palm her through her pants. her face is screwed up with a tight coil of pleasure, eyes shut. her fingers dig into the leather armrests at her side. 

“let me,” you whisper again, almost begging. “i want to.” 

sana’s eyes crack open, solely, regarding you as though you were something to be consumed. i want to, you think with a sort of nameless, desperate sense of urgency. i want you to. 

she nods, and you kneel at her feet. 

you’re kissing through her jeans first, soft, affectionate little pecks that make sana groan, fingers sliding up her legs again. you help sana clumsily unbutton her pants, shucking it down and off her thighs. the panties are quick to follow, only first with a trail of your lips over the black-laced fabric, soaked with her wetness that fills up your nose. sana is wrecked with the effect you have on her, just some light kisses and heavy petting, making your cunt fucking clench; you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who’s wanted you even half as much. 

when sana’s panties are gone left with her shirt; the scent is intoxicating. her folds are glistening. she sighs of pure bliss when you lick up her slit, mouth lingering on her clit. her hips twitch from the initial contact. you stifle a smile when you shower a few more kisses, and she groans loudly when you part her legs, squeezing her inner thighs tightly the more you shove your face into her cunt. 

you’ve eaten out girls before, but sana was more of an anomaly. to play it safe, you experiment, trying to see what she likes best. licking at her, teasing her walls with a finger, leaving teased kisses to the area outside of her pussy. sana can’t contain herself when she pulls your head back in with her hand, moaning into her core, the vibrations too overwhelming coming from your mouth to her legs. 

“fuck,” sana moans. “fuck, y/n–baby, fuck. i’m gonna—” 

nodding at her, you don’t let up the pace of tearing up her cunt. fingers in walls and grunting into her. she doesn’t even let you breathe. the heels of her feet on your shoulders as her hands are on the back of your head, nails scratching the scalp the more you’re lapping her up. only then you pull away as she coos out locking eyes with you, the sight of licking your mouth lean with your tongue from her slick almost makes her lose it from the seat. 

“i’m gonna ruin you,” sana promises, snarling, gaze devouring, mad with want. it sends a deep vibration into your cunt while she looks up to the ceiling. “you won’t be able to walk.” 

you could’ve just came right then and there, vision whiting out at the edges. somehow you kept your sanity in check, ducking your head for more fully. humming and sliding your tongue over her cunt, nibbling on her clit and with a sudden jerk followed by a sharp groan, she cums. 

a whole assortment of papers, files, pens, and pencils are scattered to the floor as sana digs her hand beneath your shirt and rips it off of you. your lips meet hers for another frantic kiss, laying back as she’s settling over you. 

she shoves your sweats down along with your panties, letting them dangle from your feet. sana then moves back to your chest, hands moving like a firebrand, searing your skin with every touch. desperate to feel more of it, you sit up slightly and unclasp your bra. the second you’ve tossed it, sana’s hands are quick to palm, mouth hot against your own as she swallows your keening sigh. 

“you have the most perfect tits in the world,” sana breathes, thumbs circling your nipples, forefingers roving down to pinch. the sweet pleasure-pain sparks a heavy throb in your core, and she arches into you, spreading your legs wide. you moan when sana’s mouth is around your breast, the other hand folding you. 

“god, sana, please,” you beg, clinging to her. your hips are twitching, the emptiness inside you turning into a physical ache. 

“what is it, baby?” sana switches over to your other mound, tongue laving over your nipple. your eyes fluttering, mind spinning at the sight. “what?” 

moaning helplessly, and her hand slides down to your cunt, thumb sliding up the wet gusset of your panties to find your clit. when she presses down, your hips jerk forward, shrieking. she’s laughing around your boob. 

“yeah, there we go,” sana sighs out, rubbing at you languidly, moving slow with the roll of her hips. “that feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“ye—ah—yes, yes it feels good.” 

“i know.” sana kisses up to your throat, sucking the soft spot beneath your jaw, lips deceptively sweet. “but you want more, don’t you.” 

more. 

your stomach seizes at the thought of it, the promise. you grasp at her wrist and sana hisses, dipping her hand beneath underneath your underwear to slide a finger inside you. keening when she adds another digit, stretching you open—another sounds leaves your mouth and sana laughs when you’re clamping around her fingers.

“you feel so good like this, y/n. so good.” she watches as she fucks her fingers in and out of you, transfixed by the sight. almost resentful of her own body. “i wish i could live in you. i wish—” 

“you could,” somehow croaking that out when she has four fingers inside. “i’d let you.” 

sana lets her intrusive thoughts get the better of her, growling while she surges down your body. your panties are up in the air as she raises a leg up, thumb petting your clit. you’re rearing up with a shout, a splintering sound, bursting, but sana doesn’t give you any breathing room. next thing you know, she has the flat plane of her tongue swiping upward that pushes your undoing even faster. 

it’s good enough to cry, you can feel the salt on your tongue when sana leans up again for another kiss before trailing down to your pussy. there’s a malformation with how the kisses are sloppier on your lips above and below, but the pleasure is good. she makes you feel like euphoria is an ever-present force that is kept within you, and it’s much deeper than the sex. the sprawling root of it is happiness, and sana. 

“c’mon, y/n, my lovely girl,” sana says tightly, jaw clenching when she breathes over your clit. her eyes hazy like she might be the one to cum again. “give me another.” 

you wrap your legs around her, canting up so that her mouth and tongue go deeper, and you both moan from it. sana’s finger finds your clit again, so wet the sound is purely obscene, but it only strokes the fire of your pleasure, makes it build higher and higher. 

“that’s it. there we go. t-there—” 

sana stops short. a bitten-off cry, and she doubles down on your clit. her fingers clench around your walls, and there’s a gentle wave—mouth parted to sigh. 

she stays for a second, pulling her hand out examining the slimy fluid between the fingers, licking them seductively that makes you roll your eyes and look away. sana just laughs at you, “fuck you, for making me like this.” 

your head hits the desk, “not sorry. i like it when you’re needy for me.” 

she huffs out, “little minx. when i’m done with you—” 

“what? i won’t be able to walk?” 

sana’s face falls flat, but her eyes spark with lurid determination as she leans in and whispers, “everything i’ve gotten in life, i’ve had solely because i wanted it badly enough. you think that doesn’t apply to the things i wanna do to you?” 

your heart hammers like a jack-rabbit. red-hot heat slowly consumes your face. “i—”

she moves off of you but keeps her arms bracketing your hips. “we’re moving to my room,” she interjects. “i need a bed if i want you to sit on my face.” 

eyes were wide open while you managed to slip out of sana’s hold, scurrying to the bedroom down the hallway. sana’s signature laugh echoes as she chases you down behind. 

—

it’s a bit chilly outside when mina calls you, the autumn weather creeping beneath your new coat to settle into your bones. hitching the collar up your neck for cover, and the phone is out from your pocket to see your cousin’s name. you’re repressing a sigh, picking up, 

“hey.” 

“yo.” mina has many greetings. “where are you right now?” 

“i got out of class, walking to the subway.” 

“are you by yourself?” 

“yes,” you say. “obviously. why wouldn’t i be?” 

“you usually have that slightly taller girl tagging along with you. the one with the model face.” 

“tzuyu.” you correct sharply. “and you’re not wrong, but she has her own life. you know? a girlfriend?” 

“and you? you got anyone?” 

frozen, stumbling in your tracks. mina could be asking for curiosity, but you know your cousin too well; she’s not the kind to be asking unnecessary questions. 

“no, i don’t,” you answer cautiously. 

“are you sure?” 

“why even bother asking me?” you retort, voice clipped. “even if i was seeing someone. i’d mention it right away, even with thanksgiving around the corner.” 

“i don’t see what thanksgiving has anything to do with it.”

“most normal people introduce their partners to family, mina. not everything personal is some dirty little secret.” 

“don’t you dare try to get snippy with me. i was just asking a question, not cuffing you to a table for an interrogation. chillax.” 

you’re cringing with knitted brows, stepping down the stairwell into the subway station. it’s a lot warmer, “whatever. i just wanted to know why you were asking.” 

“i was asking because you haven’t been calling me lately. i figured that someone else was taking up all of your time besides auntie.” 

your jaw tenses. there’s this wave of guilt that makes your clinch your lip, voice much gentler when you follow up, “i’ve just been busy, mina. you know that.” 

“yeah?” the customary ten seconds of loaded silence pass before mina adds, “speaking of busy, don’t come down for thanksgiving this year. i’m gonna be busy with work.” 

work. the nameless occupation mina had never bothered explaining to you, not since you were in your teens. you’ve had your own suspicions and theories, but you never even had the frame of mind to confirm them yourself. 

even with the disappointment; it’s actually comforting in a weird sense. “that’s fine. i have finals to get ready for anyway.” 

“you’re not upset by this?” 

“no.” 

“and you’re not lying to me about anything, right?” 

“no, mina.” you say, smiling ruefully. “why would i? when have either of us ever lied each other about anything?” 

good as dammed, but there’s no care for it. i wouldn’t even matter anyway. it comes as a concern for how little tinges of that feeling is there still. 

mina sighs out. “talk to you later then, if you do call me.” 

you hang up after. the lasting thought of mina doesn’t even come afterwards. 

—

not even more than two steps into the entrance hallway when the doorbell calls you. 

you’re freezing, eating away at the fragile patience, but when you look through the peephole. you don’t think twice about opening the door. “tzuyu?” 

she’s standing across from you, arms folded, foot tapping, and pouting. “you’ve been neglecting me.” she accrues.

“huh?” you ask stupidly while blinking in a fast state.

tzuyu rolls her eyes and breezes past you, chilling air carrying the rich scent of yves saint-laurent. you follow her into the living rom, watching her shuck off her louis vutton jacket and tosses it onto the seat. 

“well?” she demands, whirling around to face you. “tell me what did she do to you?” 

“what?” 

“your little sugar mommy-doctor-girlfriend.” 

“tzuyu–” 

“whatever she did, she’s good enough to keep you from calling or texting your best friend for a week.” 

“what?” you’re gasping out again. “a week? i haven’t…” 

with a rush of the phone, you’re pulling up messages only to notice that you have, in fact, been ignoring tzuyu’s texts for the better part of a week. all of your besties messages. the only person you’ve kept consistent contact with is sana, and the last text you sent her was–

well—best to the imagination. 

“i’m so sorry,” you breathe out, throwing your phone off to approach tzuyu, taking her mittened hands, gently directing her to sit on the couch. “i’m so sorry, tzuyu. i didn’t mean to ignore you or shuhua or irene or anyone, i just—” 

“you’ve been preoccupied with your new girl?” 

“yeah,” you admit, bit of shame hanging, but adding, “and school. dooyoung–the guy editing my thesis—says it’s coming together really nicely, so.” 

tzuyu whoops, reaching out to shake your leg. “and you’ll be presenting it next semester! how do we feel about that?” 

“pretty good.” 

suddenly, her eyes soften, shifting closer. “i was mostly kidding, by the way, about you neglecting me. i remember how i was when i first got with shuhua. you couldn’t get me away from her.” 

“it’s different, though.” 

“what makes you say that?” 

“because shuhua is your girlfriend and sana is my—” 

you stop, horrified by the abrupt burn of tears. you turn away to conceal yourself, blinking hard, but tzuyu was always quick to notice. she wraps her arms around your elbow, leaning into your shoulder. “your sugar mommy,” she finishes gently, but you flinch like it’s a slap. 

“yeah. that.” 

“if it bothers you so much, then why are you staying with her?” i’m sure she’s given you enough that you have time to figure out another way to get money. it’s not like you need her.” 

“yeah,” you reply dully, still not meeting eyes with tzuyu. your mind is playing the denial aspect a lot more tougher now. “you’re right. i don’t.” 

—

with all things and struggles, you compartmentalize. 

you’re refusing to think of the blooming feelings for sana more than you have to, and in the even that you can’t, distraction was the solution: school, work, friends. and on the rare occurrence as crazy it would seem, shopping. 

“an IKEA drawer?” sana asks, baffled. you keep your phone between shoulder to ear. “why the fuck did you go to IKEA?” 

“i needed to,” you answer, pushing the giant box inside of your apartment, leaning against the wall as it’s on the wall. “my other drawer was broken. i’ve had it for like, seventeen years, so i figured that it was time for a change.” 

“and you could afford it?”

a rhetorical question. what sana’s really asking if the two bundred she sent you last week was a decent enough amount that you could splurge on. clenching your teeth, flushing. 

“yes.” 

“y/n, baby. i sent you the money so that you could go shopping.”

“i did. and i shopped at IKEA.” 

“are you gonna build the drawer now?” 

“yeah.” 

“let me come over. i can build it for you/” 

“sana, it’s fine. i’ve built furniture before.” 

“so have i. in fact, i bet i could have it done in half the time it takes you to read the instructions.”

“oh really now?” cocking a brow in disbelief. “how soon can you come over?” 

—

time didn’t really pass, staring at sana from the bed, chin resting on your palm as you watch her hiss and curse to herself, pink screwdriver in hand. the sweat rolls enticing down the hard ridges of her abs, her hair is up and out of her face in a knot. the most exhilarating part in all of this was watching him use her shirt as a sweat rag. 

“are you sure you don’t—”

“i’m almost done,” sana snaps, eyes flashing with indignation. “just give me ten more minutes.” 

true to her word, she was nearly done. the drawer stands tall in front of her, most of the pieces already constructed and put into place. all that’s missing is the top set of the drawers, which she has in her hands right now. 

still, it’s only mildly entertaining just to watch sana. you debated studying to pass the time, but the focus wasn’t enough on your book to make it stick. reading was also out of the question, and texting irene went nowhere after she revealed that she was on a date and couldn’t speak. the news that things with her and seulgi were going well and exciting to hear, but not long after. sana’s shirt was off. 

“it’s really fucking hot in here,” had been the excuse mainly. 

“is this supposed to keep me distracted? you ask. 

“i’m not trying to do anything. if you’re distracted, that’s your prerogative.” 

liar. she’s been annoyed the second you stopped foching on her long enough to try facetime tzuyu. 

you sigh, spitefully debating on what you can do to fluster sana. the limited options, though, tend to lean more in one direction and the idea of willfully doing any of them was embarrassing. 

suddenly, she whoops. “i finished!” 

you roll over on your stomach to see sana sliding the drawer into the top slot, circling it, pulling on different knobs to test the tightness and checking for smoothness of the pulling out and pushing in of the drawers. she grins at you, triumphantly. “i told you i could do it.”

“i never said that you couldn’t.” 

“it was in your tone.”

you smile, and sana straightens up to bend something in her body. a loud crack sounds, followed by a pained sigh, and her eyes open more glazed. “fuck.” 

soon after sana is laid flat on the mattress when you motioned her, face turned towards you with a look that says are you okay? 

“my back. it’s been annoying me since work—fuck.” 

you nick your head as you cautiously glide your hands over her skin, kneading the muscle softly, and sana just hums with relief. “keep doing that.” 

straddling on sana’s ass, languidly moving your fingers up. she just melts. sana perks up when you giggle. “what?” 

“nothing.” 

“tell me.” 

“i think it’s kinda bad for you to have back pain at your age, and it’s kinda mindblowing how active you are.”

“don’t be that dramatic, i’m not that old.” 

“for someone that’s near thirty.”

“that’s a bit harsh.” 

you giggle again before leaning down, lips skimming sana’s ear lobe. “i’m just teasing you.”

“you’re so fucked up for saying that, i’m only twenty-nine still.” 

“don’t be so sensitive.” you say pressing a kiss to her nape. “not bad if you're in your early late twenties early thirties while i’m in my early twenties.” 

sana sinks into you, like clay in your hands. when you move to the ridge of her cheekbone, she leans into you, turning her head to catch your lips. a languid kiss is shared, tongues melding, unhurried, but that fire is sparked between your hips and it becomes urgent. it’s a slow grind that’s rolled out, eyes fluttering at the friction. 

you pull away while sana breathes out, “fuck,” and flips you over now that you’re straddling over her front. your hands are on her waist, and sana moves her leg up between your legs, doubling down on the notice that you’re not wearing anything underneath the shorts, lips parting. 

she leans up to kiss you. sana always kisses you, mouth consuming like she wants to suck you inside. “i didn’t know you watching me build furniture would get you so hot.”

“everything you do gets me hot.” 

sana moans and binds you up against her, hips bucking, delicious friction sending stars behind your eyes. you wrap your arms around her neck, panting into her mouth, so euphoric that you want to weep. so happy. 

when she breaks way to squeeze your breasts, a loud knock sounds at the door, startling you. sana, however, is unmoved.

“ignore it,” she says, breath hot on your neck. “ride me.” 

your eyes flutter and you’re grasping at her hair, already picturing it, the slick coming out of you on her leg, the fruition and contact deep enough to send you reeling. and then you hear it: 

“y/n!” another loud knock, more insistent. “open the door!”

shit, you think, cursing, the word flying form your mouth now. “shit, shit.” 

sana pulls away from you, concerned, but you’re already beating her in the scramble. she watches you rush to the mirror to fix your hair. 

“what’s up? who is that?” 

“mina,” you breathes, cold panic pulsing through your veins. “my cousin.”

“oh, well—”

“it’s a bigger deal than you think,” you snap. “and stay here. she can’t see you.” 

sana’s eyes widen. “what–?” 

“stay here, sana.” 

you rush out of the room and hurry towards the front door. through the peephole, you see mina on the other side, arms crossed and expression stoic. you exhale deeply before opening the door, forcing a smile. 

“hi, mina.” 

she hums in greeting, shoulders knocking as she walks past you. when she spots the IKEA box, she stops short. 

“you bought furniture?”

“yes,” you answer hesitantly, clammy fingers clasped behind you. “i needed a new drawer.” 

“why didn’t you tell me?” 

“i need to call you every time i buy furniture?” 

“no. but these things sell for three hundred bucks. it’s expensive.”

“this one was on sale. one–fifty.” 

mina makes a deep sound in her throat, unsatisfied, but her journey is continued throughout your apartment. 

“so, uh. what are you doing here?” 

“it’s thanksgiving tomorrow.” 

“oh. i thought…you told me not to come. you said you were busy.” 

“some time opened up in my schedule,” she says, and finally stops long enough to look at you. her eyes were shrewd, filled with knowing. it only raises the sirens going off in your head louder. “i decided to come see you.”

“ah,” you breathe. “well, um. i didn’t buy any food. maybe we can order–?” 

“why are you so flustered? mina interrupts. “is there something going on?” 

“what? no, no, of course–”

“mina?” icy pinpricks poke your skin, and you slowly turn around to see sana standing in the hallway. her clothes and hair have been fixed, and she smiles at mina with a polite curiosity. 

your cousin’s expression sours instantly. “who the fuck is this?” 

“mina!”

“who is this. why is she in you apartment?!” 

sana walks towards mina, unphased by the insult. she sticks her hand out, “my name is minatozaki sana. nice to meet you.” 

mina peers at sana, neck tilted at an angle that would be comical if not for the fact that you feel like throwing up. finally, she looks at you again. 

“we need to talk.”  

#hyunie #sana x reader #twice x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice sana #sana #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #twice x you #twice imagines #sana imagines #sana minatozaki #twice fluff #twice smut #sana smut #sana twice

[gigidragonbbxxx]

working with limits, a story

disclaimer: we are limitless. anything can be achieved with the power of the mind. this is to help people who overthink.

if a limit of yours shows up somewhere along the journey of manifesting a certain goal:

acknowledge it. do not repress. use it to pivot into your new story.

eg. I used think ____, but I know that's not true anymore. I am now ____.

my own story

my desired body is typically obtained in the gym with years of hard work and a dedicated focus on nutrition. I'm currently in grad school so I don't have time to workout like an IG influencer but I want to look like one.

Ordinary people would WEEP and stay in the same story of "its not obtainable!" while master manifesters smirk and say "LOL, ITS MY BODY NOWWWW"

I know that waking up with your perfect body is 100% POSSIBLE. Overnight subs/aff tapes + living in the end state + saturation to the max = fast asf results

so why wasn't I achieving it?

why was I manifesting money, attention, material things, etc. but for some reason my body was not changing?

I was meditating and doing some inner work when I realized that I had a serious weird rooted limited belief that

I had bad genetics and every woman in my family (both sides) have never achieved a flat tummy or a super toned body. So I was unconsciously always affirming that I could "never" look like that.

I thought great bodies could ONLY be achieved with hard work - which we know is soooooo untrue!

Instead of forcing myself to do a method I realized - I could work with my limit.

I was never truly "athletic" but I did run cross country/track in high school for 3 years. I fell off once I went to college and mostly did weird sporadic workouts but was never consistent.

Now that I've discovered the law and am freed from my old way of thinking, I said - okay let me play a little psychology game with myself, a little placebo.

my new placebo has been:

No matter what workout I do, the moment I step into the gym, I am losing my belly fat and getting super fast results every day.

Why do you do this Gigi instead of just sitting at home and affirming for your body?

Because I realized it would be easier for me to stay saturated/in the wish fulfilled/end state of having my perfect body just by physically forcing myself to be in a gym.

Let me clarify: I mostly walk on the treadmill, lift very very light weights, minimal sets, etc.

aka: most people would say I'm not doing enough.

But I'm a master manifester so I know that just deciding is enough.

I realized it was easier to visualize people saying "Wow she changed her body, it's because she goes to the gym now! She must've done a lot of work cause she got those results fast!" instead of "Wow she changed her body, idk how!"

Ever since I started going consistently and doing very bare minimum workouts - my body has changed way more drastically than normal limits allow.

I basically look like I've been working out for 6 months versus just the 2 I've actually been going.

My personal goal was fast results but gradual. If you want instant, please be my guest I am not limiting, I'm just sharing what worked for me.

I robotically affirm that lil placebo and it's changed my entire approach to manifesting.

I will see if I can post pictures of myself that will ensure privacy. Until then, just my words and encouragement.

Let me finish this lil post by saying: you do not need to do what I do. You can go ahead and do everything instantly. Everyone is different. I'm just sharing what worked for me, what helped me ease into being firm with what I wanted the 3D to reflect to me.

xx, gigi

#gigiwrites #manifesation #law of assumption #loass #loassblog #loassumption #manifestation #affirm and persist #affirmations #self concept #manifesting #law of manifestation #master manifestor #neville goddard #edward art #wish fulfilled #eiypo #robotically affirming #body affirmations #positive affirmations #affirming #affirmyourlife #affirmdaily #self concept affirmations #living in the end #affirmyourreality

[stickthisbig]

Deadlands and Accents

Context: I went to grad school for linguistic anthropology. I'm also a born and raised Southerner; the majority of the time that I've lived somewhere else was in California.

So this post was initially much, much, much longer and got into why we can't say whether the West sounded Southern and the evidence ag'in it. There was just so much. Just so much.

"Sabine, can you really tell anything from the first episode?" Come here. Closer. Do you know how fucking long three hours is? I gave a whole-ass paper at the AAAs one year on thirty minutes of data. Maybe we revisit this later, but believe me. We've already heard a lot.

Anyway here's my analysis by player of the accents from ep 1 of Deadlands. Also it has audio of me reading my favorite Southern political speech. The original version of this post was a drunken ramble on Discord where I ranked the players, but it did feel a little catty, so I'm just going to take them in no particular order:

Literally Everyone Else In The West

Honestly, Andy's all over the place and has heavily leaned into "here's a voice that sounds olde tymey", which makes some of his characters, particularly Arlo, sound like audio animatronics. However, he's the DM and he can do what he wants. 7/10

Garnet

Iconic for just not doing an accent at all. 10/10.

Edie

Right. So. Here's the thing.

Ellen is just doing Dolly Parton. Like it's straight up and down Southern Belle. It's not very good, but it's identifiable.

You have to be really careful when you do just a regular accent that many people have. I am going to say this as delicately as I can: because of a lack of cultural understanding about how Southern women sound, Edie comes off as a raging bitch.

It turned out I couldn't be very delicate.

Ellen is just being Ellen; she is a very helpful person who is very deliberate when she explains herself in game. The way she's deploying the accent with it is making my Southern brain glitch, because that's how Southern Belles talk when they want you to go fuck yourself. The more carefully a Southerner explains themselves, the closer they are to snapping their tether. I know that Ellen does not mean to sound as pissed off as she does. I absolutely can't unhear it.

It's not very good and also it makes my brain hurt so… 3/10?

Silas

You can't fool me, I know Clint Eastwood when I hear it. I cannot understand what Silas is saying worth a good goddamn. 1/10 and that's a pity point because I actually do want to see what happens with Silas

Delacy

Really liking Luke's choices here. He's made a very smart move by mostly changing vocabulary and prosody, rather than the much, much harder phonology and syntax, and then layering the rasp over it to clean up the edges. It does make my throat hurt a little, so 9/10

Nate

So it's my understanding, and I haven't watched it yet but I should because it sounds charming, that Nate's voice is the one Johnny used for their letsplay of Frog Detective. Because of this, I think that the consensus that Nate is Benoit Blanc is probably dead on.

A lot of people agree that Benoit Blanc is Foghorn Leghorn. They're completely wrong, and let me now explain in tedious detail why, because the fact of the matter is SO much more interesting.

Now, we can all agree that Daniel Craig was just fuckin freestyling it, but crucially, he wouldn't sound like he does if he wasn't doing something specific. He is doing a specific voice that we all immediately recognized as "wily older Southern man who doesn't take too kindly to this type of nonsense." He's not doing Kentucky Colonel; he's doing Simple Country Lawyer.

Simple Country Lawyer is very popular in media- Tiny Attorney from Venture Bros, the Hyper Chicken from Futurama, any number of serious films from earlier periods. The newest version I found was this clip from Game Changer. Here's what makes it so interesting: Simple Country Lawyer is a very real register of Southern English, one that crosses dialects. I had friends who went to law school in the early 2010's who studied it. For decades it was the gold standard for both rhetoric and courtroom discourse.

It also preserves really interesting features that have fallen out of most Southern Englishes. Most Southerners used to be /r/-less, a thing that they shared with English people, but the last speakers of SAE with non-rhoticity (they delete R's) largely died in the past twenty years. Simple Country Lawyer is non-rhotic. For example, in most Southern Englishes, the word "power" is pronounced as one syllable, like powr. In Simple Country Lawyer, it's pronounced pow-a.

It was way easier to explain this if I just recorded some of it, so here you go:

The thing is that most people who aren't conversant with that register do end up sounding like they're melting. Johnny absolutely has not escaped this. 7/10 for the accent, 20/10 for letting me talk about one of my favorite registers

So there are my opinions. We will see if they hold, but three hours is a shitload of data, so.

#oxventure deadlands #placeholder deadlands tag #oxventure #linguistics #sabine = daniel jackson?

[smallfrenchstudyblr]

ahh i should have clarified that i myself don't have a degree (yet). i'm not from an academically inclined background so when i didn't do well in my first two semesters of university (i failed some classes and only barely passed others), i got very discouraged and saw it as a sign that university is just not for someone like me. i then learned a trade and have been working in the field; but i'm interested in going to university as a mature student and i'm going to apply this year for a BA :)

still, precisely because i don't have a degree it really upsets me that someone who used the chatGPT shortcut is a teacher now. teaching high school students is an academic profession, and it doesn't sit right with me how common it is for teachers to say things like "i learned so much useless stuff in university; none of which i need as a teacher"; it's actually really frustrating. then why do you go to university/become a teacher? ??? ????? (i mean i know why, because it pays well here.)

in our country, MA/MSc degrees are required for a lot of positions, so grad school isn't quite as "you're here because you choose to be" but still.. his sentiment is basically, since he teaches high school students it should just be sufficient to be able to teach them, what’s the point of a thesis? like ok with that sort of logic i could have been a teacher with just a high school certifcate. i think tbh there is a wider discussion here about how people just don’t value knowledge too.

he also later said that he sometimes regrets not just paying someone to write it for him and save himself a lot of time and trouble 💀to me that is just the epitome of being so full of yourself. he has just decided that he has what it takes to be a teacher and making him write a thesis is a waste of time because of that. lmao??

also I would like to point out that this guy is not my friend, just someone i met through a mutual friend (and they’re not exactly friends either, they work together💀) i talked about this with my friend and she said that he isn't even the first person she knows who has casually admitted to using chatGPT like this. i guess they feel emboldened to casually admit to cheating because they know that their peers won't report them because that would then make them look like snitches

i'm sorry about venting like this to you; i just remembered that you spoke about the chatGPT problem before

Well first of all: fingers crossed for your BA applications !! Everyone got at their own pace, sometimes you need a few years to figure out how to best approach University!!

That is indeed upsetting that someone who does not value critical thinking and does not understand the point of research/research writing is teaching now. "I don't need it anyway/I did so much useless stuff at school/Uni" is such a dumb. dumb. Argument.

Like, I had to study German and Spanish and Latin and theology. I took the equivalent of AP biology and physics in school and learned how to use a soldering iron and identify rocks. I learned Roman Law, and company insolvency rules, and the procedure to contest a refusal to grant you a construction permit. During my PhD, I had to become proficient in advanced data-driven research methods and 2 different code languages. NONE OF THAT has anything to do with me job, whatsoever. I teach students about the International Court of Justice and some of them are Literature and History majors. I KNOW that their dazzling knowledge in embeddedness theories of international adjudication is NOT what will get them a job.

But it's not about the raw knowledge, it's about

1. Transferable skills: targeted reading, critical thinking, information gathering, writing for different audiences, time management, group work, self-reflection, project management, conflict resolution...

2. Learning how to learn: adapting to new situations, new rules and new logics; switching from one type of reasoning to another; picking up on new practices, new skills, as fast as possible, knowing how YOU best do that: on your own, with friends, listening, writing, visuals, with cues, independently, by teaching...

3. Putting your future work (and honestly, yourself as a person) in a broader context: knowing what the ICJ is to spot dumb and wrong info when you see it. Knowing that it MATTERS that we know different types of rocks, and therefore we should fund research on geology. Knowing quantitative research methods to know when they are used well and when it's bullshit. Knowing that Latin shaped some languages and not others, to understand the limits of translation itself. Knowing how 'generative' AIs work to understand that there is very little about them that is actually 'generative'.

I would evening argue that just being confronted with the sheer vastness of Things and Knowledge and Fields that are not yours has value in and of itself. It keeps you humble, aware that no matter how much you are knowledgeable on your one (1) thing, in the back of your mind, there is the knowledge that there is much, much knowledge you actually do not have and cannot claim to have. OR, in the wise words of Dan Olson on CryptoBros, to avoid being the kind of person that:

"assume that because they understand one complicated thing [...] all other complicated things must be lesser in complexity and naturally lower in the hierarchy of reality"

#this... was much longer than I intended it to be #no sorry for sending this in my askbox!

[chroniccomicobsession]

Tag Game, very late to the party

Gasp, I'm actually on Tumblr for once in a century. Thanks @mrsbsmooth for the tag!

Name: Kellee

Age: 24, but just mere months from being too old for Leo DiCaprio

Pronouns: she/her

When is your birthday? Virgo season babyyyy

Where do you call home? Yeehaw neck of the woods. I knew how to shotgun a beer before I knew how to file my taxes.

Do you have any pets? Lots haha. Two cats, a dog, and two guinea pigs

Current favorite musical artist: I can never pick just one, so a few of my faves include Taylor Swift, Luke Combs, Post Malone, and Fall Out Boy

What do you do for work? I co-run an Aquatics program for the campus recreation department of my Alma mater

If you could have lunch with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be? Taylor Swift. I need to know all her tea. Plus, is that Matty Healy rumor for real?

What are you wearing right now? Geez, buy me a drink first. But actually, a ratty old college shirt. Very sexy

You're going back to school, what's your major? Actually, I just started grad school for my masters in community rec management. Exciting stuff.

Last fanfic or book you read: I just started Every Summer After by Carley Fortune

and finally, share a happy memory with me: I'm very fortunate in the fact that I'm struggling to pick just one. But I guess I'd say my graduation party recently. I was so over the moon to have finally finished my degree, gearing up to start my dream job. I was surrounded by the people I love most and my sister in law/best friend and husband really went above and beyond to make it the best day ever. To be so showered with love by friends and family was so amazing and I just kinda can't believe I'm so blessed to have such an amazing life 💕

I'm sure pretty much everyone has been tagged by now but if not, take this as your tag!

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers x reader #emwrites

[justmaybee]

Stocks

Summary: Knights of Favonius college AU at the Ren Faire ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ w/ hinted Kaebedo b/c it’s me

A/N: October is over but my procrastination knows no bounds ✨ so imma just keep doing the prompts I had planned…whenever I happen to get them out. It’s supposed to be for fun anyways, right? So have this ridiculously specific combination of things and I’ll catch y’all in a month or so~

Once more, from the top. Repetition is the key to memorization after all.

Miss Lisa, a clinical psychology major, currently in her final year of post-grad and well on her way to an outstanding PhD program.

That one’s easy. Lisa was among the first people whom Albedo met when he enrolled. It was a stroke of luck, getting a job in the library alongside the school’s brightest PhD candidate. Though it’d taken a while for Albedo to grow accustomed to her naturally flirty way of interacting.

Next, Miss Jean. Criminal Justice and Conflict Resolution, a dual major, with plans to apply for law school come the next year or so, if Albedo recalls correctly.

The difference between Lisa and Jean’s mannerisms is stark, but somehow balanced, in a way. Lisa brings a sense of calm to Jean’s strict—borderline overbearing—work ethic, and Jean motivates Lisa to act on the boundless potential she carries.

How very complimentary.

And the last piece to the puzzle, for today.

Mister Ky— Ki? Kae?

Albedo can’t remember seeing it on paper. He’ll have to mention that to Sucrose later.

But yes, Kaeya. Albedo doesn’t actually know what his major is. They’d only met fairly recently, and he’d quickly taken to conversation without any of the usual ‘icebreakers’ used by students.

He’s a childhood friend of Jean, growing up in the same neighborhood. And via Jean, Kaeya met Lisa. An awful combination, Albedo must say, even if he’s only known the combined pair for a short time. He has no doubt any one victim to their teasing would combust rather quickly.

Okay. Hopefully he can remember everything as they make their way throughout the day. He’s never been that great with names or faces, especially in groups. And Sucrose isn’t here to assist him, so he’ll really have to stay on top of things.

How long he’d been wrapped up in his head, Albedo isn’t sure. But when the car comes to a lurching stop, he knows it must’ve spanned enough time for them to arrive at their destination.

Kaeya announces their arrival, gesturing outside with a flourish. Jean offers a little cheer that has Lisa laughing softly in response.

This is Albedo’s first time at a Renaissance Faire. He didn’t have a lot of expectations going into it, but his first view of the fair grounds certainly delivers.

The door to his left pops open, startling him from his train of thought. He hadn’t realized that everyone was already on their way out. Kaeya stands beside Albedo, thankfully blocking most of the now beaming sun. His hand is on the door handle and his lips tilt up into a smirk.

“Coming?”

———

To say it again, Albedo’s never been to a ‘Ren Faire’ before. He can’t remember who’s idea it was either, just that he’d been dropped into a group chat very suddenly a few days ago.

He didn’t have too much of a preference going or not going, but when Amber had to drop last minute to help her partner from dance class—

Well, Albedo found the decision being made for him.

He made sure to thank Amber for her spare ticket—it was the polite thing to do—but he did worry a little.

Sucrose had a biochem exam approaching, so she couldn’t make it. Timaeus…didn’t know any of the others all that well.

And…Albedo didn’t really have any other friends his age to consider.

(The idea of bringing his little sister did flutter at the base of his head for a second before he shooed it off, a tad embarrassed.)

Thankfully, things seem to be going decently well. Lisa is a familiar presence. Jean is wholly accommodating. And Kaeya—

Albedo has the patience to deal with types like him, he’ll just say.

That’s why he does little more than roll his eyes, an amused smile tugging at his lips, when Kaeya immediately directs the group to a period-catered costume shop upon entrance.

It seems a bit much, but Albedo’s silence is outvoted unanimously.

There is the option to rent consumes but—

“That doesn’t seem sanitary,” Jean mumbles, hand at her chin while she frowns at the advertising sign.

“I don’t think ‘sanitary’ was a major concern in this century,” Kaeya offers when he walks by, an assortment of clothes already on his arm.

“But it is the present, so I’m sure they’d be fine,” Lisa chimes in, lightly pulling Jean’s hand from her face.

Wrist in hand, Lisa begins leading Jean off to a corner of the store. Her voice fades.

“You won’t be needing those anyways though, dear. I’ve got just the thing for you.”

———

Albedo hadn’t gone into this with the knowledge he’d be purchasing a costume, but he did bring an ample amount of spending money—just in case—so it doesn’t pose much of a problem.

He isn’t exactly sure what he should be buying though, so he just purchases what he can find on a similarly sized mannequin.

That leaves him in a white, long sleeved shirt that he cuffs to his elbows to match the display. It’s a bit—um—poofy? But the collar keeps it settled on Albedo’s shoulders fairly well. There’s a pair of baggy, but otherwise generic, brown pants on his legs and a yellow sash around his waist—for an accent? He supposes? That’s really the gist of it.

It’s not bad, Albedo thinks, but the rest of the group definitely took the idea to heart.

Lisa’s gown is a rich purple, complimented by the flowers in her hair. Roses, he thinks. Do roses come in purple? That’s beside the point—

She looks like royalty, elegant and poised. Albedo hopes she doesn’t overheat.

Jean’s dress is much more subdued, though that isn’t meant to come off negatively. Albedo doesn’t have the fashion background to describe it, but the dress seems well-fit to Jean’s style.

A white peasant dress with a blue bodice, flowing loose around her ankles. The sleeves hang off her shoulders and puff out, much like Albedo’s. A simple chain of daisies sits on her head, a subtle statement in her golden hair.

Kaeya’s outfit is the only one he can’t recall seeing in the store. Which is strange, since Albedo has an almost photographic memory.

His pants are almost identical to Albedo’s, just black and—obviously—a size larger.

His top…

….

It’s…another white top, long sleeved and of a thinner material. There’s ruffles or ruching—Albedo doesn’t know the specific terminology—around the neckline, which, ah—

—drops, a bit low. In a v-shaped cut that ends about mid-sternum and it—

It looks good — on him. Albedo will leave it at that.

…though leaving it there would mean glossing over the corset fitted around his waist. Navy blue and secured snugly on his lower abdomen.

How can a man be so tall and yet have a waist so small, it’s just—

“So that’s where that corset went.” Lisa says, slipping into Albedo’s line of sight.

Kaeya only shrugs his shoulders, a ‘guilty as charged’ smile on his face.

“Oh, you’re lucky you got ahold of it before I could. Jean has a figure to die for, and that would’ve gone a long way in getting others to properly appreciate it.”

Albedo doesn’t miss the look of relief on Jean’s face, nor the thankful smile she shoots Kaeya over Lisa’s shoulder.

———

From then on is a blur of vibrant colors, spirited music, and brisk, autumn air.

Kaeya leads the way, for the most part. Albedo follows gladly; the last thing he wants is to lose himself in this bustling faux city. Thankfully, Kaeya’s height makes that difficult to achieve.

There are many stalls set up, lining the walking paths of the town, but the group gets only a few steps in before someone starts taking an interest in one of the shop’s wares.

Lisa is taken by the handcrafted jewelry, glass pieces that catch the light and make it dance on the dirt path. Jean’s attention is stolen a minute later by a batch of artisan wind chimes, as beautiful in craft as they are in sound. Kaeya gets stopped by a weapons display, which doesn’t entirely surprise Albedo. But the way he slowly approaches a small tray, picks up a modest, old slingshot with an expression that’s almost—wistful…

Some part of him wants to ask, but he doesn’t.

Albedo doesn’t find much interest in the shops. He browses over the items when the others choose to stop, but the clothes on his back will be a significant enough momento as is. He doesn’t find himself pausing until they’re passing by the live music.

He doesn’t stop intentionally, just steps more and more slowly, lingering beside the small amphitheater. It’s upbeat music, though not in the sort of way he’d describe any music today. The percussion is light, the strings are vibrant, and the woodwinds ring distinctly clear in the white noise of people.

He’s startled by the applause that sounds around him when the piece ends, finding himself in the middle of the group. He—didn’t expect them to leave him, but—

“You know, for as many times as I’ve come here, I can’t remember the last time I stopped to really take in the music.” Kaeya says, standing to Albedo’s left.

He meets Albedo’s eyes, then shuts his own in a smile. “Thank you for that.”

They continue walking. Albedo wonders briefly whether the heat is getting to him.

The browsing continues on like this for another mile or so before something breaks the cycle.

“Oh, would you look at that.”

The amusement is clear in Kaeya’s voice, though Albedo can’t say at what in particular. Not until Kaeya sidesteps past him and up to a hunk of wood off the side of the path.

There’s a decent amount of space around the wooden stocks, sitting in a circle of dirt beside the main road. They’re not the most popular of attractions, as far as Albedo can tell, so it’s not a problem getting their group of four situated around them.

It’s Albedo’s first time seeing something like this in person, and it’d be underwhelming if he had any expectations, but he really doesn’t. Two boards of wood with a few holes split between them. Albedo doesn’t see the appeal.

Kaeya still seems to be interested though. He fishes around in his pockets, eventually finding his phone and handing it off to Jean.

“Take a picture, would you please? I’d like to send it to Diluc. I think seeing me locked up will make his day.”

Albedo doesn’t know the circumstances, but the way Jean muffles a giggle behind her hand makes him want to.

Kaeya lifts the top piece gingerly; the hinges squeak, probably from disuse. He slots himself into place, bending at somewhat of an awkward angle to compensate for his extra height. Lisa assists in carefully repositioning the top piece before stepping back out of frame.

The first picture is all smiles. Bright and sunny in a way that completely contradicts the setting. Kaeya flashes a peace sign and Albedo has to feign a cough to cover up his laugh.

“Kaeya, you’re a prisoner,” Jean reminds behind the camera.

Kaeya’s smile drops, to what could only be called a pout, for a moment before he ‘gets into character’. Hanging his head in defeat. Gazing blearily off to the side. So dramatic — a good thing, in this circumstance, Albedo supposes.

Eventually Kaeya calls Jean over to look at the pictures. Though he chooses to remain in the stocks while he scrolls through his phone, for whatever reason. He hums his approval, saving at least a couple of the pictures Jean took to work with later.

“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time,’ Lisa purrs, draping herself over one side of the stockade.

Kaeya sighs, overdramatic as he hangs his head once again. “Yes, of course. I’ve seen the error of my ways now.”

Albedo holds back from rolling his eyes. He can see where this is going.

“Oh? And how am I meant to believe that?” Lisa coos.

“I’ll be a model prisoner going forward.” Kaeya presses. “I’ll accept my punishments graciously and be good from here on out.”

It’s so cheesy, Albedo considers turning around and leaving. They’ll catch up eventually. But his attention is taken by a weird sound — almost like a…yip? — before he can move.

The angle Kaeya bends to fit into the stocks leaves him just about level with Albedo, so it’s easy to see when his hands tug suddenly against the wooden frame. Like the stocks intended though, he doesn’t budge.

“H-hey, wait now—“

Kaeya’s tone has changed completely. He’s dropped the prisoner act, voice going cautious, even wavering a little.

“Hm?” Lisa hums, smiling sweetly. It sets off multiple alarms in Albedo’s head, even though he’s fairly sure it’s not meant for him.

“Now, I thought you were going to be good for me?”

“Hmph—“

Again, another weird noise. This time obviously from Kaeya, muted and kept in his throat. His wrists rotate in the stocks’ hold, but there’s no slipping them out.

Albedo blinks, processing. He feels like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle.

He can see Kaeya fidgeting—trying to casually remove himself from the stocks, but the loss of his cool is visible as the seconds tick by. His jerky movements against the wood increase in frequency, until eventually his eyes shut, lips pressing together like his life depends on it.

Lisa, on the other hand, has all the cool Kaeya doesn’t. She’s still lounging lazily against the stock mount. Though it’s quite obvious now that her position was intentional, resting atop the frame to keep it shut over Kaeya’s twitching body.

Albedo doesn’t get the joke. Not until Jean intervenes.

“Oh,” Jean frets, stepping from behind Albedo to get closer to Lisa. She peeks over to get a better view of the stocks’ back side. “Don’t go too close to his back. He used to scream whenever his brother—“

“Jea-hean!”

And that one shout is all it takes to loosen the iron seal of Kaeya’s lips. The air is immediately filled with bright, bubbly giggles as Kaeya loses his grip. He tries, more than once, to bottle the sound back up, but every attempt leaves him sputtering and squeaking in failure.

Ah, so he’s ticklish.

“Oops! Sorry, Kaeya!” Jean cries, hands flying to her mouth.

Albedo takes one step to his left, adjusting his view to the back of the stocks. Where—apparently—all the action’s been happening.

Now he can see Lisa’s hand—delicate and dainty—with long, painted nails that—in this situation—must be absolutely brutal. She scribbles a fast back and forth motion up and down Kaeya’s side. Starting at the top of the corset, hugging his waist, then sliding up the curve of his side and the bony protrusions of his ribs.

The way she lingers, spidering around each divot and bone of Kaeya’s rib cage makes something sympathetic flutter in Albedo’s own chest.

With no way to hide it now, Kaeya seems to have given up on keeping his composure.

Shuffling his feet, shaking his head, and laughing entirely unfiltered. His arms pull against the wooden boards sporadically, getting especially jumpy whenever Lisa’s hands venture too high.

He can’t stop his yelp when Lisa’s hand finally does poke around his armpit, but he does lower his head, hiding the redness of his cheeks under a mane of messy blue hair.

“Oh, hun,” Lisa trails, all smiles despite—and probably because of—Kaeya’s predicament. “Don’t make her feel bad. It’s not like I didn’t know about that spot already…”

As if to prove her point, Lisa moves her hand, inching towards the expanse of Kaeya’s back. She scratches with what seems to be the slightest use of pressure yet, and it’s got Kaeya folding in on himself. Half-standing, half-crouching as his legs give out. All from one finger gently scratching along the inside of his shoulder blade.

“L-Lisahahaha! Aha! Mph—n-nohoHOHOHO!”

“No?” Lisa tilts her head. “I don’t recall prisoners getting to choose their punishment—“

She adds another finger, pressing more firmly against the bone. Kaeya’s body lurches forward. The stocks must be keeping him upright for the most part now. He shakes his head, squeaking out partially intelligible pleas and apologies between his frantic laughter.

Albedo didn’t know the back could be so ticklish, but he’s getting a first-hand account of what a very bad spot it can be.

Kaeya’s hands curl into fists, his back arching and jerking away from Lisa’s precise and deadly touch. There’s a slight wheeze to his exhale, already breathless with laughter, that pitches to a fresh whine when Lisa reaches over to mirror her touch on his opposite side.

And as entertaining as this is—truly—Albedo thinks they may be causing a scene. He’s seen at least a few people stop and laugh before continuing their stroll down the main road. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on perspective—Kaeya speaks up before Albedo has to.

“Okay! Okahahay! E-enou-hah! Enohohohough!” Kaeya gasps, tapping his hand against the wood desperately.

Lisa’s giggle is barely audible above Kaeya’s laughter, but she finally grants him mercy, removing her hand and stepping back from the stocks.

The hinges squeak loudly when Kaeya frees himself, arms wrapping around to hug his sides as soon as he’s able. His hands rub at the ghostly sensations, letting the last of them fade with his laughter.

It takes him a minute to unstick his arms from his torso, but, when he can, Kaeya eventually plants his hands on his hips. He attempts to glare at Lisa, but his lips are so wobbly with leftover laughter, it’s impossible to take him seriously.

Lisa definitely doesn’t, moving to ruffle his messy hair fondly.

“Wha-! No!” Kaeya squawks, batting away her hand. He tries to fix himself up, but it’s basically a lost cause at this point.

“You can’t play nice now,” Kaeya huffs, getting his hair to a moderate level of disheveled. His arms settle to cross over his chest. “Taking advantage of a poor, innocent soul like that.”

Lisa is—understandably—unphased, the remnants of a winning smile still on her face. Jean doesn’t help when she muffles a laugh into her hand. Albedo is just lucky to have mastered the art of a convincing poker face.

It’s probably why, before he can blink, Albedo has an arm resting over his shoulders. Kaeya stands firmly beside him, shooting the others a haughty look.

“I’m treating Albedo and I to a cup of mead. You two can join us when you’ve thought over what you’ve done.”

Then he turns back towards the path, dragging Albedo along with him.

———

What a strange situation to be in — with someone he’s only recently met nonetheless.

Albedo can’t possibly be feeling this comfortable around what’s practically an acquaintance. But there’s no other way to describe the ease he feels, stepping alongside Kaeya as he leads them through the fairgrounds.

It must be this feeling which prompts him to say what he does next.

“And if I decide to take advantage—?” Albedo reasons, tone light. “—of what I just learned?”

Kaeya’s arm disappears in an instant.

It snaps back, elbow pressing to his side, hand reaching around to cover a tiny portion of his back. When Albedo looks, he finds Kaeya wide-eyed and already fighting back a nervous smile. Albedo’s never seen him like this.

His laugh breaks the tension, Kaeya’s relieved chuckle following suit.

“Don’t worry,” Albedo smiles, taking up their earlier stroll. Kaeya quickly falls into step beside him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Not to say that Kaeya would always be safe from Albedo but — that’s an experiment for another day.

#tickletober2021 #technically but not #but for organization purposes #bee stuffs #tickling #tickle fic #ticklish!kaeya #Albedo #Kaeya #Lisa #Jean #genshin impact #taking so long between post that I forget my own tagging system ✨

[missjaystone]

Inescapable

Summary: Even in the middle of the ocean, your alpha manages to find you, even if it was an accident. Pairing(s): Alpha!Helmut Zemo x Reader Word Count: 3,640 Warning(s): NONCON! DUBCON! A/B/O Dynamics! Forced Claiming! Manipulation! Implied Stalking! Miscarriage mentioned! Death mentioned!

Everything around you froze when you looked up and met a certain pair of brown eyes, a certain sparkle when they looked into yours. The contact was brief before he was led around the corner by the Dora Milaje but it felt like it would never end. You worked on the Raft as a therapist to put as much distance between the two of you as possible but now that he was here, where could you go? The way he smiled at you as he walked by, it wasn't comforting like the first time you'd seen it, it made your heart stop in fear. It made his claiming mark on your neck throb in pain, a reminder of how much power he'd had over you before and how much he'd always have. It reminded you that he was your alpha, whether you wanted him to be or not. The man that passed by you wasn't the man you'd met, he was much worse.

The battle was over, your husband was dead, the child you were growing followed suit not long after you got the news, like he couldn't bear to even be born in a world without his father; you couldn't even blame him, you'd contemplated ending your own life to join your husband in whatever afterlife awaited. You'd just gone back to work after your allotted week of bereavement leave and another week of personal time. You weren't sure if you were ready to go back to work or not, but at the very least it would distract you. The first thing you noticed when stepping into your office were the pictures of you, your husband, and his family. You turned the picture frames face down before you could stare for too long, everyone in the pictures was dead; your husband, your mother and father in law, your two brothers-in-law, everyone.

Your first patient came exactly at 9:30 for their appointment. He was a brown-eyed brunette man of average height, dressed surprisingly nice for a therapy appointment. You greeted him with a soft smile and a handshake. "Welcome, Mr..." you trailed off so he could introduce himself. "Zemo," he answered, his thumb running over your knuckles gently before he let go of your hand and took a seat "Baron Helmut Zemo." "Would you like me to address you as Baron Zemo or Mr. Zemo? Or just simply Helmut if that would make you comfortable?" You asked him. "You can just call me Helmut, Doctor, but thank you for asking," he returned the same sad smile you'd given him when he came in. "Well, Helmut, I'm glad you came in. It's never easy dealing with loss and having someone to talk to is far better than bottling it up. I'm proud of you." He gave a single nod after looking around the office, motioning to the overturned picture on your desk "I thought my friend might be nuts to have referred me here but maybe you understand my pain better than anyone can." You smiled sadly at him "you'd be surprised at how many people understand." You saw his attention drift towards the sweets jar on your desk, holding it out to him "Turkish delight?" He smiled a bit more, this time a little more genuine as he took a piece out "don't mind if I do, Doctor."

After your first appointment, he came back twice a week. He told you about his wife and son, how much it hurt when he finally found their bodies amidst all the rubble. You asked him about his favorite memories with them, trying to make him remember the good times. You asked him about them; his wife's favorite flower or his son's favorite toy, encouraged him to open up about them. Soon he had you talking about your husband and the people you lost. It was amazing how effortlessly he tore down both your professional and emotional walls. He had you falling for him before you even knew you were.

For two months you tried every which way to talk him down off of his growing rage and hatred for the Avengers. You used everything you'd learned in school to make him understand breaking them apart wouldn't bring back his family or make anything better. At the beginning of the third month, he seemed to drop it, and you foolishly thought that was the end of it, that he'd seen reason. He'd slowly been getting bolder during your appointments, asking questions, each more personal than the last but only by a little. One evening, after seeing him for almost four months, he showed up about half an hour after your last appointment of the day, it was about a quarter of six. He was dressed just as nice as he always was, maybe even nicer "I hate to disturb you so late, doctor but may I take you out to dinner this evening? I'd very much like to thank you for these past months; I knew it's your job but I can't imagine what kind of troubled headspace I'd be in if I didn't have you to talk to." He'd asked so politely, how could you refuse? While you gathered your things, you missed the hungry look in his eyes. You missed the way they dragged over your body, the same way a lion looks at his prey. You'd be his omega soon. Whether you wanted it or not. You were his innocent, gentle little lamb and you needed to be protected from other wolves.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were at his favorite fine dining restaurant in all of Novi Grad. It was fun, the most fun you'd had in months since the battle of Sokovia and the heartbreak that followed. After that first dinner together, it became a more frequent occurrence, usually once a week after his appointment. You were smart, you knew how stupid it was to be dining with the patient so frequently. This professional relationship was becoming close and intimate. He had you on the hook before you could even realize it and pull away. As you began dining with him more, your guard fell. Helmut was no longer your patient, he was your friend, he understood your pains. You began dining together more frequently and then he introduced alcohol into the equation.

When you looked back at everything, you cursed yourself for being so stupid. How could you not see his plan? He was making you comfortable so it'd be easier for him to go in for the kill. Everything you shared with him would get used against you later. Helmut could play your mind like a flute and you let him, you gave him the tools he needed to find your weak spots and exploit them for his own benefit. If he'd crashed into your life and caused as much trouble as he had, you could hate him, but you let him in, welcomed him even and he made himself as comfortable as possible before finally taking what he came for.

Your first night together was gentle and slow, getting to know each other's bodies on such an intimate level. You turned your back to him afterward, eyes watering as the feeling of betrayal settled in the pit of your stomach like a stone. "What's the matter, malo jagnje? Did I hurt you?" He'd asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he looked you over worriedly. You shook your head, quickly wiping your tears before they hit the satin pillow sheets beneath you. "No, it's not you, Helmut," you whispered. "Then what?"  He asked, a worried frown on his face. "I just worry, it feels too soon, like I've already started moving on," you answered with a sniffle. "Nobody mourns the same, jagnje, it's different for everyone. You told me that," he assured you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling your back to his chest.

He repeated everything you'd told him whenever you got emotional. 'Sometimes the best way to honor someone's memory is to find new ways to be happy' 'you can't beat yourself up for being happy without them, this is what they would have wanted' 'nobody can ever replace them but you can't wallow in self-pity forever'. Every piece of advice you gave him was used back against you. The two of you had been seeing each other for two months before you stopped answering his calls and messages. He'd shown up at your apartment when you hadn't returned his messages, worried something had happened to you, that his little side activities trying to destroy the Avengers might have led to you being hurt or captured or worse.

He was relieved to find you alive and well. "You haven't been speaking to me, are you unwell?" He asked after you hesitantly let him inside. "I don't think I can keep doing this, Helmut, I'm sorry," you said in a shaky, quiet voice. His face fell in disappointment "what's the matter? Have I done something? Malo jagnje, please, you can tell me anything you know that," he pleaded, taking your hand only to have it slowly pulled from his grasp.

"It's not you, Helmut," you said as clearly as you could muster, wiping the tears that were already beginning to roll down your cheeks. "Then what is it, moj voljeni? What's happened?" He pleaded for an answer. "It was too soon, I can feel myself forgetting him and I don't want to. I don't want to forget all the time me and Christoph spent imagining and building our future together. I don't want to forget about the baby we almost had, that died inside of me almost as soon as he heard the news of his father's death. I don't want to forget everything he and I had but when I'm with you, I feel the memories slipping away and I'm not ready and I'm so sorry for that Helmut," you told him, sniffling throughout. He stared at you for a long moment after you finished speaking, not saying anything. When he finally did react, he approached you and pressed a kiss to your forehead "I understand, little lamb, and I'll wait for you." With that, he gave you a tight hug, rubbing your back comfortingly as you sobbed into his chest for a bit before he left. You went to sleep that night thinking about how lucky you were to have a confidant like Helmut in your life.

You remembered thinking that was the end of things. He took it well and things would continue as they were before you became sexually involved. No wonder he called you his little lamb, you were too innocent and naive to see the anger in his eyes when you told him you'd stop sleeping together. If you knew then what you knew now, you would have run from the hills, hidden at the north pole. You would have gone to the police and gotten a restraining order or hired a security detail. But you didn't do any of that. You were a lamb being led to the slaughter by no one other than yourself.

Helmut stormed into your office on a night he knew you stayed late to put the week's worth of notes away in their correct files. As fast as he'd appeared, he'd closed and locked the door behind him, watching your stunned form for a reaction. "Helmut?" You barely managed to get his name out before he'd crossed the room, pulling you to him and into a rough kiss. No matter how much you shoved his chest, he only pulled away when he was ready to. He effortlessly picked you up and set you on your desk, already positioning himself between your legs "I've waited for you to realize your mistake, jagnje, but I'll wait no more. I know you love me, омега, you're troubled mind is still reeling from the loss too much to accept it." "Helmut, I don't want this anymore, stop it," you shoved him away but it did little to dissuade him. It only angered him.

He grabbed your jaw tightly and made you look into his eyes; the pools of brown swirls had been replaced by black, lust-blown pupils of a... an alpha going through his rut. It sent waves of panic through your mind but waves of something else to your core. You whimpered when you felt your heartbeat speed up, reacting to the alpha's close, intimidating presence. "Helmut this isn't what you want, this isn't you," you tried to reason despite the rising panic telling you to run. He chuckled darkly "oh, little lamb, this is what I've longed for since before I stepped foot in your office. I caught a whiff of your sweet, scent when you visited the memorial all those months ago and I knew you'd be mine. You might not want to admit it, but your body knows you need an alpha like me to treat you right, keep you safe," he hummed as he ground the growing bulge in his pants against your clothed core. "Helmut-" you started, but his squeezing your jaw harder made you stop immediately. "You'll address me as alpha from now on, little lamb. I'd rather not hurt you but tonight I will make you mine by any means necessary, understood?" He asked, loosening his hold so you could nod, which you did hesitantly.

Pleased, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulled them and your underwear down, a smirk appearing on his features. He pulled your pants completely off and discarded them carelessly, holding your underwear up so you could see just how much you didn't want this; the flimsy black fabric already had a small amount of slick arousal on it. You watched in embarrassed shock and he brought the fabric close and sniffed it, a pleased hum leaving his lips as he tucked them into the pocket of his pants. "I think you do want this little omega, you want to please your alpha don't you?" He asked softly as his hand slowly drifted higher up on your thigh. "You aren't my alpha, Helmut," you said bitterly, ignoring the tears that stung your eyes as you glared daggers at the man you'd considered your friend and confidant. He snarled and dropped his hand to your neck, squeezing until the air barely flowed "but I will me, little lamb. And you'll be my perfect little omega, my perfect girl who'll give me the family we both crave and deserve."

His hand on your thigh finally came in contact with your core which was already soaked and ready for him. He hastily pushed in two of his fingers, curling them as he pulled you into a dominating kiss, nipping your bottom lip enough to bruise. Your denials were muffled by his lips and soon faded into pitiful, needy whines from his unwanted touches. He smiled darkly against your lips when he felt your body arch into him "see, омега? Your body knows what it wants, it's that big beautiful brain of yours that's keeping you down." You shook your head, trying to save any dignity you had left, which was none "I don't want this, Helmut, and I don't want you!" The words felt like acid coming up but his chuckle hurt worse. He was three fingers deep in your cunt, pulling whines and quiet, muffled moans from your lips, he knew you didn't mean that.

When he abruptly pulled his fingers out, you regrettably let out a disappointed whine, another, needier whine following as you watched him suck his fingers clean without break eye contact. It took .2 seconds for him to undo his belt and push his pants and briefs down, stroking his throbbing cock while he looked into your eyes. His hand still holding your wrist remaining just as tight. "I'll always take good care of you, my needy little lamb, you'll never want for anything ever," he promised, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead that didn't match the roughness he used to immediately bury himself to the hilt. He started off with a brutal pace, not giving you any time at all to adjust as he had before. His thrusts were purely animalistic, he was just an alpha trying to knot the omega in front of him amid his own release. He let you bury your face in his chest as an escape for now, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your life.

"See, little lamb? See how much you need your alpha to make you feel good, make you feel better than good?" He asked when you finally gave up on trying to mentally escape the moment. "N-not my alpha," you stuttered out in between the rough hammering of his hips. He snarled and bared his teeth, eyes darkening even more than you thought possible. "We'll see," he mumbled angrily. He tilted your head and moved your hair out of the way quickly, leaving no time for you to react before he sunk his teeth into your mating gland, his hips faltering a few times before his movements went from thrusts to more a series of rapid ruts as his knot began to inflate. Your pained scream was music to his ears, it was the sound of you becoming his omega, making it so no other alpha alive would dare to so much as breath on you.

When he detached from your shoulder, he again pulled you into a kiss, making sure you could taste the metallic taste of your blood on his lips while the feeling of euphoria from the bite coursed through your veins, reaching every last nerve ending. He let out a pleased groan when he felt your cunt strain around his knot as you came, sending him headfirst into his own climax almost immediately. His face happily buried in your chest as he rode out his orgasm, ropes of his cum painting your walls, reaching your innermost areas while you held onto him for dear life.

Your stifled sobs made him look up, a small frown on his face. "Oh, little lamb, don't cry," he said softly as he wiped your cheeks "I just want to keep you safe from all the wolves in the world, it won't always be this way." He ignored how hard your palm connected to his cheek "you bastard!" He gently picked you up and sat down in your chair, letting you curl up in his lap without dislodging his knot, smirking slightly when he heard your whimper at the shift in position. He soothingly rubbed your back as he held you close, comforting you "it's okay, омега, I'd hoped you'd accept us on your own terms but my rut came early and nobody else will do." You hated this; being reduced to your dynamic, to some cock sleeve for him to use as he saw fit. He'd bound you to him for the rest of your lives and there was nothing you could do about it now, so you curled into his chest and sobbed until you had no more tears.

You recalled the way he stayed with you for the rest of the night, comforting and tending to you. He'd return often, usually every other day to take you out somewhere for a date or just show up at your apartment to do it all over again. You couldn't put up much of a fight, once he was close enough, your omega side came out and you were putty in his hands. And he knew that, and he treasured it. He showered you in gifts; clothes, jewelry, wines, books, everything he could think of. When his visits became few and further in between, you hated the nerves you felt. You hated the way you wondered when he'd come back home to you. You were messed up, and it felt like it was all your doing. You broke your professional rules. You let him into your life. You told him everything he needed to know to get to you. You let him claim you. You were Baron Helmut Zemo's little lamb, and he'd never let you forget it, leaving bruises on your thighs and hickeys on your neck to show any and everyone you were a protected little omega, and woe to anyone who caught your alpha's wrath.

You then had to watch in horror as his actions became known on the news; he'd never given up his plot to destroy the Avengers. He'd succeeded more than he could have ever dreamed of and now, he was in jail. He'd be in jail for the rest of his life. It felt like losing your husband all over again, the pain deep in your heart hurt twice as much now. You practically had to go through detox to get used to life without your Helmut around you. You were still protected by his mark but you'd never get to listen to him shower you with praises while he cleaned you up after sex. You had to get used to a life without being on his arm and you hated yourself for craving his attention and companionship that you'd still claim to hate.

He smiled so happy when they stopped while waiting for the door to open. He spoke in Sokovian so nobody around understood him "izgledaš prelepo kao onog dana kad sam te pogledao, jagnje malo." "What'd he just say?" Your superior asked, looking between the two of you. You felt that familiar stone in the pit of your stomach, he'd have you doing his bidding in no time. You were already wrapped around his finger. You shook your head and looked at your boss "he's mistaken me for someone else." "Jedva čekam da stignem, jagnje," Helmut said with a smirk before he was pulled away by a member of the Dora Milaje, leaving you with a wink.

-malo jagnje - мало јагње - little lamb -jagnje - јагње - lamb -moj voljeni? - мој вољени - my beloved -омега - omega -izgledaš prelepo kao onog dana kad sam te pogledao, jagnje malo - изгледаш прелепо као оног дана кад сам те погледао, јагње мало - you look as beautiful as the day I laid eyes on you, little lamb -Jedva čekam da stignem, jagnje - Једва чекам да стигнем, јагње - I can't wait to catch up, lamb

#Baron Zemo #Baron Helmut Zemo #Helmut Zemo #Alpha!Helmut Zemo #Alpha!Zemo Smut #Helmut Zemo smut #Zemo Smut #TFATWS #It's 5 am and honestly #This might not last 24 hours #Imma head out tho #TW: Dubcon #TW: NonCon #TW: Dubious Consent #TW: Nonconsent

[nathanielthecurious]

This is kinda a weird anecdote of mine, but I am going somewhere with it.

When I was in ninth grade, my history teacher was a very good lecturer who told the conventional narratives of high-school world history in a compelling way but, in a variety of respects, was not the most PC. We were assigned to write short reflections on what we'd learned in class, and in one reflection I expressed my discomfort with how women were talked about. If I could explain my problem with it in the vocabulary I have today I'd say that women were rarely mentioned, and when they were it was often offhanded (or even relishing) mentions of sexual conquest as a part of military conquest, which assumed and referenced the violent objectification of women without actually discussing it either morally or historically. (Some of it wasn't even true, like his stupid story about Alexander the Great sleeping with the wife of Darius III.)

What I really wrote, as a 14-year-old, was something more along the lines of, "You mostly talk about men, and when you talk about women in history you make them sound like objects, such as when you said that everyone had to hide their women and children and treasure from the pillaging army."

He wrote back to me that he was glad I felt comfortable saying something, and that he would make an effort to do better. Soon after, we had an in-class warm-up question: "If an Ancient Athenian called you an idiot, what would she mean?" My teacher smiled at me when he told us the question, and he reiterated the question after a student expressed confusion over "she". I liked that he was making an effort, but I didn't know how to explain why I still felt uncomfortable, why the use of a generic feminine, instead of a generic masculine, didn't fix the problem.

The answer he wanted, and the answer I gave, is this: "The word 'idiot' comes from an Ancient Greek word meaning 'private', and the Athenians valued public life and thought political participation was necessary, so if an Athenian called you an idiot she would mean you were someone who didn't participate in public life."

Not only do I now know that the etymology of 'idiot' is a bit more complicated than that, but the more years pass the more I see the irony of that specific question. Classical Athenian men were expected to participate in public life. Women, for the most part, were prohibited from it. This was one of the central binaries of Athenian gender, and a respect in which the Athenians differed from their neighbors. Athenian philosophers explicitly connected the subjugation of women and enslaved people to the functioning of democratic public life: someone has to do the housework so the citizens can go to the law-court or the think-tank.

To discuss the value placed on public life in Classical Athens without reference to gender is an unfortunately common oversight. To discuss it in the generic feminine is a direct erasure, almost a lie. I think maybe my whole college and grad school career so far has been about finding reasons to hate the narratives of my ninth-grade history teacher. Conventional narratives about history have this tendency to assume that everything "back in the day" was uniformly "traditional" or misogynistic. Would-be feminist histories, on the other hand, sometimes downplay patriarchy in their quest to find female "agency" in the past.

#hot take from nath #hot takes from nath #history

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Just submitted my last primary application for grad school! I have some time to write as secondary applications aren’t due for another month so have a fun drabble about rain!

...

The rain came down in thick droplets that audibly pinged off the metal support beams. It sounded abnormal to Megatron.

He knew, of course, that the rain on Earth posed no issue to him. Dihydrogen monoxide, water as the humans called it, could make him rust if he didn't dry off but was ultimately harmless. The planet was covered in it. The internet informed him of how it could be used. The humans consumed it, bathed in it, spent time in it. It was disgusting to him.

There was acid rain on Earth, but nothing like the acid rains on Cybertron. A meager pH of 4.0, posing an issue to buildings and plant life rather than to humans. So he knew he could step out into the rain and feel it. 

Yet he couldn't will himself to.

Chalk it up to living on Cybertron. The acid rains there were brutal. Getting caught in them was a death sentence. He'd seen it take off bots armor, plating, and weapons. He'd gotten caught in it only once and that was enough. He could still feel the burn of it going through his plating and down to his protoform.

He remembered how the first sign of clouds rolling in was enough for everyone in Kaon to scramble. How rivulets of it trickled into the mines and made everyone dive deeper into the darkness. How the gladiatorial dorms were intentionally sloped downwards to allow the rain to pool in their hallways and slip under doors. How if you wanted someone gone all you had to do was lock them outside and ignore the screaming. 

There was a law in Cybertron that forbade businesses from not providing bots with shelter when it rained. It was never enforced in Kaon, nor in Tarn.

Megatron hesitantly stuck a hand out. 

A drop of water hit his palm and he recoiled at the sensation. His sensory system registered it as pain for a moment before it calmed down and realized it was simply cold. He stared at his unharmed palm for a moment before extending his servo back into the rain. 

The drops hit him and rolled harmlessly off and back onto the ground. His armor felt cooled but otherwise undamaged. He watched it before taking a stabilizing inhale and stepping into the rain. 

The ground had become soft and squishy beneath his pedes and he could feel something getting into his joints. But he ignored this sensation for the cool rush of water hitting him, making soft pings as it hit his armor, slipping under plating and sliding right back out again, falling to the ground. It was similar to being in the washracks, except cool and the water seemed to cling to him more than the solvents did. 

It felt odd. He had never encountered a planet like Earth before. He didn’t like humans. They were small, primitive, and a nuisance. This planet was weird but mild. Humans were such fragile beings and their planet reflected that. If it wasn’t so disgusting and overridden with human life, he might consider trying to conquer it. The oil was good at least. 

How long he stood in the rain he doesn’t know. But when his engine involuntarily kicks on and he notices a chill in his frame, he turns and walks back into the cave. He’s soaking wet and leaving little puddles along the ground as he walks deep into the caves but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy the rain at least a little bit. 

#pumped this out in about half an hour so do not take it seriously #i just think it would've interesting to get more of the cons thoughts on earth #especially since they're shown to have traveled the galaxy #tfa #transformers animated #megatron #my writing

[imagine-loki]

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 1/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly. 

RATING: M (eventually ) 

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

“Nope, nope, fuck no.  Why do all these companies suck?” You grumbled to yourself as you scrolled through job posting after job posting on your laptop.  You were sitting on your bed absently eating a slice of pizza in your pajamas while you searched.   You were hunting through the job listings looking for a company in search of an Omega.  

That wasn’t at all atypical. Businesses that employed a lot of Alphas needed Omegas on staff to help keep the balance and the peace.  Betas could only do so much against volatile Alpha tempers.  

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your current job, but it just wasn’t the right fit.  You’d worked at a few different companies since you’d graduated from college.  The companies were all glad to have you around, but none of them had felt like the right fit.  That was also typical.  It took a few tries to find Alphas who really fit and felt like safety and home.  It took longer to find such Alphas in an environment where you could use your degree or your magic, or something that made you more than just a typical Omega.  

It could take forever or absolutely no time at all to find the Alpha.  The one who was your mate and meant to be your love.  

You hadn’t had any luck finding your Alpha yet, just as you hadn’t found the right company to work for.  You’d temped a couple places as an admin, even though it wasn’t anything to do with your degree.  You were now working again as an assistant and getting pretty tired of all omega jobs only being assistants or menial labor.  There was nothing of substance.  That made sense.  Usually, Omegas couldn’t hold higher level positions.  Alphas ruled and Omegas were cared for, by nature and by nurture.  On the other hand, Omegas were the balance for an Alpha’s temper.  They cared for the heart of the people, while the Alphas cared for the physical safety.

Any of the castes could marry any of the others and Omegas finally had some rights in the US, but the world was still highly unfair toward your caste.  Omegas couldn’t own a house, for instance, or rent an apartment in your name.  You could earn money and have a bank account of your own, thanks to the laws that had passed, but a lot of the world was still stuck in the old ways of thinking Omegas nothing more than pets.  Or glorified sex slaves.  Thankfully, things were changing slowly, but surely.

You lived in an Omega-house with other unclaimed Omega girls and walked every day to the office nearby where you worked.  There was a Beta who acted as house mother as it was determined that Omegas couldn’t be trusted to care for themselves, so you weren’t allowed to live on your own.   Despite that you were a college grad with a job. 

It was either the Omega-house or still living with your Father.  And that wasn’t an option.  Not after you’d finally escaped to go to college at one of the universities that had accepted Omega students.  

There was a knock on your door.  You weren’t expecting anyone, but that didn’t mean one of the other Omega girls didn’t want to come visit, or the Beta coming to check on you.  “Coming!” You called and set your piece of pizza back on the plate, wiping your hands quickly as you got to your feet.  You padded silently over to the door, your steps light, despite the interruption.  You opened the door to see the Beta on the other side.  Your new house mother.  “Hello, Beta Ann,” you greeted her politely.  She was new and stuffy and still old-school enough that she wanted to be addressed by her title every time anyone spoke to her.  

She gave you a warm matronly smile.  It was a bit condescending.  “Hello, dear,” she always spoke down to the Omegas, as if you couldn’t understand what she was saying.  “I received your message that you wish to look for a new position?” She made it a question.  It was her job to help you find something.  Sometimes she could have better connections than the websites that the Omegas could access.

You nodded eagerly.  “Yes, ma’am,” you replied politely.  She really was stuffy and old schooled, but if she could help you… you’d be polite. “It isn’t that I dislike my position.  It’s just… not the right fit,” you explained quickly, hoping she would understand.  

She nodded sympathetically and looked over the clipboard she was carrying. “You’ve been in that position six months, I see.  Yes, that’s plenty of time to realize it’s not the right fit,” she agreed.  She looked up at you again.  “I was actually going to speak with you regardless.  A position crossed my desk that I thought you would be a good fit for, given your abilities,”

You perked up at that.  A position for your abilities?  Your skills?  Not just because you were an Omega?  “Really? What position?” You asked eagerly. You tried not to appear too eager.  That would be impolite.  It was a tentative balance.  

“There is a group who is looking for an Omega.  It’s a live-in position.  All room and board is covered on top of a generous salary.  They are specifically looking for someone with medical background and your healing abilities are very appealing to them,”

Medical background and healing?  

And a proper home?

It sounded absolutely perfect.  

“I’m definitely interested, ma’am,” you told her brightly. 

She nodded her agreement.  “Very good, dear.  I’ll let them know and set up the interview for you.  I’m sure it will just be a formality,”

Most Omega interviews were.  The Alphas in charge didn’t need to interview, not really.  They just needed to catch your scent or psychic scent and determine if you would fit in with their tempers and soothe their needs.  

“Thank you, ma’am,” you told her politely.  She gave you another condescending smile before she left you to set things up.

*

A few days later, you found yourself in front of your mirror adjusting your suit’s jacket for the billionth time before your interview.  The suit looked good on you, and professional.  Though you still knew that you had that Omega air about you. An Alpha or Beta could identify you on scent, on sight, even without the collar around your neck.

All Omegas were required to wear a collar once they presented as an Omega.  Puppies (children) presented their secondary gender, their caste, officially toward the end of puberty, usually around 16 or 17 years old.  There were usually signs before that of what a puppy would be when they matured and you’d heard that there was a test that puppies could take now to determine what they would present as.  

The collar you wore was the generic collar every Omega wore until they were claimed by an Alpha.  It was silver and plain, thin, not heavy at all, but you would never forget it was there, not since the day it had been locked on.  Only an Alpha could remove it.  And only your Alpha would, when you were claimed and mated, only to put his or her own collar on in its place. It was still a holdover from the old laws.  You’d never gotten a good answer as to why.  You always got some bullshit reason about knowing who to protect.  Omegas were more rare than Alphas or Betas, so you weren’t surprised the law hadn’t changed.

There was nothing you could do about it.  And it wasn’t ugly.  But it did single you out as an unclaimed Omega.  Especially at your age.  There was no specific age to find your Alpha, but most Omegas you knew your own age were already claimed.   

You knew it made you a target.  You could be claimed against your will, mated against you will, if you didn’t already have an Alpha.  That didn’t mean you were going to settle.

That was also why the company was sending a car to pick you up for your interview.  Beta Ann had said that a Beta security guard from the company to escort you safely to and from the interview.  

You made sure you had your phone in your purse as well as your resume before you headed out of the house.  You said goodbye to Beta Ann and only left once the Beta security guard, a many named Happy of all things, rang the bell to collect you.  

Your eyes widened when you saw the limo that was waiting to take you to the interview.  What the hell kind of company was this?  The information hadn’t been passed along to you. You didn’t know of Beta Ann knew or not.  She didn’t deem it important enough information to tell you if she did know.  

Happy opened the limo’s door for you and you thanked him softly and politely as you took the seat inside.  He gave you the warm smile everyone gave Omegas.  They couldn’t help it.  Your presence was soothing to everyone.  He shut the door behind you and got in the driver’s seat.  Soon you were driving through the city, toward the city center.  You watched out the window with interest, curious as to where this company could be.  What this company could be.

You didn’t know what you were expecting.  

Whatever it was, it wasn’t your limo stopping at the VIP parking in front of the Avengers’ tower.  It wasn’t the press that were staked out to catch pictures of the superheroes and anyone who came to visit the tower.  It wasn’t Happy parking in that VIP section and coming around to open your door again for you.

The Avengers.

You were interviewing for the Avengers.

You couldn’t believe your luck.  This really was the perfect opportunity. 

You understood immediately that this was a test.  

An Omega who couldn’t handle the press, couldn’t handle the surprise of showing up at the tower, who broke down at any little uncertainty or surprise, wasn’t an Omega that would work out for the team and wouldn’t be what they needed.

Desperately in your soul, you knew that this was what you needed and you vowed to do anything in your power to make sure you got this job. 

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #Omega mine #chapter 1 #nekoamamori