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#my dumbass getting attached to a drawing program
forestwater87 · 3 years
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Chapter 15: Grand Gesture
Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.
CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.
Summer 2017
“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”
She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”
She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.
She hoped.
While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”
“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.
But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.
Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.
He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”
The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.
Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”
“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.
She had one chance.
“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”
---
Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.
But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.
And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.
“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”
(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)
“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”
Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”
Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”
Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”
And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.
“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”
“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”
“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?
“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”
He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”
The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”
(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)
“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”
He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.
He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.
He didn’t think she remembered any of this.
But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.
In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).
‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’
“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”
Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”
He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”
Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.
“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”
She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.
“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.
“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”
Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.
“I trust you.”
David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.
He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.
It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.
He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”
She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”
“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.
She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.
Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”
“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.
Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.
There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.
This was worth remembering.
---
Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.
Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”
“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”
“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.
Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.
There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.
But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”
A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”
David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.
“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”
“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”
A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”
His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.
“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.
But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.
His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.
“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.
She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.
Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”
The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.
Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.
“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)
He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”
“You’re not mad?”
She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”
Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.
He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”
“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.
“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”
She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.
“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”
“But I did —”
“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.
“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”
Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”
“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”
She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.
“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”
“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”
“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”
Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”
“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”
She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.
But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.
His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”
Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”
He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”
Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”
She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”
David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”
Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”
“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”
“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”
“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”
She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”
His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”
Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.
His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”
Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.
“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”
“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.
She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”
His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”
God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”
He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.
But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.
“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)
“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”
“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”
She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.
He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.
“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”
“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.
So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”
“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”
“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”
“I really don’t.”
“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”
“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”
He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”
“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”
“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”
“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”
“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”
She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.
“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”
“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”
She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”
“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.
“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”
He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.
“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.
It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.
Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”
“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.
He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”
All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)
But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.
She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.
And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”
She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”
“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”
Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”
He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”
Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”
David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”
“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”  
“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”
“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”
Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”
“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.
(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)
“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”
A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”
It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”
“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”
He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”
She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.
His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.
Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.
“Wanna bet?”
His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.
Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.
She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.
“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”
He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”
He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.
“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”
“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.
“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.
When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.
Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”
“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”
“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”
She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.
He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.
He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —
“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”
Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”
Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --
His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”
Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”
David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”
“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”
“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”
“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”
He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”
When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”
David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”
“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”
“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”
Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”
“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”
She frowned. “Did what?”
“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.
“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”
David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”
He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.
“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.
His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”
When it came to David, she always wanted everything.
“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”
She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —
He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…
Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.
The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”
David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”
She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”
The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.
“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”
“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”
She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”
Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”
“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”
He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)
“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”
“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”
So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”
He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --
Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.
God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.
David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”
Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”
“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”
No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”
“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.
“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.
His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.
God, he was perfect.
“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”
“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.
David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”
“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.
“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”
His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”
“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.
She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”
That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.
She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”
He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --
Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.
She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.
“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”
Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.
David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.
Worth it.
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anyway. thinking about opal.
@fairygclds i thought you'd like to be tagged in this
opal was supposed to be a secondary character but then my dumbass made her related to willie and now i'm attached
also, i figured out how to add text in my drawing program :D
[ID: Digital drawing of my original character, Opal. She has light brown skin, and dark, wavy hair, just above her shoulders. She's smiling widely and holding up a peace sign, her other hand in her pocket. She's wearing a tan sweater vest over a fitted brown crop top, and dark brown corduroy pants, as well as muted yellow converse, and various necklaces and bracelets. On the right side of the drawing is information about her, it reads as follows:
Opal Willa Williamson.
* she/her.
*1993-2010 (ghost; 17).
*Family:
*Willie: Uncle. *Dawn: Mom. *Father unknown.
*Snarky and sarcastic but in an endearing way
*ADHD and anxiety
*Became fast friends with Lemon in 6th grade; proceeded to pine over her for literally the rest of her life.
* Wanted to be a phsychologist
* Was very close with her mom; they'd often go stargazing together. It was something Dawn used to do with Willie.
* Died while driving with Lemon out of Kansas; car crash; Lemon wanted to get away from her controlling parents, and Opal is impulsive and in love. END ID]
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thousandsunnywrites · 4 years
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Hi there! First off, I wanted to say that you have an absolutely wonderful blog! I was wondering if you could maybe do some headcannons for Kid and Killer liking the same girl? Keep up the good work you beautiful human being!!!❤️
Hello! Thank you so much 😩💘 I really liked this idea so I incorporated it into a college au! that I just posted haha. hope you don’t mind, but the course of this ends with Killer/reader :-)
—-
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artist unknown
Kid & Killer
Part 1 here
Kid was the cool boisterous kid in the engineering program, while Killer was the silent, homebody studying in the psychology department. When the two worlds collided, they became good friends--hell, best friends maybe. 
When Kid found out that a small fry like y/n wrote an article about him, he was flattered; but when he found out you analyzed the shit out of his love life--without his permission b t w and don’t let me get started on the barbaric descriptions-- he decides to pay the little journalist.
Killer shot you a text message, asking to meet at a bubbly tea cafe to work on some assignments from Ms. Robin, to which you said sure, sounds like a great idea.
Kid spotted you first. 
He backed you against the English building, figure completely looming over your seemingly small frame. “I-I a m s o s o r r y,” exasperated, knowing he was fuming over the bad article Robin decided to publish under anonymous, which didn’t work bc everyone knew about Kid’s bad litany of lovers. Your knees bucked underneath you, his face near yours to the point where he was breathing down your neck. This is how I’m gonna die h u h.
“Take it down. Who the fuck gave you permission to slander my name huh? Think you fucking know me because you know some of the girls I fuck? Huh? Which bitch told you?”
His string of questions and insults continued, your mind jumbled with ways of escaping the metal head. Maybe if I slip from under his arm. No, crap he can grab my neck. Maybe if I fake a phone call? No, he’s a druggie, not a dumbass. Maybe just lie. Yeah, that should do it.
“You even listening to me dipshit?”
Snapping out of your trance, you stood tall. No, I shouldn’t be scared of this fuckboy. If anything, he should be scared of me. Why should I ask Ms. Robin to take down my work? I worked hard on that and hell I’m proud of myself.
“Listen up here, goth wannabe.” The change of aura threw him off for a few seconds. As you stepped closer and closer to him, you jabbed your pointer on his chest with every phrase. “It’s not my fault you’re a fuckboy, alright? I did my analysis based on the prompts my professor wanted and I refuse to take crap from a privileged arrogant ass like you.”
You dusted off your jeans and brushed the hair back from your face, “Besides, my report doesn’t even mention your name, how sure are you that it’s really about you? If you felt attacked by my analysis, then that’s a personal problem. Now if you excuse me, I’m late to a meeting.” You shoved passed by him, leaving him gritting his teeth with his head hung low, knowing he lost. But, just because you lose doesn’t mean you should give up.
Something about you-- the sassiness, the boldness perhaps— draws him towards you. From that day forward, the tables have turned. From you stalking him to him stalking you, he turned to the mutual that helped create it all—Killer.
Killer did n o t want to be in the middle of this, should he help his best pal get closer to the girl he wants or should he be in love with the girl of his dreams and leave his best friend heartbroken? This is the first time Killer sees Kid genuinely interested in a girl, and not for a quick fuck.
Yardy know what Killer is gonna do— he meddles with his best friend’s love life. Kid, ignorant to Killer’s feelings, merrily goes along with the advice dished out. It’s not like you’d like him, right? Kid was a better choice between the two of them, and you should always be with the best.
You noticed the sudden change with Killer’s attitude— his sudden interest with Kid and his distance really made you wonder if your crush was gay. Well, that’s not good!
Kid frequently drops by your dorm to drop you his home cooked food, that’s really good btw, and self-care packages. Killer comes by and leaves by a flower with anonymous love letters attached to them. Genuinely believing Kid and Killer were a thing, you thought the gestures were very sweet. Still not the man you wanted, but sweet.
Kid and Killer frequently text you, Kid still unaware that Killer contacts you consistently as well. He’d gush and brag about the interactions you shared together to Killer, who just nods along quietly.
Kid takes you out on dates too. Pays for the movie, the snacks, even the dress! What a fucking simp.
Kid decides to confess to you, not before consulting Killer first.
“Imma tell her today after class. ‘M gonna bring her a whole bouquet too.” Kid nonchalantly packs up his shit, preparing his stunt.
“What?? Today today?”
“Yuh,” responded Kid, swinging his bag over his shoulder and cooly waving his hand as he exits the room. No, if Kid was doing it today, Killer decided, me too. I wanna see what happens if I try.
Killer was done pushing his feelings to the side. Why should he have to subdue his feelings for someone else, even if they’re his best pal? What if you like him back?
“Y/n! I have something to tell you!” Killer screamed across the empty halls, knowing the exact spot the metal head was taking you. Just in time, he saw Kid confess.
“We’d be such a power couple if you were my girl.”
A sweet, gentle giggle left your throat, a hand covering your bashful face. “You’re cool dude,” your hand outstretched to pat his shoulder, “but I don’t see you like that... more like a friend, you know? I hope we can still be friends. And if you want, we can act like this never happened.” You spouted options to alleviate the embarrassment and disappointment written on his face.
“Bitch just kidding,” flabbergasted, but trying hard to keep his composure, he punched your shoulder. “I was just saying, not like I’d go for a small fry like you.”
“Bitchass.”
Killer felt relief in his chest— wow, his friend got rejected and he felt relieved? Best Friend of the Century.
Later that night, he snuck into your dorm by the window like Spider-Man, effectively scaring the shit out of you. After calming down, he worms his way to your bed with a tiny smile across his features.
He studied your face in the moonlight— softly parted lush lips with glossy eyes that matched the slightly disheveled hair atop your head. It was perfect. Killer wringed his hands together painfully, working his courage.
Mumbling, he slipped a very rushed confession from the tip of his tongue, inaudible to the ear.
“Huh?”
“I mean... you don’t have to accept my feelings. I wanna let it off my chest but I really like you y/n.” He sucked a breath while shutting his eyes, anticipating rejection.
Holding his chin and delicately bringing his eyes to meet yours, you leaned in and planted his lips against yours, and fell backwards due to his sudden jolts.
He pulled away, frantically trying to process if that was real or just one of his hyper realistic wet dreams again.
“Y-you like me back?”
“Duh, why else would I kiss you?”
“O-oh.”
“Be mine then?”
“I already am.”
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Inferno: Part 5 (final)
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Your father drops what he’s holding when you literally rip the front door of the compound off its hinges and toss it a few feet away. “Were you ever going to tell me?” you yell, stomping into the room. You know your face is too hot and so are your hands but you can’t be bothered.
To his credit, Tony doesn’t pretend to not know what you’re talking about. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Y/N, calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you bellow, your eyes stinging with anger. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”
“I was worried about you—”
“So you sent the one person I hate most to spy on me? To completely invade my privacy? The one person I knew I could trust—”
“Okay,” Tony admits, “so it wasn’t the best idea. And I realized that soon after. But Y/N, what was I supposed to tell you? How was I supposed to tell you?”
“Um, by telling me?” You scoff angrily. “Instead of me going through my former best friend’s texts and figuring it out for myself?”
“Wait,” Tony interrupts. “Peter didn’t tell you himself?”
“Why the hell would he? He’s too busy making fun of me with you!”
“No, Y/N, you don’t understand—” Tony shakes his head. “Peter was supposed to tell you in person. I told him to. We figured you’d at least take it better, but no wonder you’re so upset—”
“It wouldn’t matter if he told me in person, in text, or over a goddamn email!” you yell. “You still spied on me—”
“Can we please talk about this?” he pleads. “Y/N, you’re traumatized. You were imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit. You wouldn’t talk to me and I knew that you and Peter would get along, but after the first meeting it was obvious he needed to wear the mask!”
“I don’t want to talk to you about anything,” you say, disgusted, shaking your head. “I don’t want your excuses. What you did sucked, okay?”
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” you bark. “I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while. Just leave me the hell alone!”
You stomp away in the direction of your room and the fire alarm starts to beep.
“Miss Y/N, please cool yourself,” FRIDAY says calmly. “You are reaching dangerous temperatures.”
You scoff. “I can’t hurt myself with fire.”
“No, but you could hurt those around you,” the AI responds. “Including myself.”
“Did you know what they did?” you demand up to the ceiling.
There is a pregnant pause before the AI confirms it.
“Wow.” You shake your head. “Just wow.”
“I was under strict orders not to inform you—”
“Whatever, FRIDAY. I don’t want to hear from you either.” Scowling, you slam your door shut but stop short at the sight of a figure upside-down outside your window.
Spider-man—Peter Parker—taps frantically on the glass, waving to get your attention. You close your blinds and turn your back on the window, but a buzzing in your pocket catches your attention. It’s the boy outside your window. You decline the call. He’s already tried to call fifteen times and sent you 13 text messages.
For good measure, you block his number. Not a second later is he messaging you on Instagram, so you take the next logical step in your mind. You throw your phone out the window so hard it shatters the glass and hopefully hits that lying bastard, too.
You’re out of the room before Spider-man can stick his head out the window, locking the door from the outside using a special program you’d installed in FRIDAY, and decide to sleep in a guest room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thankfully your new phone has a new number that Parker doesn’t know, and you’re pretty sure Tony knows better than to give it to him. You blocked him on every social media platform you have for good measure, although that hasn’t stopped you from noticing him. In fact, you’re probably noticing him more than usual because your two fanbases have come together in a major panic over why Inferno and Spider-man aren’t hanging out, following each other, or even talking anymore.
All your mentions in the past two weeks have looked exactly like this:
just-a-dumbass: @Y/N_Stark plz respond!!!! why are you and Spider-man fighting? he won’t talk about it at all when we asked on his livestream he hung up and hasn’t done another since!!!!
that-one-asian: @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official-Spiderman you guys really need to make up you were my #1 celebrity ship and i dont understand why you broke up
spideyismydaddy: guys you can tell @The-Official-Spiderman is really cut up about this, he hasn’t livestreamed in days or even uploaded a story. @Y/N_Stark you’re a real bitch for breaking his heart
newyorkhoe: guys we don’t even know if @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official_Spiderman were dating. maybe they’re just really good friends that are fighting. either way, you can tell that both are having a rough time. lay off the negativity!!!
wyoming_isnt_real: @Y/N_Stark why are you and spidey fighting? if he hurt you i’ll beat him up :(
spideyinferno: @Y/N_Stark @The-Official-Spiderman
That tweet has a link attached. You click on it out of curiosity only to realize that actual news websites are writing articles about the ‘Feud Between New York’s Hottest Heroes’. You scroll down to the bottom where there are previews of other articles written about this. Is this really the biggest deal ever? Are people really freaking out over the fact that you’re not hanging out with a spying liar anymore?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You should have known. Even at night, civilians are still out and about, and they love to do nothing other than gossip. You’re in Brooklyn, for God’s sake, and they’re still chasing after you with cameras, screaming and asking questions about your relationship with Spider-man. These people have probably never even seen him before. He operates in Queens!
It’s no use. You have to change out of your suit. You’re too noticeable.
You duck into a tourist shop and melt the door handle so the screaming hordes can’t follow you in. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly to the shopkeeper and dig around in your pockets for an empty check. You’ve learned to always keep one on hand. You have one, but you don’t know exactly how much replacing a door costs. “Do you have a pen?” Just to be safe, you write down $15,000 and grab a hoodie and sweatpants while the shopkeeper stares at the check you’d shoved into his hands. You can hear people pounding on the back entrance of the store, too, and you look around wildly for an escape.
Unwelcome, a thought pops into your head: What would Spidey do? How would he get out of this situation?
You look up and smile. You may not have webs but you can jump pretty high.
“Sorry about this,” you say to the shopkeeper again. He gapes as you leap straight up into his ceiling. You take a running leap off the roof and land on the sidewalk a couple hundred feet away. Some New Yorkers spare you glances as they step around and over you, but you don’t mind them as you pull your hood up and start walking.
A familiar thwip, though, has you stop. People start to yell Spider-man’s name and you look up, one hand keeping your hood in place. You duck behind a taller man and peek at your former friend from behind the stranger’s arm.
“Where is she?” he yells, wheezing a little bit. He must have sprinted over. A little part of your chest warms at the thought of him being frantic to see you, but then you realize that his voice really doesn’t change at all when he’s got the mask on. You were just too stupid to notice it.
The civilians start to all shout different things, mostly pointing to the store, but Spider-man waves his hands to get everyone to be quiet. “One at a time!”
“She went into that store but got out through the roof and now we don’t know where she is!” someone shouts.
“What happened between you two?”
You lean forward, holding your breath. Surely Spider-man will say that you overreacted and were the bitch most people on the internet seem to think you are. It’ll cement your belief that he’s a giant jerk and you’ll be able to go about your day feeling a little better about this whole situation.
“I messed up,” Spider-man explains, sounding sadder than he has a right to. “And I don’t blame her for being mad at me. I’d be pretty mad at me, too.”
“What did you do?” someone else shouts.
For a moment, you think Spider-man meets your eyes and you jerk back, accidentally falling into somebody else. It cuts off Spider-man, who was saying, “It doesn’t really matter what I did. I’m just really sorry and I want her to know, even if she doesn’t forgive me—”
“Watch it!” the person snaps, yanking your sweatshirt in anger. The hood slips off your head and their eyes widen. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry—”
“She’s right here!” another person who’d watched the commotion shouts. “Look, Spider-man, you can apologize to her—”
The crowd starts to scream, looking for you, and you shove your hood back up and keep up with the commotion.
“Y/N!” Spider-man shouts, his voice cracking. “Please just talk to me?”
Pull yourself together, you think viciously. You’re acting like a total idiot in public.
And you don’t look back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Y/N, come on.”
“I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.”
“We need you.”
“You have him.”
“Yeah, but we also need you.”
“I have plans for today.”
“Really?” your dad crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “And what are those?”
You cross your arms right back and don’t respond. You both know you don’t have any plans for today, but you’d rather do nothing than go on a mission with half of the team including Spider-man.
“I’m sure he asked you to include me?”
Tony scuffs his foot on the ground.
“Not a chance.” You shake your head.
“Look, is now really the best time to be arguing about this?” Natasha puts in, tapping her foot impatiently. “Parker and Cap are handling this mutant fine at the moment but his friend is coming. They can’t handle two of them.”
You roll your eyes. “You two can go. You’re highly skilled and experienced—”
“And one of them is a lava monster,” your dad interrupts.
“Exactly, so my powers will be useless on it.” You shrug.
“But you also won’t get hurt if you draw its fire. Plus, Nat doesn’t have powers at all. Dealing with human criminals is one thing but mutants are a bit much for even her to handle. No offense, Nat.”
The assassin in question raises one eyebrow and doesn’t agree or disagree with your father’s statement. Privately, you think that Nat really could handle at least one of the monsters on her own, depending on the tools she has to work with. But you digress.
“I hate you,” you try.
“Love you too, honey.” Your dad kisses your forehead for the first time in a month. “Your suit is in the jet. Can we get going, please?”
Okay, you will admit that maybe you underestimated these two mutants. One has heat-based powers, just like you, and flickers between a human form and a human-shaped pile of lava. The other seems merely to have super strength and is trading blows with Captain America like it’s a friendly sparring session.
You narrow your eyes and assess the battlefield from your perch in the jet. “Okay, so we obviously need to get the civilians out of here. Nat, you can handle that, right?”
The red-haired assassin nods her head.
“And I can distract the fire thing,” you decide. Anticipation curdles your stomach though it’s less at the fight and more at the thought of seeing Spider-man again—he is the one fighting that monster, after all, and dodging its streams of fire quite spectacularly, though you’d never tell him so. “We just need to knock it out when it’s in its human form. Dad, you can help Steve, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes you and you roll your eyes. “Everybody ready?”
Butterflies flutter in your stomach as the jet lowers just enough for you to leap out of it, Tony in his suit with Nat clinging onto his back just behind you.
You slam into the lava monster, knocking it off its feet and tumbling a few feet away, your teeth clanking at the impact. Through your earpiece, you hear Cap greeting Nat and Tony, before a significantly higher male voice pierces your eardrums.
“Y/N?”
You wince and look up. Peter’s staring at you, and though his mask is on, you can tell that his mouth is open with shock. Though his exclamation was loud, it was also comforting. You’d missed him more than you care to admit.
“Underoos, pay attention!” your father barks and Peter looks at the lava monster and shrieks (you make a mental note to tease him about that later) before leaping into the air and avoiding a stream of lava that would have melted him instantly.
“Inferno,” the lava mutant hisses, eyes flickering between gaping black rock pits and dark human eyes. Both appearances convey her hatred for you clearly. “You can’t hurt me.”
“Yeah, well, ditto,” you respond. “And, for your information, fire isn’t my only power, thank you very much.”
The mutant holds up her hand and a stream of lava flies toward you, hitting your skin and sliding to the ground before it hardens instantly. “You’re a mutant against your will just like me,” the lava mutant hisses. “Join us. Help us take revenge against those who wronged us.”
Peter shoots a web that disintegrates a foot in front of the mutant. The air around her is so hot it’s wavering like a mirage. Powerless against the mutant, he looks at you.
“Look, I get getting revenge,” you say. You press a hand to your ear and mutter, “Shock web when she’s human.” You continue louder, “I got my own revenge. But I didn’t do it by hurting innocent civilians. In fact, my father did it so Killian wouldn’t hurt anybody else.”
“They don’t understand our pain,” the mutant hisses. She flickers and Spider-man twitches but he was too slow and continues to creep out of the mutant’s line of vision. With her eyes fixed on you, she doesn’t seem to care. “Only we do.”
“I know,” you say soothingly. You hold your palm up to the sky and let a little flame dance over your palm. “I know it hurts. I was in pain for days straight when Killian gave me the serum. But this isn’t the way to get your revenge.”
This time, when the mutant flickers, she remains in her human form for a second longer. You smile smugly.
“We’re the same,” you say soothingly. “I know just how it feels.”
“I can’t stop now,” the mutant hisses. “They’ll lock me up.”
“They locked me up too, and I didn’t even do anything,” you point out. “But when you get out, I can help you.”
She drops the lava monster guise and looks at you wondrously.
You wince when Peter’s shock web hits her in the back. She makes a sort of choked noise before keeling over. Something fragile inside you fractures as you see what you could have been. There’s a little too much of you inside that mutant.
The other mutant roars with anger and you turn, ready to burn it. But its anger is aimed at Spider-man, who landed the final blow, and he sweeps Cap and Tony away, throwing them into nearby rubble.
You dart in front of the monster and ready your fists, even if his biceps are bigger than your waist. He shoves you away and the breath leaves your lungs but you still manage to cling onto his arm like a koala and summon the anger to the surface. Your body goes white-hot in seconds and the second mutant roars with pain and slams his arm into the ground.
You feel your spine crack in multiple places as well as your tailbone—and your neck.
“Y/N!” Peter bellows when you don’t move. “NO!”
Something wet trickles down your neck as the bones arrange themselves back into place and you sit up, tears slipping from your eyes as you do so. Now you’re pissed off.
The mutant’s arm, you can see, has a nasty-looking burn on it in the shape of your body. You relish the sight of it as you take a running start at the mutant, plowing into his back and sending him flying, landing on the ground and skidding a few feet. Since you’re half his height, it must have been a comical sight.
Peter lands in front of you and holds out his hand, which you notice is shaking. “Are you okay?”
You don’t nod your head. You’re scared that just moving it will break your back again. You might have broken your arm and ankle before, but never your neck and back. You’re going to have nightmares about it for weeks to come, you already know.
“You can cool down now,” he says softly. You realize you’re still glowing white-hot.
With a strangled sob, you let go of the anger-heat and fall into his arms, squeezing him so hard you’re sure he would have a few broken ribs if he wasn’t enhanced.
“How bad did he hurt you?” Peter asks, one hand rubbing up and down your back.
“It would have killed anyone except me,” you whisper back. And that’s all you have to say on the subject. You move to step back from him and gasp. The mutant is up and angrier than ever. He’s picking up a chunk of plaster with a few copper wires protruding from its multiple sides. He’s hoisting it above his head. And he’s throwing it at you two.
You hear multiple screams as you shove Peter out of the way, but the ginormous rock hits you in the stomach. As if in slow motion, you flip backwards, the plaster rolling with you, and hit the ground, skidding a bit. The plaster still sits on your stomach, making it nearly impossible to breathe, which means you don’t have the strength to push it off of you.
Oh God. Asphyxiation is one thing the serum can’t help you with. For the first time in your life, you might actually die from an injury.
You weakly wiggle, trying to get the plaster to tip off of you, but that causes a stinging sensation in your sternum that’s almost unbearable. Your back is getting wet. One of the copper wires must have entered your stomach.
You try to suck in a breath but barely get more than a gasp. The effort makes you cough, your throat tasting metallic.
The serum can’t work if I can’t breathe, you distantly realize. It’s a part of my bodily functions now, but my body can’t function at all without oxygen.
So you’re going to die. It’s as simple as that.
This time, when you suck in a breath, you cough on a liquid in your throat, choking as you can’t get any air in and becoming more panicked as your vision becomes more blurry. You try to blow the liquid out of your throat but you don’t have enough strength to blow hard, so all that happens is that you’re completely out of air now. You thrash on the ground but the plaster refuses to move.
Your vision goes dark. Your stomach drops. Is this it? Are you going to die now? You never even got to make up with Peter, which you now realize you’d wanted to do all along.
Then the weight on your stomach lifts and you suck in a shuddering breath that just makes you cough and choke more. The darkness lifts from your vision, making you squint and realize that someone had been standing over you and lifted the plaster from your stomach.
The person turns you over onto your side and you spit blood out of your mouth as the pain in your stomach begins to abate. When you finally suck in a shuddering breath that clears your vision, hands cradle your face and you look up into Peter’s face. It’s a bit screwed up because he’s crying.
You blink slowly at him.
“Oh, my God,” he says as though from a long way away. “I thought you were going to die. Are you still bleeding? Can you breathe? Are you all right? Do you have brain damage? Wait, are you dead? Y/N, can you hear me?” He shakes you. His voice gets higher. “Y/N, you gotta respond to me or I’m gonna think you’re dead! Are you dead?”
You cough, splattering his face with more blood and mucus, and his lips thin as he wipes it off.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Your mask,” you croak weakly. Your eyes widen with realization. “Oh, God, your mask, Peter, people are gonna see you—”
“Thank God you’re all right,” he breathes, gathering you into a tight hug that has you gasping for air. His splayed hands on your back move up and down, probing for holes. “I think you’re okay.” He begins to rock back and forth, still holding you in his arms. “I thought you were going to die.”
Weakly, you wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can. You’re already feeling better. “Peter Parker, did you just save my life?”
“Does that mean you forgive me?” He pulls back, beaming at you even though he’s still crying.
“I guess,” you say mock-reluctantly.
“Thank God,” he breathes. “Y/N, I like you.”
“What?” You blink.
“It’s all right if you don’t say it back,” he says, rushed. “Or if you don’t feel the same way at all. I just thought you should know.”
“No, I—”
“Y/N!”
Tony sweeps you off your feet, twirling you in a circle. “Oh my God, baby, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” you reply but don’t push him away. “Peter saved me.”
Tony picks up Peter’s discarded mask and shoves it into his favorite intern’s hands before sweeping him into the group hug too. “Does this mean you don’t hate him anymore?” he asks, beaming.
Peter pulls his mask on and turns away. You glance after him, frowning.
“What?” Tony asks, deflating. “Do you really still hate him?”
You tap Spider-man on the shoulder. Peter shrugs and says without looking back, “It’s fine, Y/N. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, considering what I did to you—”
You spin him around, lift his mask up to his nose, and fit your mouth against his.
When you pull back, his mouth stays open as he gapes at you.
“I never said I didn’t feel the same way,” you say, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“Seriously?” he squeals. Then he coughs and lowers his voice. “I mean, uh—seriously?”
You shake your head and smile before planting your lips on his again. And that’s how the media finds you two. And the internet kind of explodes for the next two hours. It turns out a lot of people have been shipping you two for a while now.
Inferno Taglist:
@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa
Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:
@iconicbabesss
Forever Taglist:
@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight
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cloudfiveclub · 5 years
Text
enemies by name ➵ r.c.
Tumblr media
Summary ; Y/N hates Richard Yashel Camacho with all her heart but definitely not with her pussy. 
Warning(s) ; swearing, masturbation, unprotected sexual intercourse (wrap it before you tap it, kids), creampie
Word Count ; 3.0k+
Author’s Note ; okay so part one was literally posted more than a month ago and i didn’t realize so SORRY but hopefully this makes up for it. not sure if you guys want a part three? but if i do that the hate levels between both characters would definitely significantly decrease just an fyi. enjoy tho x
read part one here!
masterlist
disclaimer | these are only based on my own opinions and imagination and are purely fictitious, as such they in no way accurate or true
"Mhmm, Rich, I'm gonna cum..."
You sped up the movements on your clit, rubbing circles as fast as you could while driving your hairbrush handle into your pussy as deep as you could. Your toes curled, and your mouth dropped open as your high washed over you. Your legs trembled and they closed shut in oversensitivity as you desperately worked yourself through your third orgasm.
You exhaled in frustration as your body started to calm down and you pulled your hairbrush from out of you, letting your hand dangle over the edge of the bed.
You hated this.
You couldn't stand yourself.
You almost disliked yourself as much as you hated him at the moment. Almost.
It had been five days since Richard had given you the best dicking down session you had ever had in your entire life. And you couldn't get him out of your mind.
Granted, it had been awfully rushed and too fast - only a mere twenty minutes - but you were convinced it was probably the best twenty minutes in your life. He had made you cum unbelievably fast, and the feeling of his cock stretching you out had been lingering in your mind.
The whole hook up had left you missing how good he felt inside you and you had spent every free chance you had over the last few days desperately trying to mimic the sensation. Just trying to get a reminder on how absolutely mind blowing it was. And you came up empty each time.
It didn't matter how many times in a row you came. It just wasn't the same. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself; touching yourself to the thought of the person you hated the most. Who the hell even does that?
You, apparently.
You huffed, sitting up and pulling up your pants. Your eyes shifted over to where your phone sat on the hotel bedside table, and you ticked yourself off as the thought of texting Richard flooded your mind. You rubbed your thighs together as one thought led to another; texting him would lead to talking about the other day, which would lead to him coming here to...
God, are you even listening to yourself?
You bit your lip as you continued eyeing your phone, before your legs moved on their own accord and you found yourself crawling across the bed towards your phone. You grabbed it, opening up WhatsApp and pressing the 'New Chat' button since you had never privately messaged Richard before. For obvious reasons.
You found his contact, clearly listed as 'worst cnco member' and you hesitated when you saw he was online. You stared at it for a while, but nothing happened. Deciding that he was really just busy texting someone else, you let your nervous fingers dance across the keyboard, and you typed in a message. Short and simple but enough to convey you needed another round of sex.
I want you.
Hold up. What the fuck were you even doing? Stop being so desperate.
You stared at your phone angrily when you realize that you had even attempted texting the big oaf, and you rapidly pressed the backspace button as you erased every letter you'd punched in.
And just as you hit the backspace button the last time, your phone vibrated as a little text bubble appeared right in the chat.
Your heart almost flew out of your chest as a message from him came in and your eyes frantically flew to your side of the screen, checking to see if you hadn't sent him something on accident.
You hadn't. And his text simply read two simple words.
You're late.
You frowned, before you glanced up to the clock at the top of you phone screen and realized you were indeed late. Late for their dance practice which you were supposed to be monitoring.
Your hand flew to your forehead automatically as you face palmed yourself. You had been too preoccupied with your needy hormones. But now you didn't have time. You could worry about Richard later.
Dumbass. 
-
You managed to rush to the studio and get there about twenty minutes before they were released for their lunch break. You were pretty much worried about Clara was going to react the whole time, but at the mercy of the boys, they had thankfully assured you they wouldn't tattle if she asked them about it. One problem you did encounter was when they asked why you were late.
Your face had turned beet red, and it took everything in you not to look at him to give anything away. You had stuttered out a stereotypical excuse, saying that the rushing around had made you exhausted and you had overslept a little.
They had believed you. But you knew he didn't.
You'd looked up as they began to disperse, and your gaze landed on the Dominican. He was giving you that look, and it fucking pissed you off.
Looking at you like he knew what you were doing. With that stupid dumb cocky smirk, obvious enough for you but subtle enough not to draw any attention from the other four. He couldn’t have known, but it didn’t stop the paranoia from invading your mind. It made you fume.
And it made your panties soaked.
Your glared back at him angrily when he smirked at you and turned away, making your way over to a corner of the studio to hide for the rest of their practice session until lunch, trying your best to look at anything or anyone other than Richard.
You thought your heart could take a break a little when they told you they were heading out to Nando's. They had invited you along but you fibbed tiredness, and said you'd stay back in the studio.
They had filed out after that, and you'd relax visibly, thinking you could finally get some time away from him again. You hated how nervous you always got around Richard after the hook up in the dressing room. It was like your whole perspective of him had shifted to the positive side.
And you really really didn't want your perspective of him to shift. You were supposed to hate his ass.
But of course, fate wasn't planning on making it easy for you. Less than ten minutes after they had left the room, the door swung open and in strolled the person you dreaded the most.
"Oh my fucking god."
You couldn't help the complaint that came tumbling out your mouth. It was like you were programmed to just protest whenever you saw him, no matter how needy you were for his dick again.
His eyebrows shot up when he caught sight of your disgusted expression, but his lips quickly curled up into a playful grin as he ignored your revulsion towards his presence, closing the door behind it and turning the lock.
You swallowed when you saw him do that, and you folded your arms across your chest defiantly, remaining where you were seated against the wall.
"Nothing's happening," you cut him off before he could say anything. 
He pulled his bottom lip between your teeth when you said that, a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he made his way over to you.
"Wasn't planning on making anything happen."
You frowned when he said that, and his smug look ticked you off when you realized he just made you sound like the desperate one. He plops himself down next to you, only prompting you to shift your bag further away and scoot away from him. He rolls his eyes when you did so, deciding to remain where he was instead of chasing after you.
"Are you not eating out with the guys?" you asked, glancing at him for a brief second before turning away to stare at the wall opposite the room. 
"Told em' I wasn't hungry and I was gonna practice more," he replied shortly.
You turned to him when he said that, raising your eyebrow.
"You knew I'd be here."
He smirks at you when you say that, resting his head back against the wall mirror.
"Your point?"
You squint at him when he says that. He really couldn't stop being annoying for a second. He just loved getting on your nerves.
Fucking irritating twat.
"Look- just to make it clear, the dressing room thing was... a one time kind of thing. I was thinking about telling you earlier, but... um," you stuttered out lamely, trying your best to sound as serious as possible. Still, your voice wavered at 'one time thing' and while you prayed he wouldn't notice, the look he gave you only told you he'd notice the tinge of disappointment in your tone.
He pursed his lips when you said that, lifting his head off the wall to look at you. His lips were pulled into an almost mocking pout, and his eyes shone with mischief.
"So you've been thinking about me?"
Oh my fucking GOD.
His question threw you off, and you glared at him in offense.
"I did not say that," you defended harshly. 
His lips curled up into a smirk and he scooted closer to you this time.
"You said you were thinking about telling me earlier."
"That's a different thing," you hissed. "I was thinking about you, not telling you."
He grinned at you when you said that and you realized your mistake, mouth dropping open as you shook your head frantically.
"NO, I meant that I was thinking about telling you, not y-"
He cuts you off with his lips again and you're caught off guard a second, your first initial reaction to think "what the fuck is he fucking doing", but his hands that have travelled to your back to bring you closer to him has you relaxing just a tad bit.
You hate the comforting feeling that creeps up on you as you kiss him, and you're almost repulsed by how much you seem to be enjoying his lips.
He pulls you closer, pulling away to yank your legs apart to wrap around his waist before he attaches his lips to your neck.
As annoyed as you are, you can't help the shaky moan that slips through your lips when he sucks on your sweet spot. It sends tingles to your core, and you're already excited at the fact that his covered crotch is so close to yours.
Fucking desperate.
You fist his shirt tightly when he nibbles gently, leaving a mark that you just know you're going to be incredibly pissed about later, but in the moment, you can't help but think how bloody hot it is that he's marking you.
He pulls away, reaching down to pop the button of your jeans open quickly. Your hands are working at a similarly frantic pace, untying the knot on his sweatpants and pushing the hem down to try and get it off.
Fuckfuckfuck, what are you doing?
You can't help but get mad at yourself. Again. You really were the biggest dumbass you knew. You hated that you wanted his dick so badly again, especially since he was such a bloody annoying bastard.
The both of you untangle from each other for a moment to stand up and shove your pants and undergarments down, as well as your shirt. You leave your bra on, and he pushes you down back onto the floor, stomach down, prompting you to get into doggy style position.
"Do you just not like looking at my face when you fuck me or...?" you questioned snarkily, remembering the last time when he had similarly taken you from he back against the wall. 
You feel the head of his member sliding through your already slick folds, and you whimper. He leans down, and a gasp slips through when his fingers wrap round your throat.
Holy fuck, he's into that.
He pulls your head up, and the fact that you're both in front of the mirror is brought to your attention.
"Who said I don't like looking at your face when I fuck you?" he responds back.
The deepness in his voice has you shaking, and you worry your unsteady hands will give out before he even enters you. 
The grip on his neck loosens a little and you're moaning loudly all too quickly as he pushes into you again. You let out an almost relieved sob as your walls stretch out deliciously to fit him into you, the pleasureful burn a welcoming feeling that you had been so desperately trying to replicate the past few days.
You glance up into the mirror, and you whimper when you notice he's looking straight at you. He doesn't break your gaze as he pulls out slowly, before shoving himself deep into you again.
You choke out a moan when he does that, and he leans down to bring his lips to your ear.
"That feel good, don't it baby?" he murmurs, and you swallow, doing your best to stare at him defiantly in your reflection when he asks you that. The part of you that hated him still wasn't very eager to boost his stupid ego. He knew it was good. He didn't need to hear you say it.
Unfortunately, that seemed like the wrong response, because you're gasping for air when his hand tightens its grip round your neck. His gaze is dangerous, and a pit of nervousness forms in your stomach when you see how dark his eyes has become.
"Y-Yes," you stutter out as best as you can. You can't lie to yourself either, the whole thing was just making you more aroused. 
His features soften a little in content when you say that, and while his grip relaxes a little, his fingers still remain round your throat. He pulls out again, before thrusting back in, and forms a steady rhythm as he begins to fuck into you.
You're reduced to a moaning mess too fast for your own liking, but you do your best to ignore any negative feelings towards Richard as you immerse yourself in the feeling of his thick cock pistoning in and out of your needy hole.
"God, you're so tight," he groans into your ear, and you can't argue with that. You're able to feel every ridge of his cock, every angry vein through your pussy walls. 
"You're so big," you whine out, pretty much surprising yourself at the fact you're even bothering to feed his ego. But it's not like that wasn't true. He felt amazing.
You see him grin in pride in the mirror, and this only spurs him on to move faster.
Right into your G-Spot.
You cry out at the slight change in angle, and your toes curl as an unexpected orgasm washes over you. Your arms give out from under you, and his hand that was on your waist shifts quickly to your tummy to hold you up as best he can. He goes a step further, bringing you up to his chest and letting go of your neck.
You gasp at that, and your gaze drops to where you two are connected in the mirror. You can see everything pretty goddamn clearly now; how his thick cock slides in and out of your wet cunt each time, glistening nicely with your juices.
"Look at you, princess," he mumbles in your ear. "Taking daddy's big cock so well. Such a good girl."
You're surprised at how many kinks are surfacing, but you can't complain, because his words only make you drip even more.
"Fuck me harder, daddy," you beg, and it takes almost everything in you not to hate yourself for being so needy for him.
He smirks when you say that, and he rams up into your pussy, hitting your sweet spot each time. 
"Oh GOD, yes!" you moan out, reaching behind to grip on his biceps for some sort of support. 
He brings his fingers down, and you're cumming again quickly as he starts rubbing quick circles into your swollen pearl. You whimper loudly as your orgasm wrecks you, your whole body tingling as you cream nicely round his big dick.
Richard supports you the whole time, but you're terrified when he doesn't slow his thrusts even as you start wriggling out his grasp when the oversensitivity starts crawling up on you. 
"One more, baby," he tells you, and you're whining and begging for him to stop, but he doesn't listen. 
He keeps up his hard thrusts, and you know he's close when his movements get sloppy. He sheathes himself in you for the last time, and the full feeling of him being buried deep in your cunt, as well as his fingers on your clit triggers your third orgasm.
The clenching of your pussy has him cumming, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he fills you up with his warm load.
He pulls out, and you instinctively reach your fingers down. You shiver when your digits come into contact with the sticky feeling of his cum at the entrance of your cunt, and you bite your lip, easing your fingers into yourself as you push his cum back in, ignoring the shiver of oversensitivity that shocks through your body when you do so.
Richard groans when he catches sight of what you're doing, and you can't help but giggle like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush when he leans down to affectionately press a kiss to your cheek.
"That was amazing." He says. "Looks like you don't hate me that much, huh?"
You roll over, closing your legs as you stared at him. And immediately you remember how much you hate him now that his dick was no longer balls deep in you. His face is so... bloody attractive, but you frown when you remember how irritating of a guy he is.
And you really let him cum in you. For the second time. Great Going, Y/N.
You lift your head up a notch, and you can't help the competitive smile that makes it's way to your face.
"Bet."
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whatisthisnonsense · 5 years
Text
Continuing where we left off here, so we’re not cluttering Sarah’s pretty art (bless u @yunisverse ), did you know canonically Digimon are emotion eaters? “But Lea!”, you say. “That was in SAVERS, not Adventure!” Wasn’t it though? 
Think about it-- while they’re not necessarily feeding off it in the sense of sustenance, the digimon in Adventure all digivolve during a big influx of some form of emotion by their chosen child, usually related to the crest but not always (pants-shitting terror at Kuwagamon, for example). Normal, natural digivolution is usually a very long process of gathering energy and strength, with higher levels often taking decades if not hundreds or thousands of years (unless you suck, in which case you’re turning into a Numemon. Yes, that’s also canon.), so obviously the digimon MUST be feeding on something for those short bursts of energy, and since having the digimon feast upon their attached digidestined’s soul or lifespan is what we call bad, the natural source must be emotion. Following that thread, we see other digidestined in 02 (which I’m not going to go into for most of the lore it introduced because it is One Whole Yike, but Adventure itself introduced the concept that all you had to do to be a valid partner candidate is see a digimon and therefore this is valid) who ostensibly have the same bond as our actual Destiny’s Children without the Destiny bit, and we actively see Willis/Wallace/That Kid With The Two Bunny Digimon have his digimon digivolve. While Lopmon/Kokomon was out of his control for the most part and could arguably have been severed from the connection, Terriermon clearly wasn’t and also usually responded to emotion. As such, we can assume that this is a trait of all partner digivolutions. Why, then, are the Crests needed? Well, we find out they’re a bit of a magic feather, however they all still involve an emotion or state of being which the child exemplifies (besides Light, though that could be as in “the light in your heart that never goes out” IE Determination and Light just happened to sound more mystic and was also literally its attribute anyway, like how Honesty/Responsibility is Water and Sincerity/Purity is Plants) (Knowledge also isn’t a state of being or emotion, but the way they use the word I’m reasonably certain what they actually mean is WISDOM, which means Izzy in a state of being wise is what triggers it, not just him being a nerd). I would like to suggest, thusly, that the Crests show the emotion or mental state the digidestined represented by it has in abundance and thus what their digimon use to rocket up the digivolution ladder in ways faster and stronger than even normal human/digimon partnerships. The Crest associated with our hypothetical ninth duo? Kindness. Now, stay with me here. Allow my work-weary, sleep-deprived ass to switch from essay to narrative for a moment. Consider, if you will; Wizardmon has always been alone. Since he’s a chosen partner, Gennai dropped him when he was hit much like Gatomon, but velocity and angle meant he still hatched far away from her. He turned to magic for answers as to why he was left all alone when most are born and cared for in Primary Village, and he got good of it-- amazingly good, astoundingly good, impossibly wonderously G O O D  at magic-- but he never found his answers. Eventually, he gives up, assuming he was simply not worth the effort. That perhaps, his presence was a mistake. He wanders, looking for obscure magic but no longer having any purpose to it, aching for something he doesn’t understand nor believes exist. He says he passed through unremarked, but in many places you’ll hear tell of a quiet, soft-spoken digimon who repaired something with the snap of his fingers. Sometimes a wall, sometimes reviving a well, sometimes even bringing another digimon back from a hideous illness. But he was always gone the next day. If anyone could ask him, he’d shrug it off; it wasn’t something special, he thought. It just seemed cruel to leave things as they were, and while he’s many unpleasant things, he’d like to think he’s not cruel. (He is kind, he is so kind, but he can’t fathom it without anyone else around him, and no one nor place can hold him against that unknown longing in his programming, so it passes by him without note.) Of course, between his idle wandering and his constantly giving and giving and giving of his magical energy without much time to recover, he eventually pushes himself past exhaustion and falls out of the sky on one otherwise unremarkable day.  Those of you who’ve watched Adventure, of course, should recognize this as the event that caused him to meet Gatomon, and remember how absolutely baffled he was by her kindness-- he was already spreading himself thin, but he never had it returned to him mostly because he never stayed anywhere long enough for it-- and how fast he was to pledge undying loyalty for said shred of kindness. And this is true still, for he is still almost desperately loyal to her, but there is something else. Even when she truly forgets everything for the monster (ha) Myotismon turned her into, he can still see that longing for something she doesn’t know or understand in her eyes, and something in his chest tightens a little. It’s kinship, but he doesn’t recognize it-- he doesn’t have time, given how fast he parses the legends and figures out what she must be, as when he does that he out of hand assumes he could never be associated. Even so, they lessen eachother’s loneliness, and for a while that’s enough. Wizardmon does his best to play dumb, glide beneath the safety of contempt, and manages some tiny victories against the Dark Army’s, as after all he is never on Myotismon’s side. Some in-training digimon slipping out of the dungeon here, some misinformation there. In the end, however, he is mostly trying to give Gatomon the shot at a better life he is so certain she deserves, so every so often he has to get his hands dirty. It’s okay, though, really. It doesn’t matter what becomes of him, as long as she gets out. (Even so, when he’s forced to play evil minion to the hilt he tries his best to simply confuse or trick his target so he can leave them alive and unharmed, and if he can’t he does his damndest to make it quick. To do otherwise seems cruel, and he would still like to think he isn’t that at least.) As we all know, eventually seven dumbass kids with seven dumbass digimon who happen to also be the Digidestined turn up and Myotismon sets his plan in motion. Most of his minions just terrorize the town, but as ever Wizardmon is sneaky. He keeps his head down, and blends in, drawing children in and keeping an eye on Gatomon to see where and who she is most drawn to. He is being rather underhanded, he thinks, even though getting this gaggle of human children to watch in wonder and laugh isn’t actually necessary for his guise. He refuses to do otherwise, though. It doesn’t seem right. Naturally, Gatomon narrows what child is hers down without even realizing, but his own “patrol” draws in her and there is an almost uncomfortable snap in him as for a moment that ache, that eternal lonliness, is gone and-- no no, she just caught him flatfooted. He’s distracted and wasn’t expecting a compliment, particularly not one from someone clearly much older than the younglings he’s entertaining manipulating. The Tokyo arc is the same, but extended-- more red herrings and more time to convince Gatomon to remember that she is better than Myotismon’s lapcat, as well as scenes with Wizardmon and Minnie showing them drawing closer, albeit with Wizardmon’s denial or deflection on the subject pretty much even through his almost-death. Ah, yes. You didn’t think we kept most of that scene, did you? Of course Wizardmon gives his life for Gatomon-- by this point, it’s all he has left to give. It’s all he’s ever had to give, really. But remember how his body is still present in the show after his suppossed death? Well, that’s because he’s not quite dead yet; merely passed out. Minnie pulls him away and gets him to a relatively safe part of the building before he comes to again. He is defintely in the PROCESS of dying, though, but they refuse to let the kids know. It would be kinder for the kids not to see, at least for the moment, and thus the duo both lie through their teeth. And yet, when the kids leave to talk about what lies ahead next, Minnie turns and does her best to stop the digital hole in his chest from bleeding. He’s going to be fine, she tells him. It’s another lie, he thinks, but ah. “You’re...too kind...” There’s a faint glow from her pocket and for a moment his world is white and then he’s much more alive and terribly small. I’m gonna glaze over the rest of the Tokyo arc because we really need to get to the point in this fucking novel but I really need you to imagine a distressed Mokumon trying to wriggle out of Minnie’s arms as she tries to get him to fucking REST and then later him as a Candlemon accidentally setting the blankets he was tucked into on fire. Got that in your head? Good! Now let’s just--
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There we go, see you in 02 asshole, moving on to the Dark Masters Ahem, anyway, as the group journeys through the reconfigured Digital World to forcibly scrub the influence of the Dark Masters away, Wizardmon slowly becomes a bit less aloof and a bit more on the awkward side. He’s gotten what he wanted-- Gatomon’s happy-- and he has a purpose, but that purpose doesn’t seem like something he should have, nor this group somewhere he should be. Nevermind he doesn’t really know how to handle a group out of his aloofness or various deceptions. And yet, ever so slowly, he begins to warm, and soften. Until that day in the desert. Minnie catches a lone and frightened younger digimon in the corner of her eye and diverts immediately to help it. The children and their partners are on board, of course, but before anyone can move, a Scorpiomon pops up and starts heading right for the young lady. The children shout, but Wizardmon can’t make out the words-- he’s already moving as fast as he can, even as he watches Minnie quickly turn to the younger digimon she found and hide them under a crevice, smiling before she moves away where it can’t see whatever happens. Even as she turns, pale and trying not to look frightened and moving AWAY from the kids a little so as to keep the arachnoid’s attention. Even as one of its legs connects with her cheek and knocks her away. That gentleness she was showing and his outrage and need to protect merges and twists and surges in a fountain of warmth in his chest, and he skids to a stop in front of her. Digivolving feels more like a soft blanket of darkness than anything resembling a change-- he barely even notices his limbs stretching or his clothing shift until it’s over and he’s...he’s... Myotismon. Minnie has the Crest of Kindness and he has turned into what is, objectively, the cruelest digimon to ever exist. Being Adventure the priority is Jokes, thus the immediate asking to tag out, but after this he is even more aloof than he was before, and not looking anyone in the eye. He is crushed, and once again come to the answer he always has for why he is why he is-- if he was ever meant to be here, then something must be wrong with him, and more likely he was never meant to be here at all. How interesting, do you think, it would be that it is not the Digidestined who has the huge, dramatic issue to confront, but the digimon? TL;DR, Don’t Blame You, essentially the jumping point for this whole narrative is, in a subversion to the usual “kid has to accept thing about self to slowly begin to heal from trauma and unlock potential”, essentially WIZARDMON is the one who has to learn here; the two-fold moral that he is allowed to ACCEPT Kindness and not just constantly give, and that the fact he is dark and spooky-- the fact his ultimate is the same as the mon who hurt him and the others-- does not make him less good or kind. And it only took about five novels to get here, amazing. If only I had this much energy for my actual writing.
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chikotos · 7 years
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speaking of That my mom is finally recognizing that when I say “i dont feel good” it doesnt mean i have a cold or sth its that Uh, im probably experiencing suicidal thoughts and cant express it well (or at least smth along those lines) and my house has been dirty cuz i havent cleaned in a while or i cant keep it clean and she n my sister cleaned an area and i repeatedly told her not to bc shes always using my sister to do things im not adequate enough to do on time and its rlly not fair to her even if she doesnt realize it cuz like shes only 12 & we dont ever even talk so she shouldnt have to take care of someone 5 years older than her.. and i was gonna clean but I basically slept all day so i could just clean alone at night when I feel safe to walk around the house . i wasnt even tired idk why i slept but now im eerily awake and maybe will be umless i force myself to sleep
its so lonely here and thats only hit me like this year cuz all the time before I would go through periods of hanging out after school maybe.. twice a year? and only hanging out with one person whod have many friends but theyd b my only friend which is a problem i tend to have. but it jst got to the point where im realizing, i think cuz i was in my schools drama program n exposed to lots of friendships, that im jst like ,really fucking lonely. Which is unfortunate because ive always been such an internal person at home and have been able to work creatively but thats all like leaving me? art doesnt make me happy anymore because i dislike my art so much and havent had a platform to share it in so long and i guess I thrive on other ppls opinions of it? and I definitely cant write anymore. I havent been able to zone in on an interest in MONTHS and thats left me creatively drained, a lot. 
I think im starting to rlly, RLLY redirect my complete attention from interests to ppl (which always ends well am i right lads) and it isnt fair to ppl who like, have others and need space and time etc or Uh, dont even know me. but its like a switch like , I can either be creative or i can feel loved and Boy Howdy, do i need both,
its just weird cuz im the only one in my family thats emoitonal like this and I think thats why i feel so isolated. like im not exxagerating when I say my dad has 0 friends tht arent family. my mom has work friends she will hang out with maybe 4 times a year not for work, but shes always complaining abt social situations which I can understand. maybe my siblings r like that too but my sisters young n focuses on minecraft n stuff n hangs out w friends more than me n we barely know each other so its not like id know, maybe my half brother is but whens the last time hes wanted to talk to me right. like i cry all the time and all it does is make my dad angry at memfor being incompetent and make my mom think its her fault and my sister confused and jst takes up everyones time
and its jst all v strange. like i was kinda raised 2 not have friends, inadvertantly i guess. i can remember my mom trying to make me feel better about something along the lines of u can b okay w/out friends if u have family but she jst told me friends dont matter and im never gonna talk to ppl i meet at my age as an adult, so it stuck w/ me and i started to make moral judgements on ppl on small things we could talk out like say, they use homophobic language sometimes but im sure theyd respect me enough to stop, but id make those judgements before we could befriend each other n take a chance, kinda to protect myself from attachments? but later in life ive found ppl who dont do stuff like that, and thats when i focus in on them im an unfair way to them and they r the only person/group of ppl in my life, etc etc and idk how to stop because im so scared of hanging out w/ most ppl alone i guess? but ill still be here, thinking about like example (namedrop bc he doesnt have me tumblr anyways) my friend jacob tht never hung out w/ me outside of school but i fuccin loved that kid n he just stopped talking to me over the summer n ignored my text i send first day of summer and now we see each other and talk briefly but its like he wont let us be friends anymore and smth like this always happens and its So
and tbh how can i expect it to not happen when i limit myself so much n they will have plenty of other close close friends when i dont? and i think ive gotten better but idk anymore. 
and uh, unrelated. I think my dog ive had for 12 years may have to end up being put down this year. hes got cataracts in both eyes and skin diseases and back problems and teeth problems (hes inbred) and hes losing his hearing too and for the past two weeks hes been peeing everywhere and we can let him out but he cant climb stairs anymore n he has to walk them to get to our yard and im the only one w/ the patience to pick him up (hes only 8 pounds) n put him in the yard bc my parents will jst scream at him n my sister doesnt like dogs and hes got seperation issues w me and whines when he cant be in my room which is the farthest from the door out n stuff. and its like rlly stressful my mom will scream at him in front of my sister n brother n me and the other day she said my dad grabbed him by the neck and threw him out on the concrete cuz he peed inside and hes so tiny that thats just gonna make everyting worse and its notmlike i can stop them bc why would anyone listen to me and hed prob b fine for s few more years if he lived in a patient house with ppl who would take him to the vet but theyre prob gonna put him down early snd its gonna b so weird w/out him
when i showered earlier i took s razor with me w/ the intent to cut my thighs, and i did a little, but i never ever draw blood wnd its strange. why am i given these urges when im so fucking terrified of blood. itll still leave marks n stuff but it makes me feel weak ? n ill bruise myself up instead but its never the same. and im such an advocate for help w self harm but i cant for myself. its like i subconsciously want 2 get caught ? idk. i did throw my razor away though and the others i have r rusty and im not THAT much of a dumbass so i dont have options to self harm anymore unless i get new ones. lifehack
and uh lol, having no schedule n it being summer my eating habits r SHIT. it always hurts to eat p much, its at different times n most of the time i just snck only or i dont eat for hours n see black spots n stuff. and when i dont eat its not a body image thing (im nt rlly happy w my nody but its not sth not eating will help with) its cuz i dknt wanna go upstairs for food where my dad is n the snacks r downstairs so its easier, or cuz i forget or cuz i like, want to punish myself? but im too lazy to self harm. its weird
n since ive stopped id’ing as ace officially my internalized lesbophobia has gotten so much worse . im so repressed and lost ans sad, nothinng rly makes sense? I either fall in love w/ anyone who flirts with me or i focus on someone who ill never fucking talk to or see again and imagine countless scenarios n set myself up to b sad. i seek validation from ppl on it but nothhing comes out right or i just cant say it, because other than when i make myself the butt of gay jokes i just cant sven get the words out of my throat that im gay cuz im jst so ashamed and disgusted with myself. ive been looking at pictures of guys lately cuz ive been trying to force myself to like them. back when i thought i was pan it always felt safer bc i could always just love a cis guy or whatever and everything would b okay for my family ykno. and its such a shameful thing for me bc my irl friends who im out to, most see me as v confident abt it at least a little bc im loud abt it u kno, and make all sorts of jokes, and i jst know so many would b surprised or like sad abt that
i want to stop liking girls so much. like holy shit. i have so many straight girl friends and i hate it when they flirt with me because lik, none r my type so i feel nothing but then i feel like i shiuld then feel like No i shouldnt then feel like i shouldnt even be around them bc im a gross disgusting creepo dyke predator. n they always use the excuse of me having a gf so its fine id never hit on them well like, now im single so i have to be DOUBLE careful not to b affectionate w them as im w all my friends and itsssssssssssssmjshfjhdjfhsjdhjshdjshdjhsjdhsjhdjshdk
and i like, think abt this girl alot n yea its romantic even thomwe never fucking talked n rlly i do that w lots of girls and its making me lose out on friendships bc i wanna b their friends somehow bc i think theyre very cool n stuff but i cant stop hodling on to stupid daydreams n idealizations i get to distract me when im sad n its jst stupid like i know its dumb but guess whos boutta keeeeeeppppp doin it??!!!!! boy!!!
and i try so damn hard to talk feeling out, n talk abt who im attracted to n stuff w ppl, n i try so hard to gush but i cant cuz smth comes outta my mouth and then i cant speak past that and no one ends up rlly knowing how i feel, bc ANY time i talk abt anytingngay related abt me its what happens. and i listen to others talking abt tht stuff and i jsut get so god damn JEALOUS bc idk how to express myself 
all these inadequacies n shit is making it rlly hard to see how,im gonna b on my own n its always been like this. at TWELVE YEARS OLD i came to fhe fucking conclusion that i was just gonna kill myself when i turned 18 so i didnt have to deal with all this and i was OKAY WITH IT and i just went through life knowing that and hiding it and so rarely questioning my inevitable suicide as a childc so instead of dealing with all that n my problems n getting better i let myself get worse cuz uh, fuck it right
idk its all just occured to me how im not a fully functioning human being, in seberal if not all aspects of my life, its weird. now that I actively want to live and realize i uh Kinda have to simce ill b the legal guardian of my brother its all very scary
sorr i was all over the place and all the typos i didnt mean anyof them n im not crytyping like, i cried a bit but i jst hate typing kn thsi shitty tablet keyboard, n dont wanna spellcheck. if u read through comgratulations also please dont message me abt like the self harm junk n my dog n stuff like, whatever ur abt to say. I Know my guy 
time to go uhhhhhhhhhhh daydream about impossible gay shit with guilt in the back of my mind
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The problem with trying to clean is that you get distracted by literally everything else.
EXAMPLE:
Today, I wanted to clean off my desk because it was barely recognizable under all the crap. So I got all the stuff off and was like, dang, everything here is dusty, let's clean that up WITHOUT FIRST putting anything back or anything. So I clean off all the desk items and then look around at all the other dusty things aka my whole room, and was like, LET'S DUST AND WIPE DOWN EVERYTHING!!!!
Keep in mind, I started this at like 4:30pm. A common problem with me, starting things too late in the day, but whatever.
So then I move on to cleaning my small bookshelf WITHOUT FINISHING THE DESK, and then the kinda broken shelf, and then the very sturdy shelf ALL WHILE THE DESK STILL ISN'T FINISHED AND DESK STUFF IS SCATTERED EVERYWHERE.
And then,
I MOVE ON TO UNDER THE BED
WHY? I DON'T KNOW
(That's a lie, I actually do know - I had actually started the whole thing by vacuuming and was like, I need to get under the bed where all the dust bunnies and hair tumbleweeds like to live but got distracted by the whole desk thing)
And THEN
I decide that tonight, because it's around 7pm at this point, is the PERFECT time to rearrange what's on the shelves and bookcase and get rid of things and blah blah blah.
So now I'm trying to make all my junk look nice in a new arrangement while also getting rid of some things, which is fucking HARD.
Like, I know I have a lot of stuff. Probably too much stuff. I had a room full of stuff before college and then when I came back, I brought a whole other room's worth of stuff. Two rooms worth of stuff in one. There is stuff EVERYWHERE. And I don't even use most of it but it's MY STUFF and I can't just give it away because it's MINE, so I find new little hidey holes for stuff and shove it in there instead of putting it in the two big ass bags of stuff I'm already donating (it's a lot easier to get rid of stuff when said stuff is clothes that are a) wayyy out of style, b) unflattering, and, most importantly, c) don't fit/probably won't fit again). Like I have a stuffed Hershey kiss plush thing, I don't remember how I got it, but it was on the sturdy shelf for YEARS dangling graduation tassels on its foot. That's my attachment to it, it held the tassels. I could probably donate it and not think about it ever again. But did it put it in the bag? NO SIR I DID NOT I SHOVED IT IN THE CLOSET WITH BABY KERMIT THAT HAD BEEN HIS NEIGHBOR FOR YEARS AND YEARS AND WHO I ALSO DON'T REMEMBER HOW OR WHY I GOT AND THEY'RE JOINING OTHER TOYS THAT I'VE HAD FOREVER AND THAT'S THE MAIN REASON I'M HOLDING ON TO MOST OF THEM
But I digress.
So I kinda get the shelves looking okay (still not super happy with how the top of the bookshelf is, but whatevs), and I've shaken up more dust so I vacuum again and head back to under the bed and THE DESK STILL HASN'T BEEN FINISHED but I pull out this one bin anyways that is just awkwardly wide enough that I hit it with my toes when I stand right up against my bed AND START DIGGING THROUGH THAT.
(Part of the reason I did this was because I had taken a bunch of trophies off the sturdy shelf to put into a bin for attic storage because literally none of these trophies was from the past decade, like one was from 2003, so they needed to go join their brethren that are already in the attic and free up space FOR MY ENORMOUS AMOUNT OF OTHER STUFF and I wanted to find other things to put in the bin to kinda fill it out and make it a better use of space)
So in this under the bed bin, I find: my decorated college graduation cap and the supplies used to make it; supplies for a photo collage thing I was going to make before I moved out of the dorm to go with the other 3 I had already made; a stack of framed photos, all from high school; a bunch of old park maps; souvenir programs from 3 Celtic Thunder concerts and TSO; a collection of door decs the RAs made me when I lived in the dorm; two of those "Advice from..." bookmarks that they sell at national parks that I used a wall decoration; random papers from when I went to my cousin's wedding in NYC; an empty WDW picture frame missing the glass; a Keep Calm and Carry On decoration thing; commemorative lithographs from Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Frozen (still in protective envelopes, I'm not an insane monster); a pack of developed photos for the collage as well as free floating ones for a photo holder; SO MANY Animation Academy drawings; a bunch of unused paper and folders and paper that I'd written stuff on that clearly was meant to be saved for some reason (I know the reason and it's embarrassing so I'm not telling, but I'm still saving the papers);and this wall hanging thing decorated with music notes that's probably supposed to be for necklaces or something but I used it to hold sunglasses and hair clips and bows (that I had been looking for for literally 4 years).
So alllll this extra stuff.
Now at this point, it's like 11:30ish and I'm ready to be done because I'm a dumbass that undertakes huge cleaning expeditions at 4:30 and expects it to go quickly and piles everything on my bed so I can't even sit down because it was supposed to be a quick and easy job.
YEAH RIGHT
So I take out the music note thing, the bookmarks, and the papers and then make sure the door decs (because I'm a certifiable IDIOT who put all these pieces of paper that still had tape on the back together like wtf was I thinking???) are separated and put everything else back in the bin (I would've rather taken the lithographs out but they're probably safer in the bin, away in the dark and protected in case my room ever floods again), and then put the bookmarks up on my wall in between wall art that had been salvaged from last week's cleaning out of OTHER bins that hadn't been touched for literal years in another area of the house and hung the music note thing on top of a pin being used to hold up a photo collage I made probably close to 10 years ago because I can't let anything go (and because the previously mentioned wall art is occupying what would've been the best spot for the music note thing, but like whatcha gonna do?) so it's not super attractive but it's what I got to work with rn.
And through alllll of this...
THE DESK STILL IS NOT FINISHED
At this point, all I want to do is get my bed cleared off so I can go to bed/be able to sit down, so the stuff that was taking up the most space on the desk, which is also the stuff that can literally only be stored on the desk due to unique needs, goes back to the desk, which looks only marginally neater as a result. There's also random stuff on the desk now too that either got evicted from their former homes or never really had one to begin with which is delightful.
So the desk is essentially finished but not to the point that my laptop could leave my bed and move back to the desk, which is the ultimate goal. Eventually.
And all of this would be a lot easier if I could let go of some of my stuff. But it's MY stuff and letting go of it is HARD AF.
Anyways, maybe next week I can get my futon kinda clean enough to sit on a corner again (but probably not).
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