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genuflectx · 4 years

Text

Alien/Reader {Xenith}

Length: 12,346 words

Main Themes: Aliens, fluff, consensual human pets, pet shows, micro/macro, comfort,

Other Warnings: Grief, global warming, mention of surgery, physical exam, telepathy, insects, space travel, broken family, being poor

SHOUT OUT to my beta readers! RosalieBear and Volurin!

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

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1/25/2020: REPOST

There was just nothing left for you on Earth. Nothing. The last thing you felt before leaving that dirt ball was relief.

The tides had risen significantly, draining into unprepared cities and tourist destinations. Corporations had seen it coming but had pockets too fat to ever consider a change. The little people wanted change; cried for it. There was simply no one around to listen. You could no longer stand to see your home planet dying in front of you. You’d already lost a pen-pal to the flood waters of a grand hurricane, inspired by the boiling sea.

The city you grew up in became more violent as you aged. You tried not to come out of your shoddy apartment if you could, wanting to avoid the risk of becoming the center of the next vigil. It wasn’t the peoples’ fault, widespread economic inequality plunged more and more innocents into unavoidable poverty. Even you saw some of that pain when one year, you were forced to live off of noodles, rice, and beans, courtesy of a broken limb. Medical bills weren’t cheap in your country.

But the worst of it wasn’t the failing climate or the civil unrest. It was the sheer loneliness. Your family was scattered; decades were punctuated by uneasy gatherings that just reiterated why it was you only met once every ten fucking years. Good god, even the aunt who was supposedly the nice one gave you the migraine of the century. And your parents? They’d broken your heart.

You’d had a generally good relationship with your mother and father, even if they always felt the need to fight against your every life decision. Your mother had contracted an avoidable ailment, believing only in alternative medicines, and passed away. Your father, unable to cope, spiraled into an understandable depression, and hadn’t been the same since. He did not believe in psychology or medications taken for mental health, much like your mother. And there was nothing you could do to change that. Years after your mother’s passing, you became distant from your father.

So there really was nothing for you left on Earth. Nothing but worsening weather, crushed rebellions, and your ever silent pay-as-you-go phone. But the Xenith homeworld, beaming with white light? It would be a clean slate. A new life.

It was nearly a decade ago that the Xenith had made first contact. They were easy going, monstrously big creatures, that became overly excited when they’d met their first human. They had no intention of meddling in human politics. No no, Earth was much too messy. But they thought the humans themselves were so interesting, that at the first world-wide conference with Earth’s leaders, they asked humanity to ship people to their planet as soon as possible. The world leaders had naturally been baffled. ‘Ship’ humans like a product? They did not agree. The Xenith had been disappointed but understood.

But, after many years of discussion, of voting, of drawing contracts, a few countries were finally on board. And it was all free. The Xenith provided everything needed to pay for transport. They even trained humans for and oversaw the surgeries that were necessary for humanity to survive in their atmosphere and gravity.

So, after having robotic organs implanted directly into your body, going through a long recovery process, and packing a few small bags, you were shepherded onto a spacecraft and given a room. You boarded without even looking back. Not even a text goodbye to your family. You were certain they would never even notice you were out of state, let alone off planet.

The journey wasn’t so terrible, if you were honest with yourself. Most of the staff were human, save for a single Xenith translator. But being near that one Xenith was simply… astounding. You got the feeling you would never lose the awe you had upon being in the same room as one, let alone if you were ever in the presence of a whole crowd.

It was true that they were giants. When knuckle-walking on all fours, they must have been at least fifteen to twenty feet tall. When standing bipedal, even taller. Their pads were soft, black to dark-blue, and stretched across ninety percent of their four thick fingers and beyond the knuckles. Then, their feet had three round toes with equally as thick padding on the soles.

Their bodies were smooth and rubbery, with semi-glittery skin, as if partially transparent. Skin colors ranged from pale blues, pinks, yellows, and grays, to the rare dark gray. They had four slits in their lower chest from which they breathed from, and instead of hair around the edges, there was a lace like material to protect the delicate flesh within. Tails were usually cropped, but if not cropped at birth then they would grow long and stiff. Their pelvic bone was theropod-like. It made them sit funny.

Despite their cold outward appearance and inability to express as widely as a human, they donned their bodies in beautiful clothes. The translator themself wore bright, pumpkin-orange fabrics over their body, which was embroidered with dark red thread. Their clothes were not tight fitting. Rather, they made one reminiscent of blankets thrown over horses during winter. Perhaps they even looked like capes, especially when they stood on their back feet.

Xenith were just amazing. You could hardly believe one of those beasts was supposedly going to adopt you. You couldn’t imagine how life with one would play out.

While the trip was very accommodating, and the watchful presence of the translator kept everyone up to date, the food had been a down side. Apparently supplying enough goodies for the re-locating humans had been too expensive after all those surgeries. Only the ship staff got the real stuff. Everyone else got flavored paste in pouches. The alien promised better grub upon arrival, as the government run ‘companion shops’ were very eager to receive a new shipment of humans.

“Thhhey’re the new favorittte,” the translator had bellowed with their strange, five-pronged tongue. “humansss…. are so cute! You will be treated well.”

You had a lot of thinking to do while the craft took its two month journey into the stars. This was considered a 'job’ or 'volunteer work’ by the humans who arranged the set up. But to the Xenith, it was much more. It made you wonder exactly what the nature of being a 'companion’ was. Before deciding to leave, you had done a little reading, but only enough to know that you were eligible and able to leave as soon as possible. The rest of the information on what the job entailed would come to you through the translator.

Xenith rarely spoke aloud, and when they did it was slow and booming with a lisp. Otherwise, communication lay in their skilled telepathic abilities. Their satellite dish heads and six wriggly antenna aided their inward conversation, but did not translate well with lesser species, including humans. It was very difficult for them to learn human languages. Luckily, the translator had become an expert over the year.

“When you arrive,” said the alien, their tongue pronouncing 'v’ as 'fph,’ “you will come to be placcced into public viewing roomsss in designated adoption locations. Many will be waittting. Many will want you.”

Someone in the back of the orientation room asked “So, this is like an apprenticeship, right?”

That had confused the Xenith. They blinked and took a brief moment to think, the skinny antennae on their flat head fidgeting. Eventually their brain pulled up the translation, and they perked up. “No, this is not ssservitude. You learn no trade. But if any harm comesss to you, you will be removed. Not that harm comesss your way. We cannot think to hurt our companion.”

“And we can leave whenever we want? If we don’t like it? I read that we could!” asked someone else skeptically.

They nodded. “Whenever you would like. But… you would break your master'sss heart, as you term the phrase,”

The more you learned about the species during your transport, the more you realized what the translator had said was pretty literal. Humanity liked to imagine itself as a quick-to-pack-bond species, but the Xenith had them beat. Their whole psychology was based so heavily around emotional bonding that when a pet passed away, it nearly killed them. For their companion to dislike them so much that they would leave willingly, it meant absolute heart break to the Xenith. You wouldn’t doubt that organ failure due to the strain of separation was possible too, but that was only a guess.

It was all as the translator had said. Upon arrival the humans were relocated to sprawling government facilities that housed creatures looking to be adopted. Both sentient and non-sentient species were presented. You were placed into a rather roomy, glass-walled space at the front of the building. Two other humans lived with you, and through the right-sided wall, you could see another group of three inside of their own spacious glass room. It truly reminded you of a combination pet shop and apartment complex, if not for the hovering aliens constantly peeping over the glass.

A caretaker, who did not speak any human languages, made sure all was well three times a day. Hot food and heavily filtered water were always available. The three of you had your own rooms with human beds, which the Xenith cleaned once a day.

You’d never had a maid before. It gave you a vague sense of guilt that you weren’t cleaning the room yourself, but the caretaker did not seem to mind. If anything, they acted as if they had the most wondrous job on the planet; humming aloud and talking cheerfully to the pets despite language barriers.

Over the course of three days your bunk mates had been adopted. You grew sad and alone, wondering why it was you that had yet to be chosen. Humans were supposed to be the new favorites, right? There were certainly a great number of Xenith who still visited your cage, but after they spoke with the caretaker, they left to view other options.

What was so wrong with you? Was it something the caretaker said that scared everyone away? Many a night was spent at the edge of your tidy little bed, lost in thought. Anxiety plagued your heart. Maybe this was a mistake.

At the very least, there was a particular Xenith that visited you once a day. You wanted to believe that they were interested in having you, but worry got the best of your troubled mind. For all you knew, they just pitied you; glancing down into the glass thinking how it was so sad no one actually wanted to take you home. You sighed.

This alien had four fleshy horn-like appendages on their satellite dish head, in which the top-most left horn was shorter, as if by past injury. A deep dark red cloak was tied over their back, which fluttered and swayed as they padded on their knuckles. The reds, accented by golds, contrasted the pale, desaturated blue of their silvery skin. They also had a cropped tail, and whenever they greeted the caretaker, their tail stub and six pink antennae would wiggle.

You hoped with all your heart that they were thinking about picking you. You couldn’t take the loneliness any longer. That was the main reason why you left Earth, after all. Still, the nagging fear that you would not be wanted, not even by the supposedly pack bonding Xenith, instilled a deeply rooted misery in your twisting guts.

Another despairing week passed by. In the morning, that particular red-robed Xenith came to your display for the dozenth time. The caretaker came with them, and they were both glancing down at you and across to one another silently. You squinted, wondering what the pale giants were telecommuting about.

“(And all is settled? The shipment is now here? It must be perfect.)”

The inner eye lids of the caretaker’s eyes blinked slowly. “(Correct, Sientia. The import of human belongings has docked. Expect delivery today.)”

Sientia was delighted, their upper most and longest antenna coiling together with excitement. They gently lifted and pressed the pads of their knuckles to the ground, as if prancing in place. Now that the secondary ships containing Earth goods were finally arriving, caring for human pets would be a lot easier. There had to be good beds, good bathrooms, good food and clothes. So, tomorrow, Sientia would come back and remove you from the lonely communal homes.

Sientia, some short time before, had reached the end of their mourning period. As a Xenith, companionship was the main driving force of their life. So when their previous pet passed away of old age, they fell into a deep, sorrowful grief, and decided if they survived mourning, the next one must have a longer life span. It just so happened that the long-lived alien species, Homo sapiens, were finally agreeing to put their people into the Xenith pet program.

So, Sientia had given away some of their extra crop in order to secure their pick of the next human pet shipment. Each craft carried fifty at a time, so demand was very high, especially being that it was first come first serve with pets. And on the first day of your shipment’s arrival, Sientia had chosen you. You were the perfect shape, and with the despairing history listed in your files, Sientia knew you had to be the one. How could they choose any other human to be their companion? They would give you a happy life.

Both of the giants began to stare down at you, and you stared back. The visitor lifted back their lips (or what barely constituted as lips) and bore their flat teeth in what you assumed was meant to be a smile. Xenith facial expressions were rather empty, since they spoke telepathically. This one was acting on purpose. They were hoping to elicit comfort from you. Instead, something about the attention made you embarrassed and you looked back down.

The next day the funny blue-tinted alien arrived to take you home. They were accompanied by the caretaker, who was in very good spirits. Sientia splayed out their huge palm inside the glass, awaiting your reaction. Instantly, the caretaker jolted.

“(You may scare the thing away with such forward action! It is typical to allow me to place the pet into a container for relocation. If they bite you or become injured, I am not liable.)”

Sientia barely flinched at the warning, instead focusing on you. It was as if they had not heard the caretaker at all. “(Come, come. I am taking you home!)”

When Sientia 'spoke,’ you heard nothing. Rather, you felt the strangest tickle in your brain that traveled down your spine, and you got the sense that they were asking for your attention.

Glancing slowly from the hand to the strange salamander face above you, you suddenly realized you were being adopted. Relief washed over you and, with a nervous smile, you climbed on.

You flailed and got to your knees when the hand moved. Gravity pressed down on you gently as Sientia lifted you up, up, up out of the glass apartment and into the air. They stopped you close to their face, where you could look deeply into their six pink neon eyes.

“…H-hi,” you peeped, feeling as vulnerable as a bare baby.

“(Look, they are brave! I will carry them,)” Sientia imparted happily to the caretaker.

“(Very well. Allow them to collect their belongings, then you may leave. Please contact us if you require additional supplies. And you,)” The caretaker gestured towards you with their long antennae. “(You must be good to Sientia. Their body is weak from mourning.)”

Of course, you heard nothing.

So you gathered your things and went home with them in the most horrifying way possible; over twenty feet in the air. They trod home on two feet. The world moved passed you in a blur of light and color, and when Sientia noticed you shaking, they placed their other hand over you to create a comfortable bubble of safety. You wrapped your arms around one of their thick fingers so you could feel some sense of security.

Eventually you arrived. Before letting you down, they moved into a specific room and closed the door behind them. It was best to let pets grow used to their new environment slowly. One room would do for now.

“(There you are,)” they comforted. They placed you and your suitcase at the mouth of a house-sized 'cage,’ which rested upon a high surface. “(Nice and easy.)”

The comforting words fell upon deaf ears. You stood there shaking, still feeling adrenaline pumping in your veins. You barely shifted to glance back at the uncomfortably square human-sized door.

Sientia stared at you. When you only moved to cross your arms, they snorted from the nostrils of their chest and went away to a device embedded in the wall. They touched the screen. A couple of choice pages were pulled up, to which they read greedily from. Images were downloaded.

They glanced back at you. Back to the screen. Back at you. Then they lumbered over and sat down nearby.

“(I see I have made a mistake, your expression seems to be 'unhappy,’ or 'distant.’ You are a brave human. But. I may have been irresponsible to carry you before you were ready. I got, excited.)”

They studied your face for a while longer, their expression hard to read. Xenith had a perma-smile, much like dolphins. Sometimes it was unnerving to look at.

You looked away, feeling awkward to be stared at silently. Soon you began to glance around the gigantic room, noticing the state of your surroundings. Besides Sientia’s bed (what looked like a pile of cloth in a long box), a computer poking out of the wall, and the smooth counter top that your cage sat upon, the room was eerily empty. The walls were a pale, metallic pink, and a heavy light emulated the sun overhead. No windows.

Sientia huffed. They decided they would attempt to communicate better. They didn’t know your language, but they had learned a few words and phrases in preparation for your arrival. They’d probably butcher them, but hopefully you would understand. Earth languages did not come easily with their sticky, five pronged tongue.

“(Perhaps I should have began with) Hello, I am called Sssientia.”

You started frightfully. You didn’t think this one could talk!

“Could you speak the whole time? Um, I’m [Y/N]. Your name is… pretty. Ssssen-ccchia,” you enunciated. It sounded more harsh from your toothy mouth, though.

They perked up, pleased. Finally, your attention was back upon them. Now you both knew each other’s names. Not a bad start!

“Hungry?” asked the giant, trying to speak softly so as not to frighten you.

You smiled shyly. That spooky ride to your new home had made you forget you hadn’t had breakfast. “Yes, a little.” you replied.

Sientia knew 'yes.’ They made a low, throaty sound and stood up on all fours, then got to their two feet. You were left alone in the empty room as the alien fetched something to eat. Curiosity over came you; what would they bring back? The adoption facility had given you baked chicken, fresh corn-on-the-cob, and ripe fruits like peaches and pears. Would your new owner present the same? Your belly rumbled.

They returned, hopeful you would like the foods they were given from the companion facility. Sientia plopped down carefully and lowered their palm. Inside was a cucumber, a hunk of warm, uncut bread, and a fat chicken leg. The meal looked miniscule in their oversized grasp.

“Strange combination,” you mumbled with a smirk, accepting the food. There was no plate, so you just nibbled straight from their hand.

Sientia’s antennae wiggled and curled with joy. They watched their little pet eat from their palm; a new sense of adoration and comfort washing over them. They had a good feeling about you, even if they still hurt from their previous loss.

They’d been so terribly sad when their previous pet had passed. Sientia had known that it was coming. That species only lived about twenty-five years, which for a human, was fifteen Earth years. But it was still a shock when they’d woken to find their beloved friend gone. Even while watching you eat, they felt a small tang of pain. The mourning period was over, but the sadness of memory never really left.

As you crunched straight into the juicy cucumber, Sientia crunched down on something too. You stared up, head cocking in confusion. When Sientia noticed, they slowly lowered the partially eaten food to your level for you to get a good look-see.

You stepped back. “Ah! That’s a HUGE bug!”

The half-eaten insect-like fauna was removed from your space as soon as Sientia realized it scared you. Seemed like a lot about the Xenith world frighten a human, but they hoped you would come to enjoy it in time.

“(It is tasty, I raise them. Perhaps I will show you the farm someday. But staying very close. You are a good snack for large livestock, like this one,)” they gestured by lifting the insect in hand, then biting off another gooey chunk.

You shuddered and averted your eyes. Gross. How could you forget? Xenith were well known on Earth as a people who consumed 'gargantuan pests.’ Great measures were taken to bar them from entering livestock onto Earth when they visited. Dead ones only. They’d surely cause a massive plague if not kept well under watch. Yet, here on the Xenith home planet, they were farmed far and wide as a main source of food.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

The rest of the day was spent inside that one room, exploring. That is to say, exploring what little there was to actually explore. Your cage was like a little house: a cozy bedroom with a king-sized bed, a spacious bathroom (plumbing and all), a small library with books in many languages, and a more open area for eating.

The cage did not have a ceiling, except for the bathroom. One of the walls of your bedroom was glass, while the dining room was all glass. By contrast, both the library and the bathroom were made of painted wooden walls.

Below the cage there was empty space, empty space, empty space. Perhaps for Sientia this was a small room, but to a human it was a beaming cathedral. You felt like a ladybug when you tottered about the bottom edges of Sientia’s thickly blanketed bed. Sientia kept a close eye on you while you sniffed around. They did not want to step on you.

The day was long on this planet. A cycle was thirty-two Earth hours. You ended up taking a five hour 'nap’ in the mid-day. Had a second meal. Then about three hours after that, Sientia gently put you back to bed and dimmed the room’s light.

After a very, very long sleep, you were awoken as Sientia stirred about the house. You rose drowsily. Good god, you hoped a few months on that schedule would see you adjusting to it well. Your circadian rhythm, so far, was displeased. Days too long, nights too long. But you’d live.

As you slipped an old T-shirt over your head, Sientia appeared, looking in above you. They watched you a bit, but you were reluctant to do anything while feeling like a walking television.

“Uh, hi,” you waved awkwardly.

“Hi,” Sientia repeated. They did not know many words. “Hungry?”

Food was already set out for you in the dining area. You had a breakfast of scrambled eggs (a little rubbery), pancakes (with maple embedded), and a sliced apple (salted). When you were full, Sientia slid one of the glass walls out of place. You didn’t know those were removable!

A hand was laid down. “[Y/N], come, (I am going to get you many nice things to wear.)”

You grimaced. You didn’t want to be carried around like that again just yet. “I would rather not.”

Sientia’s antennae moved subtly, thinking, then they understood the issue. The hand came back up as they puffed out their chest. Sientia pointed to a harness. Right above their four nostrils was a backpack like carrier, which was strapped around their shoulders. It reminded you of a baby wrap or purse, but much, much larger. It even had a few pouches in front for accessories, such as food or toys.

“You had one of those? Why did you carry me in your hand yesterday!” It was more scolding than it was a question.

Sientia bellowed a response, but you got the feeling that it was as meaningful as a human meowing back at a cat.

“…Alright, okay. Let’s just do this then.”

So they cheerfully settled you into the pocket on their chest. It was deep enough that you would not have to see the world, if you choose not to climb up and look.

You spent the ride curled up close to the side of the pouch that Sientia’s skin touched on the other side. You thought you could hear a heartbeat from there, but that was surely impossible. Xenith didn’t have hearts. At least, not in the human sense. Still, there was the steady pulse of their body, thumping gently and keeping you calm. And since you were so close to their nostrils, hot air constantly warmed the pouch. You wondered if this was how a lap dog felt while being carried in a purse. It was nice. You nearly forgot that you were being carried far from the ground.

Finally, Sientia came to their destination. It was a little pet boutique that sold many different types of imported clothes, specializing in sentient species. It had recently begun to acquire shipments of imported human goods.

Sientia had been devastated to see what little you had brought with you, and was determined to put you in something better. You may have left your new home wearing a hole-worn T-shirt, but you would return wearing lavish threads.

“(Hello, what species do you shop for?)” asked the retailer, who was dressed in extravagant magenta fabrics.

You poked your head out, nervous eyes wandering around.

“(Eh! You care for a human! So cute! Yes, yes, we have many clothes for humans. Please, let them down to browse, and we may write up a payment plan.)”

Sientia helped you to the floor and the retailer pointed them towards the human section. It looked small, but it was truly as expansive as a mega-chain on Earth.

“Y/N,” Sientia gestured towards the clothes and gave you a nudge.

You hadn’t been paying much attention and stumbled, catching your balance by grasping onto a clothes rack. Upon realizing the rack was proportionate to your size, you gawked. Your wide, surprised eyes drank in the sight; rows upon rows of imported human goods. Dresses, jackets, shorts, coats, an extensive section of underwear. You looked back at Sientia with awe.

“Are you actually going to buy me clothes?” you peeped, barely audible enough for the pale giant.

When they gestured towards the rows again, you turned and began to tear through the selection.

You tried on clothes for an Earth hour. When you’d come out from the (far too big) stalls to show Sientia, they were always overjoyed with how stunning you looked. It didn’t seem to matter what you picked out, it simply pleased them that you were having so much fun.

At the checkout line, you had garment after garment piled up in your arms. You couldn’t remember the last time your face had hurt from smiling this long. Sientia carefully petted your head with a round finger tip before taking the clothes and checking out. You’d gotten all that you’d wanted, and instead of being chided, your master was brimming with elation. No one had ever been so glad to throw their money away on you. Not even your parents. You tried to massage your cheeks to relax them while the retailer and Sientia finished up their business.

Back home, you folded and hung your new threads up neatly. Then you strutted about bearing a fancy faux fur coat and patterned leggings. You even had new name brand shoes. None of it matched, but it was more than you’d ever had. To show off like a proud peacock made you blush, but Sientia purred and grumbled happily, finding you quite humorous. You couldn’t help but enjoy their attention after such a nice outing together.

They brought their head down to the table. “(You seem so happy and look so good! I hope I’m doing well by you, so that you may want to stay with me.)”

You came near. Avoiding their watchful gaze, you nervously lifted a hand and patted their snout, between the smaller eyes. “Thank you for all of this, really. I was worried about being here, but I think… maybe you have a good heart. Or,” you laughed “maybe you just like to spend extravagant amounts of money to show off? Well.. I’m grateful.”

They audibly chirped at you in reply, nuzzling the hand carefully with affection.

A few days went by uneventfully. Then one day, while you were being allowed to explore the (much larger) main chamber, a loud beep alerted Sientia to visitors.

They opened the door. “(Antha, you’re here! Welcome! It’s been very long, please come and have a drink. Where is your- eh! Your human is on your head! Doesn’t that hurt?)”

The dark gray Xenith bumped a padded fist with Sientia in greeting, then chuckled out loud. They came inside as they spoke. “(Only a little, it tickles now mostly. We are close, so I am not annoyed! Now, where is yours that you tell me so much about? I’ve been eager for ours to meet. It is good for humans to have a friend. They’re social beings.”)

You carefully stepped under a table, watching the guest enter. Upon the other’s dark, wide set head, a human stood and clung to antennae with both of their hands. It frightened you even to look at. Good god, that was high. They could slip at any moment and plummet to their death. You had to look away so it didn’t make you queasy.

“Come,” called Sientia as the two Xenith laid on blankets around the shallow table.

So you came out and were placed upon the surface, which was covered with a thin, patterned cloth. Likewise, the guest brought down their companion. Instead of going to greet one another, you both remained close to the side your master lay at. But then Antha spoke an alien language out loud, and their human came to you.

“Hey. Antha thinks I need to talk to someone of my own species I guess. So uh,” he stuck out his hand awkwardly.

What was this, a business meeting? You hesitantly accepted the shake. This man was possibly ten years older than you and was wearing casual, comfortable clothes. He spoke with a slight accent, which you were unfamiliar with. But the most interesting feature was that when Antha spoke to him again, he actually turned and understood.

“So like… you can understand them?”

The man turned back to you. “Uh, not really,” he pointed at a device in his ear. “Antha just got us digital translators. I mean, some of the words don’t translate very well, and there’s some lag, but it’s better than nothing. I think my master is going to give yours one! Say, how long have you been a pet?”

While you and the other chatted idly, Sientia and Antha caught up.

“(So… you’ve been feeling better?)” Antha asked quietly in Sientia’s head.

Sientia’s eyes became downcast. “(I… suppose so. It’s hard to adjust to something new after being with someone for so long. It’s going to take a while.)”

Antha lowered their head in understanding.

“(It still hurts. As I rest, my body aches,)” their six antennae moved sluggishly and drooped.

Antha attempted to comfort. “(I am here. And so is- what do you call your companion? They will sooth your ache too.)”

“([Y/N], a good name. I believe they are feeling well about their new home. The cage is proportioned correctly, and they have eaten nearly everything I’ve given them. We do not communicate well, because we cannot understand one another, but I feel that they are generally happy so far.)”

Antha’s head bobbed, remembering they’d come for a reason. “(Th, yes! Here, accept this gift!)” they then dug something out of the pouch around their chest. There was a strange object, meant to be clipped onto one of the large antennas. Then, beside it, a tinier object that looked like a grain of sand in the palm of a Xenith.

“(Gift?)”

“(See that I speak to my human so easily? This is a translator! My friend, you’ve been through such grief, you deserve something nice. Please accept it.) Clarence dear, help [Y/N] with the device.”

The man stopped talking and perked up at his name. He nodded, and took the small piece when it was lowered to him. He helped you do basic set up while Antha fit the bigger piece onto Sientia. It took about ten minutes to get everything all settled, but luckily, it wasn’t too difficult.

“Can you hear me?” asked your master nervously.

You gasped then smiled. Amazing! “Yes! Yes, I understand perfectly! This is so cool!”

Clarence returned to the side of Antha and sat in their hand, satisfied.

“It works well,” spoke Antha, rubbing their thumb gently over their pet’s back.

“Thank you Antha! Th- [Y/N], are you happy?”

Emotions were mingling and mixing intensely inside of you. So when Sientia suddenly popped that question, you had to take a moment to process it. That was only the third question Sientia had asked you since meeting, and it was such a selfless one. You blushed.

“I-I-I mean-” you stammered. “-this world is… different. But the air is clean and the people are kind, so.. yeah. I’m pretty happy,” you spilled. “Anything beats Earth.”

You glanced back at Clarence and Antha. Clarence was rubbing his face against Antha’s fingers affectionately like a cat. Your blush darkened and you snapped back to Sientia, who titled their head.

“Are you happy, Sientia?” you peeped. You wanted to add 'are you happy with ME?’ but did not.

“…Yes, see?” they put on a humanoid smile, teeth and all, like they had done before adopting you. But there was a thin layer of sadness under that reply.

You were quiet, but eventually smiled back. You hoped Sientia couldn’t understand the way your brows furrowed in concern.

After a short, awkward silence, Antha huffed and spoke up. “Sientia, [Y/N], have you considered competing yet?”

You looked back and forth between the two. “Competing?”

“(NO,)” Sientia lowered their head and looked away. “(Antha… you know that was Inridd'h and I’s favorite thing.)”

“(Yes, I’m sorry,)” they apologized, before lifting a grabby Clarence up onto their head. “(But I just… I also know how much it meant to you. To be able to train and spend so much time with your companion, and to show the crowd how much you trusted one another.”)

It seemed the Xenith were ignoring you. You sighed and sat down, legs crossed.

Sientia looked back up at Antha, their sad pink and cyan eyes like doe. They watched Clarence balance and keep a careful hold on Antha’s antennae. Eventually he made his way to the back of Antha’s head where their crest was, and settled there when Antha tilted their head forward. No sense of fear. Clarence knew Antha would not allow him to fall. Then, Sientia shifted to watch you. You sat so patiently, waiting for attention. Guilt struck the blue Xenith.

“[Y/N],” they called softly. “Would you like to compete?”

You straightened up. “Well, that probably depends on what you two mean by competing. Like… sports?”

Antha rumbled. “Perhaps not. It’s more similar to a, ehm, a 'dog show?'”

They didn’t sound too convinced of their own comparison. You scratched your head and leaned back on your hands. “So like, being dressed up and paraded around an arena? Or is it more like agility, where dogs run through tubes and go up ramps?”

Both of the aliens looked confused. It seemed they had difficulty explaining. Antha only had vague knowledge of how human dog shows worked, and Sientia was totally unaware of them. However, Clarence had been in a few small scale shows.

“It’s kind of a dog show plus beauty pageant!” he yelled from Antha’s head. Antha flinched in return, so Clarence apologized quietly for yelling so close to their sensitive antennae.

Sientia placed their head onto the table, where eye contact was easier. They looked like they were awaiting a response.

You stood and crossed your arms uncomfortably. A sense of dread sat in your guts. You thought about the nice new clothes you’d been given, and tried to imagine yourself walking down a stage all fluffed up. All your brain could conjure was the image of a crowd of Xenith and strange, beautiful alien creatures, wondering why it was you were so… ugly. Why were your clothes like that? Why walk that way? You imagined what they’d say.

'Oh, you know humanity is simply second to the slug peoples of planet Dirtemous. That’s why they all look and act so hilarious!’

Then the beautiful alien’s equally beautiful friend would laugh and reply. 'Yes, and what sort of awful thing would ever want to claim THAT particular human as a pet? I’d rather have the slug! Ho-ho-ho!’

You took a breath. What a stupid imagination you had. But even such an exaggerated, outlandish thought had some sort of truth in it. You were anxious. Not only were you worried about being scrutinized by strangers, you were also worried that you would embarrass your master. Sientia was a kind, lonely thing. They didn’t need you making things worse. You were just making yourself sadder and sadder, and the look in Sientia’s eyes did not help.

“You don’t have to agree, my pet,” they eventually added.

With one last glance at Clarence and Antha, you decided. You wanted to trust Sientia like that. You wanted to make them happy. So, you would try.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be very good at it, or win anything, but… yes. I’ll compete,” you shrugged.

There was both pain and joy inside of Sientia. The notion that they were replacing a chunk of their heart that was once filled with their old pet devastated them. But they also knew the only way to recover was to keep going; to move forward. Inridd'h would not have wanted them to keep falling asleep at night aching for relief. Inridd'h did not smile upon them when they shut themself away.

Sientia, too, would try.

An overwhelming desire for comfort overtook Sientia, and they scooted their flat head forward to nuzzle you. It knocked you back a bit to have their whole head thrust up against your body, but you steadied and petted their head.

“Are you okay?” you asked, unaware of why it was they seemed so upset.

Antha stood up slowly. “It is time we head back home. Please keep in contact, Sientia. I care. We will want to come to your competition! Goodbye friends.”

“(Wait, you never had anything to drink!)”

But Antha and Clarence had already gotten to the door and let themselves out.

You hadn’t been sure what training for an alien competition would entail.

Apparently, you would be physically looked over to determine if you had good breeding. Like a dog. You didn’t look forward to that part very much, considering you were sentient and not some space lemur that could just be treated like decoration. This segment would also note your outfit. Sientia had said that this part of the competition would be worth less points than the rest of the competition.

Then, much like a pageant, you would show off your talents. This forced you to actually have to sit down one night and determine what the hell your talents even were. Running away from home, maybe? You got flashbacks from the horrific talent show in second grade. You did not want a repeat of that.

“I don’t think I really have any talents,” you admitted to your master as you sat comfortably in their bed.

Sientia laid down beside you, poking at a device in their hands. You supposed the device was much like a cell phone on Earth, but made for the Xeniths’ large, clumsy fingers. They were pulling up videos of humans performing various tasks, hoping to find a talent to suggest.

“Cooking?” they asked.

“I can cook packaged ramen. Maybe bake a potato. So no.”

“Horse riding? We do not have a 'horse,’ but they can provide something similar.”

You plopped over on your back, grimacing. “God, no.”

“Th! Humans are adequate at singing!”

“Um… let’s not even go there.”

With every suggestion your heart sank further and further. You should have never agreed. With a sigh you turned over onto your side, hoping to keep Sientia from seeing the way your eyes watered. You wiped at the sting.

“Sientia, really, I don’t think I can win this. So maybe I should give up before we get too deep.”

They sat up on their elbows, setting the device down. “I detect sadness in your voice. Did you change your mind?”

“I just don’t want to get your hopes up.”

The room was quiet a moment. Then the giant turned on their side and gently rubbed their finger along your back, hoping to ease the pain in your words. The sensation was… actually very nice.

“Please, do not be sad [Y/N]! You don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. The competition is simply an act, performed for the love of it, and perhaps sometimes for the prize! I don’t believe any companion’s master has been broken by a loss. I could not be disappointed if we lost. So, please feel better.”

You still had a heavy heart, but the reassurance that this was not anything serious helped you feel a bit easier. Knowing that Sientia already knew you could lose and did not care cheered you up even more.

“R-really?” you squeaked, turning onto your back once again.

They nodded, swiping their finger across your torso and belly as if to continue comforting.

You squeaked and grabbed the finger, face red. “That tickles!”

Sientia stopped and removed the appendage. “Eh! Sorry!” they looked away. “My… previous companion enjoyed belly rubs.”

Now it was Sientia who sounded sad.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

They thought, antennae moving slow as if fidgeting. Eventually they huffed out hot air and answered.

“They were bigger than you. Non-sentient. Covered in rough, damp skin. Very jumpy and loud, and they passed away in their favorite spot in the glass house. We… used to compete a lot. And I miss them,” Sientia seemed to sink into the blankets. “That is all I would like to say for now. I’m still hurting.”

You had to wipe at your eyes again. Memories of your mother played through your tumultuous brain, reminding you how grief could invade one’s life so fully. Even when your family had problems, you never could stifle or hide the hurt when she passed. After gaining courage, you stood and moved to curl up against Sientia’s skin.

The alien was surprised at the contact. They glanced down and felt their affection surge for you, the finger coming to your back again.

“You’re so much softer than Inridd'h. So much different.”

You curled against yourself tighter and nuzzled your forehead against their skin. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it is good that you’re different. I’m different than I once was, too. Please never be sorry for being yourself, my pet.”

After a minute or two of easy silence, they added. “Do you still want to compete, or have your changed your mind?”

Without hesitation, you replied. “I still want to do it. Maybe I can’t think of a talent off the top of my head, but… I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Together.”

In the end, you decided on painting. According to Sientia, Xenith were most fond of abstract art. That was something you could do. Though not formally trained, you’d painted a couple of shoddy pieces in the past that your parents had enjoyed. One had even been printed as a holiday greetings card, much to your embarrassment. But unlike the thickly globbed on acrylics of family pets and favored cartoon characters, you’d be working with thin watercolors to make something representational and abstract.

So you practiced and practiced. Sientia had even gotten you a nice new desk to sit and paint at. You’d use thin sheets of paper to work with, though the Xenith’s idea of “thin paper” was still rather thick.

It was actually extremely therapeutic to just focus on shapes and color. You’d find yourself trying to represent the objects in your room without making it obvious what they were. Making an abstract piece representational was a feat and required a great deal of thought. You hoped by the time the competition started, you’d be able to stand in front of the crowd and paint something they would enjoy.

Soon, you moved onto painting on a sheet of paper tacked to a wooden board, which was held up by a portable easel. You’d stand in front of the blank, semi-yellowed sheet, and just think. A pink spot there. An orange square there. A deep, deep cobalt wave streaked vertically through the piece. It was missing something. You watered down some yellow then made a generously thick, wiggly-lined circle around the square. Done.

“How comes practice?”

You were startled and snapped your head up. How long had Sientia been watching? You stilled your heart and smiled up at them. “I actually think my work isn’t half bad!”

“Hm,” The giant lowered their head closer to your spot on the counter top. “What is it?”

You stepped back. “Well, what do you think it is?”

This response pleased Sientia. They tilted their head this way and that, before deciding. “I don’t recognize the shape. This yellow, it is a good color. I am no artist, but I also enjoy-” they gestured to the blue. “-this squiggle, here.”

You placed your hands on your hips, feeling all fuzzy from the praise. “It’s a lamp. One I had in my apartment, way back on Earth. It was pretty ugly, but my parents had given it to me as a housewarming gift.”

Sientia lifted their looming head back up. “I didn’t know humans needed heat lamps. Should I ask one be imported?”

You laughed heartily, before taking a rest and explaining that no, you had not referred to a heat lamp.

The time to compete finally came. Sientia picked out a nice outfit for you to wear, settled you into the pouch, then headed out eagerly.

You knew you’d arrived when it became terribly noisy. Most of the Xenith remained in their heads, however other alien species that resided on the planet were chattering away.

You poked your head out of the pouch to watch where you were being taken. You were inside of an arena, which was surprisingly similar to arenas on Earth. The stands were chock-full. It was hard to distinguish what sort of other aliens were among the bleachers. All you could make out was a mix of pale Xenith, and various shades of lavender and baby’s breath blue.

The two of you checked in and were escorted to the first area. This space was within the bleachers. Instead of having the audience surrounding you, you were simply on camera for the first half of the contest. Later you would be taken back into the thick of it.

Sientia placed you carefully onto a pedestal as drones buzzed around everyone. They kept all companions at around Xenith chest level, as they stood on twos. Almost immediately you were surrounded by several of the other Xenith contestants, who were delighted to see a human.

A silvery Xenith focused on Sientia. “(You have a human?)”

“(Aw, might I hold them?)” asked a yellowish Xenith.

The third spoke your language. “Hello!”

Sientia huffed awkwardly and kept close. They seemed abashed.

“(Please don’t touch! This is [Y/N]. It’s their first competition, so do not frighten my dear companion!) [Y/N], are you well?”

You backed up and bumped into the hand of the yellow-tinted Xenith. With a start you leaped and stumbled back over to the side Sientia was closest to. “It’s just… wow. A lot of attention.”

“(Apologies. I attempted to adopt a human, but they continually were out. How did you receive this one?)” questioned the silver alien.

Sientia fidgeted. “(I farm, so I simply gave excess crop away early. This secured a spot to choose a human.)”

The yellow Xenith kept staring at you longingly. “(Ehmmm… I wanted one, too. You think ahead. Very smart.)”

Sientia wanted to get rid of them. “(I believe the judging is starting.)”

So the others ended up scurrying back to their own companions, but not before a couple more desirable glances were thrown down at you.

You sighed, grateful.

“It really is starting,” commented Sientia with surprise, as the judge came into the inner bleachers. “Brace yourself. The pedestal will shift.”

So. A physical and fashion check was first on the agenda. It was the part you had been dreading every day. You took a deep, calming breath.

Because so many sentient species were twelve feet and under, the judge had to be proportionate during this segment. Everyone was moved downwards, so that the small judge could come by. A drone slightly bigger than your head followed behind the no-nonsense alien, which you had no doubt was plastering all this upon the screens outside.

One by one, the contestants were- you shuttered- fondled. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad shutter, but you had butterflies in your stomach.

The judge, a seven foot tall, light blue alien that walked on the tips of its three-pronged feet, was very thorough. They would circle the contestant, watch the way they walked, judge their outfit, and then feel certain parts of the body over. Occasionally a contestant would lean in, as if dizzy, before the judge finished up, wrote something down, and then left to the next pedestal.

“Don’t be nervous,” comforted Sientia quietly, who had laid beside you. “Remember, we can forfeit at any time my pet. I will not let you stay if you change your mind.”

You smiled at them before being spooked by the sudden appearance of the judge. You hadn’t realized that the alien had been getting close.

The judge was very professional throughout most of the examination. Stoically, they watched you walk and jotted something down. Comments were mumbled in an sing-song alien tongue about your choice of outfit.

'Polka-dots, with plaid shorts?’ you imagined them saying.

Then the part that had you most nervous came. The alien felt your arms gently, slid a hand over to your chest and thumbed over the ribs. Were they counting them? They squished down where certain organs were along your body. Finally, the intrusive appendage cupped your cheek and pressed your upper lip out of the way. You instinctively bore your teeth and grimaced.

“Very good teeth. Unique human specimen,” spoke the strange alien in your language.

There was a sweet scent, like sugar, in the air. Your eyes fluttered and you found yourself relaxing. Suddenly you understood why it was some of the other contestants appeared to become dizzy. Whatever this alien was emitting smelled lovely.

The judge swiped a finger over your blunt human canines. “Always fascinated by Homo sapien teeth.”

They removed the hand and glanced over at Sientia, the air sack around their neck tinged pink. “You groom your human well,” they said in Sientia’s language.

“Thank you,” Sientia eyed the judge suspiciously.

You had no idea what they had said. The judge patted your cheek, quickly wrote a final thought down, then left. It almost made you sad to see them go. However, after a few minutes your head cleared. That was a weird experience. You straightened your back and awaited the second segment.

“Do you think I did alright?”

Sientia moved their head near. “Yes, you did wonderfully! I am certain. The judge sounded… much too pleased. Fae are simply like that, though.” They gave you an encouraging nuzzle.

You blushed and rubbed your hands over Sientia’s head. It was funny that you were supposedly the pet, yet you were the one who did most of the petting. You felt them physically purr.

After the first segment ended, contestants were directed one by one back into the main arena. The Xenith held their companions in their hand and were paraded around the edge. It was hard to keep your cool. You had to force yourself not to look down as you tried to keep balance.

This was all so overwhelming. It wasn’t nearly as loud as a stadium back on your home planet, but the quiet chatter did invade your thoughts. Being so high in the air, with all eyes and ears and words directed at you, started to make you terribly dizzy. But as you glanced over into the crowd, you found a familiar face.

“Look! It’s Antha!”

“Ehm,” hummed Sientia in response, who was finally allowed to come to a stop. “You see Antha?”

Antha wiggled their fingers. On top of their head stood Clarence, hardly more than a speck in the distance. But the little speck squirmed, and you just knew he was waving vigorously at the two of you.

Your spirits lifted again. You waved back, grinning. The support was very much needed, and Clarence’s presence reminded you of the true reason you’d decided to compete. You wanted to trust Sientia fully, as Clarence did Antha, and you wanted to make your master happy.

Sientia nodded their head in Antha’s direction. This almost made Sientia feel like they had before the mourning period; warm and fuzzy, like a healthy Xenith. They puffed up just a little more, antennae high and spread wide.

So, it was time for the talent competition to begin. You watched the flickering screens above the stadium as various individuals attempted to impress the intense, boring eyes of the judges.

There were four judges in total. One Xenith. The other three included a brawny, one-eyed biped, a large piebald covered in feathers, and the previous judge who had done the physical. They sat across the field, and hardly blinked as they jotted down notes and numbers on the performances before them.

A dark, four-armed alien with a flat face could throw a heavy metal ball across the entire field with ease. A five-foot, mousy alien could complete an agility course in under twenty seconds. A long and skinny serpent like alien could dance and twirl like a ribbon within the air. The crowd particularly liked the serpent, clicking and chattering at the graceful shapes made as she looped around.

You tried to still your heart. That was some tough competition, but you’d been practicing your art skills each and every day. You were certain you would please at least the Xenith judge. Maybe you’d win them over with your human 'cuteness,’ even if the painting didn’t elicit a major response. After all, some thought humans were endearing. If you fumbled, you’d play it off and try to look nothing short of adorable. Even if the voice in your head kept telling you that they should see you as an ugly species, that you yourself were ugly, you’d been proven wrong on multiple occasions.

Finally, it was your turn to shine.

“Are you ready?” asked Sientia quietly, with concern.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Sientia stepped further into the field, careful let you down, then removed your setup from the pouch on their chest. It was a large sheet of watercolor paper, nailed to a wooden board five feet wide and ten feet tall, which Sientia propped against their free wrist. Your act would consist of painting a certain someone while using their hand to raise and lower yourself along the canvas. A show of trust while also entertaining the crowd. A perfect act.

Two drones flew low, eyes watchful. You tied an apron on and stuffed your brushes into the front pockets. After picking up a closed container, you made meaningful eye contact with Sientia. They lifted you upon their hand, to which you opened and dumped the container down over the top of the paper. Gray tinted water dripped, soaking into the paper a quarter down.

The brushes were whipped out. Over the course of ten minutes you drove the wide tipped brushes into buckets of pre-mixed colors and swept them across the open plains. Deep cyan, made from an imported liquid watercolor, was your main shade.

You made four quick strokes, forming a ball with spikes coming from one end. One long thin strip vertical from that, though not touching. Then horizontally a fat, stocky, uneven line that was bigger at the end than tip. Two near perfect, wet cyan circles close to the bottom, both dripping towards the edges. You admired your work a second, already out of breath.

A few more blue splotches were added before you switched colors. A bright, watery pink mingled with the blues, mixing into purple in several areas. Embarrassingly, a large, unwanted splat splashed onto the paper, to which you blushed and pretended was on purpose. Then, before you knew it, you were adding the final touches in a gold leaf yellow.

Standing from a distance in Sientia’s hand, you turned your head this way and that, before giving a curt nod and deep bow.

“Tah-dah! It’s finished!”

Sientia let you down, and you were exhausted. Finishing a painting that large in just over ten minutes killed you. You popped your joints and looked hopefully over at the judges. Three of them were scribbling excitedly, while the Xenith was staring at the art. You didn’t know if that was good or bad. Eventually the giant titled their head down and gave their unknown input, too.

“You are so amazingly talented,” swooned Sientia, drawing your attention.

You smiled sheepishly, face very red. “Th-thank you. I… made it for you.”

Affectionate and surprised, Sientia wanted to cuddle you, but the two of you had to step back so the next contestant could work.

The rest of the aliens went by in a blur. You were simply too in your own head to pay hardly any attention. Over analyzing the minute body languages of the judge panel was not fun, and had you guessing- then guessing again- as to what your final score would be.

When the last out-of-breath contestant returned to their owner, the talent segment was done. All Xenith and pets were marched around the outer rim for a final lap, before returning to the inner stadium. Pets were placed back onto their pedestals to rest while the judges compiled their thoughts.

You sat and fidgeted quietly.

Sientia’s head teetered against the edge of the pedestal, cross-shaped eyes focused upon your nervous little form. “It is okay if we don’t win, my pet. Please remember. I’ve had so much fun today! It’s been a very, very, very long time since I’ve walked the circle and presented my companion before all. Do not fret so!”

That made you smile, if only a tidbit. “I know… I just can’t help but have nervous energy! If we won, that would make me sooo happy. It would make you so happy.”

The alien’s face emoted more densely than you’d ever seen before. Their eyes dilated, antennae curled, and they put on a wide, open grin. The smile was added for you, but still. Such emotion.

“I was right to choose you, [Y/N]. You are perfect.”

You nearly cried. Who in your life ever called you perfect? Not your first partner, nor your last. Most certainly not your parents or 'good’ aunt. Nobody was perfect in this world or the next, but the sheer fact someone was inspired enough to utter something so romantic made your heart flutter. You opened your mouth to even attempt a reply, but a noise chimed and echoed through the spacious corridor, flinging everyone around into silence.

A winner had been decided.

You stood and swallowed, hard.

Upon the elongated screens high, high on the metallic walls, the various aliens of the panel chatted softly. The same footage was being aired on enormous screens above the stadium, so everyone was watching in anticipation along with the contestants.

The four judge panel went through each contestant’s score briefly, citing anatomy and subjective thoughts on the talent segment. As they spoke in the local Xenith tongue, recordings of the contestants and their owners were played. You could not understand the talk at all, yet your eyes stayed glued to the video.

You saw yourself. Did your painting really look that bad on screen? 'Stay optimistic,’ you chanted to yourself inwardly. 'The Xenith like abstract art.’

You were given a number score of 68 out of 100. A sigh of relief. That wasn’t totally awful. So far, the scores ranged from 22 through 65, meaning you were somehow ahead. But there were still seven more scores to reveal.

Burning eyes stared down the screens, counting scores. 43, 50, and there it was, 71.

You lost.

Your legs were weak. You found yourself on knees, not even bothering to watch the rest of the judgment. Sientia had turned attention to you as soon as the higher score had been announced.

“Are you okay?” asked Sientia gently.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess. Disappointed. Trying not to cry, but okay.”

They paused in thought. Sientia was truly not put off by the results. If only you could hear their telepathic emotions, they could send a wave of comfort and compassion your way. Instead, they had to settle for the physical and verbal. That was fine, too.

You felt something boop your head and flinched. A quick glance up revealed that one of Sientia’s longer antennae had touched you, from where the giant was tilting their head down. It patted you, unsure, the other poking you carefully in the face. It was like a dog coming up to sniff you. Considering the antennae were the most sensitive part of any Xenith, this was perhaps not far off.

“I know you’re trying to comfort me,” you said. “and it makes me happy, but… I don’t think I’ll be totally over this for a few days.”

“When we get home, I will make you your favorite food, and we can put on one of the imported Earth medias you like so much. Will this sooth?”

You couldn’t help the tug at your lips. “Hmmm… that is… acceptable. Thank you. So, who won?”

Out of 15 contestants, you ranked number 8. That was nearly in the dead center. The winner, with a score of 100 (as all contest winners are scored 100), was the four-armed alien who’d thrown the metal ball across the field. You supposed you couldn’t feel too bad about losing to an act like that. After all, even you had been impressed by that contestant’s superior show of strength.

There may have been resentment in your heart, as if you could have somehow done better, but at least Sientia did not blink twice at the results. To be human was to be rampant with emotion, so you could not help but feel a little upset at losing your first competition. But in the end, it was Sientia’s judgment that mattered. And Sientia was overjoyed just to spend time with you doing something they loved. That was something you would simply have to learn, especially if you decided to partake in more pet shows.

The two of you were given your prize, then met up with Antha and Clarence before leaving.

Antha lifted and pressed their knuckle pads to the ground, with Clarence balancing stupendously on their head. “(The two of you looked very good on the field!)”

If a Xenith could blush, Sientia would have. Instead, their antennae twirled bashfully. “(Thank you, friend. [Y/N] did well. I am so very much proud of them.)”

“And how do you feel, companion [Y/N?]”

You were still being carried in Sientia’s hand. You pursed your lips and shrugged. “Disappointed.”

Antha lowered their head closer, as Clarence wanted to comment.

The other human waved and beamed. “Hey, you did super great for your first competition! I’ve been in a few and man, let me tell you… the first time I tripped in front of the whole stadium. Over my own feet, too. Don’t worry so much, you did just fine!”

You couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, a little embarrassed “Thanks, Clarence.”

On the way home, you fulfilled your dream of riding at the top of Sientia’s flat head. Your master had been reluctant and afraid that you would get anxious, but you were adamant. One arm looped tightly around an antenna, the other fiddled with a tiny red participation ribbon, which was your only prize.

“Pet?”

You hummed.

“I’ve thought to ask. You say you painted for me. But, ehm, what have you painted?”

It took a moment to decipher the question. “Oh! Well,” you blushed. “I was trying to paint you! I know it didn’t come out exactly how I expected… that I could have done b-better to impress the judges-”

“Eh! No more talk of judges! I will hang it upon my wall above my nest. Look, we are home.”

Home was lamp-lit and unfit for a human to wander the rooms wide as a veldt, but it was home. The house that you grew up in had never felt like home, nor did the apartment you huddled in on Earth. But this strange, empty cube in the suburbs of the Xenith home world? It had begun to feel like home more so than any sad, brick building every did. You left Earth months ago, and never once began to regret that decision.

Sientia, you master and friend, spoke to you candidly and with compassion. They clothed you lovingly in lavish things, smoothed your anxieties like an iron, and wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with you. They loved you so much that they wanted to lift you high in their palm, to put you in the eye of buzzing drones and chattering aliens.

Even during a time that Sientia was still recovering from loss, they wanted to badly to move forward. You think that they did. You could hear it in their voice now, whenever they spoke sweetly to you, that they knew Inridd'h was smiling. Before the competition, when you were still practicing your abstract thinking, there was a glint in Sientia’s six eyes. It filled them with comfort to watch you work so hard, and with such great passion.

You loved the miniature house Sientia built for you, and the surrounding areas Sientia themselves lived in. But more than anything, you loved Sientia. Sientia was what made the house a home. You prayed you could stay as long as possible, because at this point, you had no intention of leaving.

So, when they two of you returned home, you ate a big dinner, popped in a human movie, and curled up on their nest together. You fell asleep atop their head with a full belly and a healing heart.

EPILOGUE

Sientia held you close to their body. You could feel warm air rising from the nostrils of their chest, as you wobbled and balanced close to their shimmering blue skin.

“Now, you must stay close. Some species may swoop low and pick you up if you move too far. It is perhaps safer to remain in my hand, at first.”

You nodded, apprehensive but excited.

It had been half a year since you decided to become the pet of the great alien species, the Xenith. But you’d yet to experience the awe of being in close quarters with your master’s life work; their livestock. They’d kept you distant from their crop, as giant bugs were most certainly to be predators to little humans. You could be a tasty, blood-filled morsel. The scenario was as tense as introducing the pet chicken to a new barn cat.

You shielded your eyes as they opened the door to a blistering glass greenhouse. After a moment of wiping away involuntary tears, you were able to see again.

“Woooah,” you gasped.

To Sientia this was a large terrarium, but to you it was an expansive jungle. Tall yellow grass sprouted all around, circling the dirt and clays below. Alien ferns spread their fleshy leaves and fronds, sprinkling the air with heavenly scents. A myriad of neon blossoms bloomed among the plants and grasses, dotting it all with pinks, yellows, and whites. You’d never seen anything like this before. Not even at the zoo.

“Is this what all your grasslands look like, out in the wild?”

Sientia physically rumbled. You’d come to distinguish their vibrations and grunts from one another by now, and could see that they found your question funny.

“Some. I try to keep my crop happy.”

“Sooo.. where are all the gross bugs?” you asked, peeking over the side of their palm.

Sientia sat. “Here is one, in the grass.”

With their free hand they plucked the animal right out of hiding. It squeaked and stirred, squirming in surprise. It was much bigger than you, but still smaller than Sientia’s hand. You were used to seeing your master chomp down on these creatures, but they looked so much bigger when wriggling.

Sientia gently set the insect down into their other palm, so the two of you could meet up close. However, they kept a firm finger to the bug’s back, to keep it in place.

It’s stubby, fat antennae twitched and flickered, prickly legs struggling to pull itself out from the weight on its back. Eventually it was still.

“Go on. It’s safe. This is Henhil, you may tell from the markings against the back and legs. This one’s first clutch hatched a few days ago, so we shall not keep her long. You hear this, Henhil?”

Henhil’s mouth parts chewed idly.

“Wow,” you whispered, fascinated.

They really did just… look like giant over sized Earth arthropods. This type seemed like a cross between a fat beetle and a mantas. Her body was covered in a shiny black, and her wings, legs, and face were lined with silver. Two stripes of green cut through the silver on each of her eight legs. Bugs still freaked you out, but this was truly an amazing opportunity. What Earthling got to boast getting up close and personal with Permian era insects?

“She’s very pretty.”

Henhil started to wriggle again, her energy returning. You stumbled away, mindful of the mouth, as Sientia went ahead and plopped her back into place.

“On, then. Back to your children. Is this what you were expecting [Y/N?]”

You sat down, the heat exhausting you and making you sweat like a pig. “Well, it’s definitely something you’d like to do. I mean, raising bugs.”

“Then you think you would truly like to utilize such animals in a future competition?”

In the excitement you’d nearly forgotten the real reason Sientia was introducing the bugs to you at all. You’d been in two competitions now, and had won neither. Somehow, the concept of horseback riding continued to come up. Sientia was fascinated by the horse. There were no horses imported off planet, which was a shame. The next best thing where Sientia’s crop of livestock.

The insects were horse sized, give or take. Some had a body shape well off enough to accommodate a way of riding comfortably. Of course, they were being bred and raised to eat. Not ridden. But that didn’t mean that some of the younger one’s couldn’t be coaxed into allowing a human rider onto their backs. Henhil’s new clutch was likely a good place to start.

So, did you think you’d be able to get over your squeamishness and ride a big ol’ bug for the sake of winning? Absolutely. Winning wasn’t everything, but it would sure feel great to win. Or, if not win, to at least get second place. You know it would delight Sientia.

“I think I’d like to try. Maybe tomorrow, when you show me her mate, we can take a peek at the babies too?” you shuttered. “Are they like… grubs?”

The translator did not translate 'grub’ very well, but Sientia got the gist.

“Somewhat. Let’s go inside, you appear over exerted.”

Sientia brought you to their face and nestled you gently as you gave a smooch on their 'nose.’ Then, they stood and absconded from the sweltering greenhouse.

#terato #exophilia #aliens #size difference #writing

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 25

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 3.3k

Parts 26, 27, 28 & 29 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

“Ready?” Lexi waits for confirmation before picking up a shot of tequila and tipping it back. You both gulp down your respective drinks and suck on limes in tandem as Tim pounds on the bar enthusiastically. You shake your head, puckering at the after taste and shouting a little hoot.

“Fuck, I’m too Goddamn old for tequila shots,” you laugh.

“Come on, meemaw.” Lexi laughs throwing an arm over your shoulders. “You gotta live a little.”

“She’s right.” Leaning in, Tim tips back a swig of cognac. “Life is short, we all need to let go a lot more.”

“Yes, yes we do,” Millie chimes in, throwing back her chardonnay.

“I’m trying.” You watch them, the crowd milling around the bar on a weeknight.

This started out as a Tuesday night survivor support group, but over several months it’s evolved into a much-needed space to blow off steam. Last week it was an evening at the arboretum at Harvard University, tonight it’s shots and gossip at a local dive bar.

“Are you coming back to work?” you ask Tim.

“Yeah. Soon I think, Winchester said I could take another six months if I wanted, but my therapist thinks I’m ready. Who am I to argue with a trained professional.” He taps the rim of his glass and the bartender refills it.

“Hey, as long as you’re ready we’re happy to have you back.” Millie smiles, inching a little closer. You suspect she likes Tim, she won’t come out and admit it but she finds a way to bring him up in nearly every conversation.

If it wasn’t for a limp on his right side, no one would ever know he’d been shot. But there was nerve damage that will most likely never be corrected so he’s stuck with a permanent reminder.

“I don’t think I can spend any more time in my apartment without going crazy. Trauma or not, all this paid time off has been incredible.” Tim’s forever positive. He can see the bright side of anything.

“Me too,” Millie throws up a fist in solidarity. “I can’t believe you went back so soon.” She looks at you.

“Working helps me keep my mind off things. I was glad to go back. And I like the new building.”

“And the new office,” Millie grins, elbowing you. “She’s a hotshot now.”

“I’ll have to go check it out,” Tim confirms. “And the new boss, how’s he?”

“Honestly? A dream,” you gush, always happy to talk about your new position. “After working for Pepper I had this distorted image of a healthy work-life balance, but Cole is awesome.”

“He’s not bad to look at either,” Lexi pipes up, fishing a cherry from the bottom of her empty glass.

“He’s all yours.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her. “I’m just happy he’s not a psychopath. Speaking of which, any idea when Pepper is coming back?”

“No, and we’re not in a hurry,” Lexi snorts, rolling her eyes. “Life is so much easier without her.”

“Easier but painfully unorganized,” Millie explains. “She’s a bitch but I don’t think we realized how much she truly did until she was gone. To be honest, the whole department is a hot mess right now. We’ve got associates with three assistants assigned to them and associates without anyone.”

“Give and take with everything, I suppose.” Checking your watch you frown when you realize it’s nearly ten. You have to work early tomorrow and time flies whenever you’re with these three.

“Did you read about Winchester?” Tim sing-songs like he’s about to dish out a juicy piece of gossip. “Any idea who the mystery girlfriend is?”

Your cheeks bloom bright red, trying to act natural.

“Please,” Lexi looks disgusted, still raw that he turned her down. Not that it’s stopped her from hinting at the fact that they had some sort of tawdry affair. “I feel bad for whoever it is.”

“Why?” Millie scoffs. “He’s super-rich, he can get whatever he wants. I know women who put up with a lot more for a lot less. And we don’t even know that it’s a woman. Maybe he’s gay. You never know.”

“No way,” Tim shakes his head no. “I guarantee you it’s some model or actress. The guy has Leonardo DiCaprio syndrome.”

“What does that mean?” you ask.

“You know, only dates women fifteen years younger than him that look good in bikinis.”

“Don’t you think,” you start, turning your chair to face him. “That if he was really that much a playboy someone would have found out by now?”

“He came on to me,” Lexi inserts her made-up encounter.

“See,” Tim gestures toward her.

You sigh, trying to contain your amusement at the speculation. Lexi’s wild tales don’t even bother you anymore, you see her for what she is. Mindless and starving for attention.

“I think it’s someone at W & S.” Millie finishes her drink. “The guy works all the time, when would he even have time to meet someone? Watch, one day we’ll find it’s Pepper or that redhead from human resources that looks like a Victoria Secret model.”

“Maybe we’ll find out someday, maybe not.” You tip back the rest of your vodka and cranberry and dig through your purse for cash. “I gotta go to bed.”

“Me too,” Millie pats your shoulder “We can share an Uber.”

“I got you.” Tim lays a hundred on the counter. “I’m happy to pick up the tab for tonight. I look forward to Tuesday’s all week. You guys keep me sane.”

“You are seriously the best,” you give him a quick hug and turn to Lexi, kissing her on the cheek. “See you later.”

You’re completely lost in a YouTube video about the migratory patterns of whales when there’s a knock at your office door. Before you have the chance to shut down the browser the door opens and Sam slips inside.

“Hey,” you light up. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone, which usually means you’re working.” He points toward the computer screen. “Or not.”

“I went down the youtube rabbit hole.” You laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, this whole thing started with five tips on how to work with difficult people and…” you glance at the clock, shocked that it’s nearly midnight. “And three hours later I’m here, learning about baleen whales and infrasound.”

“Is that really why you’re here so late?” He perches on the edge of your desk, fingering a pen.

“Honestly, I didn’t realize it was this late. Time got away from me.” You watch him examine your office, taking in all the details before refocusing on you. “Did we have plans tonight?”

“No,” he rests a hand on his thigh. “But I was thinking about dropping by your place. Taking you up on that offer for frozen pizza.”

Checking your phone you find a missed text and phone call. “Shit, I would really have enjoyed that. It’s too late now, huh?”

“Probably.” He tilts his head, eyes dropping from your mouth to your neck, then lower. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“You know,” rocking back the chair, you bite your bottom lip playfully. “This look you’re giving me right now is exactly what Cole was talking about.”

“What look is that?” There’s a trace of a smile, his eyes narrowing at the suggestion of impropriety.

“Like I’m little red riding hood and you’re the wolf.” You toe off one shoe, then the other before standing, and sauntering closer to him. “Should we be alone together? I’m not sure I can trust you.”

“That’s a good point,” he grins, standing up himself and placing both hands on your hips. “I came to your office late at night when no one else is around. I closed the door. Predatory behavior.”

Sam pushes you backward until your butt is against the edge of the desk and he’s looming above you.

You blink twice, eyes going wide in mock innocence. “Is there something I can help you with Mr. Winchester?”

He’s not always in a playful mood, but tonight finds you both in exactly the right time and place to have a bit of fun. Sam’s fingers squeeze tighter, curling into the flesh of your side and then releases his hold, standing close enough you can practically feel his body heat.

“I’m not entirely convinced this is the job for you,” he sighs, giving you a dismissive shake of his head. “Not sure you really want this position.”

“Oh, I want it,” you whisper chin tipped upward as you stare at him dewy-eyed. “What can I do to show you how serious I am?”

“I have a few ideas,” he offers, honing in on your parted lips as he licks his own. “You may have to work for it.”

“I’d do anything. Please, give me a chance.” You’re already breathless as his fingers caress the skin on the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. “Tell me what I need to do?”

“Spread your legs for me.” He tips his head to the side, watching your carefully curated shocked expression.

“Mr. Winchester,” you gasp, mouth falling open in faux horror as your knees open wide, skirt riding up your thighs. “We can’t…”

“Then tell me to stop,” he raises one eyebrow, hand sliding up the side of your leg and disappearing under your skirt. You lock eyes as he swirls the pads of his finger at tender flesh near your heat, so teasingly close that a moan falls out of your mouth before he ever really touches you.

“You have to stop,” you whimper, looking him dead in the eyes, spreading your thighs further and canting your hips toward his hand. “This is wrong.” You wiggle closer to his elusive touch. “I’ll tell someone, I’ll turn you in.”

“You think anyone would believe you?” He taunts while his thumb grazes downward, just the tip slipping between the lips of your bare cunt. He sinks an inch into your slick before sliding upward to find the throbbing bud. “What would you tell them? You were this wet but you didn’t want it?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, long and low. Your eyes screw shut as he flicks up and down over your clit, two fingers stroking into trembling flesh. He plays with soft, long strokes before finally sinking his fingers into your pussy, twisting them all the way in up to his knuckles. “Oh, God.”

Your head falls lax, hands reaching backward for anything to grab onto as a framed photo of your parents tumbles to the floor.

“You said you’d do anything to keep your job,” he leans over you, whispering hot breath at the shell of your ear. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” you whine, nodding emphatically as his fingers thrust in and out of your cunt, the wet, squelching sound bouncing off the walls. “Anything.”

“Will you take my cock...here?” He grunts, hooking his fingers inside and you see stars, legs trembling at the overwhelming pleasure. “Let me cum inside you?”

“Yes!” This confirmation is met with the withdrawal of his hand from between your legs. The disappointment is short-lived as he spins you around, bending you over the desk and hiking your skirt up over your ass.

“Say please,” he insists, his hand coming down on your right cheek with a smack.

“Please, I’ll do anything!” Wiggling your stinging backside there's the zip of his pants and the rustle of clothes before the head of his cock is at your entrance. Looking forward you can see the garbled reflection of the two of you in the glass of a painting on your wall. While you haven’t exactly pre-planned this little escapade, your fantasies are generally in line with each other, so you add in a few elements that really get you worked up. “You’re not going to put on a condom?”

The question gives him pause, the suggestion settling in as he notches the head into your throbbing channel. The idea of being forced, or in this case coerced, into a man cumming inside you is something you’ve shared with him but it’s not yet worked its way into the bedroom.

“If you want to keep your job, you’ll shut up and open this sweet little cunt.” His hand twists into your hair as he slides deep, not stopping until you feel his hips at your backside. “There you go, just like that. You like the way my cock feels, don’t you?”

“It’s so deep,” you pant, the side of your face pressed into some report from earlier in the afternoon.

“Now,” he slaps your ass as he pulls out and thrusts back inside. He repeats the motion with another whack that pulls a moan out of your throat. “I want you to tell me how much you want it. Say please Mr. Winchester, cum in my pussy.”

“I can’t,” you put up a show. “You can’t-”

He yanks your hair back, pulling your face off the desk as he drills into your cunt. “Say it.”

“Please!” you cry out, hands digging into the hardwood of the desk. “Please Mr. Winchester, please cum in my pussy.”

“Again,” he grits, fucking you hard and fast.

“Please cum in my pussy. Please, I want it so bad.”

“I know you do.” He purrs, using his free hand to press down on your lower back, keeping you in place as his pace grows faster still, hammering into you.

You're close to orgasm, the way he has you bent over the desk means your clit is rubbing over the surface, creating perfect friction. You pant and moan, body winding up for the release as the fantasy culminates in his cock stroking hard and deep with every thrust of his hips.

“Can I cum, Mr. Wincester!” You hold back waiting for permission.

“No,” he spits out, the hand on your back wrapping around your throat. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare even think about it.”

“Shit,” you sputter, sending your mind somewhere else. It’s the only way to hold back when you're teetering on the edge. You hope he’ll cum soon because you can’t hold out much longer and right on cue he grinds forward, pressing into your thighs with all his weight as he cums. Breathing hot and heavy, he slowly pulls out, sending a gush of his wet and warm release down your thighs.

But Sam’s not done yet.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Standing on shaking legs you turn to face him. He tucks his shiny dick back into his underwear and gets his clothes back in place as you stand there with his seed dripping from your sex.

“You almost came, didn’t you?” He snakes closer, a hand threading back into your hair to hold you in place. “I could feel it, feel how tight your pussy got at the end.”

“Yes,” you nod, looking up at him as his hand snakes back between your legs.

“I guess I’ll let you keep your job.” A villainous grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and your entire body responds, shaking with desire. “But I have to be sure you’ll never tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“I have to be sure. And do you know how I do that?” He asks and you shake your head, no. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to recount how wet you were. How you asked me to cum inside you. Only someone who was willing would ask for that. But you’re going to ask me something else, too.”

“What?” You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Say, I want to taste you.”

You blink, getting a vague idea of where this is going.

“I want to taste you,” you repeat quietly.

“Please stick your fingers in my pussy.”

Oh fuck.

“Please stick your fingers in my pussy...so I can have them in my mouth.” You add the last part and before it even leaves your mouth Sam is nodding in approval.

“Good girl,” he praises. His index and middle finger slip easily into your used cunt, twirling and bending until he’s coated in a mix of your arousal and his seed. “Open up.”

You dutifully let your mouth fall open as he slides his finger over your tongue.

“Open your eyes and look at me.” He instructs. You look up, watching as he moves his fingers back and forth over your tongue. “Now suck.”

You whimper, empty pussy clenching around nothing as you suck the spiced taste of your sex off him. After a few minutes of massaging your tongue, he removes his hand only to have his fingers wiggle back into your pussy, pressing inside as far as he can get.

“Now, you’re going to show me just how much of a whore you really are,” he explains calmly, pumping in and out of your slit. “Open your mouth again.”

You open up and this time his wet, warm fingers stroke over your tongue a couple of times before wiggling further, toward the back of your throat. You gag and he tsks, stilling his hand until you compose yourself and then pressing further and further until you’re practically choking on his knuckles.

Out of nowhere, his other hand is between your legs, finding your clit and pinching the delicate nub with enough force to make you gasp, his finger sliding even deeper. He rubs your clit a few times before you cum, gargling and moaning around his fingers and fighting to stay upright. Your cunt clenches, eyes watering, entire body experiencing the incredible pleasure, wave after wave of sweet relief.

“Fuck,” Sam whispers, slowly withdrawing his hand from your mouth. He wipes off his fingers on your cheek as you gasp for a full breath, still twitching from the release. He watches you trembling, letting out a little chuckle designed to stoke all levels of sexual humiliation that you know and love so well. “You just came gagging on the taste of your own cunt. No one would ever believe you didn’t want this.”

You’re breathless, entire body flushed from the power of the orgasm and now his taunting little speech. God, you wish it was a weekend so you could go home and ride him into the mattress.

“Thank you,” your voice wavers. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to show you how grateful I am for this job...Mr. Winchester.”

“I have a feeling you’ll continue to work hard for me.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips.

“Really, thank you. This was incredible.” You grin against his mouth. “This could become a whole fantasy for me.”

“Me too.”

He watches you clean yourself up, throwing used Kleenex into the trash before pulling yourself together enough to make the walk out of the building.

“I’ll drop you off,” he offers as you gather up your laptop and bag. “Or you could just come over. It’s late, that might make the most sense.”

“I’d love a ride but I can’t come over. I do need to go home tonight,” you explain. “I have a new dress I want to wear for the presentation tomorrow and I need to clean my kitchen. Maybe you could come over tomorrow? I’d like you to see my place.”

“I’d like that.”

Sam waits as you turn off the lights and lock up, then escorts you toward the elevators, both of you blissfully unaware of Cole watching through the cracked door of his darkened office.

#control and release #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #Sam Winchester Fanfic

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peanutparade · 3 years

Photo

Someone asked me what my process was, and I’m not sure I gave her a satisfying answer in the PM, so here I will attempt to explain how I make a game from start to finish.

*Please note the the drafts above are not for the same story, but for the purpose of illustration.

**Also please take this advice with a grain of salt. I’m not a published author (though I do know a bit about the publishing industry), and I’m definitely not a perfect writer. This is my process, and the things I try to keep in mind when I’m writing, and you may find this advice to be complete garbage.

Step one: Get an idea for a story. I can’t really give any tips on how to go about doing this. I tend to take inspiration from other works of media (classical literature is my favorite, though I have taken cues from more contemporary sources as well).

Step two: Consider who your characters are going to be. It’s okay if you only have one or two characters in mind at first. I’m pretty utilitarian about my characters, so most of them don’t get created until step three.

Step three: Open a word document and just start typing shit out. (I use Google Drive so I can access it from anywhere, and for another reason which I’ll get to later.) Don’t stop to think, don’t even breathe. Just type. Any idea that comes into your head goes in the document. Some of it won’t make sense with everything else, some of it will contradict other things, some of it will be vaguely defined. You will fix that later. This is the most important part (especially the way I write), because it’s where you’re going to get an idea of how your story starts and how it ends, as well as cement your cast of characters. If you need a scene where your main character goes to a lighthouse, then you know you’ll also need to come up with a lighthouse keeper (see my comment above about being utilitarian with characters. I’m no authority, so if you do things differently, that’s fine, but I don’t like making characters that don’t serve a purpose).

Step four: Annotation, annotation, annotation! (This is the other thing I use Google Drive for, as it has a comment feature that I heavily rely on.) Go through all your scribbling and make notes for yourself. Be a little hard on yourself here, because this is the part where you’re going to try to make everything you’ve written in Draft 1 cohesive. This will be a long process, as you need to think about how all of this is connected, as well as think about what sort of arcs your main characters are going to go through. I read somewhere once that ALL of your characters have to go through an arc, but that’s a bunch of wacky nonsense. Some characters are minor characters, and thus do not require depth. The only character arc that MUST be included is the main character’s arc. Remember: character arc ≠ character motivation. ALL major characters (protagonist(s), love interest(s), villain(s)) MUST have motivation for what they are doing. The motivation doesn’t have to be anything too complex, just so long as the audience understands why the characters are doing what they’re doing. (Minor characters with motivation can make the world feel more real and lived in, but they can also make the story feel bogged down. Brevity is key here, and sometimes less is more.)

Step five: Draft 2 All of that plotting you just did? Throw it away! Just kidding, don’t actually throw it away. BUT you’re going to rewrite your plot outline, tidier this time, and only refer back to Draft 1 when you get stuck. Feel free to come up with new ideas during this time; Draft 1 is not your story’s final form. If you think of scenes or quotes, feel free to include them in this draft, but you’re mostly just outlining right now. (As you may notice in the image above, Draft 2 is also subject to annotation.) Draft 2 is where you should be solidifying the themes of your story. Character arc(s) should tie into and support this theme. This is also the draft where you should be catching any plot holes (especially if you don’t have an editor/beta reader), as once you’ve begun actually writing the story, any problems here will only compound as you go.

Step six: Write the story It’s pretty straightforward. Follow Draft 2 (and any additional annotations you made on Draft 2), and go scene by scene and write. I never skip around, as it makes it hard to keep track of what characters know at what time, but I know of authors that do skip around, and they seem to do okay. You’ll have to figure out what works best for you.

Step seven: Edit, edit, edit! Aside from the obvious (typos and spelling errors), look out for:

Scenes that are too long or too short. Counterintuitively, these may be the result of the same problem: a lack of purpose. Ask yourself, “Does this need to be here?”

Long-winded info dumps. Consider the old adage, “show, don’t tell.” Whenever information can be conveyed through action or reaction, write it that way. If you can convey two things at the same time (i.e. something about a character and also something about the world--bonus if these two things are actually unrelated to each other), do it.

Information that your audience wouldn’t logically have being the key to resolving the plot. Especially in sci-fi and fantasy stories, if the conclusion of the story relies on knowing something--even if it’s something that the characters all know--you need to make sure your audience also knows this, or else they will be frustrated. Keep in mind the Rule of Threes.

And that’s the story portion done. If you’re making a visual novel/dating sim, there are other steps you need to do. (I usually do this stuff while writing the story so it doesn’t get tedious, but if you’re hiring people to do this other stuff, you should probably have the writing done ahead of time. If you’re hiring writers to help you, you should have Draft 1 done, at the least. Your writers can probably take it from there.)

NOTE: Any job you don’t do yourself is something that will cost you money. If you can find other aspiring creators to volunteer their time to your project, good for you, but please do not approach anyone directly unless you plan to offer to pay them (”for exposure” is not payment).

Step eight: Character sprites Major characters are going to need to be represented visually in your visual novel (go figure!), so... draw some people? I know some people make character design sheets, but I just jump right in, and then later, make microedits to the sprites as the mood strikes me. The design sheet thing is probably a smarter way to do it. I use photoshop, and I would strongly encourage keeping hair, clothing, and facial features on separate layers until you know exactly how you plan to code them into your game.

Step nine: Backgrounds Same as the sprites, except places instead of people. I’m bad at this, so I have no right to give anyone advice. I use a 3D interior design app to create a guide for what I want rooms to look like, and then I use that to get my vanishing points and furniture sizing right. This method is 50% tracing, 50% wishing I was dead. I do not recommend it.

Step ten: Audio If your game will have voice acting, get that together now. If you’re composing your own music, you’re more talented than I am. For my first game, I utilized royalty free options (incompetech and bensound), but now I hire a composer (I do still supplement my soundtrack with royalty free options if it’s for something inconsequential). I don’t use many sound effects, but when I do, I just look for free options online.

Step eleven: Coding I use Ren’py because it’s free and easy to learn (provided you don’t want to do anything too complicated). There are tons of resources online to teach you how to use Ren’py, both from official sources and unofficial sources. I’ve never posted in the forums myself, but the people there seem very kind and helpful if you get stuck. (If anyone wants to see how I code, specifically, I’ll do a Part Two for it, but I have to warn you that my games are the coding equivalent car repairs done with bubblegum and duct tape.)

Step twelve: Playtesting Make sure your game works. It’s pretty straightforward. You can even recruit some guinea pigs--I mean, friends to help you. (I don’t have any friends, so I do this part on my own.)

By this point, a year or so will have passed (give or take, depending how long your game is, how much time you have to work on it, and how much of the work you plan to do by yourself), and with any luck, you’ll have a game! Posting your game on itch.io is free, but putting your game on steam will cost you $100.

Like I said to the person on patreon who originally asked me about my process, making a visual novel is a lot of work, but I encourage everyone to at least try it and see if you like it.

I look forward to hearing your stories! ♥

#peanut parade #peanutparade #peanut parade games #indiedev #gamedev #writing #visual novel

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krixwell-liveblogs · 6 years

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Check out this post. Wildbow talks about his life on reddit. This explains so much about Taylor’s school experience. No Worm spoilers

This sounds interesting. I’ve frequently wondered about how Wildbow’s life shaped this story.

Let’s take a look.

Redditors who have opted out of a standard approach to life (study then full time work, mortgage etc), please share your stories. What are the best and worst things about your lifestyle, and do you have any regrets?

Well, the title is already intriguing.

Hermit writer here.

Born hard of hearing, went to a regular school. Struggled in middle school. Struggled in high school. Kids who were in my class in kindergarten were in my classes all the way through to grade ten, with the elementary/middle school and high school being a stone's throw from one another.

I kind of knew about the hard of hearing bit already. I can’t find the ask that told me about it, though (it was probably before I stopped using screenshots for asks).

So far this sounds relatively normal, except for that part. But I’m guessing he’s going to elaborate a bit on the struggles surrounding his school life and hearing problems?

In grade 10, after years of bullying and a peer group that had established who was 'in' and who was 'out' when I was knee-high, tired of struggling, I was walking down the halls and I found myself wondering when the last time I'd even opened my mouth in school was.

Oh wow.

I stopped dead in my tracks, just paralyzed by loneliness. I asked myself what the point was, couldn't come up with an answer, resumed walking, went out the side door of the school and went home.

This clearly parallels a few of the last times we saw Taylor at Winslow High.

The start of me just not going to school for that entire year. Nobody noticed.

Damn. He really did write all that from experience. It took a while for Taylor’s absence to get noted, too.

Taylor’s absence getting noted at all actually seems like a fantasy compared to this.

I got caught at the end of the year, did the same thing the next year, got caught only at the end.

What the hell sort of attendance routines did this school have? Clearly not good ones.

Ended up going to an Alternative school (Self study), proved to myself that I had it in me when I got 3 years of studying done in 8 months, won two awards... and then had to go back to my old school for what was essentially grade 13, where I struggled.

Huh. Well done.

People learn in very different ways. Some people can do this much more effectively than learning in a group. Some people are like me and can’t make themselves keep up the effort required to self study, or learn better from lectures than reading.

Some people learn by observing their surroundings while flying.

I worked retail and found it fine. But family wanted me to go to University and figure myself out.

I’m currently working retail, taking a break from the educational system and buying time to figure out what to study.

I went to University and I struggled.

Guys, I’m sensing a theme here.

I spent a long, long time trying to figure out why I struggled, why I was tired all the time, and it took a kind of confluence of events before I realized what should've been obvious. I found the social stuff hard and I was exhausted after a day of listening because I'm severely to profoundly deaf.

Oh yeah, that makes a ton of sense. It’s like how focusing is exhausting when you have trouble doing that, how reading without glasses you need tires out your eyes and brain, etc.

Honestly, it’s a little surprising that I haven’t (explicitly) met a hard of hearing character in Worm yet. Maybe later? Oh wait, there was that deaf waitress at the villain pub in Hive.

Beyond that, the 'path' just isn't for me. The systems and institutions just grind me down. The idea of a 9 to 5 is death to me. These things are built and streamlined for the average person, and between disability and a fairly extreme degree of introversion, I'm far from that average.

That is very fair. There’s definitely a brand of ableism in that system.

In the end, I stepped off the path. I'd been writing a thing online as a side project and the reception was good, so I decided to leave school earlier than planned, use the savings I had, stretch things as far as I could, and work when I could (with a family friend when he needed the help and had the cash to spare, doing some landscaping, drywall installation, house painting, all prepping houses for sale in a boom market) to stretch things further.

This would be too early for that thing online to be Worm, right?

It just occurred to me that I have no idea how old Wildbow is.

And I wrote as seriously as I could while people close to me told me that I didn't deserve to 'get lucky' and have the writing work out because I hadn't seen University all the way through, or openly expressed doubts and disappointments.

Yikes.

Fuck that noise. Writing is tons of effort!

But you know, it worked out in the end. I wrote the equivalent of 20 books in 2.4 years, wrote another 10 for my next series in the ensuing 1.2 years, and I've kept up a similar pace over the last 7 years and two months.

Especially when you’re this coddamn productive!

That’s 8.33 books a year!

I started writing mid- 2011, left school at the start of 2012, went full-time-paying-the-bills in 2014 with an income around minimum wage. I moved to a small town (no car, nothing fancy) that same year. I'm now closer to the average Canadian wage. It's been two chapters a week (2.5 if crowdfunding money is enough) since the beginning.

Oh, I suppose that means it would be Worm after all.

When was this written... huh, yesterday? Well, that explains why this hasn’t been sent to me before.

Writing being Wildbow’s only/main income makes me feel even more right about my decision to set things up so that some of the money from my Patreon goes to Wildbow. It’s not that big a portion of his income (apparently average Canadian wage is 986 CAD or 755 USD per week, and I chip in with about 3.26 CAD or 2.50 USD per week), but it’s something.

My reality: I can go a week or two without really talking to anyone that isn't a cashier.

Sounds a bit lonely in the long run, but as a fellow introvert (or maybe I’m an ambivert, in the systems where that’s actually a thing), I get it - it also does sound pretty good. Especially if you’ve got internet people to casually interact with at your own leisure.

Every two months or so I go to a relative's to dogsit while they're on vacation or to see someone for their birthday, and that gives me most of my fill of socialization and companionship.

Nice!

I don't have a car, so it's usually walking or taking the train to another city, and using public transpo there. I subsisted on a rice and beans diet for a good stretch, one $15 video game bought in a year, and my level of expenses hasn't really risen that much from that point. I eat better and buy a couple more things, but nothing major.

So I guess this would be somewhere between average and reserved?

I don’t know. Being Norwegian spoils me on these things.

60%+ of what I earn goes to savings, which gives me security when my income could fluctuate or disappear at any time.

Oh, that’s smart. I suppose writing would be a bit of a risky business, what with writer’s block, audience fluctuations, sudden drops in popularity because something you wrote didn’t go over as well as you thought it would, etc.

My schedule is entirely my own, which usually amounts to 2.5 15+ hour workdays a week and another 5-10 hours a week spent managing community, finances, and exchanging emails with tv/movie studios, publishers or startups.

I was going to talk about the long but few workdays, but tv/movie studios excuse me what

Is a TV series version of something Wildbow wrote (Worm or otherwise) a serious possibility right now?? :o

Best things - I love what I do. I love creating, I love my reader's tears, I love my readers being horrified.

This is really important. You gotta enjoy what you do.

I get to make monsters and be surprised by what my characters do. Many of my fans are just the absolute coolest people - people I'm now insanely glad to have met and include in my life. There's amazing fanart of my work out there, music, people have gotten tattoos. Tattoos. That's insane.

People have permanently, painfully painted their appreciation of your work into their bodies, Wildbow!

The bad- I'm an online content creator, and it's impossible to convey just how toxic the toxic elements of a fandom can get and how negative the negative aspects can get, and how much it can affect you.

That is true. There will always be a toxic side, and I can imagine works like Worm would attract a lot of the edgy sort.

I've seen 20 online content creators either break down or remark on the effect it has, and it's wholly accurate- and my audience isn't even ~that~ large.

Yeah, it doesn’t take that many people to start brewing fandom sides like this.

This is multiplied by the fact that writing is lonely as a profession (I know too many writers who can't even talk to their life partners about their work) and it can be hard to find perspective or balance as you take it all in, when you don't have people to communicate with.

Robert Jordan used his wife as a beta reader or editor of sorts. She was there to tell him when something he wrote didn’t quite come across, to make up for the fact that he couldn’t tell. After all, he knew what he meant by that one line.

On a similar note, some casual dating would be nice, and living in a small town for economical reasons doesn't leave me with a large dating pool, and at this point I'm not even sure if I could or should inflict myself on someone.

Oof.

There are way too many people who think like that. I hope you find happiness with someone who sees you for the good bean you are, Wildbow.

I'm healthy, groomed, I can hold a conversation, I'm just pretty set in my introverted ways.

...relatable, though.

But still, I’m pretty sure there are people out there for us, who not only tolerate but appreciate the introvert lifestyle.

Hell, both of my crushes have been very introverted, even compared to myself, so I know those people exist because I’m among them.

On another, less social note, there is the fact that as an online content creator, you can't really take breaks. Or you can, but it costs. Consistency and frequency of updates are god, and a hiatus is a death knell.

No wonder he criticized me on this that one time. In his situation, it matters a lot.

I don't even know what an effective vacation would entail, because I feel like finding my stride again would cost more than I gained from having the break. So it's been seven years and two months without a vacation, writing a short book every month.

Damn.

You deserve so many props, Wildbow.

...at some point here I started talking to Wildbow, just like I do to Taylor and other Worm characters. Well, at least this time there’s actually a chance he’s going to read this sometime, if he hasn’t dropped my blog.

I just hope he doesn’t think it’s weird that I’m liveblogging his life story.

It makes for a very strange sort of burnout, when I love it so much, I can still regularly put out some great work to acclaim and praise, but am nonetheless worn down around the edges.

That does not sound healthy.

No regrets. This is me. This is what I'm built for.

As long as you feel it’s right for you, this is good. :)

I could do with less negativity from some fans and getting regular good nights of sleep (the deafness comes with insomnia by way of terminal tinnitus), but both of those just come with the territory.

Ouch.

I feel you on the sleep front (ADD has its ways of messing with your ability to fall asleep too), but tinnitus sounds like a particularly annoying way to be inflicted with it.

I've been telling family for the last year that I'll move to a city with more going on than (as my elderly neighbor phrased it) drinking and meth, where there's classes to take, a possible dating pool, and/or activities that could break me out of my hermit shell... but my current apartment is amazing and cheap, with the nicest landlords ever. It's just in a do-nothing town. I haven't found anything remotely competitive, even taking 'cheap' off the table.

I’ve lived in small-ish towns all my life. It’s pretty nice, especially as an introvert.

So that's where I'm at.

Thank you, Wildbow. This was an interesting read. I feel like I know you a bit better now. :)

(Again, if you’re reading this, I hope it wasn’t too weird to see me liveblogging this.)

#Worm #krixwell liveblogs #Arc 14 #chapter 14.11 #14.11 bet #asks #wildbow's life #mlp:fim #i tried to keep references and jokes out of this

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gingerly-writing · 7 years

Text

Writeblr Connects

@writeblrconnections See, I promised you I’d do this eventually :P

Are you interested in finding critique groups/partners? Always Are you interested in being a beta-reader? Can do when I’m free, depending on who wants me, book length, depth of wanted critique etc. Also, only if it’s reasonably well-polished: I’m not helping someone sort out their rough rough first draft. That’s the author’s job, not the beta’s! (Sorry, just had some bad past experiences with this one, though I do genuinely love betaing amazing stuff like @jamieanovels ‘ stuff). Are you open to being tagged in writing questionnaires/asks/games? Heck yeah Are you open to being messaged to talk about writing? Absolutely! Are you open to being tagged to participate in writing discussions? As long as I’m not being dragged into The Discourse™, sure thing Would you like to participate in Writeblr by Region? I can, but I live in the Uncool™ north of England (Yorkshire), so I’m not sure how many people would be interested Would you like to participate in the Translation Corner? Not sure I’ll be much help here, ngl. If so, which languages would you like to be listed under? English, I guess, not sure that will be of any use though. I can handle highschool French, and know all the Latin basics plus enough to quote Plato at ya.

Short Profile: Preferred Nickname: Jess/Ginger Country/Region: UK/England Languages: English, a little French, enough Latin for Plato Preferred Writing Type: own novels, novel-length fic. I should branch out into short stories, but my brain doesn’t seem to understand the concept of ‘short’ :P Preferred Genre(s) to Write: fantasy, sci-fi, Preferred Genre(s) to Read: fantasy, sci-fi, all that YA dystopia/post-apocolyptic nonsense, honestly anything with a little world building, enough suspension of disbelief to keep my brain occupied, and good characters. If you give me beautiful chains of fast plot twists that slot into place like puzzle pieces towards the end of the story, I might kiss you (or the book, if you’re not about that).

Favo(u)rite Books and Authors: ahahahaha, how long to you have? Books, by title (to save me typing out the authors here too): The Host (fight me), Three Dark Crowns, Palace of Treason, Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, The Lies of Locke Lamora, the Gospel of Loki, the whole Chaos Walking series, the Martian, Cinder, I Am Number Four (the first few in the series, but mainly the first one), the Clockwork Angel series, Fangirl...I could go on Authors: Leigh Bardugo (I’m dying to read her Grisha trilogy atm), Patrick Ness, Philip Pullman, Rick Riordan...my mind’s gone blank, ahhhhhh. Honorary mention to half the fic writers I’ve ever read, you guys very often surpass published novels and authors with your skills Favo(u)rite Music Genre(s)/Artists(s): FOB, Panic! At the Disco, Lorde, Lady Gaga, a bizarre scattering across genres from Queen to Green Day and MCR to LMFAO, Lindsey Stirling and Ellie Goulding Favo(u)rite Fandoms: Movies: STAR WARS, the Man from U.N.C.L.E, X-Men and the Avengers, the DC crew when they chill with the Discourse™ (though God himself can pry Under the Red Hood from my cold, dead hands). TV Shows: YOUNG JUSTICE, Teen Titans (when it’s good, it’s so good, but when it’s bad...), the Flash (mainly for the Rogues...okay, entirely for the Rogues), Gotham is a fab TV show but I haven’t actually looked at any fic (the tag is a good kind of crazy though) Anime: Anime: Attack on Titan, I guess? I’m no weeb ;P Comics: Mainly related to animated show adaptations, so YJ, Batman, that kind of thing. I feel the need to reference Under the Red Hood again, because all the DC animated films are works of goddamn art, but that one is the greatest thing I will ever see with my own two damn eyes. Video Games: Not really my thing. Hobbies/interests other than writing: reading (haha, hilarious, real subversive), golf, badminton, passing my exams

Extended Profile: Personality Zodiac Sign: Taurus —Does it match your personality? Honestly I don’t even now what the characteristics are supposed to be. I prefer the ‘you’re a lemon tree’ kind of tumblr nonsense MBTI Type: N/A since I’m actually an alien —Does it match your personality well? Do I have a personality if I’ve not done this test? Some of y’all...would seem to think otherwise, #js Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert except for when certain individuals are annoying as fuck

Writing Habits Number/Names of WIPs: One being written currently: The Iron Flower, first book in The Flowers of War series. Numerous fics hanging around including MISFITS, but I’m focusing on original stuff right now. Favo(u)rite book about writing: Oddly, I don’t particularly like books on how to write, I tend to better by picking up how other authors do things well. Palace of Treason is a lesson in how to write a sequel (I didn’t even realise it was a sequel!) and Three Dark Crowns is a masterpiece in writing the descent into cruelty and madness. Books like The Lies of Locke Lamora and Six of Crows also motivate me to improve my plot twists, and set up brilliant chains of events that all come crashing down together. Planner, Pantser or Plantser? Compared to some people, I don’t think anyone else is a planner. I’m trying my own form of planning for The Iron Flower, and so far it’s going brilliantly. It involved writing out the entire plot in scene form, and then jumping in with no prior worldbuilding or character stuff, which is letting me develop those aspects naturally without getting stuck on where to take the plot next. I think this is a method I might stick with! Favo(u)rite Outlining Method: as above, whoopsie! Do you write on a schedule or sporadically? 500 words a day for the whole of my current project, and because that’s reasonably easy to hit, it gets me writing while also letting me beat my target almost every day, which is a lovely buzz! Any creativity rituals that you use: I sit on the same sofa with my crappy old laptop, I guess. Does that count?

Your Writing Community Tumblr: @writingwritersgroup is my official squad, but I’ve made so many other friends through the general writblr community. I’m a member of the ScriptFamily too. Current writing/creative communities you participate in: Just tumblr NaNoWriMo Community Name (if applicable): sass-master-lucifer (*cringe*, I hate how you cam’t change it!) Wattpad Community Name (if applicable): N/A fanfiction.net or AO3 Community Name (if applicable): a-really-angry-sorceress on FF. I think I’ll keep my AO3 private. DeviantArt Community Name (if applicable): N/A Patreon Community Name (if applicable): N/A

So that’s me finally done! Woah, that took some time. Looking forward to Camp Nano in a group cabin, and everything we do beyond that. Shameless plug for my prompts if anyone is looking for inspiration/wants a challenge among the community! Happy writing xx

#author tag #writblrconnects #writeblr connects #writeblrconnects #writblr connects #writblrconnections #squad #infomration

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 18

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 3k

Parts 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Sam has always had a tendency to fixate on things.

As a kid, it was easier to hide. His teachers called him “special,” sometimes “gifted.” But really it was an all-consuming voracity to understand everything on any given topic.

When he was in sixth grade one of his teachers assigned him a report on ancient Greece. It was supposed to be a two-pager, easy peasy, something Sam could do in his sleep, but he got an F because he never handed it in. Not that it mattered. Two weeks later they were back on the road. He spent a month in the back of the Impala, reading by flashlight. He checked out copies of The Iliad and The Histories of Herodotus, only to drop them off at the next town’s library and pick up a copy of The Republic. By the time he was done, when he finally felt he had a grasp on the inner workings of the culture and the people of Greece, it was nearly a year later and the paper was long forgotten.

He knew he wanted to go to college and he knew where: Stanford. His future was in California and he could feel it. He had a plan. All he needed was to get good enough grades, he could fake the rest. The morning he left the motel where his dad and brother were sleeping, he honestly thought he’d never see them again. The guilt was real as he walked down the road, sticking out his thumb to every car that passed. It was an uneasy feeling that took residence in his gut and stayed there a long time.

That feeling lingered all through freshman orientation and well into his first semester. But then he met Jess and he found a new thing to put all his focus on. His family was fucked, he knew that without a doubt. But she was his chance to be normal, to be happy. No more monsters hiding in the dark; no more made up stories about the big bad to justify all the crazy his dad spouted day in and day out. No, Jess was all the good stuff in life. She was gentle and thoughtful and way too sexy to be with tall, skinny Sam. But inexplicably she loved him and he felt like he’d won the lottery every day.

Jess became the focus which seemed to help with his studies. She was everything and school was second which made things manageable for him. Against all logic, his girlfriend didn’t distract him, she allowed his brain to focus a normal amount, to move on instead of getting stuck on the details and needing days of research to answer every niggling question. Jess balanced Sam and he never took her for granted.

When she died Sam thought he might die too. He’d never been in love before. Yeah, his dad and Dean were family and they loved him the way you love the people you also hate. But with Jess he’d been in love, ready to create his own family, to fulfill what he truly wanted in life, a normal job and a person to hold at night. Just when he finally believed the universe wasn’t so shitty, fate stepped in.

Dean came begging for him to join him on one last trip. Dad was MIA and Sam was powerless to say no. Dean needed their father in a way Sam never had. It was just a couple of days, he’d be back before anyone missed him and life would move on.

The police have maintained since the beginning that Dean killed Jess. They theorized that he stabbed her and then set the apartment on fire to cover up the evidence. For years Sam was so angry he let himself believe it. The anger would bubble up from his stomach, get caught in his throat and he’d think about how much he wished he could kill Dean.

So Sam did what Sam did best: he focused. After moving to the east coast he threw himself into law school. He lost himself in books and cases and facts. Anything but people.

Dean found him a couple of years later, showed up right after Sam graduated from Harvard Law. His brother told him how proud he was of his geeky little bro and that dad would have come but you know how he is.

“Shouldn’t you be drunk or something?” Dean chirped good naturedly as Sam stared at him in the living room of his studio loft. “Celebrating with the rest of the class? Havard fucking Law School, goddamn Sammy.”

“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam snapped back, folding his arms over his chest. He used to feel so much but as he stared at Dean all he felt was empty. “Why are you here?”

“Because,” Dean tilted his head, looking at Sam as if his brother should have already understood. “This is a pretty big deal. I’m proud of you.”

Sam stared at him in silence, both of them flinching as a car backfired outside.

“Did you do it?” Sam asked the question he’d wanted to ask for a long time. It didn't hurt to think about her anymore. Jess was just a concept now, an idea of what could be taken away if you let yourself care. It happened to his father, his mother died and his dad went batshit crazy. Sam understood now, letting people in was just setting yourself up for pain and misery. It wasn’t worth it.

“Are you really asking me if I killed your girlfriend?” Dean laughed, smile fading as he realized Sam was serious. This tall, beefed-up version of his brother wasn’t the wide-eyed, big-hearted kid he grew up with. “No, I didn’t kill her.”

“Good,” Sam nodded. “Was it dad?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean had had enough. “You think he’d do that? Why?”

“To prove a point. To get me to come back.” Sam dropped his backpack onto the table. “You should go, I have a lot of work to do.”

“You graduated three hours ago.” Dean watched Sam, realizing the extent of the damage. This Sam wasn’t his Sam at all, not anymore. “You got work to do?”

“I have to find a job, Dean. I have goals.” Sam waved his head. “Please don’t come back. This can be goodbye.”

“You mean that?” Dean asked, lips pursed trying to suss out if this was an act, but it wasn’t.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam turned, arms spread wide with desperation. “Just leave me alone. I want you and dad to stay out of my life.”

“I hear ya,” Dean looked at Sam one final time before walking out.

In hindsight Sam’s not sure what he believes truly happened all those years ago. His dad might have killed Jess, maybe to teach Sam a lesson about family and leaving. Maybe he was delusional, maybe he thought she was one of his demons. Who knows. Maybe it was Dean after all, the old man did a real number on his brother. Dean was, and is, a true believer, he always has been.

From that moment, Sam worked. He put in eighty-hour weeks, he took chances and he built an empire. With success, isolation came hand in hand. The more money and power he gained the more he saw the worst in people. Everyone wanted something from him. It was easy to become the infamous Sam Winchester he is today.

And then you walked into his hotel room.

He’s always been able to read people, a talent that’s served him well through the years. So when you looked at him that first time, pupils widening, that nervous swallow you still get when you’re excited, he knew you saw him.

For most people, the initial attraction to him is the celebrity of his success. He’s in an elite group of powerful men recognizable by the general public, which has always made him uncomfortable. Strangers in the street do a double-take, trying to figure out how they know him. Sometimes he can hear the whispers as a wife leans toward her husband.

“Tim Cook? No, but he’s someone, I know I’ve seen him before!”

But when you reacted to him, and he saw that pulse of excitement in you, there was nothing else but raw attraction that you didn’t even understand yourself. You didn’t want him, or his attention, in fact, you would have faded quietly into the background if he’d have let you. Something about that appealed to him.

For a long time, it was just sex. He meant what he said. He had needs and you were beautiful with that tight little ass. And to top it off you got wet every time he so much as raised his voice. It was just sex and then one day it wasn’t. It was something more, a small, excited feeling that he hated and denied.

There were two others before you. One woman he paid, the other wanted more from him. Neither of them sparked anything inside him.

But you did.

You asked questions, personal things that no one had dared ask in a long time. You touched him, held him after you came like you already knew he cared for you. The way you rested your head on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around him, dug up old feelings.

Sam hated those feelings with a passion. He still does.

Part of him wishes he’d never confessed them to you. He should have saved you from Brent and sent you on your way.

He’s not good for anyone, he’s a slow working poison. His cold, dead heart will leak its toxin like arsenic until one day you’ll be just as numb as he is. He’ll break you. And you’ll hate him for it, that much he knows for certain.

“She’s been like that for hours,” Sam explains, pacing back and forth in front of the bedroom door. “She can’t get warm.”

You woke up like this, shivering uncontrollably.

“Look at me,” the doctor shines a light in one eye, then the other. “Are you having any auditory symptoms? Sounds that shouldn’t be there?”

“There’s, um,” you pause, closing your eyes and honing in on the sound. “A ringing. It’s distant but constant. It started a few hours ago.”

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “What you’re feeling is normal. Everyone reacts differently and after what you went through it would be strange if you weren’t experiencing any repercussions.”

“What do we do?” Sam moves to stand behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at you. If you didn't know better you’d think he was pissed.

“Well, I can prescribe something for the panic attacks, but what she really needs is a support system and time. She should see a therapist and it should happen soon. Tomorrow at the latest. It’s vital to involve a professional as soon as possible. Will you be staying with her?”

“Yes,” Sam nods, his eyes shifting from you to the doctor.

“Good,” he turns back to you. “You may start to feel more acute feelings of loneliness and isolation. It’s normal, but you shouldn’t give in to those tendencies. You need to talk, to be around people. And I meant what I said, seek professional psychiatric help. It doesn’t make you strong to try and handle this on your own. It only makes you foolish.”

Sam settles next to you on the couch as a half dozen men and women mill around his living room. A tech sets up audio recording while another focuses a video camera on the two of you.

“I’m agent Ashburn with Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. This is Agent Murtaugh with the FBI. We’re a joint task force and we want to make this as easy as possible. Hopefully, we won’t need to speak with you a second time.” She offers a practiced smile, shifting her gaze to Sam. “We’ll probably need you for follow up. More than one I’d guess.”

“I understand,” Sam nods, crossing one leg over his knee, his arm extending over the back of the couch behind your head. “Do you know how many people were injured?”

“As of right now we’re looking at nineteen injuries and seven fatalities.” Murtaugh leans forward, both arms resting on his knees. “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t gotten to him.”

You shift in your seat, looking down at your hands. You want to ask about Max and Tim, but at the same time, you’re afraid of the answer.

“Did you see a doctor, Y/N? We have a lot of resources available.” Ashburn reaches out, tapping the coffee table gently.

“Yeah,” you look at her, feeling your heart speed up. You’ve been fighting these random panic attacks all morning and the medication only helps a little.

“We had someone come over this morning,” Sam elaborates, a hand squeezing your shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

“Just to clarify,” Murtaugh gestures with the end of his pen between you and Sam. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

That question is so complicated you don’t even know how to begin thinking about an answer but Sam picks up the slack without skipping a beat.

“Romantic,” Sam states simply.

“Right, okay.” Agent Ashburn scans through her notes, looking up to Sam. “We’re allowing you to stay with her, but these questions are for Y/N. I need her to answer, no interruptions.”

“I understand,” Sam confirms and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to focus.

“Prior to him being let go, did Brent ever say or do anything that you found odd or aggressive?”

“No, he was nice. A lot of the junior associates are assholes, sorry, jerks, but we all liked Brent.” You think back scanning your interactions with him. It’s all true, he seemed like one of the good ones.

“Would you say you were friends?”

“No. I mean, he was a work friend, but we’re not close. I said “hi” to him every morning for six months. We talked a couple of times a week. He was more than an acquaintance, less than a friend.” You look from the agents to Sam. You want to give them the right answer, to help. “I’m sorry, I’m trying, I just-”

“You’re doing great,” Sam gives you another squeeze, his voice more gentle and encouraging than you’ve ever heard him before. It’s almost unsettling.

“Yes, you are,” Murtaugh jumps in. “You’re doing what helps us most. Just talk, don’t overthink the answer. Sometimes we get the details we need when people don’t even realize it.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ever spend any time with him outside of work.”

“A few times,” you shrug. “On Wednesdays everyone goes to the bar, he went a few times. I never really talked to him though.”

“How about after he was fired? Did you have any contact?”

“Yes, I texted him. I can show you if you want.” You reach for your cell phone and Sam picks it up from the side table and hands it to you. Pulling up the text you read it out loud. “It was the only time I ever texted him. I just said We’re all so sorry about what happened. Hope you still show up for drinks.”

“He never responded?”

“No,” you hand Ashburn your phone and she reads it.

“We’ll need to keep this,” she explains, handing it off to a tech who drops it into a plastic bag. You shift towards Sam, looking down at your hands. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just, ummm, Sam and I text sometimes. There are private messages...photos.” You can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“Well, I won’t lie. Our techs will comb through everything but we’re only interested in your correspondence with Brent.”

“God,” you sigh, trying to remain calm. You should have deleted the thread between you and Keith Campbell, some of the things on there would make Ron Jeremy blush.

“Don’t worry, they’ve seen it all.” Ashburn winks, trying to keep things light-hearted and you want to sink into the couch. “I have to ask. We’re unclear on Brent’s plan. We’re not sure if he was targeting specific people, or if it was random. We know he was upset with Sam, do you feel that he may have focused on you because of your relationship with Sam?”

“No,” you sigh, the very thought is unnerving. “No one knows about us.”

“I see.” Both agents ask question after question, right down to the mundane details of your breakfast that morning, and then they go through them again. It’s almost three by the time they’re done with you. Retreating into the bedroom you turn on the TV while Sam begins his interview. You doubt you gave them anything, any insight, but Sam might. You don’t know the details of his termination, it's possible he holds all the answers.

#sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #Sam Winchester

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 12

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)

Words: 5k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 13, 14 & 15 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

You spend the weekend naked and fucking in nearly every room of his house. Sucking his cock in the middle of the kitchen, laid out over his sofa on display while he reads the paper, spanked until your ass is bright red. By Sunday night you’re tied to his bed frame and looking forward to the work week so you can get a few nights of well-deserved rest. It’s almost midnight when he sends you home, patting your cheek in appreciation then standing in his doorway, watching as you walk toward the waiting car.

There are faint black and blue marks around your wrists, leftover reminders of being bound and gagged. You look out the window, pressing on one wrist and enjoying the fading pain as the moment comes back in vivid detail. Sam can make your body respond, even when he’s not there.

There a question flickering to life in the back of your mind - how long can this last? But you push it down, refusing to acknowledge it.

Five Months Later

“What is going on down there?” Rolling your chair back, you glance down the hallway.

“Brent is getting axed.” Millie wheels her chair toward you, and the two of you sit side by side listening to the commotion down the hallway. There’s muted yelling coming from one of the conference rooms.

“Really?” You know he screwed up, it was bad enough for Sam to bring up in casual conversation. “I liked Brent, he wasn’t a total ass like the rest of them.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t last,” Lexi chimes in, walking up behind you, resting her hip on the corner of your desk. “I heard he got called up to the attic this morning. Word is, he told Sam that it wasn’t even him that mixed up the dates, it was Tobias but they blamed him.”

“You think that’s true?” you ask, listening as the yelling escalates and two uniformed security guards come trotting down the hallway.

“I don’t think Sam Winchester does anything unless he’s one hundred percent sure about it.” Millie offers and you shift in your seat.

While your arrangement with Sam has grown into itself, it still makes you uncomfortable when anyone else talks about him. It feels like they’re going to find out your secret just by the look on your face.

Life has been split into two categories. The normal work week, which is usually boring and predictable - you go to work, go home. You get the occasional text from Keith Campbell, a little homework every now and then but for the most part your professional life has turned into just that, strictly professional.

It’s the weekends that you indulge in each other. From Friday afternoon until Sunday night you live in a sexual fantasy, engaging in whatever wonderful torture he decides to inflict. He was the one who talked of compartmentalizing his life but you’ve done the same.

Bang.

The door to the conference room flies open, hitting the wall with a thud. All three of you jump. Brent is hauled out of the room by the guards, who are now joined by four more, as they wrestle him out of the building.

“Poor guy,” you mumble, looking away.

“Another one bites the dust.” Millie shakes her head. “We’ve got it good. We stay under the radar and just do our job.”

“We should head over to the auditorium.” Lexi taps the back of your chair.

It’s Sam’s monthly employee meeting and everyone is expected to be in attendance. Grabbing your coat, the three of you head out of the main building to the staff auditorium. There are always refreshments and snacks if you get there in enough time and you wander around, talking to other employees and sipping seltzer.

You’re discussing Lexi’s upcoming blind date when there’s a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Pepper, looking as irritated as always. “He wants to see you. Now.”

Sam hasn’t called for you in person, during work hours, in months. You’re taken off guard, looking sideways at Millie and Lexi who are both as surprised as you are. You’ve done your best to keep the fact that you occasionally meet with him a secret. As far they know you’re just another low-level assistant

“Come on!” Pepper snips, grabbing your arm and hauling you off. You follow her backstage, winding through a labyrinth of hallways until she stops at the door to a small room. You step inside and she closes the door.

Sam is standing, one hand in his pocket eyes fixed on his phone. He looks up, smiling when he sees you. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You clasp your hands together.

“You look surprised. Am I interrupting something?” He cocks an eyebrow, stepping closer. Every action he makes has a purpose, especially the way he moves.

“Not at all.” You tilt your chin up toward him. “I was just caught off guard. You don’t mix work and us these days. I’m always happy to come when you want me.”

That last statement makes his eye twitch, nostrils flaring.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He inches nearer, eyes dropping down your body. “I wanted to make sure that you don’t have plans this weekend.”

“Do I ever have plans?” you counter, watching him lick his lips. You know one thing for sure, the longer this has gone on, the hungrier he is for you. And the feeling is mutual.

“Yes, but today is your birthday. People normally celebrate with friends. You don’t have anyone coming into town?”

“No,” you nod, holding your head high. “I’m all yours.”

“Good. Be ready tonight at eight. Wear a dress, something nice. I’ll pick you up.”

“We’re going out?”

He hasn’t taken you anywhere other than his bed since San Francisco. In fact, some weekends you never wear anything at all, naked from Friday to Sunday. You wonder if this is for your birthday or one of his social engagements. It’s not uncommon for him to take a date, but as far as you know it’s always Pepper who accompanies him in public. He says it’s cleaner that way. Everyone knows she’s his assistant so there are no misunderstandings.

“Yes,” he confirms. “No panties, hair down.” His eyes linger then he steps back, smoothing down his tie.

“I look forward to it.” You watch as he leaves the room, always left in a wake of excitement and expectation.

It’s almost eight as you look in the mirror, adjusting your dress. It’s black and tight, falling just above your knee. The neckline is lower than you're used to but nothing scandalous. It’s the back that’s the real show stopper, it’s open all the way down to just above your ass crack. You hope it’s not too much, Sam will occasionally comment on your clothing choices but you think you’ve got a handle on his taste. Above all else he prefers class.

His car pulls up just before eight. You’re waiting by the front door of your brownstone apartment building, hurrying down the steps, eager to find out what’s in store.

The driver opens the door and you slide in next to him.

“How are you tonight?” he asks, his hand already on your knee, slipping between your legs.

“Excited. I haven’t been out in a long time.”

“Well, let’s hope this evening lives up to your expectations,” he purrs, hand sliding just a little further up your leg. “I hope you’re not too hungry, we aren’t eating until after.”

“After what?” You look up, his fingers pressing into the warm flesh inside of your thigh.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He grins, giving you a squeeze and removing his hand. “Before we go any further, I need to tell you that I allowed Pepper to choose a second assistant for the Tokyo trip next month. I expressed my preference for you, but she chose Lexi.”

“That’s no surprise I guess.” You can’t help but be disappointed. “I mean, I’d like to see Japan, but you know better than anyone Pepper hates me. We don’t work well together.”

He chuckles. “She’s not one to hide her feelings.”

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Two weeks. Don’t worry, I’ll have you report to me every night. You’ll have a list of tasks for while I’m gone.” He holds his stare and you get lost in the moment, drowning in those eyes that you’ve come to know oh so well.

“I look forward to it.”

“I would expect nothing less. We’re here.” He points out the window as the car pulls up to the Boston Museum of Modern Art.

“We’re going here?” you ask looking back at him. “It’s closed.”

“Not to us,” Sam corrects you, allowing the driver to help you out before following. You feel his hand on your naked back, sliding down to the dip in your lower back. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Excellent choice.”

“I thought you might like it.” You smile, taking his arm and walking toward the entrance. The thought dawns on you like a bolt of lightning. “This is the Yayoi exhibit.”

“You said you wanted to see it didn’t you? The timing was perfect.” He looks proud of himself as a porter opens the front door for you.

“I said I wanted tickets-” You’re dumbfounded, looking around at the empty museum.

“This is better. A private viewing without the distractions.”

There’s a man bustling toward you with several people following.

“Mr. Winchester!” A short, sharply dressed man extends his hand. “We are so honored to have you here. I’m Cecil Baton, the general director. On behalf of the entire board, we want to extend our heartfelt thanks for all the support you’ve offered over the years.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Sam nods in confirmation, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you forward. “This is Y/N, she’s very much looking forward to seeing Infinity Mirrors.”

Cecil takes your hand, shaking it vigorously.

“We are thrilled to be able to repay your generosity by hosting a viewing for you and your lovely friend.” Cecil makes a tsking sound and a uniformed waiter steps forward with two flutes of champagne. “May we interest you in a glass of Dom Perignon?”

“Thank you for the gesture, I don’t drink,” Sam affirms and looks to you. “Go ahead.”

You hesitate for a moment before taking the glass off the tray and then the two of you are whisked down a hall, as you explore the wonders of each colorful, unique room.

By the time you’re done, you’ve finished three glasses of champagne and are floating on cloud nine as Cecil chatters away, walking you out. He goes on and on about how wonderful Sam is. Leaving you to ponder exactly how much money he must have donated to get a reception like this. You probably don’t want to know.

“What did you think?” he inquires as you walk back toward the car.

“It was...better than I could have imagined. What an experience.” You feel like you’re vibrating with happiness. While you’ve never lived through any kind of cruelty, you’ve also never been pampered in any sense of the word. This is a scenario you could never have imagined. You turn to him, stopping in your tracks and gripping both his arms. “Thank you so, so much.”

“It was nothing.” He shakes it off, giving your elbow a squeeze. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”

Dinner is at a French restaurant called Mistral.

He orders for you, but he’s better at it now than he was in the beginning. He’s come to know your preferences, even ordering you a fourth glass of champagne, toasting you with his seltzer water.

“Sam,” you start, looking from the tuna tartar. “Is there a reason you haven’t touched me yet tonight?”

“I touched you in the car,” he smirks.

“Yes, but you didn’t touch me. I mean, you are going to, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, sitting back in his seat, one arm resting on the table. “It’s your birthday. The one day of the year I’m going to leave it up to you. Start thinking about what you want tonight. It’s your choice.”

You can’t help your grin, giggling a little as you sip from the flute. “I’m not sure I even know where to start.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” With a genuine laugh, he goes back to his salad as you talk about your favorite part of the exhibit and the various other artists you hope to see in your lifetime. When you finish he’s quietly watching you, seemingly satisfied to sit and listen as you ramble on. “Do you have anything on your bucket list? I know you have more money than God, so you can probably see and do anything you want but there’s gotta be something.”

“Hmm,” he indulges your question, really giving it thought. “I want to see the northern lights. I’ve never had the chance.”

“That’s a good one,” you agree as your empty plate is swapped out for a giant tower of chocolate and raspberries. You almost squeal, a little tipsy and having arguably the best birthday of your life. “Come on, try some. One spoonful of sugar won’t kill you.”

“No.” He shakes his head, face lit up in amusement.

“Oh come on Sam, it’s my birthday. You said I’m in charge tonight...one bite.”

He contemplates your request and just when you think he’s going to tell you no he reaches over and spoons a bite of your dessert. Popping it in his mouth and wincing, “too sugary.”

“Your loss,” you laugh, digging in.

“Have you decided?” Sam's teasing, watching you blush in the low light of his bedroom.

“Yes,” you nod. “There are several things I’d like tonight, but first I want you to take your clothes off.”

He raises his eyebrows, but compiles immediately, toeing his shoes off and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. You do the same, stripping down until you’re both nude and staring at each other. He’s already half hard, cock thickening right before your eyes.

“In a little bit, I want to suck your cock. Then I’d like you to spank me, not too hard though.” You explain, biting your bottom lip as he nods in agreement.

“We can do both those things.”

“But first I want you to lay down on the bed.” You clear your throat, not comfortable giving the instructions. This is his territory.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down before laying back on the pillows. You crawl over him, straddling his legs, then moving until you’re sitting across his upper thighs, his erection standing tall against your stomach.

“I want to touch you,” you admit, watching him blink in response. You reach up, placing your opens palms over his chest, feeling him twitch under your touch. Fanning outward you sweep your palms over his chest and toward his shoulders, sliding over warm skin. Both his hands are resting on your thighs. He sighs when you run your nails through the hair on his forearms and then lean forward to suck on the skin of his neck.

A low groan leaves his throat as you nip at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and before you think better of it you place a kiss just under his ear. It’s a lingering touch and then you do it again and again moving downward until you find yourself under his jaw, scraping teeth over his five o’clock shadow. When you raise your head to look down at him, his eyes are closed, popping open seconds later. Staring at each other, his hands slide around to cup your ass cheeks, rocking upward as his cock rubs over your stomach.

You shift forward and rub your clit against his cock, nose pressed into the side of his cheek.

“Fuck my mouth,” you whisper.

Sam moves in record time, flipping you onto your back as you yelp in surprise. Getting off the bed he grabs you by the ankle rolling you onto your belly then turning you in a half circle until your head is hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Open.” Your jaw falls slack as he slides the head of his dick past your lips and you suck hard, as he slides forward. “Take it,” Sam purrs, reaching down to stroke your cheek as his cock hits the back of your throat. You hum around his dick, let him push forward until his balls press into your chin. “Just like that.”

His deep voice conveying words of praise go straight to your clit, throbbing between your legs, triggering the slick that’s leaking from your sex. You let him fuck your throat looking up as he stares down at you with forced concentration. Without warning, he pulls out of your mouth leaving a trail of spit as he taps your shoulder like he’s tapping out of a fight.

“Roll over,” he commands, big hands turning you over as you comply without hesitation. Head tilting backward over the edge of the bed, upside down. He places one hand at the side of your face, the other on his cock as he pushes back between your lips. “Open up.”

He slides his cock over your tongue and past your uvula as you swallow him whole. Pressing forward he watches the bulge in your throat, then reaches down to rub the outline of the head of his cock as you choke around him. “Fucking perfect.”

He holds himself there for a five count, you know it well. He’s rough, but consistent which helps for things like this. The next one will be longer, but if you count to ten you know he’ll give you relief.

He pulls out, drool leaking over the sides of your face as you gasp for air. Holding his spit-wet dick in his hand he rubs the head over your face, tapping your cheek several times before sliding back inside, right back into the deep stretch while you concentrate on breathing through your nose.

This is one of your favorite things. While you knew you liked sucking dick, having him fuck your mouth as you lay on the bed is a whole other level. Your pussy is slick, throbbing with excitement as you gag around his thick shaft.

“I can see my cock in your throat,” he observes, rubbing the bulge with two fingers. He pulls back, leaving you a mess of spit and tears, eyes watering, but you eagerly open back up, tongue out as he thrusts back in. “Do you like this? Choking on a cock?”

“Uhhh,” you rattle, vibrating around him, unable to do little more than make desperate gurgling sounds.

“I know you do.” He strokes your cheek, rocking forward, getting just a tiny bit deeper. “What do you say?”

“Huh ooo,” is your version of thank you as you swallow him whole.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he grunts, pulling out. You look up at the sight of him holding his cock in his hand, inches from your face.

“In my mouth,” you confirm, clamping your thighs together. “I want to taste you.”

“Open wide.” Reaching forward he gives your nipple a hard squeeze before jerks himself with the head of his cock on your tongue. A half dozen strokes later he's cumming warm and salty as you suck and swallow with fervor. “Keep sucking, just like that,” he instructs as your tongue gently swirls around the sensitive head.

When he’s really into it he can stay hard after he cums. He’s done it plenty of times before. He can’t always get off again, but he can damn sure fuck you into next week.

You carefully attend to his cock, rolling his balls in your hand until he’s sufficiently aroused and then he pulls you off his dick by your hair.

“On your hand and knees,” he instructs, gesturing toward the bed. You scramble into position, feeling your pussy ache as he knees his way between your calves. “You want me to spank you?”

“Yes, please.” You look back at him, arching your back, widening your legs.

“You’re going to get a spanking while my cock is in your pussy,” he huffs, running a hand over your lower back, down the crack of your ass. “Make sure you ask before you cum. No more rule breaking, not even on your birthday.”

You swallowed his load before he told you to, part of you was wondering if he’d punish you for it.

“I understand,” you confirm feeling the thick head of his cock sink into your slippery pink cunt. It’s an easy slide despite his size, but you're wet enough to take him to the root on the first stroke. He holds himself deep, balls pressed into your mound and then his hand comes down on your backside.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

It’s perfect. He knows your body to a tee, knows exactly how hard you like it. His harder spanks are saved for discipline and his softer ones are teasing, but this is the perfect sting.

“It’s your birthday, twenty-nine would be the tradition, wouldn’t it?” He strokes in and out, nestling back inside before bestowing three more smacks on the other cheek.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

“Fuck,” you breath, clenching around his shaft.

He pulls out, only to thrust back inside and then they come in rapid succession. Too many to count. All you can do is howl, twisting on his cock until he finally stops, both hands gripping your ass, squeezing.

“Would you like to cum now?” His inquiry is accompanied by a series of shallow thrusts.

“Yes.”

“How? Like this?” You’re not used to being asked for your preference and hesitate before answering.

“Yes, but I want you to hold yourself deep and rub my clit.”

He snorts, leaning over your back. “Anything for the birthday girl.”

Pressing forward he stuffs your cunt until he’s right against your cervix, sending out those little sparks of pain you love so much. His middle finger finds its way to your clit, making soft circles and you’re already there.

“May I cum?” you pant, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.

“Yes.”

It’s the only permission you need before falling over the edge and cumming around his cock. You jerk, moaning and whimpering as you tighten around his shaft. He takes his hand away from your bud but holds himself inside you until your orgasm begins to fade. He pulls out only to slide back inside again, thrusting slow and even, two hands gripping your hips.

“We’re going to get one more out of you tonight.”

You’re sweating.

You flex, blinking awake trying to figure out why you’re overheated only to find Sam wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your shoulder blades, soft belly at the small of your back.

It’s not the first time. He often slings an arm over you in his sleep, but he’s never cocooned you before. You wiggle backward, testing the waters and his grip tightens as the arm over your side curls under your stomach, pulling you back into him.

If he woke up like this you’re not sure what reaction he’d have. The two of you live in a strange world, a weekend relationship devoid of soft affection but always intense. The two of you have slipped into a safe space, an agreement and routine that seems to be working. This isn’t moving backward or forward, you’re stuck in a loop of sex and gratification that never fails to leave you somewhat crestfallen as you head into the week. You spend your time waiting until you’ll see him next, hoping for a little more.

You lie there, half awake, body hyper aware of him holding you for nearly two hours. It’s morning when he finally rolls away, grunting in his sleep and flipping onto his stomach retreating back to his side of the bed.

Sam’s sleeping belly down in the bed, mouth open as his back slowly rises and falls with his breath. You lay there, unmoving, watching his relaxed features, that handsome face looking almost boyish with his pink-flush cheek smashed into the pillow. He’d never let you gaze at him like this if he was awake, so you indulge while you can.

There’s no need to look at the clock to know it’s early, the way the light filters through his windows shifts depending on the time of day. That and he’s not up yet. It must be before six if he’s still out like a light.

The clock confirms it’s five forty-five and for once on a Saturday morning, you’re willingly awake before noon. He normally let’s you sleep in while he goes for a run and does a few hours of work. You give him one last look and gently crawl out of bed, pulling on white cotton panties and foregoing all other clothes, heading to the kitchen to make tea.

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when you hear it, a shuffling behind you. It’s impossible to explain how you know it’s not Sam, but you do. You can sense it. Every hair on your body stands up on end and when you turn around you’re faced with a stranger standing in the middle of Sam’s kitchen.

He’s tall, not as tall as Sam but a big guy and you’re instantly frozen in place, practically naked, blinking at the man in front of you. His shirt is spattered with blood, the red stains that are unmistakable.

“Well shit,” he smirks, a grin tugging at his mouth as he eyes your naked tits. “He always had good taste.”

“Um,” you stammer, taking a step back. “Um, who-”

You can’t find the words, your brain shutting down as he gets closer.

“Look at you,” he whistles, sauntering around you as you turn in a slow circle to keep him in your line of sight. His eyes dropping down the length of your body, head to toe. “How much does a guy like Sam pay for a girl like you? Do you charge by the hour or the night? I mean, I’ve been to Vegas, fucked my fair share of working girls but hot damn sweetheart, you are something special.”

It’s at that moment that your thoughts come together to form a coherent thought. This is Dean, Sam’s brother.

“Pleasedon’thurtme,” you squeak out in one quick utterance.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. My brother has never been very good at sharing anyway.” His eyes hone in on the fresh bruises on your hips, leftover handprints.

“Wh-what do you want?” you stutter, now shaking in fear. Dean closes in and you back up into the counter, trapped by his advance.

“Don’t worry,” he eyes your tits again. “Nothing you can give me, at least not right now.”

“Get away from her.” Sam’s voice booms from across the kitchen, standing bare-chested in a pair of pajama pants, eyes on fire. He looks from Dean to you, extending a hand. “Come here.”

“We were just getting to know each other.” Dean offers a lopsided grin.

Eyes glued on Dean, you inch sideways until you can scurry across the kitchen, letting Sam pull you to him.

“Sam,” you look at him, eyes wide.

“It’s okay.” He takes a half step in front of you, putting himself between you and his brother. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

“Did I come at a bad time? I understand if you wanna be sure you get your money’s worth before we get down to business.”

“She’s not a hooker,” Sam clarifies, tilting his head, eyes never leaving his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, making a production of leaning to the side to look at you. “Didn’t think so. Good for you, getting back on the horse after all these years. I’m happy for ya.”

“Cut the shit,” Sam steps forward and you move with him, pressing against his back. “What the hell are you doing in my house? Are you trying to get me arrested?”

“Trust me.” Biting his lip, Dean chuckles to himself. “This is the last fucking place I want to be. But I need you, Sammy, there’s some bad shit about to go down. End of the world type stuff. Dad and I need you.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Sam snorts, his posture softening. “No.”

“Tell you what. How ‘bout you put your girl back to bed and we talk about this alone?”

“How about you get the hell out of my house?” Sam counters. “You must be high if you think I would ever do anything for you or dad.”

“Just hear me out, Sam.” All the playfulness drains from Dean’s face. “Dad went on an a...hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a while.”

“How is this any different from any other time?” Sam shakes his head. “You know this feels familiar. It’s been fourteen years since the last time you showed up with this same story. I went with you and Jess ended up dead. You ruined my life and Dad showed up when he damn well felt like it. So no, there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.”

“We need you.” Dean’s mouth pulls tight. “I know you’ve got a whole white collar thing going on and a life, a girlfriend. I wouldn’t ask if I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice Dean. I made mine a long time ago. Dad said if I left not to come back and I haven’t. So get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

“Sam,” Dean takes a step forward. “This is your family.”

“No,” Sam spits back. “Family was an illusion. A convenient guilt trip to get me to do what you and dad wanted. I don’t have time for family, Dean. My life is full up.”

“Okay,” Dean looks at the floor, before leaning to the side to look at you again. “Nice to meet you-”

“Stop talking to her.” Sam’s voice is colder than you’ve ever heard him, venom simmering under his words. “You stay away from me and you stay away from her. You hear me, Dean?”

“I hear you.” Dean waits for a beat, looking from Sam to you and then he’s gone just as quick as he came.

“Sam,” you sputter as he turns to you, placing a hand on each shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

#Control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

376 notes · View notes

thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Six

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta: ilikaicalie

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Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room

Sam is startled awake, frightened and sweating. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling wrapped in the darkness of the night. There’s a candle flickering beside the bed almost completely burned down to the chamberstick and the smell of sweet salve, it’s a tell-tale sign. Dean must’ve dressed his head wound. He gingerly touches his forehead, wincing when he gets close to the gash and shakes sleep away.

It’s dark outside the window. The fall from the horse knocked him for a loop but now he’s able-bodied and not sure he’ll be able to sleep any more. He gets up, dresses and heads out to explore the house at night.

Entering the kitchen, he sets his lantern on the table and sits down to open his father’s ledger. It’s only as he settles in that he notices a faint light coming from down the hall. -

Most nights you retreat to the sewing room. There’s no one about the house at this hour and your bedroom can often feel like a prison. So after everyone is asleep you sit by the fire and read until the early hours of the morning.

You don’t hear Sam approaching, he’s quiet as a mouse until the door creaks open and you nearly jump out of your skin. For a moment you think it’s your stepmother, only to be met with the face of the handsome Constable.

Slapping the book closed and tucking it in beside you in the chair, you sit at attention, watching him inch inside the door. “You scared me nearly half to death.” “Pardon my intrusion. I saw a light.” He smiles softly, a wonderful, gentle smile you wouldn’t expect from such a beast of a man.

“It is no intrusion. I come here to read when sleep eludes me.” You can’t help but feel a thrill as he steps closer. “Will you sit with me, Constable Winchester?”

You pat the sofa beside you, watching as he bites his bottom lip. He bows his head in confirmation, then he takes a seat.

“How would your fiance’ feel about you being alone with me?” Sam asks, awaiting the answer with bated breath. He cannot deny his interest in you, especially to himself.

“I believe I told you Brom had proposed, not that I ever accepted.” Looking him over you scoot to the side, making more room. “I would expect more attention to detail from a man of the law, Constable.” “You must call me Sam,” he offers, leaning close to get a better view of the volume you hid away. “You come here to read books which you must hide?” he grins, tilting his head to read the spine of the book in question. “The Knights of the Round Table...isn’t that for children?” “Not everything is as it appears.” You pick up the large book, taking another, smaller volume from inside. “It was my mother’s book. My father frowned at them when they were hers, he would frown at me now. He believes tales of romance caused the brain fever that killed my mother. She died two years ago come midwinter.” Sam nods, “I am very sorry. I saw it written in the front of the family bible.” “The nurse who cared for her during her sickness is the new Lady Van Tassel.” “There was something else too.” Sam can’t stop the investigator inside him. “Why did no one think to mention that Van Garretts are kit and kin to the Van Tassels?”

“Why because there is hardly a household in Sleepy Hollow that is not connected to every other by blood or marriage. I have more cousins than fingers and toes to count them on.” That thought seems to amuse him, cheeks rounding, dimples appearing. “What?”

“Dean is all the family I have the world.” He looks up, his eyes lingering for a moment too long.

A cock crows outside, dawn is coming soon.

“This land was Van Garrett Land, given to my father when I was in swaddling clothes,” you continue, eager to find any reason to keep him with you. Enjoying this sweet moment of privacy. “Given by the dead Van Garrett?” he inquires. “Yes,” you nod. “The Van Garretts were the richest family around these parts even then. When my father brought us to Sleepy Hollow, Van Garrett set him up with an acre, a broken-down cottage, and a dozen Van Garrett hens. My father prospered and built us a new house. I owe my happiness to him. I remember living poor in the cottage. Would you like to see it? I could take you there.” “Yes. I would like to see where you were as poor as I am.” He grins, unnaturally handsome and you want nothing more than to throw yourself at him.

Sam stands to leave and you stand too, revealing the book you had been reading. You give it a final look before handing it to him.

“Take this. It is my gift to you, Sam.” He carefully takes it from you, big hands curling around the spine as he reads the title: A Compendium of Spells, Charms, and Devices of the Spirit World. “I am grateful for the gift, but perhaps you should keep it. I have no use for it.” He steps closer to hand it back. “Are you so certain of everything?” You look at him, purposely holding his stare.

He inspects it, opening the cover and flipping to the back. There’s your name but in different handwriting is also the name Elizabeth Van Tassel.

“This was your mother’s?” He looks up, surprised.

“Keep it close to your heart.” You inch closer, nearer than you should be. “It is sure protection against harm.” His eyes narrow, looking from you to the book. “Are you so certain of everything?” “Almost always…” you whisper, tiling your head toward him like a plant hungry for the sun.

His lips meet yours in a single, longing kiss as his hand curls around your arm. He lingers for a fleeting moment, nuzzling his nose into your cheek before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I should go. It’s almost dawn and the staff will be waking. Being caught together as day breaks would certainly stir rumors.”

“I’ve never cared what people say about me.” You swim in the feeling of the kiss as he backs away.

“I will see you soon, Y/N.”

Sleepy Hollow Farmland

You and Sam make a pretty picture on horseback, riding slowly toward the ruins of the cottage you lived in as a child.

“I saw the photos on your desk,” you mention casually, watching him ride beside you. “Are they your family?”

“Yes, people I have lost.” He offers you a forced smile, hand tightening around the reigns. “My parents and someone I cared for.”

“A lost love?” you ask gently and he nods. “Did you lose her recently?”

“No, it was ten years ago now. But if I’m honest there are days when it feels as if no time has passed at all.”

“The heart heals slowly. There are days when I forget my mother is gone. Just this morning I had a fleeting thought. I wanted to tell her how excited I was to bring you here, only to remember that she is gone.”

“I know those moments as well.” He slows his horse as you approach the cottage. There’s almost nothing left but the hearth and part of a crumbling chimney.

Sam dismounts, turning to offer you a hand and help you off your horse. There’s a thrill at the feeling of his hands on yours and you’re about to let go when you notice little scars on his palm. You take his hand between your own, running your thumbs over the little dimples.

“These are strange,” you look up to him. “What are they?” “I wish I knew. I’ve had them since I can remember.”

You inspect him for a moment longer, before taking his hand into yours and leading him into the ruins of the cottage. Sam's attention is caught by a red cardinal on a branch, much like the bird he had in New York. He reflects a moment, then turns to watch you crouching by the hearth. You look back at him, threading the stem of a flower into your hair. “I used to play by this hearth. It was my first drawing school and my mother was my teacher.” Unwittingly, you’re mimicking Sam's dream. You pick up a twig and start drawing on the hearthstone, just as his mother did. His blood runs cold but you’re unaware of the effect it’s having on him. Then he notices the few small wildflowers growing in the old fireplace and feels short of breath, leaning against the stones for support. “Oh, look! I'd forgotten this.” You smile. “See, carved into the fire-back, the Archer.” Using your fingers you clean off the dirt around a simple carving of a man with a Bow and Arrow. “This was from long before we lived here.” You look to Sam, who’s pale as a ghost. “Are you alright?” He nods but says nothing. You’re about to press him when you spot the cardinal too.

“Look there!” you point. “They are my favorite. I would love to have a tame one, but I wouldn't have the heart to cage him. “Then I have something for you.” Sam unslings his satchel, watching your face light up. You’re too beautiful and vibrant a creature to be stuck in a dark place like Sleepy Hollow.

It’s a paper disk with a red bird on one side and an empty cage on the other. Both ends of the disk are pierced by a looped string so that the disk can spin and twist. It was his mother’s gift to him many years ago.

“Come here, let me show you.” He steps behind you, indulging as he presses his chest into your back, arms reaching around your waist. You hum to life at the sensation of his large body curled over yours.

“A cardinal on one side, and an empty cage on the other.” You watch with bated breath as he spins the disk. “And now…” Once he moves it fast enough the bird appears to be inside the cage. You’re thrilled and excited, tilting back to look up at him. “You can do magic! Teach me!” “It is not magic. It’s optics,” he chuckles, lowering his mouth to the side of your head, he’s close enough you can feel his breath on your temple. Sam gives you the toy and shows you how to spin it. “Separate pictures which become one when the picture spins. Like the truth which I must spin here.” He steps away, shifting to the side and watching while you spin the disk, the bird appears in the cage. “I may keep it?”

“Of course.” He confirms. “I’d give you anything you asked for to see you smile like this.”

His words send a flush to your cheeks and the disk in your hands is momentarily forgotten as you gaze at the handsome man before you.

“Anything?” you ask coyly.

“Anything.” His stare is unyielding, eyes fixed on yours.

“Another kiss?” you inquire, only to have him swooping down to pull you into his arms and his mouth close over your own. There’s a desperate passion that was not there this morning. This kiss stokes a fire in your belly, fanning the flame that his touch sparked in the sewing room.

You moan softly into his mouth, only to have him take advantage as his tongue slides past your lips, gliding, plunging, delving deeper and deeper until you’re breathless.

Before you know what’s happening his hand is on your stomach, pushing you back until you’re flush with the hearth, trapped between cold stone and the heat of his body. He pulls away with a pop, only to move down your jaw, drawing a breathless mewl from your lungs as he nips and sucks at the skin of your neck.

“Touch me,” you pant, fisting your hands in his hair.

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s wanted to kiss you, to ravage every inch of you, since the first moment he saw you. It’s a desire that’s only grown with time. He groans against the hot, sweating skin in the crook of your neck as his hand finds its way under your dress.

When his knuckles meet the soft skin of your thighs you gasp in response, pressing forward into his touch. Two fingers brush over the thatch of hair at your sex, scooping forward until he finds warm, wet flesh. You must want him as much as he desires you because you’re thoroughly slick.

“Sam,” you moan, spurring him on as those fingers thrust upward into the tightness of your channel. His thumb goes in search of your delicate pearl, sliding back and forth until you nearly squeal, two hands grabbing at his back confirming he’s found his target.

You can feel him inside you, two thick fingers thrusting in and out as he rubs your bud, bringing a wash of pleasure and wanton lust over every inch of you. You can also hear it, the sound of your sex taking his fingers and then the sensation of his mouth biting across the swell of your breasts.

If Sam had any less self-control he’d throw you to the ground and rip this ridiculous dress right off you. He’d fuck you here in the dirt, but he won’t. A woman as sweet as you deserves things like a bed and mattress.

He can feel it when you cum. You whimper, desperate cunt tightening around his knuckles, little sucking clenches that draw him deeper until you’re boneless in his grasp.

He pulls his hand from between your legs, sullied fingers on your throat as he hooks both hands under your jaw and kisses you again and again, swallowing every gasp and sigh until you’re lost in his mouth and his touch.

You spend the better part of the morning enthralled with each other, gentle touches and passionate kisses until the sun rises high overhead and you have no choice but to return home.

#sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester au

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