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#unwitting beauty
crashmagazine · 9 months ago
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The Unwitting Beauty Photography of the Paparazzi.
Ana Takahashi has been pushing the limits of beauty through adventurous makeup looks that concentrate on pure creativity and fun instead of boring norms of perfection. In this story, she goes back to a time when celebrities were being snapped in their cars after crazy parties, giving place to images that are still iconic to this day. We all remember the famous paparazzi pictures of Paris Hilton, Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan in crazy sparkly outfits, showing off a hedonistic lifestyle in the midst of the 2000s. Here is an up-to date version of a time when sky blue eyeshadow was all the rage. The unwitting beauty photography of the paparazzi…
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eggpuffs · 8 months ago
not quite a prank and more just me unknowingly being a monster but one time my friend in 3rd grade told me how to read palms and I bragged about it at lunch. and some kid asked me to read his but I forgot everything except for what the middle line meant and his was short so I told him he was going to die young. juan if youre still out there somewhere MY BAD😭
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 I LOVE THAT THAT WAS WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH like quick tell him he’s going to die
 i love it and i hope juan’s been living a long and fulfilling life
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hypocretin · a year ago
The creak of door-hinges and feet dragging heavy upon the thin, hard carpet stir Martin from his unintended slumber, journal and pen still sat upon his chest where he had laid them when his eyes had grown too heavy and hands too weary to endure even the effort of placing them at the nightstand.
The bed rocks, its old frame whining with effort as Jon collapses beside him, clinging scents of parchment and magnetic tape trailing after. Martin does not even open his eyes as he sets aside the moleskine and rolls to close the space between them.
Left unchecked, Jonathan Sims would work himself to an early grave, so often does he habitually push himself to further and further hours without rest. Most nights it is Martin who must go and fetch him from the corner they have set aside for his study, coaxing him with gentle pleads and bribes of fresh-brewed tea—but this eve he had fallen to the quiet lulls of the countryside early, and so the hour had grown late and his wonderful fool had stretched and worked himself to a breaking point.
He slips his fingers along the sides of Jon’s face, all bristling and rough from days left untended, and draws him gently into a kiss, prompting drowsy reciprocation and a low, contented hum from the exhausted Jon, who finds in that contentment inspiration enough to gather his strength to turn and meet his partner.
Martin toes the leather heel of Jon’s shoe and begins the fumbling task of prying them off, unwilling to quit his hands from the unusual roughness of his jaw. Jon laughs at the effort, lips curling, impossibly fond, into a smile against Martin’s, and joins the effort with ratifying zeal; his hands in Martin’s hair and his own feet kicking and fumbling inelegantly at the scuffed oxfords.
He leans himself slightly harder against Martin, propping himself upon his partner’s figure for a more advantageous position in their endeavor, one knee against the mattress between Martin’s thighs so as to anchor it. If Jon notices at all the sound of bashful surprise that passes from his beloved’s mouth to his own as he presses his body against him in this way, he considers it only appropriate acknowledgement of his achievement, as the first shoe slips from his heel and falls tumbling to the floor.
He makes a prideful sound of satisfaction with his success, contentedly enjoying this game of theirs as he shifts and presses further atop Martin, beginning anew with the left shoe, now.
Believing it to be rather against the spirit of their game, he does not open his eyes as he continues, and so does not notice the burning red of his partner’s flushed expression. Nor, in his cheerful pursuit of their task, does he note the way in which Martin’s motions—the subtle gesture of his hips and gentle clawing desperation in his hands—build not at all to the grand quest of Removing Jon’s Shoes While Kissing.
It is not until the second shoe finally drops and tumbles to the carpet beside the first and Jon gleefully hums his triumphant “a-ha!” through Martin’s mouth that he notices the flustered rapture and desire he has inspired in his partner, realization descending upon him all at once.
It is so suddenly and with such stuttering, manic alarm that Jon pulls away that for a moment Martin recoils in fearful apprehension, anxious that perhaps he had harmed or mistreated his beloved in some way.
And so it is there, upon his back, still partially beneath the weight of his partner and head swimming with the hectic glow of base desires that Martin listens—attentively, if somewhat flustered—as Jonathan explains for the first time in his awkward, frenetic, stammering way his disinclination for sexual intimacy.
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kkglinka · 5 months ago
While Yang is an allusion to the fairytale "Goldilocks and the Three Bears", I don't believe she's the titular character.
Modern audiences fixate on the Rule of Three and its middle path (just right) corollary, owing to a later writer altering the main character from an old woman (silver-haired) into a pretty little girl (golden-haired), but in all versions of the tale and its oral predecessors, the moral is: don't be a self-absorbed squatter and thief. Goldilocks trespasses, damages property, steals food, uses the stool and/or bed. She's so entitled and inconsiderate, that she robs a baby. While later versions soften the impact by turning the main character into a somewhat unwitting child, Goldilocks is nevertheless the villain of the story. One must judge by actions, not appearances.
European folktales that invoke bears usually mean the eurasian brown bear, known in America as the grizzly or kodiak. They're often golden brown, with long dense fur, including a mane along the neck. Asian variants often have a bib of paler russet along the neck, mimicking a bandana. They're kind of infamous for eating honey due to their tolerance of bee stings. The females can be fiercely overprotective of their cubs, sometimes needlessly fighting to the death.. All told, the brown bear is one of the largest, most dangerous land predators of the northern hemisphere, a true... beast.
Yes, the Gold trailer presents Yang as Goldilocks. She invades Junior's (baby bear) house, trashes the place in her quest of a personal goal, hurting him the worst. Except, listen to her song, the threatening and aggressive lyrics. Notice how she drops the entire persona in a heartbeat once she encounters Ruby outside. Just as the opening quote warned the audience, we cannot judge Yang by obvious appearance.
Yang only superficially resembles Goldilocks, because hair color isn't that character's defining trait. Though she's blonde, Yang's primary color is brown: light brown, dark brown, nearly black brown, russets and golds. Fun fact, in some older languages, the words for bear, brown, bronze and burnished (shining) share common roots. She's a close-contact melee fighter who hits hard, which is how a bear fights, standing on its hind legs to batter an opponent. In silhouette, Yang's extended gauntlets even make her arms look like chunky, clawed paws. (Slowly leans over to fistbump Beauty and the Beast in one direction, and even more slowly to high-five The Jungle Book in another).
So, what RWBY character hangs around in the woods to invade homes, robbing people of their resources, bringing down ursae in her wake, and is reviled for hurting (discarding) a baby? Who was systematically hunted down by that grown baby, and revealed to be a selfish, frightened woman who had never been worth the effort? And if I'm right about Yang's primary character allusion, it dovetails neatly into Beauty and the Beast, as well.
Indeed, Yang's Emerald Forest meeting with Blake combines the two fairytales. Yang fights two ursae instead of three because she herself is baby bear. The second ursa is eliminated by Blake, a faunus (beast) who becomes Yang's concept of just right, functioning as baby bear to Yang's nominal Goldilocks. Yang's eventual character development takes her from too aggressive, to passive, from feigned cheerfulness to PTSD depression, until she reaches equilibrium as an adult. Blake is also a foil to Raven, but the good, polite, respectful version of Goldilocks transmutes into Belle, and an adult brown bear is the Beast.
TL;DR: Yang is Baby Bear to Raven's Goldilocks, but as an adult bear, becomes the Beast to Blake's Belle.
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kate-sharma-sheffield · a month ago
Polin drabble: Romancing Lady Whistledown
Au in which Colin realizes that Penelope is Lady Whistledown during the events of 'an offer from a gentleman' and what if he decided not to confront Penelope about it?
Colin Bridgerton, the third son in the infamous Bridgerton alphabetically named siblings, had a secret, well he had a secret that was actually someone else's secret. And all he knew was that he didn't know what to do about it.
He was pretty sure not even Eloise could tell but truth was this: he knew the true identity of Lady Whistledown.
How nobody had ever noticed, he had no idea? Penelope wasn't exactly an expert at hiding herself. Disappearing at odd hours and writing about things that had just been mentioned in her presence the day before. Colin summarized that it was her short size that made it possible, she could hide in small places, unlike normal sized people like himself, and she was quite proficient at feigning disinterest when she heard gossip, so people normally didn't pay attention to her even when she was so obviously listening in, on purpose, one never suspected tiny quiet girls of being Lady Wistledown.
Colin might not have known anything himself except that during his recent trip to Greece, Penelope had become quite interested in mythology and he'd been exchanging letters with her more frequently than before. What would be his surprise when he began recognizing her style of writing in Lady Whistledown's society papers that Eloise and Hyacinth mailed him.
Of course once he became suspicious he couldn't let it go, other than the fact that accusing Penelope of being Lady Whistledown without concrete proof would be a terrible thing on his part, he'd already hurt his kind friend once by declaring he wouldn't marry her at that age where girls were particularly sensitive to what men talked about. So hurting her twice was unthinkable, besides, if Penelope was really Lady Whistledown, she probably wouldn't want Colin to know. As her friend, he understood her need for secrecy.
So Colin began observing Penelope once he was back from Greece. He took note of when she arrived at gatherings, how she dressed (on occasions that were more ripe with gossip of course), where she went and what things were said in her presence. Coming to the conclusion that 1) Penelope was quite adorable and 2) She was absolutely Lady Whistledown.
Other than have an appropriate crisis of nerves in his room because everything he thought he knew about Penelope now had to be applied to everything he knew about lady Wistledown. What did Colin do with this knowledge?
Absolutely nothing.
Mainly because by the time he reached the obvious conclusion of Lady Whistledown true identity. Penelope, almost as if she knew what Colin was going through mentally, sealed Colin's silence with a kiss (correction: many kisses) during a masquerade.
To be fair, everyone but him was fooled by her disguise that night, her sophisticated green dress and tempting movements as she danced did not belong to a wallflower or a debutante.
But unlucky for her Colin had been paying attention to her every move during the whole season, so he recognized her tiny size, and her expressive eyes and her distinctive red hair even if it was braided and coiffed in a fashionable french hairstyle.
Then one of his nearby friends had made a comment about asking the Irish goddess in green to dance and Colin had been off like a bullet to dance with her first. Without rhyme or reason, he just had to get to the disguised Penelope and make sure she wasn't ravished or defiled by any of the idiots who used masquerades to do exactly that. He danced and laughed and kept her away from other men all night because as her unwitting secret keeper, he had a duty to protect the beautiful deceiver that was his friend Penelope Featherington.
Wait beautiful?
Since when had he started noticing that she was beautiful?
Well of course Penelope was beautiful, even if yellow was not her color and the dresses picked by her mother did her no favors. There had never been any denying that Penelope had always been physically attractive. Colin was just used to it. Like a person who is surrounded by beauty just feels entitled to the sight every day.
And now he jumped from from beautiful to attractive. What word would he use next? Sensuous?. Colin thought he wouldn't go that far yet.
But he did end up going that far and more in his mental descriptions of Penelope because at the end of the ball his very mysterious (but not really unknown) dance partner asked him to kiss her.
Her, Penelope Featherington! Who was actually Lady Whistledown and probably could tell with her Lady Whistledown powers that he was Colin Bridgerton under his devil horn mask, ASKED. HIM.TO KISS. HER.
Worse: He complied!
Not only did he comply, he gave her the most intimate kiss he was capable of. He pulled her into his arms, brought his lips to hers and kissed her like a lover would, with desire and and greed and barely held back lust. At that moment Colin couldn't think, he just wanted to hear her sigh for him, moan for him, make those little sounds she only made when she was eating something truly delicious (because yes, he paid attention even to that)
He gave her the type of kiss he'd been wanting to give her since he started keeping track on her daily activities. And she was right there with him, giving him as much in that kiss as he was giving her.
So of course once the kiss ended he couldn't resist and kissed her again. Actually he had this plan in his stupid Penelope intoxicated head that unless she asked him to stop he would continue kissing her as much as he wanted.
But alas the night had to end and so did Penelope's kisses, no matter how much Colin protested.
"Tell me, just one thing" Colin whispered once she decided she was leaving "if someone told you that they knew your secret, what would you have them do?"
Penelope smiled mischievously, looking almost as dazed with him as he was with her "I'd ask them to keep it, of course, what is life without a little mystery?"
And that was how Penelope Featherington accidentally bought Colin's silence with an undisclosed number of kisses during a masquerade ball.
Because after Penelope asked him to kiss her that night. There was no way Colin could tell anyone that she was London's most notorious gossip columnist. And Sensuous was the one word that wouldn't leave his mind.
And to add insult to injury, the tiny seducer had the audacity to pretend that nothing happened the next day! As if Colin's kisses were just that forgettable. The gall of her. Just because they had been in disguise didn't mean that she couldn't tell it was him and he knew it. She wasn't even flustered when he made a lame excuse to sit next to her and Eloise for tea.
Was this the kind of mental strength that allowed her to pretend she wasn't keeping tabs on all the gossip in the ton?. Had she always been that good at hiding her feelings from him. Colin didn't like it.
Rather it was far more likely that Penelope thought that he didn't know it was her who he almost ravished and wanted to spare him any embarrassment. That in and on itself brought a new set of problems. Because Colin had been steadily arriving to the (very belated) conclusion that he was probably, irrevocably inlove with Penelope.
And he had been for quite a long time if Colin were to admit it to himself.
The worst part was that he wanted to kiss her again! Colin couldn't exactly do that if she didn't at least recognize him as her masquerade kisser. So he spent the next few days trying to coax Penelope into talking to him and throwing hints here and there that he wanted to be more than friends, A LOT more than friends. But of course Penelope didn't get those hints, partly because Colin was being too subtle and partly because (according to Anthony), no woman believes that attraction for her would spark easily in a man who once declared loudly that he'd never marry her.
Colin hated when Anthony was right.
So here he was almost at the end of the season listening to Benedict prattle off about falling inlove at first sight with some paragon of virtue that he never saw again after the masquerade ball. Having the opposite problem of his brother. He knew perfectly well who his masquerade girl was and he was certain she knew who he was too, the problem lay in that he didn't know how to go about the business of wooing Penelope without disclosing some very important secrets.
Penelope was the mastermind behind Lady Whistledown after all, she had the measure of every rake and Casanova in London, she could probably list their exploits alphabetically and rank them by magnitude of scandals they created. Maybe someone who didn't know that Penelope was Lady Whistledown would have considered going about it the usual way, with flowers and poetry and empty promises meant to impress her. But Colin was all too aware that if he tried lying to her, Penelope would see him coming from miles away.
Colin knew that courting Penelope would be more complicated than just asking for her hand in marriage, he'd need to earn her trust first, show her that he was no longer an inmature boy eager to run away from family responsibilities, but rather a man worthy of her love and respect.
As far as material things went he could offer Penelope a comfortable lifestyle with as much luxury as she wanted. But he knew that even in that area he wasn't likely to impress her. If Penelope wanted luxury, Lady Whistledown's fortune could very well afford it. What Colin needed to offer Penelope was something she didn't have. A perfect husband who would love and respect her for the rest of his days.
But just how could a man like him show Penelope his heart? Colin was going to need all the help he could get.
Because Romancing Lady Whistledown wasn't going to be easy. And he was only getting started.
An: you guys liked it?
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tazerpagan · 7 months ago
ok, here's what i'm driving at: this epidemic of 'maybe women are SMART ENOUGH to just not be influenced by society in any way :)' arises from the exact same flawed mentality as treating 'Racist' as a noun, as an identity. that a person Is An Racist or they are Not An Racist, rather than existing on a spectrum of benefiting from/perpetuating/internalizing racism.
it's the same fallacy that leads people to mindlessly parrot TERF talking points and then say 'trans rights!' in the same sentence. i'm sure there's a word for this, but if there isn't, i'm going to call it the 'Identity-Ideology Fallacy.' it's treating ideology like a list of The Correct Words To Identify As, rather than the internal system of the things you believe and why you believe them.
'TERF' is on the Bad Checklist, so i hate TERFs! no need to analyze what TERFs believe or why they believe it, because i am a Trans Ally (good), which means i am immune to transphobic dogwhistles! no need to examine my own personal beliefs, because i am not A TERF :)
'beauty standards' is on the Bad Checklist, so i hate beauty standards! no need to analyze how they work, because i am A Feminist/Antiracist (good), which means i am immune to internalized misogyny/white supremacy! no need to examine my personal sense of aesthetics, because i am not A Misogynist/White Supremacist :)
are both predicated on this fallacy, and, in case it wasn't clear, this is fucking dangerous. it poisons the well of public discourse, resulting in well-meaning people becoming unwitting proponents of deeply bigoted opinions. and genuine bad actors are aware of this, and will intentionally use the Good Checklist as camouflage- TERFs and other white supremacists are experts at this. it is a foundational component of every left-to-right political pipeline.
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Summary: Sam and Y/N and some battery operated fun
Pairing: Sam x F!Reader
Warnings: Smut
Word Count: 1640 words
A/N: I’m trying to finish my @spnkinkbingo card. Square filled: Vibrator
Expect more short smutty one shot, mini fics coming your way!
This was first posted on Patreon where all fic can be accessed for as little as £3 a month.
Feedback always appreciated as is a coffee should you feel so moved!
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He was sat up in your bed, propped up on pillows, looking gorgeous. As always. 
You were straddling him, his wide hips keeping your legs pushed apart, as you rose and lowered yourself on his thick, hard cock.
His hands roamed over you; your back, your breasts, your skin...his touch was so perfect. There was desire in it, of course, but also tenderness in his fingertips. They made you feel wanted but also adored. Worshipped.
His eyes were wide as they took in the sight of you riding him. Darkened by lust.
“God….you good,” he half whispered, half moaned, one hand currently settled on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you. The other was currently on the back of your neck, a little tightness in his grip but his thumb gently stroking against your scalp, lost in your hair.
He felt so good. The solidity of him under you, inside of you, his strong arms around you. Sam. Your Sam. It always felt so good being like this with him. Connected amidst your pleasure.
You moaned as his beautiful cock stroked up and down in you, the heft of him making itself felt deep - deep - inside. It felt so powerfully intense. So….amazingly, wonderfully good.
“Fuck…” he muttered, his eyes shutting down just for a moment as the sensation he felt pulled him under its spell. When he opened them again, he bit his lip, his hips seemingly unable to stop themselves from rolling up to meet your rhythmic surging. “Fuck,” he said again.
“ ok, Baby?” you managed to ask him and he nodded emphatically. 
“So, so good,” he said, his voice low and deep even if a little broken by his building need. “You feel so...amazing. It’s just….”
You looked at him, slowing your movements just a little, allowing him to dispel the feelings that were so obviously distracting him. He looked into your eyes, his hand on your waist, trailing to your hip and guiding you further, encouraging you not to slow down.
“No,” he said, smiling a little despite his panting breaths. “S’just really hard to not want to roll you over and fuck the shit out of you.”
You let out an unwitting chuckle. “And they say romance is dead.”
He flashed you an apologetic glance. “Sorry. You know I meant it sweeter than that, it’s just...fuck, Y/N, it feels so good. You feel so good….” He shut his eyes down as you continued to ride him as if evidence of how good it felt.
“You can,” you said. “Roll me over and ‘fuck the shit out of me’.” You smiled at him, although it was hard, the rising swell of your pending orgasm making your face want to fall into other more desperately hungry expressions. “Just...pound me into the mattress...take what’s yours…”
You meant it too. However you were with him, it always felt incredible. Even more so when he ‘took what was his’. God, you loved being his.
He looked pleased at your words but as his hands continued to travel across your skin; pawing at your breasts, running in huge swathes up and down your back - you felt him holding himself back.
“ a minute,” he said, the sexiest of teasing smiles on his gorgeous lips. You leaned forward and kissed him hard, feeling as his teeth bit gently against your lower lip before he released it. “I want you to come first…” he paused to push his head back against the stack of pillows for a moment. “Baby, your pussy is making my cock feel so fucking good right now…” It came out as a passing thought, not fully related to the one before, a little whiny. Needy. You loved making him sound like that.
He lifted his head again as if he’d rallied himself somehow. He looked as though an idea had just occurred to him and you felt his warm, huge hand leave your hip and reach over, just next to him, to the nightstand drawer. He paused and looked up at you as if he’d just caught himself.
“Can I? I mean, is this OK?” He looked at you so sweetly and earnestly. It was adorable. Well, as adorable as anything could be as you felt yourself stuffed full of his thick, heavy, throbbing cock.
You nodded, feeling your orgasm near. Feeling your skin feel damp with sweat and warm as if you were on the verge of burning up.
He opened the drawer and pulled out your vibrator, a slightly devilish smirk kinking up the corners of his lips.
He turned it on and the electrical hum, quiet though it was, buzzed into the sex heavy air.
He passed it to his other hand and then shut the drawer, leaning back to watch as he gently began to trace short teasing strokes with it, against your clit. 
Your body arched on him, a loud moan rising up from the depth within you. “Oh fuck, Sam!”
“Mmmmmm, yes Baby?”
“Feels so….fuck….”
“Mmmm hmmm.”
“Good,” he said, sounding pleased, if not a little smug.
He started to rub the head of the vibrator in circles around your clit. He sounded pleased as he moaned low, in accompaniment to the louder, desperate wails you were beginning to make. 
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me…” He said, watching with rapturous attention as your movements got faster and more erratic. Your surging legs pushing you up and your body rippling like a wave as you slammed down on him, feeling him deep inside of you, pushing and stroking you inside.
You heard how needy and wanton you sounded but couldn’t really bring yourself to care. You couldn’t have stopped it anyway, not that you wanted to. And besides, you knew he loved seeing you like this. Unrestrained, uninhibited, unbridled - unable to hold back - all for him.
“Fuck, you look so good. Feel… good….” he said, half under his breath as the force of your orgasm ripped through you, tearing along nerves and making your whole body tense and explode - seemingly at the same time.
“Oh yeah, that’s it. Just like that. I can feel you….fuckkkkk….” he cried out, keeping the vibrator moving around your sensitive clit.
You were falling apart, everything gone but his strong body under and in you and the powerful shifting sands of pleasure currently wracking through you. 
He leaned forward and put the arm not currently teasing you with vibration, around your waist, moving you effortlessly in its hold as your body struggled not to melt into pliant, boneless, melted ecstasy on top of him. 
“So beautiful...the way you look coming on me, the way I feel you on me…” you heard him whisper but everything was a haze in the eye of the white hot storm of bliss you were currently lost in. You felt him move, rolling you over, with gentle care folded in amongst the rough and urgent need. 
You were suddenly lying on the mattress, trapped between his strong, rutting, muscled body and the bed. It was lightning fast as he wrenched himself out of you to turn you over, forcing you to gasp amongst the moans your still fluttering insides were causing. Then he was back inside of you, pounding you into the mattress just like you’d suggested earlier, with, only his one hand between you and the sheets, keeping the vibrator against you in place as he began to fuck wildly into you, his legs keeping yours wide apart as he fucked you deep and hard and savagely.
“Fuck….” he roared, his voice sounding pulled apart by the heavy toll of his exertion but also whatever sensations he was currently feeling begin to pull him under. 
“Sam…” you moaned out, the electric vibrations against your clit and his hard thrusts deep into you not letting the huge waves of your pleasure calm down.
“M’here Baby…” he said, leaning down onto you a little to kiss the side of your turned face before biting gently, but not that gently, into your shoulder. “Fuck, Y/N, ohhhh...I’m gonna come so hard….”
You felt it all as an indistinguishable ocean of sensation - the ceaseless stimulation of the vibe against you, the heavy roll of his body over yours, the throbbing of him inside of you as he pushed, over and over, the roar of him as he let go and filled you up, the surging of his powerful movements and the endlessly flowing intensity of your own body as it came apart again and again - never seeming to halt. 
You felt dumb, lost, senseless to everything but the overwhelming feeling that pushed everything else out of consciousness and remained both overpowering but ineffible. 
He moved the vibrator away from you, turning it off as he tossed it on the bed by the side of your sweaty, tangled, still heavy, enmeshed bodies.
You were both gasping down air, drifting slowly back down to Earth….slowly. Very slowly.
Eventually consciousness bled back into you as you felt his hands stroking against your arms and up to your shoulders, pushing your hair away from your face as he kissed you lightly on the side of your face.
“Love you,” he whispered.
“Love you too,” you eventually managed to breathe out. “That was...intense.”
You felt his smile against your skin and the gentle huff of his amused exhale. “Good intense?”
“Mmmmm,” you said, nodding a little. “Always.” You lifted your head a little to kiss him, his head resting next to yours.
He rolled slowly off you and turned you gently over, pulling you tightly into his arms. “Yeah, always,” he repeated, in a quiet whisper, as if agreeing with you, before he kissed you back, again and again and again. 
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midnightstarlightwrites · 7 months ago
Waking Up Next to You
So that was it. They’d slept together.
Pale light hit Marinette’s eyes and she found herself rousing from slumber. With soft, easy movements she turned over towards Adrien. In his sleep, his hand was outstretched towards her, keeping her within arms reach.
Marinette had no idea how to feel about that. She had no idea how to feel about lots of things. True, she’d often imagined what it would be like to sleep next to Adrien, but it usually involved being snuggled into his side. Gentle morning kisses. Strong arms wrapped around her keeping her warm and secure.
Though, in her fantasies, they’d actually been a couple at that point. She hadn’t considered a time she might wake up next to Adrien without being romantically involved. Life did always like to surprise her.
And granted, the piles of slumbering bodies around them made the moment far less romantic than Marinette wished, but this was good enough for her. 
Alix had had a birthday slumber party. Though technically the boys and girls were meant to be in separate bedrooms, the night had ended with all of them crowded into Alix’s entertainment room. It was huge, basically a miniature cinema with tons of plush sofas and armchairs. They’d watched a number of cheesy movies but, when Alix suggested some scary movies too, they decided to bring in blankets so that there was somewhere for everyone to hide if it got too spooky. The blankets had proved either a fantastic idea or a terrible mistake as, one by one, they’d all nodded off to sleep.
Glancing at Adrien’s slumbering face, his long eyelashes fluttering mid-dream, Marinette found herself turning red as she recalled how they’d accidentally cuddled together on the sofa behind her, especially at the scariest parts. True, Marinette didn’t mind horror, but she hated anything too gory and Alien was well known for a particular body horror scene which always made her cringe.
She was lucky she’d already seen it. Adrien hadn’t, and had almost squeezed her hand off he’d held it so tight. Once he’d realised he apologised profusely, but Marinette still wondered if he was referring to squeezing too hard or just the act of holding her hand. She hoped it was the former.
Eventually they’d slunk down to the floor instead, as Kim had wanted to stretch out his legs and they felt bad. He’d had the smallest armchair most of the night.
So here they were. On the floor of Alix’s entertainment room, surrounded by friends.
A long time ago, Marinette had resigned herself to the fact that that was how Adrien saw her. A friend. It had taken a lot of time to overcome the hurt, and her heart wasn’t yet fully recovered from his unwitting rejection. For her, they’d always be an unfinished letter, a symphony without string section, a chord with a note missing. Something would always be unfinished. The lack of closure didn’t help her with her moving on, but she was trying.
After all, being friends wasn’t a lesser status than a romantic relationship. It was simply different from the one she wanted most from him. That wasn’t Adrien’s fault. Trying to re-frame it that way had helped her a lot, but she still allowed herself to feel the pangs of rejection nonetheless.
Now, in the quiet light of dawn, looking at the boy she was trying so hard not to love, the expression so close, yet so far, popped into her head and she found herself curling inward. Yet, despite the sadness welling up in her chest, she couldn’t take her eyes away. He was beautiful, lying there looking like peace personified. She hoped he was having nice dreams, ones where he got to relax. It was a miracle he’d even been allowed to have the night off for a slumber party.
Kim snorted as he flipped over in his sleep, the loudness of it brought her out of her gloomy thoughts. With a sigh, she turned and began shuffling away from Adrien…
Only to be stopped by Adrien’s outstretched arm.
A hand curled around her shoulder and Marinette froze, trying her hardest not to squeal and wake up everyone in the room.
Adrien shuffled towards her whilst pulling her back towards him at the same time. Her back pressed against his chest and his other arm came to curl around her waist.
“Stay,” Adrien whispered, and Marinette’s heart must have decided dawn was the perfect time for a salsa dance, such was the intensity of it slamming against her chest.
Stay? What the hell did he mean by that? Why did he want her to stay? He didn’t like her romantically and good friends definitely don’t sleep and cuddle next to each other like the way he was doing. They were practically spooning!
“Umm...Adrien?” she whispered, uncertainty laced through her words. Was he still asleep? He had to be, right? The sound of his gentle breathing suggested so. The talking gave the opposite evidence. Unless Adrien talked in his sleep, which was another cute thing she needed to file away immediately, to stop herself falling for him again right when she was trying her hardest to get over him.
You’re going to be under him in a minute if you don’t do something! Her traitorous mind screamed at her as Adrien placed his chin on the top of her head.
“Cuddle,” he whispered, so faintly Marinette almost didn’t hear it over the sound of her mind exploding-
This is fine, this is fine, this is- OH GOD PLEASE THIS IS NOT FINE HELP.
It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the cuddle. Adrien felt so warm and cosy. The scent of mint from his shampoo surrounded her. His hands were large and comforting against her. It felt like they could block out anything bad in the world. There was nothing she wanted more than to let him snuggle into her, to do this every day with him.
But it was her fantasy and right now, it was his literal dream too. It wasn’t real, and having Adrien cuddle her like this was another painful reminder of something she’d wanted for so long, but was unable to have.
Marinette closed her eyes. “Adrien, wake up. It’s morning.”
She paused between each word, the gaps filled with thoughts she wouldn’t dare express.
Wake up.
It’s dawn outside.
And in the light of the morning, you don’t love me like I love you.
When he didn’t stir, she flipped over, which proved difficult as Adrien’s arm was strangely heavy. Turning to stare at him again, she pulled back as much as she could in order to see his face, and gave him the tiniest of nudges. “Adrien,” she repeated. “It’s morning. Wake up.”
At last, Adrien began to stir. A crinkle appeared in between his eyebrows as he frowned and he shifted from side-to-side, stretching and humming as he went.
His eyes were the last to wake. Fluttering them open, the vivid green eyes caught the light pouring in from the half-closed blinds, making them appear like dappled sunlight on moss. They came to rest on Marinette, and she found herself unable to breathe.
“Good morning,” he said, slurring the words in a soft, sweet manner before closing his eyes again. He leaned closer.
Then Marinette said the thing she never thought she’d say in a million years. But she had to. Every second he was awake, awake and smiling sweetly, awake and still holding her, was a dagger to her chest.
“Adrien. Please let me go.”
Perhaps it was the sound of her distress, but Adrien’s eyes finally flew open. He was awake.
It took him a second to survey the scene; his arms wrapped around her, her body pulling away from him, to work out what happened. Marinette could see the inner machinations behind his eyes. The horror, embarrassment and regret began to sink into Adrien’s expression.
That’s when Marinette knew. Someone who looked at her like that, for the simple mistake of sleep-cuddling, would never love her back.
Her heart shattered, the shards cutting and shredding her insides.
Adrien lurched back with an apology, launching himself so far that he accidentally landed on Nino, who woke up with a yelp. Before Marinette could process anything, there was pandemonium in the room. Alix swore loudly, ushering all the girls out of the entertainment room so they could sneak back into her bedroom and not get in trouble.
Blankets were tossed up in the air, cushions grabbed, leftover popcorn consumed (“gross Kim, that’s been stuffed in the sofa all night!” “What? Popcorn is popcorn.”) and before Marinette knew what was happening, she was in a semi-formed sneak line ready to exit the entertainment room with the rest of the girls.
“W-wait,” she began, but Juleka bumped into her, her zombie-like movements letting her know they’d started moving.
Marinette turned back towards the boys one last time. Nino and Max were picking up more leftover floor popcorn so Kim couldn’t eat it, Nath was organising the blankets and the pillows…
And Adrien was staring directly at her.
She couldn’t fathom the emotions on his face, didn't get to properly read him. His mouth opened, probably to form another apology…
But she was out the door before he had the chance.
For @adrinetteapril day 16: Sunrise!
Part 2 (of 2) will be up on Adrinette April Day 23: Sunset!
Read part 2 now!
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vvienne · 4 months ago
hold my hands by Snooze (Chiruka)
Transplanting a core into a new person isn’t without repercussions. One year after the events at Guanyin Temple, Jiang Cheng found himself once again faced with the possibility of losing everything he had. Reconciling with his brother, learning to let Jin Ling go, and dealing with his blooming emotions toward the First Jade of Gusu — will Jiang Cheng accomplish what he wants before time runs out?
it all passes someday by screamlet
A week before the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death, there was a commotion outside Lan Wangji’s house.
Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji over the years.
The Unlikely Expression of Love by manamune
When everything has settled, when everyone else has moved on with their lives and their friends, Jiang Cheng has a realization which shouldn’t actually be a surprise:
He’s lonely.
Indigo, lavender, and violet (I don't wanna be red) by ohwhatevrewhatevr
It, in the pale colors of the late morning, is the closest to perfect Jiang Cheng will ever reach. He strokes Lan XiChen's hair and presses a light kiss to where his ribbon and hair meet. The sky is a pale blue, and the pastels of flowers and clouds are spread out through the window, a brilliant world waiting for them, them in the gentian house, safe from stronger breezes - there is the clutter of birds fluttering and chirping outside. It is a warm, perfect, spring morning.
Jiang Cheng and Lan XiChen have been together for an year. In which, no one ever really gets over things, Jiang Cheng has the misfortune of interacting with his brother, the juniors help out with the proposal, and there's a marriage.
Altitude by starknjarvis 
When Jin Ling lures Jiang Cheng to the Cloud Recesses under false pretenses, he finds himself out of place among this new family Wei Wuxian has formed.
Lan Xichen, at least, seems pleased to have his company.
Perhaps there is still a chance for Jiang Cheng to make amends and move forward.
[Modao Zushi Online] GLITCH REPORT: My Brother Got Chased Down And %$@*$&@ By Gusu Dungeon Boss??? by oh_fudgecakes
Modao Zushi Online is a virtual reality MMORPG. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are top ranking players in its new server, currently tied with their arch-nemesis from their previous server, Wen Chao. In an attempt to defeat him, they take on the Gusu Dungeon Boss, Zewu-jun, to win the reward of a legendary weapon. Ever the cheat, Wei Wuxian tries to take advantage of a glitch to defeat the seemingly undefeatable boss. It backfires. Jiang Cheng gets fucked by a boss monster.
He can't get enough.
Meanwhile, Lan Xichen, the unwitting staff member in charge of controlling Zewu-jun, absolutely did not sign up to be pulled into a secret virtual reality fling with a player. Mod Ji, who has to deal with Wei Wuxian's incessant glitch reporting of his brother's sex life, is long-suffering.
Mulberry by xxdz
Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and pushes harder. He feels like torn silk, the embroidery needle sinking in again and again and again; patiently, desperately, endlessly trying to make something beautiful out of something broken.
Jiang Cheng builds his sect, learns embroidery, and raises his nephew.
we can raise a little family by lanyon
“Well, brother,” says Wei Wuxian, leaning against the outside of Jiang Cheng’s chambers. “I had heard that you and Xichen went on a night hunt and came back with a baby, which is not the order I’d choose to do things in…”
In which Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen acquire a baby of unknown origin, and are the very last to know what it means.
Beyond the Impossible by Silverine
Summoned by Lan Qiren, Jiang Wanyin goes to the Cloud Recesses to drop his nephew Jin Ling, expecting to discuss relevant matters with his old master. Instead, he's asked to take with him no other than Sect Leader Lan himself, all the way back to Lotus Pier. If the reason why he accepted such an outrageous task is indeed a mystery, he's about to be surprised by how this entire trip, their encounters, and his warm company, suddenly feel fated.
Incrementally by xxdz
Jiang Cheng is trapped in a day on repeat where he begins by waking in Zewu Jun’s bed at dawn and ends by dying painfully at dusk.
It’s getting very irritating, and he has the sneaking suspicion that his chances to solve his own murder are rapidly running out. Soon, his death will be much more permanent.
All in all, worst birthday ever.
Audience of One by WinterDreams
“Then let an established star go first,” Lan Xichen interrupts again before Lan Wangji can give a stubborn reply. Both men twist toward Lan Xichen, and he smiles at Wei Wuxian’s tilted head. “If I publicly date a man for awhile first, your engagement shouldn’t receive as much backlash.”
Or, that AU where everyone is famous in some way or another, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have been dating in private for years, and Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng pretend to date publicly for their brothers' sake.
A Bit of Ruthlessness by jirluvien
When Jiang Cheng hears that Lan Xichen went into seclusion following Jin Guangyao’s death, it’s almost as if he can see the grabby hands of a restless ghost, reaching out for something to keep him company. For something warm and living and devastated. And as history has proved time and time again, the Lans are perfect victims when it comes to giving in to ghosts.Yeah, no. Not on Jiang Cheng’s fucking watch.A story about grief, determination, unexpected friendships, abandoned watchtowers, and letters. So many letters.
All Tied Up In You by Clearpearls
Yet again, the night had come to this:
Jiang Cheng on the floor, kneeling, Zidian wrapped around his wrists.
Thank You, and I'm Sorry by Hamliet
Jin GuangYao might be dead, but his story is not. Taking advantage of the chaos he instigated, someone makes an attempt on the life of the young new leader of the Jin Sect. When Jiang Cheng takes Jin Ling to the Cloud Recesses to have him study while he attempts to work with Wei WuXian and his husband Lan WangJi to eliminate the threat, he encounters a mourning Lan XiChen, lovestruck teenagers, and a persistent corpse--and both pairs of brothers find themselves struggling to move on.
saturn's rings (don't be a heartbreaker) by iskendaris
Set after the seige of burial mounds, Yunmeng rebuilds as they hold the first Discussion Conference at Lotus Pier. Sometimes the night is a gift, a refuge for loneliness. "So stern, Sect Leader Jiang," Lan Xichen murmured, "So glacial... What will it take to melt that icy exterior? What can I say?"
"Nothing. There's nothing you can say or offer."
reciprocity by jukeboxhound
There’s a pause before Lan Xichen says, in a tone that’s a little more neutral, “I would like to paint on you.”
“Of course, if you say ‘yes’ but then change your mind at any point, for any reason, you need only say so and I will stop immediately,” he adds.
Well, silver lining: Jiang Cheng is feeling much more awake than he was a moment ago.
Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities by oh_fudgecakes
Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.
As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.
Marginal Costs by ohwhatevrewhatevr
“You think you know what you want, Er-Ge,” A-Yao says. “But you should consider what you’re willing to give first,” he says wryly, taking Lan XiChen’s chess piece with slim, skilled fingers.
Lan XiChen looks up at A-Yao’s concentrated expression and the hint of contentment on his face that he is special enough to be allowed to see.
“It’s not just one decision, but the lead up to many more. One decision decides what else you’re going to have to pay, and each time you have to ask yourself, ignoring the sunk costs, if this time it’s worth it as well.”
When his sworn brother looks up at him with those clear, amber eyes, waiting, Lan XiChen feels the pull and gives in: he asks.
“Are you happy being in love?”
(First half is two sad sworn brothers talking, internally mourning how unfortunate their other sworn brother’s death was :/ and second half is when a mopey boy in blue meets an angsty boy in purple whilst chasing a demonic cultivator, and a lil bit of sexy dual cultivation happens.)
Somewhat Tender by theherocomplex
There is no defense against kindness; it has always undone him.
I didn't expect you to be lonely (too) by bettydice (BettyKnight)
Jiang Cheng's life is a mess, he's a mess, and he doesn't miss his brother at all. So when his sister gifts him ten sessions with a massage therapist, who turns out to be someone he was crushing on for a hot minute as a teenager and is still as hot as ever... yeah, that might as well happen. It won't have to mean anything.
This feels intimate to Jiang Cheng in a way that's probably very inappropriate and maybe even pathetic. Nobody touches him like this, right where he’s hurt the most. There's no one who handles him so gently, so carefully.
It's the gentleness that's his undoing, he thinks. He would be able to deal better with it if it was painful.
Life for Rent by yodasyoyo
“Yeah well. You’re not taking me seriously. This guy is my soulmate!”
“Soulmate.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Just because you don’t believe in them—”
“I believe in them!” Jiang Cheng says. “I’ve never denied they exist.”
“Just last week you said that it was an evolutionary quirk that had been used by greetings card companies, movie makers, and corporations to exploit lonely and vulnerable people.”
“And I stand by it! That doesn’t mean that soulmates aren’t real. Just incredibly unlikely and probably pointless.
Xicheng vs Soulmates. Fight!
Halfway Around the World by theherocomplex
Normally, Jiang Cheng would be seething, jaw clenched tight, if someone sounded like that while they were talking, but — Lan Xichen has the trick of always making you feel like you're in on the joke, whatever the joke is. That you're laughing together.
Whelmed by yodasyoyo
For months now Jiang Cheng’s been idly fantasizing about how it would be if something were to come between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. Mostly those daydreams have been simple enough — they break up (probably because Lan Zhan is boring or Wei Ying is annoying), Wei Ying is sad for a couple of days (Jiang Cheng’s willing to allow some space for feelings, he isn't a total monster), but then Wei Ying realizes he’s better off, he gets over it, and Jiang Cheng gets his brother back.
Unfortunately the fantasy version of events has only proven partially true, so far. They've broken up. Wei Ying has been sad.
Now weeks have passed, though — and Wei Ying is still sad, every. Single. Day.
It’s like Jiang Cheng's stuck in a looping GIF, and it’s driving him insane.
Jiang Cheng plots, Lan Huan pines, and, unfortunately for Lan Qiren, Wangxian are inevitable.
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wing-ed-thing · 6 months ago
Elegans (Neji x Reader) Soulmate AU
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Word Count: 500+
Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Tattoo AU, Gender Neutral Reader @brokennerdalert​
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A bright green ‘X’ on your forehead. Two sweeping, hook-like shapes appeared on either side, arching over your eyebrows.
It was probably the part of yourself that you liked the most and that’s what you told the young shinobi in front of you. His forehead crinkled the slightest bit as he considered what you said, but his features remained mostly stoic. You sorted through a few items and packed a few boxes away into one of your many carts. Neji crossed his arms, not so much unknowing of what to say but more selecting his words with care. He had a mission, a simple protection mission. He didn’t have to talk to you in the slightest and yet his curiosity began to nip at him. You jumped up onto the cart and began to move things about.
“When did you get it?” he asked and a certain amount of conflict crept into his tone. You didn’t notice. Neji shifted slightly on the dirt ground below and you didn’t notice that either. You examined a few packages in your hands and rearranged them to better fit amongst each other.
“At around three. At least that’s what I was told since I was three and I can’t exactly see it.”
You picked up a mirror from the pile of items for transport. It had a wooden frame. Intricate carvings danced around the edges, but you focused only on the symbol etched into your forehead. Neji stood still as you sat on the edge of the cart and your legs dangled down. You traced the green pattern with your finger, entranced as if it was the first time you were seeing it.
“I think it’s beautiful…”
Neji became painfully aware of his hitai-ate. He turned away, scoffing to himself,
“Hmp… ‘beautiful’…”
You didn’t know about shinobi affairs. You lived nowhere near Konohagakure. Neji didn’t even think that you could find the ninja village on the map so he struggled to fault you. He thought back to his cousin. To his place in his family. To his fight with Naruto all those years ago. A flurry of mixed emotions bubbled up in his chest, emotions that Neji thought that he was over. A light wack to his bicep snapped him out of his pontification.
“It is!” You held a different item now: a bundle of papers. You turned your nose up into the air with a huff, but your pout melted into something softer. “And I know for a fact that my soulmate is just as beautiful.” Neji looked at you in shock, although his features didn’t exactly betray him.
“You… do?” A skeptical question, but you nodded anyway.
“Whoever it is—” Tension left Neji’s shoulders. —“they sure do have style, but I wonder why they never got any other tattoos,” you mused, almost to yourself. You began to lock down the cart for transport. “It’s a bold one, I’ll give them that. For a while, I was thinking of getting one. You know, as, like, a response, but I don’t trust myself enough to choose.”
Not many shinobi had a way with words. Neji didn’t even know how he felt let alone what to tell you, his unwitting soulmate.
“I’m sure whatever you pick, your soulmate will love.” You wave to the driver of the cart and hit the side two times, sending it away with the chain of others.
“How are you so sure?” you asked and Neji bobbed his head from side to side.
“Call it a hunch.”
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
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tri3tri · 6 months ago
Special Treatment
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✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kaeya Alberich x Female! Reader
✂ Word Count: 1,6k+
✂ Trigger Warnings: Yandere, manipulation
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.
Have I ever told you about the amount of times I stopped writing just because I can’t differentiate between flirty childe and flirty kaeya? Yeah, well, now you know.
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“Mama, do you love Papa?”
That wasn’t the kind of question you expected, let alone wanted to hear from your child. When Conrad grabbed your wrist after you tucked him in, you thought he’d ask you to read a bedtime story or accompany him until he fell into the Dreamland. So, was it any wonder that you froze on the bedside, heart pounding as if you were confronted by your worst nightmare? But in your case, the nightmare was encased neatly in the form of a simple question. A question that was supposedly normal, harmless even, if not because you were hiding the fact that his father was far from normal. His past, his vision, his personality. Hell, even his appearance. You didn’t know his full past, or whether the version he’d told you was authentic, and you suspected he wouldn’t confess to you anytime soon, if ever.
But that wasn’t important. That wasn’t what your kid wanted to hear. He couldn’t care less about your husband’s past. He just wanted to know if you loved Kaeya, and that… that was hard. Because what kind of answer could satisfy him? It’d be easier if Conrad were to ask about his past instead, because you could definitely slither your way out with a vague response. But this? This wasn’t something you could elude. If you were being purposefully enigmatic, Conrad would begin to question you, and it’d spring more inquiries than you could bear to hear. Not to mention, it’d give Kaeya a chance to tease you, to mock you for hurting your kid’s feelings, and that was the last thing you wanted. Call it motherly love, call it soft. You only wished to give Conrad a beautiful childhood; one that he could look back fondly, despite the underlying tension between his parents. Whether he’d realize it or not, you hoped the affection buried the skepticism.
And yet, on the other hand, if you were being truthful to Conrad, it’d give Kaeya a chance to tease you too, to mock you for falling for him after years of rebellion. You literally had no way out of this one. It was either Conrad’s skepticism or your pride, acceptance or rejection, lie or truth.
What would you choose? What should you choose? It was agonizing, and Conrad’s stare wasn’t helping either. He had your eyes, but the intensity reminded you too much of Kaeya's. The kind of intensity that probed into the depths of your soul, determined to dig the truth by himself. Conrad wasn’t a flirt like Kaeya, or a manipulator like him, but you wondered if he was also a mind reader like your husband. Which was silly, considering that Kaeya wasn’t a mind reader himself. He was just very observant, and it made him seem like one sometimes.
But he didn’t, and Archons forbade he became one. You’d rather die than have your last privacy breached. If you died, your thoughts would disappear, and there was nothing Kaeya could hold against you. His mental archive of you would be useless, and that’d be the biggest victory of all. You’d long since resigned to the fact that you could never beat him in a battle of wits.
After all, it was hard to win against a master manipulator.
“If I didn’t love him, then we wouldn’t have you, my dear.”
So, you smiled.
Because what else could you do?
A lie. Such a big, fat lie it almost burned your tongue from the insincerity of it, from the acidity of it. You loved Conrad with your whole, bleeding heart, but you couldn’t extend the same courtesy to Kaeya. That man had stolen too much from you, had robbed you of your basic rights. What kind of a person would you be, if you fell for him?
Conrad continued to stare at you, and you wished he’d just stop already. Weren’t you being honest enough? Once, you’d loved Kaeya. He was the most understanding man, always going out of his way to help you regardless of his packed schedule. He’d bought you drinks, dinners, and sometimes your groceries too. He’d never touched you against your will despite his constant flirtations, and he always brightened your day with witty observations and cringy yet endearing pick-up lines. How could you not be attracted to a man like him?
And when he saved you from a gang of wanted thieves, even killing them so cold-bloodedly, your feelings had unknowingly cemented themselves.
You should’ve known something was wrong when he said that he couldn’t walk you home under the pretense of having to do his duty, and you should’ve known something was wrong when he didn’t seem at all concerned about your shaken condition. Instead, he’d comforted you – mockingly, you’d realized, because when else did he not mock you, even it was just an insinuation – and offered to stay a night in his house. Because it was closer, he’d said. And a night became two, and three. Until, eventually, you’d begun to live there. Forever.
Except, you sighed, he wasn’t lying when he said that he had to do his duty that day. Those thieves had been particularly elusive, though not as much as him, and the perfect, albeit unwitting, bait was you; a woman who was walking late at night. How could you blame anyone for nearly being mugged? If Kaeya wasn’t there, you would’ve been dead already.
… Would he let you die, though? There was no telling when it came to Kaeya. It was always doubt and more doubts. You wondered why he derived so much pleasure from provoking people, from inciting skepticism deep inside their hearts. And you wondered why, despite his blatant flaws, he was still beloved by all, even considered as the ‘top candidate for grandson-in-law’ among the elderly.
Then again, you used to feel a bit of pride for marrying the said top candidate. So you couldn’t be too hypocritical now, in case Kaeya ever discovered it and decided to use it against you. Again.
Conrad finally nodded after an eternity had passed. Was he satisfied with the answer? Or did he simply understand your reluctance? You didn’t know, but you were grateful when he turned around and closed his eyes after bidding you a soft goodbye. He’d always been a stoic kid, a far cry from his father, but still attentive all the same. You hoped he didn’t start questioning you now, or Kaeya. Though, you doubted the latter would be forthright to him. He was elusive like that.
Relieved that the dreaded conversation was over, you got up from the bedside and left the room. The hallway was quiet, but not even the silence could muffle the remark that left his lips.
“That was smooth.”
Kaeya leaned against the wall with his hands on the pockets like he always did, as he’d first approached you many years ago. You’d cracked a joke, a poor flirtation at best, that he looked ‘cool’ when he did that. And he’d laughed, commenting that he didn’t think you had it in you to tell a pun – and a horrible one, at that.
You’d wondered if someone could fall at first laugh. Because this was Kaeya you were talking about, and that man was as honest as a skilled salesman. And yet, his laugh had been the most genuine thing you’d ever heard from him. You didn’t think your heart could thump any louder, any harder during that moment.
“Thought you’d break the poor boy’s heart.” he hummed. “After all, you’ve broken mine.”
“You deserved it.”
“Did I? You flatter me, then.”
“That’s not something you should be flattered of.”
“But it still counts as a ‘special treatment’, no? Well, unless we count that time when you tried to fend off those criminals.” He feigned a sigh, shrugging nonchalantly. “Then again, they’re already dead. So, that left me as the sole recipient to your affection.”
Could a man be any more exasperating than this?
“I hate you.” you hissed.
“Do you? After pulling that confession to our kid?” he sneered. “My, never thought you’re the fickle one, [Name]. You really are something else, aren’t you?” He put a gloved fist under his chin and glanced skyward, assuming a thinking pose. “Or maybe you’re secretly a master manipulator? Well, that’s quite a splendid discovery.”
You scowled, clenching your fists on your sides. “Don’t compare me to you, Alberich.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid that you’re slowly growing like me?” Kaeya stopped just outside the door to your bedroom and smirked down at you. “You know what they said: every married couple will resemble each other eventually. It’s inevitable.”
You both stared at each other, each waiting for the other to back down first. His smirk widened.
“But for a master manipulator, you sure took a long time in noticing that you’ve fallen into a trap, didn’t you?” His single eye glowed in the dim hallway and squinted haughtily, dangerously. It occurred to you that you’d never seen the other one. Not that you cared enough to find out. “It’s almost… pathetic.”
You raised a hand to slap him, but he caught your wrist almost effortlessly.
“Now, now, let’s not be so violent, shall we? Our child is sleeping, after all. Wouldn’t want to wake him up, would he?” he simpered, and you wished for nothing more than to rip it off like he’d ripped the bandage off by revealing his plan a long time ago. “I’m sure you don’t want Conrad to start questioning things, do you?”
You glared at him again, trying to channel your hatred and indignation into a single stare. Clucking in a bitter defeat, you snatched your hand from his grasp and stomped inside the room. Kaeya followed suit, whistling innocently as if he didn’t just ridicule his own wife. You slept on the furthest side of the bed, the exhaustion already settling in your bones. You’d hogged the blankets and pillows, forming a makeshift barrier around you, but Kaeya didn’t seem to mind your petty revenge. Instead, he lied on his side with both hands under his head and smiled up to the ceiling.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
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hlizr50 · 2 months ago
How You Get the Girl
Another Gwynriel fic featuring Her Majesty Taylor Swift!
Read on AO3
Azriel groaned, rubbing his eyes against the sunlight pouring in through the window.
Too bright.
Blinking, he pushed himself up on his elbows, glancing to his right – to the empty space marked only by rumpled sheets. For a moment he considered that the night before was just a figment of his imagination, a dream. But this was not his room. The suitcase on the wall, dusted in blue flowers, definitely did not hold his clothes. The door to the suite was still open wide where he had burst through in the dark, Gwyn’s nightmare piercing through his slumber.
She was clearly already awake, and he couldn’t stop the weight of anxiety that settled in his stomach. Had she still been unable to sleep? Azriel reached up, muscles in his arms and back lengthening with the stretch. He had clearly slept like a baby, which was surprising. Restful sleep wasn’t something the executive was familiar with, but with the redhead in his arms…
“Gwyn?” he called into the room, noticing the bathroom door hanging ajar. Only silence answered, so he threw the comforter off his legs and swung them over the side of the bed. Looking down, he shook his head. Tan skin stretched over his toned stomach, and he wondered why he couldn’t have had the presence of mind to put on a damn shirt before charging into his girlfriend’s room in the middle of the night.
Azriel grinned to himself at the word.
And he couldn’t blame himself for not grabbing clothes when she had been screaming. Getting to her had been paramount, all other thoughts flying from his head.
He pushed off the mattress and combed his fingers through his tousled inky tresses. He could get a shirt now, he supposed, but once again finding Gwyn was at the forefront of his mind. And he wouldn’t deny, with a smug half-smirk, that he wanted to feel her appreciative gaze and her fingers against his bare skin. With that image playing behind his eyes, he trudged out the door and down the hall before trotting down the stairs, the smell of roasting coffee wafting up to meet him. As he descended he heard music and the unmistakable voice, a songbird crooning her morning melody.
God, her voice was beautiful.
The softest of chuckles vibrated through his chest as he realized – with the most loving eye-roll – that she was singing along to none other than Taylor Swift. Because, of course she was.
And that's how it works That's how you get the girl
And then you say I want you for worse or for better I would wait for ever and ever Broke your heart, I'll put it back together I would wait for ever and ever
And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl
Remind her how it used to be, be Yeah, with pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks, cheeks Tell her how you must've lost your mind (oh oh oh, oh oh oh, oh oh, oh oh) When you left her all alone and never told her why, why (oh oh oh, oh oh oh, oh oh, oh oh)
And that's how it works That's how you lost the girl
Azriel reached the archway leading to the dining room and his chest squeezed, the warmth of adoration spreading through him as he watched her head bounce to the beat. The sound coming from her lips was nothing short of heavenly as she opened and closed cabinet doors, searching for mugs for the brewing coffee, he assumed. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms casually and soaking in her unwitting performance. Her ponytail bobbed, and as she reached up on her toes to grasp a mug handle her fitted t-shirt rose to reveal creamy alabaster skin.
Stunning, he mused to himself. Absolutely perfect.
And now you say I want you for worse or for better I would wait for ever and ever (ever and ever) Broke your heart, I'll put it back together I would wait for ever and ever
And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, yeah
And you could know, oh That I don't want you to go
Remind me how it used to be Pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks And say you want me, yeah, yeah
Gwyn filled two mugs and turned to set them on the island. Only then did her eyes flick up, widening as she saw Azriel leaning in the entryway, her voice cracking into silence. He was probably grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. He snickered as roses bloomed across her freckled cheeks. But, to her credit, Gwyn started singing again and rounded the edge of the counter, dipping her hand into one of two paper McDonalds bags he hadn’t even noticed. She fished out… a hash brown, and held it up to her mouth like a microphone. To the beat of the song she walked toward him, swaying and serenading as she approached. Her eyes were the color of the sea, and shimmering as bright as the sun on the water. She was beaming, and Azriel’s heart could have burst with joy at the sight. Especially after the night she’d had.
And then you say I want you for worse or for better (worse or for better) I would wait for ever and ever (ever and ever) Broke your heart, I'll put it back together I would wait for ever and ever (I want you for ever and ever)
And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh and that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh
and that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh And that's how it works That's how you get the girl, girl, oh
Azriel reached for her when she got close enough, hands gripping her hips. Gwyn wrapped her arms around his neck as she finished the performance. Her gaze never faltered, the smile on her face alight in her eyes. He felt his expression soften, letting his admiration for her fill the small space between them.
And that's how it works That's how you got the girl
He pulled her into him, dipping his chin to find her lips with his and reveling at the feeling of her fingers in the hair at his nape. It felt like he’d been waiting for this forever, to be able to kiss her and hold her and be… more. And he took to it like a duck to water. He may not know a lot about being in a relationship, but he knew Gwyn. He knew how much he cared about her, and the way she made him feel. He had so many ideas about the things they could do, places they could go, just to see that smile on her face. He felt her mouth curve up against his, a giggle rushing out of her lips.
“Good morning,” she murmured before pulling back to cast her contented gaze on his face. He just gave her a lopsided grin.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he answered. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, before tucking her head under his chin. He combed a hand through her soft ponytail. “I woke up and you weren’t there.” He felt her huff a soft laugh against his chest.
“Were you worried about me?”
Azriel pushed her shoulder back gently, allowing him to survey her face. His hand lifted, fingers stroking over her jaw. “Yes,” he whispered fiercely. “After… everything? Could you not sleep? Are you okay?” He may have melted into a puddle at the tender smile she gifted him, eyes crinkling with appreciation.
“I’m okay. Thanks to you.” She rose up on her toes to peck him on the cheek before pulling him toward the kitchen. She added over her shoulder, “I haven’t been up and going that long. I just woke up and felt restless. And you looked so peaceful, I couldn’t possibly wake you.” Reaching the kitchen he turned his gaze toward the two large McDonalds sacks sitting on the marble.
“I see you made breakfast,” he teased, and was met with a withering look as his girlfriend threw a paper-wrapped missile at him. He could only assume it was a sandwich.
“One: there’s no food in this house yet. Two: I think we both know that this is preferable to whatever I would have attempted – and likely failed miserably – to cook.” Gwyn shrugged. “Three: I didmake coffee. Four: hash browns.” She pushed one of the bags toward him and he peered inside, finding at least half a dozen of them inside.
“How many hash browns did you buy, Berdara?” Azriel set the sandwich on the counter and reached in to grab one, casting an incredulous glance at the redhead.
“I resent the judgment in your tone, good sir. Are deep fried ovals of potato-y goodness not the key to a man’s heart?” She pointed her hash brown at him. “Because they might be the key to mine.” After taking a huge bite she slid one mug of coffee over in front of him. He grabbed the mug, his sandwich, and the bag of hash browns, shooting her a winning smile.
“If I’d have known that we’d have been fucking married by now.” He jerked his chin toward the couch. “Sit with me?” Azriel didn’t give himself the chance to second guess what he’d said. It was out in the air – let Gwyn make of it what she would.
And, of course, she just followed him, reaching the sofa just as he’d made himself comfortable against the crook of the armrest and the cushioned back, setting the sandwich and coffee on the side table. She looked down at him with a thoughtful grin, eyes glimmering. He dipped his chin to the space between his spread thighs, in invitation. Gwyn’s eyes crinkled and she sat, tucking one leg under the other and settling with her back against his bare chest. Slightly askew, so she could turn her face to him if she wanted. He wrapped an arm around her waist, the bag of ‘deep fried ovals of potato-y goodness’ landing in her lap. He felt her inhale dramatically, overplaying her excitement as she snatched the bag greedily from his hand. Pulling another out – he could only imagine how many she’d eaten already – she faced him.
“Married, huh?”
Heat flooded his features. Azriel could feel the furious blush from his chest all the way to his ears. He should have guessed she wouldn’t leave that comment to burn off with the morning fog outside the grand windows. Gwyneth Berdara never backed down from a challenge, never stifled her own curiosity, and almost never bypassed an opportunity to speak her mind.
“Are you blushing, Aphelah? Usually I’m the one who has to worry about that.” She was the only one who ever teased him with his surname. He did so with her, and she had not been content until she got the information to do the same. He was a private person, and only those few people in his small circle with his adoptive brothers knew his name – the family history that was dark and terrible. Only Gwyn had ever chosen to speak it after learning of it. She had shrugged when he’d asked about it.
You are not your family, or your history. Only you determine what the name means to you and to me, but it is yours. I won’t balk from using it, unless it truly makes you uncomfortable. But it doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re worried about.
If he were truly honest with himself – something he didn’t do often – that moment may have been the turning point. That moment where he stepped off the edge of the cliff and straight into sweet, terrifying love.
Azriel reached a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, anxiety peaking. He was usually so careful with his words. Guarded. Something about Gwyn made him more relaxed, perhaps to his detriment. “I… I just meant that I would have – should have – pursued you earlier. I didn’t mean… fuck… I mean I hope that I didn’t –“
“Calm down Az, I’m just teasing,” Gwyn cooed, placing a tender touch on his forearm. “Although I’m flattered by your obvious adoration for me.” He let out a relieved sigh, basking in the light of the bright, beaming smile that had her nose scrunching with mirth. He wagged his head and placed a delicate kiss to her temple.
“Awfully cocky, Berdara,” he scoffed. The redhead giggled.
“You’re the one who just said you would have already wooed me to marriage with hash browns, if only you’d known that you could.” She tapped his nose.
“Fair enough,” he conceded. Her expression softened and he tilted his head, waiting for her to share her thoughts.
“I think, now that we’re here, we can both agree that we’ve been hoping for this for… awhile,” she murmured. It was her turn to blush, and Azriel’s mouth tipped up. “I’m not saying let’s get married tomorrow, but I think our friendship – and now relationship – is such that maybe we have stronger… feelings… than other couples who have been together for, you know, a day.” Her laugh wavered, uncertainty clouding her eyes. He reached up, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“I couldn’t agree more. I care a great deal for you, Gwyn.”
“Even if I wake you up screaming in the dead of night?”
Azriel knew she was trying to joke, bringing them both back into their comfort zone. Big emotions and relationships were things that neither of them was terribly familiar with. All the same, he felt the need to remind her that the trauma she experienced was not a dealbreaker – did not define her worth.
“I have nightmares, too, you know. About my father, my brothers,” he confessed, fingers trailing down her arm. She knew about the abuse he’d suffered as a child, his time in the dark. “Wouldn’t you comfort me?”
“Of course I would, Azriel. Without a second thought.”
He raised a tanned hand to cup her neck and dipped his chin to brush his lips over hers. “Exactly. So I don’t ever want you to worry about it again, okay?” Azriel fixed her with a stern gaze, but smiled when she nodded. She leaned back against him and dropped the McDonald’s bag on the floor. He reached back for the breakfast sandwich waiting for him on the end table, trying to unwrap it with one hand so he could keep the other on her hip, fingers brushing back and forth in soothing strokes over her shorts. Quiet settled around them, Gwyn having pulled out her phone while Azriel ate his breakfast.
“Hmm?” He felt her fingers tracing over his, so he turned his hand over so he could give them a gentle squeeze.
“I care for you, too. You’re very special to me.” Her sweet voice cracked him open, warmth and sunlight pouring into his heart. He bent his head forward and kissed her hair as he wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her to him, earning a giggle and a playful swat on his forearm. “By the way, Nesta and Cassian are en route. I think they should get here in a couple hours?”
“Hmm,” Azriel grumbled, leaning in to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Does that mean I’ll have to share you?” Gwyn laughed and leaned her head back.
“Only a little, Aphelah.” She reached a hand up and patted his cheek. “Should we tell them that we’re together? Like, before they get here?” He pursed his lips, thinking about what the best course of action would be. He didn’t think they’d necessarily be surprised. They’d probably be exasperated that it took so long.
“I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of not saying anything, then seeing their reaction when I kiss you.” He felt her body shake with giggles, a tinkling melody of windchimes in the breeze.
“Yeah, I think that’s definitely the way to go.”
Azriel brushed his lips against her cheek before leaning back, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. “Comfy, Berdara?” When he glanced over her shoulder, he spied her opening a reading app. “Please don’t read any smut while you’re draped across my chest,” he teased.
“You hush, and mind your own business,” she scoffed, waving him off absentmindedly. “You just pay attention to your own phone and be quiet like a good boyfriend.” He grabbed that dismissive hand and brought it to his lips.
“I like the sound of that,” he purred.
“Of being quiet?” Gwyn quipped, earning a poke from the hand on her hip.
“Boyfriend, you smartass.” Azriel shook his head in exasperation as she cackled, clearly pleased with herself. He kissed her fingers again before letting go, allowing peace to settle around them. He thumbed through his email with a contented half grin, hardly paying attention to the inbox. How could he read his email when Gwyn was tucked in his embrace? It was such an easy place to be. It was difficult to comprehend how truly comfortable he was with her, how happy it made him to care for her.
Breaking through his sappy thoughts, he focused on the email again, making sure to read anything marked as a priority. He wouldn’t necessarily work while he was on vacation, but he liked to stay in the loop. He didn’t know how long it had been when he looked back down at Gwyn, and his eyes crinkled tenderly to find her fast asleep.
Her phone was in her lap, pale fingers of one hand still curled around it. The other had found its way over his own, fingers loosely tangled. Her cheek lay against his breastbone, and he could feel her soft puffs of her breath against his skin. He smiled softly, brushing his fingers over her temple and cheek. She had to be tired after last night, even if she insisted that she slept well after. But at least she was here, Azriel having talked her out of her ridiculous plan to leave – to excuse herself out of vacation with all of them just to avoid “causing a scene”. He pushed his hand through his unruly dark hair with a sigh. He cursed inwardly at the pain she’d had to endure, and hated that she had continued to suffer alone. They were close friends, yet she had never shared this burden she carried. Knowing her – how considerate and kind she was, how self-sacrificing – she wouldn’t have wanted to add the weight to his shoulders.
But now that he knew? She would never face it alone. Never again.
He turned his attention back to his phone, quickly opening a group text with Nesta and Cassian.
Hey. How far out are you guys?
Nesta: 20 minutes? Half an hour? Assuming this oaf doesn’t get pulled over.
That’s quite a big assumption. When you do get here, be sure to be quiet when you come in?
Nesta: Ummmm okay? Do I want to ask why?
Azriel grinned smugly to himself. He reached up, glad his long arm could reach far enough to capture the picture he thought he might have to have printed and framed – a beautiful pale face haloed by copper-spun locks, peacefully slumbering against his tanned, toned chest. And his shit-eating, goofy grin. He wasn’t a selfie guy, but this was a special exception. With a tap of his thumb he sent it off.
Nesta: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nesta: Cassian almost just crashed the car.
Nesta: He literally screamed.
Nesta: He’s still screaming. I’M SCREAMING.
Don’t text and drive, Cassian.
Nesta: Wait, so are you guys official??? When did it happen? HOW did it happen? You have SO much explaining to do!!!!
Shaking his head, he huffed a laugh. He should’ve been prepared for the Spanish Inquisition.
We are official. We’ll tell you the rest after you get here.
He looked down again at that crown of gorgeous chestnut red hair. He felt a twinge of guilt at telling Nesta and Cassian before they got to the cabin, but Gwyn’s rest was more important. They would tell the whole story once she woke. And again, when Rhys and Feyre arrived, then Elain and Lucien. He would tell the story again and again, to anyone who would listen – the story of how he got the girl.
Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist
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nanowrimo · 2 months ago
Break These 3 Unwitting Writing Habits to Finally Get Your Novel Finished
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Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Kahana, a 2021 NaNo sponsor, combines the ability to create split-screen environments with notes and reference materials on one side and documents being written on the other with a simple folder hierarchy and beautiful UI. Today, content writer Gia Marcos shares some tips to break bad writing habits you might not even realize you do:
Writers are such creatures of habit. Whether you’re a planner, plotter, or pantser, your process is any behavioral pattern that has always worked efficiently. 
But often, you get attached to these “success” habits—not necessarily the practice itself but the ways in which you maintain them—and gradually kill your creativity. You tend to focus on results instead of enjoying the journey. But hey, it’s human nature and there are ways to get around it.
Here at Kahana, we help writers design healthy and fun processes. We work with an international community of writers who give us insight into their unique processes. As a result, we were able to identify three unwitting habits that are stopping many writers from getting their novels done. And we come bearing tips!
1. Waiting for Inspiration to Come 
“You’re more likely to act yourself into feeling than feeling yourself into action.” —Jerome Bruner, Harvard psychologist
Action precedes inspiration. You don’t wait for some kind of “purpose” or for motivation to hit. Just don’t over analyze what you want to do and turn it into a have-to.
Set the right intention—you want it so you’ll do it. It doesn’t matter how or where you start either. It can be at pre-writing, researching, drafting, free-writing, or obsessively editing that first sentence. The bottom line is, inspirations are down the road. 
You don’t need to be “driven” to get them (pun intended). Just take the wheel and go. 
2. Overlaps in the Stages of the Writing Process 
We discovered that it’s common for writers to do research while they’re already in the writing process. It seems harmless but in reality, it’s hurting your cognition. 
That feeling that you’re being more productive while multitasking is an illusion. It’s caused by the dopamine receptors released by your brain as it jumps from one task to the other.
During that time, your brain merely moves from one focus point to another and isn’t processing all of the stimuli you’re tapping into. 
As a result, you don’t gain the expertise or confidence you’re supposed to get from research so you can focus on your writing. So you either quit writing or continue with lingering doubts and develop unwitting habit #3.
3. Opening Multiple Browser Tabs (They’re Killing Your Brain)
Tab hoarding—we’re all guilty of this. And the brain processes it the same way it does multi-tasking. 
Combined together, habits 2 and 3 make the perfect recipe for not getting anything done. Then again, as humans, it’s a common struggle...
“People are attached to tabs because they view them as opportunities. People are queuing up these things because no one likes to lose out on opportunities,” says Aniket Kittur, a professor at the Human-Computer Interaction Institute at Carnegie Mellon. 
You’re probably thinking: “It’s not like there’s another way to keep tabs of all your references in one tab (no pun intended, this time).” But there is!
Kahana is an app that allows you to toggle between multiple references and your writing space in one window. 
How it works: 
You can clip web pages using our browser plug-in; upload documents from your device and save them in a Writing Hub
The Writing Hub is a split-screen window; on the left side, you have a viewing screen where you can toggle between your resources. On the right side is a writing space where you can create multiple notes.
You can collect all your research materials before writing, then write without disruptions, avoid multitasking, and allow you and your device to breathe. 
A Little Pep Talk
“A habit cannot be tossed out the window; it must be coaxed down the stairs a step at a time.” —Mark Twain
We know breaking old habits can be challenging. So let that quote serve as a reminder that it’s okay to take your time. Take it as a little fun holiday, but a productive one. 
It’s a transitional phase where you’ll encounter surprises like new inspirations and maybe some creative skills you didn’t know you had.
It’s a great place to be in if you’re participating in NaNoWriMo. So if you feel pressured or held back by perfectionism, remember—nothing bad has ever come out of a well-enjoyed creative process.
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Gia Marcos is a professional content writer based in Manila, Philippines. She is a contributor to Kahana and TheThings. Her current work in progress are short stories inspired by decadence and surrealist eroticism. When she's not writing, she's probably immersed in reading or keeping up with the latest films on Mubi and Criterion Channel.
Top photo by Marvin Meyer on Unsplash.
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deathsofglitter · 2 months ago
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There are stories that are told by beautiful people and there are stories that are told by broken people imprisoned with unwilling and unwitting mouthpieces and there are stories told by shared mouths and eye sockets and there are stories written by a 3D printer.
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punkylilwitch · 8 months ago
Black Cats
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Cats have been worshipped and seen as heavily spiritual beings for years in many cultures such as the Ancient Egyptians and throughout Europe in the middle ages since the cats would kill the rodents spreading the black plague. 
According to, “Others believed that cats were actually humans that committed bad deeds and were forced to return to the world and while it’s hard to imagine that anyone ever considered these beautiful animals to be evil, these beliefs ultimately lead to the superstitions people have of black cats, even to this day.”
Felines were evolved to be efficient hunting animals that first came to be about 65-33 million years ago. Each kind of cat has different energy, whether this means a difference between a lion and a Jaguar, or a calico and a siamese cat.
Cats were associated with evil forces, and ergo witches, back when the witch hunts were occurring because of their nocturnal and independent natures. Black cats in particular are associated with death like crows and ravens because of their color.  Both witches and black cats were persecuted and killed together because people thought that black cats assisted witches in their evil deeds/were their familiars, and also that witches could transform into black cats to lurk in the shadows and cast spells on people. 
“According to Man, Myth & Magic, an Italian legend tells of a cat that gave birth to her kittens under the manger in which Jesus was born. “but the cat was not destined to be venerated in Christian Europe, for the Church with its violent repudiation of paganism succeeded in reducing the status of this once sacred animal to that of a devil …During the persecution of the Cathars the belief was fostered that these heretics worshipped the Devil in feline form, and the stage was set for the cat’s unwitting participation in the witchcraft tragedy.”– Martha Gray Grimalkyn: The Witch’s Cat: Power Animals in Traditional Magic 
There are more black cats then cats of any other color, 33% of all cats are black, whilst 28% are grey. There is a popular myth that black cats are more likely to be abandoned, but studies show that, “although euthanasia numbers for black animals are at or near the top (both black and white dogs were near 19 percent; black cats were at 30 percent, with gray cats and white cats coming in just under that, at 28 percent and 26 percent, respectively), their total adoption numbers were also the highest of any color.” (Is It a Myth That Black Shelter Pets Are Less Likely to Be Adopted? By Kristen Seymour). This could be because of the fact that there are simply more of these animals than any other, so they are most likely to be put down. This however adds to the belief that black-coated animals are neglected because of color.  
In American folk magick, black cats and witches have a good relationship still, and black cats’ shed brings protection and luck in spells! They are especially useful for luck in gambling. British and Irish sailors brought black cats on their ships believing it to be good luck as well. 
Here is a link about cats on ships :)
Here are my sources:,streets%20of%20these%20bad%20omens.
And here is a book I found that has some very good info!
Thank you @the-illuminated-witch​ for help on the modern interpretation of black cats!! :)
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angeli-marco-writes · 7 months ago
Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain
A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!
Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.
Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)
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Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.
“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.
“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”
“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”
You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”
The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.
“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.
“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.
“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.
“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.
Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.
“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.
“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”
“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”
“And you! Where’s the baby?”
Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”
Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.
He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.
“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”
“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.
Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.
Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.
“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.
“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.
She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.
“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”
“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”
“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”
You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”
In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.
“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.
“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”
You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”
Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.
“How do you know so much about babies?”
The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”
“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”
“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”
“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”
Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.
“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”
If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.
“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”
A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.
Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.
“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”
He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.
Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.
“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”
He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.
A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.
“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”
And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.
“Well, lunch?”
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Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.
Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.
“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.
Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”
“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”
“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”
“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”
When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…
A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.
“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .
“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”
“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”
Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.
“You okay?” you whisper.
“Yeah, course. You?”
You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.
“I love you.”
“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”
“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”
He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”
“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”
You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.
“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”
“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”
The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.
“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”
Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.
You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.
“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”
He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.
“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”
A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”
“You’re being arsey with me.”
“Because you said you don’t want kids!”
“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”
“You know I want kids, Tom.”
“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”
“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”
“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”
“Tom,” you murmur.
Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.
“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”
“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.
All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.
“Except maybe that.”
You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.
“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”
This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.
“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”
You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.
“Lets just sit, shall we?”
You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.
In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.
The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.
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The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.
Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.
“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.
“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”
You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”
“And you. Drive safe.”
“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”
Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.
“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.
“Yeah, and he’s cute.”
“Nice eyes.”
And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.
“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.
“Thanks darlin’.”
You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.
In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.
“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”
You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…
“Really? Y-you mean it?”
His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.
Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.
And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…
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aziraphales-library · 3 months ago
Could you recommend something with the trope where one of them hides something from the other one to protect them/not to upset them and the other one obviously finds out eventually and comfort ensues??? Please, I love stories like that. (Preferably no romance?)
Here are some gen fics which include various types of secrets...
All I Knew by Raphaela_Crowley (T)
Ever since Aziraphale got his records from Heaven, Crowley's known something he doesn't plan on telling the angel; namely the fact that Aziraphale was literally created to be his best friend.
This just isn't something he feels comfortable sharing; or talking about at all, really. Not unless he's forced to.
But what could force his hand?
A break in and a rogue demon who's stumbled across Crowley's secret and seems to be playing his own game (and is currently in Aziraphale's bookshop, pretending to have a celestial connection to the unwitting principality)?
Oh yeah, that'll do it.
The Cat’s Mau by Kedreeva (G)
Aziraphale comes to Crowley's flat for the first time after the apocalypse, and discovers a secret no one thought was a secret, about the cat Crowley doesn't exactly have.
Among the Lilies by Magical_Destiny (G)
On the night after the Apocalypse, Aziraphale makes a discovery in Crowley's garden. Unprepared for either Aziraphale's curiosity or an Apocalypse averted, Crowley makes a few discoveries of his own.
Fire and Water by Critique_Masochist (T)
Crowley confesses that seeing the bookshop burn down has maybe kind of really fucked him up. Aziraphale confesses to a secret of his own.
From Hell, With Love by Zeckarin (T)
Aziraphale leaves the bookshop without a word or a note. Crowley doesn't take it very well. But the reason behind the angel's disappearance is way worse than our dear demon thinks.
The One Where Satan Panics When Asked for a Name by StarlightPhoenix (G)
“Well, it must be bad,” the angel argued, and then paused expectantly.
Since before he Fell, Lucifer knew panic. He felt it when he confronted God, when he Fell, when he realized the consequences. He felt it again, in the Garden of Eden, when the angel asked for his name.
Lucifer? Of course not. The angel didn’t have his sword, but he was still a Principality, still fought in the War, could still call for the other three guardians.
And the angel didn’t recognize him anyway. He was a far cry from his original beauty, he knew, unrecognizable from the other demons crawling in Hell–
- Mod D
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astrolcgia · 6 months ago
i'll be here (when you think you're all alone.)
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hello there, me clowning around despite having reports due to a break because of a tropical storm and a national holiday (rip)
I got the chance to finish Story Mode TWST and started on the events. Have some Tomie!MC causing madness, mayhem, and conquering unwitting Magicam(m)onsters with Cursed Charm(?) and making money.
🍓 Tomie!MC AU found on the lovely @twisted-n-thirsty's blog, created with innovative anons!
🍓Tomie!MC + Scary Monsters Event
🍓 CW + TW: Canon-typical violence, and extortion (?).
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This was annoying, coupled with the ringing in your head, the screaming and squealing of these trespassers, and Grimm's cowering. You gathered up the poor beast cat in your arms.
The ghosts were hiding too, and from the looks of it, more of those cretins were scrambling in to get inside Ramshackle. Thank goodness you'd taken up Lilia's offer to magically lock your room door once these fame-hungry idiots started pouring in like unwanted Christmas cakes.
Halloween was something to be enjoyed, but these people were sapping the joy from these particular events. The guardian dragon in your courtyard was more or less overrun by muddy shoe tracks, tears, and the occasional litter. You made the best effort to give refreshments to the Diasomnia students, considering they were helping you keep these morons at bay, but even you could tell their patience was running thin.
It wasn't Malleus' fault he was a prodigious person. It was the visitors' fault that they couldn't comprehend basic societal norms. You were sure to trip the last visitor for the fourth day down the icy stairs when they left. Particularly noisy, and someone completely convinced in their...charisma? Which was nonexistent.
In the recesses of your mind, you vaguely recall similar situations in the past. Hidden photos, letters, unwanted advances...well, Malleus didn't have the (dis)advantage of driving anyone who looked at him for too long mad, which was a bit too bad.
Standing up, you sigh, ignoring the coos, jeers, and cheering around you. Cretins, the lot of them. Grimm hides behind your ghost-blanket veil. Hmm. You tap a finger on your lip.
A veil, hmm? You grin wickedly.
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The ghost unveiled their face, and everyone was mesmerized.
Beautiful skin seemed to shine in the dim moonlight, and doleful eyes met theirs head-on. The ghost with an eerily dignified aura was cradling the ash-colored cat from the viral magicam post. They looked on at the people who had forgotten to even snap the shutter.
"Hey, you."
"A-Ah! Yes?!"
The ghost motions to the visitor. "Bring me a chair. I've been sitting on the ground because of you...visitors."
(Three chairs were immediately dragged over, much to the ghosts' amusement. From a dark corner, Lilia raised an eyebrow. The Prefect smiled in a certain way, and Lilia understood. The bat-fae grinned and slipped away to inform the rest of the commitee.)
"Are you the resident of this house, Ghost?"
You nod. "Why yes, I am. And did the Diasomnia students not tell you that aside from the courtyard, everything else is private property?" Your eyes seemed to glow with an eerie ambiance in the early night. "You know, despite being open to the public, Night Raven College is still private property grounds, correct?"
A woman rolled her eyes. "We paid for the ticket in, and you're supposed to--"
"You paid for the ticket in and you're a visitor, Madam." You interject smoothly. A few people jolted, feeling something brush by their leg, their necks, and arms. "You're not the owner of the place. We don't owe you anything aside from basic decency, and you owe us cordiality for being allowed to visit hallowed school grounds."
(Mentally, you think Headmaster Crowley would have been gushing over your little speech. Physically, you had to restrain yourself from going wild and just ripping her spine from her body, and cracking it like a whip.)
"Hmm fine then; this is a hint, but we have a special bonus for all you kindly visitors." Your smile reached an uncanny point, and Grimm snickered behind a paw. "You may take photos of...hmm, yes. Me. I happen to be one of the passwords for claiming an...exclusive prize."
(Snapping ensued, along with cheering. Inwardly, you laugh. Shadows crept along the walls, snaring minds, creeping through bones and eyes and muscle sinews and hearts.
You smile on Halloween night. Brain-dead morons.)
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Remember when Tomie's photo/portrait was taken/made by unsuspecting idiots/poor besotted souls in the canon Junji Ito works? Yeah, that.
The Magicam monsters feel special when they find that the pretty ghost didn't just offer their pictures to anybody. Moreover, what could that 'exclusive prize' be?
They get their answer minutes later, after having left the Ramshackle Dorm, they see the beautiful ghost everywhere. In the corners of their eyes, in the shadows, in the crowd, in the rearview mirrors of their cars...
#RamshackleGhost goes viral for a very different reason. Night Raven College students are looking pitifully at those who hold photos of the Ramshackle Ghost, and flash them pale faces or looks that just scream 'you poor unfortunate soul.'
The photos slowly, slowly distort. The smile grows less benign and more sinister with each passing minute. Deleting the photo doesn't work; it only reappears, more distorted than ever.
The offerings start piling in a few hours later. Some of them shake off the feeling of impending doom immediately; others take to blubbering confessions and offerings of trades to Ramshackle, before the photos completely vanish from their social media.
A limited edition figurine or two is given to an ecstatic Idia, along with a few other playstore cash cards. The offerings just keep piling and piling up, and well. The Prefect honestly doesn't mind. They got a high-end phone from the looks of it, along with enough tuna cans for Grimm to gorge himself on.
The terrified offerings of crumpled wads and neatly stacked bundles of cash by unlucky magicam monsters was welcome. Very welcome.
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The Ramshackle Dorm was almost the usual.
In the aftermath, Idia was happily typing away at a laptop, with various extensions connected to numerous phones. The Prefect, Grimm, and Ortho were enjoying a nice game of monopoly with Malleus and Lila. Sebek, being Sebek, was willfully handing all his monopoly possessions to Malleus.
Silver was napping on a plush, paw-shaped pillow that was probably also part of the pile of offerings the Prefect acquired.
(No one needed to know that Idia was cc-mailing drone-recorded videos of those who pushed back statues of the Great Seven for clout to their respective schools and parents, along with a stern letter demanding reparations for damages and legal action.)
It was kind of eye-catching that the Prefect's seat seemed to be a human on all fours. A petrified human on all fours.
And there was another pile of tuna cans beside the chaise lounge. Along with brand-name goods and a pile of cash that Azul was quite frankly ogling like the lovable capitalist octopus that he was.
Ace worked his jaw. "What."
The Prefect smiled. "What indeed. Hello, Ace and Deuce. Would you like some Heradiva Chocolates?"
Deuce choked and put a hand on his collarbone like an offended church grandmother. "Where did these come from."
The Prefect smiles in that cursedly charming way they always did. "Oh, some morons trespassed on my dorm and started treating Malleus as some kind of challenge. I tricked them into taking a picture of me." you popped a piece into your mouth. "Hmm, but yes. property damage is quite a serious offense. I had to find a way for them to repay me for my...troubles."
Silence. Ace and Deuce shared a Look. That smile was not innocent in the least. It was like saying Azul was the paragon of generosity or Vil wasn't the coolest person on magicam.
The two Heartslabyul students sighed and sat beside the Prefect. "Gimme some of those boxes, Prefect." Ace replied resignedly, though his gleeful grin and grabby hands belied his intentions.
You sigh fondly and pass two boxes of chocolate over at Ace and Deuce. "Give the rest to Riddle and the others please?"
"Aww, can't we have 'em all?"
A smile. "No."
Ace wisely keeps his mouth shut, pouting as he tears the expensive wrapping. Deuce barks out a laugh. Another day, another oddity.
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prose-for-hire · 8 months ago
Face your demon
Pairing: Spike x reader
Request: Could you do A Spike x reader where the reader is in love with him, but doesn't show her emotions (except for getting easily flustered around him), but Spike overhears hears her talking to willow about it and he confronts her, ending in them being together?
Requested by: @wiccanindigo​
Requested tags: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @artsymaddie​ @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard​ @cameo-greaves​
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​You were pretty neutral in public. Your face rarely shifted other than to a polite smile or perhaps a confused frown should the moment take you by surprise. Other than this human reaction, you would usually maintain a resting face. One that appeared to most as if you didn’t wish to be in their company. Or anywhere at all really.
You felt a lot. You really cared about your friends, the people you loved. It was just near-impossible to express this. At least, in a way that you were comfortable. It was much easier to hold people at a distance. That way, you didn’t risk rejection. Or painful, bitter emotions that you didn’t enjoy.
So, you tended to hide your emotional side completely. Rather than wrestle with articulating the way you felt. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision, just one that you lived with. You struggled expressing your emotions – not only on your face but also verbally. Any way, really. It could be so hard.
Luckily for you though, you had some very caring and empathetic friends. The Scoobies. They understood and gave you the time you needed – between fighting apocalypses of course.
You were sat in the Magic box with all of your friends around you. Buffy, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara and Giles. You were characteristically just staring into the centre of the room as the usual antics played out around you.
You contributed now and again although not as passionately as the others, it must be said. You tended to bounce off of someone else’s point and repeat it if you agreed with it with a shrug. As if you would rather be anywhere but there.
You weren’t shy. In fact you came across as the complete opposite. Cool, collected. Near apathetic should your friends not understand how deeply you truly did care – you just didn’t express it as much as most. There was no need to gush in your book. You weren’t one to keep your heart on your sleeve and make the entire room look at it.
Well, that was until him.
Spike ran in, slamming the door shut behind him. It slammed so hard the entire store shook and he sauntered in as if it was nothing. It made the corners of your mouth tug into an almost-smile but you looked down to avoid anyone seeing.
There he was, your weakness. The one that could render you speechless. A flustered mess. A heat would rise in your cheeks and your voice would appear weak and just wholly unlike yourself.
You had it bad. He always did this, walking in with that swagger. Those cheekbones. That look…
His eyes were straight on you. As they always were. You were a mystery to him, one he was so desperate to figure out. You had noticed the way he always made his way to you. The way he dropped his voice and made comments about the others in the room in the hopes of you cracking a smile.
You spoke to him as much as you could, but often your words failed you. You didn’t want to give anything away. Couldn’t. You didn’t want him to tease you, reject you in such a painful way.
He was Spike, after all. He could have anyone he wanted you were sure of it.
The point was, though, that he wanted you. And you were too wrapped up in focusing on how to breath properly when he was around that you didn’t notice.
Spike found your resting face beautifully morbid. He found you to be strong-willed and the very little he sensed or heard from you he found himself clinging to. You would be stamped onto his brain for the rest of his un-life, he was sure of it.
He was in so deep. Thought about you constantly. Wanted to know what you were doing, what you were thinking. Imagined himself by your side. Taking you into his bed… oh, and I won’t even start on the dreams. They left him aching. Such deep, unending desire. For you. God, it could only ever be you.
“Alright, pet? Don’t rush to say you missed me, written on your face already” He smouldered in that way he did. Hoping for any kind of reaction.
You looked up at him before immediately looking away. A ghost of a smile on your face as you shifted in your seat. He took this as an invitation to sit beside you and so he did.
“Hi Spike” You just about managed before your voice wavered. You didn’t like the way he rendered you this flustered mess. But, at the same time you couldn’t help but completely love it.
Your usual cool demeanour gone. Lost in those beautiful eyes of his. You could happily live in his eyes for the rest of your life.
You managed to position yourself in your seat in such a way that meant he made up most of you vision, without it looking glaringly obvious to anyone else. He lived in your peripheral vision. At least this way a little part of him was yours.
You became a little brave and moved your eyes to look at him properly, no longer just from the side. He was beautiful. The way that t-shirt clung perfectly to his torso. The way his leather duster managed to land in such a relaxed way on his shoulders. Effortless cool. Or, that’s what you assumed.
You loved him. His looks. His personality. Just everything. You couldn’t escape it.
Something snapped you out of staring. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you. Staring.
“Huh?” You asked, feeling a heat rise in your cheeks as he turned to face you properly too. You had apparently managed to miss the entire meeting. Not one scrap of the plan had entered your head. You were consumed by him instead.
“Y/n? You sure that’s okay?”
“We’ll be fine on patrol, right love?” Spike smirked at the rest of the room and raised an eyebrow which made everyone reconsider.
“We can switch if evil dead makes you uncomfortable” Xander offered kindly which made spike glare. He wanted you to himself.
“No that’s good- uh, fine. It’s fine. I’ll patrol with Spike” you rushed out at a completely different pace than anyone was used to hearing you speak.
What you were supposed to be looking for, you didn’t know. You hadn’t been listening just focusing on regulating your breathing. Wiping the sweat from your palms at the proximity. He was sat so close to you. You wanted to just lean against him. Whisper how you felt.
You and Spike walked out into the cool night air. Mostly in silence, although you could almost hear the cogs in his mind whirring to come up with something to say. You didn’t realise but he was trying to impress you. Trying to get you to smile. He loved it when you smiled. Near melted.
He then finally asked something he had so wanted to say to you. For such a long time.
“We could, uh, blow this off, go for a drink?” He let the proposition hang in the air.
You didn’t even begin to consider this had been something more than a teasing joke because he didn’t want to be stuck patrolling anymore. Just wanted to rebel against Buffy’s sudden authority in his life.
“Yeah, because I’ve always thought you’d look great with a redwood through your chest” You spoke, referring to what Buffy would do to him should he leave you or the demon to run through the streets.
“It’d make a pretty accessory. Bring out your eyes” You deadpanned and he just stared. Why were you like this? Why did your flirting so quickly descend into just being rude?
It was like a disease. You were riddled with it. Any sense that your mouth would spill the contents of your mind and something took over. Possessed you, began to say the very opposite of what you wished to say.
You wanted him to ask you out for a drink. Tell you that you looked nice, that he felt lucky to have someone like you to take out. Have on his arm. Show off. You wanted to loop your arms around him and embrace him. Kiss his lips. Have him in your bed. His body yours and only yours.
But, instead, you had just told him he would look better dead. Or, well, more dead. He had taken this as a firm no, you didn’t want to go out with him. He looked upwards, trying to stop the stinging at the back of his eyes before he nodded firmly and just shrugged.
“Whatever, let’s find this vamp”
Oh, right. It was a vampire. You were supposed to be looking for a vampire. That at least narrowed it down… kind of.
Both of you took turns in glancing at the person beside them. So desperately wishing to touch them. Have some kind of intimacy. It was hard having the one that you loved so close and yet emotionally so far away.
There was a distance. A canyon between you that you both wished to cross. But it was so hard. There would be no turning back.
You never caught up with the vampire you were meant to find and Spike walked you home instead when it got too late. You tried to thank him for the gesture but he had turned and walked away. Licking his wound at the rejection you had inflicted upon him without realising.
Despite the fact you had hurt him though, he had needed to make sure you got in safe. Protecting you from harm meant everything even if you wouldn’t give him the time of day.
It had been a couple of days since this unwitting rejection and you and Willow had arrived early waiting to meet with the others at the Magic Box. Giles had gone to pick up some order sat the back. Which left just you and your friend. Well, that’s what you thought anyway.
She was the only one that knew how you felt for Spike. She had seen you watching him, a new expression unlocked on your face. As if she had won a quest or something in a video game and been allowed to see it.
Conversation had quickly turned to this man that you were so in love with it managed to fluster even you. You near hid your face from your friend at even the implication you liked him. But you were comfortable that Willow was being supportive.
You discussed that you liked him. Truly admitted it out loud for the first time. Not realising that the man himself was stood around the corner listening. He loved to hear your voice and so had stayed back because you seemed to speak less in his company.
Spike’s jaw tensed as he heard you talking about this mystery man though. He had never heard you gush this way before. Stumbling over your words to describe such longing. You usually appeared so calm, collected. He wished to be the one that sent you weak at the knees in the way that this nameless idiot did. He guessed it was probably Xander.
Stupid bloody Xander. Gormless nit.
“Maybe, uh, you should tell him? You can’t know his feelings unless you try” Willow offered.
Spike guiltily hoped that you would have to face rejection so that he could comfort you instead. Spend more time with you, prove to you that you could trust him with your emotions. He so longed to have your attention. Your trust.
“I can’t… I-it’s too hard” You sighed and his spirits lifted, maybe this would be his chance instead. While you tried to build up your courage, he could show you how much you meant to him. How much he wanted you.
Nothing could have prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. There had been only a slight pause while you sifted through your emotions.
“He’s so- he’s… he’s Spike” You had no other description other than this spike-ness was all that you wanted. You near craved it. But also these words explained how hard it was. How trying to speak to him was near impossible. Willow nodded in understanding and patted your shoulder sympathetically.
“It could be good for you, y’know? Facing your, uh, demon…” Willow’s voice dried up. Turned into a little squeak. You looked up, confused.
There he was, as if your longing had been a magnet to the man himself. Your eyes bulged and your mouth opened in shock. The most your face had ever given away.
Willow stumbled over some excuse that neither Spike nor you heard before she left for the exit. Allowing you to both speak.
“I’m the bloke you’ve been harpin’ on about?” He said slowly. He did this only because he wanted to hear it from your mouth again. As if he wasn’t entirely sure if he had dreamed it or not.
“We don’t have to make it into a big deal… I’m sure I’ll, uh, get over it” You tried, avoiding the rejection you could feel coming.
“Don’t” He said quickly, “God, please bloody don’t get over it. You’d break a poor dead man’s heart if you did”
“What?” You asked, frowning in confusion. He couldn’t possibly feel the same way… could he?
“Don’t be daft, love. Asked you for a drink didn’t I? Trailed after you despite you not even pretending to take an interest. Been there just in the nick of time before somethin’ nasty ate you?” He reeled off things he had pretty much done in the last fourty-eight hours. It made you gasp with surprise. How had you missed this? “Tell me I haven’t bent over bloody backwards for even a shred of your affection,”
“Spike…” You looked away, it was so hard. You didn’t even know how to begin to say what you needed to.
“Please, don’t shy away. Can’t stand it when your eyes wander…”
“Spike, I…” He took your hand, nodding subtly to show that he was there. That he liked you, that he needed to hear it. Whatever it may be, “I love you”
Spike pulled you into him immediately, knowing this must have bee hard for you. He was beginning to understand. You were like him, petrified of the rejection. The idea that the one that held such promise and stirred such feeling could ruin everything. You restored his faith in love. Rekindled his affections for the notion as well as confirming that he loved you too.
He crashed his lips to yours, his reply to your words communicated in this way. And you understood completely. Lips moving against yours, a display of affection only for you. he was firm in his love but so very tender. He embraced you close, a hand along the small of your back that made you shiver and lean further into him. Deepening this perfect kiss.
You parted, somewhat reluctantly and just gazed at the other for a moment before he spoke.
“I’m just glad you don’t have eyes for the whelp” Spike grinned and it made your face brighten. A smile. One that he savoured as you rolled your eyes at him being so pleased you liked him more than Xander.
He took your hand in his and sauntered beside you. Chest puffed out and proud to have you by his side. As if you had just gifted him the entire world.
Now you just had to break it to your friends. There was no way you would be hiding this.
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roanniom · 11 months ago
Over Your Shoulder - Part I
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Adam Sackler x Reader
Word Count: 5,000~
Summary: After a bad break up that’s shaken your confidence, your friend Adam Sackler reminds you just how beautiful (and desirable) you really are.
Note: This story was born from seeing @ driverdelight‘s gif above and I literally had it open the whole time I was writing this. At a certain part of this story (you’ll know when), I urge you to scroll back up and look at this gif again. Promise you’ll thank me later.
Warnings: N S F W, fingering, groping, angsty mentions of breakups, praise kink (not sure if that needs to be warned, it’s more of a promise).  
You have a problem and his name is Adam Sackler.
That sounds a little harsh, especially considering the man has been letting you crash at his place. Has been cooking you meals when you forget (don’t want) to eat. Has gotten you out of bed and dressed and out of the apartment in a whirlwind of activity. The park, the movies, experimental theater shows where the lead actor just recites lines from A Fish Called Wanda in a Russian accent until you and Adam are laughing so hard you almost pee in your shadowy corner of the audience.
Right now he stands across from you, a smile playing at his full lips, eyebrow cocked in a challenge. His eyes glitter with inquisitive mischief and he runs a hand through his tousled dark hair, waiting for your response.
“You okay, kid?”
No, Adam himself isn’t the problem. He is, in fact, the best cure for a breakup that a girl could ask for.
So what is the problem?
If you’re being really honest with yourself, its that he’s too much of a god damn snack.
Seriously. There’s no way he’s always been this fuckable. Surely not when you’d first met him, several years ago while acting as the romantic interest to his male lead in some low-budget production of who-fucking-cares. No, he’d been dating the Awful GirlTM at the time. He’d been tired and irritable, constantly dragged around the city to support her flights of fancy at all hours of the day and night. This led to him being distant on set. Some found it off putting but you? You, a recent transplant from a Podunk town specializing in corn, corn, and more corn? You’d found him mysterious. Odd. Interesting. Not in an alluring way, but in a way that led you to take your lunches with him in the alley behind the theater, sharing pickles and soggy French fries and choking into your sandwich as his dark humor strangled laughs from your unwitting throat.
Sackler became a good friend during that production, and an even better friend a year later when Awful GirlTM was finally out of the picture for good. It both relieved and saddened you that he seemed a completely different person after his breakup. Relieved you because he no longer seemed miserable and the haze around him, once lifted, made way for a sillier, cheekier Adam which you found thoroughly entertaining. Saddened you because it meant that he had been caused so much pain by a person he had thought he loved.
You knew nothing of love when you met him. You still probably don’t, if you’re being honest with yourself. Just before Adam’s big breakup, you’d found yourself saying yes to a fuck boy in a Lacoste polo who bought you dinner and felt up your tits in an empty subway car on the way home. You learned he wore the Lacoste polos only on weekends and figured you could deal with two days out of the week living like you were in continuous frat party as long as the other five days saw the man in a suit.
But it turns out many other women liked the sight of your man in a suit. More troubling still, many even liked the sight of him out of it. You knew for much longer than you cared to admit, either to your friends or yourself, but it took a very long time before you were able to pack up your things, take a cathartic pair of scissors to his favorite green polo at Adam’s encouragement and get the hell out the extended frat nightmare.
Why did you stay that long if you weren’t happy? Why does anyone stay anywhere when they aren’t happy? Though you weren’t fulfilled, at least you were…stable. And who doesn’t lust after that sweet, sweet stability?
Yeah. Nobody.
In all actuality, you’d found fulfillment outside your relationship, which made it harder to see the ways in which it was failing you. Over the years you’d realized your calling wasn’t being mimed at on a stage by narcissistic James Dean impersonators. Instead, you found yourself behind the scenes working in production, a career that made you feel less like you wanted to scoop your brains out with a spoon. Several of your friends from college moved out to the city, effectively filling your nights and lunchtimes with a wide assortment of potential meal partners.
And then you had Adam. Adam who demanded you see every new film with him the day it was released in theaters. Adam who forced you to go on runs with him after work even though you were dead tired and your legs felt like jello by the time you staggered back into your apartment just as the streetlights turned on. Adam who would pick you up at dawn on a Saturday morning and whisk you off to a farmer’s market on the opposite side of the city just because he’d overheard a fight between street vendors outside his apartment about the best place to pick up fresh horseradish, and the fact that it was usually sold out by 7am. When you asked him why he needed so much horseradish as the two of you made the trek back to your part of town sometime around 10am, Adam had swung the massive bag of bulk horseradish up to his face and shrugged.
“I don’t know. It just felt like something to do.”
“Do you even like horseradish?” you’d asked, trying to stifle a laugh. He’d shook his head then, letting out his own laugh and bumping you with the oversized bag before announcing a race back to his apartment, leaving you huffing and puffing in pursuit.
No, you couldn’t say that you’d really felt your life was missing something. Probably because your boyfriend was such a non-entity in your life. Catching him in bed with a bombshell coworker had been the final straw. Not because you envied the coworker, but because actually seeing it before your eyes made you realize just how much you didn’t feel…anything.
You were numb and you were in need of a new apartment. Those were the first things you’d blurted to Adam when you called him that day. That was the first night you spent in his apartment. After he almost bashed your ex’s face in, resisting only when he saw that you had your I-mean-business face on. Adam had always hated the guy, but he’d stayed quite since the shitty relationship had meant you’d had plenty of free time to spend with him. Now that the bandaid was removed, however, all niceties went out the window.
When Adam picked you up that day, he put a fist through your ex’s television. Then he took you out for ice cream and, though he claimed it was so that he could get something cold for his scraped knuckles, he even took a few licks from your cone himself.
You had never felt so sad and happy all at once.
Adam had insisted you take his bed, swearing up and down that the couch was good enough for him and that heartbreak required extra leg room, for some reason. By the time you’d settled into a good routine and you both realized you’d be staying a bit longer than a week, you’d called to him through the open bedroom door, staring at the moonlight slanting into the room from the window, demanding he just share the bed with you already, god damn it.
Like friends do at a sleepover.
“Platonically?” He’d snorted, but he’d brought his pillow from the couch and made his way to the unoccupied side of the bed anyway. “Whatever you want, kid. If that’s what you need to tell yourself it was when you and three of your girlfriends spooned back in high school – if that’s what gets you through the night, fine by me. I, myself, will enjoy a different interpretation of events.”
You’d slapped him for his dirty mind, but he’d flopped down horizontally on the bed in response, crushing you with the full weight of his body in playful retaliation. Try as you might, you couldn’t wrestle the cheeky behemoth off, though if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t really trying. Adam pushed himself off you and pulled back, hovering with his face over your stomach, perpendicular to your body. The muscle tank he had lent you to sleep in had gotten bunched up and around in the struggle, exposing some of the skin of your lower belly and also showing a large portion of the side of your braless left breast through the oversized arm hole which had gone askew. Adam stared at your breasts for a few moments, motionless above you, and you watched as he licked his lips. His eyes moved up slowly from your chest to meet your eyes, taking in every part of your skin he could on the way up. When his pupils met yours, his were dilated, blown black and wide. His lips were still wet from when he’d just licked them, and even though it was dark in the apartment you couldn’t help but noticed how good they looked, plumped and pink, matched with his wide eyes and dark rumpled hair.
“Platonically,” you’d reminded quietly, pressing your hand to his chest with the slightest amount of pressure. You’d meant to sound firm but it came out sounding more like a question, even to your ears. Adam’s eyes had flitted down to your chest and then back up to your eyes before he pinched your sides and rolled away from you.
“Of course platonically. I’m just worried about your tits stretching my shirt out, that’s all.” He grumbled, turning his back to you as he settled into his side of the bed. “First you push me out of my bed and then you push your tits through the arms of my shirt. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was you coming on to me, kid.”
You couldn’t see his face but his tone was playful. You rolled your eyes, knowing fully well that he’d insisted you take his bed and that his shirt was a massive dress on you, way to big to be in any danger of being stretched out by your breasts.  You grumbled incoherently back at him before nestling into your own pillow to sleep.
You were completely unaware that Adam lay awake for the rest of that night, silently and fruitlessly willing his heartrate to stop racing. Willing his cock to stop being so painfully hard. Willing his mind to stop replaying the image of the soft curve at the side of your breast, the breathless smile on your lips, the way your hair fanned out on the pillow as he’d hovered over you.
Platonic his ass.
You’d broken up with your no-good, cheating, asshole of a boyfriend of three years only two weeks ago, but the relationship had been dry and sexless for almost eight months prior to the breakup. While in the relationship, this had almost never bothered you. Sure you were sexual, but his lack of desire definitely did a lot to tamper the mood.
Why want someone who didn’t want you? Who didn’t make you feel wanted?
Staying with Adam, however, was a different story.
While never fully crossing a line, Adam had always made you feel wanted, albeit in that pervy way of his. Over the years he’d make an inappropriate comment here, the ghost of a rub or a grope there. One of his favorite things to do to you was to come up behind you, encircle your waist with his massive arms and put his chin in the crook of your neck. He’d say things like:
“Your tits look phenomenal in this – new dress? Wanted all of Manhattan to know, didn’t you?”
“Hey, you can stop traffic in these jeans. No lie, when I just walked up I saw two guys staring at you so hard they almost crashed their cars into each other!”
“Hhholy shit, kid. This ass should be illegal. I’m just sayin – I’m just saying!”
You usually reached over your shoulder and delivered a swift smack to his head, stepping out of his grasp and admonishing him, in no uncertain terms, for his inappropriate commentary. Usually with a huge smile on your face.
But these days, being held from behind was making your blood boil in a different way. You notice the way his chin settles into the dip behind your collar bone. The way your body is pulled flush against his chest when his arms encircle your middle. The way your ass presses into his pelvis, his hips bracketing you as he playfully grinds into you to punctuate his horny statements.
You find yourself staggering out of his arms more unbalanced than before. Heat rising in your skin and a thin layer of sweat developing in your shaking palms. Since when did they start shaking?
When he goes on runs without you, you find your breath catching in your throat upon his return, as he bangs his way through the open door on a quest for Gatorade, shirt off exposing his shining torso, running shorts slung precariously low on his hips. As he throws his head back to gulp down the orange liquid, you let your gaze slide south, to the large, partially rigid outline you see in the dark blue athletic material. You swallow with difficulty, saliva gathering in your mouth at the memory of how it feels when your ass is pressed back into him. How large he is, in every sense of the word.
This time you don’t snap your eyes back up in time. By the time his gulping noises have fallen silent, indicating the end of his chaotic thirst quenching, you look up to find him staring back at you. A goofy grin on his lips.
“Were you checking me out, kid?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sackler, but I wasn’t.” You can hear the lie in your voice. Fucking tattletale stutter.
“You were. You were totally checking me out.” Adam points at you with the now empty Gatorade bottle accusatorily, but with only mirth in his eyes.
“I was zoning out.”
“Uh huh. Zoning out. Sure.”
“I’ve got all that work to do, you know that!” You cry out defensively. “I was thinking of my to-do list.”
“Oh I see. Well if you want to put me on your to-do list, baby, I’m more than willing. Happy to help you jerk me off, I mean check me off.”
His smile is ear to large-fucking-ear now and you want to crawl out of your skin. Not because the innuendo is cringey or because the idea disgusts you. On the contrary, you feel yourself getting wet.
“Fuck you, Sackler,” you say, because what else are you going to say?
“Like I said, you can if you want. You seem a little frustrated.” He Kobe’s the empty bottle into the trash can with a small swish. When he looks back up at you, however, his face is suddenly sincere. “Honestly though. If you want to take out a little aggression – no judgement. You know I’m here.”
“I’m perfectly used to handling that kind of thing myself, thank you,” you huff, folding your arms across your chest and turning away from him. You hear his steps behind you and your body tenses in anticipation right before he engulfs you in his arms once again.
“You deserve to have someone make you feel good, don’t let that fuckface make you think otherwise.” His breath is hot in your ear. Your own hitches in your throat as you become hyper aware of the way your chest rises and falls in tandem with the massive chest pressed to your back.
You stand there, breathing in synch for a few beats. When you go to move, Adam’s arms reflexively constrict, trying to keep you against him, without even thinking. But after another beat he does let go, watching as you walk into the bedroom wit swift strides. Once inside you lean your head against the cool edge of the sink and wait for your legs to stop shaking. A shaking set off by a kindness you weren’t used to. A kindness that made your knees weak and your core ache for fulfillment to match your buzzing brain.
Later that night, a freshly showered Adam walks out of his room to join you in front of the tv. He sits beside you on the couch, hand laying naturally on your thigh, seemingly without a single thought. You, however, feel the heat and weight of his palm like a searing brand, yet you don’t move away.
“You want to get some takeout? I’m thinking the little Thai place down the corner. It’s a lot healthier than that shitty fast food Chinese place we ate at last week. There’s nothing authentic about deep fat triple fried spring rolls with bacon bits on the top, I don’t care how cute that Chinese cat was on the menu.”
You don’t respond verbally to his rambling, focus lasered in as it is on his hand on your thigh, instead offering a little nod. He squeezes your thigh to get your attention.
“Hey, you’re not still in your head about what we talked about earlier, are you?” His voice is soft, making it feel more comfortable to look up and into his eyes, which seem worried.
“Maybe a little.”
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Adam is quick to pull his hand away, but you do something that surprises you both – in a knee jerk reaction you grab his hand and put it back on your leg as you shake your head vigorously.
“No, not at all.” You look down now at his hand on your thigh, your own hand now on top of it, looking almost childish in comparison. “It’s just that you’re right – that fuckface did make me feel like I didn’t deserve to have someone make me feel good.” You trail off at the end, suddenly very self-conscious voicing a realization you had barely even shared with yourself.
Adam says nothing, but his silence feels more like an invitation to keep going than an indication of disinterest, so you continue.
“I mean he always made me feel like I wasn’t even in the room – how shitty is that? Yes, he wouldn’t touch me and that was awful, but I think what hurt most is he wouldn’t even speak to me sometimes. He never reassured me. He never complimented me, never made me feel good about myself.” You sit up a little straighter on the couch and dab angrily at a stupid tear that had felt the stupid need to gather in the corner of your eye. “I know that sounds vapid and trivial and intellectually I know I don’t need validation, but – ”
“Get the fuck out of here with that ‘intellectually’ and ‘don’t need’ bull shit.” Adam’s voice is a growl as it breaks you from your rambling and you jump a little in your seat. He grounds you, however, with his hand still on your thigh. “Of course you need validation. We all need validation.” He ducks his head down to try and make contact with your averted eyes. When you refuse to look up he adds, “unless a person is a kinky motherfucker into degradation, in which case they deserve to be called a dirty little whore all they want.”
He gets his desired response when you let out a wheeze of a laugh, finally looking up at his crooked smile. He reaches out and wipes away another pesky tear from the corner of your eye with the pad of his thumb. It’s an intimate gesture. He’s always been physical in your friendship, but this is new territory.
“Jokes aside, kid. You deserve to have someone compliment you.” Now it’s his turn to avoid eye contact. “I compliment you.”
He says it gruffly, looking at his hand on your thigh. Says it like he’s confirming a truth to himself more than trying to assuage any guilt over possible mistreatment of you. He knows he compliments you. He does it whenever he can.
“You do.”
“You’re beautiful.” He looks up and says it as simply as if he is saying the sky is blue or that he likes milk. You shake your head and push air through your closed lips, causing them to purse. Adam grabs your face with his unoccupied hand then to keep your head from shaking.
“No no no, don’t give me that shit. You’re beautiful.” His hand slides from the side of your face to press his finger to the corner of your mouth. “Your smile could light a small country. You’re constantly blinding me with that thing, sometimes I swear to fucking god I need sunglasses.”
This gets a grudging smile out of you, his finger moving as your cheek dimple under his continually applied pressure. He slides his finger up to the corner of your eye then, wiping away another stray tear but staying there, pressed just against the edge of your brow bone.  
“Your eyes are so fucking expressive, I can tell what you’re thinking just by looking at your eyes. How they roll back in your head when you take a bite of that weird spicy mango thing you like.”
“Mangos with tajin,” you correct him.
“Yeah that. How your eyes light up when you talk about the project you’re working on. How they narrow and pin me down when I say some dumb shit that I probably shouldn’t have.”
“You do that often, so you must be very familiar with that look.”
“Oh trust me, it’s my favorite.” His hand slides down then, across the expanse of your cheek, under the curve of your jaw and to the slope of your neck.
“You know you distract me with your neck on a daily basis, right? The way you move your head from side to side as you stretch after a run or after a fucking afternoon nap – the way your throat gets all exposed like you’re not expecting someone to just come over a take a fucking bite out of it is beyond me.”
“Holy shit Sackler, take a bite? What are you, a fucking vampire?” You laugh, but you can already feel heat pooling in your stomach. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve been hot since earlier in the day. Since the night you fucking came to stay, if you’re really honest.
“Maybe I am.” He laughs himself, but there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Maybe I’m always suppressing the urge to come over and suck on your neck so hard that you’re screaming in pleasure beneath me.”
Your laughter dies suddenly at this statement. Your eyes lock and though this is decidedly not the most inappropriate thing Adam’s ever said to you, the tone is more serious than words of this nature have ever been. A clear line has been crossed. Catapulted over, in fact. You both know it. This time, however, he does not take his hand away from where it has been resting on your thigh. Instead he squeezes it.
The squeeze and this intense eye contact. It’s a question. It’s him asking permission to continue. It registers somewhere in your brain that you could still back away. Laugh off his comment, extricate yourself from his grip, and demand he take you to the crappy Chinese place he’d been shitting on instead of the intimidatingly health Thai option he had been pushing.
You could still stay platonic.
Instead you nod almost infinitesimally.
Permission granted.
Given the greenlight, Adam grips your leg for leverage and hoists you so that you are sitting in his lap, back shoved up against his chest. You inhale sharply, momentarily disoriented by the change in position and the fact that you’ve been wrenched from your intense eye contact. He settles you on his large thighs and grips at your waist to get you situated in a comfortable position for both of you, then his hands both migrate back up to your neck.
“Where was I?” His voice is lower now than it was before. Deeper, if that’s even possible. One hand encompasses the expanse of your throat then. Not squeezing. Not applying pressure. Just holding you from jaw to collar bone. You swallow thickly and know he can feel it.
“Oh right. Your throat.”
Adam’s hand pulls away, his index finger dragging diagonally down across your throat, causing you to shudder under his touch. His finger drags down to tap on the collar bone opposite the one he’s currently resting his chin on. He traces the bone lightly, so lightly you barely feel it.
Except of course you fucking feel it. Adam could breathe on you from five feet away right now and you’d feel it in your gut, stoking the fire in your core.
“You wear these shirts, like this one.” He tugs at the fabric at your shoulder. “They expose this perfect spot. This perfect spot that was just made for me to…”
Adam trails off and you’re desperate to see his face, to know what he’s thinking. Then you feel it. His plush lips press into your shoulder in a warm, slightly open-mouthed kiss. Every muscle in your body clenches and his hand drops from your shoulder, both arms moving to wind themselves around your waist. Holding you tight to him. The kiss gets deeper and he nibbles lightly at the skin. You wish with everything in you that you had a mirror so you could watch him work your skin. You find yourself hoping that he leaves a mark, so that you can see it tomorrow and remember this moment.
Adam lifts his head then, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt and slowly up your bare stomach to rest just below your breasts. His mouth is at your ear, poised so that each time he speaks, your ear lobe gets softly caught between his lips for a second.
“It’s wrong of me to say your tits are my favorite part but fuck it. I’ve always guessed they’d fit perfectly in my hands, let’s see…” He lifts your breasts up in his hands, feeling the weight of them, registering the fact that you aren’t wearing a bra. He lets out a sharp exhale. “Ohhhh shit, they’re better than I imagined. Fuck!”
His exclamation is comical, juxtaposed with the way he squeezes you, toying your nipples between his splayed fingers. You laugh breathlessly and he seems to like your shift in mood because he growls approvingly.
“Yeah, you like that? You like the fact that I like your beautiful tits?” You shiver in his grasps and he hums, kneading your breasts harder. “Oh yeah you do. And yes I do. These are perfect, baby.”
He says the last part just as he pinches your nipples and you let out a loud moan, surprising even yourself. Adam stiffens behind you for a second but then relaxes back into his motions, letting out a deep chuckle.
“What did that, me squeezing your nipples or me calling you baby?”
He pinches again right on the word “baby” and you moan again. This time you squirm in place, effectively grinding your ass into his lap. The feelings are too good for you to care about the eagerness of your reactions.
“Both, it’s both.” Your voice sounds foreign, deep and sultry in a way you don’t recognize.
Adam continues his ministrations on your left breast, but his other hand drops down to your knee. You instinctively spread your legs, an action he definitely notices. Both his hands go to your hips in the next moment, fingers wrapping around and digging into the flesh, making you grind your ass down on his hardening cock. Making you yelp.
“I was going to talk about this ass next – this delicious. Fucking. Ass.” He thrusts lightly up against you to punctuate each word. “But now I think I want you to drape those gorgeous legs over mine. Spread them out nice and wide. Can you do that?”
You do as you’re told, pulling your legs apart so that you sit with one over each of his large thighs, your pelvis fully pushed out. One of his hand moves down and cups your mound through your thin pajama pants.
“Mmm good. That’s a good girl.” Your hips buck involuntarily at that and the hand at your hip tightens its grip. “I think you like it when I tell you how good you are, don’t you. You like knowing that I think you’re a good girl. With fucking gorgeous tits and an amazing ass. You want to be my good girl.”
At this point, he’s barely touched you. He’s felt up your tits a little, cupped your covered cunt. But you’ve never been wetter. You’ve never felt your heart race so fast, you’ve never felt you cunt pulse around nothing, aching to be filled by any part of him he will give you. Maybe it’s his words. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s him. Adam.
Maybe it’s always been him.
He’s massaging your clit through your shorts now and you whimper, grinding back against him, pleased to feel his rock hard length twitch between you.
“Can you say it for me, baby?” You whine as his fingers leave your clit, but then they are moving up to the waist of your shorts and dipping beneath.
“Say w-what?”
“That you want to be my good girl.” Adam places open mouth kisses on your shoulder, on your neck. You practically disintegrate into his arms when he bites down lightly on your pulse point the second he slips a large finger into your wet folds.
“I want to be your good girl.”
Adam groans and slowly moves his finger in and out, his knuckles rubbing deliciously against your inner walls.
“What do you want?” He adds a second finger and you gasp at the stretch but it drops into a moan when he begins rubbing your clit again with his big thumb.
“I want to be your good girl, Adam.”
“Thaaaat’s right.” Adam sucks your earlobe into his mouth while he works your clit and works two fingers in and out, in and out of your slick cunt. His motions, paired with how wet he’s made you, fill the air with obscene sounds, but you couldn’t care less. You’re adding to them by whimpering, whining. This is the best you’ve felt – the most you’ve felt – in ages. It occurs to you that you should return the favor, suddenly desperate to provide him similar pleasure. You reach your hand back and between you and grab his cock through his sweat pants, marveling at the thickness.
But Adam pulls your arm away then.
“As much as I really fucking want your little hand on my cock, baby, don’t you fucking dare.” He takes your hand and brings it to your chest, making you squeeze your breast with your own hand. “This is about you. How fucking sexy you are and FUCK. It kills me to think that you don’t know how fucking hot you are. As if you don’t know the very sight of you makes me hard. That you say my name and it makes me want to hold you and protect you but it also makes me want to cum all over the god damn place.”
“Adam…” you whine breathlessly.
“What did I fucking say? Huh, kid? You want to fucking kill me?” Adam then grabs the breast you aren’t holding yourself, rolling your nipple between his index finger and thumb at the same rhythm he’s got going on your clit.
The mix of sensations – your and Adam’s hands on your breasts, Adam’s fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt, his thumb on your clit – they’ve brought you to the edge faster than you can ever remember. You’re faintly embarrassed but you also couldn’t give a shit, desperately chasing a release that you have long lacked assistance in achieving.
“Adam, I’m close, I – ,”
“Good. You’re gonna cum for me, right on my fucking fingers. I’m going to feel your perfect, tight little cunt squeeze down and gush all over me and you’re going to cum nice and pretty.”
The coil in your belly tightens, almost enough to snap. Adam seems to sense this and speeds up his fingers, licking the shell of your ear with his hot tongue.
“Wish I could see your face as you cum. But this is good enough for now, filling my hands with you, feeling inside you. Fuck you’re perfect. You’re perfect and you’re going to cum like a good girl.” Though you’re the one about to fall off the edge, he’s rambling and equally breathless. “Cum for me.”
The coil in your stomach snaps and you’re falling.
“That’s a good girl.” Is the only thing you hear over the rush the rings through your ears as you tumble over the edge. Your cunt stutters around his fingers and your hips buck wildly, finally stilling as your muscles shake, ringing every last bit of toe-curling pleasure from the moment. Adam works you through the whole thing, stopping his motions only when you finally collapse your full weight back against him.
At some point he pulls his hand from your pajama shorts and out of view. You can’t see him but the sound of him licking his fingers clean makes a shudder run through your deliciously bone-less body.
You want to flip around and return the favor. You want to stroke his cock, or swallow it down your throat, or ride him till you find out what else that mouth of his can come up with. Hell, you want to finally fucking kiss him.
But for now you just loll in his arms, awash in the feelings he just pulled out of you for a few moments more. Maybe this was a mistake or maybe this was the best thing to ever happen to you. Right now it doesn’t matter.
All that matters for the moment are his arms around you. If you’re honest with yourself, you feel pretty damn good and very much in the belief that Adam Sackler isn’t a problem at all.
Tagging some lovely people (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in future work!): @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @safarigirlsp​ @sacklerscumrag @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction @historyandfandoms50​ @clydesfavoritegirl​ @jynzandtonic​ @ohiobluetip (Adding you, Z and G, because you both stoke my Sackler flame, hope you don’t mind). 
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