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kumquats-are-gay · 6 months

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sparing with Johnny, and you pin him down only to find that he's rock hard, maybe some teasing/sex? idk idk

(TF YOU MEAN “idk”?? THIS PROMPT IS HEAT AND I’M ‘BOUTTA COOK!! 🔥💯😤)

Johnny Cage x gn!reader (SFW/NSFM)

NOTE: This will be a two-parter because I just couldn't wait to post what I had already, lmao. This first part only has sexual themes and foreplay, while the second part will have actual smut (also, while this first part is totally GN, the second part will be mentioning afab anatomy, but I will still be using GN pronouns). I'm sorry this took so long to get to; I've been working almost every day for the past two weeks and ya girl is tired, lol. Was super excited to write for this though! :D

ALSO I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW ACTUAL FIGHTING WORKS I JUST MADE SHIT UP LMAO PLS DON'T COME AT ME

Pasted straight from Google Docs and NOT proofread, so please excuse any grammatical/continuity errors/syntax and formatting. I am also still VERY much an amateur writer so pls go easy on me <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51869623

Come On With a Come-on

For a ‘professional’, Johnny Cage is about the least professional person you’ve ever met. Propriety must be a foreign concept to him with how frequently he flirts with you, especially on set—you know, in front of all of your colleagues and crew? The man was shameless in his relentless pursual of you, like a goddamn dog with a bone. And worst of all? You liked it, and this fact frustrated you to no end.

How could you possibly be attracted to someone who is so insufferably arrogant, loud-mouthed, and impossibly far up his own ass? An ass that, admittedly, you find yourself staring at whenever you think he isn’t looking. But, because you’re an actual professional, you’ve rebuffed his every attempt to seduce you thus far. Plus, you had a reputation to keep and dignity to hold onto; you weren’t sullying either when the likely outcome would involve your face and name on countless tabloids.

Without warning, his stupid, smug, and incredibly handsome smile invades your mind, and you suddenly find yourself wanting nothing more than to punch it off of his unfairly chiseled jaw.

…or maybe kiss it off.

“Grah!” you abruptly shout while burying your hands in your hair, momentarily tugging at the roots in annoyance. God, you had a problem.

Bzzt.

“Huh?” You look down at your hip where your phone had just buzzed in your pocket. You pull it out and flick your finger across the screen to unlock it, then tap on the messaging icon.

Johnny Cage: Hey, wanna spar later? 👊👊

You raised a brow. You and Johnny worked in the same sphere for a reason. Action films were your guys’ bread and butter since the both of you knew how to fight as well as do your own stunts.

You and Johnny hung out casually here and there, but the two of you had never sparred before. You sensed an opportunity in his proposal, though: an effective way to get your frustration out on the source of said frustration. Shrugging, you figure, ‘why not?’

You: Yeah, I’m down. But I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into b/c I won’t be holding back!

Johnny: Woah, don’t go threatening me with a good time ;)

Your stomach twirled in unbidden delight at the cheeky response, and you internally chastised yourself for being so easily affected by this man. You and Johnny sorted out the details of your meetup—his place, late afternoon—and returned your phone to your pocket. You would just have to kill some time until then.

~~~

“Of course you would have your own gym, and of course it’s fuckin’ huge,” you joked with a bit of sarcasm, yet enough lightheartedness as to not offend. Though, you doubt Johnny could be so easily offended; he’s got way too much self-confidence (for better or for worse) to be put down that easily.

“Oh, honey, you haven’t seen ‘huge’ yet,” he boasted with a smirk. The wink that followed did nothing to abate the heat that was slowly taking over your body, but you did your best not to let the effects show. Since when were easy, immature innuendos such a turn on for you? You just closed your eyes and shook your head.

“Alright, I am definitely knocking you on your ass for that one.”

“Hah, see if you can, sweetheart!”

The two of you stood in your respective corners and took your stances. One quick little countdown later, and the game was on.

You knew Johnny was a very good fighter being a martial arts expert and all, but you didn’t realize he was that good. In all honesty, you figured he was more bark than bite, and that you’d have no real problem going toe-to-toe with him. Unfortunately, it seems like you may have underestimated him. It turns out that Johnny Cage was one of the rare few you had met who could back up their arrogance. Bully for you.

Furthermore, this shithead was fighting dirty! Well, okay—technically he wasn’t fighting dirty. He was just talking after all, and there’s nothing wrong or “illegal” with that. But it was a dirty tactic regardless, and it only infuriated you further with how helpless you were to try and block him out.

You pivot sharply on one foot and use the momentum to lift and swing the other around, aiming the kick at his head. You expect him to duck under such a high-reaching maneuver—maybe he’d follow up with a low sweep with your single foot planted on the ground—so you prepare yourself to counter this. See, before you went into acting, fighting was your primary activity; you won many tournaments and managed to make a decent living off of it. One of the main things you were known for were your notoriously powerful kicks; few would risk trying to outright block them rather than moving out of the way.

You must have forgotten who you were up against; that was the only reasonable explanation for your short-sightedness. You were not distracted by him or anything like that, thank you very much. Johnny-fucking-Cage just lifts an arm and grabs your leg. With one hand. Like it was nothing.

The impact creates a loud smack! that briefly leaves you dumbfounded; you felt the force of that blow against his palm, and it was enough to leave the skin there tingling unpleasantly. Johnny didn’t look phased in the least bit with a crooked smile dancing across his handsome features, just gripping your ankle. Casually. Like you weren’t currently being held in the near-vertical splits.

Johnny took this fleeting opportunity to give you a quick once-over, and his smile only grew. “Nice legs,” he quipped, “bet they’d look a lot nicer over my shoulders.” You openly gaped at his brazenness, and he used your shock to his advantage, flipping you in one fell swoop. You grunted when your back hit the mat underneath you, but the heat that overwhelmed your person (caused by your anger and fury, obviously) had you back up in a flash.

“Best two out of three,” you nearly seethed. Johnny had the audacity to appear as anything but intimidated. In fact, he seemed rather amused.

“You know, you’re like, really hot when you’re mad.”

You nearly flung yourself at him in a mindless bout of rage, but caught yourself only a split moment before you could make such a devastating mistake. A delightful idea quickly sprang to mind—two could play at this game.

You kept up the facade of indignation and outrage in order to trick Johnny into thinking that you actually were going to make that blind charge at him. You stepped off of your dominant foot, using the momentum to make a lunge for him. He braced himself to counter your head-on attack, but you feigned right at the last possible second, swiftly gripped his shoulder with your left hand, and brought your right leg in against the back of his knee to buckle it. Johnny was quick to recover, though, keeping enough of his balance to twist and grapple with you as his leg nearly gave out.

Ah, so it was time for plan B.

Before he could finish off the move, you brought your face right up to his, making sure that the two of you were making eye contact, and looked at him with sensual purpose. It was almost enough to disarm him, so to ensure you had the upper hand, you threw him another curveball with a breathy, “I wonder if you fuck as good as you fight.”

That did the trick. Johnny’s mind was sent reeling with your seemingly out-of-pocket comment, and you jumped at the chance to knock him flat on his ass. Johnny got the wind knocked from him as he landed with a resounding thump. Not wasting a minute, you straddled yourself across his hips and held his wrists against the floor mat. While Johnny had more raw strength than you, you hoped that the KO would leave him dizzy enough to keep him subdued.

“Ha! Gotcha!” you barked out in triumph. Johnny just blinked up at you in a daze as his response. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the taste of your own medi-” you had cut yourself off when you felt something stiff beneath your pelvis. ‘What…? Wait, is he…’

“Are you hard right now?!” you squawked incredulously. Johnny just shrugged his shoulders and gave you an audacious smirk, as if to say, ‘Uh, yeah I guess so. What about it?’ You were flabbergasted. “I can not believe you right now!” You released his wrists and made to get up, but he grabbed your hips before you could get away. Damn it, his body was so warm, and…holy shit he felt big.

“Woah now, hang on just a tick,” he spoke like he was trying to soothe a startled horse. This fucking asshole! Why, just why did you have to fall for him? “It is very difficult not to pop a boner when I’m getting up close and personal to the most gorgeous person I know,” he spoke with an immense amount of charm and a surprising measure of sincerity. Your eyes widened comically before you squinted at him with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“Oh, really now? And I don’t suppose you’ve used that line with every other person you’ve taken to bed, hm?”

Johnny just sighed like he was the exasperated one here. “Darling, I’ve been laying it on thick for half a year now. There’s no way I’d still be after you just to get into your pants.” He looked at you with this sort of ‘duh’ expression on his face, like he couldn’t possibly understand your confusion. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: you’ve got just the kind of body that I love,” he added, and you nearly clocked him then and there, but you relaxed again as he spoke further, “but I’ve come to really like spending time with you. There’s never a day that I don’t look forward to working with you on set, you know.” And, just like that, you felt like the stupidest person on the planet for denying yourself something that you evidently could have had for a long time now.

You hung your head low and shook it from side to side in disappointment of yourself. You fool. You buffoon. You absolute imbecile. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Johnny took this the wrong way, looking offended, and opened his mouth to say something. However, you were quick to shut him up with a short yet firm kiss of which he wasted no time in returning. He ground his hips against yours in short, desperate thrusts like there would never be another chance to do so, and you eagerly mirrored his movements like they might be your last. Without warning, he rolled the two of you over to flip your positions. Sprawled out beneath him with your hands held beneath his own, Johnny thought you looked like a dream.

“By the way, I think you’ll find that not only do I fuck as good as I fight, but I fuck like I fight, too—hard n’ fast,” he intoned in a voice nearly an octave deeper.

You squirmed in anticipation at his words, and retorted with equal huskiness, “let’s see it then.”

#mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x y/n #johnny cage x you #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat x y/n #mk1 #mk1 johnny cage

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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AITA for lying to my boss about my sexuality?

English is not my first language so please bear with me. Also, long post.

For context: I'm (30F) doing something like an unpaid virtual internship to graduate with my technical degree. I don't think there's an equivalent in the US of this but it's close enough. The thing is that is an obligatory step to graduate. If I didn't get a company to do it, my boss "fails" me (he has to give feedback to the institute for me to pass) or if I quit before finishing I have to pay for an extra semester to do it again.

Since the beginning, I found my boss annoying, he has that know-it-all kind of attitude and doesn't really accept others' opinions. I didn't think much of it and figured it didn't matter since it was just for 4 months and I was out. I carried on, became the leader of one of the teams of interns, and started to work more closely with him and the other team leaders because of it.

After the first month, he started to become inappropriate. Once I sent him a text for feedback on a report my team and I had to make, he sent me an audio and I resend it to my team because it was good feedback. When I told him this, he "jokingly" asked why would I do that, and what if he had sent me something "dirty". I was stunned. I ignored that comment and said it was good and that's why I sent it.

In another opportunity, he texted me that in another life he would marry me when I was reporting in Google Meet about my team. I ignored it again, didn't answer, and kept talking at the reunion. More recently, he sent me a text saying "I like you" and then changed it to "I like it" in response to a paper he had asked me for and then deleted the original text.

I talked about this with my therapist, friends, and brothers, and all of them advised me to keep ignoring his comments and report him to my institute once the internship was over. So I wouldn't have to do another semester in case he got offended by me rejecting his advances and failed me.

I agreed with that. But in the last couple of months, he started to do these "jokes" in the reunions we have with the other interns. Saying things like we texted each other about dirty things. I always say it's a lie and he laughs but it rubs me wrong because I don't want my peers to think I'm in my position as a result of our boss having the hots for me.

With all that being said, last Thursday we were in a reunion with just the team leaders, and he "jokingly" made this comment about how he and I talk after hours more intimately. I was having a bad day and about had it with his stupid comments, so I grabbed my cup (I was drinking tea. It has a rainbow kind of design) and said "This doesn't say anything to you?" implying that I'm a lesbian. While I am not straight, I'm not actually homosexual, I just wanted him to stop. He laughed it off saying he already knew and such and then we kept going with the reunion.

After we were done, he asked me to stay in the Google Meet and told me again he already knew that I was a lesbian that he was always joking around when he said some things to me, and that it would be weird if he didn't because he does it with everyone else. In these almost 4 months, I never heard him say anything to anyone else.

I just have a week left until I'm done and I feel awful for lying about something like that. I don't think I'll come clean, but it's been bothering me. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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olderthannetfic · 8 months

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Is there a label for people who don't feel sexual or romantic attraction and have no desire to get into a relationship or have sex? I used to use aroace, but people on my campus, in my fanfic notes and in my dorm building keep telling me aces have sex and aces have romance, and when I try to say I'm aroace, they just repeat, "Ace people date." "Ace people get laid." "Ace people are normal." And... well, I'm not normal. I don't want to date and bang and all of that and forcing myself to do so always made me miserable. Back when I found the term ace, I was happy, because I thought it applied to me. But after every. single. person. I mention I'm ace to informing me ace = dates, has sex I'm realizing I don't have a label that actually describes someone like me who isn't normal. (One guy at a dorm floor activity asked if I had a mental illness, since he figured that would be the only thing that made someone not want to have relationships or sex. None of the other queer people present said anything. Two nodded.)

I tried Googling to figure something out, but it just kept giving me the wrong answer (aroace). Then I figured hey, OTNF knows a shit ton about queerness. If anyone can tell me what label actually applies to people like me, it's you.

Hah. I'm no expert on this stuff. Nobody was talking about it in my youth. (Yes, I know we have documentation of college queer groups including the word 'asexual' on their signs from long before my time, but it just wasn't a thing in any of the queer books and magazines I read in the 90s or circles I ran in until the last five to ten years.)

The issue you're running into is simply that the term is too broad, covering people who are definitely not experiencing attraction to others but still enjoy sex to people who... well... it's uncharitable, but there are some people where I wonder if the main reason they identify that way is that they have a very faulty understanding of what attraction looks like for others.

But it certainly does include people with no interest in sex or dating.

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enhafilthandfiction · 1 year

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Enhypen - when you're on your period

A/N: Helloooo! This wasn't a request but I feel like writing this reaction since I'm currently on my period >:( Ughhh pls send help

Pairing : Bf!Enha X Fem!Reader

Warnings : Blood (obvi), food, crack, mentions of sex in jake's

Word count : 1,361 words (about 150 words each)

Masterlist - Tips

♡ Lee Heeseung ♡

His heart would break seeing you like this

he would immediately notice you got your period, but wouldn't say anything to save you some 'embarrassment'.

He'd act nonchalant and chill, wanting to just chill whilst you were both at home and procrastinating.

"What ya wanna do?" he asks, once you come out of the bathroom for the millionth time. (It felt like that for him)

He'd let you pick whatever you wanna do and gives in, even if you wanted to test your makeup on him or paint his nails 😭

He ain't saying no

You end up watching a movie when the cramps became a little too much, laying on the couch with him behind you, hands wrapped around your waist, but ready to let go of you whenever you need to use the bathroom (again)

Hearing you whimper in pain would pain him as well, gently bringing his hand over to your tummy to rub in circles.

It doesn't really do anything tbh, maybe distract you, but you appreciate him trying 🥺

Later, he'd definitely make you some ramen, insisting that it was the only food that would cure your cramps and upset mood.

Will definitely sing you to sleep, that's why his head voice is so good.

♡ Park Jay ♡

Everyone says this but : MOM MODE ONNNN 🤗😌

Literally won't stop making sure you're good

and he's prob the most chill about it, like its not a big deal at all

he's just very mature

"You sure you have everything?"

"Don't be shy y/n, it's okay"

"I don't mind buying them for you"

And he does, bc cool boyfriends arent embarrassed to buy tampons 😎

Oh wait

"Pads or tampons?" "Ah ok" "What size exactly??" "Got it"

Hurries up bc he doesn't wanna leave you alone for too long.

Asks you what you wanna eat and will literally cook you anything

pasta with ice cream sauce? Ok

Pineapple on pizza? Ok

cook you his pet fish? Also ok

Makes you tea before bed, because he insists its good to prevent cramps

Might cuddle up in bed and lets you rest your head on his chest as he reads you a book of your choice.

Jay reading to you in that American accent 😩

♡ Sim Jake ♡

Boi does his research

he knows it has to do with periods and hormones when you start acting up

Is lowkey scared so he relies on google to provide him with answers.

"Ughhh, Jake, my cramps are getting worse" you whine, still laying in bed, scrunching up your face

He smiles brightly as he remembers of his searches

"I've heard that having sex could reduce period cramps" he announces proudly, looking at you like 😏

"You're seriously tryna get your dick wet rn??" you get mad and start throwing pillows at him.

"N-Nah but for real!!" He protests, ducking your hits "Seriously, I've read it online" he says in his defence, trying to catch his breath from that near pillow fight

"Damn, since when did you get so good at pillow fighting?" he tries to compliment but it only makes you wanna punch his bicep playfully.

You whine out in pain again, gripping onto his sitting figure at the edge of the bed. "What I am supposed to do?" he questions, haven already given you one alternative.

"Oh, how about we listen to my boy Justin?" he asks, already whipping out his phone

"Noooo, Enhypen is so much better dude" you reply, glaring at him

he agrees and puts on 'pass the mic'

He pushed your shoulders playfully "You got -pushed -pushed" he sings along

"JAKEEE"

Anyway, ends up buying you mc donalds and ice cream to make it up to you

he rly tries but he's a little clueless tbh.

♡ Park Sunghoon ♡

Bro lowkey ghosts you and avoids you

he knows that you're in a bad mood, and he doesn't wanna make it worse with uncontrollable teasing 😭

when you notice his distant behaviour, it only makes you even more upset

"HOON" you yell at him from the other room

he knows he fcked up and feel like he's boutta get his ass whooped.

He makes it hesitantly to your room, regretting it immediately when he sees your pout.

"H-hi y/n, he stutters, thinking of whatever he's gonna say, not wanting to upset your hormones.

"Hoon, why are you avoiding me?" the first tear rolls down your cheek "I'm literally bleeding and you're leaving me alone!" you burst out crying.

He stand there, biting his bottom lip, contemplating what to do

"C-can I hug you?" he asks, moving closer to you. He wraps his arms around you when you nod, pulling you in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry y/n, I thought you wanted to be left alone" he reasons, making sure you know he's sorry

"Its fine" you so sob into his shirt "Now can we watch your ice skating videos and cuddle?" you smile up at him suddenly, flattering your previously wet eyelashes to convince him.

He sighs, knowing you'll just burst out crying again if he doesn't agree

You reach for the remote, pulling on one of his ice skating videos.

He's already on your bed, hands behind his head, almost drifting off

"You look like a grandpa" you laugh, climbing onto your bed and getting closer to him, when the video starts playing.

"He wants to 'compliment' you back, but he fears he'll upset your hormones so he just doesn't say anything for your sake.

♡ Kim Sunoo ♡

A literal sweetheart

Almost like your bestie tbh

He cares about you so much and clearly shows it when your in these situations.

He doesn't hesitate to literally do everything for you

Take off your make up and does your skin care routine for you

Might even wash you if you're too tired to shower lmao

He pouts at you whenever you get cramps, wishing to take them away from you, just to see you smile again.

"My poor baby" he would say, hugging you close to him, gently, not to hurt you or anything.

He'd also be the best at tittie rubs

Like if your breasts were sore, he wouldn't mind massaging them, his soft hands easing some of the pressure on your chest.

You might even fall asleep like that, his hands on your chest under your top, acting like your bra as he sleeps behind you.

♡ Yang Jungwon ♡

Very mature #2

Cares a lot about you and worries

Studies and researches about it so you won't have bad periods :(

Worries when you wear tampons

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Is it safe though?"

"Y/n, I don't think you should sleep t-tampons because you know, it m-might get stuck in there or something"

He just wants to make sure you're okay

"Ok gynaecologist 😀"

He doesn't really mind if you bleed on his sheets, as long as you aren't wearing tampons to bed

"It's fine sweetie, I'll clean it up"

Doesn't get mad or anything, changes the sheets and makes you change

Definitely cuddles you to sleep and holds your hand if the cramps get too much

♡ Nishimura Riki ♡

Teases the hell out of you

But also tries to help if you get cramps

If he sees you on the couch, he'll crawl in behind you, placing his hands on your hips.

He squeezes your waist

"My little ketchup bottle" he coos

"Nikiii" you try to squirm away embarrassed by his comment.

Definitely rubs your tummy if the cramps get too much

Slightly awkward at first and he feels a little shy doing it

"This okay?" he asks, rubbing circles in your tummy

You don't have the heart to tell him that it doesn't help but at least its a good distraction.

When he leaves for practise, he'll definitely leave you a plushy, big enough that you can hug it close

"Maybe this plushy will help :]" gives you his favourite plushy :(

He'll overall check up on you a lot, and really tried his best to help you out

I need a sweet boy like niki 😭

Hello! Thankyou for reading! Hope y'all are okay and remember that periods only last about a week! You got it!! For anyone who get cramps, I hope they're not as bad or get better :)

Lyyyy <333

If you enjoyed this post, you can help support my blog by tipping me here! Anything is highly appreciated!

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diagonal-queen · 7 months

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hello can i request dazai, kunikida, and fyodor with an insomniac s/o who's really tired after a busy day but can't seem to fall asleep no matter what and gets frustrated bc of it

"Can't sleep?"

♡ pairing: Dazai Osamu, Doppo Kunikida, Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do they help their S/O with insomnia get to sleep?

♡ cw: Reader is an insomniac (I genuinely don't know how that would manifest itself as a trigger but hey! I'm just one person in a sheltered world. Stay safe everyone <3), probably super inaccurate because I myself am not an insomniac and don't really know everything about it, Dazai horny, mentions of taking medication, mentions of alcohol, swearing

note: I feel like garbage cus my writing takes forever and I feel like I'm letting y'all down for taking so long with reqs, but I don't know what to do to fix itttttttt. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Dazai:

Well reader. You're lucky you cuffed yourself a night owl

He'll help you calm down from your frustration and tell you that it's fully normal. Everyone has trouble falling asleep, and you just haven't figured out an effective routine yet. He doesn't really know what he's talking about but if it makes you feel better then meh

His first suggestion would probably be sex, to tire you out. Even better if you go for multiple rounds just to be sure~

Yeah right Dazai, like anyone's gonna wanna fuck every single work night (besides him lmao). Safe to say, the idea is thrown out pretty quickly

He'll throw some similar ideas around (not necessarily sexual but certainly 'if they're tired out then they'll fall asleep faster') but those are all just temporary solutions, so he gives up quickly. What else did you expect from him?

He might also suggest drinking yourself to sleep since alcohol is a depressant and makes you tired. You have to remind him that excessive drinking is actually not good for you and should NOT be used as a substitute for sleep meds

He reckons that it's best for you two to let sleep overtake you naturally, and so you may as well just stay up for now.

From then on Dazai treats every single night like a sleepover. He'll wanna watch movies, eat snacks, and talk all night even if it's a work night and you absolutely shouldn't do that

If you want, he's happy to do something more chill like cuddling while sharing a pair of earphones playing mellow music

Whatever it is that the pair of you decide to do, he'll likely find that it helps him just as much, maybe even more, than it helps you. And he's grateful for that

Kunikida:

I feel like Kunikida also has at least mild insomnia, so he knows just how you feel and is right there to help you out

He's got it all ready. Fans/blankets to balance out the room's temperature, a warm drink (milk, tea, whatever you prefer), basically all the stuff Google would suggest

He would do all of that stuff alongside you even if he's already tired enough to fall asleep on his own because he understands the struggle. He doesn't give up until you're asleep and honestly get you a man who would also do that

He also discourages you from things like caffeine before bed or napping during the day to help you get more sleep at night

He'd make a whole new bedtime routine for the two of you and adjust it based on what works, it'd be like a whole thing that he takes super seriously

He'd suggest reading before bed and recommend/lend you books that he likes, and also read to you if you really pleaded for it. He really enjoys reading and he would be thrilled if the pair of you had a little thing you did together <3

If they don't give any side effects/react poorly with any meds you may already take then he would also give you some of his sleeping pills (because let's be real he's fully stocked with them. this man)

Kunikida would let you cuddle him in your sleep whether or not he likes it or it makes him sweat, because let's face it you need the sleep and he needs the physical touch. It's basically a win-win

He gives you permission to wake him up if you can't sleep and need his help, or if you want company in your waking time.

He honestly does whatever it takes to help you because he cares so much about you. Perfect man fr

Fyodor:

Bold of you to assume that Fyodor sleeps. Like ever. He's too busy being evil or something

When he learns that you're an insomniac he's fully willing to let you stay up late with him while he's working if you're in need of company. He doesn't care whether you're just on your phone or reading a book or whatever

If you ask him he'll also let you sit in his lap and cuddle him (as long as you don't bother him- if you do he's sending you right to bed)

Fyodor knows that calming music is a good way to help people sleep, so if you're down he'd be willing to play something mellow and soft on his cello for you

He probably wouldn't admit it but he kinda likes that you find it hard to get to sleep since it gives him an excuse to spend more time with you

But if you really do wanna get to bed then he'll have some tea made for you and he'll read to you. His voice is very relaxing and nice to fall asleep to and he kinda knows it (he's smug about it too because he's a bastard)

If you find that you actually sleep better in his presence then he's more than happy to move a couch into his office and let you sleep there.

He's also happy to forfeit (SOME) work so he can come to bed earlier and help you sleep. And he's also happy to cuddle you because you're warm

Fyodor will basically just help you get to sleep with methods that he uses to get himself to sleep because it's the only way he knows how. Even if it doesn't work please give him credit for trying because he really is trying super hard T-T

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco

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andy-wm · 8 months

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3D by JK (feat. JH) - my take.

Ok, unpopular opinion maybe, and I might get my ass beaten for this (not in a good way 🤣)

Feel free to disagree RESPECTFULLY.

Disclaimer: If anyone comes at me with that cancel bullshit I will block you, because we all get to have an opinion.

If my post enrages you, scroll past until you can be civil, then come back and talk. Or block me. I dont mind.

And don't tell me that because I don't love this song I have to hand in my ARMY card... I'm not going to.

🙂💜🙂

I'll start by saying I love JK so, so much. Adore him. Will always support him.

But for me, 3D is a misstep.

My feeling is Hybe should have reconsidered releasing it as it is.

JK's lyrics are fun and sexy. The innuendo is on point. The melody is great and the chorus has excellent sing-along value. Even though I'm not a huge pop music fan, I like the vibe.

The MV dancers are awesome, and I got a kick out of the fire hydrant metaphor.

And in that jacket with nothing under it, JK looks hot enough to melt asphalt.

However....

Including Jack Harlow's rap IMO is a mistake. It sucks, frankly. Not in a good way.

It not only misses the mark on the tone of the rest of the song but his lyrics are really just offensive. Misogynistic. And racial refrences are just... not cricket. It's 2023 not 1995, regardless of what his hairstyle tells you.

His lyrics sound like an incel bragging about their sex life when all they've ever done is watch porn. From his words, I doubt he knows how to please any person but himself.

His message is gross, but its still just... generic. Like he went to urban dictionary for spicy language and then googled how to treat women like shit. There's nothing original about what he's saying. He's not even being gross in an intersting way. It's gross AND boring.

(Jack, if you're reading this, sorry my guy you gotta do better.)

I've been army since 2018 and this is the first BTS song I have tried to find merit in and given up.

I honestly tried to be into it and i just... can't. It doesn't sit well with me.

This is a new experience for me because even when BTS release something i don't immediately love, i still stream and watch and let it sink in, or I work on figuring out what I am missing and why it's ACTUALLY good even if i can't grasp it.

This... it's just... not good, in my opinion.

I have to clarify here...

It isn't about explicit content, i am totally down for that. If anyone read my post on Seven, they will know my response to that song. In a nutshell, I believe all adults who want to, should happily and shamelessly be doing ALL the horizontal tango. Every type, every day, in every way. With anyone and everyone they fancy as long as all parties are informed and consenting adults who are equally enjoying the experience.

Yes. I am all about getting down.

That doesn't mean treating your partners like a body count or using and abusing them with no consideration. That's not cool.

**PSA: please be safe and use protection. Get tested regularly if you have multiple partners. Don't do anything you don't feel good about and dont stay with partners who harm or manipulate you 💜**

Now, back to the smut.

Some criticisms i saw of Seven were about how dirty it was. A few people were upset because JK said fuck, and because he sang about how and when he liked to fuck. But more criticism was levelled at Letto. Why?

It seemed like it was because she's a woman, singing about sex.

Letto totally owns her sexuality and she knows what she wants. I snorted with delight at how deliciously filthy her lyrics were. Some very clever wordplay made her verse so visceral, and pretty shocking to the pearl-clutchers, without her ever saying anything directly. I really enjoyed it.

She was telling us straight up how good she is in bed. Good for her. She totally rocks. And she wasn't disrespecting anyone. She didn't need to do that to make herself cool AF.

The difference between Letto's rap and jack harlow's is that jack sounds like he's just looking at the women he's singing about as a hole to stick his dick in. Women have fought for long enough for equality and respect. They don't need this bullshit. You can sing about getting down, and you can be absolutely filthy and nasty and wild, and you can do it without degrading your partners.

I did read a theory about this song being social commentary on toxic masculinity. You can find it here and you can read it below:

Its not bad as a theory. At least it wouldn't be if Namjoon or Yoongi or Hobi - or Jungkook himself - had written the song. If that were the situation we'd see some inkling of self awareness in the rap, and maybe a hint of character development. But there's none.

Sorry ARMY, this is not the class of lyricism we have come to expect.

If jack is trying to make a social statement^*, or play a character, he is not succeeding in showing any growth or humanity at all. He's really just that stereotype.

In the last few lines, after he offers to fly his victim from Korea to Kentucky, he says "and you ain’t gotta guarantee me nothing I just wanna see if I get lucky."

How considerate...

All I see is zero care factor about the actual person he's trying to get with. Which is quite different from JK's lyrics, which show awareness that he's interacting with a conscious, living human being, not a piece of furniture.

jack follows with "I just wanna meet you in the physical and see if you would touch me"

Ugh. Not with a ten foot pole, douchebag.

And how about, in his first verse "All my ABGs get cute for me"

Good god, really? Is he seriously saying this?

So its a no for me.

The ONLY saving grace is that there's an alternative version which is pretty fun. It's almost as if Hybe knew we would hate the version with jack harlow. Wow, such insight!

Now, i know that's not the only reason they made an alternative. They needed a clean version for US radio play (let's be real, what possible other purpose can this song serve? *°)

But they could have censored jack's... actually they couldn't. The rap verses can't be salvaged. They genuinely have no merit, the only hope for the song is totally removing them.

What does that tell you?

ARMY will no doubt still chart the main track but personally, I would feel morally compromised if i supported that version. So I'll stick to the alternative and hope for better things to come.

------------

^* Stylecaster doesnt think so either. I visited their website to check thr lyrics. They said, of D3, "Meanwhile, Jack Harlow brings the cool with his two verses as he raps about all the women he could pull"

Uh, really? I hope that's intended to be ironic.

*° The MV had only 4.5million views after 12 hours. And we know what brilliant strategists Hybe employs. I am travelling in Korea right now. There was no promo visible here. And it was no accident that it was released at lunchtime on Chuseok - the biggest famiily holiday of the year - when relatively few people in Korea would be available to engage with it. THEY KNEW IT WAS A STINKER.

#jeon jungguk #jungkook #bts jungguk #bts jungkook #jungkook 3d #hybe entertainment #bighit

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lizaluvsthis · 2 months

Note

Hey Liz, how are you doing?

What are your favorite headcanons for Smg34??

(btw I luv your art <3)

I'm Fine. :)

Thank you! I love people's arts too :>

My favorite SMG34 Headcanons are...

SMG4 is very much the oblivious sun pair with three as the tsundere pining moon.

Three does better cooking than smg4 but he teaches for some ways so that he wouldn't always have to rely the cooking for him.

SMG4 shows three some funny memes to where sometimes he may or may not understand the humors of it but still smiles. (He appreciates it)

SMG4 is the big spoon and three is the small spoon

SMG4 is a slight inch taller than SMG3

When three skips a shower a day, Four would overreact and will demand Three to take a bath.

When one of them feels sad, they cuddle up each other and talk out some stuff (comfort leading to laughter)

SMG4 would brush Three's long hair because he loves how wavy it is

Despite Three annoyed with Four's teasing from his hair, he allows him to pat his head.

They both dont like public affection so they do it on their own time in private.

Three does find fashion interesting and organizing stuff properly while Four finds memes funny and has some- sense of humor

SMG4 would tease three and he would fluster up from his words.

There are some times four would flirt as always, there are some other times that Three flirts back making Four blush.

Three lets four do his long hair (either braid, ponytail, half ponytail, or pigtails)

Three is the first to come out as pansexual before SMG4 did.

SMG4 is rarely aware if three really is pansexual

SMG3 figured four was bisexual after 2020

SMG3 has black nails while SMG4 only has plain ones

SMG4 does feel a bit heart touched when he get some times where Three treats Eggdog as his son.

They both listen to mitski or cavetown sometimes

Three likes opera meanwhile Four just likes memes

SMG4 would sometimes stare at Three's lips while he sleeps, SMG3 would always stare at four's eyes

Red resembles love and compassion, so four would sometimes bring Three a red rose or two in special occassions.

They both sometimes forget their anniversary but they still make it up for each other.

In a movie theatre when watching. SMG3 and SMG4 would be paying attention to the screen, next by step- Four starts to gain on his senses and ends up staring at Three for a couple or a few minutes. (He loves how three would express his own emotion because he rarely does it.)

SMG4 likes to blow bubbles while Three sometimes uses cigarettes

Coping mechanisms. Four edits his videos, Three would stream and play games on his twitch chat.

Four would sometimes watch Three's twitch stream while he plays and leaves anonymous replies (a joke or something else to vibe with three making him have fun for a bit)

In some other times when three is near four, he could smell that his hair stinks and may had said that out loud to him to the point he went outrageous and left.

Since four doesn't know how to deal with emotions, he searches stuff from google about hair products that would go alright with three. (He thinks as a good helping hand friend- you get to also care with hygiene)

SMG4 felt really bad for three judging with his low self doubt on himself

But now four finally understands, he wants to change.

SMG4 has Autism (for misunderstanging people's emotions)

SMG3 has Adhd (getting a little bit distracted)

SMG4 stays by his side so that they both don't get separated.

SMG3 keeps four safe by putting him to safety first before he takes care of himself

SMG4 may not have did much for three but he still loves to annoy him with kindness and goofyness

SMG3 is the one to carry four in bridal style (even tho it was supposed to be four)

SMG4 does his daily routine where when he wakes up, brushes his teeth, and use shaving cream.

Tho SMG3 does the opposite. He wakes up to make his own morning coffee and take care of the cafe and his eggdog.

[I'll keep on updating as much as possible if theres any other stuff]

#lizaluv #smg4 #smg34 #smg3 #smg4 smg3

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 3 months

Text

“If You Don’t Look Good, We Don’t Look Good” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Humor, Shameless Smut (I got carried away), Cameo Appearance by Soft!Dom Dean, Unprotected Sex

Word Count: 4200

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

Neither one of you have had to use it – until you get a text from Sam. A case has gone all kinds of awful for Dean. You are not ready for the version of Dean you have to face in the aftermath.

Notes: This is total self-indulgence because I miss This Dean.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Hair Pulling" square.

Image created in Canva (links for photos used - found on Google: Jensen Ackles, Liverpool Comic Con, 2023; Jensen Ackles Photo Shoot

You stare, mid-muffin chew, at Sam’s text.

“Fuck me.” A few stray crumbs and a rogue blueberry land on a page of lore you should probably be more careful with. But you can’t be bothered with MOL reference handling procedures at the moment.

This is Red Alert. Defcon 5. Designated Survivor Mode Activated.

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

“Fuck.” There’s no point in continuing to curse to yourself. “Fuck.” But you can’t help it. Neither one of you has ever had to use it before. You’d come close a few times.

The book is forgotten, pushed to the side on the table surface. Your fingers glide over the phone’s keyboard.

Is he alright?!? What happened? Please, tell me this is a joke?

I wouldn’t joke about this. Sam’s words bubble up, line by line. Well, I made the mistake of joking right after it happened. It’s gotten progressively worse the entire drive back. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in the car. IDK what’s gonna happen.

“Fuck.”

Should I evacuate? How much time do I have?

Just pulled into the garage.

Shit, Sam! Do you not understand how a code word for disaster preparedness works? One needs enough time to actually prepare for the disaster!

You wait. More bubbles. Then nothing. Maybe Sam didn’t make it out alive. Maybe you should make a run for it through the war room and up the stairs. Save yourself.

I received some communication. He’s headed straight for the showers. Meet you in the lab.

“A what?”

“Musca.” Sam sighs. “Ever seen ‘The Fly’?”

“On cable years ago, filtered through my fingers.”

Sam continues. “They secrete this sticky goo to build a nest.” His mouth crinkles. “Dean landed in it.”

“The nest?” you ask.

“The goo. A puddle of the stuff. Monster fluids freak him out.”

You shiver in disgust at the thought. “Fuck creature feature fluids. 100% in agreement.”

“So, we tracked the musca to its hideout in an abandoned factory. We split up when we got inside…”

“Why do you always split up?” you ask, following it with a frustrated groan.

Sam purses his lips and then proceeds. “When I found him, he was basically glued to this massive conveyor belt holding the goo like it was a kiddie pool. I had to cut him out of most of his clothes to free him.”

The thought of a half-naked Dean has you shiver for other reasons. “Poor guy,” you add in an effort to express sympathy over your dirty thoughts.

Sam chuckles.

You straighten with worry Sam has figured out your crush on his brother. Ready to dispute any yearnings, you add a grumbly edge to your voice and the question. “What was funny about any of that?”

Sam fists long strands on the right side of his scalp high in the air. “Even his hair got stuck to the belt. I had to hack half of it off.” He fingers his bangs back into effortless waves. “Once we killed it, Dean mumbled, ‘Vidal Sassoon you ain’t, fucker.’”

You shrug, confused. “Well, I mean, I get the trauma from the nasty gnat excretions. But that doesn’t explain why you had to warn of a possible Dean disaster.”

Sam’s gaze tears from yours to stare at the floor by his boots.

“Sam?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I might have said something like, ‘We can’t all be masterful hunters with glorious locks.’”

You frown. “Sam…”

Sam raises a hand in defense. “Hey, maybe now he’ll finally shut up about my hair being a liability. I mean, hello, I’ve still got mine.”

The temptation to knock on Dean’s bedroom door is great. But you refrain, hiding away in yours instead. He’ll be better in the morning, you decide. Especially if you fry up some bacon.

A light rap of knuckles against mahogany distracts you from the latest show binge on your laptop. You pause the action. “Yeah?”

“Got a minute?” Even with the question, Dean’s tone sounds like a command.

You gulp. “Sure.” Rotating in the seat, your hand grips the top of the backrest. You’ll try to hold the line against the Dean Winchester Offensive.

The door swings slowly on its hinges. Dean slinks into your space. It’s the opposite of his usual bluster and humorous bellows that lead to inevitable laughter on your end. His slippers shuffle along the tile. He’s wearing roomy sweats and a dark t-shirt that hugs his torso. A folded towel is wedged into the crook of his arm.

Your brain locks onto two things that appear off about Dean. The first thing totally out of place on the masterpiece before you is the baseball cap.

In the next second, you remember why he’s wearing it. It’s not because he’s undercover as a delivery driver or Fish and Wildlife Game Warden.

Dean does not want you to see his hair in its current state.

The second thing makes your pulse quicken. His beard is… gone. You can’t remember the last time you saw him even close to clean-shaven. You forgot what that sharp jawline used to do to your insides.

“Hey.” You don your best don’t-let-on-to-anything smile.

Dean scrutinizes you as if you are a witness in his rapid-fire way and then huffs. “Son of a bitch told you, didn’t he?”

You decide not to remind Dean he and Sam share the same mother. “He did. I’m sorry. You okay?”

The door clicks shut. “I’ll live. Sam might not see the light of day, though.”

You ignore the murder threat, instead focusing on a new scent in the air. You sniff, nostrils flaring with the deep inhale. Dean smells like he’s working on an amazing beach tan.

He nods at your reaction. “Coconut Oil. I had to use all that was in the kitchen for…” He circles his lower body with a finger and eventually points to the baseball cap.

“Did it do the trick?”

“Better than I hoped. I even got all that nasty shit out of my hair.” His weight shifts from one foot to the other. “But I need a favor.”

“At your disposal.” Still seated, you somersault your hand as if addressing royalty.

That at least cracks a tiny smile into his serious veneer. “I had to take a razor to my hair and cut it pretty short. Can you clean me up in the back?”

You clutch your chest and gasp in the most dramatic fashion you can muster. “You trust me to touch your hair?”

“I trust you with my life, wiseass.” Dean smirks. “Can the sass and help a guy out, would ya?”

A warmth blossoms in your heart at Dean’s words. The heat spreads to your skin. You wave a hand at the towel and clear your throat. “Those the accouterments?”

Dean quirks a brow and grins. “Croutons?”

“And you call me the wiseass.” You sigh.

He shrugs with a nod in agreement. He drops the towel on the desk and lifts one of the corners to reveal the electric razor inside.

“Okay. Here’s as good a place as any, I suppose.” You rise from your seat, close the laptop, and move it to your dresser.

“You sure? We can go to the bathroom.” He thumbs at the door.

You wave a hand at the chair you vacated, now standing behind it. “Here’s good.”

Dean sits. The wooden chair creaks.

“Towel.”

Dean grabs the razor before passing the towel. You flap the fabric, channel your inner toreador, and let it billow over Dean’s frame like a sail. When it settles, you wrap and tuck it into the back of the collar.

Moments like this are pure indulgence. Getting within close proximity of Dean years ago left your brain unable to process the simplest tasks. Breathing. Blinking. Talking. Eventually, you got a handle on your senses. Now, you could treat yourself to the experience of him on occasion in a myriad of ways. No one had to be the wiser that the mundane helped create many fantasies.

“Razor.”

Dean chuckles, presenting you with the razor over his shoulder. “It’s not surgery.”

“Hey, appreciate the seriousness with which I’m embracing this endeavor.” You step to his left. “Dean?”

He lifts his head to peer up from under the brim of his cap. “Yeah?” His blinks emphasize the question.

All that does is force you to focus on his pretty lashes and the eye color he’s daring you to try and describe in your head. The cheekbones and the manicured five o’clock shadow aren’t helping matters either. You swallow and remember what’s supposed to happen next. “Can’t do much with that hat on your head.”

“Oh. Right.” He sighs. “Just, no laughing, alright?”

You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze softly in confirmation. “No laughing. Promise.”

Dean exhales. You suck in your lips and hold your breath. He closes his eyes and peels the cap off.

You stare dumbfounded.

“Say whatever you gotta say,” Dean mumbles with scrunched features and shut lids.

Your vision clouds. Heart races. “It’s…”

“Awful,” he interrupts.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Eyes open at the word. His gaze shoots up to meet yours. “Huh?”

Gone are the 90s dreamboat bangs he’s been growing out and tending to since 2020. In their place are a couple of directionless inches that need gel after the scrubbing, clipping, and hat matting. The Musca goo must have done most of its damage around the sides and back. In those areas, he’s shaved it short and close, done his best to fashion a fade that you imagine was muscle memory for him even after all these years. You eye the spot at the base of his skull that needs to be cleaned and tapered.

You’re blinking, fighting back tears, utterly speechless.

Dean stares, total confusion lining his face. “Are you crying? Why the hell are you crying?” He taps the top of his head. “Shit… is it that fucking of a fiasco?”

“No.” You cover your mouth at the possibility a nervous laugh might spill out, which will only irritate him further. Moments pass as you struggle to steady your breath.

“Well, what the hell is it then?”

Dropping the hand covering your mouth, you beam down at him. “It’s you.” You could care less about what you were supposed to do with the razor in your hand. Instead, you perch your ass against the desk so you can lean back and take him in.

Dean’s eyes widen. You’ve seen that look of concern many times. “Yeeaaah. It’s me. Who else would it be? Do I need to get Sam?”

Your head shakes in amazement at the vision. “I haven’t seen this Dean since… damn, since before the pandemic. Since you and Sam made that bet, remember?”

“Gonna have to be a little more specific. Sam and I make lots of bets.”

“The one about you being unable to resist the temptation to take a razor to your hair during lockdown. I don’t even remember what the stakes were.”

Dean contemplates. “Hm. I haven’t got a clue. That was like, what, four years ago.” His lids shade the dark green of his irises. “This Dean?”

You nod. Your breath hitches at the swell of emotions rising. “The guy I first met.”

Dean shifts in the chair and leans forward. Every furrow and crinkle on his face melts away. His eyes appear to double in size as he waits for you to continue.

“My hero.” The whisper is a physical manifestation of how vulnerable and exposed you feel at Dean’s silent interrogation method. You press on. “The one that risked his life to save me… forever ago.”

He lifts one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “Sam was there, too, you know.”

You laugh. Cheeks warm at the adorably smug reaction. “Yes, you’re right. He was.”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam’s had the exact same haircut for years. I don’t see you crying every time you lay eyes on him. He’s a walking reminder of the guy you first met.”

“But he’s not you.” In your haste to provide an explanation, you realize you’ve said too much.

Dean’s mouth opens a fraction. His brows downturn. He’s working it out in his head in real-time.

You’re terrified.

A new smile forms. You think you spot a blush on his cheeks. “What else do you remember about this Dean?”

You shrug and tear your gaze from his. You don’t want your words to betray you again.

“Hm.” Dean rambles off a laundry list. “A lot of brooding back then, wasn’t there? I was a really good brooder. Hard to figure out? Distant, too, right? Definitely knew what was best for everybody. Stubborn jackass.”

You remain silent.

“Okay, still a stubborn jackass.”

You giggle. He joins in with a chuckle. Your anxiety eases and you find courage to look at him again.

“We’ve all changed in different ways, I guess. You, for example.” Dean gestures in your direction.

You stiffen. This could go many ways. You aren’t ready for any of them.

“You don’t take any of my shit, for one.” He raises a finger. “You're confident. You speak your mind. You have a life outside of these bunker walls.” Four fingers are on display for a while. He smiles and elongates his thumb. “But you still make this your home.”

“Every second of the life I’m able to live is because of you guys. I owe you everything. I’m lucky you let me make this my home.” You reason.

Dean’s smile drops. The open palm clenches into a fist and rests on his thigh. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“You and Sam did all that for me without batting an eye. You didn’t expect anything in return. You and Sam gave me so much more than I could ever repay. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a home.” You shrug and smile. “You became my home.”

He studies the floor and smirks, stating more to himself, “Not the only long-standing bet I’ve lost to Sam today.” Dean inhales and sits tall, focusing back on you. He nods, slow and calculated. “So, perfect, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get a big head.”

“A little late for that.” He grins and reclines back. “Would you go so far as to say this Dean” – he sweeps his hands in front of his figure in a dramatic gesture – “is irresistible?”

You exhale. “I don’t know if I’d say irresistible.”

He licks his lips. “Whew. Well, that’s good. I mean, otherwise, you’d have the same problem I have.”

You drop the razor on the desk and cross your hands over your chest. “What problem would that be?”

A heated gaze, beginning at your socked feet, rakes over you with his answer. “How much I find every fucking thing about you irresistible. You could shave your head and wear a potato sack, and I’d still have to keep my feelings in check.” You're practically on fire by the time his eyes lock with yours. “Every goddamn second of every day I’m around you.”

“This would be one of those times I don’t take any of your shit,” you scoff and squint back.

It’s his turn to clutch his hand to his chest. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re having a little too much fun at the expense of my soul-baring.”

“Wanna bet?”

Dean’s voiced that question countless times. Tonight, though, certainty laces his words.

He seems to take your silence as the only needed response. “Kiss me.”

“Wh-hat?”

“If you think you can resist, kiss me, and it’s a one-and-done.” His brows lift. “But if you can’t… Well, I might not leave this room anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wager. More like a dare.” You straighten your stance. “Besides, you’re assuming…”

He grumbles out an interruption, “Sounds like somebody’s stalling.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

“Maybe we both take the armor off for a night. Take a chance on something that could be awesome.” Dean posits. His hands rub the cloth atop his thighs. “I can make it awesome.” The tone is low and promising. “If it helps, I’m this Dean tonight. We can worry about that Dean tomorrow.” He smiles, reaches a hand out to you, and nods in encouragement.

He’s struggling to play it cool, keep his emotions in check. You’ve seen this Dean before. He’s inhaling and exhaling fast through his nose. His jaw clenches and it cracks your resolve even further.

You drop your shield and let this Dean win you over.

You melt, wrapping your fingers over his. This Dean’s touch electrifies every cell and awakens every dormant hope you had put to rest. He tugs you into his space. His lead forces the parting of your legs in order for his thigh to slot between. You hover. Your chin drops to your chest while his chin tips up high to hold your gaze. His body heat pulses off him like a vibrational energy. “Kiss me.” It’s the sweetest and softest request you’ve ever heard this Dean utter.

Your fingers trace along the freshly shaved hair over his right ear. It’s slippery and smooth in one direction, scritch-scratchy in the other. You can study every battle scar on this handsome canvas. No bangs of curtains or overgrown beard can hide them from you now.

His lips part and release a deep sigh. Your fingers slip down his neck. Warm hands rest on the curve of your hips.

“I won’t be able to resist you,” you whisper.

“Good,” he hums. He’s guiding you with a firm grip to straddle his thigh. Then, there’s an encouraging push with a large palm and splayed fingers against the middle of your back. The sweet smell of coconut hits. Your gaze zones onto that bowed top lip. The way the plump bottom one parts from it to grant entrance.

Dean huffs an impatient groan you are all too familiar with. “You don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” you tease.

“More like a warning.” His voice is gruff and deep.

You hold back a moan at the sound, then dip down and do as you’re told.

Everything about the kiss is eager and rushed. Together you’re a tangle of limbs and fever pitch need. You’re pressed tight and right to his body - all muscle-tense and trigger-ready. His lips respond in kind to your every brush, swipe, and nudge for more and more.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he murmurs through the kiss.

You gasp in satisfaction at the intention.

His lips skim to your jaw, under your ear, then down your neck. “I gotta know that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Another hum thrums against your skin. You shiver as fingers creep under the hem of your t-shirt. His nose nuzzles along the frayed v-neck collar. He cups your breasts under the fabric. A thumb and finger twists one of your nipples even more erect. Teeth scraping and tongue lapping over the other fabric-covered nipple draw a strained moan out of your throat.

Soon the shirt is tugged hastily over your head for removal. Then you feel his mouth and hands all over your breasts again, unencumbered.

You’re a panting, heaving mess riding his thigh like you’re on an X-rated carousel. You arch your chest into his face. He’s slurping and sucking your nerve endings into the stratosphere. He pops a tit out of his mouth long enough to order, “Yeah, come for me so I can fuck that nice wet pussy.”

Dean staring at you, commanding you to come for him, is the tipping point you need to orgasm hard and fast.

“Yeah.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and clamps his mouth to yours. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.” He steals every gasp of air you expel with his inhales.

You’re tingling all over. He peels you off his thigh to sandwich his standing body to yours. He towers over you. He’s stiff and erect in his sweats, pressed into your lower tummy. His hands sweep up and down the channel of your spine.

“This Dean’s got a lot to make up for.” His tongue licks at your lips. “But I gotta be inside you right now.”

You nod. “You got five seconds to get me naked and on that bed.”

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester is not up for a challenge.

The chair behind him is now careening towards the bedroom door on all four legs. You scream-giggle as he lifts you into the air while he twirls, then tosses you onto the mattress, bouncing at the impact.

The sound of the chair crashing and toppling into a corner does nothing to distract you from watching Dean tunnel out of his t-shirt, kick off his slippers, and hopscotch out of his pants and boxers. His hard, thick cock springs to attention.

Fuck. You want every inch of that deep inside you.

He hooks his fingers onto the hem of your pants and manages to pull your socks off along with them. Kneeing onto the bed, he croons, “Been wanting you for so long, baby.”

Your head falls back into the cushion of the mattress, woozy from Dean’s actions and confession. “Probably been wanting you longer.”

Your panties are off and tossed over his shoulder next. “You don’t gotta wait anymore.” He grips under your knees and drags you to him. He slides over the wet heat of your folds and hisses, “Wanna fuck you without a condom.”

You whimper, “Just fuck me already.”

He smiles, grabs his cock – that must be fitted with a pussy homing device – and pistons into your entrance without any further mother fucking ado.

You gasp at the searing heat and sharp pain of him stretching you open. But he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s minding how your facial features accept the brunt of each thrust and the agonizing slow release of his cock. Over and over. His descent is just as slow as he fucks. But eventually, your legs clamp around his waist and he wraps you in an embrace. Chests plastered together, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Your fingers inch into what remains of his bangs. You pull at the hair and Dean groans out, “Yeah.”

It’s lovely and languid for however long you both have the patience. The feel of him everywhere and inside is something you don’t ever want to end. But there’s a second orgasm building. The thought of Dean spilling into you has your walls clench in impatience around his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunts, face tucked along your neck. You lift your head up to enjoy the view of his undulating back and curvy ass clenching and raising as his fucking gains momentum. You pull at his hair again. “Fuuuck.”

He stills, turns to stone, and you feel his cock pulse and warmth spill inside. Moments later, a hand wedges between your bodies to thumb your clit and trigger your second orgasm.

You cry out his name.

“I got you, baby,” Dean whispers into your ear. And he does. Not letting go and practically swaddling you with his body. The sexiest weighted blanket on the planet.

You smile and stroke – instead of pulling – at his hair. “Who’s got me exactly? This Dean or That Dean?”

He sighs, sounding winded. “You get all the versions. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He leans back to stare at you. “Yeah?” He’s red and flushed and the happiest you’ve ever seen him. “Even if I grow my hair out again?”

You nod. “Yeah. More for me to pull.”

Dean groans and flops to his back beside you, chuckling.

You listen to the rhythm of your collective breathing slow down and regulate. His fingers brush along the flesh of your thigh. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said something about losing two bets to Sam today. What was the other one?”

“Asshole told me you had a thing for me years ago. Let’s hold off on telling him he was right, or I’m doing his laundry for an entire year.”

“I don’t think we have to tell him anything, Dean. I’m pretty sure he heard everything.”

“Hm. You’re right.” He’s up on an elbow, staring down at you. “Maybe text him that code thing? That might get him out of the bunker for a while.”

You blink. “Code?”

“Don’t play coy now.” Dean shakes his head. “But what’s the ‘66’ mean?”

You bite your lip.

He waits.

“It was Sam’s idea.”

He waits.

“The 66 Seals.”

Dean cringes.

You shrug. “Too soon?”

“And he says I have a twisted sense of humor.” Dean yawns. He finds the edge of the comforter you both are lying atop and tosses it over your naked bodies. “So, will you still clean me up in the back? Maybe wait until morning, though?”

“Absolutely.” You snuggle into his chest, secure that Dean will wake up next to you in the morning. “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.”

It takes a beat before Dean responds with a teasing smack to the back of your head, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Wiseass.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut

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rongzhi · 4 months

Note

ok so this is a very long shot but it's been literally 12 years so i'm starting to get desperate, i hope it isn't a bother but i'm hoping you (or one of your followers) might be able to help me figure out a mystery!!!

when i was younger my family became expats, and i had to take french classes to adapt to my new country, and there my mum and i became friends with this lovely chinese lady who later went on a work trip back home and upon returning brought us some snacks from her hometown as a gift (it was a coastal town if it makes any difference).

they were these little palm-sized metal packets with a single piece of (if i recall correctly) fish, in this sort of dark sweet sauce. the snack itself was very chewy and it was the most unusual, wonderful thing we'd ever tried, because you don't really eat fish in any way except fresh where i'm from, but we've never been able to find it again – at the time it didn't seem important to keep the wrappers, but we didn't know we'd lose contact with our friend shortly after, so we couldn't just ask what it had been.

every so often my mum wishes we could buy it again because the memory of it is tied very strongly to that friend we lost, and i've bought several chinese snacks in specialty shops hoping to find it for her, but i've yet to have any luck. do you have any idea what it might have been she brought us?

You would have to google 鱼肉干 (fish jerky) and sort of look through the packaging for what seems familiar!

This might be difficult if the particular brand was small/local, since a lot of brands may not be found through image searching.

This is what comes up when I googled "鱼肉干小吃" (fish jerky snack). The other thing to consider might be that the branding has changed, but 劲仔小鱼 seems like one of the bigger brands in this area, so you might try to get your hands on that one first.

They have different flavors such as 酱汁 (marinated), 卤香 (stewed)，麻辣 (mala/hot numbing)，香辣 (fragrant spicy)，and 糖醋 (sweet and sour). I'm guessing if it was a dark sauce it was probably 酱汁 or 卤香. They are both soy sauce flavors. Tough to really explain the difference (I am not a food person either so idk).

Hope this helps a little though!

#text #answered ask #chinese food

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mandos-mind-trick · 9 months

Text

The Phantom of Pabu - Part 1

Summary: After being rescued from the Empire, Crosshair spends his days miserably existing on Pabu. Haunted by the past, he's slowly drowning in his thoughts, until he spots you. You pique his interest from the start, a person who might just be more broken than he is.

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, nightmares, sleep deprivation and its side effects, stalking-like behaviors, depression, descriptions of war and its aftermath, sleepwalking, brief mention of slavery, brief allusion to trafficking, trauma bonding, possessive and protective Crosshair, a bit of a savior complex

A/N: This is so different from anything I've written before, in a different style than I usually write. It evolved into something way more than it was supposed to be, and honestly I'm a little scared to share it. It's a testament of where my mind has been these last few weeks and really just a lot of feelings and emotions pouring out onto the page. Please heed the warnings as this is a pretty heavy story, especially this part in particular.

Next > | MASTERLIST

(Gif found on Google since Tumblr's gif search sucks)

At least they managed to settle somewhere warm.

Crosshair is grateful for that one thing as he reclines on a bench, shielded from the unrelenting sun by a tree. The island is hot today, drawing his brothers to the beach in an attempt to stay cool. As uncomfortable as it is, it is much preferable to somewhere cold.

He hates the cold.

The beach bustles with the sound of the inhabitants of the island, all of them seeking the cool water in relief from the heat of the day. It’s loud, sights and sounds threatening to overwhelm him. He hasn’t been here long, not long enough to feel comfortable with the freedom he’s been allotted.

No one knows.

No one cares.

He knows. He cares. He can’t forget.

He might have left, he might have suffered in the heat in favor of somewhere quiet had he not had somewhere to focus his attention. A distraction from the screaming of children, the endless movement of the crowd on the beach.

It hadn’t taken him long to spot his distraction, the grounding scene to keep him from losing his mind. You’re seated in the sand, as far from the crowd as you can be. Your shoes are off, placed neatly beside you. Your legs are pulled against your chest, your arms wrapped around them as you stare out at the cerulean water.

You haven’t been on Pabu long. He’d glimpsed you during your arrival with a few others, quickly lost in the crowd he was trying to avoid. Hunter had dragged him along, repeating the endless mantra that socialization is good for him.

Crosshair disagrees.

Hunter was persistent in forcing him into social situations, knowing well Crosshair would simply observe and refuse to participate. He preferred watching from a distance, becoming nothing more than a figure in the shadows. He knows the corners of Pabu well; that was where he made himself at home.

You have made this outing less unbearable, at least.

You’ve hardly moved since he spotted you, shifting only slightly to alleviate an ache in your joints. You don’t seem bothered by the sun or the heat, your skin glowing under the bright radiance from above.

Crosshair wonders what you’re thinking about. He rolls his toothpick between his lips, mind wandering as he considers you. He refuses to believe your head is empty as you stare out at the horizon. You’re far too fascinating to be reduced to a brainless shell. He had never been one to consider the thoughts of others, but staring at you has made him curious.

Not curious enough to approach, not curious enough to ask.

Curious enough to disregard the crowd and its maddening dissonance. He’s always alert, always ready, but your mysterious presence is enough to quiet the ruckus to a bearable level.

He gazes at you as the sun tracks a path across the sky, the crowd beginning to thin as evening settles in, turning the sky shades of orange and pink. You remain sitting there, still as a statue, when Hunter calls his name. He’s almost hesitant to leave, hesitant to walk away before you do. For a moment, the absurd idea passes through his mind that you might actually be a statue, but he knows that’s not true. He’d seen the small movements as you adjusted yourself, the small flinch as two children got too close to you while playing.

You’re still there as he rises, turning his back to you as he leaves his bench. His curiosity has been piqued.

Perhaps this place isn’t so unbearable after all.

***

You’ve invaded his thoughts, controlling his mind even as he sits alone in his room. He’d memorized every small detail of your being that day; you’ve been plaguing him since. He doesn’t know your name, he doesn’t know where you live. He doesn’t know a single thing about you, other than when you’d arrived on this island refuge, disappearing into the crowd of welcoming inhabitants like a phantom.

He’s become existential in his thoughts. Are you even real? Are you a figment of his imagination as he fights the guilt and shame threatening to devour him every time he gets even just a brief moment of reprieve?

He needs to see you again, even if just to prove you’re more than a figment of his imagination.

A ghost sent to haunt him for his sins.

Maybe Hunter is right. Maybe he has been alone for too long.

He can’t stand the considerate, generous, welcoming inhabitants of the island. He doesn’t deserve such kindness, such compassion after the things he’s done. If they knew the blood that stained his hands, the oppression he’d doled out simply because that’s what good soldiers do, they wouldn’t be so amiable.

He’s become almost nocturnal to avoid them.

Sleep evades him, and when exhaustion overcomes him, the nightmares begin. His brothers are gracious enough not to mention it, but he can see it. The worry, the concern in their gazes as he blearily stumbles out the door, choking on smoke and frigid air and rain. Endless rain.

Muscles tense and tight from the frozen air, clothes soaked through, half delirious from the cold and hunger. He’s weak, barely able to get his legs under him as he races for the door, desperate to escape, desperate to forget.

He walks in the warm air, when the sky is black and dotted with stars, when the world is quiet and asleep. No one around to try and engage him in conversation, no one to give him pity-filled looks as he passes. No one to ask after him, the disgusting shine of sympathy in their gaze. The few who pass on rare occasions don’t look at him, avoiding his gaze fearfully as if he’s some wraith slinking through the blackness ready to feast on the unfortunate soul who looks him in the eye.

A ghost haunting the island, lost and wandering for all eternity until the ocean washes away the last remains of the rock where the city stands.

His hands are still trembling, clenched into fists at his sides when you appear out of the darkness like a phantom. You’re ahead of him, far enough you haven’t noticed him yet. Even his enhanced vision has trouble making you out, but it’s you unmistakably.

Dressed in black, whether it’s on purpose or simply chance, you blend into the shadows of the night, slipping in and out of the light at each doorstep. You truly appear like a ghost, steps slow enough to make you seem as if you’re floating. You’re barefoot, nearly silent as you slip through the darkness.

Crosshair follows, encaptured by your mysterious presence. His mind draws forth the stories Omega had heard from Phee and recounted to them. Stories of seafarers seeing ghosts in the waves on stormy nights, sailors hearing the voices of women calling out to them, drawing them into the waves to be lost forever.

You walk the streets, nearly making one full circle around the island before you stop, freezing in the spot between lights. Crosshair blinks as he comes to a stop, as if he’s suddenly waking from a dream. He’s closer than he wanted to be, three houses separating the space between you.

You suddenly turn, his body stilling in the darkness. Can you see him? Had he made a sound in his distraction and alerted you to his presence?

There’s fear in your eyes. Your shoulders lift, squaring as you tense, almost like you’re preparing for a fight. Hands balled into fists, your chest heaves as you glance around, almost as if you don’t realize where you are. You take half a step back, eyes glancing over him but there’s no sign of recognition, no realization that he’s there.

You’re running. He’s half tempted to follow, half tempted to finally learn where you live, if only so he can remind himself you are, in fact, real. He stays planted where he is, watching your retreating form meld into the darkness until you’ve disappeared from his sight.

He stays where he is, playing over the scene in his mind. Did you notice him somehow? If he had been the cause of your fearful reaction, you hadn’t confronted him. Perhaps you felt his stare, some primal instinct recognizing something was behind you, something was following you in the dark.

Whatever had happened, it startled you. He likens you to a wild animal, feeling a bit like the predator that had been stalking his prey. You were easy prey.

It would have been so effortless.

He’s shaking by the time he returns to the house, the stars beginning to disappear as morning arrives. He slips into bed, drawing the covers over his head as though he can hide from his very thoughts.

***

The next time he sees you, it’s during the day.

You had been absent from his nightly walks, his eyes tracing every inch of the darkness he could see, waiting for your form to appear like a ghostly apparition. You had been missing, however. Perhaps he startled you more than he first imagined.

You appear at one of Shep’s parties, towed in behind Phee rather reluctantly. He’s in his corner, surveying the party from a distance like he preferred. Most left him alone, having learned he was a bore in conversation and those who hadn’t realized it had felt the bite of his words. Hunter had scolded him like a naughty child, but if it kept them away, he would face the reprimanding of his abrasive nature.

His interest is piqued when you appear, looking like the phantom he pictured you as. The glow that your skin had radiated under the sun is gone. You’re pallored and gaunt, even in the orange glow of the setting sun, looking every bit like the ghouls in the stories Omega enjoyed so much. The wispy blue dress that hung from your form was no help, limp strands of hair rustling in the breeze off the sea. Your eyes are swollen and dark as they pass over the party, eventually meeting his.

He should draw his gaze away and pretend he was simply doing the same, observing the milling party-goers. Yet he can’t seem to draw his gaze from you, locked in under your stare. There’s no recognition there, no sign you had seen him that night, no threat you were going to make a scene, expose him for following you for an hour as you wandered around in the middle of the night.

You break first, drawn away as Phee introduces you to Tech. You look displeased to be forced into conversation, Tech oblivious to your dismay as he prattles off some senseless facts about something Phee had said. At least with Tech, you could avoid having to partake in the conversation. He could talk enough for everyone involved.

He continues to watch you through dinner. You’re seated across the table and two seats down from him. The tenseness in your body speaking to your discomfort has not lessened any. You’re still again, aside from the slow lift and lower of the fork in your hand. You avoid everyone’s gaze, as if trying to ward away any attention that may be brought upon you.

You luck out, most of the guests seem to forget you’re even there. Crosshair doesn’t; his gaze is coaxed back to you constantly throughout the evening. He can’t look away, feeling as if he’s watching a tragedy unfold in front of him.

He’s witnessed enough of those.

None have affected him like this.

You disappear before dark, slipping away without a sound. No one seems to notice. No one but Crosshair. He casts a glance over the throng before he slips away, catching up to you. He stays a good distance behind you, not wanting to reveal himself yet. He’s reminded of that night he followed you, except he doesn’t have darkness to use to his advantage.

You look no less like a phantom in the red light of sunset. If anything, it makes you look more like a ghost. A ghoul painted in bloody light, a visage of pain and suffering.

He’s lost in his thoughts once more as he follows you, distracted by your haunting image. His heel drags across the stone, loud in the quiet peacefulness of the evening. You pause upon hearing the sound, shoulders squaring once more.

He moves instinctually, dipping behind a wall as you turn on your heel, eyes scanning the street behind you. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to be following you at this hour, even if they only happened to be going the same direction as you. Yet, your reaction says differently. Had you been lost in your thoughts as well, distracted by whatever raced through your mind?

“I know you’re there.” You say, voice low and soft. He’s never heard you speak before. Your voice is just as haunting as he imagined. There’s no accusation in your tone. It’s not a shout to draw attention. “You’ve been following me.”

He stays behind the wall, fighting the war within himself. He should stay hidden, he should keep himself at a distance. If he reveals himself, you may realize he had been there that night. What answer would he give if you asked why? He hadn’t meant to follow you, at least not for so long. You had lured him behind you like a fish caught on a line.

Would you run again if he spoke the truth? Despite his dislike of practically everyone, you’ve caught his attention in a way he’s not sure he wants to lose. It frightens him, and it worries him all at once. He needs no one. He’s happy in solitude.

That’s not true, is it.

He slowly steps out from behind the wall, keeping a safe distance from you. Your eyes widen a bit, as if you had been doubting yourself, as if it would be the same as the night he followed you. Had you thought you were going mad?

You shift your weight as he reveals himself, the tenseness of your shoulders not easing any. Why should it? He’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken before now. He’s not even sure if you’ve seen him before tonight. You had caught him staring upon your arrival. Would you assume he’s been the culprit the entire time?

“You left the party early.” He says, trying to come up with an explanation before you can ask. You may not take to the truth as openly as he could hope.

You shift again, hands curling around the wispy edges of your dress. “I don’t like parties.” You say it with such bluntness he can’t help the smirk that lifts his lips.

“I don’t either.” He says. “Too many people.”

“Too much noise.” You say, nodding in agreement. “You’re...one of Tech’s brothers.” He gives you a questioning glance. You seem to know of him, despite this being the first time you’ve spoken. “Phee likes to talk about Tech.” You quickly explain.

Of course. You had arrived at the party with Phee, meaning she had likely invaded your life as much as she invaded his brothers’. She and Tech were very much infatuated. While he’s not heartless enough not to feel happy for his brother, Phee’s personality was grating to his introverted nature. Omega likes her too, and so she spends ample time with them.

It appears she has gotten to you as well.

“The name’s Crosshair.” He says, slipping a toothpick into his mouth.

You tell him your name, his mind replaying it over and over to commit it to memory. It wasn’t likely he’d forget, but he doesn’t want to run the risk.

“Are you going the same way?” You ask, taking half a step backwards. You’re anxious to get home. He can tell by your body language. You want to get there before others start leaving the party. “You could walk with me. I promise I won’t talk your ear off. I could not talk at all, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I’m not one for talking.” He says, his body already moving forward. He’s not entirely sure if you’re even going in the same direction he is, but he’s not going to complain.

A smile tugs at your lips as you fall in step beside him. “I was raised in a culture where you don’t speak unless you have something meaningful to say.”

“Sounds like an ideal place.” He says.

“It was, until it was wiped out by the war.” You respond.

So that was it. The war had been what ultimately led you here. He doesn’t press any further. He can tell you don’t want to speak more on the subject. Instead he falls into silence as he walks with you, letting you lead the way to your tiny hovel.

It’s not far from where you stopped that night he followed you.

“This is me.” You say, stepping up onto the small porch. “Thank you for walking with me. Solitude is nice, but sometimes silent company is better.”

Wise words. You may be right in that regard. He didn’t hate walking with you, and he certainly didn’t regret his decision. The silence had felt natural, not forced like the time he spent with those who believed conversation was necessary and silence was some form of disease.

Perhaps he was capable of enjoying others' company after all.

***

Despite your formal introduction, Crosshair finds little time to interact with you alone. The next time he sees you after the party is in passing.

Phee is the one that draws the attention to you, having spotted you leaving the beach as they were arriving. You don’t seem to have settled well into your new life. The dark, puffy circles under your eyes have worsened, and it seems you only continue to liken the ghost he once thought you were.

You were doing more than sitting this time. Your pants are damp almost to the knees, sand sticking to the fabric. Despite your time in the sun, there’s still a pallor to your skin, making you seem almost sickly in the bright sunlight.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed.

“Are you feeling alright, sweetcheeks?” Phee asks, pressing a hand to your forehead.

He watches the squaring of your shoulders, the subtle twitch of your muscles as her hand makes contact with your skin. You’re ready to flinch away, bracing yourself for whatever horrid thought passed through your mind as her hand lifted towards you. Perhaps you may have even tried to duck, had social convention not frowned upon such extreme reactions. It would have brought up questions, questions he knows you are desperately trying to avoid.

Instead you freeze, staying far too still as Phee feels your forehead. Reacting strangely would only heighten her concern. Brushing her off will save you at least this time, though she will be paying closer attention to you now. Perhaps the more extreme reaction would have been the better choice.

“I’m still trying to settle into a new place. That’s always been hard for me.” You speak slowly, and though it might only be a half truth, he can tell it’s worked.

Phee lets her hand drop back to her side. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean it. Anything at all.”

You nod slowly, something flashing across your gaze too fast for even him to decipher it. “Right. I-I will.” You begin to step away slowly, almost as if you were waiting for someone to stop you. “I’m going to go rest now.”

You turn without waiting for a reply, hastily retreating up the path from the beach back onto the streets of Pabu. Crosshair is half tempted to follow you, to slip away from the others, but Omega takes hold of his hand, leading him out into the sand. He allows it, having more patience for the kid than anyone else.

The increase in interactions with you has only heightened his curiosity. Even now that he’s heard you speak and knows your name, you’re still a phantom in his mind. You appear so hollow, so empty and yet he knows the depths inside your soul are so vast the entire ocean could fill them and still not reach the top. You seem to float past those around you, even the very air seeming to cut right through you.

You appear so fragile, and yet the walls around you are so steep, even the most experienced climber would shake their head in prospect of climbing them.

Curiosity would not be enough for him to wish to climb those walls, to see what devastation lies on the other side. Curiosity is not a strong enough word to drive him to seek you out, to yearn for your voice, your story, your very being.

He wants to see the devastation inside you because he knows it is a mirror of his own.

Only you could understand him in the way he yearns for. His brothers try, but they can’t know, they can’t possibly understand him. Not in the way he needs. No amount of sympathetic looks and words could possibly begin to chip away at the thick walls that protect him.

He wants to tear down your walls, he wants to see your ugly insides, if only to vindicate the ugliness that resides behind his carefully crafted exterior. You are not so good at hiding it, at least not to those who know. Crosshair knows you will shatter eventually, just as he did.

He’d had his brothers to catch him.

Who do you have?

***

Crosshair sees little of you over the next few weeks. He catches glimpses in passing, often being herded somewhere by Hunter or Omega. You simply seem to exist, floating past the crowd, or sitting on your porch with a cup of caf. You don’t look any better than you had before, still pallored and gaunt, all the life seeming to have been sapped from your body.

He finds himself pausing his nightly walks in front of your small house. He hasn’t seen you walking since that night, but occasionally he spots movement in the windows of your hovel, shadows moving in the light through the curtains.

The most he sees of you is in passing on the landing pad on their way to do a supply run. You were speaking with Phee, pushing a bag of credits into her hands. He could see the desperation in your eyes, practically pleading with her.

Whatever it is you wanted, you were desperate to get it.

It plagued his mind the entire trip. What could you be so desperate to get? A relic from your home world? Something from your past to bring back fond memories before war stole everything from you? Or perhaps something else. It could be anything.

It could be anyone.

The thought stirs something inside of him, something that makes him feel sick. It burns through his veins, heating his skin. He pushes the thought aside, hating how it makes him feel.

You disappear once more after your discussion with Phee, fulfilling your role as the ghost in his life. He continues his walks, pausing in front of your home but you never grace him with your presence, even unknowingly.

It’s a week later when he finally sees you once more.

It’s late. The moon is full, bathing the island in cool light. There’s not many places to hide tonight, not many shadows to conceal him, yet he hadn’t been able to shake the need to walk. His mind had been restless, and the images behind his eyes when he closed them were too much to bear so he slipped from the house, stalking along the quiet streets.

He passes your house, pausing in his usual spot. His brow furrows as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Your front door is wide open, the lights on inside. He pauses there for a moment, waiting for any sign you may be moving around in there, but it’s quiet. Still. Your shoes are on the porch, haphazardly laying with the toes facing the street, like you had left with them on, then decided against it and tossed them back onto the porch.

Either that, or you had left in a hurry. He scans the area but there’s no sign of you, his stomach twisting nervously. He’s not sure why. The scene in front of him has put him on edge. For someone so closed off, leaving your door open was not what he would have expected. Even if you had ventured for a short walk, leaving your private space wide open for anyone to see was out of character.

He continues his walk, more alert than he had been. He moves slowly, waiting for a sound, a sign, anything that may lead him to you.

It doesn’t take him long.

He spots you first, stumbling lazily down the street. He can hear you mumbling as he gets closer, cursing with slurred words. There’s a bottle in your hand, glowing faint blue in the light of the moon.

You’re drunk, a nearly empty bottle of spotchka clutched in your hand. So that was what you had sent Phee after.

He wonders if that’s the only bottle you’ve had tonight.

He debates the best course of action. You may react if he startles you, possibly waking the neighbors. He does not want to have to face them, to try and explain. He knows it’ll only bring more unwanted attention to you as well. They’ll want to help, they’ll check on you, they’ll worry about you.

You’d hate him forever.

You freeze in your stumbling walk, his body stopping as well. He’s pulled into the memories of that first night he followed you. There’s nowhere to hide tonight, though if you spot him on your own perhaps your reaction will be more desirable. You slowly turn, swaying a bit on your feet like you’re trying to stand in a stiff breeze. You squint at him, mouth hanging open as you take him in. He wonders what it is you see. Can you even recognize him in this state? Or is he a shadow, a ghostly figure your alcohol-riddled mind is trying to piece together.

He says your name quietly, your eyes widening as they focus on him. He steps closer, moving slowly, carefully. You’re unpredictable in this state. He pauses just past an arm distance away, worried about getting too close. You might run again.

“Crosshair!” You shout, bringing the bottle to your lips, draining the rest. “What’re ya doin out so late?”

He can smell the alcohol on you at this proximity, the scent burning his nose. You look a mess, beyond just your drunken demeanor. Dark, swollen circles rim your red eyes, your clothes wrinkled and worn like you haven’t changed them in a few days. Strands of hair stick to your sweaty forehead, your face looking sunken and gaunt. Your feet are bare again, though whether that was a conscious choice or a consequence of your inebriation, he’s unsure. The haphazardly placed shoes suddenly make sense.

“You’re drunk.” He says, looking you over. You don’t seem hurt, not physically at least.

You sniffle, staring at the empty bottle in your hand. “Guess I am.”

You throw the bottle with a force he didn’t know you were capable of, the glass shattering loudly on the stone street. You stumble backwards from the force of your throw.

“It’s fucking stupid.” You say, wheeling away from him. “Those motherfuckers took everything from me!” You brace your hands on the wall overhanging the cliff. You push yourself up, kneeling on the edge. It’s a long drop to the houses below. The fall might kill you, if you landed wrong.

He suddenly feels nervous. Would you jump? He wouldn’t have pitted you for someone who would do such a thing sober. You’re not sober, though. You’re not in your right mind.

“They’re coming back.” You whisper, staring down at the moonlit city below.

“Who’s coming back?” He asks, watching you carefully. He can’t imagine anyone on the island so much as threatening you, much less attempting anything uncouth.

“They’re coming. They’re coming.” You’re starting to get frantic. Whatever it is you think you’re seeing, it’s driving you mad. “We have to go before they get here. We have to go!”

He moves purely on instinct. His years of training have saved many lives before, but none of them felt like this.

His arm is around your middle before your knees leave the ledge, body falling forward into his arm. He uses his weight to pull you backwards, turning mid-fall so he takes the brunt of it, his back hitting the stone street. You fall on top of him, stunned long enough for him to secure his hold around you.

His heart is pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. He holds you tightly, half to keep you restrained and half for his brain to process that he did catch you, he did make it in time. You’re still here, you’re secure in his arms.

He hasn’t felt this way in a while.

He hasn’t felt this way since Barton IV, since the avalanche, since he had to keep Mayday and himself alive through a blizzard only to watch him die. He had lost Mayday after trying everything he could to save him. He feels like he didn’t do enough. He feels responsible.

He won’t let the same thing happen to you.

You scream, the sound muffled by his shirt as he forces your face against his chest. You try to fight him, but all the strength with which you threw the bottle is gone. You’re no match for him. Not in this state. He sits himself up, keeping you restrained against his body.

“They’re coming back.” You sob against his chest, beginning to hyperventilate. “They’re coming back, we have to go!” You continue to struggle, but your fight is waning, getting weaker and weaker. “We have to go before they come back!”

“Stop.” He grabs your face, pulling you away from his chest enough that you can see him. Tears and snot slide down your skin, wetting his fingers. You’re sobbing, breaths hitching as your body tries to regulate itself. “Stop.” He shakes you, nothing more than an attempt to snap you out of this delusion. “No one is coming.”

You stare up at him with those haunted eyes, the moonlight making the dark circles under them seem more intense. “I can’t sleep.” You whisper, shockingly alert compared to what he had just seen. He can feel you folding, your body getting heavier until it’s only his grip on you holding you up. “Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll pass out before I remember.”

He lets you fall limp against his chest, keeping his arms locked around you to prevent you from trying something stupid again. His heart is still racing, the adrenaline making his hands shake. He had been designed for extreme stress. He had been designed to run straight into battle and not bat an eye.

The thought of losing you so easily has rattled him.

He needs to get you back home, somewhere he can keep a closer eye on you until you inevitably pass out from the alcohol in your system. He shifts you in his arms, pushing himself to stand. You’re light, far too light. He wonders if you’ve been eating, or if your sleep deprivation has taken over your entire life. Tech had spewed the detriments of sleep deprivation several times during the course of the war. They were designed to go without sleep for extended periods, but even they were not immune. They would begin to degrade to the point of delusion, and death would follow soon after.

He wonders how long it’s been, how long you’ve suffered without sleep.

You truly are a ghost.

It’s a surprise the inhabitants of the nearby houses haven’t been roused by the commotion. Or perhaps it’s just luck. The last thing he needed was someone else making this worse in an attempt to help. He has you under control now. If someone were to intervene, he’s unsure of how you would react.

He carries you back to your house, the door still open and the lights still on. It feels strange, invading your space. He feels as if he’s breaking some unspoken rule, infringing upon a sacred space as he steps in the door.

It’s a mess. Clothes and blankets are strewn around the small living area. Dirty dishes sit like landmines, half eaten food spread across the stone floor. How long it’s been there, he’s not sure he wants to know. He follows the trail into the bedroom, that space not much better off. Clothes everywhere, full and empty bottles of alcohol on the floor, the bed stripped completely of sheets and blankets.

He can’t let you stay here like this.

He finds the ‘fresher, stepping inside. It’s at least cleaner than he expected, damp clothes and towels piled on the floor, used containers of shampoo and soap littering the sink. He clears a spot, swiping the containers onto the floor. He sits you on the counter, your eyes closed. For a moment he thinks you might have passed out, but you crack your eyes open, staring at him.

He leans you back against the mirror, making sure you’re steady as he digs to find a clean rag. He finds a semi-clean one, running it under the cold water before gently wiping down your face. He cleans every inch of exposed skin, checking the bottoms of your feet. Dirty, but thankfully uninjured.

He can’t leave you here. It’s too risky. Not that he’d want to leave you in this mess anyway. He sighs through his nose, staring at your half asleep form. You’ll hate him, but he has no other choice. He can’t risk it.

He can’t risk you.

He picks you back up, carrying you out of the ‘fresher. Something shatters under his boot as he crosses the living room, but he’s too focused to care. He leaves your house, grabbing your shoes before making the short journey back up the hill to his own home.

It’s dark and quiet inside, just as he’d left it. His steps are near silent as he heads back to his room, his own small sacred space. He lays you on the bed, your body curling in on itself as soon as it hits the mattress, as if you’re trying to revert to some early form, back when the world was safe, when you were unable to comprehend the horrors that were soon to cross your path.

You’re asleep, or past the point of being able to control your own body as you take little notice of anything around you. He tucks the blanket around your shoulders. The stench of alcohol is going to sink into his sheets, permeate the air in his room. He can wash them later.

He settles himself on the floor at the end of the bed, leaning against the door. You’d have to move him to get out. Even with the exhaustion settling into his mind, the likelihood of you slipping out unnoticed is very small. Hunter already knows someone else is in the house, and if by some chance he doesn’t, he’d know as soon as he heard your footsteps.

The likelihood you’ll remember any of the events from tonight are slim. You’re far too drunk. He’ll have to come up with something, a reason for bringing you here.

He’ll worry about that when the time comes.

You’re going to be angry when you wake, but if it keeps you safe, he’ll face your wrath happily.

***

Crosshair’s pulled from sleep, straightening up from where he’d been leaning to the side as you groan quietly. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, stretching out his legs. His joints pop uncomfortably, forced into one position for too long. He glances at the bed, watching the lump under the blankets shift. Your arm lifts above the blanket, rubbing across your forehead as you groan once more. He can imagine the severity of the hangover pulsing behind your eyes.

He pushes himself to stand, approaching the bed slowly. You blink blearily up at him, squinting slightly as if you’re trying to see him better. Your sleep-addled brain is still trying to focus, trying to process everything you’re seeing. The chronometer on the wall tells him you haven’t been asleep longer than a couple hours, and it’s entirely likely you’re still a bit drunk.

You slowly push yourself up to sit, glancing around the room, looking anywhere but at him. He can practically see the shame burning on your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Your voice is rough with sleep or drink, or perhaps both. “It was stupid of me to think alcohol would solve my problems.” Your gaze drops to your hands like a guilty child waiting to be reprimanded. “You shouldn’t have had to go out of your way to help me.”

So you do remember. It takes him by surprise. Some parts, perhaps, he thought you might remember, hazily at most.

“I don’t want to die.” You say, taking his silence as an invitation to continue. “But can you really call this living?”

He narrows his eyes at your words. You are right. He can see the suffering in your very existence. The exhaustion that plagues you endlessly, that makes you the phantom he sees you as.

“I-I should get home.” You swing your legs over the bed but he grabs your arm before you can move too far.

You feel so frail under his touch, and he’s afraid you’ll crumble like a stone statue if he squeezes too hard. “Don’t.” He says, your body pinned in place by the harshness of his gaze. He releases your arm, turning to grab clean clothes from his dresser. He tosses them to you, your body barely reacting in time to catch them. “Clean yourself up, then have something to eat before you go.”

You blink at him for a moment, hand clutching the clothes he’d tossed at you to your chest where you’d caught them. Your head turns slightly towards the door as the sound of the others moving around in the kitchen draws your attention. You had been introduced to them by Phee, so they weren’t entirely unknown to you. They knew very little about you, though, and certainly wouldn’t be expecting you to be here.

“‘Fresher’s down the hall.” He says.

You stand on shaky legs, your eyes pinching shut as your hangover makes itself known once more. He’s worried for half a moment you may collapse, his body ready to catch you. You let out a long breath before you’re moving, stepping out the door. He waits until you’re gone before he’s changing, ridding himself of his alcohol-saturated clothes. He leaves his room, stepping into the living area.

All eyes are focused on him instantly. He’s immune to it now after years, and there’s no desire for him to react, not in this safe space. Not when it’s his squad. His brothers. They’re all wondering, they all want to know. Phee rarely spent the night here. Tech was more likely to be absent from their morning routine than to have it disrupted by the appearance of someone from the outside. For him to have brought someone in, have them here in the morning...he’s the one breaking routine.

Crosshair pours himself a cup of caf, Hunter staring at him from across the kitchen. Crosshair meets his gaze unwaveringly, giving him a telling look. He’ll explain later. He doesn’t want them to know while you’re still here. The last thing you need is for them to make a deal of it, to cause a scene, to give you those ridiculous pitiful looks, to shower you in sympathy. He knows the wrong kind of attention could drive you back to the place you were last night.

He can’t risk that.

You emerge from the ‘fresher nearly half an hour later. Crosshair knows much of that time had to be you working up the bravery to come out and face his brothers. Your hair is damp, cleaner than he’s seen it in a while. You’re swimming in his clothes, making you seem even more fragile than you already appeared.

They’re all staring at you, and he can see the heistance, the nervousness of having all the attention on you. You step up next to him, standing close enough you could duck behind him if you felt the need. He’s surprised you aren’t hiding behind him, facing his brothers bravely.

Omega is the first to greet you, breaking the silence. She greets you by name, despite the limited interactions she’s had with you. She’s always so perceptive, remembering names and details from conversations and interactions that even Crosshair missed.

"You're welcome to stay for breakfast." Hunter says. "If you'd like."

"That would be nice, thank you." You say, Crosshair noticing the waver in your voice. Hunter likely did as well, but he draws no attention to it.

Not that he would.

"Come on, you can watch holovids with me while we wait." Omega says, taking your hand to pull you to the couch.

And so their normal morning routine was back to normal. Wrecker joins you and Omega on the couch, Echo going back to working on breakfast. Hunter steps closer to Crosshair, giving him a look.

"She needed help last night." Crosshair says quietly, reading the question on his brother’s face. "It wasn't safe for her to be alone."

Hunter nods slowly in understanding. He'll get the full story later, but for now that's appeased him. He only worried about the safety of his family, not that you posed much of a threat.

Crosshair sits you next to him at the table as they eat, partially for a sense of comfort and security on your part and also so he could make sure you actually ate something. He doesn’t have to worry much, though. You seem perfectly happy to eat.

Conversation flows as it usually does around the table. You don’t partake much, not that he really expected you to, but he can tell you’re listening intently. So observant, so aware. Wrecker’s bellowing laugh makes you jump, but Crosshair is the only one that notices.

“How did you get here?” Omega asks, turning to you as she changes the subject.

The table falls silent, suddenly all eyes on you. You pause in your chewing, hand closing around your fork just a little tighter. He can practically see your thoughts racing, the nervous tension beginning to square your shoulders once more.

“Omega.” Hunter scolds, casting a sideways glance at the girl before turning back to you. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You swallow the food you had been chewing, obviously not expecting to be given the option. Most people wanted to know, and they asked without hesitation, without considering what they’re asking the other person to relive.

Crosshair can’t help but be a bit curious too. He’s not a nosy person. He doesn't care about others enough to bother knowing their secrets. The only people he cares about are his brothers, and he’s spent his entire life with them. There wasn’t room for many secrets among them, not even after his return. They knew about his excursions, and they were perceptive enough to decipher his curiosity towards you. Bringing you here likely only answered the question of just how close he’s gotten to you, even if they weren’t aware of the full story.

They would be. He would tell them. Not to earn you more pity, but in hopes they will share his desire to look after you.

You, however, he wants to know. He wants to peel back the layers like the skin of a fruit. He wants to know. He wants the answers to why you’re so broken.

Why you’re so like him.

He would never force you to share. He knows the pain of having to relive those moments. It’s enough having to see them every time you close your eyes. Having to speak them aloud only feels like a threat, like you may breathe life into them once more. Like they may happen to you all over again.

“No, that’s alright.” You say, putting your fork down. “No one’s really asked me before. Not that they’ve really had a chance to.” You shrug, the corner of your lips almost lifting into a smile but it drops from your face as quickly as it appears. “I, uh, I was from Devoth.”

Wrecker gasps dramatically, Hunter’s face falling in understanding. Crosshair’s chest clenches, things beginning to fall into place. So that was it. Devoth had been one of the worst battles in the last year of the war, no, the entirety of the war. They hadn’t been part of it, but he remembered hearing of it.

“What does that mean?” Omega asks, looking around at the sullen faces at the table.

“Devoth was a planet in the Muno system located in the inner rim.” Tech says. “It was a mostly peaceful planet under the Republic government. It was used as a mining colony for centuries due to the deposits of rare minerals under the planet’s surface.”

“During the last year of the war, there was a Separatist invasion.” Hunter says, cutting off Tech’s ramble of facts about your home planet. “The battle that took place there was one of the most severe in terms of losses. The Republic won the battle, but it came at the expense of most of the battalion and the planet.”

Omega looks at you, a horrified look on her face. You’re staring down at your plate, eyelashes fluttering like you’re trying not to cry. Your hand’s closed in a fist where it rests on the table, your entire body wound tightly.

“Most of the planet’s surface was destroyed.” You finally say, voice wavering just slightly. “I was home alone when it happened, when the Separatists invaded. My parents had gone to the city center that morning. We had no warning. It was just a normal day then suddenly there’s a droid army marching through our neighborhood. They pulled us all out of our homes. Marched us through the streets with blasters at our backs. They were trying to gather us all in one place.” You shrug. “I couldn’t tell you what they were planning to do, but it couldn’t have been worse than what happened.”

“What happened?” Omega asks, everyone at the table leaning closer subconsciously. They had only heard the stories from those few who survived, those who fought. They’d never heard it from the side of someone on the surface. Someone entirely neutral to the war.

You turn your gaze to Hunter, almost as if you’re asking permission to share the horror of what happened with a child. You won’t give all the details, he knows already. That’s far too intimate for your first real conversation with them. Perhaps you were trying to save Omega from experiencing the same trauma you had.

“The Republic arrived not long after the Separatists did.” You continue. “As soon as the gunships entered the atmosphere the droids started shooting at the gunships and at civilians. I think they were trying to get the Republic to call off the invasion by executing innocent civilians, but there was so much confusion, it didn’t work.”

“How did you survive?” Omega asks.

“Someone grabbed my hand in the confusion.” You say. “I don’t know who she was, but we ran for it. There were underground shelters built out of old mining tunnels all over the city. Devoth was known for sudden, intense storms during the rainy season, so they were built to offer shelter when the storms blew through the city. We made it into one of the shelters with a few others.” You shake your head. “I couldn’t even recognize where we were when we finally came out a couple days later. Everything was gone. It was like a storm blew in and wiped the entire planet clean. There weren’t even bodies left.” You hastily wipe the tear that falls, sniffling. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry you lost your home and your family.” Omega says, speaking with such compassion it stirs even Crosshair. “I’m glad you made it. You can be part of our family now.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you. I am lucky that I made it out.”

Hunter quickly changes the topic of conversation, sensing your distress. He won’t push you to continue, won’t push for more details. They’re capable of understanding the loss that comes with war, and the desire to leave it in the past. Crosshair knows there’s more to the story, however.

The rest of breakfast passes quickly, and despite Omega’s insistence that you stay longer, Crosshair knows you’re tired and overwhelmed. He escorts you from the house, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as soon as you’re outside. The streets are busy and bustling already, but you don’t seem as tense walking beside him.

You almost seem human.

“That wasn’t the end of the story.” He says as you approach your house, slowing his pace. The Battle of Devoth had happened well over a year ago. A lot can happen in a year.

“No. It wasn’t.” You say, slowing your pace as well.

Silence reigns between you until you reach your porch, sinking down onto the steps. He stays standing, hovering over you. He stares at the top of your head as you look out into the street, past the inhabitants milling about their day and out into the distant cerulean ocean.

“We were in that shelter for almost three days.” You say, tugging at the cuffed hem of your borrowed pants. “The battle happened fast, but we were scared of what we would find above. We had no clue what had happened, who had won. When we finally got out, the planet was unrecognizable. We looked for anything we could find, but it had all been reduced to dust and rubble. There were a few other survivors, others that were lucky and made it into other shelters.”

He stays quiet, not wanting to give you any reason to stop. He wants to know. He needs to know. It’s like a sick fascination, a need to know just how broken you are.

“We tried to contact someone, anyone, but none of the comms were working. We all thought we would die there, but the pirates arrived not long after. They were looking for anything they could pilfer but there was nothing but us.” You finally look up at him, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “We didn’t have any choice. What else could we do? Stay there and starve or hope the Republic showed back up to look for survivors? We willingly walked ourselves into slavery.” You sniffle, wiping the tears from your face.

There’s a pain in his stomach that has grown as he listens to your story. He had never stopped to think of the horrors that the civilians, the citizens of the planets they fought on, faced too. It wasn’t their job. Their job was to fight and try to survive to the next battle. They didn’t think about the homes they destroyed or the lives they upended trying to prevent the droid army from accomplishing the same end.

He’d done horrible things under the Empire. Worse things. He remembers it all, even when he hadn’t been the one in control. He’d destroyed lives, enslaved others, killed innocent people. All for what?

“Don’t make me tell you what happened after.” You shake your head, the tears still falling despite your best efforts to wipe them away.

He doesn’t need to know. He knows enough about the galaxy to be able to guess what happened to you. He’s curious how you made it here, but he won’t push you further than you have been today. You’ve been dragged through enough in the last few hours. He doesn’t want to risk pushing you to repeat what happened last night.

“That’s why I can’t sleep.” You say, staring off out the window. “I can still hear them marching down the street. I close my eyes and they’re kicking in the door, dragging me out into the chaos. I can still hear the ships, the blasters, the bombs. Sometimes I don’t make it. Sometimes I can see my parents. Sometimes I’m back with the pirates. Sometimes I never escaped at all.”

Understanding washes over him like a wave from the sea. You’re beginning to make sense now. The rapid decline you had been steadily sliding down since your arrival here. Your struggle sleeping, the nightmares both awake and asleep. Crosshair feels the bite of loneliness in his house full of his brothers and Omega, but he’s never truly alone.

You’re entirely alone.

You had been alone when your life was destroyed, when everything changed. It was lucky that you survived at all. No matter how many times you were assured you were safe here, you were alone. Being alone was not safe for you. Being alone left you vulnerable to the horrors of your past, left you vulnerable to the horrors that may come through your door when you’re least expecting them.

He begins to formulate an idea, a plan taking shape in his mind. He won’t leave you to suffer alone. You had already proven you wouldn’t survive that. You don’t have to be alone here, but he’s well aware you won’t willingly accept help. You’re too stubborn for that, too ashamed of your own brokenness.

He’s not going to give up on you, leave you to suffer a cruel fate that could be avoided. You were so much like him, even if your experiences were different. He understands you, and you have the capacity to understand him. He can help you. He desires to help you.

Little do you know, you are capable of helping him as well.

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @clio3kantarella @eris-k @thorsterstrudle @idontgetanysleep @anxiouspineapple99 @clonemedickix @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @523rdrebel

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #x reader

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maniculum · 7 months

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Bestiaryposting Plan

So the poll is still running, but I think I'm safe in saying there's sufficient interest, so I'm going ahead and typing up a "how we're going to do this" thing, which I will schedule to post after the poll ends properly. As of the time I'm writing this, over 500 people have voted for the "yes I want to draw things" option, and I had been expecting to get maybe a dozen, so we definitely have enough participants. Let's get started then:

Our Source

I had originally planned to translate an Old or Middle English bestiary, but haven't been able to find a good one -- the best option I was able to dig up only has thirteen critters, which I feel like isn't enough to really have fun with. I was debating the idea of translating a Latin one -- this would have been far more time-consuming since my Latin is terrible, but also I do need to practice it, so I figured it evens out -- when I found a solution that doesn't involve me spending hours and hours on translating.

It seems that when Aberdeen University created their digitized version of the famous Aberdeen Bestiary, they released it under a Creative Commons license. (Assuming I'm reading their copyright policy correctly; I'm not a lawyer.) It does not seem to specify whether the transcriptions and translations they attach to the scanned images are also covered by Creative Commons, but since all of those are already freely available online through their website, I can't imagine they would have a problem with me posting them here as long as I provide attribution (which I am hereby doing right here on this post) and am not using it for commercial purposes (which I am not).

The Aberdeen Bestiary is missing a few pages, but there exists a very similar manuscript, the Ashmole Bestiary (they're sometimes called "sister" manuscripts), which is not missing those pages. And I happen to have a translation of the Ashmole Bestiary in hardcopy on my bookshelf, so I can just use it to fill in the gaps. Edit: whoops, the one I have is the Bodley Bestiary. They are in the same bestiary "family", though, so it still works well enough. (I think that should qualify as "fair use", since I'm only taking excerpts and not using them commercially.)

The upside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that it means when I round up all the art of each critter, I can include their very nice illustrations alongside the reveal of what animal was being described.

The downside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that since it already is free online, people might be tempted to "cheat" by looking up the entries and finding out what animal they describe. For that, please see the next section...

Guessing the Animal

Guessing what animal is being described is not the point of the exercise. (Feel free to have theories and whatnot, but please keep them to yourself so as not to influence the artists.) If you see an entry and think, e.g., "oh that's describing a raccoon"*, and then you create a picture of a raccoon... well, you could have done a perfectly good raccoon at any point and didn't need this framework to do it. So just don't worry about what animal is meant, and do your best to draw (or paint or stitch or whatever else) based on the description! You're not getting ranked on accuracy and there are no prizes forthcoming, so... just have fun with it.

*Example chosen as something that will, for obvious reasons, definitely not be in a 13th-century European bestiary.

Edit after starting to type these things up: some of these are going to be super easy to guess, though, to the point where I don't know how possible it'll be to block out prior knowledge. Sorry about that.

General Procedure

I'm going to schedule a post every Monday (I'm thinking of queuing them for 6pm Eastern Time) with a new entry. It will be the translation of an entry from the Aberdeen Bestiary with all references to the animal's name replaced by a randomly-generated nonsense word. (Henceforth to be referred to as "nonsense-names". I'm Googling* each one before using them so I don't accidentally generate one that actually means something.) These posts will all be tagged maniculum bestiaryposting, so you can follow that tag if you want to make sure you see them.'

*Later Note: Did you know that if you search dozens of nonsense words within a short span of time, Google makes you prove you're not a robot? Repeatedly?

Anyone who wants to draw the critter being described should do so. (You are encouraged to describe your thought process re: why you've depicted it the way you have.) You can put it in its own post, or reblog the description with an image, or however you want to do it. Then tag your art with the nonsense-name I've given to the animal.This will let me and others find it. (You should probably employ copy/paste there to make sure the spelling is the same, since nonsense words are hard to spellcheck.)

A week after posting the bestiary entry, I'll go through that tag and round up all of the art contributed. Then I'll put the images in a big post (or series thereof, considering how many people might participate), along with an @ and a link to your original post.

If you want...

to not have your work included in the round-up post

to have only a link to your post included and not an image

to have me include a link to your website / other social media / etsy shop in addition to or instead of your tumblr

to have other information included alongside your work

anything else along those lines

... then just say so in your post and I will follow your instructions to the best of my ability.

I will also include, at the end of the round-up post, an image of the creature as depicted in the Aberdeen Bestiary and what it is actually called.

All posts I make on this will be collected at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting so that people can look at previous ones without scrolling through the tag.

Various Notes

I'm going to trim out any religious digressions in the original entries -- bestiary authors had a habit of adding stuff like "and the raccoon is symbolic of god in such-and-such fashion, which teaches us...", and I just don't think that's relevant here.

The entries will also be presented in a random order. This is because they're sorted into categories in the original text, so if I don't change the order we're going to get stuck with, e.g., a few months of All Birds All The Time.

You should all be aware that the animals described are not guaranteed to be, you know, real. There are several entries describing animals that straight up do not exist -- some of which are mythical creatures familiar to most people, others of which are extremely obscure.

Explanations of the animal's name within the entries will be redacted.

If other animals are mentioned within the entries, they will not get replaced with nonsense-names. Originally, I was going to make the switch globally, so that if, e.g., the entry for "raccoon" read "a raccoon is about the size of a possum", and the random generator had decided that a raccoon was a balzikhear and a possum was a flunggrish, the "raccoon" entry would now read "a balzikhear is about the size of a flunggrish". However, I decided that it will cause more problems than it solves to obscure any comparisons to other animals -- so the name-switch is now localized only to the specific entry. A possum is a flunggrish only in its own entry, and remains a possum everywhere else.

I was originally going to do one post for every single entry, but there are a lot of them and they vary wildly in length & quality. So I've cut it down to exactly 52 posts, meaning that if I queue them up for once a week, this will run for roughly a full year.

Most of that cutting-down mentioned above was done by combining a bunch of the really short entries into categories -- the last half-dozen posts in this series will be group entries. You can choose to make art of any of them that strike your fancy, or do a group portrait, or just ignore them --I dunno, I'm not a cop, do what you want.

I did also directly cut some, mostly domesticated animals because there's a somewhat different approach to them based on author and audience familiarity.

So yeah, that should cover everything.

#maniculum bestiaryposting

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

Text

All I Desire (Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: 6.3k (I'm a mess)

Summary: Reader has not been in a relationship in a while and is scared to have sex with Steven for the first time. After learning of your fear of intimacy, Steven decides to plan an all-out date night to show you that you have nothing to worry about.

Pairings/Warnings: mentions of past relationship trauma, kinda angst I guess, fluff, smut (duh), plot with porn, Soft Dom! Steven x (afab) Reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), no Marc or Jake but both mentioned. Language is gender-neutral apart from anatomy.

Note: Not proofread. How do y'all just shamelessly write smut all the time I feel like I just killed god

It had been exactly two months since your first official date with Steven. You had taken the initiative to ask him out, knowing that he’d been feeling the same way about you but was holding back from pursuing you romantically. From your conversations with him over the gift shop register, you had gathered that he wasn’t the best at small talk and was pretty socially awkward, but you also knew that he was intelligent and self-assured, especially when it came to ancient Egypt. You couldn’t figure out why he refused to make the first move with you, but you were sure he’d had his reasons.

Tonight, you were waiting for Steven on the steps of your apartment complex. He had made a huge deal about going out tonight, instructing you to dress for a formal occasion. You were smitten at the idea of Steven going all-out for an anniversary date, as busy as you both were. Steven made you feel like a teenager again, giggling and sneaking around, navigating love through fresh eyes and rose-colored glasses. He could make a fast-food date feel like the most special occasion and you were absolutely head-over-heels.

Then again, so was he. Whenever he thought you didn’t notice, Steven studied you like one of the Seven Wonders. His face would light up at the sight of you every time you got together, and he always regarded you as the most important thing in the room no matter where you were. Steven never failed you greet you with chivalry. Whether it be flowers, chocolates, or a cup of coffee during a long workday, he’d never fail to shower you with affection through the little things, letting you know that you were on his mind always. The constant attentiveness never made you uncomfortable. Steven never overstepped your boundaries and only offered you whatever affection was clearly welcome. But Steven had been growing much more confident, more self-assured in your relationship. He’d started being more vulnerable with you, more honest about himself, and despite your growing attraction to him you could not help but feel nervous about it all.

It had taken some getting used to when Steven revealed that he was part of a system of alters. You hadn’t heard of DID before, but you did a google deep-dive the night that he told you about his situation. Even then, you were so infatuated with Steven that the idea of dating someone who’s body contains multiple people was something you quickly became comfortable with. He had been honest with you about his past, about his relationship with his parents and his mental health journey in adulthood. It was none of these things that made you anxious about Steven or your relationship. In fact, the issue mostly had to do with you.

You hadn’t dated in a while. Not that you had a tragic love life or a drama-filled dating history, but you had taken your last break-up very hard, and you’d cut yourself off from the possibility of intimacy for a long time. What bothered you was that Steven appeared to be the man you had been waiting your whole life for. He was caring, he was wealthy, he was strong and yet somehow sensitive and patient. The truth be told, he was too good to be true.

That’s what you were scared of. Steven appeared to be the perfect man. He appeared to be everything you needed. But you feared that it couldn’t be true. That it was too perfect a picture, you and Steven Grant together. It was a trap, and if you opened yourself up to a chance at love again, you were just asking to be broken.

Your last relationship had done quite a number on your self-esteem. Your ex-boyfriend had planted numerous seeds of doubt in your mind about how others perceived you. The worst part was your feeling of inadequacy in the bedroom. He had convinced you that you were not enough for him, gaslighting you into think you deserved it when it was revealed that he had been cheating all along. Even now, far removed from the cycle of subtle bullying from your ex, you couldn’t help but feel incapable of satisfying your future partners. You couldn’t help but feel that you weren’t enough.

You knew that tonight was of great significance to Steven. Not just in the sense that he wanted to celebrate the beginning of your relationship, but that he wanted tonight to be a new kind of beginning. You could tell by the way Steven took initiative. How he didn’t ask how you wanted tonight to go. He had prepared everything for you. He’d given you a date and time and instructed you to wear something fancy. He’d smiled and shaken his head when you’d asked where the two of you would be going. He’d even texted your roommate with instructions on how to feed your cat, noting that you would be out for the whole evening.

“I’m not trying to be cryptic, love,” he would say when you protested to his secretive planning, “I just want to do something special. I think you’re really gonna like it. I hope you do, anyway, and I think you deserve a little treat.”

God, you were terrified. But you were also in love.

You spotted Steven coming around the corner of your apartment complex. He was dressed in a nice suit, certainly the fanciest of any of your other dates. It was light gray and extremely well-fitted, notably expensive compared to what you were used to seeing. He was holding a single red flower in his hand, and he smiled as his gaze met yours. The smile quickly turned to awe, Steven’s jaw subtly dropping as he noticed how you were dressed. You blushed at the sight of him being so enamored by you. He planted a ginger kiss on your cheek and touched the pads of his fingers to your shoulders, wide-eyed and giddy.

“Oh love, you look amazing!” Steven’s eyes darted between your gaze and your body. You were charmed by his obvious attraction to you, but you were having just as much fun taking in his appearance. The light gray of his suit played exceptionally well with Steven’s olive-toned skin. The snug fit only accentuated his toned arms underneath the fabric, complimenting the muscular build that he often kept hidden from view. He had grown out his facial hair, not into a full beard but decidedly past the stage of stubble. You could see a couple of grays peeking through in his kempt raven curls, which framed his face perfectly under the overcast afternoon skylight.

Steven motioned for you to wrap your arm around his, forcing his gaze to the path in front of you to start you both toward the setting of your mysterious date. He’d assured you that it wouldn’t be a far walk, and you were relieved to find that he truly meant it so. Within ten minutes of walking, Steven was ushering you into the doors of a building you passed every day, but truthfully did not know the purpose of. It seemed unassuming on the outside, but the interior was the last thing you’d have expected of the place. You didn’t know what to make of the restaurant. It seemed poorly advertised, and the windows of the building did not allow onlookers to see inside the building. However, the interior of the restaurant revealed that it was anything but under-attended. The place was clearly five-star, or at least accurate to what your middle-class self imagined five-star to be. The restaurant was bustling with people, not an empty table in sight. All of them were dressed formally, as the two of you also were, and the building dripped of more wealth and prestige than you could ever imagine having. How on earth could Steven Grant of the gift shop afford to take you to a place like this?

“I’ve got a reservation under ‘Steven,’ thanks,” he said to the hostess, appearing not at all out-of-place in the atmosphere of elegance. The hostess glanced for only a moment at the reservation list before motioning for you both to follow her. She led you through the sea of tables and to a set of stairs in the back room. You wondered if a place like this was too fancy to use elevators. She led you up several fights of stairs and out onto the roof of the building. Unlike the other parts of the restaurant, which were busting at the seams with obviously eager guests, there was no one but the three of you in the covered seating area on the rooftop. In fact, there was only one table and two chairs.

“Here you go,” the hostess purred, “your waitress will be right with you.” As she closed the door behind her, much of the noise from the inside was dampened. Steven pulled out a chair for you, and you sat facing away from the door you had just exited. The view beyond the roof was phenomenal. You could see much of the city from where you were, being unobstructed by rooftops around you. Your neighborhood wasn’t in the epicenter of the city, so many of the adjacent buildings were fairly short. Your view to the ground and to neighboring rooftops was obstructed by the intricate fencing around the borders of the building. You weren’t too upset by this, though, as it meant that no one from the ground below could see the two of you either.

“How did you manage all this, Steven?” you asked shyly, picking up the menu sitting in front of you, “I mean, this place looks super selective. How did you even get a reservation?”

“I’m a resourceful man,” he replied, “Like I said, I wanted tonight to be special for you. I wanted to go all out for it. I hope you’ll like the food here, love. They’ve got a lot of vegan options as well.”

You honestly wondered if he was going to propose. After all, this was a much fancier date than any of the others. Maybe that why he had been so extravagant, trying to charm you into marriage with a grand gesture. But it had only been two months, and you knew that Steven wasn’t the kind of person to pop the question so hastily. So then where did the humble giftshop-ist get the idea to pamper you with such an obscene display of wealth?

The waitress came to take your drink orders, and Steven let you order for yourself before ordering a bottle of wine for the table. As the waitress left to make your drinks, Steven cleared his throat with an earnest expression.

“I know you’re probably thinking I’ve gone overboard,” he began, “but just hear me out on it, please. I wanted this night to be quite extravagant because I wanted to put your mind at ease about some things.”

“My mind?” you questioned. What did he think you were uneasy about? Did he know about your insecurities? If so, how? More troubling, did he notice that something was wrong but come to a completely wrong conclusion for why?

“Don’t get mad, love. But I was talking to your roommate…”

“Steven! -“

“I know! It was just small talk, the other day! I just asked if you were stressed about work because you seemed tense but wouldn’t talk to me. But your roomie said that something else was the matter. She told me that you… well… that you were scared of being intimate with me. You were scared that I might be hiding a part of myself from you when I’m around you, something that would hurt you, I guess. I wanted to show you that that’s not true, love. I wanted to get everything all out in the open, so-to-speak. I know you know about Marc and Jake and all that, and I figured you’d probably be a bit scared of how they interact with this whole relationship. And you and Marc have talked about it, and you’ve met Jake before I know, but if you’re worried about them being dangerous or something—”

“I’m not.” You cut him off. He stopped, puzzled.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not worried… about Jake or Marc. I don’t mind them. I know that the three of you are sort of a package deal, and I’m okay with that. I know that they aren’t dangerous to me.”

“Okay,” Steven seemed confounded, as if he was suddenly rethinking his choice of plans for the evening. His face phased into a more somber expression, more collected. “What is it then? She said you were scared that our relationship was getting more intimate. Does that mean that… that the problem is with me? Are you not… not interested in something more serious?”

“It’s not that!” you quickly jumped to spare Steven’s feelings from his false assumption, “It isn’t anything like that. I’m very happy with you, Steven. I promise.”

The waitress returned with your drinks, and Steven quickly informed her that you needed a few minutes to decide your order. She nodded and left quickly, and though Steven was relieved, he met you with a genuinely child-like look of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not that I’m scared of being intimate with you. It’s that I don’t… that I’m not sure I’m ready to be close with someone.”

“You mean you’re not ready for a committed relationship?”

“No, Steven… the other kind of intimate.”

Steven’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and a lightbulb seemed to turn on inside his head. He was silent for a moment, looking for the right way to phrase his thoughts.

“This wouldn’t be—I guess— you’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No, I’m not. It’s just… I didn’t really leave my last relationship on good terms. I guess I didn’t really feel safe. I mean, not that you make me feel unsafe. I always feel secure when I’m around you. I just feel I’m still a bit scared to be vulnerable like that. Like something bad is gonna happen.”

Steven didn’t say anything.

“Of course, I’m not implying anything about you, Steven. I think you’re lovely, really, I think you’re an absolute catch. You always make me feel all light when I’m around you. Of course the problem isn’t with you, love.”

The sound of a doorknob turning indicated that the waitress had returned. Steven motioned for you to give your order first. He poured himself a glass of wine and ordered some exotic plant-based dish while avoiding your gaze. He didn’t look offended or uncomfortable, more like deep in thought as the waitress confirmed your orders and left the rooftop once again.

“So, let me see if I have this right. You fancy me, you’re not bothered by the other two blokes in my head, and you aren’t a bloody virgin. But you don’t want to have sex with me.”

“Well… it’s not so much as I don’t want to…”

“You’re scared to have sex with me?”

“I’m… I guess I am, yeah. I’m scared.”

“Well, what are you scared for, love?”

You felt your ears turning red. It felt embarrassing to say out loud. As you stared at Steven’s face though, at his patient and heartful expression, you decided that there was no point in hiding your feelings from him. He had given you honesty, and so too did you owe him the truth.

“I’m scared that I’m not enough for you. That you won’t think I’m enough. I’m scared that you’ll want something different, or that your priorities will change or that you won’t be satisfied with me.” The words came out in more of a cluster than a steady stream.

He sat quiet for what felt like a long time. You picked at your fingernails as you anxiously watched him drink in your explanation. Occasionally, he would glance into your eyes or down at your body, but he pondered with his gaze on his half-drunken glass of wine. You poured yourself a glass, too. Finally, a tiny fraction of a smile appeared in the corner of his mouth, and he gave his response with a mixture of amusement, contemplation, and revelation.

“Hmm.”

Hmm? That’s all? You watched his face for any sign of what on earth Steven could have meant by hmm. He locked eyes with you, and his smile grew slightly before it was broken by a drawn-out sigh from Steven. He raised his chin so that he appeared to be speaking down at you. Not out of conceitedness, but out of decision.

“I guess we’ll have to disprove that theory, then.” He didn’t say it with any hint of cheekiness. It was almost odd, how sincerely he uttered the words. You felt your breath attempt to catch in your throat, and you tried to subtly exhale around it.

“That’s something to worry about later, though. I put a lot of effort into planning this dinner, and I’d like to make it worth my labor, if I can. May have been a little misguided but the sentiment is still there all the same. And It does call for a little celebration, I suppose, doesn’t it? Two months since our first date. That’s what I would call an accomplishment, anyway.”

Steven brandished a toothy grin and raised his wine glass up to you. Flustered, you clinked your glass against his and began swiftly downing your glass of wine. He furrowed his brow, placing a hand on your glass and gently but quickly leading it back down to the table, careful not to make you spill.

“Easy, love. I’m not trying to get you drunk. The bottle’ll still be here when the food comes.”

You weren’t trying to get drunk, anyway, but you certainly felt that you needed the buzz for confidence. Steven’s ambition was exciting, and you couldn’t deny he was an absolutely gorgeous man, but the butterflies in your stomach felt as if they were sharing their territory with a swarm of wasps. Your openness wasn’t stopping now, only amplified by and unfiltered from the jitters that you felt.

“Are you serious? About… disproving my ‘theory,’ I mean. You’re so sure of yourself, just like that? That everything will be alright?”

You saw something in his eyes that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. They grew darker and his gaze fell back, drinking you in with more reverence and a shorter fuse. He stared at you with more self-assuredness than you could recall ever seeing in him before, and what came from his supple, upturned lips was certainly a far a cry from the Steven you knew.

“Love, I’m absolutely positive. You think you’re not good enough for me, that I won’t be satisfied with you? Honey… I could never get enough of you. Only you. I would have you here, right now, on top of this bloody table if you were willing. I could never be unsatisfied by you.”

Okay, maybe the wasps were gone. The butterflies, though, were having an absolute field day. You felt the top of your ears turn red and you averted your gaze from Steven, who looked quite chuffed with himself. You took another drawn-out sip of your wine as you searched for a way to respond to him. You were a little rusty on the sweet talking, for sure, and Steven’s resolute statement was nothing like the way he normally buttered you up. You decided it didn’t matter how smooth your response was. You still had the whole night ahead of you.

“Consider me reassured.”

Dinner went by in a blur, but you tried to enjoy the secluded rooftop and the fancy meal. The sun began to set as you were about halfway through your entrée, riddling the clouds with various hues of pink and orange and reflecting marvelously off of Steven’s skin and suit. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or Steven’s cheeky comments that had gotten to you, but you found yourself placing lingering eyes on his mouth and neck as the evening developed. You talked of work, of life, and other things as you finished your meal. Steven was the same bubbly little nerd that he always seemed to be. You studied his features in the fading sunlight, enamored with the way he seemed so unaware of your ogling. You knew that he noticed you drinking him in.

You were barely cognizant of the strawberry tarts Steven ordered for dessert. You marveled at the way he savored the food, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each little sigh and moan of enjoyment. He looked innocent enough, but you figured he was doing it on purpose. Making noise to rile you up, or just to tease you at least. The cheeky bastard.

The sun was solidly below the horizon when a stray comment interrupted your thoughts.

“I suppose we should be going fairly soon.” Steven spoke with a tone of fake resignation. “There’s probably another reservation after us. They’ll be kicking us out of here anyway.”

As you exited the restaurant, Steven elected to wrap his arm around your waist, not your elbow as he had before. His grip was decidedly stronger than you expected of him and you were sure you could feel his heartbeat coursing throughout his body as he pressed against your side. He didn’t direct you back toward your apartment, instead leading you across the street toward his own flat a few blocks south. You were thankful he lived so nearby, as you felt a flush of heat growing in your neck and chest, coupled with a buzzing in your lower belly.

You were both a little tipsy from the wine, not enough to be drunk but enough to be a bit uncoordinated as you navigated the streets in the dissolving daylight. The purple and red light glistening off of Steven’s blushing skin distracted you from the path in front of you, forcing him to support some of your weight as you carelessly stumbled along the pavement. He murmured to you about the sunset, about the beauty of the sky and how the night was just beginning. He kept his gaze ahead as the two of you fumbled into the entrance of his apartment building. By the time you reached the elevator, though, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, let alone his eyes.

All of your lingering apprehension toward him had disappeared somewhere along the route. You pressed him up against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors closed behind you. He smashed his lips into yours, snaking one hand through your hair and the other up between your shoulder blades, holding you to him. He let out a shy, choked moan as your lips migrated down to his neck, sweat beading around his jaw and across his forehead. He gripped your shoulders, pushing you back and steadying you both as the elevator dinged and settled at the fifth floor. He gathered a shaky breath, leading you to the door of his apartment and fumbling his key into the lock until it turned. He shut the door eagerly behind you, pressing you up against the frame as the lock clicked back in place and wedging his lips back into yours.

“Steven,” you gasped, buzzing with energy as you felt the heat begin to pool in your core. “Please.”

“Just a moment, love.” He cooed, pulling back from you once again and grasping your hand, leading you playfully toward his bedroom with a mixture of dazedness and yearning impatience. He positioned you in front of the floor-length mirror on his bedroom wall, pressing himself up against your back and resting his chin on your shoulder, embracing you. He stared into your reflection, eyes twinkling and hooded, his pupils dilated.

“Look at you,” he practically sang, “So gorgeous—ravishing, even. I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing your beautiful face.”

He began to plant kisses down the back of your neck. You watched him in the mirror, gasping and stifling moans as he sucked red and purple spots all along your throat. You jutted your hand backwards into his mop of hair, unable to stop yourself from tugging on his beautiful black curls. He grinned against your skin, looking up again at your reflection when you failed to keep a rather desperate hum from escaping your lips.

“What is it, love? Tell me what you need.” He rubbed small circles on your shoulders, raising his chin again as he did in the restaurant before. His gaze was authoritative. “What do you want, baby?”

You felt delirious, unable to fully grasp the fact that you were here, now. You anchored yourself in Steven’s reflection. The way your hands had shuffled his hair, caused curls to spring out in all directions. The way his eyes undressed you, too full of lust to open completely. His steady breath grounded you, sweet with the fresh scent of strawberry tart, and you felt a wave of longing wash over you, snapping your senses into overdrive. Finally, your mind was able to catch up with your body, which was brimming with need.

“I want you.” You breathed, unable to steady the hitching in your throat. It was enough for Steven, who smirked and pressed into you with more force, nudging you to stand up straight against him. You wondered if he was always willing to be this assertive, if he was just holding himself back before. You could feel Steven’s own arousal forming in his dress pants. He seemed exceptionally patient, but you felt how tightly wound he was from head to toe. He cupped your chin in his hand, his firm grasp coaxing your head back so that you were looking up at him. He hesitated, ready to stop at any sign that you were uncomfortable, but your eyes met his with only a feverish desperation.

Fuck. He looked so hot like this. Why the hell didn’t you do this any sooner?

You turned to face him, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest and you grasped at his jacket, unable to push it off of his shoulders with his hands exploring your torso. He couldn’t keep his mouth off of you, breathing you in with an increasing sense of urgency. You pushed him slowly toward the bed. He pulled away from you when the back of his knees brushed against the mattress. From there, he feverishly started to thrash at your clothes, and you grabbed his forearm to stop him, indicating it would be faster for you to do it yourself. He stripped himself of his three-piece suit, eyes still focused on your body as you removed your own clothes, fighting the fabric that clung to your skin.

Those apprehensions that had haunted you for months started to seep back into your mind with each article of clothing you shed. The thought forced itself into your mind, what if he doesn’t like what he sees underneath?, but it was destroyed nearly as fast as it emerged. Steven audibly gasped as you exposed your bare chest, reflexively reaching out to grasp at the soft skin of your breast. He lingered for a moment before returning to the task of removing his own layers of clothing, not before uttering a single statement that erased your last flicker of insecurity.

“So beautiful.”

You felt eager to make Steven feel as good as possible. By now, only his boxers remained and his erection was anything but subtle against the soft checkered fabric. Without forethought, you tugged him so that he was sitting at the edge of the bed. You dropped to your knees, hands planted firmly on his thighs as you mouthed at his growing length. Steven threw his head back, his hand darting to the back of your neck. He grasped at your hair, careful not to pull it, but struggling to keep himself composed. He whimpered as you moved to pull his boxers off, his grip tightening on your scalp. It hurt, but the reassurance that he was practically falling apart underneath you made turned the pain back to heated tension.

“Not yet.” He mumbled, weakly attempting to pull your head back from him. He leaned forward, grabbing your forearm with his other hand and pulling it down from his thigh. He signaled for you to follow him up onto the bed and you obliged, positioning yourself on your side. He looked at you with unyielding tenderness as he pressed against your chest, coaxing you onto your back and kissing you deeply. You could tell that he wanted to take control, and you were inclined to let him as you watched his biceps tense and his chest jolt above you. You trusted him.

He clasped your left hand with his right, interlocking your fingers as his other arm supported his weight. He planted his knees on either side of your hips, careful not to crush you as he began to grind into your thigh. His boxers were still on, though you knew he was painfully hard, and you wondered what the fuck was taking him so long. Your free hand explored his chest and neck with increasing urgency, and you began to pull his weight down onto you further. Steven was holding back, you guessed for your apparent sake, and you were having none of it.

“Steven, please,” you whined, lifting your hips to grind up into him, “come on.”

“Alright, love,” he purred, leaning back so that he was sitting above you. He moved sideways, standing off to the side of the bed, and swiftly removed his boxers, tossing them to the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. He stroked his length, dipping back onto the mattress, and you were shocked by the sheer thickness he was packing. Your heart began to beat harder, loud enough that you swore Steven would be able to hear it, and he leaned forward to plant a single, ginger kiss on your lips before using his knee to nudge your thighs apart, planting your feet on either side of him. “This okay?”

It made you smile to think that he was so worried about your feelings, seeing as he was so eager and wound-up himself. He wanted to make sure you were alright, first and foremost, even when it was so painfully obvious that you were. You nodded, grasping at his waist in a silent beg for more contact, for friction. He smiled lazily, and took your desperate hands into one of his own, pinning them down.

“Let me.” He breathed, placing his broad hand at the base of your pelvis. He gently brushed your clit with his thumb, holding you down when you jolted your hips forward. You were practically soaking the sheets and Steven let out a soft chuckle, awed by how desperate you were for him already. He slid the pads of his fingers across your slick, slowly pressing his index and middle finger into you. You squirmed underneath him, whining and stuttering his name, and he shushed you before curling his knuckles, pressing up against the base of your belly.

You wriggled your hands against his grip, unable to totally stifle the delirious stream of expletives pouring from your lips. He took the hint, removing his fingers and lining himself up. He relished the sight of you underneath him, covered in sweat and writhing for his touch. He pushed into you at an excruciatingly slow speed, and you watched his jaw fall open as you stretched around him. When he finally bottomed out, Steven let go of your hands, instead using his arm to prop himself up. Your breath was ragged as he pulled himself back out, only slightly faster than before. You used your regained control of your arms to grasp at Steven’s shoulders, squeezing the firm skin of his biceps and trailing your nails along the top of his back.

He set a steady pace, slow but deep, and you watched in delight as he failed to suppress a groan. Steven bit his lip, his hair falling down into his face, and he attempted to keep his eyes open and on you. You were in ecstasy, gently rocking your hips into him as much as your strength would allow.

“Mm, fuck,” he sputtered, and you placed his free hand onto your breast, squeezing his palm. He quickened his pace, and you felt your own pleasure begin to build between your thighs. You tensed around him, causing him to suck in a sharp breath and tighten his grip on your chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying but failing to steady his pace as he thrust his hips into you with increasing pressure.

“God, love. So… so good,” his groaning became more choked, more unfiltered as your name was peppered between the praises escaping his mouth. You couldn’t make out all of what he was saying, deafened partly by your own sounds of pleasure. His hips began to sputter against yours, “Oh god, I’m close. Where—where do you want me…?”

“Anywhere, baby,” you were on the pill, anyway, and the idea of Steven finishing inside you was more appealing than troubling at the moment. Still he elected to pull away, leaving you empty as he coated your stomach with hot white. He collapsed forward, gasping for breath. After a moment, he opened his eyes, staring down at the mess he’d made of you.

“That was amazing.” He breathed, settling his weight on his knees as he fought to regain his composure. He stared at you, puzzled, and his face flooded with concern as he took in your sweating, fluttering skin.

“Darling…” he began, sweetly drawing circles on over ribs with his thumb, “you didn’t…”

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed, not wanting him to dwell on the fact that you hadn’t finished. You were more worried about pleasing him. “It doesn’t always happen. It’s alright.”

“Like hell it is!” He said, nabbing a tissue from his night stand to tidy the mess on your stomach. You were used to it, especially with your last partner, so you didn’t think much of the fact that Steven had come before you. You figured that would be the end of it, for tonight, and that he would learn later on what made you tick. Evidentially, that wasn’t satisfactory to Steven.

“We’re not finished here until you are,” Steven tossed the paper toward the bin in the corner. It missed, but neither of you could really be bothered to care about that. “I’m sorry, love, I was just so caught up at the sight of you. How you felt. I’m not gonna leave you hanging, darling.”

Steven pulled at your knees, hoisting your leg up over his shoulder. He began to plant kisses on your inner thighs and within seconds, your hands found their way back into his glorious mop of hair. Again, he used his thumb to draw circles around your clit, this time not holding back his strength as you began to writhe underneath his grip. Your leg on his shoulder prevented you from bucking your hips with much force, and Steven’s grip on your thighs restrained you from pressing up into his hand. He leaned in between your legs, breathing a slow sigh against the wet pool of your entrance.

“May I?” He asked, meeting your gaze with a stern but innocent expression. God, yes, please, you wanted to say, but you could only nod, your voice broken by your unrelenting craving for his touch.

You all but screamed as he pressed his tongue flat across your skin, licking a strip upward until his mouth met his thumb. His eyes were drunken as he slipped his fingers back into you, pumping them at a much quicker pace than he had started before. Moans escaped your lips with no restraint, which you felt embarrassed about until you saw Steven’s reaction. Pride grew on his face with each expletive from your mouth, his stubbled beard glistening with further proof of your enjoyment. You felt your orgasm growing quickly and you writhed with more force under his grip.

“Steven, don’t stop,” you tried to push down onto his fingers, but he hummed a noise of disapproval, his surprising strength holding you still. He persisted in his rhythm, his mouth working in perfect harmony with his hand. You produced a primal yell as you came over his grip, riding his fingers and tugging his curls until the waves of pleasure settled out. He didn’t seem to mind your abuse on his scalp. You collapsed your grip, completely destroyed from the force of your orgasm. You laid, panting, while you watched Steven lazily suck the taste of you off his fingers. You were still catching your breath as he crawled up beside you, nestling his face into your neck.

“So good, baby,” he whispered. You reached up to cup his face in your hands, and he stroked the ends of your hair with his, “So perfect.”

As the two of you laid there, the tug of sleep began to overtake your body. You knew you should probably shower, but you didn’t know how much energy would be left in you after that. You wondered if your roommate would be willing to feed your cat breakfast.

Steven’s breath steadied, indicating to you that he was probably asleep, so you sloppily threw a blanket over him as you shimmied free from his grasp, careful not to disturb him. You weren’t planning on leaving, just tidying yourself up.

You stared at yourself for a moment in the bathroom mirror, trying to turn over the night’s activities in your brain. How silly you were to think that Steven wouldn’t want you. Judging by the euphoric expression he wore in his slumber, you doubted he had ever wanted anything more.

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