#trying a slightly different writing mode here

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: all we want is more

Been working on this Sam/Deanna fic and figured I'd post the first half. I'm a sex scene and denouement away from finishing but -- hey, it's wincest wednesday and let's get some writing out there.

title: all we want is more pairing: Sam/always-a-girl Deanna rating: explicit length: 16k (chapter 1; full fic will likely be ~35k)

summary: Sam and Deanna have never been good at boundaries.

(read on AO3)

When Sam slams his way back in, muscling through the cheap Kwikset that sits sloppy in the hollow-core and then making sure the screen door bangs satisfyingly behind him, it's a disappointment to find the house empty. He heels the door closed, turns the slack lock. It smells musty inside, the way it always does—this is a particularly skanky rental—but the nose-wrinkling shock after he gets back from school is worse than usual. Dad's gone, of course, but the bathroom's also all shadow and the bedroom's dark and, when he drops his backpack by their pile of clothes and clicks the light on, it's… okay, yeah. He deflates a little. He'd been pissed off all day, even through third period English where he was working on his project with Noelle Cooper, who was in the running for nicest girls he'd ever met, and he'd been short with Mr. Trainor in AP Stats even though he actually loved stats, and he'd gritted his teeth through a crappy lunch and ignored his group in World History, all because he was marshalling his arguments and drawing down battle lines. If this school had a forensics club he'd be the star. All that righteous anger that'd foamed its way up to a thundercloud kind of dissipates, standing in an empty house with nowhere for it to go, and he's just left in the slow turn of the ceiling fan, the bare bulb shining too bright, and as he looks around the bedroom all the piss and vinegar just kinda tastes like the shit it is, because… okay, maybe—maybe—he's not completely in the right, here, and maybe his sister had a point. He chews his lip. He hates it when Deanna's right.

The argument was stupid. They always are. Dad's been gone for three weeks of a planned four, and Deanna actually got a job this time, which wasn't the usual but had become more common as Dad started leaving them alone for longer and longer stretches. At twenty she'd developed an impressive resume of an eleventh grade education, three waitressing gigs, a stint at a garage that ended quickly when she'd had to feed the manager his balls for what he'd said into her ear on her second shift, and as many cash-under-the-table quicky jobs as she could get with a winning smile and her wits. Sam got to hear most of the details because the defense of needing to do homework wasn't enough to stop Dee talking his ear off while she vented a day working some crap job and bitching that she wasn't out doing some real work with Dad—and Sam gets, he isn't actually an idiot, that she's worried about Dad and that she's guilty for staying behind and that she doesn't know what to do with herself when both those things are true. He reads books, he watches movies; he gets more than Deanna thinks. Doesn't stop it from being incredibly annoying when she spills all that bitching over onto him, and then because bitching doesn't do anything she starts nagging, like she's not just his sister but his mom—she's working, can't he clean up after himself; she's cooking, can't he do the dishes; she's the only one earning money around here, can't he help?

The bedroom's really—a disaster. They've each got their twin mattresses, shoved against the walls on either side of the room, and it's not like Deanna's side is pristine but Sam's is… he's not sure he noticed it was getting that bad. When was the last time they did laundry? In the kitchen he looks to see if there's still Kool-Aid in the pitcher, and there is, but all the cups are dirty, jumbled in with the mugs in the sink, and—when Dad's here they take turns, regimented, no matter if Deanna's got work or if Sam's got homework—even Dad takes his turn, and Sam can say a lot about his dad but shirking duty's not one Sam can really lay on him—or at least, not this kind of duty, and thinking about it that way's got a weird curdling kind of acid lacing its way through Sam's gut, because—he's mad, but. He's not an asshole. He's—almost certain he's not an asshole. Right?

Four o'clock on a Friday. He has homework. He has all those arguments he put together. Most of them boiling down, if he plays them back, to how life isn't fair. He hugs the cold pitcher against his stomach, looking at the full sink. When he goes to put it back there's a takeout box on the top shelf he didn't notice that says, scrawled in dark pen that bites into the styrofoam, EAT ME. New since that morning. He cracks the lid and finds: club sandwich, pale steak fries, wilty greyish broccoli. The kind of thing Dee would never order. He takes a deep breath and closes the fridge. Okay. Okay.

The rental is from some old lady. Sam didn't meet her but watched Dad talk to her through the windshield while whatever deal got done. Lemon-faced broad, is what Deanna called her, leaning in confidence over the back of the bench seat while Sam tried to pretend he was reading, but the house she was letting them rent for cash was more-or-less furnished, a couch and a TV and plates and a weird carpeted cover on the toilet lid, and in the closet by the kitchen there's stuff people could use to clean. Not that it's been used, much. Sam's never had a lot of opportunity in his life to practice this stuff—the only good thing about motels is that someone else is paid to clean them—but, hey. He reads, he's watched movies. Mrs. Doubtfire had that whole vacuuming scene. It can't be that hard.

*

By nine o'clock Sam's exhausted. The kitchen alone took an hour. The vacuum bag burst, and that's when Sam learned that vacuums took bags, and that's also when Sam learned how to replace one, and got completely covered in a silty fine dust that he thinks might still be in his lungs when he's fifty. He took a break to eat the sandwich and fries and broccoli, all cold and needing salt but if this house has one thing, it's salt, and he was ravenous like he usually only is after a long afternoon of training with Dad clapping his hands, making them go faster and faster. Bathroom was freaking gross, and the trashcan stunk bad from what he realized only too late was tampons in little mummy-wraps of TP, and then he kind of gagged but—blood's blood, right, and it's not like he hasn't seen his share. Tired or not, though—that was the whole point, wasn't it, so: the bedroom, smelling like weeks of undone laundry, and he opens the window on the back wall and—gets to work.

The second good thing about this house: it's only two narrow streets inside the cramped neighborhood, so it's a five-minute walk to the laundromat out on the main road, in the middle of the strip mall between a nail salon and a donut shop. 24-hours with an attendant who barely looks up when Sam comes in dragging two army duffles full of everything he could stuff into the bags, and a machine that spits out quarters in exchange for the crumpled bills in his pocket, and no one else in here, because it's a Friday night, and who's sad enough to be doing the laundry on a Friday night?

He takes over the folding tables in the middle of the silent machines and gets to work. This he has done, because Deanna's given him the rundown: separate whites from colors, jeans & jackets from soft stuff that might get torn, check pockets for money & tissues & bullets. He starts the sheets first, glad at least that Deanna's not doing this—he doesn't need any commentary about crusty cotton, thanks very much—and then it's unzipping both bags, making three horrible piles. Blood on the sleeve of Deanna's blue canvas jacket. Sam's favorite jeans with mud ground into the knees from the fight he got into at school, the other day, which he still hasn’t told Dee about, because he hates the expression she gets when someone's commented on the hot chick who picks him up after school sometimes and wants to know how much she charges. Not the first time, anyway; probably not the last.

He finishes with his own duffle and turns to Deanna's, upending it completely. T-shirts, camisoles, underwear of all kinds. Bras, that he untangles and attaches the hook & eyes, like she showed him, so they won't catch on everything else. Rolled up jeans, and the wad of flannel shirts he'd scooped up from the dirty pile and shoved in, and then, rolling out of a plastic bag like the one Sam uses for his dirty shorts, a plastic clamshell-style box, and when he picks it up he takes a second, tired and staring, before he realizes what he's looking at, and then he drops it with a huge clatter onto the linoleum, loud enough to be heard over the rattling washer, making the attendant glance up over her book, uninterested. "Sorry," Sam says, and she returns to the paperback, and Sam stares at the thing by his feet. Lurid pink against the speckled yellow-grey floor. Absolutely zero way to mistake it for anything but—what it is.

The bell on the door jingles—some lady, backing in with a huge basket in her arms—and Sam stoops quickly and picks up the box and throws it into Dee's duffle. His face is so hot his cheeks are prickling. He wipes his hand over his mouth—is briefly revolted, because he—he touched it, and now he's touching—but the new customer's noticed him, and she smiles briefly in that way people do when they're in the same space and never plan to speak, and he's got to be normal, because this is—normal. He's doing laundry. He shoves loads two and three into their washers and drags the bags off the table so the new lady can do her own sorting, and he decamps to the chairs on the far side of the room from the attendant booth, more or less hidden, where he can see the TV in the corner playing a silent version of The Mask, and he points his face at the TV and watches Jim Carrey make goofy faces and he's being very very calm and casual because he's just a person, doing his laundry, and he's watching a movie that's pretty funny, and he's not thinking about his sister's dildo, tucked into the bag between his feet. At all. Just watch him.

*

Past midnight, when he's walking home. Slight cool breeze that feels good. He keeps flushing, on and off. Over the waiting for the wash cycle and then switching everything over to the dryers and then the hour plus of waiting for that he'd gone through various stages. Gross-out obviously first. But—he did know that Deanna went out with guys, and he'd seen her with guys even, although never—never all the way. But when that dude who'd run the desk at the last motel had had her backed up against the counter with his hand on her ass and his mouth tucked up close under her ear when Sam came in to get a soda from the machine—when Deanna had seen Sam walk in and grabbed the guy's shoulders, warning, and then when a beat passed and she relaxed and was squirming and laughing lightly and saying, hey, Sammy, get me a Crush, would you? I'll get back to the room in a minute—it's not like Sam didn't know what was going on. He reads. He's seen movies. He's seen those kind of movies, too. He's lived with his sister his entire life and he had sex ed at like five different schools now. He jerks off. He does get it. He just didn't expect—it was always kind of—academic. Theory versus practice. But now—

The Impala's parked in front of the house when he turns the corner to their street. Shit. He fumbles for his keys in the porch-light but it turns out not to matter: the door flings open, and Deanna says, "Oh my god, Sammy!"

Sam hefts the bag he'd dropped over his shoulder. "It's Sam," he says, as calmly as he can, and walks in through the clean living room back toward their bedroom with every no-big-deal bone in his body.

It smells better in here, at least. He dumps the bags onto the clean and empty carpet between the mattresses and slings the sack with their sheets on top. Eruption of Fresh Breeze as he drags out the wad of cotton, still warm. Two top sheets, two pillowcases, two of the thin filler blankets they stole from motels a five years and who knows how many miles ago, and he's splitting them between the two halves of the room when there's an ostentatious throat-clearing behind him, and he bites his lip hard, and turns around with the blankets still in his arms, and Deanna's leaning in the doorway, giving him a look like he's some alien species she's never seen before.

"So," she says.

Sam shrugs. "So?"

She raises her eyebrows, looking exaggeratedly around the bedroom. He hasn't seen her since this morning, since he slammed the door the first time, and she looks—like she always does, pretty much. Messy ponytail, a lot of eyeliner, purple plaid shirt tied up under her boobs because she says it gets better tips at the bar, and if anyone would know it's her. She's holding a beer, dangling lazy against her thigh, and she taps a nail against the glass one-two-three times before she meets Sam's eyes again, squinting a little. "Did you get replaced by a pod-person?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "No."

"Shapeshifter? Some kind of, I don't know, djinn wish freak where the dishes get done but I'm gonna get all my blood sucked out before Monday?"

Sam drops her green blanket on her bed, flush crawling from his throat to his ears. "No."

"Okay, cool," Deanna says, and then when Sam looks up at her she's smiling, crooked, in that way where she's kind of sweet and kind of sorry and kind of making fun of him, all at once. That smile where she's just—his sister, annoying and comforting in equal measure. "You ate, right?" He nods, thinking: eat me. Deanna's smile angles, making a dimple peek into one cheek, and she tips her head. "Bet you could eat again, huh?"

Sam's stomach twinges. Dee and Dad say he's going through a growth spurt; the only way he notices is that he's starving, half the time. "I guess," he says, shrugging.

Deanna rolls her eyes but she's not mad. "He guesses," she says, and comes forward, and grabs Sam's wrist while he's trying to shake out a pillowcase, warm, tugging. "C'mon, short stuff. Walt sent me home with the manager meal. Might as well make sure it goes to a good cause."

In short order he's pushed down at the kitchen table, another styrofoam box in front of him. Burger, more fries. He takes the burger—he is hungry—but swivels the box her way, and she sits across from him, eating fries one at a time, the corners of her mouth tipped soft. Easier than he's seen her since Dad left. The burger's cold but it's not the first time he's had a cold burger; he wolfs it down, avoiding her eyes, and she finishes her beer and then gets up and brings back two, uncapped, pushing the other right in front of him.

He wipes the back of his mouth with his wrist. "Dee," he says, careful.

"You earned it," she says, and holds out her bottle, neck first. Not like he gets to drink with them much but he knows this part—he clinks the necks together, clumsy, and drinks at the same time as her. Bitter and kind of gross as always, but she smiles at him again when she lowers her bottle. "Hell. Who even knew the carpet was that color?"

The argument's completely dissolved. Maybe she won; Sam doesn't care at this point. "I'm not sure old lady Franken remembers it's this color," he says, and Deanna sniggers, and takes another sip of her beer, and then leans over the table and tucks her hand into his hair and kisses him on the forehead, so abrupt that Sam just freezes and lets it happen, even if he's been too old for her to do that kind of thing since—well, since—forever. The amulet he gave her swings forward between them, gleaming.

Dee tugs his hair, just slightly, at the nape of his neck. "Thanks, Sammy," she says, quiet, and it's the apology they won't say out loud, soft between them. She touches his jaw, quick, and straightens up, and says, "Bar was extra greasy today, somehow. I'm taking a shower. Don't drink the rest of the beer without me, huh?"

"As if," Sam says, and she ruffles his hair back—this time he does duck out of the way, scoffing—and then she disappears into the bathroom, and he's left with the last few bites of burger and this warm feeling all through him, from his belly all the way up to the flush in his cheeks, because—Deanna's annoying, frustrating, too demanding and too invasive and too much, all the time, but—ever since he can remember, this is how it's been. When she's happy, and when she's proud of him, and there's this answer in his chest. Like it's a Michigan winter and he's freezing to death, but then he gets into the Impala and the heater's on full and he holds his hands up to the vents and there's that prickling, tingling thaw that means—home safe.

He makes the beds, as much as possible. Cases on each of their pillows, thin blankets smoothed somewhat into place. They're lucky it's April, and luckier that they're in Louisville and not Bismarck; mostly it's Sam who's lucky, because he doesn't exactly mind camping in the cold but Deanna bitches absolutely nonstop, out loud if they're alone and under her breath if Dad's nearby or, somehow, Sam's convinced, using some kind of psychic brain powers when Dad's right there with them so that even if she's not saying anything out loud Sam can hear every single thought she's having about cold toes or fingers or freezing my frickin' tits off. How would that even work, Sam has said, and she's just huddled closer to the fire and flat-out pouted. It's sort of cute. In a deeply annoying way.

He's unpacking their duffle bags when the shower turns off. He thought she'd be slower. The tile in here's even kinda white now! comes echoing through the mostly-closed door and around the corner into the bedroom, and she sounds genuinely delighted. Sam bites his lip, setting his stack of jeans next to the pile of his folded shirts. He's worked his way around to her side of the room and is making more stacks—her jeans and cut-off shorts, her jackets, the more complicated pile of her tops—when she leans into the bedroom, and he looks up to find her—towel wrapped around under her armpits, legs bare and gleaming, wet hair clipped behind her head, amulet cord shiny-black around her neck. "Dude, you aren't careful, I'm gonna get used to this," she says, crooked smile firmly in place. "It's gonna turn into the adventures of rockin' Deanna Winchester and her butler baby bro."

"Fat chance," Sam says, which does come out a little thin when he's laying out her clean bras on the freshly vacuumed carpet. She raises her eyebrows, looking between the clothes piles and his face, grin getting bigger, and Sam shrugs. "It stunk in here, okay? I do have a nose that works."

"Well, we know who the culprit was there," she says, and disappears for a second—back, before he's finished pairing her boot-socks—and hands him his discarded beer from the kitchen, and crouches down next to him, smiling soft at the clean clothes. "So, full-service Sammy—" ignoring Sam's scoff— "Are there any clean pjs in here, or do I gotta sleep in my altogether?"

"Ew," Sam says, firmly, and Deanna wrinkles her nose at him, making fun. He hands the beer back, ignoring in his turn how she promptly steals a swallow, and unzips her bag further. Not like she's got a fancy matched set like people in movies; she mostly sleeps in Sam's old D.A.R.E. shirt he got in middle school that would've fit a linebacker better than an eleven year-old, and a pair of Dad's old boxer briefs, which Sam finds honestly weird but Dee claims they're the softest things ever and, well, Sam has now folded them, and they're… pretty soft. But still. They're past the pile of her folded underwear, which he hands out to her, and under the—oh. Right.

He doesn't look up when he pulls out the plastic bag with the dildo. "Here," he says, holding the clothes over to his left where she's crouched. She doesn't move and he waggles them. "C'mon. I don't need to see any more naked sister than I have already."

To his credit, he manages to sound like he mostly has his crap together. Dee pulls the pjs out of his hand, slowly. He wraps the plastic bag more securely around the clamshell box and tucks it into a space between her boots and her jeans, and with that her duffle's pretty much empty, other than the little zip-bag with her tampons and pads and condoms. Like Dad taught them, he rolls the duffle up into a tight burrito that can get tucked neatly in with everything else, and with that he's done. House is clean.

"Okay," Deanna mutters. "Awkward."

Sam's mostly been able to ignore how hot his cheeks feel. He shrugs, standing up, and Deanna stays hunched there on the ground, her arms folded over her chest holding onto her pajamas and holding the towel in place, grimacing. "Not like it's nothing I haven't seen," Sam says.

Deanna frowns at him. "You're fifteen."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Sixteen," he says. "In, like. Three weeks. Come on, I know what a dildo is. Didn't you call that last werewolf one? He got super mad, too."

Furious, actually, enough to charge like an idiot out of cover at the pretty girl mocking him, bait dancing out in the open, which meant that Dad, waiting with Sam behind the cover of the trees, could shoot him in the heart. The blood spatter hit Dee's face and she spat it out right onto the corpse, and called him something else Sam couldn't hear.

"That was pretty funny," Deanna says, now. Her ears are pink. "Still. Didn't mean for you to, um. You know."

"Maybe now you won't ask me to do laundry," Sam says, and makes his tone all sweet and hopeful like a little kid.

Deanna makes a really strange face, hesitating, and Sam can't hold onto it before he starts sniggering. She stands up, finally, rolling her eyes. "Dork," she says. Blushing, still, which is pretty rare for his sister, but at least she's not freaking out. "Fine. Grown-up Sammy, knows all about dildos. Guess that means I don't need to give you the advanced sex talk, huh?"

"Can't be any worse than the last one you gave me," Sam says, which on second thought might be the last time he was this embarrassed, and she snorts, her eyes drifting down, away. Still pink. All scrubbed clean like this she looks different—no eyeliner, her skin shining soft. Freckles all over her cheekbones and nose and her curved-in shoulders. A loop of hair's curling at her neck and Sam reaches out, tugs it—not hard, but enough that she blinks, looks up at him. "No big deal. Swear."

She looks up into his eyes. Her lower lip sucks in and drags out slow through her teeth, shining wet. Something warm curls in Sam's gut and swoops high up into his chest and then plummets straight down. He catches his breath. "No biggie," Deanna says, while Sam's still trying to reorient himself, and she gives him a one-sided smile. She turns back toward the bathroom, says over her shoulder, "Hey, I think they're playing Evil Dead on the movie channel tonight. You make the popcorn and I'll braid your hair."

"Ha," Sam says, watching her bare leg disappear around the corner, and he holds his knuckles to his cheek, feels how hot it is. The bag sits on the floor, inert. He stares at it, thinking—stuff he shouldn't be thinking—and then reaches up and yanks the chain so the bare bulb winks out. He's left in the dark, the fan turning slowly overhead.

*

They sleep in on Saturdays. Meaning, mostly, Deanna sleeps in on Saturdays, because as far as Sam can tell, given the opportunity, she goes into a coma. In the quiet of the house Sam does most of his homework. Sophomores at this school do geometry for some reason and it's kiddie stuff but it means he can blast through the assigned problems for Monday and Tuesday and the extra credit, too, before he gets through his first cup of coffee; world history is going over the creation and spread of Christianity, and he has to fill out a worksheet on important dates and leaders in the Roman Empire at the turn from BC to AD; in health they're studying the reproductive system, and again this is stuff he pretty much already knows, but it's at least kinda interesting to see how the egg cell is about the size of the period at the end of the sentence. He's put his fingernail there, comparing, when Deanna wanders out of the bedroom, yawning. 10:30, according to Sam's watch. Not even close to her record.

"Hey, short stuff," she says, blurry. Makes a happy noise when she finds the coffee made. Sam's filling out another worksheet—the bilateral conduits between ovary and uterus are called fallopian tubes, he writes carefully—when she wraps an arm loosely around his neck, a kiss mushed against his hair. A boob squishes against his shoulder. "Hm. Nerd o'clock?"

Sam goes tch, barely paying attention. He's nearly done with this page, and then it's just the chapters they've got to read for English.

"Ooh, sexy," Dee says. She taps her nail on the cross-section of the female body in the textbook, on the breast diagram with its layers of nipple and fat and milk ducts neatly labeled. "No shame, but c'mon, porn at the table? Rude, Sammy."

"Dude," Sam says, lifting his head, and she snickers and lets him go, slumping into the chair across the table. Her bun's all messed up from sleep, crust still at the corners of her eyes. Holding the weird chipped mug that says KENSUCKY in both hands under her chin, apparently trying to inhale caffeine through the steam. Kinda gross but all soft and relaxed. Not a bad way to start a Saturday. "You got a shift today?"

She groans, takes a slurpy sip from the mug. Wrinkles her nose. "Blah," she says, sticking out her tongue. Sam rolls his eyes. If she refuses to put milk in that's her own problem. "Four to close, same as yesterday." Sam checks his watch again and she raises her eyebrows. "That work for your schedule, boss?"

"I have to meet Noelle at the library at two."

Deanna actually focuses, finally. "Noelle?"

"From English," Sam says. At the continued blank look he sighs. "She's my partner for the Shakespeare project. I told you about that."

"Oh, right," Deanna says, dragging it out. Her mouth curves, in that way that broadcasts to space that Sam's about to be made fun of. "No-elle."

Sam waves his hand. "Okay, get it out."

"No, no," Deanna says, grinning. "I think it's great that the two of you are so focused on your education." Like a dirty word. She slurps at her coffee again, annoyingly loud while making big eyes at Sam over the rim, and splutter-snorts at whatever expression Sam makes. "Relax, dweebus. I'll give you a ride over there. Walt's been on my ass about being late, though, so if the hot Shakespearean action keeps going past like 3:30 you gotta find your own way home."

"Thank you, Deanna," Sam says, perfectly polite, and she mouths it back at him purely to be annoying.

Quiet then, though. She drinks her coffee; he fills out his worksheet. She eats a bowl of cereal and watches whatever's coming through on the rabbit-ears—Seinfeld rerun, sounds like—and Sam reads another fifty pages of The Age of Innocence, and he's bored to death but they're going to have essay questions on it next week, so. She gets up to wash dishes—not such an imposition now that it's just two mugs and two cereal bowls—and touches Sam's shoulder as she goes, just—checking in, basically, clearly not even thinking about it on her way to the sink, but it's a soft little warm thing that goes through Sam's t-shirt and through his skin down into his chest, because Dee just—she really has been pissed off, this last week, and he didn't realize until last night how much she doesn't touch him, when she's mad. He didn't know how much he missed it.

Dee goes out to mess around with the Impala, doing… whatever it is she does when she's got time to kill and an engine under her hands, and Sam ends up finishing the book for English. The writing isn't his favorite but he got caught up in the plot. It's… depressing, to say the least. All these people, doing what they're expected to, and all of them worse off for it.

He vents this to Deanna, sitting on the toilet while she's doing her make-up for work. Newland's a coward and Ellen got cold feet and May's boring and why didn't any of them just—do what they wanted?

Deanna finishes her eyeliner, leaning back to look at the effect. "But didn't New-guy knock up May?" She catches his eye in the mirror; he shrugs, already seeing the point she's going to make but still annoyed at the fictional idiots. "I don't know. I mean, it sucks, but—you gotta do what you gotta do. It was like medieval times or whatever, right, so it's not like anyone was being smart about babies."

"It wasn't medieval times," Sam says, and Deanna shrugs, in her turn. She ties up her hair, like she usually does on civilian days: ponytail, bangs falling around her face that she tucks behind her ears. He watches her swipe on a layer of lip gloss, feeling mulish. "Seriously. All he had to do was—go talk to Ellen, sack up."

That gets him raised eyebrows in the mirror. Like Dee isn't gross or cussing or whatever, all the time. She smacks her lips, makes an O of them, staring down her reflection. "Sounds to me like he sacked up, but it was for the kid, not some random broad," she says, but like she's barely paying attention. "You wouldn't like him any better if he were some deadbeat dad."

She goes all heavy-lidded at herself, makes kissy-face. Model-pretty, his sister. Smart, too—sometimes, Sam thinks. Rarely. Another look, backwards in the mirror, lips parted and her face set like she's in one of those Calvin Klein perfume ads, sexy for no reason. "Good?" she says, breathy.

She's wearing the thin dark green henley unbuttoned as far as it'll go, her amulet resting in the split and the inside curves of her black bra showing on either side of it, and those jeans that sit so low on her hips that there's two inches of creamy-white stomach peeking out, her silver ring heavy on her thumb and those little silver studs in her ears and her face just—her face. All she ever needs. "If you're into that kind of thing," Sam says, dismissive.

All the model-sexy collapses and she snorts, grinning. "You're such a sweetheart," she says, and swivels away from the mirror, smacking her hands against her hips. "So—are we going, or what?"

"Or what," Sam says, outraged, sitting up straight. "I was waiting for you—"

Deanna drops him right in front of the library, a minute to two. "Phone charged?" she says. Sam sighs, gathering his backpack. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to the Checker, and then I'm gonna swing by the discount mart for some groceries—you want anything? It's gotta sit in the car."

"Just no more peanut butter," Sam says. Pleads, more like. He's eaten his weight Peter Pan this past month.

"Starving kids in Ethiopia or wherever would kill for that peanut butter, you know," Deanna says, but she just swats his hip. "Go on. Miss Noelle ain't gonna wait forever."

Sam sighs, again, but Dee's checking the wing mirror to pull out, not paying attention, and so he piles out onto the sidewalk, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, engaging with the normal world. "Make sure she's really into it before you try for second base, tiger," Deanna says, leaning over the bench seat, and Sam says, "Oh my god, leave already," and slams the door, and Dee grins wide at him with her tongue between her teeth before the engine throttles up and the car leaps away, too fast through the sedate Saturday afternoon parking lot, making too much noise, just too—everything. He watches it go, face hot, and then closes his eyes and tips his chin up, feeling the springy breeze and remembering that—okay, there are people in the world who are not his family, who are totally normal, and one of them is—oh, waving, through the glass doors of the library, and Sam packs everything that is weird and Winchester down and away and waves back, trotting along the sidewalk and up the steps to meet Noelle, who smiles at him broad and then shy, and Sam can do this. Sam's good at this.

*

When she comes to pick Noelle up, Mrs. Cooper offers to give Sam a ride home, too. She has a blue minivan, with a little boy strapped into a carseat on the middle bench, giving Sam a sticky and curious look while Noelle stows her bag. "No, thank you, ma'am," Sam says. Actually-polite, not the voice he used on Dee earlier. "My mom's on her way."

"All right, sugar," Mrs. Cooper says, and Noelle waves from the passenger seat as they move sedately out into the neighborhood. Mrs. Cooper has a faded bumper sticker that says her child is an Honors Student at Jefferson County Middle. Sam tries to imagine the Impala with something like that and snorts out loud, then feels bad for it, even if no one's around to hear, or even know what he's thinking. Mrs. Cooper seems nice. Noelle's nice. It's all just—nice.

He gets to the basically-a-dive where Deanna works at half-past six. Marv's, says the flickery neon sign, though Sam has no idea who Marv is, and it's the kind of place that has windows but they're made of block glass, impossible to see through, and the door has iron security bars over the front. Not somewhere the Coopers visit, probably.

About half-full, when Sam comes through the door. In about a quarter second he takes in: jukebox playing Styx, yuck; cigarette smoke in the air; a couple guys playing darts, laughing loud, already kind of drunk, hopefully won't be a problem. Deanna's behind the bar, leaning on her elbows, talking to two guys, smiling like she's really interested, but she catches Sam's eye for a split second and tips her head toward the back. He goes where he's pointed: the tiny two-seater booth right by the kitchen doors, where he's already spent hours doing homework even if Dee's only had the job three weeks. Marv's is a pit but it's better than being home alone. Sometimes.

He's deep in his fresh-from-the-library copy of Helter Skelter when there's a tickly-shivery drag of fingers at the back of his neck, rucking his hair up, and he jumps. "Great situational awareness, kiddo," Deanna says, while he shudders, and sets a Coke in front of him. She drops down into the other side of the booth, raising her eyebrows. "You and books. Seriously, I think a ghoul could've snacked on your innards just now."

"If a ghoul's in the bar then we've got bigger problems," Sam says, and she huffs. She looks back out over the bar, eyes going from table to table. Like there's actually a ghoul, and not just people drinking the daylight away. "You still working until midnight?"

"Unless a handsome prince comes and steals me away," she says. Her eyes slide sidelong to him. "You got a chariot out there you haven't told me about?"

"Not yet," Sam says.

She smiles at him, and then the door opens again—another two guys, biker-looking, who probably will appreciate flirty service from a pretty girl, and who hopefully will tip well, since that's the whole point of this stupid gig. Deanna bites the tip of her tongue and takes a deep breath, and stands up. "I'll get Carlos to make you something—what, sandwich, burger?"

"Chicken strips?" Sam says, and she nods and says, "Don't disappear into the book, Poindexter," and then she's behind the bar again, smiling warm and wide at the two new guys, and in a gap between songs on the jukebox Sam hears her say, "Hey, fellas," sweet as pie, and they smile back at her like it's a compulsion, because that's what Dee does to guys. It's only Sam, he's pretty sure, who knows the difference between the smile these guys are getting and the one he just got. It's a subtle difference, but—it's different.

He has his dinner, and tucked into the back here he does get to watch the bar, between sections of his book. Deanna's good at this, like she's good at practically everything: engines and crossbows and classic rock and figuring out what Dad wants before he even says it, and sometimes before he thinks it, as far as Sam can tell. Seems like that last skill extends to here. Saturday night and it gets busier, although no one looks to steal Sam's table. Wendy the waitress comes in for her shift, but Sam can see that it's Dee the guys want to talk to, who they wait for, whose attention they drink up, as much as the beer. Sam goes to doctor the jukebox at one point, slotting in his quarters for the Led Zeppelin songs he's heard least if he can't get anything actually from this decade, and when he turns around Deanna's at one of the four-tops in the middle of the room, the yellow-and-blue beer sign neon shining bright on her hair, and she's leaning on the back of one guy's chair while another one's telling some joke, from their faces—Deanna laughs, on cue, bright over the music—and Sam can see, through the tables, how the guy's hand is curled around the inside of her thigh, his thumb sliding up the inseam of her jeans while she leans in, close, and that weird thing swoops through his gut again. Queasy and hot, in what ratio he can't decide.

It's a long night, torn between bored and tense. Walt appears from the back where he does nothing, as far as Sam can tell, and frowns at Sam, but Deanna catches his attention and asks some question about the POS Sam can't hear and Walt's face melts into soppy butter. It's honestly embarrassing. A minute of that and Deanna has to move off to get refills for the biker guys at the bar, and Walt pats her hip when she goes. Her hip, not her ass. It makes a difference, but how much of one Sam doesn't know.

Kitchen closes at eleven; last call at half past; and by midnight there are just a few guys that have to be ushered out. When Wendy closes and locks the front door Deanna bends over and buries her head in her folded arms on the bartop. Sam closes his book—he's nearly done, just from trying his best not to pay attention to the customers, no matter what Dee said—and brings his cup up to the bar himself. "Thanks, sweetie," Wendy says—she's like thirty, Sam wishes she wouldn't talk to him like he's her kid—and then she says, to Dee, "Thought Ty was gonna try to order off-menu by the end, there. Might've gotten you a big tip." Kinda smirky, the way she says it, though Sam doesn't know why.

Deanna levers upright, unfolding like a push-up, and gives Wendy the same kind of smile she was giving the guys, earlier. "Walt's going to need help with inventory," she says. Her mouth tips, fake-sorry. "I was gonna stay, but my kid brother's here, you know, and Walt said I better get him home safe." Wendy's expression goes kind of still, kind of murderous, but Deanna just lifts a shoulder and then says, "Got your bag, Sammy?" and when he nods she says, sweet, "Have a great night, 'kay?"

Outside it's cool but not cold, butts ashed all over the sidewalk. "Bitch," Deanna mutters, while the neon OPEN sign flickers out over the not-really-a-window. Sam's smart enough not to say anything. Dee takes a deep, deep breath, blows it slow with her chin tipped up at the night sky. Not a lot of stars, in the city. Sam rocks back on his heels, thumbs hooked into his backpack straps. Kinda smells like pee out here. There are worse places to wait.

Finally, Deanna: "Okay," she says, and tips her head toward him. "You ate, right?" He nods. "Okay," she says, again, and shrugs both shoulders, like she's dropping a bag she's not carrying. "Let's roll."

Tapedeck comes on super loud—the Stones, which isn't as bad as it could be—but Deanna cranks it down, letting them drive in relative quiet back out to the dumpy neighborhood with their rental. "Your project go okay?" she says, and it's kind of absent but she's also actually asking, so Sam says, "Yeah, we're doing this like—compare and contrast thing, Romeo and Juliet vs Hamlet," and Deanna gives him this sidelong look across the bench seat and says, "Isn't that the one where those teenagers bang and kill each other?" and Sam opens his mouth, not quite sure how to correct everything wrong with that question, before they pass under a streetlight and he sees that Deanna's got one of those teasing dimples tucked up into her cheek. "Pretty much," Sam says, instead, and Dee laughs, softly. "Hot stuff," she says. At a stoplight with no one else around for apparent miles she tugs the tie out her hair, and it falls in a wavy mass over her shoulder, and she makes this little noise like that's a weight come down, too. Sam sucks the inside of his cheek, watching her, not trying to pretend he isn't. Her wrist, loose and soft on top of the steering wheel. He wants to put her in some other life. Like that's an option.

At home—rather, back at the rental house—she tugs her boots off in the bedroom and then, glancing at Sam, tucks them into the line of her neatly-laid out clothes. She peels her henley over her head and tosses it into the corner—a new dirty clothes pile, but at least it's fresh instead of moldering weeks old—and pulls the D.A.R.E. shirt on, and while Sam's sitting on his mattress, pulling off his sneakers, she undoes her belt and shucks her jeans off, right there, so Sam gets a flash of purple underwear before the shirt falls down around her hips and there's just a mile of white thigh. "I want an entire chocolate cake," she says, peeling off one sock at a time. "Like. Triple layer, fudge frosting, those fancy, you know, rosette things. That and a fork."

"Um," Sam says. She drags her hands through her hair, cracking her neck side to side. "I think there are M&Ms you didn't eat in the kitchen?"

Deanna snorts. "That'll work," she says, and then squints at him, one-eyed. "You going to bed?"

Sam shrugs. She looks tired-but-not, loose and on edge. "You staying up?"

"Well, yeah," she says, like it's obvious. Smile spooling out, somewhere between the smile Sam usually gets and the ones those guys at the bar do. "I got these M&Ms to crush, I hear. If there's no cake."

Late night TV always sucks. They end up on the movie channel, like always, and it's—ugh, that terrible Street Fighter movie, but Dee throws down the controller and grins and says, "Perfect," and darts over to the kitchen quick and returns with: yes, the family-size bag of M&Ms, but also two beers, one of which is for Sam, again. He takes it, feeling weird—since when is he included in the list of grown-ups in the family?—but then Dee plops down into her corner of the couch and tucks her toes under Sam's thigh, and tugs the candy bag closer to her telling Sam that if he wanted some, he should've been smart enough to buy his own, and that feels more normal. He leans his elbow on his side of the couch and Deanna slouches into hers, bare legs gleaming in the TV-light. Van Damme is so bad in this movie. "Bite your tongue," Deanna says, wiggling her cold toes under his thigh, and Sam sighs, and drinks his beer, getting slowly used to the taste, and ignores Dee while she wrangles her bra off under his shirt and drapes it over the couch back, smooth black satin gleaming in the TV-light. He sort of watches the movie but mostly he listens to Deanna's commentary, and how Raul Julia is the best, and if they hit the arcade she bets she could beat his ass with Chun Li, and he's kinda warm and kinda nervous and kinda bored and kinda glad, all at once, but even with all that he does fall asleep at some point before the movie's over, because he wakes up when Dee's pulling the empty bottle out of his hand, careful and quiet. The TV's off. He hears her feet pad away, over the carpet, and then she's back, tucking something—his coat—around his shoulders, like a blanket.

He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his breathing soft. He gets to feel her swipe his bangs back, tucking his hair behind his ear, and then there's her fingers on his jaw, and then—a kiss, very soft, against his cheekbone. Her lips are warm. When he falls back asleep he dreams they're in the car, sleeping together in the backseat—the bench magically big enough to hold both of them end to end and side by side, like it hasn't been since Sam was like eight years old—and he's spooned around her, his arm over her waist and his nose in her hair, and her ass round and soft pressed up against him. His hand goes between her legs and feels that hard ridge of denim inseam, prickling painful against his fingers like it's the edge of a saw, or rose thorns, and it hurts but he keeps dragging his fingers up, light gleaming all over the back of the seat electric blue-and-yellow and making it so that when she turns her head, and stares at him, he can see the exact look on her face, but when he jolts awake in the pre-dawn light, breathing hard and sitting up straight and pushing a hand against his aching dick, he can't remember what the expression was.

*

Deanna wakes up when her phone rings. Sam's lying on his back with his arms folded over his face, breathing in and out very evenly, and gets to hear the whole thing. A muffled fuck and then the fabricky scramble through her discarded jeans, and then the phone flipping open, and then: "Dad?"

Who else would it be, Sam thinks.

His hair's wet and sogging out the pillow but he doesn't want to move. It was a very long and very hot shower and he scrubbed clean until his skin and hair squeaked. That didn't make anything go away but at least he couldn't smell beery cigarette smoke on his skin anymore. Not nothing. He turns his head and past the shadow of his arm Deanna's sitting up on her mattress, bare legs tucked beneath her, shoulders curved up around the phone like a girl from a movie whispering to her crush. The morning's coming through the blinds in clear white, striping her thigh, all the way to where Sam's shirt is rucked over her hip and her underwear's showing, alternate lines of dark and vivid purple. Creamy skin above that.

"Yeah, of course," Deanna says, while Sam's closing his eyes very tight. Weird purple bursts against the inside of the lids. Can't escape, apparently. "You need—?"

She's cut off. Little affirmative sounds while she listens. Sam takes another one of those deep breaths but jerking off in the shower apparently wasn't enough from how everything south of his navel seems to be on high alert. He folds his arms over his ribs instead, thinking tactically—he's got the blanket over his waist but if Dee goes to the bathroom he can change from his pajama shorts to his jeans, and maybe go for a walk or something, or read the Manson book to calm down, or—something—and when he looks again Deanna's shifted around, too, her back to the wall, her knees pulled up, shadows between them. Her lower lip sucked between her teeth. "Yeah," she says, soft. "'Kay. Be safe."

The phone's closed against the angle of her jaw, and she holds it there with her knuckles against her lips for a little while, eyes low, playing with her amulet with the other hand. "So?" Sam says, like he's not having an alternate crisis.

Her eyelashes dip, and then she leans forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Another week." She shrugs, like what can you do, except when has Deanna ever been casual about Dad gone on a solo job for weeks on end. An answering sourness crawls down Sam's throat to his stomach—that what if that's there whenever Dad's gone, but then again it happens when Dad's here, too. At least it takes care of the other problem, and as soon as Sam realizes there's a weird horrible mix of relief and shame that dumps over his head, like a prank bucket of shitty paint.

Luckily Deanna can't see it: she takes a deep breath and leans forward, her knees spreading out in a butterfly, grinning. "Means we still get to pick what to watch at night, huh?"

"You're joking," Sam says. If she wants to pretend to be casual, Sam can too. "I never get to pick."

"Aww," Deanna coos. "Little brother problems. I think they got a column for that in Highlights for Kids, you should write in."

Sam throws his pillow at her and she catches it, sniggering. More real than the grin before. "All right, whatever," she says, and unfolds from the mattress, stretching tall with the pillow held high overhead—Sam cuts his eyes away, in self-defense—and then hops the six inches down to the carpet, sighing. "Day off. Let's get some work done, huh?"

*

Bar's closed on Sunday. Marv's religious. Go figure. "I was gonna do laundry today," Deanna says, making the coffee, and she sends a sidelong conspiratorial glance over her shoulder, and Sam feels himself flush, collarbones to hairline. Luckily she's focused on grounds and filter and fishing her KENSUCKY mug out of the drainer, so he doesn't get ragged on for it. Deanna would be happier if he did the housework stuff more often; he's not sure he can take the intensity of her gratitude. It's just embarrassing, aside from everything else.

He's sent to get the groceries out of the trunk from Dee's trip yesterday: bread, ramen, condensed tomato soup, rice, strawberry jelly, 24-pack of beer, canned green beans. He holds up a can while she's sipping her coffee, raising his eyebrows, and she shrugs. "You said no peanut butter," she says, and, well. Sam did say that. Breakfast is generic-brand Eggos that she pops into the toaster and that get smeared with jelly, and she leans against the couch eating hers while watching the local news, watching with a professional eye for anything officially weird—nothing; as far as Sam can tell nothing interesting has ever happened in Louisville, ever—and Sam watches her. Her knee turns in, her thigh flexing. Toes painted blue. She sucks jelly off her thumb, eyes heavy on the TV, and Sam—oh, goddamn it. He sits up very straight at the table, tries the trick a kid at the last high school taught him: flexing his thighs, hard and quick, trying to redirect bloodflow. Sometimes he wishes he was born a girl. At least then it wouldn't be so obvious.

"Ugh," Dee says. Sam's eyes fly open but she's just shaking her head at the television, going to commercial. "Seriously, they can't get one cattle mutilation?"

"Super lame," Sam says. Kind of breathy. Deanna doesn't seem to notice. She scratches her thigh, absent, and drains the last of her coffee, and sighs. Tongue swipe along her bottom lip. Jeez-us.

"Guess we don't have a choice," she says, and tips her head at Sam. Pursed lips, apologetic. "You know what that means."

"What does it mean?" Sam says, and she wrinkles her nose, and he does get it, finally. "Aw, no—"

"Aw, yes," Deanna says, and ruffles his hair back on her way to the sink. "C'mon, kiddo, I don't like it any more than you do."

"So we could not, right?" Sam tries.

Obviously not: Deanna shakes her head, rinsing her mug. "Meet at the car in ten, soldier," she says, while he bangs his head against the table. "And if you're not in the bathroom in thirty seconds then I've got dibs."

He gets up, goes. Isn't shy about slamming the bathroom door when he does. In the mirror his hair's all screwed up and he's pink in the face and he's scowling. "Shut up," he says, to his reflection, and hustles.

*

Sam doesn't actually mind PT. He likes running, which is super lame after all the years of bitching about it—and there is absolutely zero chance he'll ever admit to Dad that he does—but there's something kind of satisfying about getting to the end of five miles and feeling that blood-rush through every part of his body, thighs humming and lungs working hard and his head clear.

That Deanna hates it is icing on the cake. "Can't the monsters just run to me," she pants, hands on her knees.

"Don't you wanna be the one doing the chasing instead of being chased?" Sam says, stretching his quads.

Deanna gives him a baleful look through her hair. He grins at her and she gives him the finger.

They're out in the woods, since Deanna drove them way out past the edge of the city. Better for the next part, but also good practice. They spend a lot more time sprinting at midnight between tree-trunks and leaping over rabbit-holes than they do on nice smooth high school tracks. Sweat's sticking Sam's shirt to his back but it's a pretty spring day, new leaves all over the trees and wildflowers coming up, white and yellow and pink.

"Ugh," Dee says, while Sam's feeling relatively at peace with the world. She redoes her ponytail, higher and tighter, although the choppy layers around her face don't quite make it. What passes for her PT gear are cut-off denim shorts, a grey camisole with a bloodstain making it unsuitable for the public (though it's not her own blood, which she insists counts for something), and a bright blue sports bra that she cusses at every time she wrestles herself into it. Better than bouncing, she says, and Sam figures he's got to believe it. She tucks her amulet behind the line of the bra and nods, and then says, "Okay," and levels a look at Sam. "Come at me, punk."

"Wait—" Sam says, backing up a step. "I thought we were shooting. Aren't we shooting?"

"Can do that too," Deanna says. She starts to move to the side, gearing up to circle him, and he rotates to face her, hands up. "But your grapple's kinda sloppy. Gotta keep you ship-shape."

Her eyes are tracking the important points—his hands, his feet, how his torso's turned—all the stuff they've used in wrestling, practically as far back as Sam can remember—but he hasn't often been this alarmed, not like now, all the sunny springtime peace of the run draining out to leave him nearly panicked. "This is dumb," he tries, continuing to back up, letting her pace him backwards.

"This is important," Deanna says, patient, like they haven't had the same argument fifty times. "Anyway, it's for me as much as you. You don't want me to be ship-shape, too?"

"Cute," Sam says, and Deanna smiles at him—really smiles, not one of those mocking sugary ones—and he catches his breath and says, "Dee," not knowing how he's gonna get out of it, and then his back hits a tree, his head clonking back against the bark, and she says, "Gotcha," and darts in.

He blocks the first punch, takes the second to the ribs. "Fuck!" he says, shoving, and she dances back, grinning at him, her boots kicking up the leaf-litter and moving easy over the uneven ground.

"Gotta think fast, little brother," she says, and hops in to aim a shot at his face—he ducks, and slaps her side as hard as he can with an open hand—connects, and she lets out this quick little noise, but that left him open for another punch to the chest, her knuckles right on his breastbone, pushing the breath out of him. He slaps at her again, wild, and she leans back and then dives right back in, making him block at shoulder and waist and jaw, dancing quick, light on her feet even in the clunky boots, making him work for it.

They don't swing as hard as they can but they don't pull back much. Dee's faster, Sam's stronger; Dee's better, but Sam's not bad, and they block each other's hits way more than they actually connect. When they started doing this Sam was nine and Dee was thirteen, and it didn't seem fair at all because she was like a foot taller than him, bigger and older and better at everything, but Dad said that was the point: making Sam catch up, grow up, get strong, and giving Deanna the chance to practice with someone who wouldn't really hurt her, especially then.

With all these years of practice they know each other's tells, even if they're also supposed to practice hiding those. Sam lands another slap on her hip and takes a soft-ish punch to the gut as punishment; she lunges for his leg and he catches her arm and uses her momentum to throw her around, stumbling back through the loam, panting. He could've gotten her there and didn't. They both know it—she frowns at him, chest heaving, and comes around to his left, circling, hands held loose and ready. Coming up on the end—if they're not going to really hurt each other, there's usually just the one end—and Sam knows where the trees are in the clearing now, avoids getting boxed in, waiting.

Deanna charges, aiming for his shoulder. He braces—and then, no, her eyes dart down—he swivels on his right leg, reaches for her forearm when she goes to grab his knee—pulls her in, close, and she cusses even as he yanks her around, stumbling, and shoves her chest-first into the nearest trunk, using his weight and height, her arm twisted behind her back between them, his chest and hips and legs crushed up against hers, stilling her, subduing.

"I win," he says, panting.

"Shit." Burst out, bitten. She strains, flexing and pushing back, but he's got thirty pounds on her and once they're grappled there's no way. Her arm twists in his grip but he keeps her still, fingers tight, making sure she gets it. Her head drops against the bark, a long sigh gusting out, her shoulder slumping soft, and that's when Sam feels past the adrenaline rush the warm-soft length of her body, her vanilla shampoo and the sweat at the back of her neck rising in his head, his hips pressed up against her ass, his stolen-from-school gym shorts thin, making him—

He steps back, hot-faced. God, is he—he glances down but not yet—not yet, and he crouches in the dirt, folding his arms over his knees, still breathing hard. Like that's why.

"Telegraphed that feint," Deanna says. She turns against the trunk, leaning her head back. Sweaty, flush high in her cheeks and ears and down her throat, disappearing into the blue bra. She puts her wrist to her forehead, puffing out a deep breath. "You're getting faster." Not even a compliment, just stating facts. Like she always does when they're really working. He sniffs, shrugging, and she leans forward, putting her hands on her knees again, squinting at him. "If it was a dirty fight I woulda got you, though. Left your nuts wide open."

"Thanks for not hitting me in the nuts," Sam says, dry, and she raises her eyebrows, like, try me.

Breeze swirls into the clearing, cool on the back of his neck, his bare arms. Deanna closes her eyes against it, lips parting in pleasure. Sam's gut wobbles but—he's calmed down, mostly, and he can stand up without embarrassing himself. "So," he says. Like it's no big deal. "Can we go home?"

"I got a case of empty cans in the trunk that need to get full of holes," she says. "You won the fight. So what? I'm gonna kick your ass at target practice." He makes a rude sound and she smiles, loose, and then finally opens her eyes and looks right at him—heavy, warm, like—yesterday in the bathroom mirror but real, this time, her lashes dark with sweat and her skin flushed and her chest rising in a deep breath, and he—he—

"C'mon, pipsqueak," she says, tipping her head back to where they parked the car. "I'll even let you choose, handgun or rifle."

"Thanks a lot," he says, as sarcastic as he can, and she grins and pushes away from the tree and brushes past him, fake elbowing like a dick but really just soft-warm, close, and he follows, forced to think the calmest, plainest thoughts he can, focusing on what's around: running water in the creek, and birdsong, and trees casting dappled shadows across the trail, and not at all the way her hips move, nor the freckled soft skin of her shoulders, nor the way he thinks he could fit his hands around her waist, hold her in place, and she'd turn her head and look up at him over her shoulder and she'd say—he can't imagine. In the image her mouth opens and no words exist.

*

They make it back to the rental house in the late afternoon. Shooting—yes, Deanna cored more cans than Sam, about which she crowed like an idiot—but also swinging by the post office box across town Dad had rented before he left, and stopping for gas, and then using one of those do-it-yourself carwashes, where Sam gets roped into helping, although he doesn't know why when Dee's always popping up behind him to re-do whatever sidepanel he's just finished. Not even trying to be bossy; she's just obsessive, even if she keeps making Miyagi wax-off jokes and waggling her eyebrows like she's funny. Sam determinedly doesn't laugh.

Sweaty and sore and yet kind of glad, all told, when they pile through the door. This is the kind of day Sam's never minded: working, with his family, but safe. Deanna groans, pulling her boots off, and says, "Oh my god, I have like a thousand dibs on first shower," and so Sam's left to sit in the bedroom, stripping off his sneakers and socks and sweaty shorts, sitting in his t-shirt and boxers, listening to her sing very very off-key—Long Black Road already sounds weird an octave higher—and then he sits on his mattress with his arms around his knees and feels all the good ache in his thighs and forearms and the sore spot where the rifle kicked back during shooting practice, and then he blinks and sees that what he's looking at is the plastic bag with its clamshell box, tucked next to where she tossed her boots, and this weird heat corkscrews down from his heart to his balls, quick as dropping a coin down a well, and he—licks his lips, swallows. Listens to the water hissing down.

Deanna comes out in her towel, again—amulet still on, like it always is, although her hair's loose, dripping down her back. "Your turn, stinky," she says, and Sam passes her like it's nothing, says, "Hope you left some hot water," and she says, "Can't rush the finer things, Sammy," and Sam strips and climbs into the tub and puts his head directly under the spray, taking that first rush of luke-cold before it goes hot, drowning. Like it helps. It smells like her in here: vanilla shampoo, peachy soap. He scrubs his hair back from his face and breathes wet under the spray and when he reaches down he's already hard, has been, needing—god. To get his head straight.

Not the first time. Not the last, given his track record. From furtive schoolyard magazine-sharing and pilfered late-night cable and the way they watched Basic Instinct and Dee paused it at that exact second and said, oh yeah, that's the stuff, and laughed fizzingly at Sam while he turned red and she pushed him over on their shared bed and mushed his head under the pillow, smothering him in heat and soft and warm girl-smell, pussy behind his eyes—god, yeah, he's got the mental images, enough to get him there. The shower's hot and deafening and his head goes blank except for that, imagining without context, just—soft boobs and the soft white curve of tummy between the navel and the too-low rise of jeans. The pink wet split, and what he imagines it'd be like to sink two fingers in, or to make like the too-tan guys with too-white teeth who get their heads between spread thighs and make the girls make those sounds—except, no, not exaggerated like that, because even if Sam hasn't done it he knows girls don't scream, that way, because he's got his sister and he's heard her, in her bed that's so often less than a yard from his. He's laid awake in the night listening to the wet rhythmic squishing that hardly rocks the other mattress and heard, too, the puffs of breath through her nose, the way he can tell that her bottom lip's bitten between her teeth, the way she makes that little tiny caught whining noise when she's getting close, the way he'll be hard as a tire iron with his arms folded under the pillow, trying his absolute damnedest to pretend he's asleep, and his eyes wide open in the dark of a motel room lit only by the green numbers on the clock radio to see the way the shape of her legs spread under the shiny polyester comforter and then the way her hips lift under the shiny lump of it and then the sound, a tiny grunt through her nose, the slick pumping squish going still, and then—his favorite part—this long sigh, like she's been holding up a weight and finally gets to let it down, her knees splaying wide-out and flat, the barest tiniest shine of light on her lip as she lets it out of her teeth, the heave of her chest where the blanket's rucked down, the way her head turns, toward him—

When he gets out of the shower she's dressed, kind of. Dad's boxers and a freshly-washed grey camisole. Hair loose and drying wavy over her shoulders, although she swipes it all over to one side, leaning over the stove, peering into their battered single pot. "Hungry?" she says, and then immediately snorts and says, "Dumb question."

"Ha," Sam says. The radio's on, the crappy local rock station that has way too many ads, but they play Metallica and AC/DC sometimes and Deanna says that's enough for her. "What are you making?"

"Oh, Sammy," Deanna says—leaning on the counter, smiling at him sidelong. Not hot, like she is for the guys at the bar, but something else. Sam's gut aches. "That'd spoil the surprise."

"Wouldn't want that," Sam says, trying for cool and somehow kind of landing on it, and Deanna winks at him. Winks. He takes a deep breath, and passes behind her to go to the fridge, and gets out two beers, and cracks them both. He hands one to Dee and bumps the cans together before she can object. "Try not to give us food poisoning, huh?"

Deanna lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing. Smiles, slow. "No promises," she says, and when they take a drink at the same time, her eyes stay steady on Sam.

*

"So," Deanna says, drawing it out slow, lips a plush teasing O. Sam raises his eyebrows, like, so what? Dee raises her eyebrows back, making fun of him. "So: Noelle." Sam groans and Deanna grins wide at him, leans forward. "Don't front, little brother. C'mon, spill. You make much ado about her nothing?"

"That doesn't even make sense," Sam says, but it's without much strength, and Deanna sticks her tongue out at him, still grinning.

So it's been a couple of beers, and then another one to make up for the pretty weird dinner—tomato rice soup with green beans stirred in is not something that's going to end up on fancy restaurant menus, put it that way—and they're sprawled on either end of the couch, the TV on the news in case there's anything Dee would have to care about but silent, the radio still playing—the top 40 now, and Sam got to see Deanna bounce around lip syncing to how she didn't want no scrubs, which he groaned and rolled his eyes through but to be honest was actually pretty funny—and his head's kind of swimmy, kind of heavy, his cheeks hot and his fingertips cold, although maybe that's because he's holding his—fourth?—can of Milwaukee's absolute best, pretending like everything's cool. Everything is cool. Four beers in he can't imagine how they'd be otherwise.

"Hellooo," Deanna sings. He blinks at her. "Ground control to Major Sammy? You in there?"

"Yes," Sam says. Dignified. Maybe. "Where else would I be?"

Deanna looks like she thinks something is very funny. Never a good sign. She leans forward, her elbow on the back of the couch, her knees spreading out. "N-O-E-L," she says. "Let me hear it. She cute?"

"She spells it with two Ls," Sam says, which makes Dee wrinkle her nose. "And—I don't know. I guess."

"You guess." She whaps his knee and then grabs his shin, waggling his leg back and forth. "Dude, you are a hot-blooded American male. You can do better than guess. Unless—" She squints at him, assessing. "Are you gay? Or—wait, your junk works, right?"

"Yes!" Sam says, and then, hastily— "No!" Dee snorts, taking a sip of her beer, and while she's mopping foam off her chin he wraps his arms around his knees, annoyed. "You suck."

"When they ask nice," Deanna says, and then pauses, her tongue pressed up against the back of her front teeth. Shining, pink. Sam looks at that and then away, at the TV. Weather this week will stay warm. Rain on Thursday. The weather guy has stupid gelled helmet hair. A soft warm grip on Sam's ankle, low. "Hey, Sammy."

Warm, and a little wet from the beer. It races up the nerves from Sam's ankle to his heart and then back south to his nuts, confusing, worrying. Good. "Noelle's cute," Sam says. He licks his lips. "Smart. She's on the volleyball team."

"Selling girl scout cookies, too, I bet," Deanna says. Her thumb skims up the inside of Sam's ankle, where there's that dip. Kinda ticklish, kinda not. "Didn't ask about her test grades, dweeb. What's she look like?"

Sam shrugs. "Tall? I guess. For a girl. Blondish hair. Skinny, kind of."

"She got good tits?"

When Sam turns his head Dee's really watching him. He chews on his bottom lip. She's still got her arm laid out along the back of the couch, holding her beer loose in long fingers, and her other hand around his ankle, scooched forward so she can reach—cleavage made even when she's not wearing a bra, the amulet he gave her spilling off-angled over the pressed-up white curve. Her eyes dark and kind of hard to see in just the TV-light, with the sun down and them not turning on any other lamps. He shrugs again, and then nods. Yeah, Noelle's boobs are okay.

"Yeah?" Deanna says. The tip of her tongue touches the center of her bottom lip. Shine. "What about her ass?"

"It's okay," Sam says. His voice sounds weird.

"You kiss her?" Deanna says, and then without waiting: "No, huh. But you want to, huh? Maybe after the library. Or before volleyball, with the uniform on, you dog."

Sam's never known why guys who want to have sex are called dogs. Deanna's thumb is working in little circles on the inside of his ankle and the skin there feels like it's on freaking fire. "You kiss Walt?" he says.

Her thumb stops. "Walt?"

Like it's the dumbest thing ever. Sam unfolds enough to take a drink from his can. Warm now, bitter, but it's something to do with his hands. "I think he wants to kiss you."

"Oh, you think," Deanna says, sarcastic. Sam takes another gulp, too quick, and has to stop himself from coughing like a dork. While his eyes water Deanna lets go of his ankle—a cold spot there that he regrets immediately—and leans over to the table, grabbing a can from the box, cracking it fresh. "Walt wants me to blow him under the desk in the manager's office. Good thing we're gonna be out of here before he works up the balls to ask."

She says it like, no big deal. Like, duh. Deanna drains the last of her previous can and drops it into the pile they're making on the carpet, and then leans back with the new beer tucked between her thighs, making a damp condensation spot on the thin grey fabric of the shorts. Sam drains his beer, too, and gets another, too, although he leaves his empty upright at least so it doesn't spill drops on the carpet. It takes some concentration; his balance is a little weird.

"Shit, we made a mess, huh?" Deanna says, while Sam leans doubled over his own knees, setting up all the cans like bowling pins. "Ruining all your hard work."

"Don't want you to get mad at me again," Sam says, which is kinda supposed to be making fun of her but he also kinda means it. All the cans upright and he flops back onto the couch, full beer resting on his stomach. "Plus, like. You've been all—nice. I didn't know vacuuming would get me all these perks." He lifts the beer in a little toast before he takes a sip. One of Deanna's cheeks sucks in before she toasts him back, takes a swallow too. Sam smiles at her, feeling weirdly light in his chest, even if things are just super—weird. "I get anything else if I keep doing all the laundry? Gonna let me drive?"

"In your dreams," Deanna says, immediately.

"What about… let me pick the music?"

"You know the rules, dingus." She lets her right foot drop off the couch, thigh stretching out long, wide. "I'll keep you fed. Consider yourself lucky, punk. But…" Smiling at him, crooked and small. Beer still between her legs. "That really was cool, man. I know I was bitching and all, but. I didn't really expect you to do anything."

Sometimes that's the kind of thing that makes him feel like a baby, getting a pat on the head. This time it's—different. Sam feels heat rising up in the center of his cheeks. "Homework doesn't take that long," he says. "Figured you were right, I could manage the laundry or whatever too."

"Wait, wait," Deanna says, eyes opening wide, "I was right?" Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a drop of beer at her, which she promptly returns with interest, and when he's wiping scattered foam off his cheek, grinning, she says, "Sounds like a deal to me," and then, in a different voice—"Although if you're gonna be in my stuff, guess I ought to find a different hiding spot, huh?"

Half a second to remember what she means and then the heat in his cheeks flames up over his whole body. Lurid pink. Big? Even two days gone he can't quite remember. "No big deal, remember? Where else would you keep it, anyway—glovebox?"

She snorts. "Get pulled over and hand that out to the cop with the license and reg? Yeah, guess not."

"Where'd you even get it?"

"You never heard of a sex store?" Deanna says, tipping her head. "Thought you were all grown-up now. Give me that beer back, Kid Icarus—"

He pulls it back out of her mimed grab and she ends up leaning forward toward him again, his drawn-up feet practically tucked up between her spread legs. That half-circle of damp is still there on the cotton, high up on her thigh. "I meant where. Or like—when, I guess."

"Back in Houston. So—what, four, five months ago?" She shrugs, rests her beer on his knee like it's a cupholder. "You really haven't done laundry in a while, huh."

"So, you…" She raises her eyebrows at him like a dare. He swigs his beer, clears his throat. His fingertips are cold. "I don't know. It's kinda weird. Like, when the girls at school talk sometimes, it's like—they talk like it hurts, or something. Like they just do it because their boyfriends want to."

This from Jackie Martinette and Laura Kennedy, who had a full whispered gossip session on the subject in study hall while Sam tried desperately to pretend like he was on another planet. Bad enough to spring wood at home in bed while Deanna walked around in her underwear after a shower; truly mortifying at school when any second he'd have to get up and walk to second period biology.

"You think girls aren't getting anything out of it?" Sam lifts a shoulder, really not sure. In porn sometimes they shriek. He doesn't associate much good with shrieking. Deanna smiles at him, sort of patronizing but also warm, friendly. Like she's sharing good news. "Sammy, if you know what you're doing it's all kinds of good. When you're hot for it and it's go time?" She makes this low purry sound, deep in her throat, her eyes half-lidded.

Sam swallows. "Go time?" He's amazed his voice doesn't sound weird.

"Girls get horny just like guys, you know," Deanna says. She licks her lips, shining flushed. The TV bursts blue-yellow color over her cheeks, the rise of her chest as she takes a deep breath. "Harder to tell, I guess. But if it's go time a girl should be so wet you just slide right in, you know? Even if you didn't eat her out first. I mean, that's how it works with me."

Sam's so hard he's dizzy. He drains his beer, lets it slide down to the pile on the carpet, hooks his hands around his own ankles, keeping his knees together so she can't see. "What do you think about?" he says. The air's thin, hot. Deanna blinks at him, slow. "When you're—using it. Like—guys, or…?"

"Brad Pitt in Thelma & Louise," Deanna says, and Sam laughs, not expecting to. She grins at him and her face is pink, too. "Yeah, guys. But not even like—specific guys. Just… what feels good, you know? When a guy holds my tits right—not squeezing hard, but just…" She tucks her beer up against her crotch and cups one boob, pushing it up high and full through her camisole, fingers splayed wide, her thumb brushing over her nipple where Sam can see it hard and poking through the cotton. Her other breast curving plush, that nipple also round and tight, and Sam reaches out and copies her, sliding his palm up her ribs and feeling the sudden rise of them and spidering his fingers wide over the soft heaviness, shifting to hold it up high to match, his thumb glancing over the nipple and it's—oh, rigid as a bullet but giving somehow too, tilting under how he sweeps back and forth, swollen hot. Her cleavage looks incredible, the amulet squished between both boobs like she's wearing a push-up bra, the cord disappearing between them. He imagines very suddenly licking there, swiping up with his tongue in the dark shadow like he's imagined licking a girl's pussy, except he'd keep going, lick up into the hollow of her throat, lick up over her chin and push his tongue into her mouth and see what that was like, see how it tasted, and he's thinking that, rolling her nipple over and over under his thumb, when he sees that her lips are parted and she's staring at him, chest heaving, and he's—god, he wants to kiss her. He wants to very badly.

"Like that?" he says, thin. She nods, quick. He holds his ankle very tightly with the other hand. "What—what else? Do you think about."

The tip of her tongue touches the center of her top lip. Sam's balls lurch. Deanna's eyelids dip but don't close, and she says, "A guy fingering me. But not like most guys do it. Stabbing in like they're trying to buttonmash in Street Fighter. There was this dude in Buffalo—he got me off over the top of my jeans, just rubbing right, steady. Got me so wet it soaked through. Thought I was gonna marry him."

The can of beer's right there, on the y-front of the old boxer-briefs. Sam's breathing through his mouth, lips drying. "You fuck him?"

Deanna's ears are dark red. "Yeah," she says. A breath. "In the bar bathroom, over the sink. That's a good one, when I'm using the dildo. I was so wet. Just thinking about it—swear to god, like someone turned on a faucet in my pussy, Sammy."

He pushes forward and she grabs the beer can, holds it right there for some reason, so it doesn't spill when Sam crams his fingers between the lukewarm wet tin and the cotton, curving over—soft too, warm too, hot as he pushes his fingers down, when she spreads her thigh wider and her hips tip forward, crushing his hand between the couch cushion and her pussy and the cotton that, fuck, is wet, sticky, and he pushes his fingers up, where it gives, and—and—

"Sammy," she whispers, and he looks up and he's, oh, squeezing her tit hard, hard enough that when he startles and lets go there's a ghost-white impression of his fingers above the line of fabric that floods red right away, and he takes in a breath to say—nothing, absolutely nothing comes to mind, but it doesn't matter because she grabs his wrist and pushes his fingers right up against her tit again, and then drops the beer over the side of the couch, letting it thunk to the carpet, glugging, and curves her hand over his hand between her legs, pressing it harder against herself, groaning, a sound he's only heard in the dark.

His head's thick, like oxygen's not getting in. Her hips grind in and he presses up hard, with the heel of his hand and his fingertips, and she shudders so maybe it's good. He pulls at the neck of the camisole and it yanks to one side but Dee shakes her head, shifts—Sam yanks his hand away, but she only pushes forward, up on her knees—still holding his fingers up against her pussy—and then reaches down and pulls the camisole off over her head, entirely, so she's bare from the waist up except for her amulet, her tits white and full, her nipples blushy red, the skin around them drawn up tight. He grips one in just the way she showed him and drags his thumb around the bare skin, rolling the nipple without the barrier of cotton, and she makes this tiny little noise high in her throat, like she can't help it, so hot that Sam leans forward and slurps the nipple into his mouth so she'll make it again.

"Fuck," she says, the f drawn out like she didn't mean to. Her hand on his head while he mouths at her boob, licking and then opening his mouth wide and sucking hard, so she hisses and grips his hair tight, and so he learns to roll it under his tongue, suckling, like a popsicle he wants to last. Her thighs clamp around his wrist and then open, and he rubs her whole crotch front to back, not knowing what's best, from the y-front down to where she's sticky and all the way to her ass, squeezing where she's soft there, too, pulling her in except his knees are in the way. He squirms, pretzeled up tight like he is, and Deanna kneels up high so he can unfold and then his legs are between her thighs. She grabs his wrist again and that's fine, he lets her push and get his palm seated on the hard ridge of bone, his fingers squishing around in the wet cotton where she's so soft, riding the seam of the boxers back and forth, finding where—oh shit—yeah, where he can push, a gap, which must really be her pussy, where the dildo goes, where that guy from Buffalo was, where Sam could—

She grips his hair, pulls his mouth away from her tit. He comes off gasping. Flickery light from the TV but it's dark, dark, blood pulled up into the skin from how he was working there. Her hand goes to his jaw, her thumb sliding over his mouth—wet—smelling like… He licks and it tastes like—salt. Salt and something tangy, what's heavy in the air, stronger than the smell of the beer spilling onto the carpet and how he feels drenched in sweat, this—incredible thing, addictive, better than anything. A flex, against his buried fingertips, where she's soaked, and he finally looks up to see her staring at him, at his mouth. Her thumb drags over his lip again and he leans in to her other, paler tit, slurps the nipple in and cups his hand hard over her pussy and wraps his arm around her waist, holding her warm and close, drunk. His head swims but it doesn't matter—she keeps hold of his hair, keeping him up against her chest, and covers his hand on her pussy, pressing in this rhythm that's easy to follow, clutching hard and grinding and rolling her hips into his fingers, her breath fast and hot and puffing over his ear, everything between them getting sweaty, tense, her grip over his hand hurting almost and he'd worry about hurting her except clearly that's not an issue. He drags his teeth over her boob, sucking hard on the squishy softness, his tongue exploring the tight wrinkled rim around the nipple, and squeezes her ass with his free hand, and his wrist hurts so he flexes his forearm, grips the front ridge of bone over her pussy with his thumb, and Deanna jerks against him, curves in, holds his hand hard and still up against herself, and she's totally silent and even her breath is held and he lets go of her tit and looks up and she's staring at him open-mouthed. He rubs his fingertips against her crotch, squeezing through the boxers, and it's only then that she makes a little sound, jerked out of her belly, and she bends down—he blinks, not sure—but she just sinks down to his shoulder, her lips spread wide on the side of his neck, her breath heaving out of her like she just finished a five-mile run.

Her thighs spread over his. Their hands caught together, cupped wet. Sam's nuts hurt he's so hard and he doesn't know what to do. He wants her nipple back in his mouth, wants to put his mouth on her pussy and taste that tangy smell right at the source, wants to crawl behind the couch and jerk off with his fist between his teeth, fast and hard as he possibly can. Wants—

Her hand, on his crotch, through his shorts. He jerks, whole-body, like when Dee was showing him how to replace an outlet a few rental houses ago and they didn't bother with flipping the breaker. His boner's popping stupid-obvious so it's easy for her to grip it with her whole hand and it feels—god!—warm, even through the double-layer of the polyester and his cotton boxers, and firm, squeezing hard at first and then feeling the shape, from the base to the head. "Jeez," she murmurs, and he squeezes his eyes closed, every part of his body feeling shivery, strange, oversensitized. "When'd that happen?"

"What?" he manages. She smells so good he can't stand it—wants to hide, wants to disappear, wants to grip her ass and drag her down and rub off against her like he used to against the mattress, when he was a kid and didn't know how to jerk off right, only she'd be so soft, sweet, wet—

"You got a big dick," Deanna says, soft, her head dipping down, her cheek against Sam's cheek. "Fuck, that's—thick. All grown up, huh?"

He shakes his head, confused, and she laughs very softly but not mean, not like she can laugh, and says, "God—" and pushes his chest, bears him back down against the arm of the couch, and he goes because he doesn't know what else to do and he puts his hand over his mouth—oh oh oh the hand that was on her pussy, his fingers sliding wet, and he sucks them in, bites his own skin, tasting, the smell and tang clutching up his throat and his foggy head. Deanna groans for some reason and pushes up his shirt, her fingers skimming over his belly, on the sparse hair that's started to trail down from his navel, and she—lifts off his legs, her weight and heat disappearing, and he opens his eyes to find the world gone all smeary, dark still but the light from the TV splintering weird and wet across the ceiling, and when he looks down she's on her knees between his knees, her fingers cupping his balls through his shorts, squeezing the shaft, and she bends down like she's going to—her mouth open, like she's going to—and Sam's toes curl and his thighs spasm and he comes, hips jerking up into her grip, creaming up the inside of his shorts, pulsing, shocked.

His heart thuds in his throat. He breathes hard around his fingers, still in his mouth, and drags them out finally, curling wet and pruny against his chin. Deanna lets go, eyes at first pinned there at his crotch and then flicking up at him dark and wide-startled, her lips an O. Sam blinks at her and pulls one of his knees up, in, and somehow that makes her flinch, and she sits up high, back on her heels, arms folding over her chest and hiding her tits, her eyes still big, going all over his face.

Deanna laughs. Again. High and breathy, fake. Still not mean but—"Man, couple beers and we're crazy, huh?" she says, brittle and fast, and Sam digs his heels into the couch and scooches away, as far as he can, his back pressed all the way against the couch arm, his brain feeling like it's sloshing in acid. Deanna smiles at him, wide and with a lot of teeth, and swivels and stands, kicking a beer can, stooping quick to pick up her camisole, tugging it over her head, yanking it back into place. Sam blinks and wet runs down his cheek so he has to scrub the back of his hand over it, smearing. "Guess we really are hard-up," Deanna's saying, while Sam folds back over his own knees, stomach doing a slow horrible somersault. "Gotta work on your game, get that Noelle girl to go for it sometime."

"Dee," Sam says, but it's barely voiced, and Deanna shakes her head and rolls right on, walking off to the kitchen like it's nothing, saying, "Anyway—we screwed up the carpet—better get something for that before the beer soaks in—"

Sam's gonna hurl. He—oh, he really is—and he unfolds off the couch and his legs stagger but he makes it the half-dozen steps to the bathroom, to his knees, stomach lurching, eyes burning. Dinner and beer and everything else. He shudders, clutching the sides of the bowl in the dark. Sits there, miserable, for…

Faint touch to his back. He makes a weird sound, spits. Reaches up and flushes, and sits back on his knees, and his face is sweaty, hot, and Deanna's not in the bathroom with him but there's a cup on the side of the sink with water in it. He swishes the taste out of his mouth, spits again, drains the rest. When he gathers his brain together and stands back up he sways and there's—sticky wet in his shorts, cold and sludgy, and he leans his shoulder into the doorway and sees that Dee's cleaned up the beer cans and there's a towel on the carpet by the couch. He gets more water in the kitchen, drinks it down in cool stomach-filling swallows that make his gut slosh but in a way where he doesn't feel like it's gonna chuck up again, and when he goes to the bedroom—she's on her mattress, lying on her side, blanket tugged up to her shoulder. He stands between the two beds for a second, uncertain, until she turns over, her back to the room. "Go to bed, drunkie," she says, quiet in the dark, and he licks his lips and crawls onto his own mattress on his stomach, folding his arms under his pillow, staring across at her until the dragging sloshing tide in his head pulls him down, undertow sucking at his whole body, drowning.

In the morning her bed is empty. Sam's head hurts like someone took a sledgehammer to it in the middle of the night. His boxers stick crusty against his pubes. He takes a shower, nauseated and aching and wondering if it's possible to be poisoned by five beers. Coffee already made—he drinks a cup and then pours a second, miserable, and then the front door opens and Deanna's standing there, fully dressed and eyes wide and bright, and she says, "Rise and shine, wonderboy," like a chirpy bird, and then, "C'mon, I'll drive you to school," and Sam says, "I feel like crap," and she says, "That’s what happens when you drink with the big dogs, but no excuses, come on," and so he puts on sneakers and gets his backpack and loads himself into the passenger side of the Impala and slumps against the window while she drives, the two of them not talking, the radio on low to morning shock-jock crap. Wondering if this is what it's always going to be. This sick dragging awful, at the base of his skull and in his gut, making the morning into something that has to be endured, like every single day from this one to when he's dead will be—this. The Impala pulls up smooth to the drop-off area, muscling ahead of a champagne-colored sedan, and Sam sighs, and goes to open the door, and Deanna says, "Hang on."

He looks at her straight-on. First time, really, all morning, the humiliation feeling like it's coming off him like radiation, like if they had an EMF meter for it the thing would be shrieking. She looks like she always does. Part of the problem. Deanna's cheek sucks in and she looks in the rear-view, and then she meets his eyes, and her expression is—Sam doesn't know. She looks into his eyes and then at his mouth, and then at his hand on the door for some reason, and then she shakes her head, and touches her own lips, and then grips the steering wheel tight with both hands. "Knock 'em dead, Sammy," she says, looking out at the road.

First period, study hall. He drops his bag under the desk and drops his head onto his folded arms. The bell ringing hurts. Laura Kennedy and Jackie Martinette start whispering behind him, about the date Jackie went on this weekend, and he folds his arms over his head, shuts it out. He feels like he took a beating from a werewolf, but that's not the worst part. For some reason the thing that keeps repeating in his head, and what lasts all day, through English where he ignores Noelle and through AP Stats where he doesn't answer a single question and through the lunch he doesn't eat and through World History, staring through the review slides for final exams coming up in a few weeks, is how Dee laughed. High, and weird, and like she'd done something horribly embarrassing, like there was no way to live it down and so you just had to laugh, because what other choice did you have?

When he gets home the living room smells like stale beer. Deanna's not there. In the fridge, a styrofoam box with spaghetti and meatballs and no note, and he eats it by himself and does his homework and goes to bed alone, and she's not there the next morning, and she's not there the next afternoon when he gets home, either, and it's not until Wednesday morning that he wakes up and she's sitting crosslegged on the mattress across the room from him in the clear morning light and she says, before he's even registered that she's really there and what it means, "Dad's coming home."

He blinks muzzily and sits up and she's looking at him with her fingers knotted in her lap, her lips red and her eyes red, too, and then she gets up and walks out of the room. He watches her go, robbed of any other option.

#wincest #my writing #happy wincest wednesday #praying that read more works properly #anyway yeah #i have about ~5k more of writing to do #so ideally that'll come by next week #but at the moment just-- #trying a slightly different writing mode here #hope that someone reads it lol

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" (Aemond x Reader)

A/N: I want to first say. I STRUGGLE with writing dialogue in different periods. So if I make this into a fic it is going to take me so long because I will have to read other people's stories and rewatch the show so the dialogue can be somewhat realistic. Hopefully, I do well...If not. Don't tell me shit. I don't wanna hear it. // Divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: You return with your family to King's Landing to defend Lucerys against your uncle Vaemond but he is not the uncle you worry about. Your mind is filled with the man you were once betrothed to what he will say when he sees you, and how he will act. You worry about how your Uncle Aemond will treat you after all this time.

Next Chapter →

Tw: Oral Sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 5.4k (an absolute fucking monstrosity written in a couple hours)

"Would say it's nice to be home but I scarcely recognize it." Daemon hums slightly before walking around looking at every bit of the wall in disgust. Rhaenyra turns to you and your brothers. "I trust you three will stay out of trouble while we go visit your grandsire?"

Your brothers nod their heads as you all take your turn to look over what was once your home. It feels...darker than it did when you lived here, almost abandoned. If it was not for the servants walking around you would think it was.

Rhaenyra and Daemon walk away leaving you and your brothers.

"Come on. I want to see if that hole is still in the wall in the training yard." Luke rolls his eyes at the stupid memory which makes you smile. You follow after them as they try to recall the way there.

You don't listen to their conversation as Jace points out the hole that still remains. You can barely pay attention to anything anyone is saying. Your brain has been in panic mode since the moment you were told you would be returning here.

Scared to face your previous betrothed. You feel someone's hands wrap around yours and snap you out of your thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Luke says softly and looks at you worriedly. You nod and ruffle his hair with a smile.

"Im fine. Just...feels weird being back." He doesn't let go of your hand. You notice as he looks around at all the people staring at him and Jace. It had always been like this, people often compared you to your brothers in how different you looked. How you carried Targaryen features while they resembled Harwin Strong.

Unknown to you or your brothers at the time Rhaenyra and Laenor did truly try to conceive at least one trueborn child. But in the end, it was all too uncomfortable for them. It was only on their second try did they attempt it in another way. Laenor at first stayed in the room alone getting himself just before his peak so that when Rhaenyra came in all he had to do was empty himself inside of her. That one time resulted in you. The only child related to Laenor in both blood and name.

Jace comes and pulls Luke away to watch a fight you couldn't care less about. You walked around the yard looking at the various weapons laid out. You knew that you could fight far better than most of the men here, having been trained by Daemon himself.

Bored by the dusty swords and daggers you turn to watch the fight from the other side. Your heart dropped into your ass as you see the man before you.

He was tall...you always thought he would be. His hair sadly no longer carried those curls that once coiled around your fingers as he read to you. An eyepatch sat over his eye breaking your heart as you recalled the night.

"Get off of him!" "Stop it, Jace!" "Don't hurt him!"

You clamped your eyes closed wanting to fight off the painful memory. You were weak then, unable to help. You couldn't protect him in any way that mattered.

The claps of everyone around you had you opening your eyes once more. You watched as Aemond bested Criston in a duel.

"Well done, my prince, You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews...have you come to train?" You see the look on Luke's face and you feel bad for him. He and Jace had spent most of their time trying to learn High Valyrian and barely picked up a sword unless forced to. Aemond had clearly spent all his time training since the accident.

"Open the gates!" Everyone turns to watch as the guards open the gates and men carrying the banners of Velaryon walk in. You walk over to your brothers and hold onto Luke's hands as Vaemond passes by staring Luke down. Vamond's expression only softens as he looks at you and he offers you a warm smile.

The same smile he had given you at Laena's funeral as he took the opportunity to call your brother's bastards in such a sad time. You hear Luke audibly gulp and you try to soothe him by running your fingers over his knuckles.

"Let's go inside." You place a hand on Jace's back to calm him down as you notice the look of anger on his face at the sight of Vaemond.

As you turn to enter the Red Keep your eyes automatically land on Aemond who now wears an expression you can't quite place. His eyes are only on you and for a moment it feels like there's only you two but Jace is quick to step in front of your view and to give Aemond a look you can't see. Whatever it is has him turning around in anger and returning to sparring with Criston.

You walk with Rhaenyra and Rhaena towards Rhaenys.

"Grandmother" Rhaena calls out and basically runs over to her. You follow behind her.

"Rhaena..." Rhaena stands before her as Rhaenys holds her hand. You step beside her and Rhaenys looks over to you. She steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. "You two have grown beautifully." She kisses both of your cheeks.

"Baela said you might be here." Your mother comes closer, each step wary. "She's done well as your ward. You've um... raised her admirably." Rhaenys doesn't look over and keeps her eyes trained on both you and Rhaena.

"You honour me, Princess." Rhaenys smiles softly at Rhaenyra.

"Might I speak to the Princess alone, girls?" Rhaena looks to your grandmother almost for permission. She nods and lets go of both of you.

"Princess." Rhaena begins to walk away. You give your grandmother another kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Rhaenyra smiles at you as you walk away to join Rhaena.

"What do you think they're talking about?" You both look back once more before heading inside.

"I have no idea." You look at your mother who steps closer to your grandmother. Rhaene takes your arm and you turn to her. "Come. Let us go find the boys."

That night it rained and the sound of thunder filled your old chambers. His face filled your memories. His voice echoed in your ears.

"Can I kiss you Aemond?" Your fingertips ran over the dip of his lips as you imagined what they would feel like on yours."You never have to ask Princess."

You touch your lips at the memory of your first kiss. The only kiss you ever got to share with him. How soft his kiss was, how gentle he was. Your lips yearned for another kiss. Your body begs for his warmth and your heart breaks. It breaks at the memory of when your betrothal was cancelled when you knew the future you both talked about would never happen.

"How many children will we have?" Your head lay in his lap as he read a book, his fingers twirling your hair as you pick the petals of a flower. "As many as you are willing to bear me, Princess." You blush brightly which only brings a smile to his face. But your brain always knows how to ruin the moment as a new thought plagues your mind."Would you be angry at me if I had a girl first?" Aemond closes his book and looks down at you. "I could never be angry at you."

You sat up in your bed to the sound of a knock at the door. Your hands roughly smooth over your head pushing your hair back as if it wipes away the memories and dreams.

How can one live like this? How can one continue on in life like this? He is in every breath you take, every time you close your eyes his face decorates the darkness that you simply wish would consume you. You are reminded of him in every waking moment of your life.

Another knock comes to your chamber doors and you know you have no choice but to start your day. You sweat at the thought of seeing him again.

Will he keep to his words? Will he not be angry with you for being gone for so long? For not sending any letters? You did not want to find out. In truth you just want to stay in your chambers all day and sleep, but for the sake of Luke you would attend the hearing.

"The crown will now hear the petitions." Otto sits on the throne as his voice echoes throughout the hall. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."

Vaemond steps forward as everyone looks towards him. Everyone but Aemond. You can see him in the corner of your eye his gaze is focused on you. Never looking away, never taking a break.

You stand next to Daemon looking forward. Knowing that if you even willed your eyes to move it would land on him. And you couldn't bear to look at him.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand." Vaemond then goes on to talk about the history and the days of Old Valyria. You can't hear him, you can't hear anything once more over the beating of your heart.

"Iksis bisa iā qogror iā elekor?" [Is this a class or a hearing?] Daemon whispers to you. He notices your rigid stance and how you're taking in shallow breaths. He places a hand on your elbow and you look over to him. He gives you a look of "Are you ok?" to which you nod.

He returns back to staring Vaemond down hoping he will eventually burn holes into the side of his head and will fall dead where he stands but not everyone is that lucky. It is only then that he notices a one-eye fucker staring in his direction. He shifts his gaze and notices Aemond staring at you. Aemond can feel someone looking at him and looking towards Daemon before pressing his lips in a thin line and giving Vaemond his attention.

"As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." You are snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of your mother's voice. You look over to her. "If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful hair." Vaemond holds a look of anger towards her. "No, you only speak for yourself. and for your own ambition."

"You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenyra." You look towards Alicent. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Next to her, you see the smirks of both Aegon and Aemond. You know they enjoy this, seeing Luke be openly called a bastard.

Why are your brothers blamed and dragged through the mud for what your mother has done? Are they not innocent in their own conceivement?

Vaemond gives Alicent a slight nod before turning towards your family.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" He speaks to your mother in a condescending tone. "I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it."

Your heart twinges for your mother. You feel conflicted all the time. On one hand, your brothers are indeed not blood-related to your father. But he had accepted them as his sons publicly no doubt. What could he have done for people to recognize them as his children? On the other hand, Vaemond proves a point in matters of blood. But is it not the last names people remember?

They both ride dragons, and they learn the tongue of the dragon. They are everything Targaryen but in matters of looks and blood. But that is more than enough for people to shun them. You want to side with them with your full heart, but how can you when you understand the opposition's points?

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

You look up in awe as you watch your grandsire slowly walk into the room. The only sound was the tapping of his cane against the floor. You had not seen him in so long, he looked so old and different. Hunched over and in pain.

You watch as he makes his way up to the throne and Daemon aids him. Otto moves over to stand next to Alicent and you can see the confusion and anger on his face. His plans are ruined and whatever chance he had at getting the Velaryons on their side is squandered.

"I must...admit...my confusion." Your grandsire breathes quickly as he tries to regain his strength. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You listen as he calls for your grandmother to speak.

You feel hot. This room feels hot. You pull repeatedly at the band on your wrist. A coping mechanism you developed when you felt so far away from everything. You snap the band against your wrist as you listen to your grandmother who only further pushes for Corly's wishes for Lucerys to be the next Lord of the Tides. You miss her announcing the marriage between your brothers and cousins.

You can't focus. He is still staring at you. You make the mistake of closing your eyes cause when you open them they are on him. You take in a sharp breath and stare back at him. Your heart feels as though someone is squeezing it, your chest heavy as if a dragon sits atop it. You want nothing more than to go over there but you keep your feet planted.

"That is no true Velaryon." You jump slightly looking towards your uncle as he angrily points at Luke. "and certainly no nephew of mine." Your mother tells your brothers to head to their chambers before attempting to silence Vaemond.

"You can not all be blind surely? To look upon both my grandniece and her sons and think they share the same father?" Everyone looks at you and for a moment you wish you could shrink into the walls, fade into the people behind you. "She even skips her daughter so that her son could inherit Driftmark when it belongs to my niece. She wishes to cover her tracks and erase my niece's future." You've never felt that way. You were never upset at your mother's decisions. Maybe you always assumed you'd end up with Aemond. "Gods be damned...I will not see it ended on the account of this-" Your eyes widen as you realize what he wishes to say.

You feel a heat radiate beside you and notice the body language of Daemon has changed. A hand rests on his sword as his head is cocked to the side.

"Say it." He whispers softly. Vaemond gives Daemon a smug look.

"Her sons...are BASTARDS! And she...is...a whore." Everyone gasps and you notice the heat beside you is missing. You watch as King Viserys unsheaths his dagger and calls for your uncle's tongue.

You then hear a thud and turn and see Vaemond's body hit the floor. His head was cut off at the mouth, his tongue still attached. Much happens in those moments but your eyes stay on Vaemond's body. It is only when your mother places a hand on your cheek you look away.

"Go with your grandmother. She might need comfort."

You stand next to Rhaenys, holding her hand as the silent sisters work on your uncle.

"Did you ever feel that way, little ocean?" You look over to her as her eyes are trained upon his seperated head. "As if your mother was trying to erase you?"

"No, grandmother. To be honest. I had always imagined myself living here, in the Red Keep." You looked around the room watching the sisters move slowly and carefully.

"Married to Aemond." Your quick to look back towards her she offers you a faint smile before turning to you. "Come back with me, to Driftmark. Your grandsire would love to see you and I have missed your presence." You nod, not caring to say that you should ask the permission of your mother and father.

The Grand Maester walks over and speaks. You stare at the body of your uncle once more. Is this justice? He called your mother a whore and your brother bastards...but was he wrong?

"The Stranger has visited me more times than I can count, Grand Maester." You feel her squeeze your hand. "I assure you, he cares little whether my eyes are open or closed." You watch as he leaves. "You should go, little ocean. Your grandsire wishes for you to eat with your family."

"Will you not dine with us?" You brush your fingers against her hand.

"I fear I have lost my appetite." She kisses your head. "We will take our leave on the morrow." You nod before leaving the room with a final look towards your uncle.

As you enter the dining hall your family is already there. The table already has its sides. On the right sit your mother and your family and on the left sit the Queen and hers. The separation hurts you and you wish you could do something about it. Mend it in whatever way possible. You would give your own life if it meant uniting your family.

Jacerys offers his seat so you can sit next to Baela and he moves to her other side. The switch puts you next to Aegon but you do not mind. He has never been one to bother you before, and only ever makes small jokes, which you would never admit to his face, can be funny.

"Mother?" Rhaenyra turns in her chair towards you.

"Yes, my heart?" She places a hand on your arm you smile at the name. Each one of you had one, Jace was often referred to as her love, Luke as her sweet boy, and you her heart.

"Grandmother has requested I return with her to Driftmark... I'd like to. To see grandsire, if that is all right with you." She smiles softly and brings your hand to her lips as she kisses it.

"Of course." You hear the doors open and see your grandsire being carried in. "We will talk more later. Go sit." You walk over to your chair and stand until he is placed in his spot.

As you walk over you look up and see his eyes on you once more. He stands at the head of the table watching you. You sit only when you notice everyone else does and clasp your hands together when Alicent calls for prayer. You've read about the Seven and know only as much as books taught you. You hear Alicent's prayer but you pray your own. You ask The Warrior and The Smith to give you strength, you beg for forgiveness from The Maiden for your thoughts and acknowledge The Stranger, for you both feel like outcasts in this world.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena." It is only then that you feel the weight of his gaze lift, as he looks at your brother on the other end of the table. Your grandsire calls for a toast to your brothers. He calls for another toast for Lucerys as the future Lord of the Tides.

"I also want to say. How beautifully my granddaughter has grown." You feel the eyes of everyone turn to you, and your mother smiles. Even Alicent gives you a genuine gentle smile. "Im sure by your next nameday we will have found a suitable match for your hand. Let us toast in hopes you will find someone deserving of you." Everyone raises their glass.

But it is only Aemond who does not. You watch as Aegon leans over you towards Baela.

"He does know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

"Let it be cousin," Baela responds clearly annoyed. Jace responds but you don't hear it whatever he says has Aegon sitting back down fully in his seat.

You stare forward as King Viserys makes a speech. You return to snapping the band against your wrist as you again feel the heat of his stare. Words are shared between the Queen and your mother before Aegon gets up and sets himself in between Baela and Jace.

"I, um I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask-" Jace bangs his hands on the table before standing up which leads to Aemond standing up as well ready to protect his brother if need be.

Aegon sits down quickly next to you. More speeches go on, too many speeches. You wish everyone would just shut up so we can all be done with this dinner. Either that or let us remove our masks and speak the truth. You have grown tired of this tension and fake genuineness.

You remain next to Aegon as food is brought out and Jace takes Helaena to dance. You can see the look on his face. He looks over your family with a sort of longing. Everything he has ever wanted on display in front of him.

"Would you care to dance uncle?" He looks over to you with a surprised look on his face. He puts down his cup and is about to put out his hand when someone clears their throat. You look over to the noise and see Aemond staring at the two of you.

"Not if I wish to lose my head." He picks his cup back up and returns to watching everyone. You look over to Aemond who only stares at you with no emotion.

You watch as guards walk over to your grandsire and take him away. You make a plan in your head to go visit him tonight to speak to him.

The mood is only spoiled as a pig is placed in front of Aemond. You hear the light chuckles of Luke and curse him in your head. You flinch as Aemond's hand bangs the table and he stands up picking up his cup.

"Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace...Luke...and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise..." And in that pause alone you feel that separation between families grow. "...strong. Come...let us drain our cups to these three strong boys."

"I dare you say that again." You tense as Jace speaks already being able to tell where this is going.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond lowers his cups and walks over to Jace. "Do you not think yourself strong?" Jace punches Aemond...or...attempts to. Aemond still stands unwavering and not a drop spilt from his cup.

Aegon grabs Luke who tries to walk over to help Jace and slams his head on the table. You stand up and walk over to Aegon and pull his hair, yanking his head back. He releases Luke and only smiles up at you. You put him in the same position he had your brother in, slamming his head against the table and holding him down until guards come and step in between you two.

You remain standing at the chairs as the sides are made once more. You stand somewhat in the middle. Jace attempts to run back over to Aemond but Daemon steps in front of him.

"Go to your quarters. All of you go now." Your siblings and cousins leave but you remain still standing in your spot. You watch as Aemond and Daemon stare at each other silently. Aemond then turns to you and so does everyone else, he looks at you and then hums to himself as he walks out of the room.

"Come little rogue." Daemon puts his arm out for you. You take his arm, your mother pats your cheek and you follow him out of the room.

You sit in your mother and Daemon's chambers caring for young Aegon and Viserys along with a couple of maids.

Your mother walks in and takes a seat next to Daemon.

"I will see the boys home. Then I will return on dragonback." She holds Daemon's hand.

"Just the boys?" He asks looking over at you.

"Grandmother has asked me to return with her and Baela to Driftmark." He nods.

"Head to bed rogue." You nod and stand up walking over to your parents. You kiss your mother's cheek and place a hand on her stomach before walking past Daemon and pulling on the small ponytail in his hair softly and leaving the room.

Daemon watches as you leave with a smirk on his face and waits until the door is closed to speak.

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" Rhaenyra is taken aback by Daemon's tone. He stands up and paces.

"Who, my love?" She rubs her belly as she watches her children play.

"Aemond." He scowls. "He's been looking at her since we arrived as if he wants to take her where she stands. Which is impressive since the fucker only has one eye." he sits back down.

"They were once betrothed Daemon. Before that, they were closer than any of the kids. They spent all their free time together." She smirks at her husbands's protectiveness. It didn't take long for him to see you as one of his own daughters.

"We should discuss her future marriage. Maybe it's time we start looking for a husband for her." Rhaenyra nods.

"We will speak to her about it when she returns from Driftmark. Vaemond was right about one thing...she is being erased...I had not realized I was doing that." Daemon took her hand and placed the other on her bump.

"That fucker didn't know what he was talking about. You are a great mother to her, and she has had no complaints about her inheritance." She knows he's right.

"Nonetheless. If there is one thing I can give her is a choice. She will decide who she marries. I would feel better knowing it's a man of her own choosing."

Your handmaids leave the room once you're finished being dressed for bed. You sit in front of your vanity staring at yourself.

When had you become someone you didn't recognize? When did you begin just walking the earth instead of living on it? When had you become so...lonely.

You walk over to the balcony and step outside. Pulling your robe tighter to your body against the cold air. You close your eyes and though you aren't sure who it is you are speaking to you beg them to help you. To bring you happiness and peace.

"Mandianna" You hear him from behind you. You turn around slowly and see him standing inside your room. You slowly walk in and close the balcony doors behind you, locking them.

"...Aemond..." You move to take another step to him but he raises a hand.

"For as long as I can remember you...Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you." You take a deep breath as he speaks. "And now that you're here...I'm in agony." He takes a step towards you. "The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you...I can't breathe." He stops in front of you a hand on your cheek. "I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar." He lowers his head so he hovers just above your lips. "You are in my very soul, tormenting me...what can I do? I will do anything you ask."

You stare up into his eyes and feel drawn into them. You drown in them putting up no fight. Wanting to feel that darkness that has followed you all these years surround you.

"Kiss me." And he does and it is everything you've imagined. You give him full reign and kisses you with the same intensity that a drowning man comes up for air.

When he finally pulls away he admires your bruised lips and brushes the tears from your eyes.

"Aemond...I have grieved for what we could have been...so much time has passed. And our families have only grown farther apart." He kisses the side of your cheek.

"But what is grief if not love persevering?" He wraps his arms around your waist pulling you right against him as his eyes meet yours. "I have yet to meet another soul who is fluent in my language..but you? You are fluent in me." You place your hands on his chest. "Marry me. In the tradition of our ancestors. Let my blood become yours, and yours mine." You see the hope in his eyes.

"And what of our families?" They would never accept this." You try to pull away but he holds you tight against him.

"I refuse to sacrifice the one person who sees me for who I am for a family who barely sees me for the mask I wear." He leads you towards your bed and sits you down at the edge of it before sitting before you on his knees. "You are mine. You were always meant to be mine."

His hands trail up your legs as a smirk spreads over his face.

"Aemond. We can't." He pushes up your nightgown while kissing his way up your legs.

"I will not spoil you. I will only wish for a preview of what will be mine." He pushes your dress up all the way and pulls down your small clothes. He pulls your legs over his shoulder as he lowers himself in between your thighs.

He wastes no time drinking you up. His tongue tastes whatever he can, his nose brushing against your bud softly. His tongue stiffens inside of you as he finds that place his brother had told him about. It has you lying down covering your mouth.

"Ae-Aemond..." He moans against your cunt in pleasure at your moans of his name. "Please..." you're unsure of what it is you are begging for but whatever it is you know you need it.

He brings a finger to better rub your bud as he fucks you with his tongue. He can feel you clenching and watches as you're soon arching off of the bed holding on to his hair.

The feeling is unlike anything you've experienced. A large opposite from how dark you have been feeling. You feel lighter as if pent-up energy has been released.

He gives your bud one last kiss before walking away and returning with a wet cloth. He wipes his face first before gently cleaning you. When he's done you sit up and he sits next to you pulling you into his lap.

You feel how hard he is below you and move so your legs are wrapped around his torso. You grind down on him and he looks up at you holding on to your hips. The friction against your bud only builds back up that feeling in your stomach. You kiss Aemond as he continues to guide you so you're grinding down on him. He picks up speed his mouth agape.

Without saying anything you reach and pull the eye patch off of him. Aemond stops and looks away hiding his face. You place a hand on his cheek and turn him back to you.

"Gevie." You kiss his scar gently and admire the sapphire that replaces his eye. He returns to grinding you down on him lewd thoughts fuelling his actions. His breaths become louder and you even hear a gentle moan from him.

"Fuck~" you feel him stiffen beneath you. He presses his forehead against your chest pulling you flush against him.

"I will speak to my mother and even my father. If they say no. I will come for you and only then will I fuck you and mark my name into your wet cunt so that they will have no choice but to marry us."

He kisses you again. You taste yourself on his tongue.

"You say that as if the breaking of Princess' maidenheads has not been hidden before. They could easily give me to someone who would not care."

"To that...mandianna. I tell you that idiots are highly flammable...and we ride dragons..." He kisses your exposed chest.

"I say...let them burn."

A/N: This was for the girls who dream of marrying a prince and end up falling for the misunderstood villain.

I have thought of doing another part or turning this into a mini-series at least. But for now, this is just a one-shot.

Shoutout to the Star Wars Anakin monologue that fueled me to write this anyway.

Taglist: @thought--bubble @valeskafics @dixie-elocin

#ewan mitchell verse #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader

[valfeathers]

BENS!! i forgot how fun drawing/designing pastas can be,,, i’m re obsessing

ramble down here btws,, //death mentions since he is a ghost

ok so ben is an old fave and i have thoughts. this first new hc design isn’t that remarkable except for the fact that instead of trying to make ben look like a dark/‘corrupted’ link, i tried to draw him like a kid in a hand-stitched link costume.

i will be drawing/writing(?) ben as a kid btw, specifically a ghostly 12 year old kid whose hobbies include trying to stress his cohabitants into early retirement.

the ben fullbody on the left is a slightly more corporeal form that he uses when out in the open and interacting with people in person. while still ghostly (like. swipe at him and your hand will go straight through him kinda ghostly) it’s more solid and has more of his features that he possessed before his death. he floats!! that’s his main mode of transportation in the open. he floats.

the one on the right is one that you’d see onscreen! he’s quite literally ‘rendered’ differently giving his victims that patented dread associated with ben. uncanny valley yk

when scared or upset his pupils vanish leaving you with those empty dark scleras. this doesn’t happen often though!

anyways that’s all for now!! an anon asked me to draw hoodie so i’m off to go do that :)

#ben drowned #creepypasta #finally posting these quick quick come get em #i need to make a google doc. the hyperfixation is spreading #i still love ben sm he has lots of good memories (and people) associated w him in my mind :) #creepypasta fanart #ben drowned fanart #creepypasta headcanons #v’s gallery #clip studio paint

[nisuna]

Dubcon? Reader is blindfolded and restrained to a bed and the only way they’ll be released is if they can guess which one of the anemo boys tongues is eating them out (anemo boys take turns eating reader out) ☺️

Uuuuhhh yaay a Genshin one >×<

Anemo boys have my heart especially (my C3😏) Kazuha 🥰

Thank you for your take!!<3

~short drabble~

You didn't know why you agreed to this. Who would let themselves get blindfolded and bound to bed with the task of guessing who was eating them out. Uh, you of course! (And Kazuha sweet talking you into it. Darn him.)

Venti was first and he did surprisingly well, but he was an old Archon after all, so he must've gotten it back in the day, right! He started off slow, easing his fingers into you and kitten-licking your clit. After a while he sped up and switched to sucking and slightly nipping on your clit. Surprise, surprise he made you cum on his face in record time.

Mext was Scara, oh no. He'd definitely be mean. Making you look at him between your legs while he kept avoiding your clit completely and only finger fucking you. "Keep them spread like that or you won't be cumming tonight." Oh, and of course he'd edge you. The sadist in him stayed even though he changed his identity. He'd blow on your core making you clench around nothing making you whine and calling you pathetic afterwards. :( He was kind enough to let you cum in the end, but with a lot of begging and namecalling involved.

Kazuha was a heavenly sent aber the last one. He was kind and kept talking you through it asking if you felt good and praising you for taking his finger so well. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, making your back arch from the bed and your toes curl. He put your legs over his shoulders, alternating between nipping at your soft thighs and your throbbing clit. You never wanted this to end to say the least. On top of making you feel so good his touch made you all fuzzy inside, caging his face between your legs and slightly rutting your hips against his tongue. And this angel let you do it! You were in pure bliss as soon as he made you cream all over his fingers and tongue. He even cleaned you with his tongue almost pushing you over the edge again. But there was still more cum!

Next was Heizou. He was definitely a little tease, but not as bad as Scara. He knew how to work you open alternating between sinking his fingers in your wet heat and and occasionally dipping his tongue in, making sure to pay attention to your clit at all times. Either with his fingers or tongue. He read somewhere about writing the alphabet with your tongue while eating someone out, because it made the pattern random. God did that work. He kept spelling different words with his tongue against your clit making you squirm, only for him to put his arm around your tummy to stop you from running away. He definitely made you cum hard.

"Here, you can hold onto my hair." Oh Xiao. Behind his stoic exterior he was defintely very shy not exactly knowing what to do. But he gained some confidence after watching the other guys attentively. So he basically made out with your cunt slurping loudly trying to fit in as many fingers as possible. Making you gasp and almost lose your breath. He felt a bit clumsy but when he heard you call his name and pull on his hair he went Conqueror of Demons mode, folding you in half and almost eating you alive. Your tiny mewls spurring him on and making you cum so suddenly it knocked the air out of you. Suffice to say he did a good job for his alleged first time.

Bonus Aether. Definitely not as experienced and very shy so he just made you ride his face and do your own thing. It was a nice change and stark contrast to the other guys.

So how's your score looking did you manage to guess everyone? Yes and No. You were too fucked out to form a coherent sentence and almost missed one of them whispering if they should play the guessing game again. But this time you'd have to guess who's fucking you. Oh boy, it's going to be a long night.

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Feel free to send me your Hot Takes as well ^^

#takes with nini♡ #genshin smut #genshin x reader #anemo boys #venti smut #venti x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #kazuha smut #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha smut #heizou smut #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #xiao smut #xiao x reader #aether smut #aether x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

hii! welcome back!! i love love love your writing:)

i’m not sure if you’ve written something like this but the reader is stressed over studying for an exam, she’s in the library until very late at night when one of the marauders (i can’t decide who, you can choose!) finds her dozed and trying to force herself to stay awake. then he finds out she hasn’t been eating properly. then he asks “are you okay?” and that’s what it takes for her to break down into tears? sorry if this is weird! i’m usually a silent reader. so mostly just a lot of angst and comfort, then fluff? thank you for taking time to read this! it’s okay if you can’t write it!

thank you so so much again! so glad you requested 😊 really hope you like it!!

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader word count: 1.4k description: fluffy; i left it up to you a bit at what stage you read their relationship

All the words finally made sense. It was like a puzzle. And it all fit together just like this. Or wait was it a different way? Should you go back to that first thread or follow this new one? Wait what was the first one again? There were some words. You couldn’t remember the words, but you knew how important it was that you put them in the right order…

“Sweetheart…”

What?

“Sweetheart…” you hear again.

You open your eyes and see a bunch of crowded words on parchment right in front of you. You realize you’d fallen asleep on your notes, that they’d bled into your stress dreaming. 

“There you are.” The voice is warm and gentle. You know it.

“You fell asleep, love. It’s late. Thought it was weird I never saw you come back, so I came to look for you.” 

“Remus?”

“Yeah, pretty girl. It’s me. Wake up.” 

You sit up, and Remus adjusts your hair and jumper for you as you rub at your face. 

“I was studying.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “But I think you need some rest now, don’t you?”

“Don’t I need some rest, or don’t I think so too?”

Remus laughs softly. 

“Too clever for your own good. Get out of study mode, lovely,” he tells you, bringing his hand to your head and scratching your scalp playfully.

You lean into it on instinct, loving his touch and his comfort after a long, lonely day in the library. Remus had wanted to study with you or at least keep you company, knowing how stresses out you were about this upcoming exam, but you told him he was too distracting and you’d find him later. That must’ve been many hours ago. 

Remus notices you shifting into his touch, and he slides his whole body closer to you. 

“Hey, you okay?” he whispers. 

“I..” you start, thinking “I’m fine” will come out automatically as it always does. But it gets stuck in your throat. It gets stuck on a lump there that is making itself more and more felt. 

“I…” you try again, but this time your voice completely cracks. 

“Hey, hey, come here, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Remus responds, bringing you into his embrace. He holds your head to his chest, wraps his other arm around you, caressing your back. 

You immediately start sobbing. 

“It’s alright,” he keeps repeating. He holds you close and pets you more intensely. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble through panting breaths into his jumper. 

“It’s okay,” he says quickly in his warmest tones. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m just sorry I didn’t come look for you earlier.”

“Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” you admit, pulling back and wiping your face with your sleeves, not feeling brave enough to look him in his warm brown eyes. “You shouldn’t need to take care of me. I should be able to do that myself. I just got a little carried away. I don’t know why I’m freaking out so much over this exam.” 

He shakes his head gently at you and brings his hands to either side of your face, lifting it to look into his and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“There’s nothing embarrassing about caring a lot, Y/N. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he smiles adoringly. “And there’s nothing wrong with needing people, love. I’m happy to be here for you. I just wish you’d let me.” 

You nod slightly and manage to keep his gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. 

“No more of that. You don’t have to be sorry, okay?”

“Okay…” 

“I mean it, Y/N,” he says with a gentle firmness only Remus could deliver. 

“Okay,” you say more certainly. 

“Good.” 

He kisses your forehead quickly then goes to pack up your stuff. As he’s stacking your notes, your stomach makes a low rumble. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more embarrassed. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” His tone is chiding but teasing. 

“We had that pie…” 

“With me?!” he startles. You nod. 

“Baby, that was ages ago. Come on, we’ll find you something.” 

Remus takes your bag, just tssking at your pathetic objection as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder. He takes your hand, and you walk out of the library together. 

You walk in silence, but just Remus’s presence next to you gives you a quiet peace you’d definitely been missing. You lean your head on his shoulder the rest of the way, and he can’t stop his subtle smile the entire time.

When you get to the common room, he sits you down on the sofa, rubbing your shoulders dotingly and kissing the crown of your head before standing straight up. You’re confused why he’s not already sitting next to you. 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” You pout at his words. “I know, I’ll be quick, sweetheart; I promise.” He turns to go then turns back to you. “Those notes better still be stuffed in your bag when I get back.” He points a finger at your bag then at you, and you giggle and nod. He wags his finger a bit in emphasis, staring at you hard, then turn and bounds up the stairs toward the boy’s dormitories. 

It’s a mere couple of minutes later you hear him bouncing back down, but you’re confused to hear multiple sets of footsteps. You turn and see Remus walking back toward you and Sirius walking toward the door. 

“Hi, Y/N/N,” says Sirius. “So needy, aren’t you?” he teases then is out the door. 

“Where’s he going?” you ask Remus as he settles in next you. 

“He’s going to sneak into the kitchens for us.” You go to object, but Remus softly places his fingers on your lips. “He’s happy to, lovely. No matter how much he denies it, Sirius is a sweetheart.” 

“I know he is, Rem, but I really hate being all this trouble. All over a little exam.”

“It’s a big exam and very little trouble. We’re your friends, Y/N. When are you going to let us be here for you as much as you’re here for us?” 

“I don’t know,” you whisper honestly. You look down and are mortified to feel on the brink of tears again. Godric, you really did need some sleep.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Remus starts, but quickly adds, “Or do, if you need to. Just do what you need to do, and I’m here, okay?” 

He’s the sweetest person alive, you think, and you throw yourself into his arms. He chuckles at your affection but returns it immediately. You shift till his arms are around you, and you lift your legs into his lap, which he lovingly welcomes, pulling you close. 

“You’re really kind, Rem, you know that?”

 “Am I? Not doing much really.” 

“I’ll start letting you help me with things when you start taking my compliments,” you say through a strained, tired smile. 

“I’ll work on it,” he cedes.

You sit in silence together, the fire crackling nearby, Remus’s hands caressing you, and you find yourself dangerously close to sleep. Your eyes feel really heavy, keeping them open a struggle in vain. 

Remus feels you tense up every once in a while before slowly relaxing into him again. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers into your hair. “Just rest, okay? When Sirius gets back, we’ll have something to hold you over, and then I’m sending you to bed.” 

“I don’t wanna go to bed.” You sound like a little kid, and he chuckles at you. 

“You have to rest, Y/N. No more studying tonight.” 

“I wasn’t gonna,” you say, your voice slurred with sleep. “I don’t wanna go to bed because I want to be with you.” Even in your sleepy state, you register Remus tense slightly at this clarification. 

“You’re the only thing that’s relaxing, Rem,” you go on. Your exhaustion is making you honest, your lacking the energy to over-think and filter. “You’re so warm and sweet, and I like how you care about me… and how you smell.” You nuzzle into his jumper. 

Remus is quiet, but he squeezes your body against his. Then softly, before you fall asleep, you hear his whisper, “Yeah, I care about you, darling. Adore you actually. More than anything.” A beat. “Okay, sweet girl. If this is how you’ll fall asleep, I’ll hold you all night.” He kisses your head again and adds, “I’ll hold you for forever if you’ll let me…”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fluff #remus x reader #remus x you #remus x y/n #marauders #marauder x reader #marauders fanfic #harry potter fanfic #sirius black

[queer-n-here]

mayhaps...... some corruption, breeding, mating press, cruel levels of edging and some dubcon if ok? with akutagawa and atsushi ♡ or poe and dazai.

second offhand idea would be using a controlled vibrator on them in public uwu

(with poe itd be more so him becoming our little fleshlight, to make it different from last ask with poe ;3) TLDR; I WANT THAT MAN IMPREGNATED!!!also remember to take breaks and not overwork yourself!!

~🕸

Aww thanks! Is 🕸️ the emoji you chose to be? 'Cause it's giving spiderman. Also oh my god?? You totally read my mind???

So here you go, Atsushi and Akutagawa! I changed the contents a lil bit, but I hope you like it!

Contents: Breeding, corrupting and overstimming Atsushi in front of a mirror. Putting a vibrator up Akutagawa's ass in public.

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, nipple play (Atsushi), breeding kink (Atsushi), corruption kink (?) (Atsushi), mirror sex (Atsushi), praise kink (Atsushi), dubcon, overstimming (Atsushi), sex toys (Akutagwa), public (Akutagwa), punishment (Akutagwa).

Nakajima Atsushi

Oh the thought of corrupting this man has me in a trap hold.

Holding him by the cheek as you fuck him in front of a mirror, making him watch every single movement of your cock as it slides in and out of his slutty hole.

Let him try to struggle to pull his face away from your grasp, but you both know that it's no use; if you want him to watch you fuck him then he will.

Make him focus on that bulge that appears and disappears in his stomach every time you thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin almost drowned in the lewd noises pouring from his mouth.

Atsushi would do anything you ask him to, so sit back and tell him to ride you, then watch as he flushes so beautifully you almost lose control and fuck him into oblivion yourself.

And then, as he tries to move his hips in a slow rhythm on your lap, tease and bite his nipples.

Hear him complaining about how he wasn't good enough yet at this, and make him beg for you to fuck him before you do, his tight ass clenching around you at the pleasure.

Tell him you're gonna impregnate him and make him birth your children. It'll make him arch his back like a little slut and clutch at your arms desperately, his brain all fogged and cloudy from the feeling of your cock in him.

Make him cum over and over and over again, only stopping to push him down on his back to put him in a mating press. He'll cry and scream, begging you to stop, to let him take a break.

But don't listen to him. Keep overstimulating his little cock and hole both, stroking in rhythm to each thrust that hits his sweet spots. Wipe away those pretty tears of his even as more drip down from his eyes onto his red cheeks.

Once you're done, take him to the bathroom and clean him up, whispering in his ear about how good he is for you, and how pretty he looks all fucked out, then watch as he gets hard again.

But don't indulge in him all over again just yet, make him beg and try to convince you that he NEEDS you to fuck him, to put your cock inside him and bully all those pleasing spots inside him with your tip.

And when you do decide to listen (because he's YOUR pretty baby after all, you have to take care of him) make sure you have him screaming and writing beneath you again.

Ryunoske Akutagawa

I can imagine Akutagawa being so bratty you have no other choice but to put a little toy in him on your next date.

He'd try to act like it didn't bother him, that there was no way this would even be a punishment that bad, but deep down he'd know what grave he'd dug for himself when he sits down, feeling the toy nudge ever so slightly against his walls.

So don't go easy on Akutagawa, switch the toy only on the low mode in the beginning, and then watch as your sensitive boyfriend tries to muffle his moans with his sleeve, disguise them as coughs and even use fractions of Rashoumoun to stop them from spilling.

But you wouldn't let him off that easily, would you? Sneakily use your own ability to pry Rashoumoun away as you switch the toy to the medium level, making Akutagawa gasp and shudder.

Watch as some people turn their heads to give him weird looks as you guide him to walk through a crowd on your arm, smirking when their gazes make him whine into the sleeve of your jacket.

Turn it up to high every time Akutagawa tries to open his mouth to speak. He tries to suggest sitting down somewhere? Interrupt him with five continuous seconds of the high level that has his legs trembling so bad he needs to clutch you to stand.

Then raise your eyebrows innocently as he pants and huffs, tears streaming down his face at the situation, and ask him what he was saying.

When Akutagawa tries to talk again, repeat your teasing, till he's begging you through whimpers hidden in his sleeve to please, please, PLEASE, just be nice to him, he swear he won't ever be bratty again.

So take him to a nice restaurant, and make him order for you two while you constantly turn the toy a notch higher, making him squirm and shoot you pleading glances with his blurred up eyes.

When the waiter asks if Akutagwa's feeling okay, he has no other option but to jump at the chance, saying that he feels a bit 'under the weather' before dashing away to the bathroom to jerk off.

Follow him to the bathroom, and put your cock in him right next to the toy before turning it to the highest setting.

Akutagwa'll never be bratty again (or so he swears).

#dom male reader #dom reader #top male reader #sub bsd x you #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dog x you #sub bungou stray dogs #sub akutagawa x you #sub akutagawa #sub atsushi x you #sub atsushi

[vmpiires]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

„𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓”

𝐂𝐖;; 18+ content, MDNI. afab!reader, obsessive!choso, masturbation, mentions of sex (?), praise kink (?), no uses of y/n. not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; MAPPA. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 2.3OK

dark mode recommended

do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; being on c.ai just gave me this idea. ya probably missed my smut so im back at it. here’s choso for everybody that asked (more of him coming up!) hope ya enjoyyyyy reblog to support meeeee and if you want more :D and merry christmas eve!!

another note: i was listening to “in for it” by tory lanez when writing this…i think it’s perfect. i was also listening to “from the start” by laufey…that inspired the plot also. also the (?) means that i listed the warning just in case it happens and i may change my mind mid story so still be cautious! (putting that in for my future stories) (some aspects inspired by: @chososdiscordkitten)

choso was lying on his bed and he was holding his phone. he was now looking over at his text messages and he saw that his “friend” was now texting him. that “friend” was you. he sighed softly and he put his phone down and let his hand travel down to between his legs.

he was already rubbing himself lightly ans slowly. he started to breathe in and out slowly. his body would become hot as he was thinking of you and how he wanted to have you back in his presence.

you and choso were really close. you met through his kid brother, yuji. the younger assumed that choso should try to go out and find himself some acquaintances to keep him occupied. it was also the right thing to do, considering that curses weren’t really accepted by society and he was a hybrid.

you both hit it off pretty quickly. you thought he was funny because of his awkwardness and tendency to get flustered every time you compliment him. he doesn’t hear those very often.

he had been thinking about all the different things he could say to you and he was just staring at your message with his thoughts swirling in his head like a storm. he also began to think of the possibility of you breaking his heart and the fact that you were probably talking to some other guy. you probably liked him better. he began thinking of how he can stop it before it starts. so you never leave him.

his fingers started to stroke his erection in a consistent rhythm and he was letting his thoughts takeover. he was imagining you with him and imagining you in a vulnerable position, wanting him and needing him

his strokes became faster and his breathing became more erratic, his body was starting to tense up as he couldn’t help but imagine you in every position. he let his mind become intoxicated by his lust and this sensation of losing control.

he was nearing the point of no return, he was taking heavy breaths and his body was tensing and relaxing in a consistent rhythm. he started to speak aloud and he would moan softly and he whispered your name under his breath, hoping no one can hear him.

he could feel himself getting close and his breathing was becoming faster and his voice now sounded like a growl as he let your name slip through his lips repeatedly. his breath was now hot and his body was tensing up and his fingers and fists were now clenching tightly as the sensation grew inside of him.

right before he could finish, he heard a knock on his door. choso sucked his teeth and covered himself with his blanket, slightly frustrated that he couldn’t completely satisfy himself without being interrupted. he would quickly try to slow his breathing before answering the door.

the door opens and yuji is standing there with an eager smile, “hey, did you wanna come to the mall with me and my friends later? i know it’s hot as hell out since it’s summer but we shouldn’t be inside all day.”

choso couldn’t see himself but he knew he was flustered and his chest was still moving up and down a bit quickly. it made yuji slightly suspicious.

“you sound outta breath, are you okay?”

“no—i mean, yes, i’m fine.” choso swallowed, running a hand through his hair. at this moment, choso didn’t have his hair up in his twintails like he normally did…part of that reason was because you mentioned that you liked him with his hair down and that he should wear that style a bit more often. it was also because he takes the rubber bands out of his hair after being out all day and wearing them as bracelets until the next time he had to leave the house.

“right,” yuji chuckled, “i’ll let you know when later if i’m still going.” the pink haired boy began to walk out of choso’s room but he quickly stopped him before the door closed.

“yeah?”

“is…you know who…gonna be there?” choso asked. the question alone made yuji smirk and lean against the doorframe in a goofy manner. it wouldn’t be a surprise if he picked this kind of stuff up from gojo.

“oh, yeah. she’ll be there.” yuji smiled. that’s when choso felt like he had to actually look like something today. he wanted to impress you. he wanted you to compliment him again. he wanted you to praise him. to give him the satisfaction that he had been craving from you for so long.

when yuji left the room, choso looked at his phone, reading the time. it was still a bit early in the morning. ‘9:15 AM’ the clock read. he’d glance down a the wallpaper on his phone, which was you and yuji smiling while eating some ice cream.

‘she’s so pretty…’ he thought. it felt like you were looking directly at him, the longer he stared at the photo, clearly hypnotized by your eyes and your smile. he needed you more than ever and he was gonna make it happen sooner or later.

choso got up and made his way to the bathroom to shower and clean the pre cum off of him. after he was done with his hygiene, he’d put his hair up in his usual twintails then he would put on something simple. a tan oversized sweater with a pair of joggers. he was a simple man and going out in a huge white robe and a gi wasn’t very ideal for the heat that was surging through the city.

a sweater and some joggers weren’t very ideal for this weather either but choso seemed to be fitting in very well…humans did the same thing. some of them.

when it was time to head out with yuji to go to the mall, choso was fully prepared to see you. the male would spray a few squirts of cologne on himself, fix his hair, and he even held out on putting on that eyeshadow that made him look like he didn’t get any ounce of sleep at all.

choso remembered you talking about spider lilies on your story. they came in beautiful colors that looked like they came from a fantasy world and you were in love with them. they were extremely rare and they had a deep meaning behind them.

though, he was aware that they were extremely rare, he was able to get his hands on them after searching around for a while. he found white and red spider lilies. he thought they were a pretty mix of colors. he was even lucky to get one that was white and faded into the usual deep red color like a gradient.

“who are those for?” yuji teased as he peered over at the four spider lilies that choso was carrying with him. the older male’s cheeks flushed a red color, hesitant on answering the question. he couldn’t lie to his brother so he decided to tell the partial truth.

“they’re a home decoration. they aren’t particularly for anyone. they’re for whoever wants them.” the male answered. yuji lifted an eyebrow. he thought it was a bit odd to buy flowers and carry them around until someone asked for them…but choso was still learning so yuji couldn’t blame him for being backwards.

when the two arrived at the mall, choso could see you sitting with nobara and megumi. megumi was spacing out, wandering around the area in circles while you and kugisaki were bumbling about what stores you were going to.

your head suddenly looks up, noticing choso and yuji standing a good distance away, pretty close to the entrance. when you put on a friendly smile and waved in their direction, he was pretty sure you were waving at him.

yuji and choso advance towards you and your other two friends and begin your plans for the day. plans like relaxing at the park or getting some sushi and udon came up. megumi remarking that yuji might stick one or sukuna’s fingers in his meal and call it a secret recipe.

while everyone talked, you noticed that choso was disassociated as usual, holding onto the spider lilies that he bought for you and zoning out.

“hey, how’d you get these?” you asked. choso’s heart skipped a beat when he felt your hand lightly brush against his when you attempted to touch the spider lilies. “they’re so rare.” you added.

“oh—uh…yeah.” choso mumbled. there was a silence. you knew choso was a quiet guy, so you didn’t force him to speak any more than he already had. you reach up and touch the flowers and your smile grows a bit.

“can i?” you begin. choso doesn’t hesitate to hand you the trio of lilies. you weren’t really expecting him to give you all of them since you only wanted to hold one of them. your eyes light up at the rare white one that faded into red. it caught your eye quicker than the regular red and white ones that were in that set of spider lilies.

choso fixed his lips to say something but yuji had come over to the two, “hey, you guys ready?”

of course, you were over the moon because you couldn’t wait to go shopping and go to your favorite places with nobara. you nod and trotted off, already knowing where you were going for your first store.

‘she didn’t give the flowers back…’ choso was in awe when you walked away, holding your favorite species of flowers in your hands. he felt the heat rising in his cheeks again. he’d take the time to take a mental image of you before smiling to himself.

it might’ve been the one in few times he’s actually smiled.

choso would follow yuji and megumi around, hoping that he’d end up running into you again while they circled around the building. instead of looking at things to buy, his thoughts were entirely filled with you.

he fantasized about what you say to him when it was time to confess. how it would feel to kiss you just one time. to sit in a park by all the cherry blossom trees and just have a long conversation about whatever came to mind.

he loved you but you weren’t seeing that. it was frustrating him. then it hit him…you probably did like someone else that wasn’t him. the thought made his chest hurt but he pushed those feelings down because he didn’t want to have a mental breakdown in public. not again.

when the five of you went out to get food after enjoying some time at the mall, choso made sure to sit beside you at the table but also near yuji so nothing was made terribly obvious. he listened to you ramble on about the stuff you bought from the mall. new clothes, a set of undergarments with a robe, and a vase for the spider lilies that you ended up getting from choso.

each time your hand accidentally brushed up against his hand or his arm, he couldn’t help but blush. he’d shove food into his mouth to force himself from smiling when you spoke to him.

this was regular to him. he was more than confident that you were in love with him when you flashed a warm smile at him and asked him for his input on each topic that bounced around the table.

his heart raced each time he fixed his lips to speak, mortified that he’d embarrass himself in front of you but he spoke smoothly and clearer than ever in his low adverb voice. currently, the conversation was on how yuji believed that choso was a terrible teacher. a moment that sent choso into an embarrassed spiral the first time it happened.

“i don’t think you’re a bad teacher,” you assure him, “there’s just things you need to learn and there’s …a million things yuji needs to learn. you both need each other’s support.”

your words meant everything to him and it also gave him a new form of confidence. it wasn’t that he really lacked confidence. he was just too stuck up in his own world to care about anything else.

at the end of your night, unknowingly making choso crave you even more as he continues life with his unrequited love, choso walks with you to the bus stop.

“oh, i meant to say thanks for the flowers. i think it’s a coincidence that you bought them, considering they’re rare…and they’re my favorite.” you say.

“oh…i didn’t know that.” choso replied. he felt terrible for lying. he knew a lot about you. he knew what kind of music you liked, what your favorite movies and shows were. everything. but he didn’t want you to run off because of his tendency to be honest and he might end up saying the wrong thing.

“do you…have instagram?” choso suddenly asks you as he noticed the bus approaching. you don’t think anything of it and you give him your username while he gives you his. he wanted to smile when he felt your phone in his hands but he managed to keep his disassociated expression.

when the bus arrived, the vehicle hissed as its doors opened up so you can board. you looked back at choso and waved goodbye to him and gave him a quick hug before you got onto the bus.

you quickly waved to him again the moment the you sat down on the bus and choso would wave back and there a a subtle smile on his face. once the bus pulled off, his smile faded and he took a breath.

‘next time…i’ll take more direct actions…’

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

#jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #𝐾𝑂𝑇𝐴 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆 書く #jjk #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk x reader #jjk choso #choso x black!reader #anime #choso x reader #choso x reader smut #choso smut #choso x you #choso x female reader #writers on tumblr #writing #obsessive love #jujutsu itadori #jjk itadori #yuji itadori #jujutsu geto #jjk geto #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #jjk smut

[qwertycake]

parental caretaker and kid writing prompts

- younger kid standing on their caretaker's shoes and rocking around. almost like they're dancing or waltzing.

- the thing where the caretaker pulls the kid closer to them by like wrapping their hand around their head and covering their ear and tucking them against them.

- kid sitting on caretaker's shoulders. always a good one.

- "shh, shh, I know, I know"

- any sort of "take me instead" situation, said by either character. devastating.

- dealing with sickness. like obviously the kid getting sick and accidentally calling their caretaker mum/dad/parent in their feverish delirium is super cute and top tier.

- BUT ALSO. hear me out. caretaker getting sick but trying to push through to look after their kid and their kid works super hard to make their job easier or look after them in small ways.

- kid hiding for some reason (minor anxiety or major trauma or anything in between) and the caretaker comforting them or trying to coax them out.

- caretaker sweeping kid up in a big ole bear hug and spinning em around.

- kid hiding behind caretaker.

- "you should be in bed" "I can't sleep" "...alright, get over here, you can stay up for five more minutes"

- caretaker and a maybe slightly older kid arguing and making up.

- caretaker picking up slightly older kid from a party that's gone wrong in some way.

- caretaker who's maybe less like a parent and more like an older sibling. they take their kid to abandoned buildings and eat cheap takeaway/takeout with them.

- caretaker teaching their slightly older kid life skills that they maybe didn't have the chance to pick up on when they were younger.

- or yk just caretaker teaching their younger kid life skills. like trying to get them involved with cooking and lifting them up to help grab things and letting them watch things get cut up and prepared.

- caretaker indulging their younger kid in tea parties with their stuffed animals.

- caretaker looking after a kid's comfort items (bonus point if the kid is older, and double bonus points if the kid is too embarrassed to care for their comfort items themselves).

- younger kid curled up by their caretaker while their caretaker plays videogames. bonus points if the caretaker lets them play like baby mode co-op (like luma in mario galaxy). bonus bonus points if the caretaker is like an older sibling and gives the kid an unplugged controller.

- older kid playing co-op with their caretaker and getting way too invested. bonus points if it's mario kart. bonus bonus points if they're showing each other their favourite games from their respective childhoods (because yk different eras).

- caretaker carrying an exhausted kid to bed.

- better yet, the kid pretends to fall asleep in the car so they can be carried inside (caretaker knows their game but is more than happy to carry them).

- caretaker having a hard day working late and coming home to their kid sleeping peacefully on the couch, clearly having waited for them to come home.

- kid having a hard day at school and caretaker is in the middle of making dinner for them.

- caretaker shielding kid from danger with their body.

- kid refusing to leave caretaker's side when they're both in danger.

#writing #writing prompt #caretaker #found family #found family prompts #parental caretaker #parent child relationship #platonic otp prompt #platonic #whump #whump prompts #genshipping

[melancholy-of-nadia]

Distraction (m) | myg

title: Distraction pairing: yoongi x f. reader rating/genre: m ; smut ; Agust D Universe (AgustDverse?) specifically in the Haegeum Universe ; Gang Leader / Mafia AU summary: After a series of circumstances leads you to be the assistant/right-hand woman of Bangkok's local thief/gang leader Min Suga, you're diligent in fulfilling your role in helping him take down Detective (& Underground Mafia Boss) Agust D. What you didn't expect in this role, was to catch your own boss reading p*rngraphic material during his free time and finding out there are consequences to distracting him. warnings:  dirty talk, hair pulling, slight riding, fingering, breast play, nipple sucking, slight body worship if you squint, COCKWARMING, orgasm denial kinda, she's being punished, There's two Yoongis and Thief ver. is Suga/Yoongi while the Mafia Boss is Agust D IM PUTTING A WARNING FOR THESE MEN ARE DANGEROUS note: this is my first time ever writing a bts fic AND smut in a fic. I've written fics 10 years ago for different fandoms and i never thought I'd be doing this again but I got too stuck on this idea that I needed to LET IT OUT. shout out to my beta reader @daegudrama for beta reading and being a great supporter. Idk if I'll ever expand on this fic but here it is. FEEDBACK & Comments are much appreciated !! total word count: 3.6k drop date: july 1st 2023, 12:00pm pst CROSS POSTED ON AO3 here (honeyjamjoon is my user on there) - -

You stood at the entrance of Suga's run-down, yet aesthetically-looking office in the heart of Bangkok’s Chinatown.

After an abundance of incidents, you begun working as his assistant and right-hand woman in his underground operations to take down Asia Pacific Police Detective Agust D, who moonlights as a mafia leader on the down low. A mafia leader who looks exactly like him. Someone you used to be acquainted with at some point.

As you pushed open the ornate wooden door slightly, you found Suga lying down on the sofa, engrossed in an erotic women's magazine. His face adorned with his signature mischievous smirk as he turned a few pages. Men, you thought to yourself while trying to prevent a scoff from coming out your lips.

"Yoongi," you called out, your voice cutting through the silence of the room. Since you two were closer compared to his other men, you called out to him by his real name often.

Startled, Yoongi quickly closed the magazine and tossed it aside, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Hey doll, can't you knock? I was in the middle of something." Doll, his endearing nickname for you always made you feel some type of way. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you crossed my arms. "Oh, I'm sorry, Boss. I didn't know reading Playboy magazines was part of your daily agenda." you commented sarcastically, rolling your eyes in the process.

Yoongi's cheeks flushed slightly, caught red-handed by his sharp-witted assistant. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "It's...research. Yeah, research on...current trends."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his unusually flustered response. You sauntered closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, Boss, if you're done 'researching,' perhaps we can focus on more pressing matters?"

Yoongi let out a deep sigh, realizing he had been caught in his moment of leisure. "You're right, doll. Let's get down to business.” He moved from his position and straightened up his posture, all business-mode Suga once again. “What's the latest update on Agust?"

As you provided a detailed report on Agust D’s actions, you couldn't help but notice a twinkle of amusement in Yoongi's eyes. He had always been a man of few words, but his gaze held a silent appreciation for your wit and fearlessness in this line of work. Since meeting Yoongi, your professional relationship with him had always been one of mutual respect and trust, despite the dark world you both inhabited.

"You've done well, doll," Yoongi finally acknowledged at the end of your report, his voice laced with admiration. "I appreciate your dedication in doing this. This isn’t easy work, especially with so many eyes and ears working for Agust."

Your heart swelled with pride, knowing that your efforts were recognized by your boss, your leader. However, you know you can’t be feeling a certain type of way over his innocent comments.  You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a whisper. "Boss, may I remind you that there are eyes and ears on you too? It's crucial to maintain a certain level of decorum and professionalism."

Yoongi's lips curled into a sly side smile, his gaze locking with yours. "You're absolutely right. We should be more careful, especially when it comes to our private activities."

Your eyes widened in realization, understanding the underlying meaning in Yoongi's words. He can’t be trying to insinuate something, right? Being the brat you are, you decided to play along with his statement . A playful grin spread across your face as you sat on the opposite side of the sofa, crossing your arms once again. 

"Well, Boss, if you're looking for some 'private activities,' you could always start by hiring a proper assistant to keep you entertained."

Yoongi's eyebrows shot up, surprised by your audacity. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he leaned back on the sofa. "Is that so? And who would you recommend for the position?"

You pretended to ponder for a moment, "Perhaps someone who knows your every move, can anticipate your needs, and can effortlessly keep you on your toes…”

“Someone like… you?" Yoongi smirked as he leaned closer, his voice filled with mischief. Your cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and shock that he played this far into your game. "Well, in that case, I suppose I'll have to interview you for the position."

Damn, he got you cornered. Was this a dream, you thought to yourself. Usually when you’d have playful banter with Yoongi, he’d edge you on with his words and then immediately move onto business. But right now you’re left speechless. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled. Funny words coming from the same man who looked and acted like a cat himself at times.

“N-No..just.. dumbfounded.” You stumbled on your nervous response before giggling, “You got me good, Yoongi.” And this is where the game ended, or so you thought.

Yoongi locked eyes with you as he reached out and gently grasped your trembling hand. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, causing your breath to hitch. He tugged your hand gently, coaxing you to move closer to him.

"Doll," he said softly, his tone laced with a mix of authority and tenderness. "There's no need to get so shy around me all of a sudden."

Feeling a mixture of panic and excitement, you allowed Yoongi to guide you closer until you stood right in front of him. In a swift yet gentle motion, Yoongi pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddled him. Your heart pounded in your chest as you found yourself nestled against him, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist.

Yoongi's voice, now filled with a soothing warmth, resonated in your ear. "You may act bratty and shy, doll, but I can see through your facade. I know you're into this” He used one hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “And I'm more than happy to oblige."

Your eyes widened, breath catching in your throat at his bold words. Yet, you couldn't deny the exhilarating truth behind them. A mix of embarrassment and desire coursed through your veins as you looked into Yoongi's eyes, your own filled with a mix of uncertainty and longing. You’ve been waiting for a moment like this for so long, but it felt silly to even believe it could happen one day. Let alone on a day where you catch Yoongi looking at porn. Sounds too good to be true.

In that moment, Yoongi tightened his hold on you and gently lifted you up a little. He glanced at you wholly, taking in the sight before him. He had always thought you were beautiful since the first day you encountered him in the night market while he was being chased by Agust D’s men. He too, didn’t imagine he’d have you to himself, but somehow the sexual frustration of not having time to pleasure himself pushed a button in him to try to make a move. 

He continued his movements by sliding his hands above your waist, approaching the peaks of your breasts. The soft touch sent shivers down your spine, and a blush crept across your cheeks. He looked at you to see if you were okay with moving further, to which you locked eyes with him and nodded your confirmation.

He began fondling your breasts slowly, tracing patterns of desire along your trembling flesh. His large hands on you felt so good it elicited soft gasps of pleasure from your lips. But you craved more. You wanted to feel him closer, and it seemed that he felt the same. He moved his hands to unbutton your sleeveless button front shirt from the top to bottom and then removed the garment completely. 

Under the shirt revealed a white floral lace bra with a cute pink ribbon in the center. "You know, doll," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, "Your bra is surprisingly cute." The sudden comment from Yoongi made your cheeks flush even more with a mix of embarrassment and pride. “It contrasts your workaholic demeanor. It’s nice to see a new side to you.”

Flushed and with a playful glint in your eyes, you mustered the courage to break free from your momentary shyness. With a teasing smile, you looked at Yoongi and whispered, “Shut up and just keep going,”

To which he smirked up at you and did just as you commanded. He went ahead and removed your bra, exposing your breasts to the slightly colder room temperature causing your nipples to pebble slowly. Yoongi groaned, squeezing your breasts together, and sucked a nipple between his lips. 

Mesmerizing sounds left your mouth when he flicked your nipple with his tongue and gently bit down. His tongue swirled around your sensitive areola, teasing it to a stiff peak as he cupped and massaged your other breast with one hand. Holding yourself steady with your fingers weaved through his pretty, long dark hair, you leaned back and arched your chest in toward his face.

You craved more besides these touches to your delicate breasts, but fearing changes in your ‘boss and right-hand man’ relationship with Yoongi had you hesitating further. You moved your hands to the top of his shoulders to push him away from your chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t keep going, Yoongi.” You looked at him, before deciding to look away and continue speaking, “We’ve been focused on taking down Agust D, and if we do this… it might get in the way of our goals.”

Yoongi let out a deep chuckle, “You know goals are one thing, but you think I haven’t noticed the way your body language radiates when you’re around me.” 

Your eyes widened, “W-What do you mean?” You weren’t being that obvious about these underlying work crush feelings, have you?

“The way you carry yourself when we tease each other? When you sway your ass in your little skirts to get me riled up?” He lifted a brow up inquisitively, hands drawing circles on your thighs to carry his point home. “I know you too well to know you want this too.”

You scoffed, “Hah? Yoongi, I think all the porn mags and hentai mangas you’ve read during your free time has gotten to your head.” You cupped his face with your small palms (in comparison to his large hands) and looked at him intently. “Maybe it’s time to ease up on that, sir.”

“I’m serious, doll.” He grabbed your hands away from his face and stared harshly, “I'd rather have you in my arms, feeling your warmth against me, than flipping through those Playboy magazines during my free time."

Literally, no words could release from your lips. You’re just awestruck that this carefree man who threw witty and sarcastic remarks on a daily basis could have conjured such a confession to you. You found it endearing in a way, knowing his exterior is just a facade and inside lies a compassionate soul named Min Yoongi. 

At this moment, you decided to surrender, allowing yourself to be consumed by the passion growing between the two of you. Embraced in the untamed fire that blazed in Yoongi's eyes. “Then, keep going. Waiting to see how you’ll keep me entertained.”

Quickly, Yoongi's lips descended upon yours, the kiss ignited an unknown sensation inside of you. The taste of anticipation lingered in the air as your mouths melded together in a fervent fight. His lips, soft yet demanding, explored every contour of yours, coaxing forth sighs of pleasure that escaped each others’ entwined breaths.

Feeling a bit assertive, you gently bit his lips as a signal for him to allow your tongue to intertwined with his, to which he smiled and let you in. Both your movements synchronized, a blend of dominance and tenderness. However, which each stroke of his tongue, he claimed your mouth, marking you as his own in a surge of possessiveness that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

As your bodies pressed closer, the intensity and eagerness to have him inside you grew. You once again let your fingers find solace in the soft strands of Yoongi's hair, tugging a bit which he responded to with a groan. Breaths mingling with the heady mix of desire that filled the room. Your hips meet Yoongi’s hard cock, visibly straining against his demin jeans, as you begin lightly grinding against him, needing to relieve yourself of this feeling blooming in your abdomen.

However, unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had other plans in mind. He suddenly held down your thighs to prevent you from moving further. You whine at him, frustrated. 

“Doll, I’m not gonna fully give you what you want right now.” The mischievous glint in his gaze betrayed his desire for retribution. He saw an opportunity to playfully punish you for catching him indulging in the guilty pleasure of his magazine. “Since you interrupted me earlier, I’m only going to let you sit on my cock as punishment. No riding.”

“Are you serious right now–” You paused, Yoongi lifting an inquisitive brow up in response. If you kept arguing with him, his stubborn self will deprive you of everything at this moment, his desires be damned. The thing you didn’t need right now was for him to command you to watch him jerk off or leave the room and go find someone else to fulfill his needs. “...Fine, Boss. Your wish is…my command.” You sighed, gripping his shoulders.

“Condom?”

“No, it’s okay. I take birth control.” He eyed you intently. “NOT for what you think. I take it to regulate my cycle.” You responded, annoyed while he chuckled. Not like you had the time to be fucking people left and right in this high stakes job you had. You take your role very seriously, mind him.

He lifted you so he’s able to lift his own hips up to pull his pants down. He pulled his dick out and you stared at how it sprung up against his stomach, almost to full hardness already. It’s so thick and fat, you thought to yourself. You had imagined how he’d look underneath his clothes, but your thoughts never compared to the [reality of his] pale pink dick with small drops of precum at the top of the head. Yoongi took note of your glances and exhaled harshly. He slid his hands up your thighs to the hem of your skirt and pulled it to where your pink striped panties came into his sight. 

“You’re seriously so cute, you know that?” You mumbled a shut up as your cheeks reddened from his continued compliments. He pushed your panties to the side, placing two fingers teasingly at your entrance, collecting the wetness that you already displayed. "Do you need to be prepped more? Or can you take my cock without it?" He locked eyes with you as he slipped his two fingers easily in, quickly causing your walls to tighten around his digits.

“I-It’s fine, Yoongi,” You moaned his name quietly. You knew you were wet enough from the previous motions that you could do without it. “Just put your dick inside me already so we can call it a day.." He raised his eyebrows at your commanding attitude. "P-Please..”

Chuckling, he pulled his fingers out and grabbed your hips again. He took his throbbing dick in his hand and lined it up to your entrance. He sunk you down, slowly taking him in inch by inch, the thickness stretched you out more than you expected. You moaned out as quietly as you could, still struggling to fit all of him inside you. Yoongi kept a hand on your hips to guide you down, while the other caressed your back in reassurance.

"Keep going, love." Love? A new nickname? "You’re doing great." He praised, while trying his best to hold in beautiful sounds of his own.

With his encouraging words, you took a deep breath and moved down until your pussy had swallowed him whole, his head right against your cervix. "Just right…you did it," Yoongi cooed. He cupped your cheeks and made you look at him. "How does this feel?"

You’re starting to lose composure already, "I-It feels g-good…" you stammered, dragging out the last word while letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

"Great, but..” He stretched out to grab the D-Grayman vol 22 manga lying around on the table “Don’t you dare move. I’m gonna read." 

“I can’t believe you… you sick, sick man.”  His laughter rolled through him, which involuntarily  created a ripple of pleasure building within your cunt, a warmth growing again and spreading through your every nerves. Besides the fact that his warm cock was snug within you, filling you more completely than a dildo of yours could ever, you couldn't recall another moment where you’ve felt so content. While at first you were scared of crossing a line in your relationship, you can’t deny this feels just right.

He wrapped his right around your waist, while using his left to hold his book and flip the pages. Perks of having big hands, you wonder what else they could do. You laid your head on his right shoulder, eyes slowly squeezing shut. Maybe you should take a nap. 

However, while Yoongi seemed to be nonchalant and relaxed, he was struggling a lot more than you to not say fuck this and fuck you roughly in a cowgirl position. Because just as you were relaxing, suddenly his cock fucking twitched. You gasped, your cunt clenching involuntarily and wrapping tighter around his length. A shiver shot up your spine as you instinctively pushed back on him, taking him even deeper into you from a higher angle. 

“Yoongi, I swear..”

“Sorry. That was on me, doll.” He went back to reading before adding on a few minutes later, “I’m tempted to fuck you, but I’ll save it for another time. If I give in now, I’ll probably want to fuck you everywhere and anywhere we go. Want to teach you a lesson.” 

“Yoongi!” Your eyes widened and you smacked his back. He chuckled lowly. Pisces men really are lowkey sex freaks. You don’t know what you’d do if this man asks you if he can tie you up with ropes or vice versa. Let’s hope he’s just into vanilla shit for the sake of your sanity,

For the rest of the time, he stayed true to his word and remained resilient. At some point, you drifted off to dreamland, feeling so comfortable and cozy sitting on his dick. You faintly felt a kiss on your temple, though you’re not sure if you dreamed it, or if Yoongi actually did it. You didn’t bother thinking too much about it now.

The next thing you know, you woke up later that afternoon, laying down on the sofa with a blanket covering you. You glanced around to find Yoongi, but he was nowhere in sight. You checked your phone on the table and saw text messages from 35 minutes ago

Yoongi: Hey doll, got a call from joon saying he found the drug operation Agust D is hiding above that one good noodle shop in chinatown. I had to go with him and some of the guys ready to bust it down. I’ll be sure to to get you a bowl of noodles when I’m done. 

Yoongi: Extra beef and very spicy, right?

God, you’re actually gonna fall in love with this man. He really does pay attention to the little details about you more than you realized. 

You text back knowing he’s probably not going to be back for a bit longer.

Y/N: Yes pls! Don’t forget to bring some chopsticks.

Yoongi: 👍

Not long after, before the sun sunk underneath the horizon, he arrived back to the office holding a bag of take-out food from Asian Beef Noodle shop. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We got everything taken care of.”

Your eyes lit up with admiration as you sat up on the couch, your lips curling into a grateful smile. "Great job, boss."

Yoongi's gaze softened as he placed the tray of noodles on the coffee table in front of you. He took a seat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. "I appreciate your support, doll. So, I brought these noodles as a small peace offering."

"You're forgiven, I suppose,” You chuckled, voice filled with soft warmth. “Noodles are easily the best way to my heart."

Your playful comment sent a spark of anticipation through Yoongi. He grinned, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, I’ll make it up to you later, for being so good. Look forward to tonight," he whispered, his voice laced with a sultry tone.

Your cheeks flushed at the promise in his words, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of desire and excitement. “You’re making me embarrassed,” you sighed, replying further with a sultry voice with anticipation. “But, you better not disappoint. I’ll leave your side!” You joked, both of you laughing at the silliness of this conversation

Despite the fluttering emotions from earlier reawakening from his words, you two continued to share a comfortable silence, the aroma of the noodles filling the air. With a newfound sense of closeness, you two dug into the delicious meal, savoring the flavors and basking in the afterglow of their earlier passion. It was a moment of shared contentment, where the chaos of both your lives momentarily faded away, leaving only the warmth of connection and comfort of each other's presence.

#yoongi x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #min yoongi #suga x reader #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #haegeum #daechwita #agust d universe #yoongi smut #bts smut #agust d

[casualpersonapersonpeach]

Can we have where The Slasher's S/O had Chemotherapy, and are now becoming bald because of it. (Either the S/O explains about the effects of chemotherapy or that they're depressed because of their hair loss, it's up to you). [Include Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, and a character of your choice; probably The Silent Brother from my previous request ;) whoever you want]

Hello ! Of course. TW to anybody reading. If anybody is going through this right now, I hope that you know you are so loved and if you need to reach out I'm always here 💗💗💗 also apologies for how long this took to write. Hopefully you like this 😭

warnings 18+: slightly suggestive in Thomas' one

Slashers with an s/o going through Chemotherapy

(Includes Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer)

Jason Voorhees

Because Jason lives a very sheltered life, he doesn't know much about illnesses and treatments. You may have to explain it to him and how the process works.

It would break his heart. He hardly knows what to say or do initially. He's in shock. He noticed some clumps of hair on the pillow cases every now and then, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. He didn't want to bring it up because it may upset you.

It makes sense to him now. He offers to shave the rest of your hair if you find that easier. Jason is just worried about you. "Are you going to be okay? What can I do to help you? I have no idea what I can do" he panics to himself. He's trying to be strong for you.

Jason worries how you are going to feel about yourself as well. He's bald too but for different reasons, and he knows what it's like to be bullied for things you can't help, and hating himself in the mirror. He's going to do everything he can to let you know how beautiful you are. He wants your confidence to be unshakable, even though that's hard. You don't deserve to go through such a thing. And you definitely don't deserve to feel anything less than beautiful.

He just cuddles you a little bit tighter, kisses you a little longer to try reinforce to you he's always going to be there for you and get through this with you. He writes down a note for you for when you wake up the next morning.

" My darling Y/n. I'm sorry that I should have taken more initiative for you and been stronger for you. I shouldn't have said nothing. I'll do anything i can to help you my beautiful angel. You are my entire world, and nothing is going to change that, and you'll always be the most beautiful person to me. " - Jason.

Jason decides to devote himself to nursing you, driving you to appointments (while in disguise), making safe food for you, helping you when you need to vomit etc. He is on high alert mode to protecting you in his little shack from any dangers.

Michael Myers

Michael is less delicate about the situation. He just holds up a clump of hair and looks confused while looking at you. He didn't mean to look like an asshole, he just didn't know it was something he needed to be sensitive about. Your eyes started to water, and quickly you walked off to your shared bed to sleep.

Michael had noticed you hadn't seemed your normal self for a few weeks now. You hardly spoke to him, you were gone for hours randomly, and when you were home, you just slept and looked depressed.

He didn't really know how to bring it up though, michaels just not good at beating around the bush, per say. He's just direct which can feel really cold.

Michael finally walked into your room to check on you. He normally liked to wait for you to bring up what's bothering you, but he figured that it clearly wasn't working lately. He needed to do more. He sits next to you and gently places his hand on your shoulder.

He hardly talks, but when he does it's short and direct. "What's wrong?" He quietly muffs under his mask.

It took you a moment to work up the courage to explain. You explain that in the last month you've been getting chemotherapy and have been starting to lose you hair. He then understood why you were always so tired, nauseated, and so unlike yourself.

"I just didn't want to tell you" you say under your breath. "I could hardly believe that this was happening to me. I just feel so down about losing my hair too. I hardly feel like myself anymore. It's like i can't recognise myself".

Michael just sits in silence. " I didn't want you to feel ashamed of me..." Michael quickly wraps you in his arms. Holding you tighter than he would have ever done. "Never. I will never be ashamed." He grunts. It kind of sounds like he's crying a little too, but he'd never let you see that.

Somewhere deep down Michael has a heart. Maybe just for you though. It crushes him that you are already going through something so cruel and life threatening. And how you are worrying instead if he'd still find you attractive. He wants you to know he would never find you unattractive NO MATTER WHAT.

When you feel a wave of nausea overcome you, Michael is quick to notice, and sweeps you quickly in his arms and holds you whole you vomit into the toilet.

Michael made a silent vow to himself. One being he'd help you get through this. The second being, if he had to go find Rapunzel herself and chop off her hair to get you some, just so you can feel a little bit better during this time, he won't waste a minute. He'd do it in a heartbeat for you.

He kisses your head and helps you settle into bed. He's already making a plan...

Thomas Hewitt

Being in the middle of nowhere meant that there was no way to hide your illness. Usually mama Luda Mae or Thomas would drive you to the closest hospital to receive treatment.

Tommy didn't really go out in public, he didn't want to make this about himself, his fear of being seen was nothing compared to the trial that you were going through.

None of the Hewitt's really knew much about medicine, side effects and so on. Sometimes the uncle's would make insensitive comments to you, but tommy and Luda Mae never let that slide.

Shortly you began to lose your hair. Sometimes Uncle monty would make a sly remark that " you were balding quicker than he was ". It drove Thomas mad, and he actually stood up to him. Thomas grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall and gave him such an intense death stare.

For Thomas it was a big deal standing up to his family. But you mean more to him. He wishes he could afford to get you out of this place. Once his family was his safe place, but ever since you came into the picture, he noticed how poorly the uncles treated you. From then on he always dreamed of getting away with you.

You are his sanctuary. No matter how ill you are. Thomas didn't really understand the science behind the hair loss, but he did notice how unhappy you seemed. You hardly looked at him, you were no longer physically intimate with him (due to health risks for immunity, but also depression and poor body image), you also withdrew any kind of innocent affection.

It wasn't intentional- or against Thomas. You have been so unwell, and on chemo so you wouldn't have been intimate even if you felt good about yourself or wanted to. But it was so easy to spiral into a deep depression because you could hardly recognise yourself.

You became so self hating, even though none of this was your fault. Hair is such an important part of identity and it's hard losing something you're so used to and treasure. You worried you wouldn't be beautiful to Thomas, and above all, you were worried that you were 'useless' or 'a burden' that the uncle's had convinced you that you were.

You are unable to work, which meant having to rest all day. You are too unwell to help around the house, and money is tight as it is. Thomas eventually noticed this and wanted to talk to you about it.

One night before you and Thomas got ready for bed, he decided he would ask you what was wrong. He had been afraid of bothering you this whole time. He quietly asked "why do you hardly look at me anymore? Is everything ok?"

It didn't take long for your eyes to being to tear up. And after a few minutes, you finally mustered up the courage to tell him why you're upset. "I just hate how I look at the moment. I'm so scared you won't find me beautiful anymore so I didn't want to try. I'm sorry for making you worry".

"You could never be ugly to me my darling... You're just as beautiful as the day I first saw you. The day my life changed forever. I promise I'm going to look after you and only when you're ready and wanting to, we can get back to that".

"One day, i hope to get you out of this hellhole. For better or for worse, I want to look after you as long as we live.... Y/n... Would you marry me?" Thomas softly asked. He definitely intended on proposing on a happier day, and to plan it out. But for him the timing felt right, when you two finally felt like you were connecting again after a while.

"... Really? You'd want to marry me, even like this?" You replied. "Yes." "Yes Tommy! I'll marry you!". You jumped into his arms, and he held you tighter than he ever had before.

You both longed for a life far away together, to get married, to raise your own children together. But for now, Tommy will nurse you back to health.

Bubba Sawyer

Even though Bubba couldn't speak comprehensible sentences, he still communicated and you understood him like no other. Again, living out far away meant you had to be honest about how unwell you had been feeling, so reluctantly Drayton took you to the doctors, and from there you got your diagnosis and eventually treatments.

Bubba is incredibly intuitive and immediately knows when something is wrong, so when you begin to lose your hair and feel drained, he is quick to communicate with you.

He mostly blubbers, but he can sort of write. He does misspell some words, and doesn't have the best handwriting, but his brothers taught him as much as they could about writing.

"ar yu pheelin ok?" Even in your darkest moods, seeing Bubba's writing makes you giggle because it's sweet to know he's trying. "Bubba have you not noticed my hair missing or that i look any different?" You asked. You assumed he was going to make a comment about that. Not that it was in his nature to do so, you were just feeling insecure.

"Drayton tould me sum stuff about yur treetment. I thought it wuz that." He hastily wrote. "Well, I haven't been feeling the best physically of course. But emotionally too. I mean, i knew that the chemo would be hard on me, but i didn't expect to feel sensitive i guess? Im just not happy when i look in the mirror." You covered your face with your hands, crying.

Bubba jumped immediately to your side holding you. He was making all sorts of sounds to console you. Once he felt you beginning to calm down, he signed with his hand, holding up 1 finger to say give him a moment. He began to write again.

He had an undefeated smile on his face. Bubba was coming up with a plan to make you feel better. "Butt yur always beautiful to me. yu look good no mater wat. My brutha is bald as a pluked turkey ona thanksgivin.... I hav a litle surprise for yu. Close yur eies darlin".

It momentarily made you feel a bit better. You did chuckle a little that chop top had a metal plate on his head too, and he definitely hadn't lost any confidence on his part.

You hear nubbins, bubba and chop top giggling upstairs. Soon enough bubba and his brothers came walking downstairs, with a towel covering bubba's face and head.

"M'lady, it has come to the courts attention that we need to even out the playing field a little. May i present to you, your new and improved.... Bubba Sawyer!" And in the most theatrical way possible, nubbins and chop top removed bubba's towel to reveal a brand new haircut. Then they burst out laughing.

Bubba decided amongst his brothers that hopefully if he gets a silly haircut, you might feel a little better. If he makes himself look silly, you might have a little distraction, and not that you are any less beautiful with hair loss (because you're always beautiful no matter what) but to help you feel less out of place.

It was also heartwarming to see chop top and nubbins take something kind of seriously for once and consider how you are feeling during this hard time. They don't really know how to help other than with humor, but you appreciate that anyways.

They really revamped his look. They tried colour blocking a section of bubba's hair by his left ear by bleaching it, but they used household bleach so it just burned his hair off, leaving any remaining hair bleached blonde, but very short and left some skin on his head irritated and red. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

Nubbins buzzed a large bald spot on his crown, and the two brothers took turns hacking at his curls to create an asymmetrical look. It was very silly, but they did it out of love, not to mock you.

"people would pay good money in england for an asymmetrical look like this huh" nubbins smirks to himself. "Can't believe you know that word man." Chop top replies.

It wasn't a permanent fix to the pain you would be going through, but bubba just wanted to make you smile even for a few minutes. Anything to let you know that he's with you through this.

#jason voorhees #michael myers #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #friday the 13 #halloween movie #texas chainsaw massacre 2003 #texas chainsaw massacre #slashers #slashers x reader

[rpgchoices]

Astarion origin playthrough: what to expect/what is added

So I did a speed run on easy mode of the Astarion origin playthrough, which is where you choose Astarion as your main character. I wanted to write a bit about the extra lore the game gives and in general what is added (and what is lost).

I added some of the videos I have taken in case you are curious. Keep in mind that some videos are embedded, others are in link for my twitter or this blog.

SPOILERS. Just know that I went through the main plot points and the quests I know Astarion has dialogue about in a Tav game, so I did not do all of the quests/areas.

First of all... I don't think there is enough content to justify losing Astarion as a companion, as Astarion will be not voiced when you play as him, and in general you actually get less characterization.

ACT 1

Act 1 is the one with the most amount of extra content.

There are a few extra lines from the narrator about you standing in the sun for the first time, and your past.

You get a whole personal quest about hiding your vampirism or revealing it. There are different ways to reveal it:

You simply tell the companions (when you think about it the narrator will ponder about how much your companion trusts you and if they will react well)

You can use "bite" on an enemy when your companions are around (or on a companion)

You can be caught while you bite someone at night

The night bite happens after a nightmare, so you will also get a Cazador nightmare where Astarion hides/attacks/cowers before Cazador (video here). After the nightmare Astarion will think about finally being free and breaking one of Cazador's rules. You can decide to bite a companion or not.

If you do not bite a companion you will have no other option to do the bite at night, and the only reveals can happen in the other two modalities. Honestly, I am not sure how long you can drag it... pretty long, I think. One time I need to find out if you can go almost the whole game without revealing it.

If you tell a companion about it you will have to pass a check, but nothing bad happens if you fail, you just get a bad reaction (Gale yelled at me).

Other extra content from act 1 is about meeting the monster hunter. If you meet him pre-reveal, he will not say your name, btw. But it is pretty much the same as in Tav playthrough.

ACT 2

In act 2 you will have another nightmare (video here). This time you do not see what happens, you just see Astarion curling in his bed and thinking about his scars. This is to introduce the scars, as we have no idea he has them, and it will happen before you meet Raphael.

You can ask Raphael about the scars, but sadly none of your companions react.

Then the rest proceeds as usual. The sad part for me was meeting the drow lady who asks for a bit in exchange of a potion, and she is so different. She suddenly is very deferential, and asks quite nicely. Astarion can refuse or agree, but nothing happens, it is just almost a funny scene if he agrees and suddenly she tastes very bad. So yeah, you get the potion and no insight.

ACT 3

Act 3 is the one which has the same content but slightly different, as you will meet the spawns and Cazador from Astarion's pov.

When you meet the Gur outside BG3 the scene is exactly the same as in Tav play, minus Astarion's funny lines. When you meet Petras and Dalyria at the tavern, you get an extended scene.

You can just talk with them and convince your sister to tell you about the ritual, or you can show them that you can walk into the sun (by walking up to the window), or you can grab Petras and threaten him into the sun. If you fail to grab him, he will insult you and call you the runt of the litter. The whole scene clarified a bit that there is really a lot of animosity from Petras towards Astarion, and that Astarion was definitely the scapegoat of Cazador.

When Leon attacks you at night you also get more insight. First, you can see that if you try to explain, Leon is quite quick to hear you out, differently from Tav's playthrough. You will also find out that Cazador ordered them to take you home broken, so if you agree to go with them they will still attack you.

Another extra scene comes from the brothel one. I posted a video on my blog a couple of days ago, but basically you can talk with the drow twins and this line will pop up:

You can basically tell them that you used to be in their position too, but for you it was not consensual.

The rest of the game is the same.

The Cazador palace scenes are also the same, with Astarion commenting on the rooms. You will have extra from meeting Godey, of course. He will comment about Astarion needing to be broken and needed to respect the master. Video here.

When Astarion meets Sebastian you find out that he doesn't really immediately remember Sebastian's name. Astarion also has a "deception" check to tell Sebastian he really cared about him. You can see the video here. But the rest is pretty similar, same with meeting the children of the Gur, you can actually recognize their hunger and feel compassion for them.

When you meet with Cazador everything is pretty similar. It is interesting that you can tell him that you are an angel of vengeance to which he mocks you. This time you do not attack Cazador but he controls you immediately and you have to pass a constitution check to get free, otherwise Astarion will end up in the ritual (and the companions can free him).

Btw, you can see here all the options you have when you meet Cazador as Astarion.

Once the fight is over, Astarion can decide if he wants to complete the ritual or not. He can ask the companions to help him and I think they always do (borrowing their eyes) even if they disapprove. Interestingly, the narrator directly says "hey, this is a bad choice, no return", basically. You have three chances to stop for performing the ritual (also you can intimidate Cazador to beg for his life).

If you do not stop the ritual, your sister Dalyria will beg you to stop before dying.

Here I posted on twitter video options of the post-Cazador's fight.

As you can see, if you decide to stop the ritual the scene plays exactly the same and it is a rare one which is actually voiced by Neil. Your brothers and sisters will then come up to you, and as Astarion you will have to decide what to do with them. If you ask them not to feed on people, Petras will get a bit annoying and you will have to persuade/intimidate him. Then you decide what to do with the other spawns.

Interestingly, Dalyria gets really disappointed with Astarion if you decide to kill the spawns or trap them.

A very nice thing is that if you refuse to complete the ritual your companion will be SO SO PROUD OF YOU, especially Jaheira, Wyll and Karlach. You can see here Karlach in video, and here Wyll and Gale, and Jaheira here.

The rest plays exactly the same. There is no extra Astarion-specific content until the end.

If you play as lord vampire Astarion there is no specific end that I could find. I am not sure why, but basically in my playthrough I had not found the dragon, so technically I had not finished Wyll's quest. When Karlach was dying I could go to Avernus with her or be with her at her death... but after that nothing happens. My Astarion talked with Gale (romanced) and that was it.

Spawn Astarion ending instead has this extra scene which I found a bit ridiculous. The first part is heartbreaking, you see Astarion run from the sun and curl into a ball behind some shade, head on his knees. Then Karlach dies alone, because Astarion cannot be in the sun, and you get this extra scene of Astarion in Baldur's Gate killing/attacking a man and living his existence as a vampire. It is strange because in the pre-ending dialogue I chose to go to another city, and in the post ending I chose to go with Gale to Waterdeep, so it felt a bit random.

#astarion #playing as astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion spoilers

[runningupthatvecna]

the law of seat partners

alrighty so ya gurl had a dream about eddie last night and here i am trying to use that to base the following something off of.

part 2

cw/tw: eddie munson being a slightly touchy precious bean. a slight bit of angst. feeling left out/mentions of feeling unwanted if you squint. otherwise, none that i could think of, just my silly brain fluff. if you find something else, please let me know yaaa. no mentions of y/n.

summary: you're going on a high school field trip with your friends. and thankfully, a long haired metalhead is also there to keep you company and ease the pain of being around obnoxious children.

side note: this is literally the first fic thing i've written in literal YEARS (also in English) and first ever time writing for Eddie, so bare with me here, i've gotten quite rusty i guess so i truly apologise if it's rather bad. don't mind me and please reblog/leave me comments if you did enjoy this pure fluff something!

------

It was the sunniest May morning the town of Hawkins had ever seen. The bluest sky above the forests and fields, downtown, the infamous trailer park and the parking lot of Hawkins High.

You sighed as you placed your car in parking mode before opening the door and sliding out, just so you could grab your belongings - a rather big bag filled with all sorts of items that you were certain you were going to need for surviving the next week - out from the backseat.

A field trip with students with an age range from bloody twelve to the wise years of nineteen, well, twenty to be specific, was on your agenda in the almost last month of your last year of high school, and thankfully you were not gonna be stuck in some forest next to Lake Superior alone by yourself.

Being forced to exist around screaming twelve year olds who were about to enter puberty was your least favourite part of the whole expedition, which made the presence of your group of best friends so much more valuable.

There was one person whose attendance you'd specifically been hoping for. And yes, of course you and your friends had been talking about the trip months ago so it would be clear who would join in the fun, but with Eddie's tendency to be flaky when it came to decisions like this, one could never be fully sure.

I mean yeah, certainly you were looking forward to spending this week by the lakeside with Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and the younger kids in freshmen year, but nothing could make the thought of being stuck with a group of middle schoolers and teachers more bearable than being stuck there with the one guy who you - to put it frankly - had a thing for.

You couldn't really say that you were as close with him as you were with Steve or Robin, you never really spent time with him outside of the group hangouts. But that didn't mean that there was any weird distance between the two of you when the lucky occasion of hanging out did come around.

Eddie Munson was a metalhead. Through and through. Tough exterior, soft baby cow personality but could turn stone cold when necessary. When people tried to shame him for being different, for example.

You were also very certain that his love language was touch, based on the times he would throw his arm around you when casually walking you to your next class or the way he would playfully wrestle Dustin or Lucas in the cafeteria during lunch break to show he didn't hate them.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here!"

Max had spotted you in line and apparently didn't feel too much guilt for cutting it just so she could hop on the bus together with you.

You mumbled the same thing back to her, wondering if you were the first or last ones of your party to go through Miss Kelley's check-in.

She greeted the both of you with a toothy smile before she turned her focus onto the sheet with students' names. Your eyes wandered over the rows of seat pairs, and since you had arrived at the parking lot, let's say not late but also not early either, most of them were already filled with loudly chatting kids.

"Hopefully the others saved us a seat", you heard Max say from in front of you. Unlike you, she already had a pre-determined seat buddy. "Oh please, it's obvious that Sinclair kept one for you", you quipped back, silently hoping you could potentially be sitting next to Steve or at least Robin.

And even if Eddie was going to join you, he'd probably be sitting with Chrissy. Or Gareth.

"That might be true, but I'm sure you'll be just fine with where you'll end up."

Max stepped further into the bus after she gave you a wink and a slight grin.

Did she know more than you?

Good boy Steve was rather easy for you to spot. With that amount of hair peeking out above the sea of headrests? No wonder. In fact, most of your friends were already seated further in the back of the one-story bus.

A slight hint of disappointment clouded your brain at the sight of Steve and Robin sharing a seat pair, with Nancy and Jonathan right behind them. Your fear of being the one left out and behind was creeping out from the back of your mind, acting up.

People had always been kind enough to endure you, but no one ever really chose you. Or at least made you feel like you belonged.

Lucas indeed had the seat next to him reserved for Max, to where she continued her strut down the aisle to plop down, while Dustin and Will had agreed to share theirs.

Surprising they made it out of bed this early.

You took a few more steps towards the back of the bus. A wide grinned Erica was seated amongst her friends in the center of the very back row, your eyes scanning the seats until they landed on the wild dark mane of a certain metalhead, who was occupying the pair of seats right behind the stairs down to the back door.

He was practically lying in the window seat. Head resting against the glass, staring out to observe the students who hadn't set foot onto the bus yet. Parents who were lecturing their kids one last time before letting them go.

Was he daydreaming? What could possibly be going on in that pretty head of his?

Your heart jumped and your stomach fluttered when he shifted his gaze to the aisle where you were standing. The widest smile spread over his face at the sight of you, and you hated to admit to yourself that it did not leave you unaffected.

The seat next to him was empty.

It took Eddie a few seconds to remember what his initial plan was. As if something in his brain clicked, as if a bolt of lightning had hit him, he straightened himself and got up.

"Uh hi there. I, uh, kept you a seat if, uh, in case you'd like to sit with me."

Eddie the freak Munson. Had thought of and would be willing to sharing seats for a 10 hour bus ride. With you, of all people?

In the light of the sunlight flooded bus, you could see his cheeks adjusting to the colour of your own. Flushed pink.

And you just couldn't help the wide grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Now both of you were standing in the aisle facing each other.

"I would love to, Munson."

Quickly you took out the essentials for the journey from your bag: headphones and your walkman, your tape collection that you wouldn't leave the house without, a novel, some water and a tote bag with your carefully selected snacks.

Eddie waited patiently for you to get comfortable, standing there in the aisle in his signature leather jacket and denim dio vest, while leaning against the backrest of his own seat, watching your every move.

Once you swung yourself around into your seat, Eddie plopped down next to you with an equally wide grin plastered across his face while pointing his ringed index finger at the snack bag.

"You know, you're gonna have to share those with me."

You turned your head around to face him, eyebrow raised.

His chocolate brown doe eyes were so so softly looking at you. If you didn't know better they'd melt you on the spot.

"Oh really, do I?"

"Yeah, it's the unspoken yet official law of seat partners, sweetheart."

You chuckled at his silliness and the pet name, the nervousness which you had gotten from the thought of him very obviously thinking of you when it came to the decision of who to sit next to, all gone.

He wanted to be physically close to you.

He wanted to spend that time on the bus around you.

He chose you.

After Steve, Robin and all the others from your group had acknowledged your presence as well with genuine smiles, and the last few kids had found their seats, it was time to leave Hawkins.

The bus hit the highway towards Chicago pretty soon after departure.

Eddie let you sit in the window seat, which eventually led to him conveniently using your shoulder as a pillow. And no, you didn't mind the weight. It was Eddie.

Hell, you were having a hard time keeping yourself from wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

"Does this also fall under the law of seat partners?", you asked curiously, placing a hand on Eddie's head and slightly scratching his scalp.

The only thing you got in return was a satisfied, sleepy "mhm" and a squeeze and rub of his warm hand over your thigh, but it was enough for your mind to drift off, wondering which other of Eddie's love languages and further details of his ridiculous seat partner law you'd come to discover on this trip.

-----

tagged: my beloved ellen @josephfakingquinn <3

#eddie munson #nora writes #oh wow this turned out to be longer than expected #lol #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things fluff #eddie munson fluff #the law of seat partners

[petermorwood]

Word changes...

All of the following is IMO, so YMMV. :->

*****

Anyone noticed how "weaponry" is used nowadays in places where "weapons" would work just fine (and is often more correct)?

Yes, they ARE interchangeable, sort-of, but it's clunky and sounds to me either slightly journo-pompous or like a failure to remember the right word so plugging the most similar one into its place.

ETA: I checked one of my dictionaries, and while "weapons" is more modern, "weaponry" is an obsolete word which has come back into favour. I wonder why...?

*****

"Decimate" turns up all the time, usually when the correct word is "devastate".

Merriam-Webster says: "It's totally fine to use 'decimate' as a synonym for 'devastate'. This is why."

Beg to differ.

As the M-W article points out, "decimate" originally meant a Roman military punishment applied to one man in ten of a guilty unit. (Initially execution, but this had a rotten effect on unit morale, so it was reduced in severity to fatigues, extra drill or restricted rations.)

That's now considered a far too specific meaning and only linguistic pedants dig their heels in. Quite right too, and I speak here as a (bit of a) linguistic pedant...

However, it remains a useful word for more generalised incomplete destruction of living things - saying a regiment, flock, herd or population was "decimated" implies there are some survivors without quibbling over how many tenths. If totally wiped out, however, that's when words like "destroyed" or "obliterated" are more appropriate.

On the other hand something inanimate like a factory, city or region would be "devastated" - and in addition, saying someone is emotionally devastated is understandable, but saying they're emotionally decimated is peculiar.

Two words, several meanings.

It's like cutlery: a spork can replace knife, fork and spoon, but individual utensils give a lot more precision and variation of use.

*****

There are also a couple of real howlers, not just transposed words but actual errors.

One I've heard several times is using "siege" (a noun, or thing) instead of "besiege" (a verb, or action).

For reference, there's a term called noun-verbing, and the practice is quite old: "table the motion / pencil you in / butter him up / he tasks me", but all are either when there isn't already a verb-form of the word, or as a more picturesque way of saying something.

(Interesting side-note about "table the motion": in US English, it means "to postpone discussion" while in UK, CA and I think AU English, it means the complete opposite, "to begin discussion". Why there's this difference, I have no idea, but it's worth remembering as a Brit-fix when writing, also in a real-life business context.)

There IS an existing verb for the action of surrounding a castle and cutting it off from outside help, and that verb isn't "sieged". It's "besieged" or "under siege". Anywhere using "sieged" as a verb is wrong. The Firefox spellchecker in Tumblr Edit Mode is telling me it's wrong right now.

Merriam-Webster, I'm looking at you again.

*****

There's also "coronate" used as a verb. "The King was coronated at Westminster Abbey". Nope. He was CROWNED.

Coronate is an adjective (meaning crown-shaped) and was coined in in the 1600s by a botanist, as a word to describe the shape of certain plants.

The current Royal-associated usage seems to be a bastard back-formation from "coronation", because the act of putting on a crown is the verb "to crown".

This is almost identical in German, French, Italian and Spanish, with noun and verb the same. The only difference is that their verbs have, what a surprise, verb-endings (-en, -er, -re and -ar) on the noun while English does not.

Because English doesn't like to make things that easy...

"Coronated" might be people trying to sound archaic, or those who've bought into the dopey "said-is-dead" school, who perform any linguistic contortion to avoid common words, and who've been taught that repetition in a sentence - "crowned with a crown" - is BAD.

Is "coronated at a coronation" in some way better?

Guess what's got uncritical examples...

If that's M-W scholarship, I'll stick to the OED and my old but utterly reliable New Elizabethan Dictionary, thanks very much.

*****

Language is funny: sometimes funny ha-ha, sometimes funny annoying, but often just funny peculiar, because English etc. etc...

#fun with English #misused words #bad English

[mizukitoyama-blr]

Ushijima x Reader: What Do You Say? [a haikyuu one-shot]

Ok y'all, so my friends and I had an all-nighter where we write one-shots. The twist is, we each wrote down on different sticky notes a character, a plotline, and I think the third is a trope. We did this a year ago and I forgot all about this, but I recently found it so I'm posting it here lol

Trope: Childhood friends to lovers

1899 words

Story under cut.

Finally. Fifth grade. It was Y/n’s last year of elementary school and she was determined for it to be different. She wasn’t the most extroverted; she liked people but was too scared to approach them, and they never approached her. But this year, she was going to make a friend.

Kimi seemed to be sweet, everyone adored her, but when Y/n tried to befriend her, she was nothing but rude. In fact, after Y/n had the “audacity” to try to “be on her level”, Kimi tried to make her year awful. But Y/n wasn’t going to give up so easily. She would have a good year and she would make a friend. No mean girl was going to stop her.

After a while, Kimi and her “posse” started to get physical with Y/n and pushed her to the ground during recess. That’s when she met Ushijima Wakatoshi. He was in more advanced classes, so she hadn’t ever seen him before, not really, but they had recess together. When he saw her get pushed to the ground, he felt compelled to intervene. He stood over Y/n on the ground, his shadow covering her. Though in most cases it may be a sign of intimidation, his shadow symbolized a blanket of comfort. He looked at Kimi and the two other girls and spoke to them directly.

“To treat your fellow classmate in such a way is despicable. She should be your friend, not your adversary. Don’t choose violence as a mode of communication, but talk out your differences. If this is something you cannot do, I’m afraid I’ll be obligated to notify your teacher,” the girls snarled in repulse and walked away. When they were far enough away, Ushijima knelt down to Y/n’s height on the ground, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! I’m okay! Thank you for helping me,”

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I am in advanced studies. What is your name?’

“My name, my name is L/n F/n. I’m in general studies,”

“Your knee. It’s scraped and bleeding slightly. Here, use this band-aid,” he told her and handed her a latex patch from his pocket. She finally realized: this could be her new friend!

“Ah! Thank you! Um… do you like advanced studies?” He was a little thrown by the question but answered nonetheless.

“It’s fine. The work is manageable and if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” he said while gently pressing the band-aid to her wound. He was quiet as he worked. Then, something told him to engage in conversation with her. “Do you like general studies?”

“Yes! It’s nice and easy, though I still struggle with maths. Do you struggle with maths?”

“No. I find it to be quite easy,” he stated.

“Maybe you could give me some tips on how to do better?”

“It’s pretty simplistic. The more practice, the easier it gets,”

Even after the band-aid was properly secured, the two children continued to talk. Y/n tried her hardest to keep the conversation alive. Even if the question was simple or off-topic she would ask it, and he would reply. Then recess ended, and they had to depart.

“I really enjoy talking to you Ushiwaka! Will you be at recess tomorrow?”

“I always attend recess. It’s important to spend time outside,”

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Y/n said and ran off to her teacher.

“Y/n dear, what happened to your knee?” the teacher asked her.

“It got scrapped. But It’s okay because my new friend Ushiwaka helped me! I can’t wait to see him again tomorrow!” Y/n told her and ran inside. What a wonderful friendship they had that year.

***

Y/n closed her notebook at the sound of the bell ringing. Another draining class.

I should have stuck to general studies. She thought to herself. Her friend Taeko put her hands on the front of her desk.

“That was so boring. How long are we going to be on tectonic plates?” she wined.

“I don’t know, but if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” Y/n reasoned.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I got a date today,”

“Really? With who?”

“That hot stud from the volleyball team. Reon Ōhira,”

“Do I get to meet him?”

“Uh, doy! I’m going to watch his practice after school. You don’t have horseback riding today, do you? You should come watch with me. Then you can meet him,”

“I’m finished riding horses for the week. I’m happy to meet him today.”

“Awesome! Then you can ogle his teammates. Oh my gosh. I’m a volleyball girlfriend!”

*

School had finally ended and Taeko and Y/n were headed to the gym Reon was practicing in. Taeko slid open the door and as soon as they saw each other they smiled. Reon jogged over to her and nodded his head at Y/n.

“Hey, Reon. This is my bestie, Y/n,”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Reon,”

“So I’ve heard. Nice to meet you, too,” “Reon,” Y/n heard a direct, commanding voice call out, somehow familiar. “we’re having a team discussion before we start practice,”

Y/n looked to the student who spoke, the captain, the one she remembered from fifth grade.

“Ushiwaka?” When Reon jogged over to a spot in the circle, for a moment, Ushijima and Y/n made eye contact. Ushijima peered at her, trying to piece together how he knew her face. Then his eyes widened.

“Do you know him?” Taeko asked Y/n. She broke eye contact and looked at her friend.

“Yeah. We went to elementary together. Ushiwaka, right?”

“Psh, don’t ask me. I can’t remember anyone's name. Let's sit here. I don’t want to be hit by a volleyball,”

* 

Practice ended. It didn’t seem as long as Y/n would have thought it would be. She busied herself with homework, but she kept looking up and making eye contact with Ushijima. Did he recognize her? He must have. Based on his expression alone she knew he at least remembered her face. Taeko stood up, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re gonna head out. Are you okay walking home?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Have fun on your date,” Y/n winked at them playfully. Taeko smiled before turning on her heel and walking off with her soon-to-be boyfriend. Y/n turned to pack away her things when…

“Excuse me,” the same commanding voice came suddenly from directly behind Y/n, causing her shoulders to jump. She turned around to face Ushijima. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you. I have something to ask you. By any chance, might your name be L/n F/n?”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied.

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. We went to the same elementary school. I met you when you got pushed over by some girls and you scraped your knee. I bandaged your wound and we became friends. You called me Ushiwaka. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I remember you. You were my first friend in elementary,” It was silent for a while. Awkward. Neither of them knew what to say.

“What classes are you taking? Are you still in general studies?”

“No, not anymore. I started taking advanced classes. What about you?”

“I’m still taking advanced classes. I still excel in math. Have your math skills improved?”

“Yes, but of course, as I improve the material gets harder,”

“You are correct. I say if it will help us get ahead there is no problem with extra work,” Y/n nodded. That sounded like him. “Your friend has left with my teammate. Are you walking with someone?”

“No. I usually walk with her but they have a date today so I’m loning it,”

“Then may I accompany you?” Y/n thought for a moment but in the end, accepted.

“I would love your company,”

*

After Ushijima had walked Y/n home that day, he asked her for her contact information so they could talk outside of school. Y/n learned he was a very formal texter, but he had a charm to it. It was kind of like their friendship was picking up where it left off. It ended up being really, really nice. Y/n started going to his practices with Taeko more, and they studied together outside of school ever so often. One day Y/n caught herself smiling while texting him. Truth be told, she had a bit of a crush on him in their elementary days, but she would never admit that to him.

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, Y/N! Prom is like, right now, what are we wearing?” Taeko asked Y/n as she grabbed her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Should we go shopping today?”

“Uh, yeah! We have to get on this pronto! I’m texting Reon. I have to make sure our ‘fits don’t clash. Should I get his opinion or surprise him?”

“Get his opinion. Leave the surprise dress for the wedding,”

“Good idea. Oh my gosh! Do you have a date in mind? If so we need to bring him too. We’re obvs gonna do a group picture and I can’t have his suit wash any of us out,”

“No, Taeko, I don’t have anyone in mind,”

“Well, the time is still early. You never know, Reon’s team captain might ask you. You guys are close now, right?” Y/n didn’t even think of that. What if he did? Would she say yes? Would she want to? No. He wouldn’t ask her.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to ‘prompose’. Let’s look for dresses. What do you think about blue?”

“For you? Absolutely! A royal blue in satin fabric – long. Oh my gosh this is gonna be so fun!” Taeko practically skipped out the school doors, bringing Y/n with her. Even if Ushijima didn’t ask her to prom, she was so ready for prom.

*

Taeko found a beautiful green princess gown and the most flattering suit for Reon, but Y/n hadn’t found the right fit. After a long time of looking, the three ended the day and walked Y/n home. It was about 2 hours later Y/n heard her doorbell ring. She went downstairs, opened the door, and there she saw Ushijima with a long banner, asking her to be his prom date.

“L/n F/n. Will you go to prom with me?” he asked. Her face was still for a moment, trying to comprehend. Ushijima, upon seeing her face, started to worry he made a mistake. “I asked Reon what I should do to ask you since he was seeing your best friend. He told me to keep it simple. I also got you flowers. I couldn't hold both them and the sign so I put it on your step,”

Y/n looked down to see the large bouquet. It was magnificent. “So, L/n, what do you day? Will you be my date to the prom?”

She lifted up the massive vase and held it to her face. Who knew he’d ask the same day Taeko suggested he might? Probably Taeko. Y/n couldn’t contain the smile on her face. “Yes, Ushiwaka. I would love nothing more than to be your date!”

______________________________________________________

Posted. 17.Sunday.March.2024 at 19.37 (7:37pm)

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq fluff #volleyball #anime #fanfiction #anime x reader #female reader #x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #hq ushijima #haikyuu ushijima

[leahsgf]

omg could u write adult lottie x reader?? maybe w lottie js comforting reader or something? theres such a lack in lottie fics its heartbreaking :((

an instant cure

pairings. adult!lottie x reader

i actually wrote two different versions of this! the other is a little more heavy so i’ll post this one first, thank you so much for the req! and i agree i wish there was more fics out there for lottie :(

-

“honey are you coming?” lottie’s voice sounded from the other side of the bathroom door, so soft and full of love that you could almost melt.

“yeah, yeah. just a second!” you shook off the threatening tears as you glanced over your appearance in the mirror. it’d been one of those days that had just been off. nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened, just the usual jobs and classes around the compound, but since you had woken up you had felt like you had a brick sat on your chest, refusing to shift.

you were desperately clinging to the logical side of your brain, trying to convince yourself that it was all in your head and to not let your thoughts completely overwhelm you. however nothing could quite quell the crummy feeling lingering in your gut.

you’d been delaying leaving the bathroom and joining your wife in bed because you didn’t want to dampen her mood. she was a constant beam of light, and spent her days helping people navigate their feelings purely out of the goodness of her own heart, and the last thing you wanted to do was to taint her high spirit and put her back into work mode when she should be relaxing. maybe, you thought, spending a second longer getting ready would be able to shake that off you - but, you were mistaken. so with a deep breath you opened the door, heading towards your shared bedroom.

your entrance instantly caught lottie’s attention, her eyes softening as she saw you, instantly plastering a smile across your features. “come on.” she demaned lightheartedly, holding up the sheets. “get over here.” you laughed and waltzed over, snuggling down next to her, inhaling her scent and instantly feeling comforted, and lighter.

the fuzzy feeling surrounding you reminded you of the first time you’d had the pleasure of being taken out on a date by her, decades ago, before the thought of nationals, before the crash, before switzerland, before everything. the pair of you had genuinely been through it all, and had always had each-other.

you’d met lottie when you were six. you were the terrified, shy new kid, and had refused to speak to anybody for the entirety of your first day. until she had toddled over, plonking herself down next to you and wordlessly started braiding your hair, beaming at you with her gappy smile.

her playing with your hair had always been a huge comfort to you - from the playground decades ago, to now, wrapped in her embrace from as she pressed kisses to the crook of your neck every now and again.

alongside her ability to love beyond belief, one of the things you loved the most about lottie was how observant she was, the little things that would fall unnoticed to most being the things that she would notice the most. she quite literally knew you inside and out, and was in touch with your emotions just as much, if not more than her own.

her fingers branched out from your hair, feathering over your cheeks ever so slightly, pulling you back into reality.

“what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?” she quizzed, her eyes studying your expression.

“just thinking about you.” you replied, so softly it was barely audible. “about the first day we met.”

“oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, the very same smile from that day spread across her cheeks. “you were so cute. i think i knew i loved you from the second my eyes set on you that day.” your eyes glazed over once more as your cheeks heated in response to her words.

after a moment of silence that fell between you, she nudged you slightly, an expectant look across her features, sighing softly as you met it with confusion.

“i don’t help people navigate their feelings everyday for nothing you know. what’s actually going on?”

“nothing,” you mumbled, “honestly, it was just a weird day.”

“weird?” her eyebrows furrowed as she scolded herself internally for busying herself today to the point of missing that you weren’t a hundred percent.

“yeah. just off. you know those days that just feel wrong, even though you don’t really know why?”

“absolutely baby.” she assured. “please always tell me or just give me a signal when you’re feeling like this. you are my top priority, always.” she pulled you into her arms further, caressing your back as she pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“thank you lot. i’m honestly feeling much better now. it’s quietened down a lot.”

“you sure? i don’t want you feeling icky before bed. i know it can take a while for it to let you relax sometimes. i could make you a smoothie? one of the ones you really like? o-or i could run us a bubble bath? or give you-“ she rambled, her brain scrambling for every possible way to comfort you, not realising that she is comfort enough.

“hey, hey.” you stopped her, a small chuckle slipping past your lips. “all i need is you, right here with me. i promise.”

lottie grinned over at you, pausing her train of very enticing ideas. “as long as you’re sure. i can very much do that. i’m not going anywhere.” she shifted your position so your head lay on her chest, her arms securely around your frame, almost cradling you. butterflies erupted within you, like they always had done at the slightest touch from her. she had had this effect on you for as long as you had known her.

“i love you so much.” you whispered, sleep now fully prepared to overcome you.

“i love you more sweetheart. don’t hesitate to wake me if you need me.” she soothed, gently squeezing you as your lips met hers to say goodnight.

lottie had always been like an instant cure to every negative emotion you had ever experienced. it seemed to again of worked effectively, as you drifted off to sleep happier than you’d been all day, knowing that you could get through anything as long as you had your love.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottie x reader #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #comfort

[evsstolenhearts]

Summary: you left your chest binder on for way to long, and Peter has you change

College!TASM!Peter Parker x ftm!college!reader | 894 words | no y/n

Warning: over wearing of a binder

A/N: 1st off, I was in different mode than usual so reader is written slightly different than I usually write. 2nd, so short, very very fluffy, very very domestic. 3rd, I did not have energy to make a header, and might stop doing those, idk yet

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆

Peter has been looking all over the campus for you. Earlier you has met up for a late lunch, but that was nearing nine hours ago. So, since Peter is finally leaving the lab to go home to the apartment you share, he is hoping to find you and have a peaceful night before he patrols, even if it's technically ten at night.

After checking the usual spots for you, he finds him self at one of the libraries. And there you happen to be.

Hunched over your computers, books, and papers. Posture as horrible as ever, headphones smooshing your hair, and completely dead to the world.

Walking up to you, Peter softly taps his hand on the desk to get your attention. Looking up at Peter from were you sit, your eyes seem to dilate, but he's probably just hallucinating it.

"Hey, pretty boy. You ready to go home?" Peter asks with a lopsided smile as you take off your headphones.

"Oh- yes, yes. Let me just get my stuff, and I already checked out this book," you get up from your seat and begin to put everything in your bag, "so I think I have everything."

"That's good," Peter grabs your bag before you can put it on and then kisses you before you can argue.

"I'm hungry." You say softly as you break apart from the kiss.

Peter laughs softly, both of you walking out of the campus library, "do we have anything at home?"

You take a second to think back. You guys got lunch from the cafeteria this afternoon, and it's long sense closed by now, and you honestly don't remeber the last time either of you went grocery shopping. "I don't think we do, no."

"Wanna pick something up on the way back? I think that Hawaiin place is still open."

"Ooo, yeah! That sounds really good."

And so you do, by the time you make it back to the apartment, you are holding bags of food and Peter has your book bags.

The coming home routine seems natural. Peter dumps the book bags in the bedroom, you bring the food to the coffee table, and you both find yourselves back in the kitchen to get drinks.

"Pleasure seeing you here, sir," Peter smiles as he leans on the kitchen counter as you get your drunk, "you come here often?"

A smile overtakes your features, "I do try to make a habit of it." You look back at him as you finish getting your drink and begin to walk to the living room couch.

"Thank goodness for that, because I definitely need to see more of you around." Peter over dramatically winks as he comes to join you.

You each get straight to eating. Chatting over the show that plays, over classes, and anything else that comes to mind. With in an hour, you are both finished with dinner and cuddling on the couch.

Peter is laid flat, which your body completely on top of his, head resting on his shoulder as you half watch the show, and have doze off to the sound of Peter's breathing.

Peter's hands slowly make their way under your shirt, rubbing comfortably over your skin, until he pauses at a feeling of something under your shirt.

"Baby?" His voice is soft as to not startle you out of your peaceful state.

You hum in acknowledgment, for him to continue what he wishes to say.

"How long have you had your binder on?" His voice is laced with concern as his hands lay over the peice of clothing.

You stay quite for a moment before shrugging, "I don't know, a while."

"That's not good, baby." It's obvious he's not mad, just concerned, as usual.

"It's just one time." Your voice is muffled from being half smooshed on Peter's chest.

"But one time with become two, then three, then five, and that's not good." He begins to sit up, taking you with him.

"Noooo, stop." You groan as he moves you like a ragdoll to sit up on his lap, "I was comfy."

"You'll be even more comfortable with your binder off."

"Too much work." You murmur as you glare at him, but it holds to real malicious.

"Come on." Peter stand up from the couch, holding you in his arms like a sad bag of potatoes as he walks to the bedroom, "let's get you a hoodie to make you feel better."

Once in the bedroom, Peter softly plops you down onto the bed before walking to the closet.

"Which one do you want?" He sits through his hoodies as you sit criss cross on the bed.

"Can I have the blue one?" Peter grabs the blue one and hands it to you, kissing your head.

"Do you want me to leave the room?"

You take a split second to think, deciding how much you care if Peter sees you, but today has already been off and changing alone would feel much better than infront of him. "Yes please."

Peter kisses your head one more time before leaving, going back to the living room.

You change out of your binder and t-shirt, into the comfy hoodie that belongs to Peter.

When you leave the bedroom, Peter is already laying down on the couch, waiting for you so you both can resume your night.

#tasm peter imagines #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x you #tasm peter fluff #tasm peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasmpeter parker fluff #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x trans!reader #tasm peter x ftm!reader #tasm peter parker x ftm!reader #tasm peter x trans!reader #tasm peter scenario #tasm peter parker scenario #tasm peter one shot #tasm peter oneshot #tasm peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter parker scenario