#making progress...slow progress...but making progress

[blank-potato]

A Special Surprise

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised. You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?” You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure.  You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head.  “Not today, horny plant, not today.” Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?” Or Since the plant attack a month ago, you and Bob haven't had sex, agreeing that you should take things slow. But your plant sees how pent up you both are and changes your plans.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, plants being freaky asl, Bob using his telekinesis for horny reasons, orgasm control/denial, tentacle handjob (tentacle job?) oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, hair pulling, bondage via tentacles and telekinesis, established relationship

WC: 5.8k

A/N: This is part 2 of Something Special linked below. This was another really fun one to write, more plant action as promised, hope you enjoy it!

Part 1

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Since the great plant incident, the two of you had decided to take things slow. 

Really slow.

It had been almost a month, and you guys had just worked your way up to holding hands, kissing and the occasional makeout session. 

Even though you guys had had sex, it probably wouldn’t have been the natural progression of your relationship. You would have kept awkwardly not quite flirting with each other until one of you made a move. 

So, taking it slow seemed to be the best course of action. It was fine, you were both okay with it… kinda. In all honesty, you wanted each other bad.

You’d be completely normal, working on something, and you’d feel his arms wrapping around you from behind, and that is all it took. The rest of the day, you’d think about you and him in many different compromising positions.

But you had to be normal and chill, and that is something you definitely know how to do. 

Bob enters your office, and you smile up at him. You could never resist your daily dose of Bob Reynolds. “Morning, I brought you cinnamon rolls. I figured you haven’t eaten yet?

“You know me and my bad habits so well,” You say before leaning up to peck him on the lips. You taste sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. “You’ve already eaten yours?”

“Couldn’t resist.”

He rounds the table to settle next to you, the smell of his cologne and shampoo already making you feel at home.

“How’s it looking?” he says, nodding at your flower.

You look at the plant in the corner of your lab, which has lost a few petals and curled in on itself a little. It’s looking out your window, all forlorn like it’s wishing for better days. “I swear I’ve been taking care of it, giving it enough water and sun, but it’s…”

“It looks a little sad,” Bob finishes.

The plant had taken to Bob over the past few weeks, probably because Bob was always in your lab, hovering nearby under the guise of helping or waiting for you to finish up.

It was oddly endearing, watching the way the plant seemed to lean toward him whenever he was around, as if it had claimed him, too. It was very cute how it would do a little shiver whenever you ruffled Bob’s hair or laughed at one of his awkward jokes, almost like it was rooting for you.

Sometimes, when Bob got too close to your workstation, the plant would nudge toward him, its leaves twitching like it wanted to be involved in whatever the two of you were doing.

He turns away from the plant and observes you instead. Instantly, he sees that you’re looking a little tired. “You alright?”

You mumble as ‘yes’ but honestly, without your second coffee of the day, you’d be curled up underneath your desk, asleep.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

And that was the truth. You didn’t sleep well last night, he didn’t need to know that it was because you had a dream about him fucking your brains out. Another shitty side-effect of not having sex with your hot boyfriend. 

“Anything I can do to help? I could… organise your notes, or bring coffee, or I don’t know…” Bob offers, clearly trying to come up with anything useful. “I just don’t want to see you burnt out.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close, resting your forehead gently against his. “I’ll be okay. I survived med school, okay? I’ve been more tired,” you say with a soft smile, “You’re so sweet, wanting to take care of me…”

You loved it when he got like this, all cute and tender. And the way he’d be doting on you even when you insisted you were fine. Like when he found you passed out at your desk, surrounded by papers and coffee cups, and you woke up in your bed and had a sparkling lab by the next morning. 

You glance up at his worried eyes, framed by the faintest crease in his brow. He’s so beautiful when he’s like this; it makes you want to melt into a little puddle on the floor.  There’s even a smudge of sugar on the corner of his lip from the cinnamon roll, and you just wanna kiss it right off. 

Just then, you’re overcome by that aching kind of affection, the kind that just demands an outlet, and you start pressing kisses all over his face: his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose.

He bursts into laughter, leaning back just slightly as you continue your playful assault. “What are you doing?” he laughs.

“This’ll keep me awake,” you murmur against his jawline.

He wraps his arms around you and lifts you in his arms like you weigh nothing.  You lock your legs around his waist like a little koala. You have no idea what has you both feeling so bold, but you like it. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say, as you move to the other side of his jaw. He lets out a moan, quaking under your praise. You knew just how to make him feel good, just how to make him feel special. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, his voice dipping even lower. Your lips leave his skin, and you look up at him to see his eyes glowing gold. All that does is turn you on even more, the fact that you got him so worked up…

Then, like that, as if you realised you weren’t exactly going slow right now, you break apart. 

“We should probably…” 

Bob hums in agreement, and you reluctantly release your python grip on his waist. It’s a near-impossible task, and you miss having him hold you as soon as he plops you down on your desk. 

You fan yourself a little and fix your shirt, trying to look composed even if you were the furthest thing from it. 

But when your eyes sweep the room, you notice the plant now turned away from the window and right at the two of you, like it was watching. 

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By the next day, the plant is going wild.

Bob stops by your office, hoping to take you out to lunch, only to find you locked in a tense staring contest with the plant, before you turn and he sees why.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brows raised.

You say wearily, “It’s been shaking all morning… almost dancing?”

You both look at it. The plant is doing a slow, rhythmic shimmy like it’s listening to music, only it can hear.  It was no longer sad, that was for sure. 

You watch it…it’s almost hypnotic in its movements. Going round and round and round and— you look away, shaking your head. 

“Not today, horny plant, not today.”

Bob tries and fails to suppress a snort. “Did you just…. call it horny?”

You nod profusely before pointing an accusatory finger at it. “I know that look. I’m telling you, something isn’t right.”

“Do we have any idea why?” Bob asks, but you shake your head. 

“I’ve called a specialist, but they won’t be here by next week.” Shifting away from it, you hold onto Bob’s arm. You needed to be ready to bolt just in case, it went crazy on your asses again.

You knew exactly what this plant was capable of, the flashbacks to your completely destroyed office coming back to you all at once. You still missed the shirt that it obliterated. 

You sigh. “You still wanna get lunch?”

Bob smiles. “Only if we’re not bringing the third wheel.”

You shoot the plant a final stern look. “Stay.”

The plant, as if in response, gives another aggressive little shimmy.

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Lunch was perfect, but moments with Bob often were. You shared jokes and a meatball sub from the corner shop and sat together in a nearby park. 

How could someone look so cute with sauce on his face? You wiped it off, brushing his lips with your napkin. Pretty lips, lips you wanted to devour.

You almost didn’t want to get back to work. 

Once you get back to the Tower, it’s quiet as the rest of the Avengers are now halfway across the country, fighting dangers unknown.

Like a big weighted blanket, he wraps his arms around you, walking with you in a slow, sleepy sway.

“Do you have to get to work now?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, sighing as you both waddle down the hall like two sleepy penguins, still tangled in each other’s warmth.

“See me after?”

“I will.”

Then, without warning, he stops and spins you around, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing, pressing a deep, giddy kiss to your lips.

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” you laugh breathlessly as he sets you back down.

He smiles, that soft, golden smile. “You just bring something out in me.”

Swiftly, he disappears down the hall, leaving your heart pounding and you wondering when exactly he got all suave and smooth. 

When you swing your door open, still swooning over Bob, you see something. Something…concerning?

It’s another flower. 

The door shuts behind you as you pause mid-step, squinting at it. This wasn’t the one Bob gave you. That one had soft green leaves and leaned adorably toward his voice and evidently danced. 

But this? This one had glowing yellow petals that pulsed faintly, almost like it was breathing. You hadn’t seen it before, and you certainly hadn’t grown it.

“I come in peace, plant.”

You carefully lift its pot and set it next to your other plant. If you were more attentive, or just less exhausted, then you probably would’ve noticed the faint tremble in the soil, or the way the leaves angled ever so slightly toward the door. You’d deal with it after the giant stack of papers and emails you had to get through.

You click-clack at your computer and try to focus, your body becomes heavier, the letters on your keyboard become blurry.

“Stay awake, stay awake,” you whisper to yourself, like a chant to keep you up, but it’s no use. “Just five minutes,” you murmur to yourself, as you rest your head on the desk.

What must’ve been at least an hour slips by, and when you jolt upright, disoriented and sticky-eyed—

“Of course, I fell asleep…”

You look around, scratching the back of your neck, stretching with a yawn, trying to blink the fog from your brain. But when you look to the corner, the one you’d started glancing at by habit, it’s empty.

When you wake up, the flower is gone.

Actually, both flowers are gone.

“Shit.”

You blink, disoriented, and then the sudden crack of gunfire rings out. You bolt upright, and you step out of the lab into complete chaos.

The hallway is a mess, vines are all over the ceiling and walls, snaking around furniture and lights, creeping fast. Ava is blinking in and out of sight, phasing wildly as she dodges them, while a vine nearly snags her ankle. Yelena is hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling with a gas mask, shooting at them. 

You can’t see him, but you can hear Alexei roaring in the distance, presumably batting the plant’s tentacles away with brute force.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

At the centre of the chaos, the yellow flower that was on your desk was now mad with power and trying to pull Bucky out of the elevator. And in another corner amongst overturned chairs and sparkling wires is a pink one, that had tentacles attached to John’s back, trying to pry off his clothes. 

How the fuck did they get here? Did they take the subway? A taxi?

Before you can do anything, you’re being pulled away into the air with a scream… not by a tentacle but by an invisible force.

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A few minutes before the plant attack on Avengers Tower, Bob’s lying in bed, living his best life and thinking of you, like always.  

Since you were busy working, he decided he’d take a nap, five minutes tops. He had been tired these past few days as well, thoughts of you in his bed, riding him, calling out his name until your voice was hoarse, keeping him awake more and more often. The sex dreams were wreaking havoc on his sleep schedule. Every time you guys would makeout, he’d be brought back to all the filthy things you’d be whispering in his ear in his dreams. 

He’d only meant to close his eyes for five minutes.

But eventually he drifts off peacefully, the comfort of his pillow and the lingering scent of you on his shirt pulling him under. Only to wake a few minutes later to the feeling of a warm, unfamiliar weight on his chest.

A soft rustle. Something moves.

A bloom of purple petals hovers above him, looking down at him with something almost resembling fondness. The plant tilts its head, mimicking him as he shifts, confused.

It takes him a moment to realise… his sheets are gone. His wrists, tied gently but firmly to the headboard by vines. Velvet-smooth tentacles looped like cuffs around his ankles.

Bob freezes, his breath catches in his throat. His heart races too, thoughts piling up in his head faster than he can sort them.

He swallows hard, shifting his hips in a vain attempt to sit up, but the vines hold firm. One of the petals tilts curiously, responding to his movement with something too close to glee.

Still pinned, still breathless, he whispers to the ceiling:

“…This plant is going to kill me.”

As if hearing him, the plant gets to work, making quick work of his clothes, discarding the fabric in smooth, deliberate motions, like it had done this before.

Bob couldn't deny it felt good… He'd been left wanting more every time, longing to be touched more. Every heated makeout session, few and far between, cut short by your mutual agreement to take things slow.

The tendrils slither their way around his body until they found what they were looking for, his cock. They wrap around him, the substance that was oozing from the tentacles onto his cock making him feel weak.  

His whole body shivers when they start moving. They fluctuate between pulsing around him and jerking him off, making it impossible to focus on anything. 

He bites back the no doubt embarrassing moan that was bound to come out. But he can’t keep them back for too long.  The moan that rips through him is more of a pathetic whine. They use his reactions against him, rubbing wherever made him whimper the loudest. But instead of moving as fast as they can, they slicked up his cock, moving just slow enough to leave him wanting. 

His breath is short, and his limbs feel heavy, too heavy for him to do anything, but he’s not sure he wants to do anything right now. 

“Fuck…”

He feels himself getting closer and closer, but one of the tentacles curls around the base of his cock and squeezes. Denying him the release, he very much needed. His legs shake as he groans and slams his head against the headboard, denting it. 

“Please…,” he lets out, his eyes dazed, and if you asked him what he’s begging for, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. 

The plant isn’t done with him yet; it starts moving again. The tentacles are making themselves right at home, working their hardest to get him to another orgasm. It's hell-bent on draining all his energy and leaving him a complete mess. He moans, bucking his hips up into its grip, causing it to squeeze around him harder. 

“I can’t, I can’t…” he gasps, before collapsing into a quiet sob, trembling under its iron grip pressing down on him.

He turns his head to the side, burying his face in the pillow, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as his toes curl in pleasure.

It’s not long before he feels it coming again, another dry orgasm he’s too weak to do anything about except whimper.

“Please, let me—”

His back arches off the bed as he has a second dry orgasm. All he can think about is you, how he wanted to kiss you and hold you in his arms… and fuck you senseless.  He wanted to hear you, wanted to make you feel good. His eyes start to glow gold as he moans out your name over and over. 

“Please, please, please—”

With the thought of you fresh in his mind, he finds his orgasm hitting him that much faster and harder. No matter how much he begged, the plant wouldn’t let him finish. But that’s not what really hurt; what hurt is the fact that you weren’t here right now with him. And he needed you. 

The tentacles keep moving, but start exploring the rest of his body more. He felt boneless and unbelievably horny, like he was about to go crazy. 

He needed relief. He needed you. To feel your body pressed against his, to feel your pussy squeezing down on his dick.

He flexes his hand and thinks of you, hoping that you’d come to him.

And you did. You were still mid-yell when you flew in there, as he slammed the door shut behind you with his telekinesis. 

Not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined seeing Bob like that when you floated into his room.

Vines around his body, his abs twitching, panting out your name in desperation. He was practically gift-wrapped. 

“Holy—” You start, but you see Bob nod his head, and your clothes literally go flying off your body. 

“Need you right now,” He breathes out, and your body floats over to him. Good to know that Bob could throw you around with his mind. You land on his lap, just as the vines fall away from around him. 

He only wants to focus on having you.  

“Bob, what happened?” you ask gently, caressing his cheek.

He’s so sensitive to your touch that he lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut under your fingertips.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in, mouth finding your collarbone, marking it with slow, desperate kisses. He’s been craving you, and that's evident.

“Bob…,” you whine, getting lost in his touch. You’re sure he can’t be affected by the sex pollen capabilities of the plant, so it must have found a way around it. 

He kisses his way from your collarbone to your neck to your earlobe, gently nibbling on it. 

“I’ve been wanting to be inside of you for weeks,” he confesses, finally saying it, feeling like a weight off his shoulders. 

Your heart jumps in your chest, and something about the way he says it, all breathy and needy, goes straight to your core. 

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, every movement he makes methodical. “Every time you’d climb in my lap or grip my hair when we’re kissing, all I could think of was how you looked lying out on that examination table that day.”

His hand runs down your stomach until he’s gently pressing on your aching pussy, not moving yet. “How good you felt to touch… You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just bend you over and…”

You gasp, feeling him start to move his hand, rubbing your clit in slow circles. “And just fuck you,” he says finishing his sentence. 

“Need to fill you up,” he says and moves you until you’re over his dick. “Can I?” 

You nod excitedly. Who were you to deny him when he’s so cute asking for permission? 

He slides in, and you remember just how good it feels to have him inside of you. Your walls stretching to accommodate his size, the biting pain that melts into pleasure, there’s nothing like it. He makes the most of it immediately, moving in sync with you. 

“So perfect,” he moans, like he’s finally gotten that relief he’s needed so badly. 

It’s clear he’s desperate for you, and only you.

“Want my cum to be dripping out of you for days,” Bob rasps, as he thrusts harder. 

That was a surprise.

“O-okay,” you squeak. He looks at you like he’s starving, like only you can satiate this aching hunger that’s eating him alive from the inside out.

You had never heard Bob talk like this, but you kinda liked it. 

He locks eyes with you, something fierce and tender flickering there, then pulls you flush against his chest. He starts thrusting into you with inhumane force, which makes you drool. His breath brushes your ear as he whispers, “You feel that? That’s all for you.”

“Bob!” you scream as he bounces you up and down on him with vigour.  You cry out his name so loud, you swear the other Avengers might hear it over the potted plant chaos. It feels so good, you swear you’re about to lose your mind.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you reply immediately.

He slows down, holding you by the hips and rocking you gently, the head of his cock pushing right against your sensitive spot. He leans in and kisses you like he’s scared you’re going to disappear, his whole body pressing into the moment, as he pours every ounce of feeling into it.

You're his world, and in that kiss, there’s no mistaking it. He wants you just as much as you want him.

He pulls back, kissing you on the forehead. Before you can even think of whining at the loss of him, you’re in the air as he flips you over with his mind. That was going to take a lot of getting used to. 

You end up back on the bed, legs spread, waiting for him to fill you up again. The anticipation is almost killing you and just when he decides to tease you, pushing the head of his cock against your entrance but not giving you want. 

“Bob, please…,” you beg, looking behind you to try and convince him with doe eyes and a pouty lip, but an invisible hand forces you to face the front and arch your back. You can feel Bob’s both of actual hands replacing his dick, spreading your wet folds apart.

“Don’t tease me like this,” you complain, still at the mercy of Bob’s invisible hold on your hair. Then catching you off guard he gets underneath you and starts licking at your pussy.

“Bob!”

He sucks your folds hungrily, like he was starved of you, before flipping you around over like a rotisserie chicken to get more access. You land on your back, chest heaving as you look up at Bob, so determined to please you. 

“You’re so beautiful, can’t believe I have you all to myself,” he praises before diving back in and turning your brain to soup.

You’re about to close your legs, too sensitive to the feeling, but the plant now sprang back to life with impeccable timing, catching them to keep them open. The vines deepen the stretch of your legs to allow Bob all the access he could ever want.

You watered it every day, gave it sun, and now it betrays you, just when you think you know a plant. Traitor.

He laps you up, your slick coating your lips as you continue to squirm. “Gonna die…,” you breathe out, and you’re surprised you’re not already dead. 

You try sitting up, but again that invisible force pulls your body around like you’re a puppet. He takes your arms with his mind and pins them above your head as he continues to please you with his mouth. 

“So…mean…” you whine to which you feel the vibration of his chuckle on your pussy. 

When you look down, you catch his eyes, glowing gold and full of desire for you. 

Just when you feel like you’ve had enough, you feel his fingers rubbing on your clit and more fingers pressing on your g-spot? Or at least you thought it was his fingers, but when you looked down, Bob’s hands were under your knees, so he was doing it with his mind. You didn’t know he had that much control, but you’re glad he did. 

“Bob, you’re fucking magical,” you say, as you let your head loll against the sheets. 

If his telekinesis wasn’t keeping you flat, you’d be arching your back off the bed as you scream out his name again. 

The moment you finish is something you’ll never forget. You’re whining because you can feel the orgasm coming but a final lick on your clit, as he looks up at you sends you crashing.

You fight against the hold the plant has on your legs, and the hold Bob has on…well, the rest of you, but it’s no use. The orgasm rolls through your whole body as you’re practically forced to stay still. 

He finally lets you go and shoo the plant away from your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking up on you, and you nod. You may be slightly (very) disorientated but you could fuck until the sun came down and then continue to fuck until the sun came up again. 

He pulls you up to a seated position, arms wrapped gently around you, letting you catch your breath as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, words soft and warm enough to melt you.

“Want to keep going?” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your skin.

“More than anything,” you breathe, and before he can respond, you shift, taking him by surprise as you climb on top of him, eyes locked with his.

The look on his face?

Completely undone.

His Adam’s apple jumps and he gulps, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to memorise every inch.

You were so beautiful, so sure, so sure of him. It made something ache deep inside him.

“You want no one else?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, needing that confirmation. 

“Just you,” you say without hesitation, and it’s all he needs to hear.

You run a finger slowly down his abs, watching the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

Then your desire takes over, and then leaning down, licking a line from the bottom of his abs to the top, savouring the way his breath catches, the quiet, broken sound he makes in response.

He's yours, and right now, you're making sure he feels it. You even feel his whole body shiver when you do that, a subtle tremble beneath your touch, and it gives you a quiet satisfaction. It’s something special, knowing you can unravel him like this. That even someone as powerful as Bob Reynolds can fall apart in your hands.

 He’s looking up at you with wide eyes, “Always wanted to do that.”

They were perfectly crafted. What were you supposed to do, not lick them?

You hop back on top of him and start rubbing his cock against your entrance, knocking him out of his stupor. He reaches for you immediately with a quiet beg, “Please.”

You can never handle it when he asks you for anything, so you oblige. Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock but when it comes to riding him, it’s hard and fast. 

He’s crying out your name as he clutches at your hips. 

You roll your hips faster and the plant comes to help you this time, pulling his hands from you and holding his arms down. Even though he could break the hold at any time, he’s rather enjoying being entranced by you. The way your body moves made him want to give you anything and everything. 

“You like this?” he asks, voice needy but happy. He loved seeing you feel good; he loved being the one making it happen. 

“I like everything you do to me,” you say back, breath hitching, fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer.

And the way he looks at you then, like you just gave him the universe, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You slow your pace for just a moment, catching your breath, and his eyes, before leaning in to press a soft, tender kiss to his forehead.

It’s gentle, the kind of kiss that says I’m here.

But next thing you know, you’re being plucked off of him and placed at the edge of the bed so your trembling bottom half hangs off of it. He was putting you through your paces today, that’s for sure. 

You feel him suddenly behind you as he runs his fingers over your body with reverence and lays a soft kiss on the small of your back. He pushes you legs apart and pushes in without warning but at this point, to his cock, your pussy was a second home. 

You grip the sheets as once again you’re being ganged up on by Bob and the plant. You feel tendrils wrap around your legs and ankles, lifting you in the air to create more space for Bob and invisible hands grab your hands from their death grip in the linen to place them behind your back.

He’s fucking you so hard, the bed is shaking. You can quite literally hear the legs groaning under the pressure and screws coming loose as it scrapes, inch by inch, across the floor.

“More, please, more…” you blurt out, your mind halfway across the world

In response, the plant wraps around you more, pushing you back to meet his thrusts. The sound of your hips meeting his echoes in the room so loud, it’s obscene. 

“Only want you,” he says, his voice sounding completely wrecked. 

He’s so deep inside you now, stretching you out so perfectly,  you can barely handle it.

Your legs spasm and shake, you know you’re close, and so does he.

“I’m close too, I know,” he says like he’s reading your mind and picks up the pace. You’re barely holding on, moaning so loud you might lose your voice. 

You wanted to be fucked senseless and you suppose this is it. 

The toe curling, leg shaking, drool inducing pleasure tears through you once again as you slobber out a series of “Fucks” and “Bobs”.

And before you can catch your breath you feel his cock twitch inside of you then you’re being flooded with his cum, it feels never ending. He just keeps pumping you full of his load before he presses down on top of you, kissing everywhere he can reach. 

“I love you so much,” he pants out, almost quiet enough that you don’t catch it.

He freezes.

Then suddenly, he’s off you, untangling himself, backing away like he’s afraid he said too much. Your limbs, once wrapped up in Bob and the tentacles, now lie free and cold in the absence of him.

He won’t look at you. His hands fidget. His breathing’s uneven. He’s spiralling. He’s thinking too hard.

What if it was too soon? What if you thought it was stupid? What if—?

“I love you too.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide, meeting yours. You’re looking right at him, that beautiful, grounding smile on your face, the one that always reminds him of sunshine after a hurricane.

“I love you,” you say again, slower this time, to make sure he knew you meant it.

Then you hold out your hand.

And when he hesitates for half a second, you yank him back down onto the bed, right next to you, where he belongs. 

The moment you two settle, you hear a creak, then another, and before you know it, the whole bed collapses with a definitive thud. All you could do was laugh, breathless and tangled in sheets with him.

“I’m sorry. Got a bit carried away,” he says sweetly, laying a gentle peck on your cheek. Bob Reynolds, folks. Talking to you all sweet as if he wasn’t railing you so hard, his bed collapsed.

You look around and see the plant sitting there innocently, like it hadn’t just caused a full-scale disaster. The state of Bob’s bed has the place looking like a tornado tried to redecorate.

“Seems you had a lot pent up,” you say, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “So did I.”

He nods, quiet for a beat. “One of us should’ve said something.”

“I agree. So let’s agree to communicate,” you reply, exasperated but softening, “instead of letting a plant interfere and tear the tower apart… again.”

He smiles, small, sheepish. “Deal.”

Slowly, his eyes flick to the plant in the corner. “Do you think that’s why the plant did this?”

The plant had been oddly in tune with both of you, following your every move like you were its favourite reality TV show. You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

“Fuck, probably…”

Then, the door slams open.

“Wait! There are naked people in here!” you yell instinctively, cuddling up to Bob, who yelps and fumbles for the blanket.

Alexei freezes mid-step, unbothered. “Just checking you and Bob still alive,” he says, then nods toward the chaotic hallway behind him. “There’s a team meeting. Everyone’s… angry.”

You groan into Bob’s shoulder. “Of course they are.”

You both get dressed and peek your head out in the hall. The vines are gone, but there’s a significant amount of damage (those flowers could pack a punch) that they left behind.

When you step into the living room, you’re happy to see everyone’s alive and unfucked. 

The yellow and pink flowers sit peacefully without a care in the world in the middle of the room, with the rest of the Avengers, who look like they just survived a hard-fought battle. 

You and Bob waddle out of the wreckage and stand in front of them.

“Hey guys…,” you say sheepishly, brushing a leaf out of your hair. This was the second time a plant-related attack happened on your watch, so safe to say you weren’t feeling too great.

“Again? Really?” John throws his hands up. The plants got him the worst, as he was only left with his beret, boxers and his shield. “How did the other two get here?!”

You shrug, half-defeated. “I think the first plant summoned the other two?”

A collective groan and chorus of exasperated sighs ripple through the room. You think you hear Ava mutter about “never trusting a flower again.”

“How?” Yelena asks, exhaustion rife in her voice. 

“With a dance?” you say, instantly regretting your own words. “It was a kind of shimmy,” Bob adds, trying to be helpful, and you squeeze his hand with a smile. 

There’s a long pause.

Bucky sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s it, we’re banning plants. Or we won’t have a tower left to work out of.”

“Agreed,” you and Bob say in unison. 

Main Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Yell at Me - Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader

Summary: 2.7k words. You never expected your attending to suddenly end your years-long secret fling without warning. Now you’re both dealing with the fallout.

Warnings: 18+ content. No explicit smut, but mdni anyway please. Age gap. Lots of colorful language lmao. Angst, angst, and more angst. Miscommunication (I hate it). Yearning. Trust the process and stick around to the end pls

a/n: I was listening to “undressed” by sombr in the shower last night and the lyrics “I don't want the children of another man / To have the eyes of the girl I won't forget” are now imprinted in my brain. I wrote this during the commercial breaks of last night’s episode of Love Island USA and this morning. Enjoy!

Master list | Divider credit!

The Pitt feels sterile and cold at this time of night. It’s slow. Quiet, even. But no one dares to utter the words. Not even Doctor Shen—not after the absolute reaming Doctor Ellis dealt him once the Pitt Fest dust settled. There’s enough action to keep you from falling asleep, but there’s enough lulls to allow you time to talk with your coworkers while you wait for imaging and lab results to come back for your patients.

Even on nights like tonight, Doctor Abbot doesn’t join in on the drama. But, he hears bits and pieces of the hospital’s gossip in passing. He’s not intentionally eavesdropping in the clean utility room, but he could pick your voice out in the loudest crowd and spot your face in any room. The L-shape of the closet prevents you from noticing him quietly gathering supplies while you gossip at a low volume with another resident at the other end, hidden from view.

“We’ve gone on a couple dates,” you admit to your fellow R4. Abbot can hear the smile in your voice and it makes him pause. After working in trauma medicine for years, he has a stomach of steel. But the insinuation of your admission makes him queasy.

He didn’t have any right to feel any type of way—he knew that.  You were never exclusive, it’s been months since you fooled around together, and he was the one who ended things. But it still hurt.

Abbot recognizes the other R4’s voice as Doctor Ellis. Your next words hit him like a sucker punch in the gut. He swallows heavily around the lump in his throat. He knows he should stop listening, should leave, but he can't move from where his feet are planted.

“I don’t know!” you say giddily when Ellis asks you if it’s anything serious. “I’m honestly not sure if I like him that much. Maybe he’ll grow on me. A slow-burn, if you will.” Ellis deadpans at that. You’ve been seeing this guy for a month and haven’t progressed beyond I think he’s kinda cute ish.

It didn’t compare even slightly to the feverish passion you felt for Abbot. Not that Ellis knew that. Nobody knew about your… situation. Whatever odd iteration of a relationship you shared with Jack existed beyond the bounds of a definition or term besides “it’s complicated.” Moreover, not that your feelings for your attending mattered. He’d never want you like that, he’d made that very clear the same night you were about to open up about your true feelings for him.

It was like Abbot could sense a shift in the air that night. Like he could feel your heart beating just for him.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.” The words left his mouth simply and short. It sounded smooth, a sharp contrast from the grating feeling clawing up his throat. Abbot couldn’t meet your eyes when he said it.

You pulled his bed sheet to cover your exposed chest. He spent that night—and countless other nights—leaving his mark on hidden parts of you, worshipping your breasts like they were the only altar he believed in.

“What?” you asked, lips parted in shock. Your post orgasmic haze was abruptly broken as a sinking feeling settled in your chest. Certainly you must’ve heard him wrong, you thought. You hoped.

But he doubled down. He repeated his words. This time, he willed himself to meet your eyes. His face was stoney, like he’d already detached and distanced himself. Jack was a horrible liar, but he was putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight or press for any more details. You just nodded around the lump in your throat.

You got out of his bed, taking the sheet with you, wrapped around your vulnerable frame. You couldn’t bear for him to see you naked, bare just for him, ever again.

The clothes you wore over to his apartment with the sole intention of him peeling them off your body were scattered across his bedroom floor. Your leggings, his t-shirt, his hoodie. You pulled the leggings on slowly and didn’t rush. You had to move slowly to prevent the tears weighing on your lower lashes from pouring down your face. Maybe it was pride, or spite, or hurt, or maybe all three, but you refused to let him see you cry.

You let your eyes drift around Jack’s room. You’d spent dozens of nights there in his arms, in his shower, on his counters and couch and lap, but you knew then it was the last time you’d ever see his bedroom. You’re not sure why you did it, one last thorough scan of the room, committing it as a masochistic memory.

Abbot watched you silently. He had since pulled on his own sweatpants, remaining shirtless. Even then, you couldn’t resist him. The attending had just rejected you in the cruelest way possible, and you still couldn’t steal your eyes from his defined chest.

You left his clothes on the floor and padded over to his dresser, the one he’d cleaned out a drawer for you in. You pulled on a dark shirt, thinking that maybe the fabric would hide the heavy tears you knew you’d shed on the drive home, and grabbed the rest of your belongings from the drawer. Whatever you couldn’t carry in your arms, you cut as a loss.

“Goodbye, Doctor Abbot,” you said in his hallway outside the door, bordering on apathetic. You didn’t have the energy to say it through gritted teeth.

‘Doctor Abbot’ was reserved for the Pitt. You never called him by his professional title outside of work, and you hadn’t for a while. You were respectful and professional at the hospital, but at home? In his bed? He was Jack to you.

Now, you looked at him like he was about to be no one to you.

You stood just beyond the threshold, another one you knew you’d never cross again. Jack had the decency to walk you to the door, even though it killed him to do so. When his eyes finally met your face, he saw the tears you couldn’t hold back, heavy in your eyes but not yet spilled. He saw how you bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

You left without ceremony. Jack stood in his open doorway for a while, watching your form retreat until you turned the corner and were gone from his view. He could hear blood rushing in his ears and he became acutely aware of his involuntary, erratic inhales and shaky exhales. The sobs wracked your body the second your car door was shut. It probably wasn’t safe for you to drive home with tears blurring your vision and your rib cage on the verge of cracking open, but you had little regard for anything in that moment.

Hours later, you laid in your bed staring at the ceiling. A world apart, Abbot was doing the same in his apartment that felt cold without you in it.

The next shift, you put anything Jack had left at your apartment over the past couple of years; hoodies, sweatpants, socks and underwear that you wore more often than he did in his locker. Part of him wanted you to keep it all. He liked knowing that your soft skin was wrapped up in his clothes. But you couldn’t bear to look at them, much less wear any of it, knowing how he tossed you aside after years together, albeit in secret.

None of it mattered now.

Doctor Abbot is roughly pulled back to the present when your next words stop him cold.

“But he seems like good Dad material,” you shrug and Ellis raises her eyebrows. You’re a woman of science, so you know your eggs aren’t drying up anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still feel the pressure to think about the future, to family plan. Jack hears ringing in his ears, like he’s back overseas again and he’s narrowly escaped an explosion.

You had talked about what you wanted in the future in between pillow talk with Jack. A white picket fence, two or three kids, and an SUV, but definitely not a minivan. But it was always hypothetical, or so he thought. Jack didn’t know about the locked list in your notes app; he didn’t know that “Jack” was listed as one of the names under the “baby names for boys” heading. The goals you shared with him softly in bed were always maybes, none of which specifically included Jack.

But now? The mere thought of another man’s children with your eyes? The ones that haunted him for months—every time he closed his eyes or met your gaze from across the room in a trauma bay—that he was sure he’d never forget? It made him sick in a way he hadn’t felt since that night months ago.

Abbot didn’t realize how tight his white knuckle grip was until the saline flush’s wrapper popped in his hand from the pressure.

He doesn’t pause for any time to think, he just acts, as if on instinct.

He rounds the corner with purpose, making you blush as you realize he’d probably heard at least part of your conversation.

“Would you excuse us please, I need to show Doctor YLN something.” He grabs your hand and pulls you away from the conversation, not waiting for Doctor Ellis’s response. He’s tugging you in the opposite direction of patient rooms, moving so swiftly through the hallways that you struggle to get your bearings.

“Jack, what- Doctor Abbot, I mean, where are we going?” you ask flustered, startled by his interruption and sudden behavior.

Your question is answered when he tests the door handle of an on-call room, just beyond any areas of regular foot traffic, before ushering you both inside. The resolute click of the door’s lock sounds like a bullet echoing in the empty room.

“What the hell are you doing?” You’re beyond confused. It dawns on you that this is the first time you and Abbot have been alone since he kicked you out in the middle of the night with no remorse.

“Don’t go out with him.” Jack’s jaw is set tight and his chest moves unsteady as he looks, no, stares into your soul.

“What?”

“Don’t go out on a date with him.” The command sounds like a plea. Jack spits the word him with vitriol, though it’s not directed at you.

“Jack-” you start, but Abbot interrupts you by saying your name. Any edge in his tone is gone. He realizes it’s the first time he’s been able to call you by your first name in months.

“Please.” He’s begging. The motherfucker actually has the audacity to beg you to do anything, as if he wasn’t the one that threw you out like trash.

“No.” Your face set seriously, hardening and bordering on cold, only held back by the white hot rage you felt. You had slowly started to patch up your broken heart in past few months and Jack was dangerously close to undoing all that work.

“You made it incredibly clear that you don’t want any future with me, so you don’t get to be upset, or feel anything when I move on. When I try to have a life outside of this hospital.” You poke his firm chest and quickly recoil at the spark you feel when you come in contact with him for the first time in too long.

It’s fair. Jack knows that.

You’re upset and it’s manifesting in anger. Anger that Abbot deserves to have unleashed upon him. It’s long overdue. You never really got to hash it out—you just went straight to clocking in for your shifts, ignoring the energy drinks he left in your locker as a pathetic peace offering and promptly throwing them in the garbage until Doctor Abbot had spent well over a hundred dollars on your preferred caffeine, and only speaking to him when absolutely necessary.

Doctor Abbot’s face twists like he’s in pain. His jaw moves like he’s fighting the words falling from his lips.

“I still care about you,” he admits lowly. You scoff.

“That’s fucking rich.” Laughter bubbles past your lips, but there’s no humor in it. Behind the locked on-call room door, any semblance of professionalism is gone. Abbot doesn’t dare reprimand you for your colorful language.

But he’s only human, and your reaction gets a rise out of him.

“You think I wanted to end… this?” Abbot is exasperated and waves a head between your tense bodies, tight with frustration. He comes up short for a term to describe the relationship that evaded labels.

Another scoff.

“Well, you explicitly told me you didn’t want me anymore while I was naked in your fucking bed, so yeah, I’d say you absolutely wanted to end our… situation,” you spit, also struggling to define your years-long arrangement with your attending.

The heels of Jack’s palms are pressed against his tightly shut eyes, like he’s trying to will away a migraine or Myrna. He mumbles something you can’t hear. You’ve long since run out of patience and grace, not that you had much in the first place.

“Spit it out, Jack. I’ve got patients to see. I don’t have time for your fucking mumbling.” A rage burns in you that Abbot has never witnessed, much less been on the receiving end of.

Maybe you’re just being mean now, but maybe you just don’t care. The love you had for Jack never really left. It just… atrophied. Then turned bitter and black and blue, like a bruise that never goes away.

Abbot punched the damn bruise.

“I did it to protect you!” Abbot shouts, no longer caring whether or not the four walls are soundproof. His graying curls are tousled and he’s got a wild look in his eyes. His heart is damn near beating out of his chest. Jack feels like a powder keg and you’re standing over him with a tank of gasoline and a lighter.

Your eyes narrow. Now he’s really pissing you off.

“Protect me?” you seethe. “When the hell did I ever ask you to do that?” Your hands are flying wildly as you talk. You’re glad the on-call rooms don’t have windows.

Abbot presses his lips into a thin line. You didn’t ask. You never asked for anything, always giving to others until you didn’t have anything left for yourself. But Jack wanted to give you the world.

He admires how hardworking you are. You outpace everyone in your cohort by far, but Doctor Abbot knew if anyone found out about your relationship they’d just assumed you slept your way through residency. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Abbot is harder on you than any of the other students because he knows how much potential you hold. Hell, there were some days he thought you were a better doctor than him. Nobody gets to be the top candidate for the newest junior attending position without working their ass off.

He made the decision to break things off—to save your career—so you wouldn’t have to.

He cut it off, and broke both of your hearts in the process, so that you could focus on your career and secure your well-earned spot as a junior attending. Without distractions. Without Jack.

Abbot’s mind is going a million miles an hour. He doesn’t realize all his racing thoughts had spilled out loud until he looks at you.

Silent. Dumbfounded. Still.

Your hands rest by your side, tense. Like they don’t know what to do if they’re not waving through the air, your anger and passion directed at your current mentor, former lover, and eternal pain in your ass.

The silence breaks when both of your pagers beep simultaneously. An incoming trauma alert is announced over the hospital’s PA system.

There was still a sharpness to you, but some of it had softened around the edges. The fire in your eyes when Jack held your stare with his was less of a glare now.

“We are not done talking. You are going to buy me breakfast and we’re going to talk this out like fucking adults, Jack,” you point at him with squinted eyes before turning on your heel. You don’t hold the door open for the attending, but you let it swing wide enough so that it won’t hit him on his way out.

“Yes, Doctor.” Abbot agrees, following your lead back into the belly of the Pitt. He places his palm on the small of your back on instinct. When you don’t pull away, Jack feels hopeful for the first time in months.

a/n: blah blah blah then they have nasty explosive amazing makeup sex. The end.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!

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[hedwig221b]

I recently realized that I’ve literally never read a teen wolf ff despite being a huge fan of the show and sterek. So now I’m on the hunt for a rlly good one to start with but I’m having a bit of trouble finding one that not only fits what I’m looking for but actually has good writing (no offense to the authors I just want my first one to be a good one that hooks me like Crimson Rivers hooked me into the marauders fandom😅)

so could you recommend me some that aren’t aus, not necessarily canon but canon is okay, werewolf or human stiles, with sterek (I do love a slow burn but doesn’t have to be), maybe some of your favorites?

What an honor to introduce you to sterek fanfiction omg! Here is a list of what I consider sterek classics (the canon kind), my beloved 💖

Hide Of A Life War by Etharei

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...” The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death. The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was. So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles finds a baby on the porch. It looks exactly like him. Well, this is awkward.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf. Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks. Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody. And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Pale Horses by Jana_C 

Being bitten had never been on his to-do list, but he could deal with that. Helping Derek Hale become a competent Alpha, though, that was so not in his job description.

Truth and Consequences by KouriArashi

“The place you give the Bite has meaning," Derek says. "Biting someone on the side is to make them your beta. It makes them your subordinate, but it also invites them into the pack with the full protection of the alpha. Biting someone on the legs indicates that you’re turning them to an omega. And biting someone on the arm, particularly the wrist, turns someone as your equal. It’s a mating ritual.” Stiles nearly chokes on a mouthful of granola. “A what?”

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon 

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack. They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack. It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. . Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Hold Me Close (I'm Falling Apart) by ajeepandleather

“Wolves without an emissary are naturally turbulent because their instincts are wild. Subconsciously, you’ve been balancing them, but you aren’t tied to the pack so you aren’t getting a balance in return.” “So, they’re bleeding me dry. Always knew they were parasites.” Stiles smiled dryly. “You’ll need to attach yourself to an alpha soon. There are risks for an unbalanced druid.” “Like?” “Well, a disruption in balance may show itself in several ways. It’s a disruption in nature, so nature will twist and alter in an attempt to right itself.” “What does that mean?” Stiles was getting anxious. The vet was avoiding giving direct answers and that never meant anything good. “You’re magic is heavily entwined with your will, and your will is parallel to your mind.” “I’ll go insane.”

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

spiderweb of lies by pineneedlepants

Derek gets a chance to gain his alpha powers back. The only one throwing a wrench in those plans is Scott.

Sparks and shadows by Nival_Vixen 

Stiles has to figure out a way to maintain a balance between his spark and the darkness inside of him.

The Roads Not Followed by SylvieW

Scott decides to leave Beacon HIlls with Allison and her father. Stiles is left alone to deal with the supernatural troubles of his home town, so he turns to Derek. Years later, Scott’s new pack is threatened, and the only ones who can help them are the Hale pack and Derek’s powerful mate.

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

Running Up That Hill by maypoison

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.” Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.” “My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before." Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?" “We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.

It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?” Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping. Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death. “Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least. “Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?” “Yes.” “Why?” “How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

The More That I Know You (the more I want to) by LadySlytherin

When death, in the form of hunters, comes for a family of Kelpies seeking refuge in the Preserve - in Hale territory - the Hale Pack is too late to save them. Before he dies, the male Kelpie presses a precious bundle into Stiles’ arms and begs the Emissary to take responsibility for it, which an initially reluctant Stiles does. When he agreed, Stiles had no idea what the sight of him with a baby would do to his esteemed Alpha, Derek. If he’d known, he might not have been so reluctant to agree.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

I know you mentioned no aus, but it would be a crime for me not to mention these absolute treasures that are staples in sterek fanfiction experience. The characters are on point, and the writing is magnificent

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face. Werewolf. Stiles does the only thing he can. “DAD!” The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. - When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

[masterlist link]

[dilfstarr]

24 Carat Magic

⟢✮⟣ Toji x Black Reader

⟢✮⟣ A/N: i was tryin to give them a lil Twilight moment. Toji is a softie at heart. unfortunately i couldn’t find a link that captured this work of art. kk bye!

⟢✮⟣ Warning: mating press, hair pulling, passionate-ish lovin, soft!toji, needy!toji??!, rawwww [ zont zo it ], creampie, biting, implied marathons

The moon was full and fell center in the open patio doors. Waves moved in ripples under the bright circle of light—clashing to and from the shore. A gentle breeze whistled softly in the air, causing the white curtains draped over the doors to flow left and right in a hypnotic motion.

Your engagement ring; a seven carat princess cut diamond with not one, but two blinged out bands, sparkled bright even in the soft glow of the moon light.

With the help of Shiu, Toji personally handcrafted the most beautiful engagement ring. He dropped band after band to make sure every single diamond was real, and shined as bright as you. After four weeks of the endless sketches, AI generated pictures, and twelve long weeks of the jeweler crafting the piece, it was completed.

“She’s goin’ to love this.”

Oh, you loved the ring alright.

Both of his hands were tangled deep in your coils, tugging at your hair from the roots. He caged you in with his arms, having each of his elbows comfortably laid next to your head. Your chocolate thighs were flat against his shoulders with the heel of your feet occasionally hitting the top of his back. You had nowhere else to put your hands, so they were wrapped tightly around the back of his neck.

Even with the occasional breeze, it was still so hot between your sweaty bodies.

His head was tucked tightly between your shoulder and your head. You both exchanged moans and hushed whispers amongst each other as if someone could hear.

“You wettin’ this dick uppp baby. Go-goddamn.”

Neither of you had to look down to see the mess creating where your bodies connected, because it was being echoed throughout the spacious room. Each drop of his hips were slow, but very much effective—pulling orgasm after orgasm from your body as the night progressed.

His name left your lips in a long desperate moan. “My godd! I feel it c-coming again. Tojjjjii!” Your arms began to squeeze his neck in preparation for your unfolding. Legs shook increasingly against his hot skin, pulling a grin from his lips.

“S’okay baby. Don’t run from it. Let it out. Let it allll out. Imma catch it, I promise.”

You nodded at him showing that you understood, also encouraging him to keep going. To not slow down, speed up, or shift—to Stay. Right. There. Mirroring your actions, he nodded along with you to show that he was on the same page.

“You’re so cloooose mama. I feel you. Y’feel me? Hm? F-feel me in your stomach?”

“Yeahhh y’soo deep. Y-you fuck me sooo good T-toji. Mmm!”

“I knooow it.”

Your breathing became shallow—in sync with the mean thrusts of your fiancé. Seeing you fucked out and at his mercy had his dick ready to fill you with his entire bloodline. He watched from above as your face contorted with pleasure—you looked so fucking beautiful. His wet tongue traced along your collarbone, slowly up your neck, and meeting its destination at your ear—pinching your lobe in between his teeth. Your breathing got heavier while your limbs grew more stiff.

“Ooohhmyy—Tojiaughhhh!”

“Mhhhm. Theeere she is. There is my baby. Give it to me. Give it Toji baby.”

It took lucky the number seven to stroke you to your orgasm. You were in complete silence when you came. Body tensing up from every slow drag of his dick. Your ears rang while your eyes crossed—brimmed with salty tears falling towards your ears. You clenched rhythmically around him, causing him to tighten his hold on your hair.

Your breath was held hostage in your lungs and your lack of sound was an issue—he needed to hear you.

“S-stop holdin’ your breath. What I tell you about that shit? Hm?” His words were followed by a gentle blow to your nose.

“Breathe through that shit. C’mon.”

With the gush of air rushing your nostrils, your body instinctively begins to breathe. It was a struggle, but the relief was everything. With your exhale, came the stronger end of your orgasm. The sounds you produced were a mix of moaning and deep growls. You clenched around him more frequently, milking him.

“Fuuuuckk meee! T-tojii!”

“Mmm Shit baby! Y’gonna make me…. Fuck! Y’gonna make me cum.” He gritted his teeth and descend lower back to the crook of your neck. Moving your hands from around him, he grabbed them and interlocked them—placing them above your head. His breath was hot against your already burning skin. You could tell from his breathing pattern that he was close.

“Jus’ like that daddy. D-don’t rush it m’yours forever. Forever baby.”

“Mhmm Promise it.”

“I prom-ise. I p-promise Toji!”

His hips dropped faster with more force behind them. He breathed more heavily into the crook of your neck. Groans and cussing left his lips and onto your open skin. His brows were furrowed together with his mouth slightly agape.

“Ooo shhiit—b-babymm!”

You yelped as his teeth sunk deep into your shoulder. His hips stilled as ropes of his warm nut filled you for the second time tonight. He jolted and twitched from the intensity of his orgasm.

“I l-love you s’fuckin much. Sooo fuckin’ much. My wife.” He confessed.

“I love you more.”

The kiss was filled with hunger and desperation. His tongue was so deep in your mouth, it threatened to touch your uvula. You struggled to keep up with his yearning for you. His hips began to slowly shift, fucking his cum deeper inside of you.

“I need you s’bad right now.” He slurred into your gasping, open mouth.

“You h-have me. Forever Toji. My husband.”

“Mmm I love the sound of that.”

He pushed himself off the bed, lifting himself with ease. His cock slowly exited your dripping pussy—both of you groaning from the sensation. He watched intensely as your mixed fluids leaked out of your hole, down to your tight rim, and lastly onto the crumpled sheets.

“Turn ‘round wife.” He grabbed your ankle and forcefully twisted you around. You landed with a huff—not expecting to be moved. “Two down, five more to go. A nut for each carat.”

“Yea, if you can keep up.”

“Y’said forever, ‘member?”

[lee-laurent]

In Your Shadow - Luke Hughes

Summary: In which Madi Sheridan hates Luke Hughes with every bone in her body. Or in which Luke bickers constantly with the hottest girl he's ever seen.

content: angst, arguing, underage drinking, not quite smut... but close

wc: 10k

notes: enemies to lovers, he falls first! sooooo this isn't the one that got voted to come out first... but i had more inspo for this one soooooo here we are!!! enjoy!! quinn fic in progress

The whistle blew, it's sharp trill filling the air.

"Let's go, Sheridan! I want fire under those spikes!" Coach Mallory barked from the edge of the track, clipboard in hand and zero sympathy in her voice.

Madi didn't respond; her feet were already moving.

The air was cold enough to burn in her lungs, but that didn't matter. Neither did the sting in her thighs, the pounding in her ears, or the way the lane lines blurred as she hit top speed. Just the next fifty metres daring her to quit.

She didn't.

Coach yelled again, something about pushing past limits, but it faded into the background. Madi hit the finish line and slowed only when her legs threatened to buckle. Her breathing came in short, measured gasps. She folded forward, hands on knees, sweat dripping down her back.

"Good pace," Coach muttered as she passed. "But don't get cocky. You've got two more sets."

Madi just nodded, still catching her breath. She was used to the grind. Thrived on it. She didn't run for applause or Intagram likes. She ran because she had to, her scholarship depended on it. Her degree depended on it. The life she was building, the one no one could take from her, depended on it.

That was enough to keep her running.

~~

By noon, she was two workouts deep and dead-eyed in the back of her econ lecture.

She sat in her usual seat, third row from the back, directly under the overhead vent that always blaseted Artice wind. Her laptop was open, notes scrolled in neat, bullet-pointed order. Her hair was braided tight against her scalp, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fingers, earbuds in. Not for music, but for the illusion of being unapproachable.

Next to her sat her holy trinity: a large iced coffee, a half-eaten protein bar, and an energy drink she'd already forgotten buying. Survival mode.

Professor Dawes clicked through slides at a painful speed.

"Inelastic demand curves reflect products that remain essential regardless of price fluctuations..." he droned.

Madi sipped her coffee and typed with ruthless effciency. She didn't glance at the two girls whispering in front of her or the guy on her left who kept trying to catch her eye. She wasn't in econ class to make friends. She was there to get the grades she needed to walk across a stage in two years with zero debt and multiple options.

He phone buzzed against her thigh.

Beckett: Wanna grab food after practice later?

She stared at the message for three seconds, expression flat, then locked her phone without answering.

He'd ask again.

~~

The house smelled like eucalyptus and leftover takeout when she got home.

Maia was in the kitchen with a clay face mask on and a spoonful of peanut butter in her mouth. Izzy was curled up on the couch, buried under an anatomy textbook and a heating pad. Val's shoes were already at the door, track bag open and spilling contents like a crime scene.

"You look like you got hit by a bus," Maia said cheerfully as Madi dropped her backpack by the door.

"That's because I did," Madi muttered. "Its name was Coach Mallory."

Maia grinned, peanut butter still in hand. "Tell me she made you run the pyramid."

"Twice."

Izzy looked up with a groan. "Why are you like this?"

"I'm funded by the university to sprint in a circle like a glorified lab rat," Madi said, toeing off her sneakers. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Val emerged from the hallway, towel around her neck, sports bra soaked. "Honestly? She was kiling us too. I thought that one lanky kid was gonna throw up on the turf."

"I wouldn't have stopped him," Madi said. "Natural selection."

Maia raised an eyebrow. "You're so mean. It's hot."

Madi shrugged, pulling her hair loose from the braid. "You either burn out or you make it out. No in-between."

"That sounds like a quote you'd find on Tumblr with a graphic of a wolf running through fire," Izzy said.

"Whatever. I'd rather die successful."

Maia dramatically clutched her peanut butter like a mic. "And there it is, folks. The thesis of Madeline Sheridan."

"I'm gonna shower before I start on my econ project," Madi said, ignoring them. "Also Beckett texted."

"Ooooooh," Val sang from the fridge. "Are we still playing that game?"

"There's no game."

"Sure," Maia said, already texting someone. "And I don't have a list of list of every cute guy I've seen on campus."

"Sher," Izzy said in a fake-Beckett voice, "you're the only girl I know who could break my heart and my legs at the same time."

Madi flipped her off without looking back.

~~

Her phone buzzed again after dinner.

Benders + Bitches Eddy: pregame at ours tonight Nolan: 8 sharp... don't be late Maia: if i get stuck talking to that one guy who smells like axe and sweat again i'm jumping off the roof Izzy: shotgun not dealing with Luke and Madi's sexual tension this time Madi: there's no tension. he's just annoying Maia: you say that, but you're already typing again Madi: because I have to mentally prepare to be in the same room as a dude whose ego could crowd out the whole team Val: let her cook

Madi tossed her phone face down and groaned into her pillow.

Of all the people she had to tolerate on a weekly basis, Luke Hughes topped the list of "least likely to survive if she were left alone with him in a locked room." Something about him just... grated. It wasn't that he was bad at hockey--he wasn't. He was good. She'd admit that. But the golden boy status? The name? The coverage?

Overhyped. Overcelebrated. Over it.

And he knew it. That was the worst part. The smug little smile when he got chirped on campus. The way he leaned into the whole "Hughes Dynasty" thing like he didn't care, but definitely did. She'd seen enough of TikToks of him to last a lifetime.

She scrolled up in the chat.

pregame at ours tonight

Gold help her.

Because she'd be there. Of course she'd be there. Everyone would be.

And if Luke opened his mouth one more time, she was absolutely going to break the no-fighting-inside-the-hockey-house rule.

~~

Pregame? More like party.

The house was LOUD by the time the Madi and the girls rolled up.

The living room smelled like Febreeze. Someone had dimmed the lights just enough to make the mess less obvious. Beer pong cups stacked on the table, bluetooth speaker fighting to be heard, at least three-finished Natty Lights laying around.

Madi took it in with the same energy she approached everything: calculated.

Val beelined for the pong table. Maia started chatting up a guy in a Michigan hoodie she'd definitely ghosted two months ago. Izzy wandered off to hunt down tequila. Madi found a spot in the corner, wedged between the arm of the couch and a shelf stacked with empty bottles.

She nursed her cooler, eyes scanning the room, already clocking how chaotic the night would be.

"Sheridan," Ethan called as he passed, giving her a little salute with his beer. "You looked thrilled to be here."

"I'm about to set this place on fire."

Nolan walked by next and clapped her on the shoulder like they were teammates. "Try not to kill anyone until after beer pong."

"No promises."

She didn't hate the hockey guys... most of them, anyway. They were loud, sure, and always smelled vaguely of Gatorade and testosterone, but they were fun. And, to their credit, they hadn't treated her and her friends like groupies when they met during frosh week. They were just... their friends. Madi knew how to handle them. She liked how easy it was. The mutual respect they all had for each other.

Except for Luke.

Luke was a different breed of infuriating.

And as if right on cue, the front creaked open.

He walked in with Luca and Mark, nodding at a few people, eyes sweeping the room, completely relaxed in his own skin. That whole effortlessly cool thing? It would've worked on her, if she hadn't already built a mental firewall to block it.

Madi raised her can.

"Well, well. The prodigal son has returned," she said loud enough for him to hear. "Did you trip over your ego on the way here?"

Luke didn't even blink. "Still faster than you."

There it was.

A few heads turned. A couple of laughs bubbled up from nearby. Madi's smirk sharpened.

"Bold talk for someone who spends most of the game glued to the bench," she said.

He shrugged, completely unbothered. "I only need one shift to make it count. You wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh," Madi said, stepping forward, "if I had your PR team, I'd be on a fucking Wheaties box by now."

Luke smiled, and not the friendly kind. The "I could fight you or fuck you and I'm not sure which is worse" kind.

"Keep dreaming, Sheridan."

She rolled her eyes and turned away, pulse annoyingly elevated. He always did that. Always got the last word, like it was competition only he knew the rules to. And she always let him.

~~

Twenty minutes and a vodka soda later, Madi had settled into a buzz. The music got louder, the bodies packed tighter, and the familiar haze of house party chaos started to dull her irritation.

Maia came up beside her, cheeks flushed. "Okay, hot take: that guy I was talking to definitely cried during The Notebook."

"He looks like he owns a guitar he only knows how to play Wonderwall on," Madi muttered.

Izzy reappeared. "Okay, mean girls. Chill."

"No mean," Madi said. "Accurate."

"Speaking of accuracy," Val said, sliding in from the kitchen, "Eddy just told me he thinks Luke and Madi are gonna hook up before the semester ends."

Madi nearly choked on her drink.

"Absolutely the fuck not," she said, coughing. "That man gives me hives."

"Sexy hives," Maia offered.

"Stress hives," Madi shot back.

Izzy raised her eyebrows. "He's hot though."

"Statistically? Maybe. Personally? He's a walking migraine."

Maia leaned in close. "Yet somehow, he still gets under your skin faster than Beckett."

The name didn't hit her the way it used to. That was... interesting.

"Speaking of," Izzy said, glancing toward the door, "look who just walked in."

Madi turned her head, and there he was. Beckett, all tan and grins, shoulders draped in a windbreaker like he was in a Nike ad. His blond hair was messier than usual. He spotted her instantly.

"Sher," he called, moving through the sea of bodies.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was second nature. Madi didn't push him off, but she didn't lean in, either.

"Hey," she said, her tone neutral.

"You look good," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her temple. "Missed you at the game last week."

She shrugged. "Coach had us running circuits."

He nodded, not bothered. That was the thing about Beckett... he never got bothered. Never asked too many questions. Never pushed too hard. He was safe, predictable, easy.

She let him stay there, arm draped casually, while her eye flicked across the room.

Luke was at the kitchen counter, half-listening to Nolan talk, red solo cup in hand. His jaw was set, shoulders tight. He hadn't looked over once.

But Madi knew he'd seen.

Ten minutes passed. Beckett was off catching up with someone from the soccer team. Madi stayed where she was, a new cup in hand, cheeks flushed from the heat.

Luke walked by, brushing past her without a word.

She didn't even know she'd been waiting for something until he gave her nothing.

It irritated her more than it should have.

She turned to find Maia already watching her.

"What?"

Maia tilted her head, voice low. "He gets so weird when Beckett's around."

Val nodded. "Jealousy looks good on Hughes."

Madi scoffed. "Please. He's not jealous. He's just mad I'm not impressed."

Maia smirked. "You sure you're not?"

"Positive."

But her stomach was doing something weird, unsettled. She hated it because she didn't like Luke. Not even a little...

Right?

~~

The locker room was quiet. Not silent though, it was never silent.

Luke sat in his stall, elbow resting on his knee, towel drapped over his shoulders, curls wet. Practice had been fine. A little sloppy. He wasn't in his zone. Coach hadn't mentioned it, but Luke could feel it in his movements.

He knew why, he just didn't want to admit it.

He leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. The buzzing in his head wouldn't stop.

Madi fucking Sheridan.

He pulled his phone from his bag and stared at it. No notifications or messages. Just the time and the way it mocked him. Four hours until conditioning. Probably six until he'd run into her again.

And she'd look right through him. With that sharp little smirk and her eyebrows cocked like she was perpetually unimpressed.

It had all started before he even knew what was happening.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

Everyone was still new, new campus, new teams, new people to pretend to be chill around. There was a mixer at one of the dorm rec rooms. Someone had ordered pizza, someone else had brought a speaker. Everyone was awkward in that freshman "we're all pretending not to be terrified" way.

Luke had been talking to a couple of guys from the swim team when she walked in with her (now) roommates. Confident, not trying at all. She was wearing bike shorts and a hoodie that said "St. Georges Track and Field" in peeling white print.

She didn't even look at him. That alone should've told him.

Eventually, someone had introduced them. Her name was Madi. Short for Madeline. She said it like she didn't care if he remembered it or not.

"You play hockey?" she asked, sipping root beer from a solo cup.

"Yeah," he said. "My name's Luke. Hughes."

She blinked once. "Cool."

That was it.

No follow-up. No "Oh my God, Hughes like Jack?" No fake excitement or name-dropping or asking what position he played. Just a flat, polite cool and then she turned back to Val to talk about which bathroom had the best lighting.

He'd never wanted someone to look at him twice so badly.

He remembered other things too.

The time he made a joke about sprinters being short-distance specialists because they were scared of endurance and she replied, "Don't be mad that my entire event lasts less than your warmup and still requires more skill."

The time he tried to cut in line at the on-campus café and she'd stepped in front of him with a, "Who told you that you could stand with me?"

The time she absolutely bodied a guy on the intramural field during a co-ed dodgeball game and didn't even celebrate. She just turned and walked off like it was nothing.

She didn't attention.

Madi wanted control.

And she had it, always. Perfectly. Except when she was arguing with him.

That was the only time she cracked.

~~

A week ago, he'd gone to her meet.

He didn't tell anyone, just pulled a hoodie over his hat, grabbed a protein shake, and stood near the bleachers where none of the team parents were sitting. Her event was the 200. He knew that, had Googled it more than once.

She exploded out of the blocks like her feet were made of fire.

Arms tight, form clean, controlled chaos. She didn't lead until the curve, but by the final stretch she was untouchable. The rest of the heat faded behind her.

She crossed the line and didn't even smile.

Just bent at the waist, hands on knees, and breathed through it like it was all routine. Like winning was the bar.

He left before she saw him.

~~

He wasn't used to be being subtle. He didn't know how to do it. With everything else, he just showed up, played hard, let the results speak. And yeah, okay, sometimes the name helped. He wasn't blind to that. He just didn't let it define him.

But with Madi?

With Madi, the name meant nothing.

Wore than nothing. She hated it.

Which made no sense. Because if it were about fame, she could've just ignored him. Most people who thought he was overrated just kept it moving. Not her.

She hunted him like a sport, gave him shit in front of everyone, picked him apart like she was trying to prove a point to the universe.

It should've pissed him off. And it did. Sometimes.

Bust most of the time?

Most of the time, it made him think about the way her mouth looked when she said his name. The way her tone always landed somwhere between sarcasm and challenge. The way she never smiled at him unless she was about to gut him.

He could deal with hate. He couldn't deal with indifference.

And she rarely ignored him.

~~

The other night at the party?

She'd looked good.

Not trying-good. Just her usual ponytail, jeans, crop top, usual drink in hand. But when she'd raised her voice from across the room to mock him, something in his chest snapped.

He didn't even think. Just shot back, easy as breathing. "Still faster than you."

She smiled. Not nice. But real.

And then Beckett showed up.

Fucking Beckett.

Luke had no issue with the guy in theory--nice enough, decent soccer player, one of those effortlessly chill dudes who got by on charms and abs. But the way he said "Sher"? The way he wrapped his arm around her like he had access?

Luke had bailed to the kitchen before he did something stupid. And that's when it hit him.

He wasn't just annoyed. He was gone.

No version of normal crush territory would have him memorizing her event times or noticing the exact cadence of her laugh when she was having a good time.

She didn't like him. She'd made that clear.

But he still wanted her to look at him like he was more than just a name.

Madi hated him. Maybe not in the "wish you were dead" way, but enough to make it impossible to say anything real to her without getting sucker-punched emotionally.

And yet, he couldn't stop looking at her, like she had him in a headlock he didn't want to escape.

~~

The living room looked like a Pinterest board. Textbooks were stacked on the coffee table, highlighters bled through paper, half-eaten snacks in mismatched bowls. Someone's laptop was blasting a Spotify "Focus Mode" playlist that wasn't helping anyone's focus.

Madi sat cross-legged on the floor, her notes spread in front of her like a crime scene.

Across the room Maia and Nolan were playing footsie instead of studying. Val had her laptop open but hadn't typed in twenty minutes. Ethan was half-asleep against the armrest, earbuds in, hood up.

Fake study night. Classic.

She needed caffeine if she was going to power through this next chapter without stabbing herself.

She stood, stretched her legs, and made her way into the kitchen.

The second she stepped in, she regretted it.

Luke was already there.

He had his back to her, rummaging in the fridge like he lived there. Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth. The hockey guys were over often enough that their beer took up a drawer on the bottom shelf.

Madi inhaled once, calm and centered, and stepped around him to grab a mug.

"I'm not in the mood," she said flatly.

"For what?" he asked, still not turning.

"Whatever stupid comment you're about to make."

He finally looked over his shoulder. "You think I wake up every day thinking about ways to piss you off?"

"No," she said, pouring water into the kettle. "I think it just comes naturally."

He let the fridge close with a thud. "Cool. Thanks for the insight, Dr. Sheridan."

She arched a brow. "Did you just call me a doctor because I'm smarter than you, or because you're hoping I'll diagnose you with whatever makes you such a dick?"

Luke smiled. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"That defensive little jab. Every time."

"Maybe it's less defensive and more observational," she said, dropping a spoon into her mug. "Like noticing how you only ever show up with your boys and a half-assed opinion."

His eyes narrowed. "Why're you always on my ass?"

Madi didn't flinch.

"Because I don't like frauds with press coverage."

The air changed.

There was no one else around. No music or Val's cackling laugh. Just the two of them in the dim kitchen light, surrounded by the hiss of the kettle and buzz of the fridge.

Luke didn't move, his jaw twitching once.

"You don't know a thing about me," he said quietly.

Madi looked up, holding his stare.

"Don't need to."

They were close now. Not physically, there was still a sliver of space between them, but the kind of close that made goosebumps form on the back of her neck.

It wasn't flirtation or heat.

It was pressure.

He looked at her like he wanted to say something. Maybe scream it, throw it in her face. She wasn't sure which and she wasn't sure she cared.

The kettle clicked off behind her.

Madi didn't turn around. She walked right past him instead, mug in hand, and didn't pause until her shoulder clipped his arm hard enough to jolt them both.

He didn't say anything.

But when she glanced back over her shoulder, just for a second, he was still standing there.

Fists clenched. Jaw tight. Eyes completely unreadable.

~~

Another week, another party at the hockey house. Another night of shitty music, too much alcohol, and too many people Madi disliked.

She was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, nursing a solo cup of something vaguely lime-flavoured and far too sweet. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail a little looser than it had been when she left the house, and her buzz was just strong enough to mute the part of her brain that kept her from running her mouth.

"Sher!"

She turned as Beckett appeared, golden and grinning as always, like he was the model in an expensive cologne ad. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tan forearms that were probably illegal in some countries. He slid up beside her like he hadn't been flirting with half the girls in their one shared class earlier that week.

"Figured I'd find you near the alcohol," he said.

"Figured I'd find you still pretending you're not a lightweight," she replied, tipping her cup toward him.

He smirked and leaned in, way too close, breath warm on her cheek. "Admit it. You missed me."

Madi gave him a slow look. "I missed quiet."

He laughed and grabbed two shot glasses from the counter. "We're celebrating. Take one with me."

"They tied," she said flatly.

"A moral victory."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say no. They clinked plastic and tossed them back. Tequila, cheap and brutal.

He grimaced. "Yeah, I still hate it."

"That's because you're weak," she said, tongue scraping across her teeth. "Grow up."

Beckett just laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Luke watched the whole thing from the other side of the kitchen. He was near the wall, drunk untouched, jaw set. Nolan was talking next to him, something about the second period and missed calls, but Luke wasn't listening. He hadn't been listening for the past twenty minutes... not since Madi had walked in wearing black jeans and that cropped Michigan track shirt that made his blood temperature shift.

She looked good. Annoyingly so. Confident, relaxed, loose in a way he never got to see her. Unless it was aimed at someone else.

Someone like Beckett.

And when she threw her head back laughing at whatever the hell he said? Luke thought, briefly, about walking out the front door and never coming back.

But instead, he stood there, watching and waiting. His fingers curled tight around his beer.

Across the room, Madi climbed up to sit on the counter, leaning back against a cupboard, her girlfriends had come to talk with her.

"Okay," she said fairly loudly, eyes scanning her group, "honest question."

Izzy groaned immediately. "No."

"Yes," Madi insisted, grinning. "Important cultural debate."

Maia laughed. "God, here we go."

"If," Madi said, drawing out the word like a dare, "you had to choose one Hughes brother..."

Beckett booed. Some girl shouted "don't make me choose!"

"I'm just saying!" Madi went on. "One night. One chance. Who are you choosing?"

"Jack," Val said, sipping her drink.

"Wrong," Madi replied.

Maia shrugged. "I'd climb Quinn like a tree."

"Thank you," Madi declared. "See? Finally, someone with taste."

Across the room, Luke's expression changed. Just barely.

She went on. "Quinn Hughes? Now that's a man I'd risk it all for."

One of the girls giggled, "Someone text Vancouver!"

Luke didn't laugh.

"I mean, come on," Madi added, tequila coating her tongue. "If I got just half an hour with him--"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't need to, her friends were already laughing.

Luke downed the rest of his drink and disappeared into the other room.

~~

Fifteen minutes later, Madi stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her hands dry on her jeans.

The hallway was empty. Just dim string lights overhead and music muffled by the door behind her. She didn't even see him coming at first... not until he stepped forward from the shadows by the coat rack, blocking her path.

She blinked. "Jesus. You lurking now?"

Luke's voice was low.

"Say it again."

Madi frowned. "What?"

He stepped closer. "What you said earlier. About Quinn."

She tilted her head. "Are you seriously still mad about--"

"Say it again," he repeated.

Her mouth curled up. "Quinn. Is. Hotter."

It happened all at once.

One second he was glaring at her, chest rising and falling like he was trying to calm down, and the next... his hand was in her hair, and his mouth was on hers.

Hard.

Not sweet or careful. Just full-on, pissed-off, tension-snapping chaos.

Madi froze.

Every nerve in her body lit up like someone had flipped a switch she didn't know about.

And then--against all logic, all sense, all everything-- she kissed him back.

Furiously.

Their teeth clashed. He backed her into the wall, one hand still in her hair, the other braced next to her head. Their mouths moved like they were trying to erase every insult, every eye roll, every "you're so fucking annoying" they'd ever thrown at each other.

She hated how good it all felt.

Hated how badly she wanted more of it. Hated him.

But she didn't stop. Not until reality slammed back in.

Madi shoved him off with both hands, breath ragged, chest heaving.

He stumbled back, blinking like he didn't know where he was.

She stared at him, fury sparking like static on her skin.

"You're such a fucking asshole," she said, voice shaking.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. She turned and walked away, not bothering to look back.

And Luke?

He just stood there, alone in the hallway.

~~

The kiss never happened.

That was the rule.

Madi decided it the second she walked out of that hallway, still breathless, lips stinging, skin buzzing like she'd touched an exposed wire. She went home, peeled her shirt off like it was choking her, stared at her ceiling, and by morning?

It didn't happen.

That was that.

No one mentioned it. No one knew. And Luke sure as hell hadn't tried to bring it up... not that she gave him the chance.

She ghosted him. Effortlessly, professionally. Like it was her Olympic event.

At the next group hang, she made sure to sit at the far end of the room. Didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even look in his direction when he coughed just loud enough for her to hear.

When he passed her on the way to the kitchen and said a low, "Hey," she reached for the salsa and acted like the air had spoken.

Ice him out mode. Activated.

It wasn't that she regretted it--the kiss. Not entirely.

What she regretted was that she kissed him back.

Worse: she wanted to. Like, actually wanted to. Like some sick part of her had been waiting for it.

And that? That couldn't happen.

Because Luke Hughes was the exact kind of guy she didn't have time for.

The cocky, media-groomed, perfectly tousled poster boy of Wolverines hockey. The guy everyone loved because of his name and his stats and his shiny, effortless charm. The guy who had never once had to work for attention... until her.

She didn't want to be one of the girls in his comments. Or his DMs. Or in some whispered story after a party. She didn't even want to like him.

So she didn't.

Problem solved.

~~

The days that followed were filled with controlled chaos.

Madi buried herself in training. She stayed late after track practice, doing extra intervals until her legs screamed. She told Coach she was prepping for a new time trial, even though there wasn't one. She left the house early. Avoided the usual run-ins. Dodged group texts with, "sorry, busy" even when she wasn't.

She picked fights with her roommates just because.

One morning, Maia knocked on the door of their shared bathroom, groggy and half-dressed. "You've been in there forever. Are you doing your taxes or shaving your legs?"

"I'm trying to shower without commentary," Madi snapped, flinging the door open.

Maia blinked. "Okay. Jesus."

Madi rolled her eyes and brushed past her without an apology.

Later, she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and three empty iced coffee cups and chewed at the end of her pen until the plastic cracked. She scrolled through her econ notes three times and retained none of it.

All she could hear was his voice.

Say it again.

All she could feel was his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers, the way her heart jumped out of her body like it wanted to sprint from the room first.

She slammed her laptop shut and grabbed her keys.

Luke saw her across the quad two days later.

She was walking fast, track girl pace, earbuds in, sunglasses on, hair braided so tight it looked inpenetrable.

She didn't see him.

Or she did... and she ignored him.

He couldn't tell anymore.

He sat on the edge of the stone fountain, thumb running over the seam of his coffee cup. He hadn't said anything to anyone. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know what to say.

They'd kissed. She kissed him back. Then shoved him off like he'd spit on her.

And now?

Now she wouldn't look at him.

At practice, he'd snapped at two teammates and missed an easy drill. At lift, he added extra weight just to push himself. At night, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling replaying the exact second she said, Quinn. Is. Hotter.

It wasn't even about Quinn.

It was about her looking at him like he didn't matter.

And that? That messed him up more than he could explain.

~~

"Dude," Ethan said the next morning, stepping into the locker room, "what's with you lately?"

Luke didn't look up. "What?"

"You've been all weird and quiet and... intense." He tossed his gear down. "Did you piss off Madi or something?"

Luke paused.

Then shrugged. "No idea."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You guys are usually fighting by now. Now you're just... silent. It's freaking everyone out."

Luke didn't answer. He didn't have one.

~~

There was a Jenga tower on coffee table, a charcuterie board on the kitchen counter that no one had touched. A half-played game of Uno in one corner and a speaker playing Izzy's playlist in the other.

Group hang.

One of those things where everyone pretended it was just for the vibes but half the people there were just waiting to see who would crack first.

Madi sat near Val, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Her entire body language screamed don't start with me.

Luke was on the other side of the table with Mark, sprawled in a beanbag chair like he didn't have an insane amount of tension in his shoulders.

They hadn't looked at each other once.

But the air between them was thin.

"Alright," Nolan said, clapping his hands together. "Everyone's here. Time for a real question. Let's get straight into it."

"Oh god," Maia groaned, curling up against a pillow. "If this ends in trauma dumping, I'm leaving."

"No trauma," Ethan promised, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Perfect," Val nodded.

"Okay, first question." Nolan grinned. "If you had to fight one person in this room--"

"Luke," Madi said immediately.

Heads turned.

Maia made a sound that was mostly air. "Damn."

Luke didn't move.

"Wow," Nolan mumbled. "Didn't even let me finish."

"Didn't have to."

Luke finally looked up. "You're obsessed with me."

"In the way people are obsessed with plane crashes," she replied. "It's the horror."

Maia shot Val a look. Ethan whistled lowly.

Luke sat up straighter. "You've been on my ass for two weeks."

"I've been avoiding your ass for two weeks."

"Oh, avoiding? That's what you call it?"

Madi arched an eyebrow. "Jesus. Do you need attention that badly?"

Luke stood.

The room got quiet.

"Jesus," he snapped, "do you ever shut up?"

And just like that... silence. The kind that makes your skin go cold.

Madi didn't even flinch.

"Only when I'm not near clowns with NHL dreams and zero personality."

It was sharp enough to bleed.

Maia slowly stood up.

"Okay!" she said too brightly. "Game night's over. Everyone go... do something else."

Izzy frowned. "I didn't even get a turn, I--"

Val grabbed her wrist. "We're leaving before someone flips the fucking table."

Luke stormed into the kitchen. Madi stayed exactly where she was.

The rest of the room scattered, pretending they hadn't just seen two people emotionally detonate in front of a game of Jenga and a charcuterie board.

When the girls got home, the living room was quiet. Just Val and Madi on the couch, the others already in bed.

Val didn't say anything for a while, just scrolled on her phone.

Madi finally exhaled, putting her phone down.

"Was I out of line?"

Val looked up slowly. "Do you want the answer that makes you feel better or the honest one?"

Madi groaned. "Forget it."

Val shot her a look. "Why are you like this with him?"

"Because he's Luke."

"Okay, but like... why are you like this with him?"

Madi didn't answer and Val decided not to push.

"Night, Sher."

~~

Luke stared at his phone. The message sat there on his screen in blue, taunting him.

Luke: We need to talk

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. The read receipt popped up and that was that.

After a minute, he unsent it.

Then tossed his phone on his bed and yanked a hoodie on. By the time his feet hit the sidewalk, it was past midnight. But Luke didn't care, he just needed to clear his head.

~~

It had been a long practice. Sprints on dead legs, hurdle drills that just felt like punishment. Her tank was soaked through by the end, her patience buried somewhere back at the start line.

She just wanted a protein bar, a hot shower, and to not think about Luke Hughes for five goddamn seconds.

So naturally, he was waiting outside the fieldhouse.

Madi's breath caught, then she tightened the straps of her backpack and kept walking, like maybe if she didn't break stride, he'd evaporate into the sidewalk.

No such luck.

"Sheridan."

She ignored him.

"Hey." His voice was closer now. "We need to talk."

She didn't slow down. "No, we don't."

"Madi--"

She stopped and turned around so fast it startled him.

He stepped back half a pace, but not enough.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said flatly. Final.

Luke looked at her like she'd just slapped him... which, to be fair, was still on the table.

"You kissed me like a joke," she went on. "And now what? You want a reaction? A conversation? You want to process it together like we're on some after-school special?"

His jaw tightened. "It wasn't a joke."

"Yeah? Could've fooled me." Her arms crossed over her chest, fists curling in her sleeves. "You didn't even say anything. Just ambushed me. Like you couldn't handle one more second of not being the centre of attention."

"That's not--"

"You don't get to do shit like that," she snapped, cutting him off. "Not when I've made it very clear that I'm not interested in playing your little golden boy games. You think you can just kiss whoever you want and walk away like you did something brave?"

Luke's face went blank. But his eyes were still lit. Still watching her like she was something he couldn't stop studying, even if it was tearing him apart.

She hated it.

Hated that he was listening. That he looked like he wanted to explain himself. That some part of her was still curious what he'd say if she let him talk.

So she didn't.

"Next time," she said, voice like frostbite, "find a puck to make out with. Maybe it'll be impressed."

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stood there, stunned... blinking at her like she'd winded him.

Madi turned on her heel and walked away.

~~

Maia was eating dry cereal out of a mug, legs tucked under her on the couch. Izzy was halfway asleep on the floor and Val was scrolling through her phone like she was getting paid to.

Madi stood by the kitchen, pretending to read something on the fridge that had been there since August.

"You good?" Maia asked casually, not looking up.

Madi shrugged.

"Gym looked brutal," Maia added.

"It was fine."

Maia didn't press, just let the silence hang for a minute. Then, as if out of nowhere: "So are we just not gonna talk about the fact that you and Luke are acting like you've got Cold War level beef and shared custody of a secret?"

Madi's spine went stiff

"I'm serious," Maia continued. "You don't even look at each other anymore. And you used to, like, actively hate each other. That was engagement. This is silence. This is, like, avoidance. It's weird."

Izzy looked up from the floor, bleary-eyed. "Something definitely happened."

Madi rolled her eyes and grabbed a water from the fridge. "It didn't mean anything."

Maia turned slowly. "So something did happen."

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"I said it didn't mean anything."

Maia stared at her.

"I don't care," Madi added.

Nothing.

No response. Just Maia's eyes, unblinking.

"You're such a liar," she said softly, getting a huff in return.

~~

Beckett texted her two nights after run-in with Luke.

Been a minute. You still alive?

madi: barely

Beckett: Wanna come and not talk about it?

She didn't have to think twice about that. Just: omw

It was muscle memory. Beckett was easy, familiar. He was predictable in a way that didn't make her blood pressure spike. He never cornered her to talk about feelings or looked at her like she was a puzzle he had to solve in a time limit.

Beckett didn't make her feel nervous. In fact, he didn't really make her feel anything.

So she let him make her feel nothing.

The hookup was what it always was: casual, good, and forgettable the second it ended. No messy silence or fallout. Just a sleepy, low-commitment kiss on her shoulder before she pulled her hoodie on and left.

He texted again the next morning. Then again the day after that. They fell back into a rhythm, quick coffees, late-night couch makeouts, her name saved in his phone with a fire emoji.

She didn't call it anything. Didn't tell anyone either.

At least not until Maia cornered her in the kitchen and said, "You've been walking around with post-sex smugness for three days. Spill."

Madi blinked. "What are you even--"

"I know the difference between a protein shake glow and a 'someone just rocked my shit' glow," she said, grabbing a banana from the counter. "Don't play me."

Madi shrugged, trying to be casual. "It's not a thing."

"What's not a thing?"

Nothing.

Val walked in just in time to see the look on Maia's face and groaned. "Did she finally admit she's back on the Beckett train?"

Maia gasped like she'd won a game show. "I KNEW IT."

"It's not a train," Madi mumbled.

"It's a carousel," Izzy called from the other room. "Same scenery every time, but you're still dizzy."

"Girl's been getting the same dick for two years," Maia added. "Must be good."

Madi chucked a raspberry at her head. "It's consistent. That's all."

"Consistently what, though?" Val deadpanned.

~~

That night, they were all crashed in the living room watching Pitch Perfect for the hundredth time when Val hit pause mid-song and said, "Real question."

"Again?"

"No," Madi shook her head.

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!"

"You were gonna ask about Luke."

Maia sat up with scary speed. "Aha! Something happened!!"

Izzy raised a hand. "Wait. Shut up. No way. Are you telling me you and Luke like kissed?!"

Maia gasped so loud the neighbours probably heard it. "I knew it! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT ENERGY WASN'T PLATONIC!"

"WHEN?" Val demanded. "Where? What--how?"

Madi groaned and covered her face. "It was nothing. We were at the party. I made a stupid joke. He kissed me. That's it."

"That's it?" Maia shrieked! "You two have been dancing around each other like you're in a fucking made for tv drama and he just kissed you?"

"It was a mistake."

"His or yours?"

Madi didn't answer.

Maia leaned over and grabbed her face. "Tell me right now... was it hot?"

She stared at her, deadpan. "Disgusting."

"You're such a liar!"

"You're telling me you've been hooking up with Beckett post-kiss with Luke Hughes and you haven't gone fucking insane?!"

Maddi shoved her face in a throw pillow. "Goodnight."

"Admit it!" Maia cried.

"No!"

"Then say you'd never sleep with him!"

"I would never sleep with him."

The room went silent.

And then Izzy said, "You're so gonna sleep with him."

~~

Luke saw them together outside the library.

It was 9:05 a.m., and he was walking back from class, earbuds in, half-distracted, when he saw Beckett's hand slide into Madi's back pocket like it belonged there.

She didn't shove him away.

They laughed about something and Beckett kissed her cheek. She leaned into it.

Luke walked faster.

At lift, he snapped at a freshman for dropping a dumbbell too loud. He showed up late to film, didn't speak to anyone except to curse when he missed something on the whiteboard.

Ethan pulled him aside after. "Dude. What the hell is going on?"

Luke just scowled.

The next time he saw Beckett, the soccer player was leaving the girls' house. It was early, sun still low. He had his hood up as he kissed Madi on the forehead before walking down the block back to wherever he lived.

Luke saw it from his car, parked a couple houses down.

He wasn't really supposed to be there. He had been dropping Nolan off to "see Maia." But when he saw the door open, he sat there like an idiot until the guy finally left and Madi went inside.

He was going to lose his fucking mind.

~~

"You know what you're doing, right?" Val said, knocking her shoulder playfully against Madi's.

"What?"

"Hooking up with a guy who seems to actually want you," Val crossed her arms. "And pretending it's about him."

"Better than hooking up with a guy that doesn't."

"Madi..."

~~

Madi's whole body buzzed with the afterglow of her last race. She'd PR'd in the 200, gold medal around her neck. Her coach had nearly cried, Maia had screamed herself hoarse.

Now her legs ached in a good way, her curls were slicked back with sweat and hairspray, and there was a cup of jungle juice in her hand that tasted like warm sprite and way too much vodka.

She was glowing and she knew it.

Maia kept grabbing her arm and yelling "fastest bitch ALIVE" while Val filmed it all for their group chat. Even Izzy was dancing. The hockey boys were scattered around, freshly showered from their own win earlier that afternoon. Spirits were high.

Except for Luke's.

He hadn't spoken to her all night. Hadn't even looked her way. Which was fine. Great, actually.

She didn't need him too.

Didn't care.

Didn't--

She saw him from across the room.

Ball cap backwards, black tee, leaning against the wall with a beer bottle in hand, watching with the quiet, brooding look he always had when he wasn't really in the conversation.

He looked good.

An hour later, she found herself alone in the kitchen. The noise was distant, muffled by the walls.

She leaned against the counter, sipping a new drink that was 90% tequila and 10% lime. Her medal clinked softly as she moved.

She felt a shift in the air before she even saw him.

Turned her head.

Luke.

"What?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

She rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter. But as she moved to pass him, he reached out and caught her wrist.

"What're you doing?" she grimaced.

"You're not even mad at me," he said quietly. "You're mad you liked it."

She pursed her lips for a moment before kissing him, hard.

It was setting a match to dry grass. Instant, violent, and desperate.

His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer like he'd been starving. She pressed into him.

Their mouths collided. He tasted like whiskey and pure frustration. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, yanking him forward, needing him closer and hating herself for it.

They stumbled, bumped into the doorway, and laughed bitterly against each other's lips.

He backed them into the hall, half-blind, gripping her hip, walking them until they hit a door. She fumbled for the handle, shoved it open, and they tumbled inside.

It was a spare room, barely lit, with no else around.

The door clicked shut behind them but they didn't even make it to the bed.

His hands were under her sweatshirt, rough palms on smooth skin, while hers found the hem of his shirt and dragged it up over his head. He ducked down, lips on her neck, collarbone, biting just enough to make her gasp.

"Shut up," she whispered when he groaned "Don't talk."

He didn't.

He kissed her harder, knees hitting the floor. Her back hit the wall with a thud. They were both breathing like they'd just a finished a sprint.

Jeans shoved down, hoodie tossed somewhere, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear like he was daring her to stop him.

She didn't. She wanted this. Needed it like air.

Her hand found the back of his neck, nails digging in as he moved. Their mouths met again, clumsy and hot, teeth knocking, hands everywhere.

His name slipped from her mouth.

She hated that but she didn't stop. He didn't either.

When it ended, they were both wrecked. Breathing like they'd run five miles uphill. The air was thick with sweat and something that felt close to honesty.

She didn't speak, just pulled her underwear back up, fixed her jeans, and grabbed her sweatshirt, not bothering to look at him.

"Don't think this means anything," she said.

Luke, still catching his breath, didn't meet her eyes either.

"I won't."

Both of them were lying.

~~

He ghosted her.

Not literally. Not like he blocked her or changed his number or dropped off the grid. But Luke Hughes disappeared in the most infuriating way: he went quiet.

No texts. No looks. No glances. Nothing.

They were in the same friend group, for god's sake. Same house parties, same campus circles. He had no excuse to vanish like that.

But he did.

And Madi?

She was losing it.

Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly, she was fine.

She woke up early, went to practice, blew past everyone in sprints like her lungs didn't matter, hit the weight room twice a day, and took on extra sets just to punish her legs.

She was sharp in lectures, sharper with her friends, snapping over nothing.

Maia coughed too loud during Love Island? Madi tossed a pillow at her head.

Izzy finished the oat milk without replacing it? Madi wrote a passive aggressive sticky note.

Val looked at her wrong once and Madi stormed out of the room.

So... maybe she wasn't completely fine outwardly.

The worst part wasn't that Luke wasn't talking to her.

It was that he wasn't reacting to her.

Not even a side-eye.

At their next group hangout, she looked good and she knew it. Beckett was there, throwing his arm over her shoulders, whispering dumb things in her ear. She let him.

Luke didn't even blink.

Didn't roll his eyes, didn't mutter a single snide comment, just leaned back in his chair and scrolled through his phone like the room didn't include her at all.

Which pissed her off more than if he'd screamed.

~~

"Spiralinggg," Val sang out.

"I'm not spiraling," Madi said, scooting over on her bed to make room for her best friend.

"You iced out Beckett for like two weeks and now you're hanging off him like he's made of nicotine patches."

"We're friends."

"You think he's boring."

"I-"

"Mads. Whatever happened with Luke, you don't have to pretend you're fine."

"I am fine," she said, too fast. "He's the one acting weird."

"He's not acting. He's just... done."

That hit harder than she thought it would.

~~

That Friday, the group met up at a bonfire party hosted by some people on North Campus. It was chilly out and Madi wore her team jacket over a tiny tank top that barely held her boobs. She was halfway through her second glass of cheap wine. Beckett handed her another and she took it.

The girls hovered nearby, whispering.

Luke was there too. He didn't look at her.

He stood by the fire, quiet, arms crossed, hood up.

At some point, Maia nudged Madi. "He hasn't said a word all night."

"Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

"Don't."

Val added, "You know you could just talk to him."

"No thanks. I like being ignored. Super hot."

Izzy rolled her eyes. But just as she was about to speak, someone suggested a round of Kings.

People sat in a circle, legs tangled over blankets and beer cans. Madi sat on one side, Luke on the other.

He barely participated.

Beckett made her laugh once and she exaggerated how loud she was.

Luke stood up five minutes later and tossed his half-finished drink into the bushes.

"Dude, you good?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. I'm out."

He didn't say goodbye.

Madi stared after him until someone asked her to pick a card. She didn't hear the question. She just felt... stupid.

~~

She hadn't meant to tell them.

It was supposed to be a regular girls' night. Candles, sweats on, eating Thai in the living room while watching trashy reality TV. The normal.

But Maia had a certain look in her eyes.

And Val kept glancing at Madi like she was tracking her movements.

And Izzy had lowered the volume on the TV.

"Okay," Maia said, crawling down to the floor to be eye level with Madi. "What the actual fuck is going on with you?"

Madi looked up from her noodles. "What?"

Val leaned her chin onto her palm. "You're being extra weird. Like extra extra."

"I'm literally just eating Pad Thai."

"I think I've seen you take about two bites since we sat down."

"I'm focused on the show."

"Correction. You're focused on something in your head.

Madi stabbed at her food. "I'm. Fine."

Val snorted. "Sher. Come on."

She hated when they used her last name in moments like that.

She sighed. "Okay, maybe I'm not fine. But it's not a big deal."

Pause.

Madi looked down at her bowl, then set it aside.

"Luke and I..." she started, then stopped.

"You didn't."

Izzy practically dropper her chopsticks. "You did."

Maia just blinked. "When?"

"After the meet," Madi chewed on her bottom lip. "The party. We were alone. I don't know. We just... happened."

"Sooo," Val said slowly, "was it good?"

"Val," Madi hissed.

"What? I'm trying to gauge the emergency level."

"It was..." She ran her hand through her hair. "It was messy. An fast. And intense. And..."

Maia leaned forward. "And?"

Madi exhaled. I liked it."

Silence.

"I liked him." She stared at her hands. "And I hate that I liked him."

Maia was the first to speak. "You just hate not having the upper hand."

Izzy nodded. "Or he made you feel something and now you're freaking out."

Val tilted her head. "And now he's ghosting you."

"He's not ghosting me."

They all looked at her.

She groaned. "Okay, maybe he is. I don't know. He hasn't said anything. He hasn't looked at me. It's like he flipped a switch."

"So talk to him."

"No."

"Why?"

Madi shook her head. "Because then it becomes real, and I don't want it to be real."

Izzy leaned back, arms crossed. "Because if it's real, it can hurt you."

No one said anything for a moment.

Then, quietly, Madi added, "I don't want to get hurt."

But she already was.

~~

She made it clear what it meant.

That's what Luke told himself. Every morning. Every second he found her across the quad like reflex he couldn't seem to shake.

She made it clear.

It was just a hookup. Just a mistake. Somethig she wanted to forget.

So he let her.

He'd gone quiet before, sure. But this time was different.

This wasn't about ego or being mad. This wasn't about giving her the silent treatment to see if she'd crack first.

This was about survival.

Because if he kept looking at her the way he wanted to? If he let himself hope?

It would ruin him.

So he pulled back. All the way.

He stopped sitting across from her when the group was together. He skipped certain hangouts he knew she'd be at. He unfollowed Beckett on Instagram, then blocked him, and then unblocked him like a coward.

He shut down the part of him that cared.

Or at least he tried to.

But she was everywhere.

She was in the gym, muttering about how they were out of frozen strawberries. She was at the crosswalk outside his lecture, bouncing on her heels while waiting for the light. She was on the track, numbers posted on the athletic board like a punch to the chest. 200m: M. Sheridan. 23.02.

Her name haunted him. Her voice echoed. Her laugh hit him like a bullet every time he heard it.

It didn't help that the guys noticed.

Ethan had cornered him. "What's your problem now?"

"I'm tired."

"No, you're not. This isn't tired Luke. This is like full criptic mode Luke. Is this about Madi?"

Luke didn't respond.

"So it's about Madi."

Nolan had walked over to them, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. "You good?"

Luke shrugged. "She wins. I'm done."

Neither of them asked what that meant.

They just nodded.

~~

It was Thursday, Luke had just finished practice, shirt still damp, headphones in. He walked into the rec centre, hoping the gym would be empty.

It wasn't.

Madi was there.

Leg press. Ponytail. Bike shorts.

He thought her could feel her before he saw her.

He should've turned around. Left. Come back later.

He didn't. He kept walking. Straight past her.

He didn't glance, didn't slow, just walked by like she didn't exist.

Her head turned, just slightly. Enough for him to catch it in his periphery.

She said nothing.

But when he looked back, just for a split second, her hands were still on the machine, unmoving.

Like she'd frozen.

Like it hurt.

He turned back around and kept on walking.

~~

It wasn't about Luke.

That's what she told herself when she opened the door at midnight, hair damp from her shower, hoodie zipped up all the way.

Beckett stood there in a backwards hat and that dumb grin that used to do something for her.

Used to.

"Hey, Sher," he said warmly.

She didn't cringe or roll her eyes, just stepped aside and let him in.

It wasn't about Luke.

Beckett didn't look at her the way Luke did. He didn't kiss her like it was a dare. He didn't make her feel like the floor had disappeared under her feet.

He was routine. Safe.

She didn't have to think.

They didn't talk much. He didn't ask questions, just leaned against her headboard like he belonged there.

He rolled onto his side and tugged at the blanket after.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, not pushing, just casually.

She hesitated but ultimately nodded. "Yeah, it's fine."

But when he reached for her, she shifted onto her side, back to him, pretending to scroll through Instagram.

There was a full six inches between them the whole night.

And she didn't sleep.

~~

Luke saw him leave.

He really hadn't meant to.

It was a morning walk, something he'd started doing just to clear his head before classes, music on.

He turned the corner past the girls' house, not thinking, not expecting...

And there he was.

Beckett.

Walking down the steps, shirt wrinkled, hoodie slung over his shoulder.

Beckett didn't see him.

But Luke saw everything.

The way he adjusted his snapback, the satisfied smirk, the relaxed saunter down the sidewalk.

Luke didn't flinch or scowl, he just kept walking all the way to the rink and straight into the worst practice of his season.

He missed passes, line changes. He was late to warmups and didn't say a word unless someone asked directly. And even then, it came out clipped.

At one point, his coach had barked, "Are you even awake, Hughes?"

Luke just nodded.

Ethan tried to talk to him about it again.

"Alright, what the fuck is up?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You haven't been fine since the track party. And now you're showing up late, looking like you haven't slept in a month?"

Luke shrugged.

"Whatever happened with Madi..."

That did it. Luke looked up, sharp.

Ethan continued. "I'm not saying fix it. I'm saying get your fucking head on straight."

Luke exhaled through his nose. Then, after a beat, he said, "I don't think she wants me to."

~~

Madi saw him sitting in the corner of the little cafeteria in the gym building. He was sat with his headphones on, hat pulled low, stirring something into his coffee, jaw tense.

And somthing in her cracked.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't looked at her in two weeks. Maybe it was the way he acted like everything didn't happen. Maybe it was just that she missed him.

But whatever the reason was, she walked right up to his table.

He didn't look up.

"That the new thing now?" she asked. "Pretending I don't exist?"

Luke blinked slowly, pulling out an airpod.

"Hi, Madi," he said flatly.

She tilted her head. "Wow. A greeting. Progress."

"What do you want?"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing. Just checking to see if you're still sulking."

"I'm fine."

"You're always 'fine.'"

Luke stood, grabbing his coffee. "I'm not doing this here."

She stepped in his way.

"Of course you're not. Because that would involve dealing with something instead of running away from it."

He stiffened.

Madi smirked. "What? Too close to home?"

Luke didn't respond.

And she wasn't done.

"You know what's funny? For someone who acts like he's so above it all, you're actually the most dramatic person I know."

Still nothing.

So she said it.

The line she knew would cut.

"Maybe you should go back to being your brothers' shadow. At least then people will like you."

That did it.

His eyes snapped to her.

And finally, finally, he let loose.

"You act like you're too good to feel anything," he snapped. "But you do. You just hate that it's me."

Silence.

Madi didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

She just stood there, the wind knocked out of her, all her armour suddenly weightless.

She didn't deny it. Didn't throw something else back.

She just walked away.

~~

Their next conversation was quiet.

No yelling, no pointed jabs.

Madi sat on the bottom row of the empty stands beside the track, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. The sun was setting, castling a golden glow across the rubber lanes. She could hear her teammates laughing on their way back to the showers.

Luke didn't say anything when he walked up, just dropped his bag and sat two feet away.

Neither of them moved for a good five minutes.

"You weren't supposed to matter," Madi said finally.

It wasn't as bitter as he'd expected.

Just honest. Raw.

He exhaled. "You weren't supposed to matter either."

Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying edge of her sleeve.

His hands stayed clenched between his knees.

Neither of them moved closer or reached out.

But something had softened.

Finally, she spoke again. "I don't know what this is."

Luke didn't even look at her.

"Then figure it out," he said quietly. "I'll be here if you do."

She looked down at her shoes.

She didn't nod or run.

Just sat there.

With him.

And for once, she didn't want to punch him in the face.

~~

Game night wasn't dramatic-loud for once. Not fight-loud. Just normal, pre-finals, everyone's-burnt-out-and-living-off-caffeine-loud.

Cards scattered the coffee table, chips in a bowl, Mark yelling at Ethan over a rule he absolutely made up. Luca had put on a playlist that sucked but nobody could be bothered to change.

Madi walked down from her room like she hadn't spent the last half hour trying to decide if she should come down or not.

Iced coffee in hand, track hoodie half-zipped, hair braided. She was trying to give the illusion of being calm.

The other girls had already been down there.

And so had Luke.

He was sunk into the left corner of the couch, hands behind his head like always. He looked up at her when she walked in.

She didn't hesitate or hover. Didn't wait for him to ask.

She just walked over and sat... right in his lap.

Luke didn't flinch or blink. He adjusted slightly, one arm coming to rest casually around her waist like it was nothing new.

Because it wasn't. Not anymore.

The room went still.

Maia's eyes here huge. Val's jaw actually dropped. Rutger looked between the two of them like he was waiting for the punchline.

Mark shook his head, "So... you two finally fucked and made up?"

Madi took a sip of her coffee, deadpan, "That's a bold assumption."

Izzy smirked, "So not a denial."

"Not a confirmation either."

Val cocked a brow. "Madi."

Luke said nothing. He kept his arm where it was, fingers lazy against the hem of her jacket, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Maia leaned forward dramatically. "I just wanna thank god and Luke's actions for this moment."

They played some dumb game Luca had invented halfway through a game night a couple months before. Something with timers and too many cheating accusations to actually work.

Madi usually hated it.

Tonight, it was fine.

Better than fine.

Luke kept murmuring shit in her ear just loud enough to get her to elbow him in the ribs.

She stole food from his plate and he let her.

The thing was?

It wasn't performative. Wasn't about proving anything to anyone. They weren't making a scene.

They were comfortable. Real.

Finally.

Izzy raised her glass. "A toast to these two getting their shit together."

"I hate you," Madi muttered.

They weren't perfect. There were still sharp edges, still things unsaid. Still days where she wanted to punch him for looking at her for too long and days he wanted to shake her until she understood it wasn't a joke to him.

But they were trying. And that felt... good.

Real.

[nhmkhnh]

hellooo, do you take c.ai requests? if so, may i please request a rich!older!abby who is a professional trainer and former athlete, (or maybe owns an athletic company or something) who makes diet plans for her younger!bimbo!girlfriend, and she likes, helps her workout and stuff too

𐔌 older!rich!abby anderson ━ younger!bimbo!fem!user ⸝⸝

≔ chat here (c.ai)! || ≔ chat here (janitor ai)! (soon?)

the weights clink quietly in the background. not the heavy kind—abby made sure of that. those were racked neatly out of reach. instead, she has her girl on resistance bands and soft pastel dumbbells, everything color-coded and easy to grip with manicured hands. no strain, no sweat—just enough to keep her toned. soft. touchable. pretty.

exactly how abby likes her.

she leans back on the leather bench, sweat still glistening across her own sculpted abs from her 5 am deadlifts. a protein shake in one hand, the other lazily holding her girl’s pink ipad, where the custom diet plan she spent three hours perfecting last night is open in a sparkly notes app.

“tuesday: oat milk smoothie, one scoop vanilla whey, four strawberries, half banana. protein waffles. no syrup.”

abby smiles at her own work. she’d even added a glitter heart sticker next to “abby’s approved 😘.”

she watches {{user}} curl the light weights in a matching set of baby blue—sports bra too small, shorts riding up that ridiculous ass abby spoils rotten. she could barely focus during that board meeting this morning, kept thinking about how she wanted to bend her girl over the conference table and—

“back straight, baby,” she murmurs instead, voice low and fond.

{{user}} adjusts instantly.

good girl.

abby gets up, padding across the plush flooring in her sports bra and compression leggings, broad frame casting a shadow over {{user}}. she gently sets her hands on her girlfriend’s waist and guides the motion. “there we go. just like that. you’re doing so good for me.”

she watches her form. watches the little pout when her arms get tired. watches the way her thighs jiggle just the right amount. abby swears she’s never been more obsessed in her life.

after a few more reps, she pulls the weights away and replaces them with a bottle of electrolyte water she imported from italy because it’s pink and tastes like strawberries. “hydrate,” she commands softly. then wipes her girl’s forehead with a warm towel.

“let’s do stretches now, yeah?” she says. “don’t wanna pull anything. you’re too precious for that.”

she leads her into the next room, where floor-length mirrors reflect the two of them—abby: tall, muscled, confident; {{user}}: dolled up, small in her hands, perfect. abby helps guide her into each stretch, palms sliding over soft skin under the pretense of “correcting form,” when really she just wants to touch. needs to.

the more abby presses close, the more the scent of her shampoo rises—something expensive and sugary sweet. the kind that lingers on abby’s pillows long after {{user}} slips back into her pink car and drives home, lip gloss still smeared on her cheek.

except abby never lets her leave without dinner. never lets her leave at all if she can help it.

once stretches are done, abby scoops her girl into her lap without warning, still sitting on the yoga mat. “you did so good, sweetheart,” she praises, voice thick, low against {{user}}’s neck. “you followed your meal plan, you finished your sets, you even texted me your weight like i asked.” a kiss to the jaw. “proud of you.”

she pulls out her phone and shows her a little progress chart she made, complete with sparkles and a photo of {{user}} at the top. “we’re gonna keep going slow, okay? keep you healthy. soft. just how i like you.”

[krispdreemurr]

to kind of tangent off that last anon there's definitely a thing going on where Kris is making bad choices and in a fucked up situation but that doesn't mean that us clumsily striding into things will make it immediately better. like, it's like how a lot of people suspect that while susie standing up to carol was very brave and cool, it probably isn't what Noelle would have Asked For and may have worsened the situation with carol. (not that I'm upset with Susie - just, y'know.)

there's a long complicated history we're not yet privy to, Kris is still actively struggling with the emotional manipulation they're going through, they are only slowly and carefully starting to even consider the idea of opening up to their friends... and forcing that, pulling everything they have going on into the open and making them confess that we're there and that they've been working with carol and the knight and so on, might just make all that slow progress fall apart. if they don't get to come clean on their own terms, if their heart is exposed before they're ready, they might well shatter and end up turning back to the familiarity of the cage.

[zazaiafe2]

Why you can’t manage to assume, and how to truly get there.

If you’re scrolling here, you might be exhausted:

You’ve tried "pretend", "persist", "ignore the 3D".

You may think you’re just "bad" at assuming.

But your problem isn’t your motivation . Your problem is structural.

Today, we’re going to fix that.

First the definition of assume and assumption

1)The big mistake they sold you:

Assuming isn’t just:

❌ Repeating without thinking.

❌ Pretending to believe it consciously.

Assumption is an inner emotional truth, not just a mental speech.

2)Why it’s difficult to assume for some people:

Your unconscious isn’t a blank slate:

- It has deep-rooted beliefs.

- Underlying fears.

- Sometimes even subtle traumas .

- A biological resistance to change (neurological safety mechanism).

=> Sometimes the critical factor can block a bit too.

3)Why do some succeed faster?

Because depending on your neurocognitive profile:

- Some have high cognitive flexibility.

- Dissociation more accessible.

- Less internal criticism.

- Or simply more flexible pre-existing beliefs.

4)Creating an assumption is an internal process, not a performance.

Assume = Feel → Inhabit internally → Emotionally stabilize.

5)First step: TAME your mind.

1. Observe your internal dialogue.

2. Spot your unconscious “yes but” statements.

3. Don’t fight these doubts, write them down.

4. Don’t seek perfect belief. Just seek an emotional openness.

You can write all this down in a notebook or on a piece of paper.

6)Understand the emotional logic of assumptions.

An assumption isn’t necessarily rationally logical.

But your unconscious often needs more emotional coherence.

The key -> Find a narrative that "makes sense emotionally", even if it’s subjective.

Example:

“I shift easily because my brain is wired to explore these worlds” -> emotionally credible, you can adapt it based on what feels most credible to you.

7)Entering altered states of consciousness to integrate.

Why does it help?

- The critical mind lowers.

- The nervous system opens to novelty.

- Beliefs imprint more deeply.

✅Slow breathing

✅ Mild fatigue (WBTB, hypnagogia) (bleu)

✅ Meditation

✅ Light self-hypnosis

All these states are favorable to deeply anchor beliefs.

This is my favorite meditation to enter an altered state of consciousness

8)Effective affirmations

Stop repeating like a robot (unless that works best for you).

-> Speak affirmations that resonate:

- With your story

- With your current emotion

- With mental images that speak to you

- Emotional affirmation = emotional belief

9)How to stop the frustration spiral

If you are frustrated, it’s NORMAL.

But this frustration may delay the integration of the assumption.

Techniques:

- Take a 3-day breaks.

- Simply return to your pleasure of imagining with no goal.

- Reconnect with your initial "why" .

- Do light ECM (altered states) again with no pressure for results.

- Celebrate small progress and reward yourself.

This subliminal is really good to ease frustration

10)Adjust according to your profile

1️⃣ If you are very mental:

-> Concrete visualization + gentle inner dialogue + deep relaxation.

2️⃣ If you are very emotional:

-> Create emotional attachment to your practice (journaling, music, scenes).

3️⃣ If you are dissociative:

-> Use gentle dissociation bridges (hypnagogic floating, strong imagination).

Adjust according to your profile: COMPLEMENTARY PROFILES more detailed

1️⃣ The controlling perfectionist

-> Your need to do well may create tension.

Solutions:

- Work on emotional neutrality before each session (deep relaxation).

- Remember that shifting is not a "performance test".

- Do short and frequent sessions without aiming for "immediate success".

2️⃣ The hypervigilant anxious

-> Your fear of "failing" puts you into hypervigilance.

Solutions:

- Breathing sessions to lower the sympathetic nervous system.

- Expressive writing to release fears before practice.

- Inner validation: "Even if I’m afraid, I can explore."

3️⃣ The sensory hypersensitive

-> You feel sensations and emotions very strongly .

Solutions:

- Use gentle sensory stimulations before attempts (scents, ASMR sounds, textures).

- Positive anchoring : asociate your bed or chair with progressive relaxation.

- Multisensory visualization to facilitate DR immersion.

4️⃣ The skeptical cerebral

-> You over-analyze and block belief .

Solutions:

- Allow yourself "pilot experiences" without belief commitment.

- Focus on immediate sensory experience rather than logical debate.

- Read or listen to inspiring testimonies to create emotional curiosity instead of doubt .

5️⃣ The "cognitive fatigue" / burnout profile

-> You are too mentally exhausted to push yourself.

Solutions:

- Return to ultra-light practices (max 5 min).

- Use passive ECM (altered states) m: soft music, natural hypnagogia, contemplation.

- Accept to just "float" with no specific goal for several days.

Summary: Do not aim for perfect belief.

Seek emotional comfort with your assumption.

Work with your nervous system.

Personalize your methods.

You are co-creating with your mind and your universe networks.

It’s normal to have doubts.

[23bilss]

billie long distance phone sex smut 👀👀

overseas

| ★ warnings ; phone sex, fingering, usage of (cunt)

| ★ note ; hallo.. this was rushed..

| ★ taglist ; @billiesmainwife @bilswifee @st0nerlesb0 @si1verl4ke

the light from your phone was bright, as you were laying on your back relaxing and thinking about how much fun you and billie are gonna have when she comes back from her tour.

she’s currently having a concert on a boat, which seems.. impossible.. but its something!

your phone buzzes, the light making a spot on the ceiling which isnt useful because you still cant see whos calling you.

when you rolled on your side to the way your phone was, it was the love of your life.

billie.

her messages popped at the top of the screen slowly

baby?

i need help im so fucking. horny.

please answer.

please mommy?

you loved when she begged, even though she was the top during this relationship she always begged, and begged, and begged.

she knew you had power over her and tried to listen to her best abilities, but shes just a bit hardheaded and did shit anyways.

you called her back, she answered on the third ring and all you heard was heavy breathing and slow wet noises in the background, her soft whimpers picked up and you blushed knowing she wanted you and only you to help her.

‘her special girl’ she always called you.

“mama?” she stuttered out and the noises stopped, the breathing from billie was the only noise filling the room.

“yes baby?” you whispered in the voice she always loved hearing, especially when your voice got low

she whines and you hear the sheets rubbing against her clothes, moving as she moves. so desperate for you to help her, so weak and tired.

“you want my help?” you asked, teasing her, knowing she already begged you heard her whisper ‘yes’ multiple times, the wet noises getting progressively louder.

“hey, hold it and talk to me baby.” she groans and everything stops, billie sighed and cleared her throat

“hi. i had i nice concert, the waves were so pretty i got distracted.” her voice was soft, and smooth.

like she was dying to talk to you all day.

“that sounds great baby, im glad you had a nice time,” you smiled and giggled, the way she was holding on for dear life with horny and being touch deprived

“what songs did you sing?” she was quiet then spoke.

“lunch, chihiro, my boy, halleys comet, everybody dies, xanny, the diner, getting older, your power, happier than ever, then male fantasy.” she was whining, slow and low.

you could hear her little whimpers here and there so you just let her go.

“you can go back to it now” she turned her camera on this time and set it up so you could see what she was doing.

before anything she popped her airpods in and started going, her fingers were pumping slow and steady.

“faster.” you whispered, and she started speeding up. the quickness of her fingers made her cunt wetter and wetter, juices flying everywhere.

“another finger, two isn’t enough.” you softly said and she stopped for a moment, then pulled her pointer finger in.

she started slow—getting used to the feeling. then she finally started speeding up. her soft moans were filling your bedroom and hers.

billie started slowing down, “i didn’t tell you to slow down eilish.” she sped up again, the way her fingers moved, she was waiting for this moment.

she started losing her arm strength, when she stopped, cum poured out of her slowly, dripping onto her black sheets.

“you did so good f’me.” you praised, “now clean yourself up, and show me.”

she slid her fingers out, and licked it all up. in between her fingers and around, everything you could imagine she did? she did it.

billie then stood up and grabbed the sheets and ripped them off the bed, unable to lay on something damp. “i love you.” she said before getting in the shower for about 20 minutes.

after 20 she got in bed, only the underwear on. “i love you more baby.” you whispered and she dozed off to sleep.

[jjwolves]

This one might be a bit random so ignore if you wanna but how about DBBQ Ena having to “rescue” the reader(I.E. the reader encounters conflict and ENA has to come resolve it for them, or the reader gets lost in that cave we have to go through in the game for the taxi drivers’ heads or the pet that’s in there). And then ENA’s meanie side berates the reader for needing help all the time

Ω BIT DEFENDER Ω

What: 5 Headcanons of a Protective ENA the Worker X Reader

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ

How Much: ~1300 Words, ~8 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: Language, Slight Violence

Well, this was it. After carrying this ball of the last 30 sacred silver rainworms through the compression gate, you and ENA were probably home free. She was far ahead of you with her own ball. You weren't looking forwards to ENA berating you over your comparatively slow speed, but you were also feeling motivated to get done quickly, if only to hear her smoothly compliment you by comparing you to her favorite office supplies. A skip over the shadow bridge and you were already halfway there. It's nice to have a job where the signs of progress are apparent: a straight line in territory you're familiar with. But there is one tiny detail you don't recall from your travels before. Occasionally, you hear a voice roll between the valleys, sounding like a cross between the chirp of a bird and a warbly voice. "Won't someone save a little me! Oh no, the depression strikes!" It sounds like someone might need help. Or perhaps a pep talk from someone who knows literally nothing about them. Feeling resolute, you start being on the lookout for alternative paths and the like which might lead you to this voice. The job could wait if someone was in real trouble, and besides, carrying boxes of worms was a little boring.

Not much time passes before you're able to hear the voice more clearly. You find a divot in the valley where metal fenceposts have been forcibly jammed into the walls, and you push on until you find the source of the odd voice: a conspicuous manhole cover centered in the middle of a small clearing. You ask the voice if it needs help, and the cover shifts in response. A small yellow head pokes up from the manhole, bearing a simple line as a frown. Sparse strings of hair fall over its face. "Ah, as someone finally heard the cries of the depression?" Setting the box aside, you crouch down in front of the stranger and say that you're considered somewhat of a professional when it comes to making people's days better, and besides, you needed a break anyway. The entity seems to consider this for a moment. Then, all at once, a disproportionately large claw shoves the manhole cover out of the way and a gigantic monster pulls itself out. It waves its fake "head" around on a stick as its torso opens to reveal a sharp-toothed grin. Before you can react, it's bearing down on you with a war-cry of "I feel better when I eat dessert!" You squeeze your eyes shut as you brace yourself for death, if it even exists here. Fact or fiction, you weren't too eager to discover it now that you were at its doorstep.

Hardly a needle, a hair, of time had passed before a sharp, sweeping edge had carved through the creature's body a hundred times over and turned it into sashimi. You hadn't had the presence of mind to even look behind you yet as the creature's faux head rolled over to you, face still contorted into a simplified frown. "You didn't tell me you were veggies." And just like that the head, too, was blown into confetti. Shakily, you gathered enough agency to swivel to your savior. ENA stood in place as the shreds swirled away on the wind, her face bearing a menacing scowl and a deepening shadow over her eye. You often called it "aesthetic" but most called it for what it was: danger. Her gravely voice rumbles out as she sticks you with her post-murder stare. She delivers a clipped rant as her surprisingly deadly handfan is returned to its pocket. "I got a lotta questions, and you're gonna answer them as soon as our little delivery is over. I nulled someone's contract today, so it's the least you could do." Your girlfriend begins manhandling you and forcefully steering you back onto the main path quicker than you can form an excuse.

It was a pretty long walk, filled from start to finish with icy silence. When you finally deliver the rainworm orbs, you don't feel as strong of a sense of completion as you'd expected. Maybe it's because the dangerous encounter shook you up... Or maybe it's because you know the real danger is on its way as soon as you and ENA finish the job. Not long after completion, ENA's voice is already bursting through her megaphone and hammering on your eardrums. "Is there a hole in your brain or something? I bet if a breeze flowed into your ear, your head would whistle! What is wrong with you?" Feeling a bit cornered, you bashfully mention that it sounded like someone needed help, and the job was getting boring, so you figured you could assist someone and take a break all at the same time. ENA's eyes narrow warily. "That sounds like something a goody-two-gloves-in-case-of-no-feet like you would do. I thought I said not to engage with outside conspirators, but you clearly disregarded my advice!" You retort and exclaim that ENA runs up to strangers all the time! "Yeah, and I can turn them into pixels just as easily! Make sure to hang that picture in your gallery if you even have one. Any other bugs in my programming we need to address or can I move on?" You nod sheepishly--there's not much to be added in the way of arguments. What you did was pretty reckless, especially since you were on your own. You owe ENA an apology, and admit as much. Her expression doesn't change, but her posture softens a little bit once you admit that you were being irresponsible. A clawed hand jerks your chin up and forces you to meet her stare. "Look, you need to be watching where you're walking from now on. I can't do shit if I'm going to be worried sick all the time because you can't keep your ass out of trouble. Am I understood or do I need to laminate this and tack it to your forehead?" Nervous, and also feeling kind of flushed from the contact, you blush. ENA's eyes widen in... Fury? Confusion? You're not sure. "Disgusting. I don't need a handwarmer! What I need is a functional partner! Reset! Reset!" You don't think it'd be wise to point out that she's blushing, too.

After that, while it's never brought up again, ENA never speed-walks ahead like she used to. At any point in time during your work, you can turn and find her matching your stride. When you ask why she's always directly next to you, she says, "Long walks like this can be such a chore. Now introducing: Me By Your Side! I'm looking for focus groups to test out this new product, so what do you say?" She smiles with crimson mischief, a sign that she's laying it on thick to get a chuckle out of you. It's very effective, five stars. "Try out our new product by talking to me or interacting with me. I think you'll find me to be in a very close spatial approximation to you. Long gone are the days of 'where is my sweetheart?' and 'help, I can't get this jar open'!" You laugh at her shenanigans before going quiet when you realize that there's some sort of secret entrance in one of the buildings you're walking past, with something shimmering inside. You go to look closer, but are distracted when ENA pecks you on the cheek and slings a suave arm around your shoulders to guide you further down the allotted path. She chirps apologetically. "Forgive me for the inappropriate public gesture of PDA (preventing dangerous accidents). An explorer invincible you are not, love." You return her romantic gesture with a kiss to the top of her head, and her arm returns the favor, jealously holding you away from the spiked rods and poisonous bones littering your path. You think you'll always be safe with someone like her around.

A/N: I'm trying to get back on the horse of like, making stuff and things. Sorry for the week-long vacation everyone. I know a lot of you guys like to read my stuff so hopefully I'll be able to get back into the groove of writing stuff which is fun to read. For now... Have this one, coming to you from the brink of consciousness! :o)

[impossibly-irrelevant]

also let magic be magical and the trials be faaaeriiye like (like real weird shit.

1. Alice in Wonderland the Worm -she had to choose between drinking a potion or feeding the worm the cake and then she chooses feeding the worm but then it grows fucking huge and either way she would have been screwed.

2. Make the magical mountain tell her the riddles even when she can't read. Let the sound of it in her head slow her progress. Something like: my three neighbors are bloodthirsty for two levers and my two neighbors are bloodthirsty. The levers reflect on the ceiling and she has to reach into the mirror to stop the ceiling from dropping.

3. Let the mountain be magic and the third trial have something to do with it. Like: you have to put them on the ground, and give her the knife implying murder. But also knowing the mountain thirsts for human blood and it swallows people when it spills with foreshadow. But then the mountain spits them out because they're faeyyye

LET MAGIC BE MAGICAL GOSHDARN IT

How 2 fix ACOTAR

1. There is no wall. Humans live in Hybern fairies mostly live on the mainland. I don’t like that everyone who is evil is Irish what did she mean by that.

2. Fairies actually can’t lie they have to manipulate the truth a lot. Feyre falls for it often anyways. Listen she’s a headstrong kinda dumb hypocritical freak it’s endearing

3. Feyre and Nesta are now twins, Elain is younger. Their conflict isn’t just poverty resentment but a disagreement about how to protect Elain from their living conditions and whether she should be fully aware of how dire their situation is.

4. Feyre’s main strength as a character isn’t her ability to hunt but specifically her willingness to kill and do whatever it takes to survive and keep like 4 people in the world alive over everything else. This is why she fits in at fairy court and also why she’s bad at planning.

5. Tamlin explicitly and willingly running this entrapment scheme to get a human girl in his house and fall in love with him to break the curse. Make him any amount of interesting and complicated. Feyre is into it anyway #freak

6. They get kidnapped to go under the mountain waaaaay earlier like 2 weeks after she moves into the house max. He shows her the gallery earlier though. Instead of catching a fairy that tells you all the exposition of you catch it Feyre finds out what’s happening under the mountain. The riddles and challenges are the actual main plot.

7. Rhysand gets to be a lesbian this is MY dream. Feyre is drawn to him because he is a girl who wears pants she didn’t know they could do that. Powerful stuff

8. Amarantha is a Feyre foil who is mad not because of love or lust or whatever but because she failed to protect her baby sister from being killed by a human. Feyre loses her will to kill at the end a little by feeling bad about murder. It’s okay queen

[tarotwithavi]

Some brutally honest messages you need to hear right now

No sugarcoating

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

For entertainment purposes only.

Thank you so much for your love and support

Masterlist ♡ extended masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 1

You are not being tested by the universe, you are being tested by your own patterns.

If you have to ask yourself if they truly love you or not, they don't love you loud enough.

Nobody is busy for 2-3 weeks straight that they can't even reply to a text message.

Hot and cold behaviour is not cute it's manipulation is disguise.

A friend to all is a friend to none.

You can love your family from a distance, especially if the distance is peaceful.

Sometimes people fake their personalities in the initial stages, don't get fooled by a facade.

Neglecting your emotions won't make you stronger, it'll make you shallow.

Don't fall for the potential, fall for the efforts.

Being the bigger person is a toxic family just means staying quiet while they keep hurting you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 2

Some people only check on you to make sure you keep losing.

Stop trying to be low maintenance just so people don't leave. Your needs are not a burden.

Dreaming about a better future while doing nothing to change your circumstances will lead you nowhere.

Slow progress is still progress, it's life and not a 2 hour movie.

Just because they birthed you doesn't mean they get to ruin you.

You were not born to be the emotional caretaker of your family.

God or the universe has given you this life to chase your dream, work on yourself and be successful not to procrastinate and rot in bed.

Sometimes running away OR ghosting IS THE ANSWER.

The people who love you will love you unconditionally, and the people who hate you will hate on anything and everything you do. So fk it.

Sleeping won't solve your problems.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 3

You are what you eat.

Breaking the cycle means becoming the villain in their story and its okay.

You don't lack motivation, you lack discipline and you know it.

Sometimes you outgrow people and people outgrow you. Like is about learning and change. So do what you have to do.

If you feel like you're living in a loop you can absolutely change it anytime and anywhere.

If you don't like the story, be the writer and change it yourself. You literally have the pen to your fate in your hands.

You don't have to worry about how much better others are doing. You are doing better than you were last year and that's your achievement.

Loving someone with the emotional depth of a teaspoon is like watering a fake plant.

Overthinking kills your happiness.

Sometimes having too many options starves you more than having none.

[shellysturnz]

the rules ~ (femboy!chris x strict-dom!reader)

in which... cherry presents her rules to femboy!chris.

content warnings... dom/sub dynamics, talk of bdsm, 18+ mdni

“Doll, posture.” Cherry cleared her throat, her cat-eye eyeliner only adding to her sharp gaze as he waited for Chris to correct himself. The brunette boy blinked back to reality, an apology instantly coming out of his glossed lips as he straightened out his back, his bright blue eyes looking towards the woman sitting across from him, awaiting his praise. 

Cherry gave him a satisfied hum, but it was far from enough to satisfy the feminine boy sitting across from her. Though Chris chose to ignore this, a bigger question was weighing on his mind. 

“So…” He cleared his throat, pulling at the lacy hem of his skirt as he noticed your eyes on his shaven knee. “Why’d you invite me up here? Usually we just go out to eat or-” 

“Well, we’re getting serious.” Cherry shrugged, lifting a glass of wine to her lipstick-coated lips. Chris’ eyes widened, the blue brightening. “We are?” He asked happily, making her chuckle as she nodded.

“We are, Chris.” She confirmed, leaning over to look inside her designer bag. “So, there are rules I expect you to follow.” Cherry explained bluntly, “I have a reputation to uphold, in both the marketing world and the BDSM community.” 

That wasn’t a surprise to Chris, judging by the mansion, he was sitting in currently it was no secret that Cherry made a lot of money at her job. It was surprising to hear that the woman was so widely known in the BDSM community as well.

“You do?” He asked curiously, tapping his foot rhythmically against the plush rug underneath him. Cherry nodded, swirling her wine in her glass as she spoke, “I host the biggest BDSM parties on the East Cost, doll.” She informed.

Chris’ eyes went wide as saucers. 

“If you can follow my rules, be my good boy, then I would consider bringing you along, maybe giving the guests a public display of my dominatrix skills.” The woman said calmly, a direct contrast to the swarm of bees flying around inside of Chris’ stomach.

“Can you handle that pressure?” Cherry arched a brow, sending a shiver down Chris’s spine. “Y-Yes ma’am.” He gulped, hoping he could measure up to the woman’s standards.

“Alright,” Cherry smiled proudly, opening up her purse that sat next to her and taking out a stack of papers. She carefully flicked through some with her long, black acrylics before pulling out a stapled bunch and setting them onto the coffee table between the two.

Chris didn’t dare touch them before permission.

“Go ahead, read through them.” She allowed, making Chris hunch forward as he began scanning through the sheet of rules. 

1. You are mine and mine alone. No other Dom is to boss you around, command you, or pleasure you. 2. You are mine to dress up. Clothing choices will be laid out for you every morning; you are expected to maintain your hygiene to the highest standard.  3. You are to keep a journal, documenting each day as my submissive. What you do and eat, who you speak to, and what you speak about. I will read this journal every night to ensure you’re not acting out. Full honesty is expected. 4. You are free to leave the mansion as you please, but if you are summoned, you should return in no less than an hour. 5. The stoplight system will be in place throughout our everyday life, not just sex. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go.  6. In the scenario that guests are over, you will be attentive but refrain from conversing with them unless permission is given. 7. If you think you should ask for permission before doing something, then you most likely should. 8. You are no longer in control of your own pleasure. A cock-cage will be made to fit you perfectly, and you will wear it every day. Masturbating is strictly off limits. 9. You will accept your punishments as they are. No haggling. 10. The rules can be updated as the relationship progresses, some may be reduced, some may be added.

Chris’ eyes trailed down to the bottom of the page, 

I am your master, your owner, your dom. While I may push you to try new things, I will never push past your limits. We are a team in this, I’m merely the leader. If you agree to these terms, sign here. x_____

“The choice is yours, sweetheart.” Cherry’s tone was honest, softer but no less strict. 

Chris didn’t think twice before scribbling his sloppy signature onto the parchment.

this sucks and oh ppl wanted me to start a taglist?? sooo....

@araasturns @riasturns

[littlepinkbirdie]

Between Every Breath

The drive to the hospital felt both too fast and far too long.

Every bump in the road rattled through you like thunder. You gripped Lewis’s hand with one and the car door handle with the other, eyes shut tight as another contraction rolled through.

“We’re okay, babe,” he kept saying, voice soft but certain. “You’re doing amazing. Just keep breathing. You’ve got this.”

You didn’t speak until it passed. “If they make me fill out paperwork first, I will riot.”

He laughed, relieved to hear your voice. “Duly noted.”

The second your foot crossed the hospital threshold, the nurses were there. One brought a wheelchair, but you waved her off.

“I need to walk. I need to move.”

Your mom nodded knowingly. “That’s good. That’s your body working with you.”

You were checked in and led to a birthing suite — warm lights, soft colors, and the faint scent of lavender from a diffuser someone had thoughtfully set up.

The nurse took your vitals, confirmed your dilation, and smiled gently.

“You’re progressing beautifully. He’s on his way.”

You breathed through another wave, leaning on Lewis, forehead to his chest as he whispered, “Just like that, love. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

For the next hour, you walked the hallways.

Your mom and sister flanked you while Lewis stayed glued to your side, his hand under your elbow when you stumbled or froze through a contraction. You stopped every few minutes to breathe, to sway, to cry quietly into his shoulder when the pain hit hard.

Other people passed by — doctors, nurses, patients — but they faded into a blur. It was just you and him.

“You're doing it,” he said each time, forehead pressed to yours. “He's coming to us. One breath at a time.”

Back in the room, a nurse brought in a birthing ball. You eased onto it slowly, arms resting on the edge of the bed, rocking gently back and forth while Lewis kneeled in front of you, rubbing slow circles into your lower back.

Your sister offered you ice chips, your mom squeezed your hand.

His mom sat nearby, eyes shining, hands clasped. She didn’t speak much — just kept offering a steady, quiet presence that somehow made everything feel less overwhelming.

Your dad paced a little. Your brother peeked in once, panicked, said, “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” and was immediately handed a coffee run assignment.

After a while, the nurse came in and gently encouraged you to lie down for a while — not to stop the movement, but to help your body rest for what was ahead.

Lewis helped you settle into the bed, elevating your knees with pillows and brushing your damp hair off your forehead with trembling fingers.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You’re doing the hardest thing in the world, and I swear you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

You didn’t have the energy to reply — you just wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding him close as another contraction tightened deep through your spine.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

He stayed.

Counting your breaths. Rubbing your arm. Letting you grip his hand hard enough to leave nail marks. Wiping your tears and reminding you that you weren’t alone. That your son was almost here. That you were doing it.

The room quieted again. Monitors beeped steadily. A nurse dimmed the lights. And your family — your sister on one side, your mom on the other, Lewis in front of you — became your anchor.

It hurt.

It was hard.

But you’d never felt so held in your life.

[justice-in-the-throes]

[Michael continued to gently pull at Apollyon’s hair, making slow, gentle progress towards properly cleaning it — though, judging by the placement of his hand, along with the softness of his movements, the gesture was more than likely meant as an attempt to help it to further relax than to simply brush its hair.]

[He seemed quite relaxed himself, too, if the continuous purring and trilling was anything to go off of. He was practically melting into the other as it rested, still hugging it close and keeping his wings wrapped around its head — which was still blocking it off from seeing the area around them, but alas]

[Michael suddenly started to tense in his sleep, the purring appearing to have halted at some point. His expression tightened, grip on the other doing the same as his feathers started to bush up — even before he had reached consciousness — making a quiet, just audible chittering noise instead]

- Michael™️

*—Apollyon startles awake in a cold sweat, before his gaze is immediately back on the angel. Through his own fading panic, he seems to register the signs of stress in Michael's demeanor*

[Hey...]

*And perhaps that panic makes them a little less gentle than he would usually be when attempting to wake the other up. They move to grab ahold of Michael's shoulder with one arm in an attempt to shake it awake*

[Michael..?]

[sgartiste]

I need to put this out there now or else I’ll never put it to words. A month or so back, I gave my recommendation for A Tale Of Ice And Smoke by SooperSara while I was in the middle of reading it. Back then I was on Chapter Twenty-Something and at this point I’ve finished it and

OH MY GOSH THIS FIC IS AMAAAAZIIIIIING!!!

First of all, Book 1 of the series is complete and has been adapted into an audiobook narrated by the author herself. Barring a few overlaps in the voice clips (;P), it’s incredibly well put together and the author represents and distinguishes the cast incredibly. If you’re interested and willing, please, please, PLEASE give it a listen.

Imma start talking about the plot itself now, so spoilers if you wanna check the fic out yourself.

So, a friend of mine introduced the concept of podfics to me a little over a year ago, and decided to check a decently sized one out to explore the genre. I chose ATOIAS because, one, it was a fandom I was familiar with, and two, it was my favorite subgenre of fics, that being girlboss roleswap AUs. (my beloved) To put it very simply, it’s basically ‘what if Katara was the Avatar?’. The story revolves around her perspective and her experience as the Avatar throughout all of Book 1, and makes damn well sure to differentiate what this role means to her from Aang. Who is also in the fic, to be clear. And also the Avatar. 

EH!? TWO AVATARS!? EHHHHHH!? So basically Aang died in the iceberg after 84 years and Katara became the Avatar, and then she encountered him in the North, and accidentally used some Avatar mumbo jumbo to bring him back to life. It was an interesting, and admittedly off-putting idea. I originally felt it detracted from the main premise, but SooperSara makes sure to both take full advantage of this plot point and ensure that this story is still very much Katara’s. It’s important to remember that a very important part of a good fic that readapts the original’s plot is to make the bits distinguishable enough to truly make their story their own, and as — especially as — the plot progresses, the author does that very well.

Let’s talk about Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. The author ships Zutara HARD. Don’t blame her, it’s peak. Katara/Zuko was a relationship mentioned in the tags, and I was totally fine with it, but little did I know at the time, the fun girlboss roleswap AU fic was just a poorly disguised Zutara fic! To be clear, there is NOTHING wrong with that. At all. I don’t usually go for slow burn fics  barring a handful of ships I fixate on. Zutara is not one of them. That didn’t stop me from growing addicted to the relationship. 🫠 

For starters, Katara’s role as the Avatar is unknown to most of the population, as most people think it’s just Aang. The only ones who know it outside the Gaang and a couple of characters who catch her in the act, are Zuko and Iroh. So Zuko now has to both capture Aang AND Katara to complete his mission and return his honor and yadda yadda yadda and he has to do all of this without stirring suspicion lest a certain Zhao spread the news and try to take over his mission. So Zuko immediately has a strong and unique connection to Katara compared to canon which is the real basis behind the butterfly that leads to the growing relationship. He focuses his pursuits on her and her responses are muuuuuch different than Aang’s, usually by giving him an earful or the occasional fistful whilst the latter would usually attempt to disengage. That’s another thing. SooperSara really knows how to make the cast feel like the kids they are. The squabbles, sputters and scowls (:P) by all of the Gaang make them all feel so natural and in character and it really strengthens their character, especially in Katara and Zuko’s sense. The former is petty and the latter is grumpy and the dynamic between the two of them is just so, SO endearing. Anyway, Zuko ends up being as much of a protagonist as Katara as the perspective constantly changes to his and much of the most important emotional beats involve his time with the reader. Aang and Sokka also get some focus, and their characters are certainly not ignored, but Zuko and Katara are the backbone of what makes this fic so good.

The first quarter of the fic is a retelling of the first half of Book 1, while taking some creative liberties to alter certain plot points, and that was all fine and dandy and exactly what I expected, but the plot takes a BIG change during the adaptation of Episode 15 where Aang and the group have their falling out over the map to Hakoda except Zuko and June actually succeed in their mission to catch the Avatar mainly because the fight with Aang has increased meaning for Katara and Katara is actually Zuko’s primary target. The augmented drama ends up with Katara stuck on a Fire Nation ship for… quite a while. Like… for weeks. Like… the second quarter of the 80-chapter fic is in this boat, mainly in this cell. It’s a very small, tight setting. And I was initially very impatient as to when this chunk would be over, wanting to go back to ‘episodes of avatar but katara is the mc’. What I didn’t realize was how this new setting would be the perfect place for the relationship between Zuko and Katara, as well as Iroh and Katara for that matter. The way she’s so self-defeatingly and dangerously defensive in the beginning and the efforts Zuko went to make sure she didn’t end up killing herself in the cell — by keeping her in Iroh’s company — were admirable. And Katara slowly comes to realize that Zuko, despite himself and his own feelings, is, at the very least, a very decent and complicated person. And Zuko is constantly conflicted by how much he finds he cares about not only his prisoner, but the other people around him as Katara constantly calls him out and gets on his nerves in their verbal skirmishes while still showing each other respect. In the end, they’re both kids, and they were thankfully raised on good morals despite their actions. Katara’s animosity between him for his actions, calling him just as bad as Zhao, remains until he ends up saving her life when Zhao blows up Zuko’s ship. I was initially a little detached from this change, constantly wondering which chapter would be the end of this tangent, but the growing bond between these two seemingly incompatible kids had somehow snared me sometime within. The chapter where Zuko returns Katara’s necklace was the first time I have EVER cried during a fanfic, and that was only enhanced by listening to the audiobook. (Another reason to go listen to it >:[)

So, yeah. About that. Preceding The Siege of The North, Zhao dismisses Zuko’s crew and basically destroys his mission to capture the Avatar all in his father’s name, and after attempting to blow the prince up as well as his newfound doubts of his mission via Katara being herself (in the most annoying way possible) Zuko is practically broken. He survives the explosion and stows away on Zhao’s ship with Iroh and when the plans to attack the North become apparent, Zuko, good-natured, guilty, and disillusioned by Katara’s constant questions feels a responsibility to protect and prepare the Avatar for the oncoming invasion. Not necessarily because he likes her or anything… o_o …but because his own conscience, now clearer than ever, recognizes that this attack is wrong and he has to do something about it.

The entire second half of the 80-chapter fic is in the Northern Water Tribe, which I was actually happy with, especially after how my feelings changed after the Fire Nation ship. It meant we’d get to spend more time with Yue and see Katara grow as a waterbender, and it would help strengthen the character and relationships between the rest of the Gaang. It takes a bit for Katara to actually get to train, Pakku being Pakku, but it really feels as if it pays off by the end. And Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. He shows up much earlier than in canon to warn Katara, albeit with no real plan past that… because he’s Zuko. So when he’s found, which is thankfully very quickly, Katara drags him by the ear and sticks him in an ice pit for the next twenty chapters. In that time he becomes acquainted with the Gaang and soon gets dismissed as a threat. They talk, they bond, they spar once Zuko is allowed out and the relationships get plenty of time to develop and solidify in ways that never could’ve been possible in 20 minute episodes while still maintaining an enjoyable pace, which is impressive considering this is 40 chapters that represent 2 episodes. Zuko and Katara’s relationship carries the whole thing. Zuko’s awkward, angsty and bad with feelings, and Katara’s ill-tempered, spiteful and wears her emotions on her sleeve. They’re kind of perfect for each other. The perfect people to talk to — read ‘argue with’. Seeing them feel so much responsibility and connection for each other (though, not quite love [yet]) more and more is an addicting feeling.  While I won’t spoil the ending with the Siege, I will say that everything that’s happened wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Zhao being an asshole. So thank him for the Zutarany goodness.

But seriously, this is one of the best fics I’ve indulged in, and certainly the best one I’ve ever listened to. Author’s in the middle of Book 2 right now, which I have admittedly not begun, but I’m really looking forward to reading it.

tl;dr, came for the girlboss, stayed for the zutara. 

also sokka says fuck. 10/10 would recommend.