#I just listen to anything ever without thinking-

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[fierceawakening]

I love it.

But if you want an actual answer from someone who didn’t grow up evangelical but whose mom was religious enough to make it very clear that she’d absorbed by osmosis that even though it was PROBABLY fine, she didn’t approve of me thinking my older cousin’s D&D stuff was cool and wanted very much to tamp down any desire I had to try it too:

Fundamentalist Christianity is fundamentally (heh) about the idea that there are two major powers in the world: God and Demons.

The demons are less powerful than God, but they make up for it by being slippery hateful little bastards. They know they’re going to lose the ultimate battle, so they do that thing where they decide “if im going down, those guys over there are going down with me” and devote the entirety of their immortal lifespans to coming up with clever ways to trick the humans into falling for bullshit even if the humans know about Jesus.

This is what most if not all fundamentalists think other religions are. Stuff demons made up to trick you into worshipping the demons long enough that you die before you realize you made a mistake. Because if you die without admitting your mistake and converting to Christianity, you’ve used up your allotted time and you go to hell, and you’re not able to avoid the same fate as the demons, and they get to feel smug about it, which is pretty much the only fun they get to have ever, so honestly I can kind of see why they’re such little shits.

But if that’s what other religions are, then that’s what other things are that LOOK like religions but aren’t, too. So D&D might admit “yeah there isn’t actually a Selune or anything, we just made that up for the story.” But it works like the thing the demons did when they convinced people to worship Allah or Mary (yes, a lot of these folks are so ridiculous about this shit they see Catholics as “deifying” Mary, meaning goddess worship, meaning a demon tricked you, and you’re making the real spirit of Mary sad). It must be designed to ultimately get you to believe it. Or at least to find it compelling enough that you get distracted and start listening to the demons.

The theory as i understand it was that role playing games were designed to be immersive, to get you to feel like your character. You were supposed to have so much fun in the fake world that you’d lose touch with the real one and want to become your character, which would open you up to the wiles of the demons.

Sometimes the idea was that you’d straight up become interested in occultism, wanting to replicate the use of magic in the game by becoming a literal warlock, that is, in hock to the demons, because God won’t let you do magic but they dgaf as long it helps them trick you into dying before you see the con.

But I don’t think thst was NECESSARY to the panic. All they needed was the vague idea that the demons are tricksy and sly, and if you get too much pleasure out of Demon Stuff they might manage to arrange for you to suddenly get hit by a car or something the second you think “you know, maybe there’s no Jes—“ *THUNK* “BWAHAHA WE GOT ANOTHER ONE.”

Which is why it was convincing to a lot of people who should’ve known better, like my mom, who usually thinks fundies are assholes twisting her religion into something cruel and gross.

Because all you need is that sliver of fear to get a parent who rationally knows “there aren’t demons” or “if there are demons they don’t intervene like that” to turn on the Protective Animal Brain.

Which meant you got people like my mom. No actual reason to want to shield me from D&D, but rules against it Just In Case.

I think we need to appreciate this part of Brennan Lee Mulligan's WIRED interview a lot more:

"The evangelical right in this country needs to manufacture outrage to hold onto its voting block. [The satanic panic about DnD] was arbitrary, as the targets of their outrage always are. Fight the power."

[bewitched-hours]

Fantasy!Forsaken | Yan!Telamon x Kitsune!Reader

Idk anymore, this came to me while listening to music and it's gotten stuck so might as well get it out of my system now- If you expect this to be in-character at all, you're delusional- (/hj)

Reader's pronouns are She/They (＾▽＾)／

No matter what god/-dess you followed, there was a legend that they all had their own marks.

And if you find one on the back of your hand...

They've chosen you as their betrothed.

Most would be overjoyed to be chosen since the mark is one you cannot replicate. A mark so powerful that it shines through contact.

A mark so powerful, replicating it would burn the material you had used into your skin and turn tar black to expose you for attempting to fake such an honourable status.

And normally, you'd be overjoyed too...

If it wasn't the mark of Telamon you had woken up to...

It shouldn't even be possible for you to be chosen. Telamon was a god that took more to simple Robloxians, and you were a Kitsune.

Your people worshipped gods of the hunt and prosperity, not war...

Kitsune's were known as a species of peace and trickery, the complete opposite of what you were aware Telamon stood for.

You stared at the mark on your hand in disbelief, your heart already forming a pit in your stomach as you raised your hands to your face and began slapping yourself.

"Wake up- Wake up- Wake up-" You'd tell yourself in desperation, praying that you were still asleep. That this was a nightmare you'd wake up from...

Quick as you were though, you began praying to your goddess immediately when the reality had settled in.

"Please forgive me, my goddess... I am unaware of my wrongs but I will do anything to atone, please do not let this be true..." You whispered, your figure shaking as you couldn't help but think that you must've done something to displease your goddess to a point where she would willingly hand you to another god to be claimed.

If only you knew how wrong you were...

For she did try to protect your soul...

And she failed...

Once you were done, you decided to put on your robes and headed out into your village.

For once, you were glad these old black robes lined with copper were the standard attire in your home. Their initial purpose was to showcase loyalty to your goddess but over time, it evolved into more of a choice where your village would use this to keep a sense of mystery to them, should a traveller ever come by.

The glow of your mark was luckily hidden underneath the dark fabric as you made your way to the library. You were sure that you would find answers there.

But as you attempted to stray from the crowd, a sudden sense of urgency overcame you. You didn't understand why or how but something was calling you into the deep of the forest, away from your village.

Now, you weren't an idiot and attempted to continue on your path but before you could shake off the feeling of urgency, you heard child's laughter entering the forest.

Technically you could attempt to ignore it but if there really was a child straying into the dark, you had an obligation to help them back to the village. Lest you become overwhelmed with guilt over the village losing another child to the dangers out there.

Without a second thought, you charged towards the laughter and didn't even care as your hood fell from the wind hitting your anxious expression.

"Kid? Come on, you should know better than to stray from the village!" You called out, swiftly making your way through the trees until you came across a clearing and felt your whole body freeze.

The 'child' poofed into flowers as you spotted it. It was a mere illusion.

And yet... You got stuck watching the figure behind it slowly approach.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't move.

Your legs were frozen, your mouth couldn't get anything out besides your slow and worked up breath. It was hard to concentrate on even that as you recognized the figure's large wings and similar yet different robes.

Telamon...

Just as you had feared, the god now stood before you with an amused smirk, gently tucking one of the flowers from the illusionary child into your ear as though to plug it only to lean down to your other ear with a sickeningly sweet tone.

"Ashamed of my mark...? That lousy goddess of yours didn't know how to cherish you fully, why not allow me to give you the life you could only ever dream of?" You felt your senses dulling out.

Were you even breathing anymore? You couldn't tell but you could feel his wings supporting your weight as you noticed your legs growing heavy. At least now you could feel them again...

Even less had you expected the sudden feeling of his hand caressing your face. "There's no need to cry... I can allow you to say goodbye to your family if you wish..." His voice almost sounded worried, it made you want to throw up.

Regardless, you knew you had no choice. What was the will of a Kitsune to that of a god? Much less one that could see and hear everything the birds could. You were a lamb trapped by wolves.

As you regained control of your body, you shakily nodded and dashed back home to scream for your family. No one was home.

Probably all working around the village... It made sense with the youngest of your siblings recently becoming of age.

You decided to leave them a letter explaining everything you knew as tears stained the outlines of your robes. You wrote about being Telamon's chosen bride, how you hoped that giving him what he wanted would make him leave them alone, even how you suspected that he might've done something to your goddess and to pay attention for any marks on your siblings not of your goddess.

Even if it wouldn't be a mark of Telamon, it would be more evidence to hint that something happened to your goddess.

You gripped the paper tightly, your heart threatening to break your ribcage as you hung it to the inside of the front door. You were sure they would notice it as you said your final goodbyes to an empty house and held tightly onto your arms to hold back your tears while you made your way back to Telamon.

The feeling of urgency returned, and you did nothing to fight it as you knew why it was there.

It was his call to you. Likely through the mark.

Once you saw the deity again, he seemed much more friendly.

Nothing like you'd expect... But maybe it was a false front to lure you into his control...?

Regardless, he was quick to literally sweep you off your feet and carry you bridal style into the sky. You luckily held your eyes shut in a panic or you would've probably seen how big of a grin he was wearing as he carried you to... Who even knew where-

When you opened your eyes again, you stood before a cathedral. One made of pure quartz and obsidian. You almost couldn't believe it.

Your fascination with the building also seemed to please Telamon as he gently nudged you with his wings to follow him inside.

Almost instinctively, you were walking beside the god like you would walk around your village, still staring around you at large pillars, slightly broken benches and even an altar. All out of quartz and obsidian.

But when you were instructed to open the door behind the altar, your mind was blown away.

It was like stepping into a realistic version of a theatre play.

You had stepped into a realm of clouds and enlightened beings alike.

There were gods cheerfully greeting Telamon and you and congratulating Telamon on choosing his first betrothed.

Wait... First..?

"That's right, my little fox~" He playfully chirped at your confused expression as you two made your way through clouds and you felt your body getting lighter. "I had never thought to choose myself a betrothed like the other deities here but you were an exception~"

You somehow couldn't tell if that was good or bad...

"Don't fret, my dear. This just means I will have more time to spend with you alone..." He gave you a slight smirk that somehow made your heart skip a beat. Maybe another thing about being betrothed to a god...?

When you two stopped, you realized you were in some sort of solid room made up of clouds and more quartz. It all suddenly seemed so much smaller than the gods you both walked past but when you looked down at yourself, you saw why.

Telamon had made himself and you gradually become more god-like in size, allowing your clothes to size up too so you wouldn't have to be naked.

"Welcome to enlightenment, my love." His voice was suddenly so soft and felt so genuine to you that it felt hard to draw any doubt in your mind of his love for you. You couldn't even muster the thought of him potentially being manipulative. Maybe you had been a little shallow, viewing gods through stereotypes based on what they stood for...

And now you were among the enlightened.

"You're free to wander wherever your heart takes you~" You hadn't the slightest bit of hesitation in you as he got closer to pepper your face with kisses. It was actually heart-warmingly sweet...

You even caught yourself returning a few of the kisses which seemed to have his feathers fluffing up like a cat... How adorable...

And to think the god of war would have a soft side...

It felt like you were slowly melting into his touch. You had expected him to mould you into a puppet but instead he allowed you to taste godhood as an enlightened one.

Soon you would find yourself bonding with other enlightened ones and finding out more about the other gods, such as Azure and Two Time or 007n7 and Elliot. It was almost like you never even left home as you would all gossip and gush about your godly lovers, showing no shame when caught and being treated with such care and love.

Time felt so distant in this realm...

How long have you been here now..?

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[galacticturnip]

Yes!! As someone who is both neurodivergent and someone who experienced trauma related to social communication, no matter how much I do genuinely understand, I struggle with verbally articulating it! I cannot debate you. I cannot explain to you with words why what I know is morally right, because my brain is a jumbled fucking mess. Whatever words come to me is what I’ve got to work with; my adhd makes me actively forget language allll the time and it’s not reliable.

All this gatekeepy language shit is is a way of preserving the morality code like those religious fanatics subscribe to. “I’m saved/I’m a good person because I know the academically least offensive terminology.” I can promise you, calling people in jail “justicely challenged” or whatever the fuck they changed it to recently, is not going to fix the fucking prison enslavement system. It’s a distraction. It’s a pacifier, to make you feel like a good person without ever having fixed anything, meanwhile you also get a free pass to yell at people and tell them they’re less good of a person than you.

We’re in this fucking boat because everyone just read a bunch of books and learned language and said they’re done. And like, dude, I’ve done it too! Of course I have. But I’ve realized, especially since everything has unraveled so quickly out of our control, we gotta be action orientated.

Your words and beliefs mean jack shit if you don’t stand up and do something with em. You gotta look inside people’s hearts and listen to those words. Is someone a good person? Do you think they meant it the way that you interpreted it?? Do you think they’d stop to help someone on the side of the road?

I know we’ve got trauma. We allllll do and it sucks and it makes it hard to trust people. But damn, we can’t be making social justice nuns of ourselves y’all. We just can’t. Most people can’t preach social justice like the best pastor, let alone study and dedicate themselves to it like a nun.

We’re regular people out here just trying to do our best to be good. We gotta build eachother up, teach, and share.

I was discussing the incident mentioned later in this piece with my wife yesterday and I saw another post by someone earlier doing something mentioned in here and I'm finally going to say something about it.

There is a serious problem in leftist spaces, especially online, especially on Tumblr, when it comes to language.

The way people are expected to speak just to even enter these spaces is incredibly complex, to the point of being outright hostile to those who haven’t already spent time in them. And it’s not just newcomers; people who have important things to say, people speaking from lived experiences, people who don’t have English as a first language but still deserve to be heard, are constantly talked down to or even pushed out entirely for not using the "right" words.

This gets even worse when you factor in how often new terms are coined in English, and then people are shamed for not immediately knowing or using them.

I saw someone reblog their own post saying something like, "I know for a fact more than half of y’all didn’t understand a fucking word I said here."

And honestly? That stuck with me, because yeah, I’ve felt that before. Not because I don’t value critical thinking! because I absolutely do! I just made a post on that too! but because so many of these posts are written in a way that makes them Functionally Inaccessible to anyone who doesn’t already have the right background knowledge. And at a certain point, if you actually want your words to have an impact, if you actually want to create meaningful change, then you’re going to have to accept some things:

People will not always use perfect language.

2. People will not always know the exact terminology you personally prefer they use when engaging in discourse.

3. Dismissing or attacking people for how they say something, instead of engaging with what they’re saying, is actively harmful.

And more than that, if you genuinely want people to understand and engage with the things you’re talking about, especially people who don’t speak English as a first language, especially people without access to higher education, especially people who don’t even know where to begin when it comes to self-education (because yes, that is a skill that has to be taught) then you are going to have to be the one to adjust sometimes. You are going to have to let people say things imperfectly. You are going to have to take a step back and engage with the message rather than just the words being used to express it.

One of the experiences that made me realize that I, as a non-native English speaker, was not welcome in Tumblr leftist spaces was when I spoke about real-life oppression I had experienced. I left one word out of my post, a word which honestly, was not even important when talking about an incident that had Happened To Me, not theory, not hypotheticals or any what-ifs of oppression, a story, a story about something that happened to me.

And because of that, people sat in a Discord server, picking apart my words, accusing me of awful things, and then came into my askbox throwing jargon and buzzwords I’d never even heard before, then got mad at me for being frustrated that this was happening.

Think about that. People who are directly impacted by oppression are being pushed out of spaces meant to discuss it because the way they speak doesn’t conform to certain expectations. That is not justice. That is not solidarity. That is not progress.

There is a fundamental disconnect here between theory and praxis. Ironically so many of you do not know what praxis is, because most of you engage with a lot of theory, and not a lot of praxis, you use the word praxis a lot, but, ironically, you have no idea what it means.

{to put my money where my mouth is, it means Doing Something, in the simplest possible terms}

In theory, leftist spaces should be accessible. They should be places where people can speak openly about their experiences, learn from each other, and work toward meaningful change. But in practice? There’s a gatekeeping of language so intense that many people, particularly those who are marginalized in ways beyond just their political beliefs, are outright excluded.

And this is something I need people to sit with: The assumption that the "right" language is easy to learn, or that anyone who doesn’t use it is being willfully ignorant, is an inherently privileged stance. Knowing where to find information, how to process it, and how to integrate new terminology into your vocabulary is a skill that is largely tied to education. Having the time to engage with leftist literature and theory, to stay up-to-date on every new term that gets introduced, is also a privilege. And the fact that so many people refuse to acknowledge this, that they expect perfect articulation from everyone, regardless of background, and punish those who don’t measure up, is a huge problem.

Worse still, the same people who act as gatekeepers of this language often fail to communicate their ideas in a way that is accessible at all.

This doesn’t mean that complex ideas should never be discussed. It doesn’t mean that people shouldn’t strive for accuracy in their language. But it does mean that if your goal is to educate, if your goal is to spread awareness, if your goal is to help people understand and join the movement, if your goal is to engage with fellow oppressed people, then you have a responsibility to meet people where they are. You have a responsibility to make your language understandable.

Because if people can’t even process what you’re saying, then what’s the fucking point?

And before anyone says, "Well, people should put in the effort to learn!" Let me make something very clear: They do.

People who are new to leftist spaces, or who are coming in from different linguistic and cultural backgrounds, are often trying their best to engage. They are listening, they are learning, they are processing. But if the response to every mistake, every slightly off phrasing, every unfamiliarity with a new term, is immediate hostility,

or even if it's just 'hey I see you're sharing a personal moment, but can you change your language to make me, personally, more comfortable with you discussing your oppression?' then you’re not teaching.

You’re just making sure only the people who already think and speak exactly like you get to stay in the room.

Your language, your terminology, your theory? none of it means anything if you can’t make it accessible to the people who actually need it. And it means nothing if you use it to Exclude rather than Include.

[hatussy]

disciplinary | c.r

pairing: charlie reid x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], slight dubcon, an homage to fleabag s2 [2019], superior/subordinate, shoe riding, office sex, degradation/humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, excessive use of the word “cunt” word count: 1729

summary: in which you would do anything for deputy reid...

oneshot | masterlist

You stood before Deputy Reid with your head held high, despite your metaphorical tail tucked between your legs. You listened to him rant and rave about your recklessness, that two of your team are now in the hospital seriously injured.

You knew the plan was stupid. You knew better than to use two rookies as a decoy so you could get behind the target. They’d agreed to it—they knew the risks, but you were the superior. You shouldn’t have even humoured the idea, let alone voiced it.

Deputy Reid paced the room in front of you. You hated that he looked so good, with his curly grey hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The way the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up his arms haphazardly to reveal his forearms—tanned and freckled and muscular. How the fuck were his forearms so sexy?

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose with two thick fingers. You felt your pussy clench at the sight of his hands—his forearms. The way the muscles flexed with the slight exertion.

“I can’t let you walk out of here without some kind of punishment on your record, Captain.”

You hated how crisp his white shirt was, tucked into the waistband of his dark jeans. How his gun holster clung to his side, weapon still tucked away, ready to be used. 

“I’ll take whatever punishment you deem necessary, Sir, but I implore you not to take my wings.”

“What makes you think I give a single fuck about what you implore me to do?” He snapped. “This isn’t the first time you’ve broken protocol, Captain. I have to make an example out of you. This shit doesn’t fucking fly around here, and neither do you. You’re suspended for three months, pending further investigation.”

“Sir,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him, aware of the desperation in your voice.

Charlie’s head snaps towards you, his fiery gaze freezing you in place.

“Sir, I’ll do anything.” You continued, watching him slip his glasses back onto his face. “I know it was a stupid call. It should be me in the hospital, not Jones and West. I’ll do anything to make it right, just please. Please don’t suspend me.”

Deputy Reid chuckled humourlessly and walked towards one of the armchairs in his office. You watched him walk. The way his shirt hugged his muscular back. The way his thick thighs were outlined in his jeans, the denim hugging his ass like a second skin.

“Come here, Captain,” he instructed, eyes trained on your own as you swallowed thickly. He caught the almost imperceptible gulp and the way your gaze dropped to his lips, then lower. And even lower. 

“Sir?” You asked, cocking your head slightly once you were standing in front of him.

“On your knees, Captain. I want you to beg me not to take your gun,” he said, voice rough. He was barely able to stop himself from adjusting his throbbing cock, hands white-knuckling the arms of the chair as you slowly sunk to your knees. 

“Please, Sir,” you began, aware that it was a weak effort. Seeing him before you like this, legs spread, eyes dark and lips parted as he quickly gulped in each breath. You hadn’t even started. “Deputy Reid.”

“What?!” He hissed, voice thick and gravelly as he took in your appearance. Your hooded eyes, laboured breathing. On your knees between his legs. God, you were a sight. 

“Sir, I—,” you let out an involuntary sob. “—I need this job more than anything. Policing is my life. Being a cop is all I’ve ever dreamed of. You can’t, Sir.” You were laying it on thick with the tears and trembling voice, little did you know he wouldn’t be persuaded so easily. “Please, I—the investigation will ruin me, Sir.”

“Fuck you for calling me ‘Sir’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” he growled, pressing the toe of his impeccably shiny shoe snug against the apex of your thighs. Just a little more and the point would be pressed against your clothed clit. 

You gasped at the sudden feeling, clamping your legs around his shoe and staring up at him through wide eyes and wet lashes and splotchy cheeks. “I–Sir?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he continued. “Prove it, Captain.”

“I don’t–what?”

“Ride my shoe, Captain. Get yourself off. Prove to me just how desperately you don’t want the investigation to happen. If I like what I see…” He shifted slightly and your eyes dropped to his crotch where his erection strained against his trousers. “How desperate are you, Captain?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you rocked your hips against the point of his shoe, a low groan rumbling in your chest as you grazed your clothed clit against the leather. “Sir,” you whimpered, adding more pressure. Feeling your arousal dampening your underwear as you continued your ministrations. The slow rocking of your hips, your hands gripping his leg for stability.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred, watching your head fall back as you succumbed to the pleasure. “Fuck, look at you. So pretty, so desperate.”

“Sir, I–” 

A moan tore through you, cutting off whatever you were about to say. Deputy Reid reached forward to cup your cheek, tenderly at first, before roughly gripping your face and forcing your mouth open. 

“Look at me when you cum all over my shoe, Captain,” he growled, earning a whimper in response. “You’re a fucking mess. Pathetic. You could’ve got your men killed, Captain.”

A strangled sob sounded around the room. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks. When you opened them again it was a struggle. A struggle to see your superior have such control over you. A struggle to hear him tell you that you’d fucked up. A struggle to cum while he goaded you with your mistakes.

But you were so close. You cried out as you came, legs clamping tighter around his shoe, body shaking with the intensity. Feeling both euphoria and disappointment was overwhelming. You’d fucked up and he’d made a spectacle out of you. 

And fuck if that look in his eyes hadn’t branded it’s place in your soul for the rest of eternity.

Deputy Reid chuckled as he dropped his hand from your face and settled back into the chair. “Look at what you’ve done, Captain.” He gestured to his crotch as he lowered his foot back to the ground. You whimpered at the loss of contact. “You’ve ruined my shoe, too.”

“I–I’m sorry, Sir.”

He clicked his tongue. You at least had the nerve to hold his gaze even as his hand brushed over his crotch.

“I should take you over my desk,” he pondered. “Make you walk out of here crying while my seed drips out of your cunt, hm?”

“Anything, Sir,” you repeated. “I’ll do anything.”

If that didn’t set him off, you didn’t know what would. He growled as he hauled you to your feet, undoing his pants just enough to get his cock out. Roughly pulling your own trousers down to your knees as he bent you over his desk and sank his cock deep into your sopping cunt.

You cried out as he roughly spanked your ass. Once, twice, three times. Each cheek stinging under the impact, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. He gripped your hips roughly, cock stretching you to the point it hurt. Giving you no time to warm to the intrusion before he pulled out and his hips snapped against your ass, bottoming out almost entirely.

“Sir!” You wailed, forearms braced on his desk. The solid mahogany roughly scraping against the floor with each relentless thrust.

“Shit, squeezing my cock so fucking good,” he praised. “Knew you’d like it rough. Reckless. It’s how you live.”

You moaned as the tip of his cock brushed the spongy wall inside you that had you seeing stars. 

“Fucking hell, gonna cum deep inside your cunt, Captain,” he cursed. “Beg me for it. Beg for me to finish inside you.”

“P-please,” you sobbed. “Please cum inside me, Sir. I need it. Need to feel you filling me up. Need to learn my lesson.”

“That’s fucking right.” He growled lowly. “Gonna flood your womb. Fuck, Captain. Taking my cock exactly how I always imagined.”

His grunts and moans drowned out your own whimpers and sobs. He was so close, you could feel the way his thrusts got more frantic. The way his breathing hitched and you flexed your pelvic muscles around him. He came hard, grunting out your name and praising your cunt for squeezing him so good. 

No praise for you, just your cunt.

He stilled his movements, planting one more solid smack to your left cheek before pulling out. He admired his work, your stinging ass, swollen cunt, and his seed trickling out. Thick fingers worked it back inside you, not to get you off—to make good on your promise that you’d do anything to keep your job, even spreading your legs for your superior. 

Deputy Reid’s fingers were thick and covered in his cum—your own arousal. He gripped your face, watching your mouth fall open as he turned you to face him, the digits slipping past your open lips. 

“Clean my fingers,” he instructed, breathing heavily as he watched you suck them further into your mouth. Tears stained your cheeks, eyelashes wet—pupils dilated and eyes red. Fuck, you were a sight. So eager to clean him up—to do whatever it took to keep your job. “Get dressed. Pack up your desk. You’re still suspended for three months pending investigation.”

Your breath caught in your throat. What the fuck was that? All that for nothing—the same outcome? Your shoulders sank, heavy under the weight of the consequences of your own actions. 

Deputy Reid looked far more put together than you—not a hair out of place, shirt tucked back into his jeans, and his thick cock hidden behind the wall of denim. Your cunt was used—full of his seed, and seeping into the fabric of your panties as you donned your pants and attempted to make yourself presentable. 

“Leave like that,” he said—no, he ordered. Not caring to look your way as he grabbed the file from his desk and dismissed you without a second thought. 

[jabber-simper]

Saying 'I love you' To Them For The First Time

Featuring: Ritsu | Zenji | Sho | Tohma

Ritsu Shinjo:

It was just another day of studying after your classes with Ritsu but you just couldn't focus on your books or what Ritsu was saying. Your attention truly lied on watching him as he spoke, at seeing the way the light hit his face and lit up his features. He has the prettiest eyes you think you'd ever seen. You were down bad for your buisness partner and you were reaching capacity as the words tumbled out of your mouth without you meaning to say them "God, I love you." Ritsu fell silent and your eyes widened in terror, you hadn't meant to tell him that. You waited for Ritsu to say something, anything, instead he pulled out his recorder and played back the audio of your confession, multiple times. Just when you were ready to die from embarrassment, Ritsu finally spoke up. "This is unforseen, but good, because I love you too. I think we're done studying for today, so how about we go out on a real date? After we make amendments to our contract."

Tohma Ishibashi:

You'd been going around Frostheim with Tohma all day, helping him out with whatever needed to be done. You really liked the vice captain and were more than happy to spend the day around him. There was something about him that just always put you at ease, and you felt comfortable opening up to him about anything. Well, anything but what you'd so far been unable to confess. As the day wore on, you grew colder and colder, despite having dressed warmer knowing you'd be within the icy palace all day. As your shivers grew more noticeable, Tohma silently slipped his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders, and you instantly melted into the heat of it. "Thank you so much, you're the best, I love you." You confessed before your eyes widened in terror at realising what you just said. Tohma gained a satisfied smile on his face as he replied to you "After this last task how about we go somewhere warm and over dinner you can tell me more about how you love me, so I may tell you that I love you too."

Shohei Haizono:

You were starving and the food being cooked before you smelt so, so good. You were being Sho's food tester as he made up new meals to try serving at his food truck, and this was the newest one he was cooking up for you. "Sho, it smells so good it's torturing me," you whined. "I'm withering away to nothing." Sho let out a small laugh at you."Patients, Senpai, you can't rush this." So you fell silent again as you watched him work. Though you'd seen him fight in the pit, this was where he seemed most deadly as he did everything with precision and care. He was truly one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen, and you were hopelessly head over heels. When the food was finally placed in front of you, you tore into it, practically moaning around mouthfuls of the best flavors you'd ever tasted. "This is amazing, Sho, the best food I've ever tasted, I love you." You told him between bites, not realising what was said. Sho grew a small fond smile on his face. Later, when you weren't stuffing your face, he'd take you somewhere nice on Bonnie and tell you he loved you too.

Zenji Kotodama:

You'd been hanging out in Hotarubi all day, enjoying tea with Suba and chatting with Haku, but this was by far the best part of your day. You now sat listening to Zenji on one of the piers as he sang for you one of his latest poems. You weren't paying so much attention to the words as the look on Zenji's face, the passion and dedication written on his features. You so deeply admired him for his craft and the passion with which he did it, even though the group who could hear his poems and performances was very limited. You also admired how he was always so cheerful and willing to lift others up to make them happy and see their own potential. You were in love, and it was getting harder to keep that inside. When Zenji finished, you applauded his performance. "That was amazing, Zenji! I love you!" You blurted out and froze. Zenji got the biggest grin on his face and tried to tackle hug you, though he just passed through you like usual, though that didn't bother him. "Oh my doll, you make my heart sing as though it were fully alive again. I will do right by this wonderful treasure of your heart that you have given me. I will compose the most wonderous ballad to proclaim my love for you as well."

[sereia4skz]

Might i ask for dom reader with chan and minho please?? Written if that’s okay, or text msgs?

oneshot | the good boy and the brat

pairing: poly!minchan x dom!fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: orgasm control, dom!reader, brat!minho, praise & degradation, mommy kink, dialogue heavy

word count: 1379

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, when you stepped inside. No music. No talking. Just a strange hush, punctuated by the sound of something soft: a breath? A whimper?

You kicked off your boots and slid your bag to the floor, eyebrows lifting. “Boys?” you called, voice even. “I’m home.”

No answer, just barely audible came a moan from the living room.

Your brows rose higher. You padded silently toward the door, stopping just before the corner. You didn’t announce yourself.

“…Minho w-we’re not supposed to- she said we can’t-” Chan’s voice, breathless, nervous.

“Oh, come on,” Minho drawled. “What she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Or us. Unless you want her to catch us.”

A whine. “That’s not- Minho, fuck”

You peeked around the corner.

Chan was flushed and naked from the waist down, legs spread on the couch, back arched and thighs trembling. His hands were in his lap, desperately trying to cover himself, but you could still see the flush in his chest, the shame and arousal all over his face.

Minho was curled beside him, fully clothed, smirking like the devil himself. His fingers were ghosting along Chan’s inner thigh.

“Let me guess,” you said coolly, stepping fully into the room. “I tell you to behave for a few hours and come home to find you corrupting my good boy?”

Chan jumped, practically scrambling off the couch, while Minho just smiled and stretched like a cat. “Oh. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

You raised a brow. “Minho.”

“Yours truly.”

“Hands off Chan.”

He lifted his hands mockingly. “You’re no fun.”

“Sit,” you ordered.

He tilted his head, but obeyed, plopping into the armchair like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. Chan was standing now, blushing hard, trying not to meet your gaze, hand ghosting over his erection trying to hide it.

You turned to him, voice softer. “Come here.”

He crossed the room quickly, eyes wide, still panting.

“Chan,” you murmured, reaching to brush your fingers over his cheek. “Did you forget the rules?”

He shook his head immediately. “No- I didn’t- I told him, I swear, I tried to say no, but he-he”

Your fingers curled under his chin. “Breathe.”

Helmet out a shaky breath.

“You didn’t touch yourself?”

His voice was small. “No! But- he's so pretty- I-.”

You looked into his eyes for a beat, interrupting him. “You still want to be good for me?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Then strip the rest of the way and kneel on the couch. Hands behind your back. Legs spread.”

He shivered at the command, but obeyed without hesitation, shedding his shirt and climbing onto the couch. Kneeling upright, hands locked behind him, thighs apart just enough for you to see how hard he was already.

You turned to Minho.

“You, on the other hand,” you said, voice icy, “are going to tell me exactly what you were doing teasing him when you knew damn well he’s not allowed to come without permission.”

Minho shrugged. “He looked bored. I was doing him a favor.”

“Is that what you call trying to fingerfuck my good boy into disobedience?”

“I didn’t touch him-” he grinned. “Well. Not really.”

You crossed the room in two slow steps and gripped his jaw.

“Do you want to be punished?” you asked quietly.

His eyes glittered. “Maybe. If you’re offering.”

You smiled and turned back to Chan.

“Look at him,” you said, gesturing at Minho. “Smirking, fully clothed, like he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Chan whimpered. “He said we’d stop before you got home-”

You brushed your thumb across his lower lip. “You think he ever listens?”

Chan shook his head, eyes big and eager. “No.”

You moved behind him and ran your hands slowly down his sides, then slid a hand between his legs. He was already dripping.

“Poor thing,” you cooed. “He got you so worked up, didn’t he? But you didn’t come.”

“No,” he breathed.

You bent down to whisper against his ear. “You want to come now?”

“Yes please- please”

Minho scoffed from the chair. “Pathetic.”

You turned sharply. “Say that again.”

He opened his mouth, but paused.

“You think you’re so smug,” you continued. “You get off on pushing him over the edge, but you can’t stand that he’ll always be my good boy. Why can't you behave?”

You nodded to the floor. “Strip and crawl.”

Minho’s expression flickered, challenge, excitement, obedience tangled in one, but he stood. He stripped slower than he needed to, clearly putting on a show, and then dropped to his knees and crawled toward the couch.

You stopped him with a foot to his chest. “Back. Hands behind you. Watch only.” 

He obeyed, breath catching.

You turned to Chan. “Touch yourself,” you said. “But don’t you dare come until I say.”

Chan moaned already, fingers wrapping around his cock, hips twitching at the first stroke.

You kissed his shoulder, lips soft. “That’s it. Good boy. Just like that.”

He whimpered. “Feels so good”

“You look so pretty like this.”

Behind you, Minho let out a low groan. You turned toward him.

“Hard already?” you mocked. “All I did was praise him.”

He glared, but his flushed cock betrayed him.

“Maybe I should keep praising him,” you purred. “Let him come all over my hand while you watch.”

Minho made a sound, such a desperate sound.

You grinned. “Oh, you don’t like that idea, do you? What’s wrong, brat? Want me to touch you instead?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“I don't think you deserve it.”

Minho gritted his teeth.

“You wanted to play games,” you said sweetly, “but I make the rules here.”

He clenched his fists behind his back. “Please.”

You tilted your head.

“Please what?”

“…Please touch me.”

“Why?” You pretended to think. “You were such a little shit earlier, though. And now you’re whining like you don’t love being denied.”

Chan gasped again, faster now, hand stroking quick.

“M-mommy~ please- I-”

“Don’t come yet,” you warned him, placing a hand around his wrist to still him. “Just a little more, baby.”

He nodded frantically, tears in his lashes.

You turned back to Minho, cocking a brow. “Look what you did to him.”

Minho licked his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not. But I’ll make sure you are.”

You moved to Minho, finally giving him a single slow stroke of your hand, and he arched, eyes fluttering shut, hips chasing you.

“One touch,” you whispered. “That’s all you get right now.”

He growled. “That’s not fair!”

You grinned, leaning in. “I don’t play fair with brats.”

You returned to Chan. “Sweetheart,” you said softly, tugging his hand away. “You’ve been so good for me. Ready to come?”

“Yes- yes, please~”

You wrapped your hand around his cock and stroked him firmly, just once, then again, fast and tight, he cried out, body jerking as he spilled into your hand, moaning your name like a prayer.

You kissed his jaw as he trembled. “Good. Such a good boy.”

Then you turned to Minho.

“Now you,” you said, voice dark. “On your back. Legs open.”

His eyes went wide.

You leaned in close. “If you’re going to act like a needy little slut, I’ll treat you like one.”

He obeyed without a word this time, lying flat, legs parted just enough.

You sat between them and ran a teasing fingertip over his cock. “No touching. No squirming. You’ll come when I say. Understood?”

“…Yes.”

"Yes, who?"

"Yes… Mommy,"

You smirked. “You want to be my toy, brat? You’re going to learn what happens to toys that misbehave.”

He bit back a moan when you start slow, steady strokes, your palm firm, your lips murmuring filth into his ear. “You want to be a good boy now, don’t you? Too late.”

Minho whimpered.

“Chan’s such a good boy… why can't you behave and just be good” you taunted. 

“I- fuck please-”

“Beg better.”

“Please, mommy! I need to come- need you- anything-”

You finally relented. "Fine," you feign disinterest. 

He screamed, whole body arching as he came hard over your hand, into his stomach, legs trembling, eyes wild. You watched him fall apart with a smug grin.

Minho groaned from the floor. “Fuck.”

You chuckled. “Next time, I won't be this nice… Let go clean up”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur was quiet, listening the same way he always did. There was nothing passive in it, nothing distant; he was listening fully, his heart aching softly at the thought. It presented a problem, of course it did; Marc would only be cleared to live on his own when he proved that he would be able to live without Steven. Steven would have to be integrated back into ‘Marc’, alongside the mysterious third - not only would it take time, but Marc would also likely resist it. 

It was easy to think that Marc would likely be here for at least a year, if not longer. Likely longer, from how deep all of this was. 

Arthur didn’t interrupt. He didn’t lean away, he didn’t make a note. He listened, nodding softly, just to show he was still listening and following along - and once he heard that question, what if he hates me, Arthur leaned forward. Not much, just enough to be a bit closer; enough to truly be with him, to reach without reaching. 

“Marc, I don’t think there’s a world where Steven hates you,” he said gently. His real voice, not the usual therapeutic whisper. “I’ve spoken to him. You’ve seen him. The way he worries, the way he blames himself for things before he even knows what’s going on. He’s kind - and he’s scared. He’s looking for someone to trust - and I think it’d be good, if he found that in you.” 

Arthur knew better than to think that Steven would be ‘safe’, in a place like this - there were too many people who would be happy to exploit him, both staff and patient. 

“You’ve protected him for decades. You made sure he only got the good parts, the warm parts. You took pain so that he didn’t have to. Even if Steven got mad at you for lying, I think he’s smart enough to recognize that that is love.” 

It didn’t worry him too much, imagining Steven coming to accept Marc; if anything, it felt more like Steven would struggle with the idea of sharing a body with anyone at all. The acceptance of such a severe illness was a difficult thing - especially for someone who seemed to get anxious or upset over smaller, more manageable things. 

“If he’s ever confused or upset, then I’ll be right here to help you both through it,” Arthur informed, gently. “But I think that Steven will be happy to know that he’s sharing a body with you, in the end. I think, once he gets to know you, he’ll realize that he’s very lucky to have you around. There’s not a lot of people who would care for someone, like you do. He’ll know that.”

It was bad, that Marc wanted Steven around - it meant slower healing, more work that would need to be done. But it was good for Steven - he was sharing a body with a man that cared deeply about him. It was far better, for Steven, than being with someone who wanted him gone. 

And, again, Marc listens. As harsh and hurtful as Harrow's previusly mentioned want to medicate him had sounded, caused delicate bonds to break a bit at the edges... it does return a bit here, when the other leans forward and offers him words that have dark eyes flick up and back to that doctor, brows furrowing a bit, lips pressing into another, tight line.

A sad gaze it is that lingers within dark irises once more - sad and... touched; Harrow says that it could be that Steven needs something - that it might be the reason why he started to break free like this, takes over the body without Marc's control over the situation. Perhaps even Marc himself needs something - whatever it is, neither him, nor Steven, seem to know.

But if it is the truth, if Steven is needing something and trying to get it this way - if things changed between them because something needs to happen, something that potentially means so much more than just lack of control - Marc knows that they shouldn't ignore it. They can't, anyways; Steven's going to do this again and again in the future, and at some point everything might be getting mixed up too much, causing a disaster to happen---

"I... I want him to be okay." Another admission, now spoken so much more softly, gentle, as if Marc is talking about something incredibly fragile, brittle; He swallows, gaze sinking back onto that bottle between his fingers, almost empty by now. "I've... I've always cared about him. He... ---he saved my life. He saved me, yeah. He was always there, and I was... ---I wasn't alone, y'know? I was never alone..."

More tears, fuck. But these are made of something else - no anger, no hurt, no betrayal. These tears are made of a deep emotion, of that guilt that keeps eating away on him, but also of something that tells how much Steven means to him. Marc sniffles, wipes the fresh liquid away with his thumb again and then sighs, biting his bottom lip, leaning forward so that his forearms come to a rest on his thighs - bottle and hands hovering between his knees.

A swallow, and Marc squeezes that bottle a bit between his hands - squeezes and kneads it, listens to the crackle the plastic creates upon being squished like that. It grounds him a bit, in a way, and so he keeps doing it while breathing - in and out, in and out...

Thoughtful.

"---What if we get along when writing those letters back and forth, with Steven thinking I'm just another guy living inside this psych ward...but when he finds out about me being who I am, about us being... this---" Marc points at himself with the bottle, eyes now flicking back to meet Harrow's. "...He startes to hate me? Resent me? Perhaps hate me even more because I... didn't tell him. Lied to him? I... I don't want him to get hurt. I never... I never want him to be hurt, ever. He is... he's not meant to take the pain, he's meant to take the good things. He needs to be happy..."

[bloomzone]

strawberry shortcake sweet personality ✧

Hiii everyone , lately I’ve been rewatching my favorite childhood cartoons and always studying the kindest character like kokoro yotsuba , kitty , barbie ect ect .. (because yes, healing your inner child is girl core), and I spent the whole day falling in love again with Strawberry Shortcake. She’s not just cute she’s kind, warm, confident, and the definition of sweet without ever losing herself and that energy is so rare these days ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

We live in a world where people think being cold, mysterious, or emotionally distant is the only way to be taken seriously . Being soft doesn’t mean being naïve , being kind doesn’t mean being weak , u can be the softest girl in the room and still be the strongest. It’s about choosing love over ego, peace over drama, softness over bitterness and doing it because that’s who you are !

This lil blog ! is for any girl who wants to bring back that berry-sweet energy into her life. A little more kindness. Here's how to stay soft and gentle without ever losing your self-respect.

🍓 Always look for solutions instead of dwelling on problems :

Sweet girls know that sulking forever doesn't help anyone. It's okay to feel sad or stuck for a moment, but don't build a house there. Put on your thinking cap and ask yourself, "What can I do next?" Turning frustration into action is the ultimate girl power.

🍓 Speak softly but with confidence no need to be loud to be heard :

You don't have to yell to be taken seriously. A gentle voice can carry so much power when it's laced with purpose and grace. Be the girl who speaks kindly but firmly people will listen because your calm energy demands respect without ever needing to raise your voice. (by experience.!)

🍓 Give genuine compliments and notice the good in people :

Being sweet means seeing beauty where others don't even look. Compliment the girl next to you on her handwriting or her laugh. That tiny sparkle you give someone could light up their whole day. It doesn't cost anything to be kind, but it means everything .

🍓 Be optimistic even when things look tough :

It's easy to fall into negativity, but sweetness means choosing hope again and again. Believe that things will get better, even if you can't see how yet. This isn't about being delusional it's about refusing to give up your light just because the world seems dark.

🍓 Show genuine care for your friends' feelings :

Real sweetness is heartfelt. Listen when your friends vent. Remember the things they love. If someone's quiet, check in. Being emotionally present isn't clingy or weak it's how you build deep, lasting friendships !

🍓 Stay humble even when you're doing well :

It's so powerful to shine without dimming others. Be proud of yourself, of course but don't brag. Let your work speak for itself , sweet girls clap for others just as loud as they clap for themselves. Humility is magnetic.

🍓 Turn conflicts into learning moments :

Disagreements don't have to be ugly. You don't have to yell or go silent. You can say, "Hey, I didn't like how that felt. Can we talk about it?" That's soft and strong. Sweetness means wanting growth, not grudges.

🍓 Believe the best in people until they prove otherwise :

Don't let the world make you bitter. Believe that people are good until they show you they're not. And when they do, you can walk away gracefully no drama needed ofc . Being trusting isn't naive it means you choose hope, not fear.

🍓 Be encouraging and supportive to everyone around you :

Lift others up. If someone's trying, cheer them on. Be the girl who says, "you've got this!" even to strangers. When you create that energy, it always finds its way back to you. Sweetness creates a ripple effect.

🍓 Keep your sweet, gentle energy even when setting boundaries

You can say "no" with love. You can protect ur peace without being mean. It's all about tone and intention. Boundaries are healthy. Being sweet doesn't mean letting people walk over you. It means loving yourself enough to choose peace.

🍓 Focus on bringing people together instead of creating drama :

We're not here to compete, tear down, or stir the pot. Real girlhood is about sisterhood. Bring people together, help smooth things over, and spread love . Drama might seem exciting but peace is way more powerful.

🍓 Always be willing to help, even with small things :

Hold the door. Pick up something someone dropped. Ask "Need help?" It's in those tiny acts that true sweetness shine

🍓 Stay true to your values no matter what others do :

Don't let peer pressure dull your shine. Be sweet, be soft, be kind even when others aren't. You don't need to "harden up" just to fit in. Real strength is staying gentle in a world that tells you not to be.

🍓 Approach challenges with curiosity instead of fear

Life will throw things at you but you can meet them with wide eyes instead of clenched fists. Ask, "What is this trying to teach me?" Sweet girls grow through what they go through. Your softness doesn't stop you from being brave it makes you even braver.

🍓 Spread positivity wherever you go :

Smile , say "thank you." Leave kind comments online. Compliment the moon. The world doesn't need more cold, mysterious energy all the time. Be the warmth in the room. Be the reason someone feels safe today.

I know someone will say "nooo this is not kindness, people will put you under their shoes..." But there's a huge difference between being sweet and being a doormat.Being sweet doesn't mean you let people walk all over you. It means you choose your battles wisely, u set boundaries with luv and you respond to negativity with strength not weakness. When someone tries to take advantage of your kindness, you can still say no firmly while keeping your gentle energy.The world needs more girls who choose softness as their superpower. Don't let anyone convince you that being kind makes you weak. It takes so much more strength to stay sweet in a world that wants to make you bitter. 🧁

@bloomzone

[melobballin]

residue. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 1.6k ish words count. black!fem reader. +18 minors dni. smut. y’all are so fucking toxic. reader is dumb af for staying. toxic!juju. pussy eating. fingering. tribbing. reader got a smart mouth. flirty!juju. wlw.

SHE SWEARS SHE’LL NOT BE STAYING. Always mumbles it against your neck, as she tugs your shirt up, heart still pumping from whatever argument pushed her back into your arms tonight.

“They’re waiting for me,” she says, hoodie half-off but her hands are already on your thighs, already wanting to lift you like she didn’t ghost you for a week. Like she wasn’t just post up at some party, grinning next to Mariah —who happened to actively hate you.

You don’t say shit. You’ve stopped saying shit. What’s the point when she’s never listening ?

You’ve stopped asking her where she’s been. Stopped hoping the knock meant anything more than what it always did : she needed something she wouldn’t name, and for whatever reason, you were the only one who could give it to her.

Juju always showed up late—smelling like somebody else’s perfume, the taste of liquor on her lips and her hoodie pulled low like guilt can hide her—and you always let her in. Every time. No questions. No judgment. No begging her to stay. Just quiet. Just space. Just you.

Her hands were already on your waist. Already tugging at your shorts like they were in her way. Like she was starving and you were the only thing that’s ever fed her right.

“I missed you,” she said between kisses. “Missed this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Yeah ? You always say that.” You murmured, breath catching as her lips kissed behind your ears.

“I always mean it,” she whispered.

Before you could answer, she was already dropping you onto your bed with that same lazy confidence that’s been driving you insane since freshman year. You hated how easy it was for her. How good she looked in your low lighting. Sweats hanging off her hips. Bra strap peeking from under her tank top. Jaw clenched like she was mad at the world but still needed to melt into you to survive the night.

“To how many girls have you said that tonight ?” You saw her eyes flicker. But she didn’t stop.

Just slid her hand down your stomach, kissed you deeper like she was trying to shut you up with her mouth.

“You know it ain’t like that with them.” She climbed on top without hesitation. One knee between your thighs, one hand at the base of your throat. Just enough pressure to remind you who’s in control. Just enough softness to keep you wanting more.

That’s what she always did. And maybe you were having it.

You looked up at her and said what you always say when you’re trying not to cry before she’s even touched you properly : “You seeing her again?”

Her jaw ticks. “Mariah doesn’t matter.”

“She matters enough to show up on your story.”

Juju leans in, nose brushing yours. Her voice drops low. “You still checking that shit?”

You weren’t dumb. She knows you weren’t. She knew you had seen the likes. The tags. The flashes of her with somebody new, arm slung around some soft-eyed girl who probably thinks she’s different. Who probably hasn’t tasted the part of Juju that comes out when she’s desperate and ruined and whispering “please” against your mouth like you’re the last fucking prayer she has left.

Her hips grind into your pussy slow—too fucking slow for someone who said they were just “stopping by.” She kissed down your chest like she’s worshiping something she was too ashamed to claim in the daylight. Her voice is low and rasped and so familiar when she says your name.

And still, it’s you. Always you.

The one she comes back to.

The one who knows where she likes to be touched without needing to ask.

The one who holds her afterward, even when you swear you won’t.

“I hate you so much for this, ju.” you breathe, tugging at the hairs on the back of her head when she slipped her tongue over your pussy, sucking it slowly.

She groans against your thighs. “Yeah ? but you always let me in though, baby.”

And that’s the thing. You always do. Because no one else makes you fall apart like this.

No one else makes you whisper that soft, dangerous, nasty talk in the dark, when your walls drop and your voice breaks and she holds you like maybe this time, she’ll actually stay.

She moans when she tastes you. Deep and low and possessive.

“Shit,” she breathes, dragging her tongue up your slit like it’s the first time again. “I missed this pussy.”

You arch, grip her curls. “You don’t even deserve it.”

“Don’t gotta,” she mutters, fingers sinking into your cunt slowly. “You still give it to me.”

And maybe that’s the worst part. Maybe it’s that you want to. That no one else gets you like this. That even when she hurts you, her hands are home. Her mouth is poetry. Her body is the only place you ever feel known.

She fucks you slow.

Not gentle—never that. But deep. Deep like she tryna climb inside and live there. Like she knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together just enough to make you let her stay the night.

You come once. Then twice. Legs shaking, voice gone, heart thudding too loud in your ears.

And still she’s not done.

Still she’s kissing your ribs, your stomach, your neck—like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth.

“I fucking hate you,” you breathe, tears hot in your eyes.

She lifts her head, eyes blown, lips slick and swollen.

“Yeah ?” she whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “But you still love me.”

You choke on a laugh. Or a sob. You don’t even know anymore.

Juju then pulls you on top of her like she needs to feel your weight to believe you’re real. Your knees on either side of her hips. Her hands gripping your thighs. Her eyes not leaving yours.

She guides you down onto her pussy like it’s nothing—like you were always made to sit there.

“Take it, baby,” she murmurs, voice husky. “Let me have you.”

You do. Because you always do.

Because no one makes you feel like like she does. No one looks at you like they need you to survive the night.

Her hands slide up your ass as you move. Slow. Steady. Raw.

Your bodies sticky with sweat and something unspoken.

She leans up to kiss you. This time softer.

And that’s when you feel it—that shift. That tenderness she tries to hide under ego and bravado and too many mistakes.

She kisses you like she knows she fucked up. Like she don’t know how to fix it but she wants to. Like she’s scared to ask you to stay because she knows she doesn’t deserve it.

Her fingers lace with yours.

She lets you ride her pussy slow. Lets you set the pace. Her body trembling under yours. Her voice cracking when she whispers, “No one else feels like you.”

You freeze.

And for a second—just a second—you let yourself believe she means it.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

Juju cups your cheek. “No one else feels like you. Nobody else is you.”

Tears burn your throat again. But you don’t stop.

You keep rocking your hips. Keep holding her close. Keep letting her say shit she never says in the daylight.

“I try to forget you,” she confesses, head tilted back. “I try. I swear I do.”

“Then why are you here juju ?”

“Because I can’t.” Her voice is broken. Honest. “I can’t stay away. I don’t want to want you like this. But I do.”

You kiss her before she can say more. Swallow her words. Pour yourself into her like maybe if you give enough, she’ll stay.

You come again. Louder this time. Shaking in her arms. She follows. Low moans against your skin, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck like she’s trying to disappear inside you.

And after ? Like always : it’s quiet.

Just heavy breathing and tangled limbs. Sweat-damp sheets and flickering shadows from the streetlight outside your window.

You don’t ask her to leave.

She doesn’t say she will.

She just holds you. Soft now. Bare now. Her forehead pressed to your shoulder, her fingers drawing circles on your back.

“I wish I knew how to love you right,” she whispers.

And you don’t answer. You just close your eyes.

Because this—this is the only version of her you ever get.

The 2am version. The “I hate myself for needing you” version. The “maybe tomorrow” kind of girl.

And maybe that’s all she’ll ever be.

But tonight? Tonight she’s yours. And you’ll take it.

Even if it breaks you later.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[alevolpe]

I need your most controversial Sailor moon opinion.

Well, hello! You really wanna get me in trouble today don't ya lol.

I am pretty opinionated as some of you might know, but I don't believe I have some REALLY TERRIBLE 'fandom card revoking' opinions, but I do have a couple which I stand by firmly that even close friends of mine disagree with.

I'll give 2 this time.

..

I'll say my first is that I don't like the default belief in the fandom of "sailor senshi = hero, good person who would never do anything wrong unless they are established since the beginning to be evil". I'm married to the idea that senshis are like real people, just cause they have powers and most times they want what's best, doesn't mean they're not capable of doing selfish acts.

With this, I'm mostly talking about the inners and outers not being allowed to act on or follow different moral codes outside of "follow Usagi and believe in everything Usagi believes in" without the fandom being at their throats for it. It's infinitely detrimental to their individuality in the team and honestly.. it's boring! I said it, it's boring af.

Beacause ultimately what you get when you follow this train of thought is 'Usagi and her mindless team of cardboard cutouts' and I hate that. Also. I'm sorry, but Usagi's morality is most often inherently flawed and simply relies on her being Jesus and being able to do anything with 0 consequences. I love her endless empathy and hope, but if the show didn't back her up every single time, it would not work. Uranus and Neptune get so much shit for what they did in S, and don't get me wrong, they ARE idiots, but they also acted in a proprationally rational matter to the situation at hand.

The inners and outers should be allowed to act on their own different morality and beliefs without being crucified for it just because it might not align with Usagi's pure lawful good morality.

A simple example I have is sometimes people criticize art of characters I make looking ominous or 'evil' while in canon they are 'good'. It never sat right with me, sorry.

..

The second one is.. sigh. Listen, I love Usagi, if you don't believe I love Usagi then you are just plain wrong, you are, because I do love her, but God, I'm kind of up to here with the fandom babying Usagi to infinity.

I get it, Usagi is the main character, I'm not taking that away from her (at least not in canon), but the fandom has a way of only really seeing everything and judging everything through Usagi's eyes and only really caring or thinking about Usagi's pain.

Let me give you an example, a lot of the fandom realizes that Usagi suffers terribly from the fact that she is basically responsible for dragging her friends to war and leading them to die for her. It is tragic for Usagi, but only ever stops there. Rarely I see anyone bringing that though of tragedy to the other victims, the inners and outers, it's just about Usagi's suffering for causing her friends' suffering. But.. what about her friends' suffering through their own perspective??

It's tough to explain how I feel about this cause in a way, I agree, we are supposed to feel for Usagi, I feel for her. I get it, but why is it always ever talked about when it's about Usagi.

All of this mainly leads to people in the fandom getting incredibly defensive toward Usagi as a character and attacking anyone who ever judges her character, her actions, or how other characters act toward her.

Like in the anime a lot of the girls, especially Rei, can be quite harsh to her sometimes. An example I see brought up all the time is how, when Usagi lost Mamoru in the manga, the girls stay by her side and all care for her, while in the anime Rei slaps her. But like.. Rei is not wrong, Rei IS being Rei, and you are free to judge her methods but Usagi needs this pushback. She is acting irrationally, and that behavior should not be supported by her team, who is trying first and foremost to not have the world blown up. Could they have been more supportive afterward? Sure, but the fact that people demonize Rei for that slap is really infuriating to see.

[crazydestinymilkshake]

Caitlin Clark x Paige Bueckers Ch9 P2

I obviously don't own any of the rights to these characters etc.

TW: internalized homophobia, explicit language. Smut. f!ngering, paige receiving, dom/sub (power play tones / dynamics) def at play, dom!paige, praise k!nk, consensually as always, religious trauma, f!ckboy paige, panic attacks

NSFW: 18+, f/f all the other previous warnings apply etc.

Paige sat up, fluid and quiet, and swung her legs to the floor. Without a glance back, she pushed the bathroom door open. The water started hard, loud against tile, then dulled as steam poured out.

She came back a minute later, towel slung low, hair wet down her back, shirtless, but her fingers couldn’t stay still. 

“Could you, just give me a minute?” she said. Voice quieter now. Not sharp. Not asking for obedience. Just a bit of space.

Caitlin nodded. No question. No push.

Paige disappeared into the water, ducking the heat clawing up her ribs. Her feet hit slick tiles harder than she wanted. She gripped the edge of the shower wall like it might anchor her. Water hit the small of her back, scalding. She let it.

Fuck. Her hands braced harder. Her stomach stayed tight. This wasn’t casual. Wasn’t her usual control. Hadn’t been since the first fucking kiss, had it? 

She could still stop this. One breath. One no.

But Caitlin’s voice lived under her skin now. I want to learn you. I’ll follow every word.

This wasn’t about sex anymore. Not really. Not for her. Not with this girl.

She sucked in a breath sharp enough to hurt, opened her eyes, and called out anyway: “Cait? Come in.” 

The door opened. The curtain slid back. Caitlin’s remaining clothes hit the floor. Steam curled around her. Then Caitlin stepped through, braid loose, bare, her eyes wide but sure. No hesitation.

Paige reached before she could think. One hand caught Caitlin’s waist, the other on her back. She pulled her in, skin to skin: not for show, not for play, just need. A need that burned behind her ribs and scared the shit out of her.

Caitlin came willingly. Her arms slid around Paige’s ribs. Her face tucked close.

Paige kissed her. Held her tight. Her fingers pressed hard into Caitlin’s back. Her breath stuttered. She bent her head. Mouth brushed Caitlin’s temple. 

No edge. No act. Just this is me, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.

Jaw locked, throat raw, her hand rose, thumb brushing Caitlin’s cheek. “I don’t do this,” Paige whispered. Voice stripped now. “Not like this.”

Caitlin’s eyes stayed on hers. Soft. Steady. “I know.”

Paige’s chest cracked tighter. She pressed her forehead to Caitlin’s, voice catching against her skin. “You scare the shit out of me.” The words came quiet. “You keep looking at me like you see something worth staying for. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Caitlin swallowed, but didn’t look away. “Because I do.”

Paige shut her eyes. Her ribs felt like they might split. “I’ve never been intimate in this way with anyone,” she said.  “But you’re still fucking here.” Her forehead pressed harder to Caitlin’s. “You ask for more. And I want to give it to you. That scares me worse than anything.”

She swallowed, teeth catching her lip. “You’re not supposed to get this close.”

Caitlin’s voice came soft, “I don’t want to take anything from you. Just share what you’re willing to give me.”

Paige exhaled, sharp and fast. “You look at me like I’m worth trusting. No one’s ever done that. No one.”

The silence pressed thick between them. “I don’t know how the hell this happened but you’re the one I want seeing all of me. Even the parts I don’t know how to give.”

Caitlin’s pulse pounded so loud it almost drowned out the water.  The Paige standing in front of her was breathing hard, voice stripped down to something Caitlin had never heard.

Not from her. Not from anyone.

Paige sucked in one more breath. “You can touch me,” she said. Voice quieter now. Almost a plea. “But slow. You listen to me. You hold what I give you. Nothing more.”

Her eyes burned. But her hand never left Caitlin’s face.

Caitlin’s chest cracked wide. She swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Paige exhaled sharp through her nose, like she’d been holding it in. She leaned back a fraction. Just enough to study Caitlin’s face.

“You said you wanted to learn me,” Paige said. Her voice stayed low, steady. “Start here.”

She reached for the soap, pressed it into Caitlin’s hand. Warm. Solid. No teasing. “I want to feel you on me.”

Caitlin’s fingers closed around the soap. Her hands shook once, then stilled.

She could’ve said yes. Could’ve asked what Paige wanted next. But the words didn’t come out because what Paige had just given her wasn’t a test or a dare. It was a choice.

And that fucked her up more than the rest of it.

Six weeks ago, she’d been a virgin. Scared of her own body. Scared of anyone seeing that she had wants. Now she was standing in a motel shower with Paige Bueckers handing her this: her body, her trust, her pride, and asking her to take it.

“I’ll go slow,” Cailin offered.

Paige didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just nodded once.

Caitlin stepped in. Closer than before. The water hit her back, hot and steady. Paige’s body stayed loose. Open. Waiting.

Caitlin set the soap to Paige’s shoulder first. A small circle. Careful. Measured. She wanted her to feel it. Wanted her to know she wasn’t here to take. She dragged the lather down her arm, over her bicep, her forearm.

Paige’s breath stayed even, but Caitlin could feel it under her skin now. A thrum just beneath the surface.

“You’re shaking,” Caitlin said, voice soft, almost without meaning to, kissing her cheek. Her temple. Her ear.

Paige’s mouth twitched. Half a grin, half a grimace. “No shit.”

Caitlin swallowed a laugh. Kept moving. Switched arms. Shoulder to wrist, slow and steady. She finished the second arm, kept layering kisses. Didn’t pull back.

Her mouth found the inside of Paige’s wrist next. A kiss first. Then a bite. Slow, teeth dragging up her arm.

A breath snapped out of Paige, sharp and ragged. "Mmm," she hissed. Her hands twitched at her sides. Her stomach locked tight.

Caitlin smiled against her skin. Shifted higher. Kissed the inside of Paige’s forearm. Bit again, deeper. Paige’s hips tilted forward, breath catching harder. A low groan hit wet and broken against the tile.

Another gasp broke Paige’s voice. "You trying to fuck me up already?"

Caitlin licked the bite slowly. "Looks like it’s working."

Paige’s hips shifted forward, hard now. Her breath came faster. Caitlin pressed in. Chest brushing Paige’s ribs. Shoulder. Collarbone next. She bit harder this time, tongue lapping at the sting.

Paige’s breath hitched. "God."

Caitlin dragged her mouth lower. Paige’s chest rose fast beneath her. Nipples tight now, flushed pink and slick under the water. She caught one with her mouth. Let her breath fan heat across it. Paige shuddered. A soft choked sound caught in her throat.

"You want me here?" Caitlin asked.

"Yes." Paige groaned. "Fuck yes."

Caitlin bit. Not sharp. Deep enough to hold her there. She sucked hard, tongue working Paige until a loud, broken moan snapped loose.

Paige’s hips jolted forward. "Shit… don’t stop."

Caitlin moved to the other nipple, hand groping the right one, lips tight around the left. No mercy. Bit harder. Drew it deep. Sucked wet and rough. Paige choked on a gasp that broke straight from her throat.

Caitlin dragged her tongue slow over the bite. Her own breath shuddered. "You sound so good," she whispered. "Do you like this?"

Paige’s head hit the tile with a thud. "Fuck, Cait, yes," she gasped. "You… fuck, you feel too good."

"You want more?" Caitlin asked. Barely a whisper now. Throat tight.

Paige’s hand shot to the back of her neck. Gripped hard. "Yes," Paige groaned. "I want more. Don’t stop. Please."

She lifted her mouth just enough to speak. Voice burned in her throat. "I know what you like."

Paige tipped her head back. A wrecked noise tore loose. Her hips rocked helpless against Caitlin’s hands. "Yeah," she rasped. "You fucking do."

Caitlin smiled, mouth wet against her stomach. Kissed her again, lower this time. Slow and open.

Paige’s whole body shook. One hand slid down, tangled in Caitlin’s hair. Not pushing. Holding. Needing.

Her chest rose sharp against the steam. Her mind scrambled.

It wasn’t the bite that broke her. Not the sucking. It was the way Caitlin’s hands stilled on her hips between each kiss. Grounding her. Holding her like she wasn’t just something to take, but something to keep.

This wasn’t about fucking anymore. Not with Caitlin. Not with the way her hands steadied her.

Her voice ripped free before she could stop it. "Cait… this isn’t just sex for me. Not with you."

Paige felt her whole body too hot. Too exposed. This wasn’t controlled anymore. Not really. It was trust so deep it scraped her raw. And Caitlin was still here. Still steady. Still seeing her.

Caitlin looked up. Breath shaking. Eyes wide. Open. Steady. "I know. Me too, P." A beat. "You trust me." Another breath. "Let me prove you’re right to."

She’s already too far in. And Caitlin was going to see all of it.

Paige’s voice thinned again. No performance left. "Take care of me," she said. "If you want this, fucking mean it."

"I’m not built to half-ass anything." Caitlin pressed in, steady. "And I want to be the best you’ve ever had."

Paige let go of Caitlin’s hair. Pulled back just a fraction. Her hands shook.

Her cunt ached. Deep and sharp. A pulse climbing behind her ribs. Slick ran down her thighs now. The hunger had crawled too high to fight. Hot. Ugly. Unbearable.

Her voice broke loose before she could stop it. She caught Caitlin’s face. Pulled her in, tight. Mouth pressed to her ear.

“Cait, listen to me.” Her voice shredded. “I need to come... Baby. I’m so fucking wired up.” Her chest heaved against Caitlin’s. “You get me so hot. So tense. I can’t take it.”

“I want to.” Caitlin’s fingers dug into her hips, hard. “I want to give you everything. I want to be the one you can lose it with.”

The words knocked the breath from Paige’s chest. This girl wanted to ruin her. And Christ, she wanted to let her.

“Okay.” The word caught. Her voice steadied only after it left her mouth. “You wanna learn how?” She caught her breath, forced it out again. “Then listen. We do this my way.”

Caitlin nodded once. Her voice shook. “Yes.”

Paige’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. Something barely held together.

“Good girl.” The words dragged rough from her throat. The only thing keeping her upright.

She sucked in a breath that scraped her ribs. Her chest ached with it. “Don’t guess what I need. Don’t make me chase it alone. Take me there the way I tell you.”

Caitlin’s heart hammered so loud Paige could feel it between them. “I’ll listen.”

Paige’s mouth flickered. “That’s my girl.”

She caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided it down.

“Start here.” Her voice steady. She dragged Caitlin’s hand to her waist. Skin flushed hot, muscles jumping beneath her touch. “Hold me. Firm.”

Caitlin’s hand settled. Her thumb flexed instinctively.

Paige gritted her teeth. “Good. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

“I won't.” Caitlin’s whole body locked in.

Paige fought the quake building in her ribs. She dragged Caitlin’s hand across her waist. Over each hip bone. Barely breathing. “Feel me,” she said. “Every inch, you stay with me.”

She dragged Caitlin’s hand lower. Over her thigh. Slow enough to feel her shake. Slick coated her skin. Her stomach locked. Her teeth caught her lip.

Paige’s thighs tensed. Her body begged to close off. She forced them apart.

You stay open. You hold this.

“Good girl.” The words tore loose. “Keep that hand where I put it. Grip my thigh. Hold steady.”

“You feel that?” Her voice came hoarse now. Strained. “That’s what you do to me.”

Paige’s breath hitched. She forced control back down her spine. “Don’t stop.”

A whimper caught in Caitlin’s throat. “I want more. Tell me.”

Caitlin’s palm flattened harder against her. Paige’s breath broke on a moan.

She tipped her head back. Body shaking. Caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided it higher. To the juncture of her thigh. Slow. Careful. Tension so sharp it threatened to split her open.

“You’re gonna rub me now.” Her voice was rough. Tight. “Press your fingers right here. Circle slow. Stay with me.”

Her cunt was soaked. She didn’t care. Couldn’t. Not with Caitlin looking at her like that.

Paige swallowed. Her throat worked against it. "Bare. Stripped. “Here.”

She pressed two of Caitlin’s fingers over her clit. Paige’s hips jolted. A broken sound slipped from her throat. “You feel that?”

“You’re soaked.”

“For you.” Paige barely breathed the words. “You did that.” She dragged in another breath. “Now listen.”

Caitlin’s eyes locked on hers. Bright. Waiting.

“Two fingers. Just the pads. Circles. Don’t slide off.” Her voice dropped darker. “I want your focus right here. You don’t stop unless I say.”

“Yes.” Caitlin’s voice came wrecked.

Paige’s stomach clenched hard. “Press in.” A beat. “More pressure. You won’t hurt me.”

Caitlin obeyed. Fingers firm now. Circling slow. Tight.

Paige jolted. A guttural sound snapped loose from her throat. “Good girl.” Her voice cracked. “Keep it steady. Stay on me.”

Caitlin’s circles smoothed out. Paige’s legs shook. She forced them to hold. Forced herself to stay open.

“Watch me.”

Caitlin’s gaze snapped to hers. Wide. Lit.

“Good.” Paige’s voice frayed thinner. “Now a little faster. Same pressure.”

Caitlin adjusted. Her hand moved smoother now. Controlled. Focused.

Paige moaned. Her hips jolted once. “Fuck.” The word dragged out. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Her body begged to close off. To run. She fought it. Breath burning. Jaw locked. Her ribs split wide.

And Caitlin saw it. Paige knew she saw it. The flicker in her eyes. The cost of holding this open. The cost of giving it.

Paige’s hand shot to Caitlin’s wrist. Froze her mid-circle. "Stop."

Caitlin gasped. Froze. Eyes wide. “Did I do something?”

Paige shook her head. Chest heaving. “You’re perfect.” A beat. “But I want you to know what you do to me.”

She dragged Caitlin’s hand up. Slow. Pressed her fingers between their faces. Slick shined on them.

“Taste it.” Caitlin’s eyes widened. Her breath locked.

“Right now.” Paige’s jaw clenched. “I want to watch you.”

Caitlin didn’t hesitate. Brought her fingers to her mouth. Sucked them deep.

Paige groaned. Low. “Fuck. Baby.”

Caitlin’s eyes stayed on hers. Cheeks flushed. She pulled her fingers out, wet and shining. Paige sucked in a brutal breath. Reset. Voice steadying only barely.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice dropped rough. “I’m still with you. Keep going.”

Caitlin’s fingers returned. Small, tight circles. Her eyes stayed locked on Paige’s face.

“Faster,” Paige rasped. “Not bigger, just quicker. Stay on me.”

Caitlin adjusted. Her hand moved smoother now. Controlled. Focused.

Paige groaned. Her body surged forward. Her hips rocked once, hard. Her thighs shook. “Fuck. Yeah. Just like that.”

Caitlin swallowed. "You’re so wet."

A ragged laugh broke out of Paige. “You don’t even know what you do to me.” Her ribs heaved. Her muscles locked so tight it hurt to keep herself open.

Every instinct told her to grab Caitlin’s wrist, clamp her legs shut, stop the spiral before it dragged her under. She forced the breath through her teeth. Made herself sink into it. Held her thighs apart.

“Keep me open,” she ordered. Voice rough, steady now only by force. “No matter what. You hear me?”

Caitlin’s eyes burned into hers. “I hear you. I won’t stop.”

Paige tipped her head back. A low moan dragged out of her throat. Her hips rolled harder now. Fucked into Caitlin’s fingers. Wet. Helpless. Raw. The ache in her cunt throbbed sharp behind her ribs.

It hit fast. Too close. Too sharp. She needed more. Needed to feel filled. Needed to be fucked. Her chest cracked open. The words broke loose before she could stop them.

“Inside.” Her voice came wrecked. “You can... take me inside.”

Caitlin’s pulse slammed so loud Paige swore she could hear it.

She wants me inside her.

Her voice shook. “Show me how.”

Paige gritted her teeth. Chest heaving. “Slow.” She caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided her lower. Over soaked folds. Down to her entrance. The slick throbbed under Caitlin’s touch.

Paige’s hips jolted once. A sharp sound broke from her throat. “Right there.” Her breath caught again. “Now, push in.”

“Okay,” Caitlin whispered. Breathless. “Okay, P.”

She pressed one finger in. Careful. Paige’s body fought it. Her walls clenched tight. Her head hit back against the tile.

A guttural sound tore out of her throat. Her hand flew to Caitlin’s shoulder. Gripped hard.

She’s inside me. Don’t close off. Let her in.

“Don’t stop,” Paige gasped. “I want it. I want you in me.”

Caitlin’s heart nearly burst. She pushed deeper. Inch by inch. Paige’s cunt gripped her, tight and fluttering.

“Good girl.” Paige’s voice shredded. “Go deeper. All the way.”

Caitlin obeyed. Pressed in until her knuckle brushed Paige’s skin.

A broken sob tore from Paige’s throat. “Fuck. Stay there. Feel how tight I am for you?"

“I feel it,” Caitlin whispered. Her voice wrecked. “You feel so, so good.”

Paige’s thighs shook. Her head pressed back to the tile. She held on, barely. “Move your finger.” she gasped. “Pull halfway out. Push back in.”

Caitlin followed. Drew her finger out halfway. Pressed back in, deep. 

Don’t fuck this up. Just keep her there.

Paige’s hips rocked hard. Her cunt clutched tight. A ragged sound tore loose. "Fuck. That’s it. Just like that."

Her ribs heaved. Sweat mixed with steam and water. "Again," Paige groaned. "Don’t stop. Just like that. Fuck me."

Caitlin moved steady now. Pumped her finger with care, control in every inch of her. Her free hand gripped Paige’s hip. Held her open. She could feel her losing it. Could feel the pulsing, the hunger rising.

Paige nearly sobbed. "Jesus Christ. You’re fucking me so good."

Caitlin pumped her finger harder. Paige’s praise sharpened her focus. Her confidence surged under it. Wet sounds filled the space between them. Paige’s hips fucked down onto her hand.

“Second finger,” Paige gasped. Her voice came raw. “Now. Stretch me out.”

Caitlin’s mouth parted. “Yes.” She pressed a second finger in. Slow. Careful.

Paige’s walls clutched down. A sharp cry broke loose. "Fuck. Fuck, baby, yes." Her hips bucked. Slick poured out around Caitlin’s hand. The stretch burned, perfect and brutal.

“Move faster,” Paige gasped. “Fuck me. Harder.”

Caitlin pumped deeper. Her fingers steady now. Paige’s hips chased her down, desperate for it.

But Paige caught her wrist. Froze her. Her voice shook. “Listen.”

Caitlin stilled. Her chest rose fast. “I'm here.”

Paige drew in a jagged breath. Her thighs trembled. “You want to know how to take me apart?”

“Yes.” Caitlin’s voice broke. “Tell me, please.”

Paige pulled her closer. Her forehead pressed against Caitlin’s. Her breath came shallow. “Curl your fingers. Up. Toward my belly.”

Caitlin obeyed. Careful. She curled her fingers inside her. Paige’s walls clenched harder. A rough groan tore free.

“There.” Paige’s voice cracked. “That spot. Feel it?”

Caitlin’s heart slammed against her ribs. She felt the heat there, the sharp pulse. “I feel it.”

Paige dragged her nails down Caitlin’s arm. Her voice dropped. “Press there. Don’t lose it.”

Caitlin swallowed. “How?”

“Not fast.” Paige’s breath caught. “I want every second of it. Stroke me there. Small pulls. Keep me open.”

Caitlin pressed in. Fingers curled. Moved slow and deep. Paige’s hips began to shake. Her voice broke sharper. “That’s my spot, baby. That’s where I fucking lose it.”

Caitlin locked her rhythm. Felt her pulse build under her hand. She’s getting closer. I can take her there.

She kept the motion steady. Paige’s hips chased her now. Her breath hitched harder. “Don’t rush,” Paige rasped. Her voice came thin. “Feel me build. You’ll know when I start to lose it.”

“I will.” Caitlin’s voice held steady.

Paige’s hips jolted again. Her thighs shook. Her breath broke in ragged pulls. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”

Caitlin’s chest burned. She kept the pressure right where Paige needed it. Slow, deep thrusts. Her eyes locked on Paige’s face.

“God. Princess. You’re so fucking good at this.” The words landed sharp. Caitlin’s confidence surged under them. She pressed deeper. Faster.

“Just like that,” Paige groaned. “You’ve got me. You’re going to make me come.”

“I want to,” Caitlin whispered. “I want to.”

Paige let out a sound closer to a sob. “Harder. Keep pressing. Don’t stop.”

Caitlin drove in tighter. Watched Paige’s body begin to break against her hand. “I won’t,” Caitlin whispered. Her heart pounded. She felt Paige trembling around her. The pressure building to the edge.

Paige’s legs shook. Her ribs locked. Every breath dragged sharp through her throat. Her hips rocked down, harder with each thrust. The rhythm started to fray.

“Fuck. Caitlin.” Her voice broke. “I’m going to come all over your hand.”

Caitlin pressed deeper. Her strokes stayed locked. Paige’s hips chased every thrust now. Caitlin felt her unraveling under her touch.

I can’t stop now. I’m going to take her all the way.

Paige let out a broken moan. Her hips drove down harder. “I’m close. Stay on me.” Her head slammed back to the tile. Her hands clawed useless at Caitlin’s shoulders. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

Caitlin felt Paige clench tighter. The rhythm climbed fast. 

For a second, Caitlin’s heart felt like it might break through her chest. Paige was about to lose it. For her. Because of her. Because she had done this right.

Then Paige’s voice broke. “I’m coming,” she gasped. “Fuck. I’m coming.”

The words ripped out. Paige’s body seized. Her hips jolted around Caitlin’s hand.

She knew Caitlin could feel every second of it.

Her walls clamped down hard. Slick poured out around Caitlin’s fingers. She shattered against it. Too far gone to pull back.

Don’t close off. Stay open. Let her feel all of it.

A scream tore from her throat. Her cunt locked around Caitlin’s fingers. Wet. Pulsing. Slick running down her thighs.

Caitlin held steady. Kept her fingers right there. Felt every pulse of it.

Paige rocked through the aftershocks. Sobs broke out of her chest. “Baby. Fuck. Baby.”

Her hips jerked. Her hands clutched at Caitlin’s shoulders, helpless.

She couldn’t believe how much she needed her.

Only when Paige’s hips twitched, too sensitive now, did Caitlin ease her fingers out. Slowed them. Held her steady.

“You’re so beautiful,” Caitlin whispered. The words slipped out. “My pretty girl.”

Paige stayed pressed there. Her breath slowed. Then her hands slid around Caitlin’s waist. Pulled her in. No force. No claim. Just need. “I need you close,” she whispered. Her voice broke on it. “I need to feel you.”

Caitlin pressed in tighter. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

The water had run cold. Sharp against their skin. Neither of them moved.

Paige’s arms stayed locked around her. Her head tucked in close. She breathed her in, slow. Deep. Said nothing.

And Caitlin stayed with her. Quiet. Let her have it.

Paige breathed her in deeper. Pressed her closer. Her arms locked around Caitlin’s back. Not soft. Not loosening. Holding what they had just given each other.

“You did so fucking good for me,” she whispered. Her voice came rough but steady. “You held me. You listened.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. She stayed silent. Let Paige keep her. Let Paige hold the moment however she needed.

Paige didn’t let go. She wasn’t ready. Her arms stayed firm. Her breath came steady now. Her hands sure.

The water ran cold now. Paige kept her arms around her until she turned off the faucet. The room went quiet.

“Come here.”

She reached for a towel, wrapped it around Caitlin’s shoulders first. Hands sure. Tucked it firm around her ribs.

“Arms up.”

Caitlin obeyed. Paige pulled the towel higher. Brushed her thumbs once down Caitlin’s sides.

“Sit.”

She guided her to the counter edge. Another towel came around her shoulders.

Paige knelt. Dried her legs. Slow. Steady. Not soft, not hurried.

“You okay?” Her voice stayed low.

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah.”

Paige searched her face. Held her eyes.

“You did good.”

Another breath. Paige stood. Dried her own skin fast, towel wrapped low on her hips.

She glanced once back at Caitlin. She was so beautiful. So patient. “Bed?”

Caitlin’s voice caught. “Only if you’re coming.”

Paige reached a hand out. “Let’s go.” She didn’t let go of her again.

Paige pulled the covers back. Guided Caitlin in, towel still wrapped. Let her settle. Then slid in behind her. Shirtless. Warm. One arm hooked tight around Caitlin’s waist. The other under her head.

Caitlin tipped her head back just enough to look at her. “You’re really good at that,” she whispered.

Paige arched a brow. “At what? Making you question your entire college decision in the shower?”

Caitlin huffed a laugh. “At making me feel safe, actually.”

Paige’s jaw locked for half a second. She kissed her nose to cover it her shyness. “That’s easy”

Caitlin grinned, loose now. “You’re so soft after you come.”

Paige groaned. Dropped her forehead to Caitlin’s. “I’m not. You just caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“You were literally whimpering into my neck.”

Paige tried to glare. The grin cracked through anyway. “Yeah, well. You didn’t exactly look composed either, princess.”

Caitlin flushed. Buried her face in Paige’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Paige laughed, low and wrecked. “Not a chance. You’re gonna be cocky as hell after this, aren’t you?”

“No,” Caitlin said, muffled. Then, quieter, “Maybe a little.”

Paige smiled. Pulled her closer. “Good. You earned it.”

They lay there, tangled up, breathing each other in. “You okay?” Paige asked after a minute. Voice softer now.

Caitlin nodded against her chest. “Better than okay.”

Paige kissed her temple. “Me too.”

Caitlin’s fingers traced slow patterns on Paige’s ribs. Then, voice light, teasing, “Tell me a secret.”

Paige snorted. “What are we, in eighth grade?”

“C’mon,” Caitlin grinned against her skin. “I just had you begging me not to stop. You owe me.”

Paige tilted her head back against the tile. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I watch slime videos.”

Caitlin blinked. Then giggled. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Caitlin laughed harder now, chest shaking against hers. “That’s your secret? You’re a twelve-year-old?”

Paige grinned despite herself. “It’s relaxing.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You asked.”

Caitlin lifted her head, eyes dancing. “You’re so hot and so weird.”

Paige smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind five minutes ago.” She got up briefly to toss Caitlin a shirt, her oversized UConn tee, and Caitlin pulled it on, drowning in it, legs bare and damp.

“Unfair,” Paige muttered.

“What?” Caitlin grinned, tugging the hem lower.

“You. In that.” 

Caitlin crawled toward her on the bed, loose and smug now. “Maybe.”

Paige caught her around the waist, pulled her in. Caitlin landed half on top of her, laughing.

“Princess,” Paige warned, though her voice had no bite. “Careful. You’re gonna start something you can’t finish.”

Caitlin nuzzled into her neck, soft. “That’s your job.”

Paige groaned, pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it.”

Paige smiled against her skin. “Yeah. I do.”

For a minute, neither moved. The air hummed warm around them, the sheets soft beneath bare legs. Caitlin traced slow circles over Paige’s ribs again, quiet now.

Then her voice came smaller, softer. “I keep thinking about Notre Dame.”

Paige stilled, but didn’t pull back. Just kept her arm wrapped around her. “I sat through this speech,” Caitlin whispered. “All about leadership. Role models. Who we’re supposed to be.” Her breath caught. “It didn’t sound like someone who’d be welcome walking out of a motel room with you.”

Paige’s grip tightened, just a little. “That’s their problem. Not yours.”

“I know.” Caitlin’s voice shook. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not after this. Not after you.”

Paige swallowed hard. She tipped Caitlin’s chin up, made her meet her eyes. “You’re not supposed to pretend.” Her voice stayed low. Steady. “And you don’t have to pick a place that asks you to.”

It took time. Long enough that Paige could feel her body slowly loosen again. Then Caitlin spoke. “I want to be somewhere I can feel like this.” Paige stayed still. Held her tighter. “I want this. All of it. I can’t go somewhere that would shut that down.”

Paige’s hand flattened at her ribs. Steady. No rush. “You won’t,” she said. “Not if you choose right.”

Caitlin’s breath caught. Then she turned into Paige’s chest, face tucked in. “I need to.”

For a moment, the room stayed quiet. Caitlin’s breath evened out against her chest. Paige could feel her settle. Heavy. Warm. Still hers.

Caitlin’s legs were tangled with hers now, bare and warm under the covers. Her fingers still traced lazy patterns against Paige’s ribs. Slower now. Fading.

It should have felt too much. Paige wasn’t built for this part. Holding after. Letting it stretch out. Letting someone stay. But she didn’t move. 

Paige pressed her mouth to Caitlin’s hair, just once. Breathed her in.

She felt soft lips brush her collarbone next. Not urgent. Not teasing. Just a touch. Paige didn’t say a word, just stroked her palm down Caitlin’s back, slow and steady, over the thin cotton of her shirt.

Caitlin let out a small hum. Content. Paige felt her body sink heavier against her.

Caitlin’s head turned, cheek pressed to Paige’s chest. Her breath slowed. Her body went quiet.

Paige stayed frozen for a beat, like if she moved, the whole thing might crack open. Then her hand found Caitlin’s hair again. Brushed it back. Gentle now. Careful not to wake her.

She lay there like that, holding her. Feeling every breath against her chest. Every small shift. Every reminder that this girl trusted her enough to fall apart for her, and to fall asleep here, wrapped in her arms.

Paige stared up at the ceiling. Swallowed hard. Her throat burned.

She had never let anyone this close.

She could feel the thought starting to creep in. The one she didn’t want to name. Didn’t want to face.

That maybe. Just maybe. She was falling for this girl.

Her chest squeezed tight. She looked down. Caitlin breathed soft against her skin, lashes resting dark against flushed cheeks.

God help her.

She might already be gone.

Paige shut her eyes. Pulled her closer. Held her through the rest of the night.

And didn’t let go.

==

Light bled pale through the edges of the motel curtains. Faint. Gray. Enough to wake Caitlin, but not enough to pull her from the warmth she was wrapped in.

She shifted, breath slow against skin. Paige’s arms were still locked around her. One draped low at her waist, the other cradling her head. Bare legs tangled under the covers.

Caitlin blinked once. Memory poured in slow. The night. The shower. The bed. The way Paige had held her.

The ache behind her ribs already started.

Iowa.

She had to drive back today. Make this decision. Eventually see her parents. Pretend she wasn’t walking around with Paige’s voice still in her head, Paige’s body still on her skin.

She shifted once, breath shaky. Paige’s arm tightened. No words yet. Just the grip of someone who knew what today meant.

Caitlin whispered, “I have to go soon.”

Paige pressed a slow kiss to her neck. Another. Then her voice came rough, low from sleep. “Stay ten more minutes.”

Her voice was softer than Caitlin had ever heard it. Warm. Unsteady. Not pulling, not teasing. Wanting.

So Caitlin settled again without meaning to. Paige shifted in behind her, pressed a slow kiss to her neck.

“You feel too good like this,” Paige whispered.

Caitlin’s chest cracked wide. “You’re dangerous in the mornings,” she breathed.

Paige smiled against her skin. “You're making it impossible to let go.” Silence stretched. Paige’s thumb traced lazy circles at her hip. Her breath stayed soft against Caitlin’s neck.

Then Paige’s voice came low. Real. “You’re gonna be okay today.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. “You think?”

“I know.” Another kiss, just beneath her ear. “You already know what you want. Just trust it.”

Caitlin nodded. Pressed back into Paige’s chest.

She didn’t want to go yet. Didn’t want to walk out of this room back into the weight waiting for her.

Neither of them said it out loud. Not yet.

But Paige kept her wrapped close, like it was the only way she knew how to let her walk out the door.

“Drive safe,” Paige whispered. “And if the rain gets bad… pull over. Call me.”

Caitlin swallowed hard. “Okay.”

They lay there one more beat, breath synced. Caitlin burned the feel of it into her skin.

Then she turned. Met Paige’s eyes, soft and wrecked.

“Come here,” Paige whispered.

She pulled her in. Kissed her slow. Not hungry. Not sharp. Just soft and full of morning breathing and terrifyingly close to three words neither one of them was ready or able to say.

When Caitlin finally sat up, Paige moved with her. No push. No rush. Just helped her grab her clothes. Her keys. Walked her to the door, fingers looped at Caitlin’s wrist.

Outside, the sky hung low. The air smelled like cold rain. Paige opened the door. Caitlin’s car waited in the lot.

“You'll text me when you get there,” Paige said. Voice steady. Barely.

Caitlin nodded. Couldn’t trust her own words.

She kissed Paige once. Firm. Slow. Pulled back just enough.

Paige’s eyes flickered. “Bye, Cait.”

It caught her.

Last time, it had been Clark.

Bueckers.

Easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything then.

“Bye, P.”

Then Caitlin turned. Keys shaking in her hand. Made herself walk to the car.

Paige stayed in the doorway. Arms crossed tight, like it was the only way to keep herself there.

Caitlin slid behind the wheel. Heart racing. Breath thin.

She looked back once. Paige hadn’t moved.

Not until the taillights disappeared.

==

Caitlin drove the first ten miles too fast. Hands locked at ten and two. The car smelled like Paige’s shirt. Like sex. She couldn’t get the air cold enough.

Her body ached everywhere. Every shift in her seat reminded her. The scrape of her thighs. The pulse was still low between her legs. The way her chest caught if she breathed too deep.

She gritted her teeth. Shifted again. It didn’t help.

Rain dotted the windshield. She clicked the wipers higher. The sound grated.

She should’ve been thinking about Iowa. The visit. What to ask. How to show her face. What to say to her mom tomorrow. 

But the only thing in her head was Paige.

Paige’s mouth at her throat. Paige’s voice breaking when she came.

Her stomach turned. Heat flooded behind her ribs. She gripped the wheel harder.

You can’t tell them. You can’t tell anyone. You can’t walk into the locker room like this. You can’t.

She blinked hard. Focused on the road. Swallowed fast.

The part that scared her most wasn’t the shame. It was how badly she still wanted it. 

Wanted Paige’s hands back on her. Wanted to be dragged into bed all over again. Wanted to forget the world outside the motel walls.

She hated this part. How deep her self-disgust ran.

Her phone buzzed once on the console. Drive safe. Text me when you stop. Please. 

Caitlin’s throat closed. Her fingers hovered over the screen. I miss you, nearly slipped out. She forced it back down.

I will, she typed. Thanks.

She dropped the phone back down. Kept going.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. But her body didn’t know that. Her chest didn’t feel that.

Paige’s voice came back, soft and steady: You already know what you want. Just trust it.

Caitlin blinked hard. Choked back something sharp in her throat.

I do. I just don’t know how to choose it.

At the next gas station, she’d stop. Text Paige. Try to breathe.

But for now, all she could do was keep driving.

==

By the time Caitlin pulled off the highway into Iowa City, the rain had thinned to a slow mist. Her head throbbed.

She cracked the window, let in the sharp wet air.

Almost there. Just hold it together.

The last stretch of road curved around low brick buildings, familiar now in a way that made her chest ache. She could feel it already. The shift in her body. The way her breath moved easier here.

At the first red light, she pulled her braid loose. Ran her fingers through the tangles.

The campus signs blurred past. The gym. The field house. The old brick dorms.

By the time she parked by the arena, her hands had steadied.

She sat for one minute, palms on the wheel. Let herself breathe.

It’s just a visit. You’re here because you love this place. Because it could be yours.

Her phone buzzed again. You there?

She stared at the screen. Heart tight. Just got in, she typed. I’m okay. You?

All good. Gonna start driving in a little.

Will text later. Thanks for checking on me. She slipped the phone away. Squared her shoulders.

Inside, the gym lights burned bright. A few players moved through drills. A ball hit the rim. Sneakers squeaked on the floor.

"Clark!”

Kate Martin.

They’d played together one summer at an AAU camp, few years back. Scrappy, smart. The kind of player who never let you sulk for long.

They hadn’t talked much since. But now, Kate was beaming like they’d never skipped a beat.

"Look who snuck in early."

Caitlin’s throat caught. She forced a smile. "Figured I’d get a few shots up."

Kate grabbed a ball from the rack. "Gym’s yours today. Everybody else is still in class." She bounced once, caught the pass. "Mind some company?"

Caitlin hesitated. Then shook her head. "No. Come on."

They fell into an easy drill. Swing passes. Spot threes.

Caitlin’s hands worked faster than her voice. Safer that way. But Kate didn’t push. Just smiled at each swish, nodded through the clangs.

After one long make, Kate caught her eye. "You look different," she said. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just noticing. "Lighter."

Caitlin’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure if it was true. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be.  "Trying to be," she managed.

Kate just smiled, tossed her the ball again. No more questions.

Another voice carried from the sideline. "Don’t wear her out before I get to say hello."

Coach Bluder. She crossed the court with a soft smile, hands in her pockets.

"Morning, Caitlin."

"Coach."

Bluder’s eyes held hers for a beat. Steady. Open. "We’re glad you’re here." Something eased in Caitlin’s chest.

Bluder glanced toward Kate. "You pulling her into drills already?"

Kate grinned. "Just keeping her warm."

Bluder laughed, then looked back to Caitlin. "If you want to move, move. If you want to shoot, shoot. If you want to just be in the gym, do that too."

Caitlin nodded, throat tight again. "Thank you."

They worked through light drills. Shooting. Cuts. Nothing hard. No show. Kate’s passes came crisp and easy. Her voice stayed light. 

"Still got that jumper," she said after one deep make. Caitlin felt her shoulders drop. A little more each time.

Bluder called from the sideline, voice calm. "You look good in this gym." Caitlin swallowed. She wanted to believe that.

When they broke for water, Kate bumped her arm. "You okay?"

Caitlin nodded. Breath slow. "Yeah."

Kate tilted her head. Grinned. "Good. You fit here more than you think." That landed deeper than Caitlin meant to let it.

She glanced toward Bluder, who watched them without pressure. Just... there.

"I’m thinking about it," Caitlin said softly.

==

The rest of the day went fast, lunches, meetings with Bluder and Jan, learning more about Iowa's offense. Their vision.

But their team stood above it all.

Kate asked on the walk back, voice light. "You wanna just hang with the girls tonight? No pressure. Not a show thing. Just us."

Caitlin had said yes, even though her stomach tightened.

Now she stood barefoot in Gabby’s kitchen. A stack of pizza dough rounds sat on the counter. Cans of sauce, tubs of cheese, too many toppings.

Monika tossed her an apron. "You know how to roll these out, Iowa?"

Caitlin caught it one-handed. "I’m not helpless."

"Good." Gabby smirked. "We haze the helpless ones."

Monika leaned in. "She’s lying. We haze everyone."

Caitlin smiled, shoulders easing. The jokes came easy here. Not sharp, not cruel, not a test.

McKenna slid a jar of olives toward her. "But seriously, this one's a team rule. If you put pineapple on that thing, we disown you."

Kate bumped Caitlin’s hip with hers. "She’s not wrong."

Someone put music on. Loud enough to fill the space, not loud enough to drown it. They let Caitlin queue Taylor Swift and debated the best bridges for what felt like hours.

Caitlin rolled dough. Spread sauce. The table around her buzzed with half-told stories. The Minnesota blowout. A freshman who once locked herself in the locker room. Jan’s reaction when Gabby wore Crocs to media day last year.

Caitlin listened. Laughed. Found herself adding stories to the thread before she meant to.

"So then my brother tried to sneak into the student section. Wearing my jersey. Two sizes too big."

Gabby snorted. "No way."

"Swear to God." Caitlin grinned. "He got caught in the tunnel."

Kate leaned against the counter, watching her. Something knowing in her smile. Like she could see it happening. Like she could see Caitlin settling, inch by inch.

And Caitlin felt it. The shift.

This wasn’t about how many points she could score. Or who she’d be on TV.

This was about whether she could walk into a kitchen like this and know the names. The stories. The stupid jokes.

She wanted that. Wanted it bad.

McKenna slid a finished pizza onto the stone. "We’re feeding you first," she said. "Gotta keep the recruit happy."

Caitlin laughed. "You don’t have to bribe me."

Kate’s voice came quiet, near her ear. "We’re not. We just like having you here."

==

Kate’s room was dark except for a desk lamp.

She'd been watching film for a bit, but now she was mostly scrolling on tiktok independently. Caitlin half-curled on Kate’s extra twin bed, hoodie bunched at her ribs, legs bare and tucked.

Her phone buzzed once beside her. Paige.

How’s Iowa? You breathing okay?

It’s… good. I think. Just weird.

Weird how?

Caitlin bit her lip. Typed.

I like it. Too much maybe. Makes it harder.

Good. You should like it. Pick what feels right for you. Not for anyone else.

Her throat burned. She didn’t answer right away. A minute passed. Then Paige again.

I miss you. Sleeping soon. You got this Cait. 

Caitlin stared at the screen. The words sat there. Heavy. Too much. Too soon. Too true. 

But she couldn’t lie. Couldn’t pretend. Fingers hovered, then typed:

I miss you too. Sleep well PB.

Before she could think too hard, she hit send.

The second it left, her chest clenched. She shoved the phone under the pillow. Breath stuck high in her throat. Caitlin’s mind wouldn’t stop spinning. She kept checking her phone. Kept glancing at the door. Her legs jittered beneath the blanket. 

Across the room, Kate glanced up. One earbud out now. "You good?"

Caitlin hesitated. Swallowed. "Yeah."

Kate tipped her head. "Night spiral?”

Caitlin snorted. “Is that a thing?”

“Absolutely. You get in your own head, can’t sleep, start imagining the next four years like a hell loop. Very normal.”

But when Caitlin’s fingers curled hard into the blanket, Kate stood. Stretched slow. "You wanna go shoot? Sometimes it helps me when my head won’t quit."

Caitlin blinked up at her. "Now?"

Kate’s mouth quirked. "The gym’s always open for us."

Caitlin hesitated. But the thought of sitting here one more minute, wired and stuck, felt worse.

She pushed the blanket off. "Yeah. Okay."

Kate grabbed an extra practice jersey. Tossed one to her. No pressure. No questions.

They walked down the hall. Silent. The air cool and sharp after the heat of the room. The gym lights buzzed on as they walked in and Kate swiped her key card. One row lit first. Then the rest.

Kate grabbed a ball from the rack. Bounced it once. "Take your time," she said. Voice easy. "I’ll just rebound."

Caitlin stepped onto the court. Hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows now. Chest still tight, but her feet moved. Her hands moved. A ball in her palms felt better than her phone.

For a minute she shot in silence. One. Two. Three. Barely felt the arc. Kate chased rebounds. Passed back clean. Didn’t say a word.

When the ball clattered once off the rim, Caitlin caught it, but didn’t shoot.

Kate tilted her head. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Caitlin bounced the ball once. "It’s just hard... college stuff. Big choice. Pressure."

Kate caught the tone, didn’t push. "Yeah. That’ll mess you up."

Caitlin kept her eyes on the floor. Her fingers curled tight on the ball. Her breath came shallow. The words clawed up anyway. She forced a smile. "And, you know, Catholic guilt. That’s always a blast."

Kate arched a brow. "Yeah?"

Caitlin laughed, too sharp. "I mean. How could you not choose Notre Dame? God might smite you..."

Kate stayed quiet. Stayed open. One slow nod. "Got it."

Another beat passed. Caitlin gripped the ball tighter. Her chest felt like it might split.

Then it broke loose, fast and thin, like if she didn’t say it now she’d never say it: “Can I ask you something?” She took a breath. “Personal?”

“Yeah, sure, what’s up Clark?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Caitlin blurted, too fast, like if she waited a second longer she might choke on it: “You’re gay, right?”

Kate didn’t flinch. "Yeah."

Caitlin nodded too fast. "Cool. Okay. That’s good. That’s... great."

Kate tilted her head. Steady. "Caitlin?" 

Caitlin’s fingers drummed once on the ball. She looked everywhere but at Kate. Then dropped to the bleachers like her knees had given out. Hands threaded in her hair. "Sorry," she said, voice breaking thin. "I’m having a very specific kind of crisis."

Kate stayed where she was. Didn’t sit. Didn’t crowd her. Just let the air stay easy. "You’re okay," she said, voice even.

Caitlin let out a breath that shook. Hands still buried in her hair. "I haven’t said it out loud before."

Kate waited.

"I keep thinking..." Caitlin swallowed. "If I pick wrong, I’m gonna lose it. This part of me that’s barely here yet."

Kate’s voice stayed low. "What part?"

Caitlin’s throat closed. She dug her nails into her scalp, hard. Then forced the words out. "The part that’s... gay." It came rough, thin, but it came. "I’m gay."

Kate nodded. Steady as ever. "Yeah. Okay."

Caitlin’s eyes burned. "I don’t want to disappear," she said. "I’m scared that if I go to the wrong place, I’ll forget how this feels. I’ll go back to being someone who never even says it."

Kate moved then. Came to sit beside her. Not close enough to trap her. Close enough to be there.

Caitlin let out a shaky breath. "I haven’t told anyone," she said, raking her hands through her hair. "None of my friends. Not even myself, really, until like... thirty-six hours ago." A sharp, thin laugh. "And now I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a fire in my brain."

Kate didn’t speak. Just stayed steady, let Caitlin speak.

Caitlin’s fingers twisted tighter in her sleeves. "Notre Dame," she said. "My parents. My whole life. This version of myself that’s been, like, carefully edited to be admirable and talented and deeply, deeply heterosexual." She let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "And I’m scared that if I go there, I’ll never actually..." Her voice caught. "I’ll never actually be anything."

It was unraveling faster now.

Caitlin’s voice came rougher now. Breaking open. "I’m scared I’ll never touch someone. That no one will ever touch me. That I’ll go to a school where I can’t say anything out loud and I’ll spend four years being this incredible player everyone’s proud of who never actually fucking lives."

Her hands shook. She clasped them together hard. "I want to want things. I want to have sex. I want to make bad choices and learn from them. I want to get it wrong and laugh about it the next day with friends who actually know the truth about who I am."

They sat there for a minute, letting it settle.

Then Caitlin spoke again, sheepish. “I’m sorry if that was a lot.”

Kate shook her head. “It wasn’t.”

Caitlin hesitated. Then, dead serious: “Is it crazy to partly choose a school because I want to feel like I might get laid at some point?”

Kate grinned. “I picked this place because the assistant coach had a buzz cut and a wife. You’re fine.”

That made Caitlin laugh. Full-bodied, forehead-down, shoulder-shaking laughter. The kind that didn’t feel performative. The kind that cracked something open. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Be honest,” she said, still catching her breath. “Is it possible?”

Kate blinked. “What is?”

Caitlin turned to her, wide-eyed, earnest. “That I could have sex and win a Big Ten title.”

Kate fell back onto the bleachers, laughing so hard she almost dropped the ball.

Caitlin threw her hands in the air. “I’m serious! I need to know it’s not over for me!”

Kate wheezed. “Jesus Christ, Clark.”

Caitlin grinned. “You’re not denying it.”

“I want to win, we all do. I can't promise anything, but Caitlin, you could probably take a mid-major team to the Final Four if you set your mind to it... So yeah, I believe it's possible... Not that we'll win everything, but if you come here, you’ll be okay. Maybe not overnight. But eventually. You’ll find people who get it. People who won’t flinch.”

Caitlin looked at her. Really looked.

And believed her.

For the first time in days, something in her chest settled.

Safe. Unjudged.

Maybe, possibly, probably…

Definitely. 

Gay.

They didn’t say much after that. The gym lights hummed overhead. The ball sat between them, forgotten.

Finally Kate stood. Stretched. “C’mon. It’s late.”

Caitlin pushed up, legs stiff. Followed her to the doors.

In the hall, the air felt cooler, lighter somehow. Caitlin pulled her hoodie back up, still flushed from the spiral but steadier now. Almost herself again.

They walked a few quiet steps. Then Kate glanced over. Casual. A little crooked smile at the corner of her mouth. “Clark. By the way.”

Caitlin looked up.

Kate’s grin widened, not unkind. “I knew, I could spot that repressed energy halfway down the hall.”

Caitlin blinked. Then laughed, for real this time. Sharp, breathless, but real. Shoved Kate’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Kate let the shove land. Just smiled. Gave it a beat. Then, easy, warm: “Hey. We’ve all been there. And you don’t have to worry. This stays between us.”

Behind her, Caitlin smiled. Small. Private. Hers.

==

The drive home felt longer than it was. Caitlin sat with her hood up, headphones in, whole body loose from Iowa, still warm from that gym. Paige’s name burned bright in her texts.

But the second she stepped through the front door, it started to close in again.

“Hi honey!” Her mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready, come tell us everything!”

Caitlin tried to smile. Shrugged off her coat. “Okay.”

Her dad looked up from the table. “How was it?”

“It was good,” Caitlin said. Too fast. “Really good.”

She slid into her chair. Folded her hands under the table.

Her mom beamed. “I mean, how could you not choose Notre Dame, right? The academics. The values. And they love you there.”

Caitlin’s throat caught. She kept her smile small. “Yeah.”

Her mom turned to her dad. “And of course, with the way the program is structured, she won’t be around all that… party culture nonsense you hear about at some schools.”

Her dad nodded. “Right. More focused.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. "Actually, at Iowa… there wasn’t really any drinking. The girls just…"

Her mom waved a hand. "Honey, they were putting on their best face for a recruit. We know how it is."

Caitlin’s jaw tightened. "But at Notre Dame they wanted to take me out."

Her dad chuckled. "Well, that’s college for you. But at least there, it’s the right kind of coaches. The right kind of people."

The words scraped. The right kind of coaches.

Caitlin picked at her napkin.

Across the table, her brother caught her eye. Raised one brow, barely a twitch. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

The rest of dinner blurred. Caitlin heard herself answer questions. Smile at the right moments. Nod when they said Notre Dame just fits who you are.

But under it all, her chest stayed locked. Like Iowa had been some dream she’d wake up from.

==

Later that night she lay on her bed in the dark, a blanket pulled to her chin. Phone pressed to her chest.

Finally, she unlocked it.

Tapped on Paige's contact.

It’s hard. Being home.

The typing bubble popped up. Then stopped. Started again.

I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could make it easier.

Just needed to tell you. Exhausted. Falling asleep. 

I’m glad you did. Sleep well, Cait. I’m here if you need.

Caitlin held the phone one more beat. Pressed it to her chest.

Thanks P. ❤️

She closed her eyes.

And tried to breathe.

Paige lay on her side, bedroom dark except for the phone screen lighting her pillow. The text sat there. The emoji.

And the faint ache of knowing Caitlin was probably asleep, or trying to be.

Paige set the phone down. Let her arm fall heavy across the mattress.

It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Not a text. Not the night. Not the way she’d kissed Caitlin into her neck and still had to watch her drive away.

Now Caitlin was back in that house. Paige could almost see it, too-bright kitchen, tight family talk, some perfect version of Caitlin none of them knew how to see past.

She dragged a hand through her hair. Let it fall across her face. Turned her face into the pillow. Whispered it there, where no one could hear.

“Sleep good, Cait.”

Stayed like that. Awake. Waiting for nothing.

==

At school on Monday, the anxiety started low. Curled into Caitlin's stomach. Stayed there.

She felt it all through first period. Then second. Third.

By lunch, it had her in a chokehold.

It wasn’t just being back. Wasn’t just the weight of what she’d said out loud to Kate, but no one else. 

It was the whispers. The stares. The way her mom’s picture in the church group chat had already made its way through half the school. Look at our girl! Big visit! Big dreams!

Her phone had buzzed all night. Messages. Notre Dame girl now? Go Irish! She wanted to throw it across the room.

By the time she hit fourth period, Abby and Maren were already on her.

“He’s gonna ask you out,” Abby said, leaning across the desk. Her ponytail swung high.

Caitlin blinked. “Who?”

“Graham,” Maren hissed. “We overheard the football team talking about it in chem. I swear. He said he’s been wanting to all term.”

Caitlin’s stomach twisted.

Lizzie grinned. “Finally. It’s about time you let a guy take you out.”

Caitlin forced a smile. Bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But her heart wouldn’t stop racing. By the time the bell rang, her legs felt shaky.

She was sliding books into her locker when he showed up.

“Hey.” Football jacket on. Letter patched clean across his chest. One hand braced high on the locker next to hers. The other shoved deep in his pocket.

Too close. Too easy. Too much.

Caitlin blinked up. “Hey.”

Graham grinned. “How was the big visit?”

She swallowed. “Good.”

“Figured.” His smile widened. “You looked happy. That post your mom put up?

My mom was like she’s such a good girl, gonna do big things.”

Caitlin’s chest burned. The words caught sharp behind her ribs.

Good girl.

Paige’s voice, not his. In her ear. In the motel. In the shower. Soft. Wrecking.

Good girl.

Her knees nearly buckled.

She blinked hard. Swallowed it down. Gripped the locker edge tighter.

Graham kept talking, but it blurred, something about coming to her game next month, their history paper...

He shifted. “Anyway. My mom saw yours at church. Said you’d be home this week. And I thought I could take you to dinner?

He lingered. Voice lower now. “We could… you know. Hang out after.” Her stomach flipped. Heat crawled up her throat.

“Thursday maybe?” he added, like it was done. Decided.

Across the hall, Abby and Maren watched from their lockers. Abby mouthed say yes.

Lizzie shot her a thumbs-up.

But her mouth moved first. “Yeah,” she heard herself say. Thin. Not hers. “Okay.”

Graham grinned. “Cool. I’ll text you.”  He brushed past, shoulder grazing hers.

She stood frozen. Locker cold under her palm. The air too thick. The yes already out in the world.

Paige’s voice still echoing.

Good girl.

The second Graham disappeared down the hall, they all darted over.

Abby grabbed her arm. “I told you!”

Maren clapped. “Literally heard him in chem last week. They were plotting, Cait.”

Lizzie laughed. “And you just said yes like it was nothing. Queen.”

Caitlin forced a smile. Her skin felt too tight.

Abby bumped her shoulder. “You’re gonna go, right? He’s so into you.”

Maren grinned. “And not just dinner. You know what he meant.”

Lizzie fake-fanned herself. “Graham and Caitlin, power couple. It’s happening.”

Her throat closed. Paige’s voice still echoed under her ribs. Her own yes ringing sharp in her ears.

She tucked her books tighter to her chest. Managed a laugh. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

Abby looped their arms. “No backing out now. You said yes. You’re going.”

The hallway buzzed around them. The lights too bright. The walls too close. And Caitlin walked with them, breath locked high, knowing exactly how trapped she’d just made herself.

==

She got through the next two periods on muscle memory. Couldn’t tell you what the lectures were. Couldn’t tell you what she wrote down.

Her chest was too tight. Skin hot, buzzing. Her mouth tasted like metal. Every sound was too loud. Every breath drew too fast.

She ducked into the bathroom between classes. Locked the farthest stall. Sat down hard. The tile felt freezing through her leggings.

Her hands shook so bad she dropped her phone. Scrambled for it. Knees drawn tight to her chest. Her ribs wouldn’t move. Like her lungs forgot how to work.

She shoved her AirPods in with shaking fingers. Locked them tight. No one could hear. No one could know.

Phone in her lap. Paige’s name. She didn’t think. Just hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then Paige’s voice came, low. “Cait?”

Caitlin couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. A thin sound caught in her throat. Air wheezed in too fast, out too sharp.

“Cait.” Paige’s voice dropped steady. A shift. A knowing. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I need you to breathe for me.”

The words barely landed. Caitlin’s vision swam. The stall spun slow. Her breath kept catching, ragged and loud in her ears.

“AirPods in?” Paige asked, voice firm but soft.

Caitlin made a small sound. A quiet yes.

“Good. Just me and you then. No one else. You’re safe. You hear me?”

A wet gasp broke out of Caitlin’s throat. Knees pressed harder to her ribs. Fingernails bit into her sleeves.

“Listen to me.” Paige’s voice stayed even. “Match me, okay? In… two… three. Out… two… three.”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Tried. The breath caught. Hitched. Flew out too fast.

“Good,” Paige said. Soft but certain. “That’s it. Again. In… two… three. Hold. Out… two… three.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her mouth tasted wrong. But her breath slowed one beat. Then another.

“That’s it, Cait. I’m right here. Keep going.”

Another sob clawed free. She couldn’t stop it.

“Good,” Paige said. Voice caught now, but steady. “Proud of you. Keep breathing. Slowly.”

Her chest shook. But the air came easier. Not clean. Not calm. But enough.

“You’re okay,” Paige whispered.

Another breath in. Another out. Caitlin’s grip on her sleeves eased, just barely.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” Paige said. Fierce now. “Don’t ever say sorry for this.”

Caitlin let her head drop to her knees. The tile was cold. The air still burned her throat. But the edges weren’t spinning anymore.

“Keep breathing with me,” Paige said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Caitlin believed her.

For the next few minutes, that was enough. Paige’s voice in her ear.

==

Halfway through practice, Caitlin’s phone buzzed under her warmups on the bench. She glanced.

You okay? thinking about you.

Her stomach flipped. She pressed the ball between her knees. No. Not even close.

She wiped her palms on her shorts. Typing felt impossible. She stared at the screen. Breath too shallow again.

Finally: Practicing. Trying. It’s hard.

Paige’s reply came fast. I know. You’re doing so good. I’m proud of you.

Caitlin bit her lip. Wanted to crawl into her phone. Wanted to hear that voice again. Wanted to be anywhere but here.

The whistle blew. She shoved the phone back down. Stood.

Legs leaden. Ball slick in her grip. Paige’s words echoed behind her ribs.

You’re doing so good.

She didn’t feel good. Didn’t feel anything at all.

But she made herself move.

==

The next two days weren’t any easier. But Caitlin found ways to manage. She poured herself into basketball. Woke up early, shot before class. Stayed late, ran drills until her arms ached. The sound of the ball was safer than her thoughts.

At school, she kept her head down. Smiled when she had to. Answered questions about the visit when she debrief with coach with words that didn’t sound like her. Good. Loved it. Great culture.

She lost herself in the intermediary check-ins from Paige. Just small hellos. Memes. Tiktoks. Selfies. Once, a song she liked.

But her friends kept talking about the date. Thursday’s perfect. You’ll look so good. Abby already planned her outfit. Maren offered to help with hair. Lizzie grinned and whispered in chem that Graham was definitely still interested.

Caitlin smiled back. Nodded. Played along.

But under it all, her stomach stayed in knots.

By Wednesday night, the ache in her chest had barely let up. And the more she tried to shove it down, the sharper it came clawing back.

Her room was dark except for her phone screen. She’d been staring at it too long. Flipping through nothing. A meme Paige sent her a few hours ago was staring at her in the face.

She rolled onto her side. Opened Paige’s thread. 

Can’t sleep.

You okay?

Hate this place, P.

What's going on?

She hesitated. Her chest already tight. But her fingers moved.

Tomorrow’s the date. I feel sick.

She had told her on the phone after practice. Quick. Embarrassed. Couldn’t stop herself. The words rushed out: “I said yes. I didn’t know what else to say.” 

Paige hadn’t pushed. Just gone quiet, and said something like "I don’t like it, but I get it. I’m here"

She fucking hated this.

Hated that Caitlin was gonna go on a date with someone else. With a guy of all people.

Hated that she was sick over something she didn’t want. Hated that she couldn’t fix it. Hated herself for letting her want to.

Her fingers twitched. Picked the phone back up. Stared at the thread.

Wish you’d said no. That wasn’t fair. Backspaced it.

Wish I could be there. Too soft. She didn’t want Caitlin thinking this was about her. This wasn’t a rescue. Paige couldn’t be that person.

Except.

She closed her eyes. Saw Caitlin at the gym. Body hunched, voice cracking. I didn’t know what else to say.

Paige knew exactly what else she wanted her to say. Knew exactly what she’d say if Caitlin were in front of her now. Voice low. Steady. Hands planted so Caitlin couldn’t look away.

You don’t owe them shit. You know that, right? You don’t owe them this. Not your time. Not your body. Not your smile. Not the fucking performance they want. You say no when you want to. You pull out if you want to. And if they don’t like it, they can fuck off.

But she wasn’t there. Just a phone. Just words.

Paige exhaled. Fingers moved.

Don’t go. You don’t owe him shit.

It’s not that easy.

I know. But I hate that you’re making yourself do this.

Caitlin's eyes stung. The words blurred. She bit her lip. Typed: Wish I could be with you instead.

Fuck. Me too.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You hear me?

I know. I just… want to feel like me. With you. Not like this.

In her room, alone, Paige stared at the screen.

Her throat burned. She could see it too clearly: Caitlin in that house, in that bed, typing this with trembling fingers while everyone around her pushed her toward some boy she didn’t want. Some boy who got to take her out. Touch her. Be seen with her.

And Paige - what the fuck was she? A voice in Caitlin’s ear. A secret. Her lover?

The thought gutted her. She pressed her phone tighter to her chest. Breath caught sharp.

No. Not like this. Not tonight.

If Caitlin needed her, she’d take her. Right now. In the only way she still could.

Her fingers moved. Fast now. 

You’re mine. Only mine. You listening?

Heat rose sharp and fast. Caitlin swallowed. 

Yes. Listening.

Good girl. Just us. No one else. You want me to tell you what I’d do?

Caitlin’s whole body ached for Paige. Thighs pressed tight. Fingers hovered. Please.

What are you wearing right now?

Heat shot down her spine. The good kind. The dangerous kind.

Sports bra. Underwear. Hoodie. Bed.

The read receipt hit in a blink. Then: I’d have you on your back first. Hoodie off. Hands over your head. Slow. Just for me.

A sharp breath punched out of her. Heart pounding. Hands shaking. She fumbled for the camera. Quick shot: stomach, thighs, hips tilted just enough. Not too much. Just enough to say I want this.

She sent it. Barely breathing.

The read popped fast. Then: Fuck. You’re killing me.

You wet for me right now?

Caitlin's whole body burned. She typed: Yes. So wet.  

God. If I were there, I'd have you begging. On your hands and knees. Remember when I fucked you from behind Cait? You were so open. Needing it. So good for me. Dripping.

Caitlin whimpered out loud. Thighs pressed tight. Her fingers hovered, shaking. Breath ragged.

Want you so bad. Just like that.

My fucking princess. You're so responsive to me.

Caitlin chest thudded. She barely managed: I'm all worked up.

Good. Show me. Now.

Caitlin's heart raced. Fingers trembling. She sat up. Couldn’t do this flat on her back. Shoved the blanket off. Crossed to her desk. One light, dim. The the phone screen burning too bright.

The mirror caught her. Flushed. Legs bare.

She reached under her sports bra. Hesitated. Breath shaking. Then yanked it up just enough. One breast bared, peaked hard. The rest covered.

Held the phone up. Stared at herself - wide eyes, parted mouth, shaking. Wrong. But needing.

Send it now. Before you lose it. Before you remember where you are.

Clicked. One photo.

Breath hitched. Thumb hovered. Then, send.

She stared at the screen. Watched the read hit. Paige’s bubble appeared.

Fuck. You look so good. You wanna play?

A sob punched her chest. Heat and shame crashing in.

“Yes,” she whispered out loud. Couldn’t even type it.

She reached to pull the rest of her sports bra over her head. To show Paige more. 

Then, suddenly, the door cracked.

“Hey, Cait, do you have a charger I broke…” Colin’s voice. Mid-sentence. 

She gasped. Spun. One arm yanked across her chest.

Phone dropped with a sharp clatter to the desk.

“Fuck, sorry!” Colin froze. Eyes wide. Face going red. “Didn’t - shit - sorry!”

“GET OUT!” Her voice cracked. “Colin! Out!”

“Okay, okay, sorry, sorry!” He stumbled back, door half-slamming behind him.

She stood there, chest heaving. Arm locked tight across her. Legs trembling.

For a second she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

She lay there shaking. Breath stuck high. Blanket clutched hard to her chest.

The phone buzzed once. Then again. She forced herself up. Reached for it with trembling fingers. Unlocked.

Baby. You’re so hot. I wanna be inside you.

A sob caught in her throat. She couldn’t. Couldn’t even read it. Couldn’t breathe.

But her fingers moved anyway. Desperate now. Hit call.

It rang once.  

“Baby. Fuck. I missed you.”

“I can’t,” Caitlin gasped. Voice ragged. “Paige. I can’t. I’m sorry. I - ”

“Hey. Hey. Shh.” Paige’s voice shifted instantly. No dominance. Just there. Sharp. Fierce. “It’s okay. You’re okay. What happened?”

A sob clawed out. “Colin. He - he walked in. I, I…”

“Okay. Okay. You’re safe now. You hear me? Nothing happened. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry.” Caitlin’s voice cracked hard. “I’m so sorry. I can’t…”

“Stop. No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing. You hear me?”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Fisted the blanket tighter. Couldn’t stop shaking.

“Breathe with me,” Paige said. Voice steady. Grounded. “Just breathe. That’s all. I’ve got you.”

Caitlin dragged in a shuddering breath. Out slow. Tried again.

“There you go,” Paige whispered. “That’s it. Good. Just keep doing that.”

They stayed there like that. No words. Just breath. Paige in her ear. Steady. Unmoving.

Finally, voice cracked: “I can’t do more right now.”

“That’s okay,” Paige said. Soft but sure. “I’ll stay on if you want,” Paige said. Quieter. “Or I’ll hang up if you need space. You tell me.”

Silence. Breath catching. Then, voice small, wrecked: “I think… I just need some time. To collect myself. Not space from you. Just, need to think.”

Paige’s voice softened. Fierce and gentle all at once. “Okay. I get that. I’ll hang up. But I’m here. Whenever you want me.”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Fisted the blanket tighter. “Okay.”

Another breath. No words. Just the line going dead.

She stared at the ceiling, every thought spinning. He saw.

Not all of it. But enough. Bra yanked up. Phone on the desk.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks it was just… something else. Something normal. Something allowed.

Still, it was something Caitlin wasn't supposed to do here.

Not in this house. Not in a room where Jesus hung on the wall and purity talks lived under the paint. Her stomach twisted.

She could still see Colin’s face - red, frozen in the doorway. The words fuck, sorry burned behind her ribs.

What if he tells them? What if they look at her and know?

Her breath spiked. Too fast. Too shallow.

She shoved the blanket off. Sat up hard. Couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t sit in it.

Fuck it. Go down. See. Face it. Whatever happens happens.

Barefoot, she padded down the stairs. Hoodie yanked tight. Sleeves over her hands.

Kitchen lights too bright. Air too sharp.

Water glass cold in her grip. Fingers trembling.

Then - Colin. Stepping in. Freezing when he saw her.

“Hey. Um.” He scratched the back of his head. Awkward. Careful. “Sorry about earlier.”

Her throat closed. The room spun faint around the edges.

She shook her head. Voice rough. “It’s fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. Just… needed a charger.”

She swallowed. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look anywhere. Fingers locked white around the glass.

Silence. Then softer. Halting. Careful like he was stepping through glass:

“Look… I don’t care if you’ve got a boyfriend or whatever.” He scratched his neck. Fidgeted. Voice lower now. “I know Mom and Dad are weird about, like. Sex and stuff. I dunno. I’m not gonna say anything.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Not a boyfriend. Not even close.

But the words stuck hard in her throat. Wouldn’t move.

She forced a nod. “Thanks.”

Back in her room, though, her chest still heaved.

Phone buzzed again. Paige. She couldn’t look.

Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t believe this had happened.

Not here. Not in this house.

Not where sex lived in the walls like something dirty. Not where her body wasn’t supposed to want.

She curled tighter. Breath caught high.

You can’t have both lives.

You can’t have this and stay safe here.

The phone buzzed once more.

She shoved it under the blanket.

And stayed there.

Shaking.

Alone.

[karmaspidr]

Actually, I think reblogs are the perfect way for us to have this discussion. It keeps everything linear, and we don't have to read blobs of text inside small boxes. I hope you don't mind if I reblog your replies as well, just to keep things organised for anybody interested. Now, onto your arguments.

-Mike is not responsible for Will's happiness. If the only way for Will to be happy is for Mike to love him, then I'm sorry to say this, but then that make's Will a shitty friend and a very selfish person. Sometimes you can love someone with all your heart, but they don't love you back; that's just life. When that happens, you just need to accept it. Also, if you believe that keeping Will happy is important to beating Vecna, then keeping El happy is twenty times more important, especially since she's the only one who can fight him on equal footing. How much willpower do you think she would have left after learning that the only person that she ever loved, the first person she ever truly trusted, lied to her about something as important as their relationship and or left her for her adopted brother?

-Does Mike have an exit at the back of it? I doubt it. Therefore, there is literally only ONE WAY into Mike's closet. It's a cheesy pun that someone like Mike would make. Also, not everyone is attracted to animals. The dragon is most likely a character from a fantasy novel, show or book that Mike likes. You can have posters of things that you like in your room without being attracted to them.

As for the movie poster, IT'S A MOVIE POSTER! My brother has a Deadool cutout in his room, but it doesn't mean he's pan. Even then, what Mike has hung in his room is irrelevant if he doesn't show any signs of being queer himself. Will rejected a footsie from an attractive girl. That is solid evidence that he is gay. Mike enters a depressive episode if he doesn't hear his girlfriend's voice or smell her hair, and he makes out with El like he'll starve otherwise. This is solid evidence that he likes Eleven.

-If you think that the playlists are truly so important, then why don't we look at some of the other songs on Mike's Playlist?

She Blinded Me With Science? Mike is a scientist and sci-fi enthusiast. El is Sci-fi incarnate.

Still Haunting Me? Undeniably a reference to the 353 days Mike spent grieving El, waiting for her to either come home or send him a message.

When Love Breaksdown? A reference to Season 3, when Eleven TEMPORARILY dumped him due to the lies he told.

Love is a Stranger? El used to be a stranger, and he fell with her the moment he laid eyes on her. He can't get enough of her, no matter how much pain this causes.

Don't You Want Me? One of Mike's biggest insecurities, the centre of his arc in S4, is his fear that El realises she doesn't need or want him. Also, the woman in the song confirms that she still loves the man singing

I could go deeper, but I honestly can't be bothered to listen to every song in the playlist, and you probably don't want to read through me explaining each one. So, I'll save us both the trouble.

Oh, and by the way. You said nothing to argue against my point that Mike wants to get away from his conservative family like the boy in the song, without being queer himself. So thanks for the easy win.

-Mike saying "We're friends" confirms Will's fear, which he already knew was true. In most other stories, this would be the part where the character responds with, "But what if we could be more?" or something like that, but Will is still in the closet. He can't say anything. The song is responding to Will's silence, saying what he wants to say.

-You didn't say anything about my explanation as to why El is standing alone, so I'll accept that as a point for me.

I hope you found my arguments informative, enlightening and easy to read. If you have any queries or need me to elaborate on something, don't be afraid to reblog this post or message me directly. I find the comment sections for Tumblr posts too messy for drawn-out conversations and debates.

Oh, and word of advice, next time you try to start a debate, bring evidence that is a little bit more concrete. Most people don't take buff dragon posters seriously when it comes to predicting a series' future.

Isnt it funny how Milevens arent able to justify:

- The point of making Will in love with Mike, like, why would he suffer even more for no good reason. After all he has been through its absurd to make him heartbroken. Why didnt they have to make fall in love in the first place AND WITH MIKE?

- Mike having a buff dragon poster and a "one way" sign pointing to his closet.

- "Smalltown Boy", a song about a closeted gay boy running away from his conservative town being in Mike's playlist.

- In Will and Mike's disscusion at Rink-o-Mania the song that was playing in the background was "In the closet"

- The final scene of season 4: We have Jopper and Jancy, both canon couples, aligned with guess who in the middle, of course our boys Will and Mike. Not only that, El is alone, with nobody by her side in that scene.

[jjscrybaby]

warnings: sickness, fever, mention of vomit, jj being soft for once.

apocalypse!jj masterlist.

day 25. sickness.

Sitting around wasn’t something JJ allowed. You were always on the move, even sometimes until the early hours of the morning when you’d have to beg JJ to let you rest. He was a man on a mission, you didn’t blame him; he wanted to find his best friend, he wanted to know he was alive. That didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting.

It took a couple days for JJ to pick up on the fact something was wrong. Just because you guys hadn’t yelled at each other in the last week didn’t mean he was magically a nice guy — you didn’t want to give him the excuse to call you a burden. You wanted to be strong, so when your head began to pound and your body started to shake you kept it to yourself.

“Put a sweatshirt on. It’s cold.” It must’ve been about 10pm, you were walking along a street and you hadn’t seen any of the dead in a few hours. JJ was ahead, and when he turned to see you in just a tank top and sweats his eyes widened.

“I’m hot.” You weren’t just hot, you were sweating. The cool air wasn’t doing anything to help, and neither was the fast pace you were walking at.

“Bullshit. Even I’m cold,” JJ argued, stopping in his tracks. The moon reflected off of you, giving him a better look at your face. His eyebrows furrowed — your eyes were sunken, cheeks red and sweat glistened from your forehead. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Now that he was really listening, he could hear the slur in your voice. If this was a normal night he’d assume you were drunk.

Without even thinking about it, he held his hand up to your forehead. His eyes widened slightly at how hot your skin was. “Shit,” he murmured under his breath.

“What?” You asked quietly. The wider you opened your mouth the more you felt like throwing up.

“Shit,” he repeated. “C’mon, let’s find somewhere to stay for the night. You— I’m sure you’ll be fine by the morning, probably just tired.”

He was wrong. When you woke up the next morning in a strangers bed — he’d set the two of you up in a bungalow on the street you’d been wandering down — you felt even worse. Tears pricked your eyes as you gagged, luckily he was next to you and on high alert. He didn’t even flinch as you threw up into the trash can he’d shoved under your chin.

“Alright, kid. Let it out,” he murmured, the softest he’d ever spoken to you. He could sympathise with something like this, feeling sick was the worst. Growing up alone meant dealing with shit alone, he’d never enjoyed having to hold his own hair back.

“Don’t feel so good, JJ,” you whined, delirious and tearful.

“I know,” he murmured, hesitating before placing his hand on your back. You were still hot, too hot, he needed to get your fever down. “I’ll be right back, a’ight? Gonna check if this shithole has running water.”

Much to his surprise, they did. Only cold, but that wasn’t a problem, he put the plug into the bathtub and started to fill it up. He wasn’t sure how much water there would be, and he wanted to save a little to drink; you needed fluids, so he only filled it up a quarter of the way before heading back into the bedroom.

You looked miserable, trashcan now beside you on the floor and a pout on your pretty lips as you held your stomach painfully. He couldn’t help but think that maybe this was his fault. He hadn’t let you take breaks, you hadn’t got enough sleep because of him, he rationed the water too strictly… the list could go on. He’d been too busy thinking about finding John B he’d forgotten that your body wasn’t used to all of this.

“Gotta get you up, okay?” He said softly, standing beside you with a pained expression.

You whined, shaking your head. “Don’ want to leave, JJ. Not yet.”

“We’re not, we’re not,” he soothed. Did you really think he’d make you keep going in this condition? He knelt down next to you, pushing your hair back from where it stuck to your forehead. “Gotta get your fever down, princess. Ran you a cold bath.”

You sniffled, it didn’t even seem you were taking in what he was saying. With a sigh, he gently lifted you up and into his arms. You whined again, pressing your face into his shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom. He’d already stripped off your sweatpants last night, thinking that it would help with the fever — it didn’t.

He didn’t take your shirt off, or your underwear, that felt way too invasive and he knew that you couldn’t be left by yourself. He lowered you into the water and a new wave of guilt hit him as you started to shiver.

“It’s cold,” you whimpered, looking at him like he was trying to torture you.

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s gonna help,” he explained, stroking your hair — he hoped that you were feverish enough to not remember how gentle he was being when you got better.

You sat in the water for a few minutes, and he spent that time talking to you gently; promising that he’d make things easier for you once you were feeling better. He could feel that you were starting to cool down and he let out a sigh of relief, deciding that was enough time for you to have to deal with the situation.

“Let’s get you back into bed, huh?” He murmured, helping you up and out of the tub. You didn’t care about the wetness of your clothes or legs as he lead you back to bed, you just collapsed onto the sheets and closed your eyes.

JJ didn’t take his eyes off of you for the two hours that you slept. He was too afraid. What if you threw up and choked? What if you were in pain and he wasn’t there to help? What if you woke up and didn’t know where you were? He felt awful, it was his fault you felt like this and he wasn’t going to let you handle it alone — even if you did annoy the shit out of him.

When you woke up, you were a little more coherent. You didn’t talk much, but you also didn’t throw up so that was a positive.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asked, like an overbearing mother.

“A little thirsty,” you murmured back, looking at him through hooded eyes.

“Okay, honey. Hang on.” You thought you’d imagined the pet-name. He jumped to his feet and disappeared out of the room, coming back a minute later with a glass of water and some breadsticks. “They’re probably stale, but I think it’d be good to get some food in you.”

“Don’t want to throw up again,” you said, sipping slowly from the glass.

“Not the end of the world if you do. We gotta try, huh? Can’t have you starvin’ on me,” he replied, giving you a small, reassuring smile.

“Okay,” you agreed hesitantly.

The two of you shared the box of stale breadsticks — or more so you had three and he had twelve. You still felt like hell, but nowhere near as bad as you’d felt earlier. At least now your brain didn’t feel all fuzzy.

“I’m— I’m sorry you’re feelin’ ill, shouldn’t have pushed you so hard,” JJ murmured, looking down at his hands.

“It’s not your fault,” you responded quickly, eyebrows furrowing.

“Kinda is, though,” he huffed.

You turned to look at him, tilting your head as you realised just how guilty he looked; like a little boy who had disappointed his parent. You nudged his shoulder with your arm, getting his attention. He looked up, you gave him a small smile.

“Don’t be going soft on me now, Maybank. People get sick, you can’t have helped that,” you reassured softly.

“Mhm,” he hummed, not looking like he believed you but he didn’t want to argue — even sick you’d probably win. “You should get some more sleep. We’ll stay here for a few days, we have enough food to last and they’ve got running water.”

“A few days?” You murmured. You hadn’t been able to rest for that long since before the outbreak.

“Yeah, kid. A few days. Gotta get you back to your annoying-ass self, huh?” He teased, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, lying back against the pillows as the exhaustion started to hit. “What about John B?”

“John B can wait,” he murmured back. You knew for a fact you weren’t imagining the fingers that started to run through your hair, but you didn’t mention it; too afraid he’d stop.

[niceplsflashme]

how to prove your self-worth, by lin ling.

tags: gn! reader x lin ling, smut, submissive lin ling, oral (reader receiving).

—i just know this man loves to eat and go down on his partner no matter the genitalia.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Lin Ling is the new Top 10 Hero of Treeman.

Initially working for Firm Man, there was a sour taste in your mouth when you were transferred to work for him without notice.

And as much as you really wanted to hate the guy, it simply wasn’t possible as he didn't do anything wrong. You couldn't even catch him doing anything mildly troublesome.

He got things done, and he seemed so imperfectly perfect that it doesn’t feel fake unlike with other heroes you've worked with.

Everything that The Commoner does feels genuine.

Still, that doesn’t mean that you can mask how you feel. You’ve heard how he was just another office worker before all of this happened, he must know exactly what it feels like to be in your shoes.

Maybe there’s more to this whole thing that no one cared enough to explain to you.

There was a slight resentment that you felt each time you handed him his schedule or informed him about what things he needed to do, things that a simple office worker like you couldn't even hope to dream of.

You do understand that it’s not his fault, but you can’t help but to blame him and think about how easy he got it.

You don't think you'll ever get rid of that envy.

…So how exactly did Lin Ling end up in between your legs?

A forced exhale leaves your lungs as your fingers grasp on his brown hair, pushing his head down even further.

You're unsure if he's genuinely experienced or he's just that good at listening. He's too obedient, and it almost made you slightly jealous how others were the ones ordering him before instead.

Either way, he seems to be enjoying it as much as you are, with the way his breathing is staggering and the very visible wet spot seeping through his pants.

“That's not fair. It's always you getting things so quick, huh?”

The sound that left him when your feet pressed on his cock was heavenly. He raises his head to look up at you, his face sweating with a desperate look that makes you want to ruin him more and more. He looked great like this, on his knees, lips trembling and wet from you.

You don't miss the way he licks his bottom lip.

“Can I continue?” He asks.

He irritates you so much.

“Haa—wait, that's too–” Lin Ling’s stuttering becomes more frequent while your foot continues to tease him relentlessly. He buckles forward, soft ‘ah’s spilling out of him.

“No finishing. You said you wanted to improve our relationship as coworkers, didn't you?”

He nods in confirmation, but the more this goes on, you're unsure if that was his actual goal.

Lin Ling holds your leg, stopping you gently. You can see his dazed eyes as he leans the side of his face next to your thigh, his need to continue and make you cum with his mouth becoming obvious.

“Guide me?”

You take everything back. Perhaps he does deserve everything he's gotten so far.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"I'LL BE GOOD, DOLL"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH BUCKY (i'm still on my period, so this one is cute and soft, because my mood swings are crazy rn, I can write the cutest thing ever and then post a really smut fic lol)

I hope you like it! 🖤😊

Bucky knew something was wrong with you the moment you shuffled into the kitchen at 5:30 a.m.

He usually woke up at that time because of the nightmares that still kept him from sleeping peacefully, but the fact that you were getting up at that hour showed something had happened to you.

He watched from the couch as you walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

He didn't say anything because he didn't want to scare you, but his metallic reflection gave him away as you noticed something flashing across the room due to the small, mirror-like surface inside the fridge.

You quickly turned around and summoned your power as a defensive measure, causing an intense flame of fire to dance in the palm of your hand.

When you realized it was him, you closed your hand, and the flame disappeared.

"You scared the shit out off me" you blurted, placing your hand over your chest. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep," he whispered. "And you? What are you doing awake?"

"I couldn't sleep either," you replied, mimicking his response.

He gave an amused smile before looking at you again.

"You know you can tell me, right?" he offered. "I'm a good listener."

"Thanks, Buck," you murmured. "But it's nothing, really."

"You're a terrible liar, doll," he whispered.

And there it was again.

That glint in his eyes when he realized he'd caught you, the husky tone of his voice when he called you that way…

"I'm not lying," you blurted out, opening the bottle with a quick twist of your wrist. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"Hey," he murmured, making you look at him again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh or anything."

"And you weren't, Buck," you assured him. "It's my fault," you murmured. "I'm just a little… sensitive, that's all."

"It's okay," he whispered, shifting back on the couch. "Is there any way I can help you?"

"Yeah, you can stop that."

"Stop what, princess?" he questioned, shrugging nonchalantly.

"You… y-you're…" You noticed your cheeks turning red. "Flirting with me."

"Am I?" "I hadn't even noticed," he inquired

"Now you're the one lying," you countered, making him smile.

Bucky watched you silently for a few moments before nodding to the empty spot next to him on the couch.

"Why don't you sit down for a while?" he invited. "Anyway, I don't think either of us will ever get back to sleep anyway."

It was hard to admit, but he was right.

So you silently walked over to him and took the spot next to him.

The soldier shifted his gaze to the cooking show on TV before turning his head toward you.

Your gazes connected and collided forcefully.

You tried to take a deep breath, but your body seemed to be uncooperative.

You were dangerously close, so close that if either of you made the slightest movement, your arms would brush.

Without a word, Bucky raised his metallic hand and traced the outline of your cheek with his fingers, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped from the bun you were wearing behind your ear.

You felt the cold metal against your skin, making your breath catch in your throat.

"Bucky…" you gasped as he ran his thumb over your lower lip.

"You're going to drive me crazy, doll," he growled, staring intensely into your eyes. "I can see it in your eyes that THIS is what you want," he whispered, flashing an amused smile as he wrapped his metallic hand loosely around your throat, just so you could feel his presence.

His fingers were placed around your throat, the cold metal against your skin, and the intensity of his damn blue eyes were slowly making you feel like you were going to lose your mind.

"Please…" you murmured as he moved a little closer to you, your lips almost touching.

"Ask me anything you want, doll," he whispered. "Ask me with that pretty little mouth of yours, and I swear I'll do anything you ask."

"Kiss me," you blurted out without a second thought. times

He gave a lopsided smile at your response.

"That's my girl," he declared, resting his gaze on your lips.

With the help of the hand he had around your throat, he gently pulled you towards him, joining his lips with yours.

The kiss was intense, messy, and not at all slow, which seemed perfect to you, because that was exactly what you needed.

Bucky claimed your mouth as if it were his property, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and his teeth tugging at your lower lip, as if he were thirsty for you and everything you could give him.

You had never been kissed like that before.

Within seconds, without realizing it, you were perched on his lap, your legs spread on either side of his.

He pulled away for a moment to look at you.

Bucky memorized the image in front of him: you, your breath ragged from his kisses, your lips swollen and glistening.

Intense look in your eyes, denoting that this had only just begun.

"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, princess," he whispered, holding your face in his hands. "You're beautiful."

"If you say so, it might be true" you agreed, making him laugh

He placed his hands on your hips and played with the elastic around your waist.

Then you placed your hand on his, causing him to suddenly look up at you in concern.

"Did I do something wrong?" he murmured. You quickly shook your head.

"No, it's just… I…" You took a deep breath. "Remember when I told you earlier that I got up because I was 'sick'?" You made the quotation marks gesture, and he nodded. "Well, what I really meant to say is that I'm…" You ducked your head, suddenly shy. "I'm on my period."

Bucky paused for a few seconds, thinking about what that meant before looking at you gently.

"I see," he whispered slowly. "You're afraid I'll hurt you," he declared. You shook your head.

"It's not that. I know you'd never do it to me," you quickly corrected him. "I want to, but I don't know if you'd… if you…" You shook your head, flustered, the words not coming out as clearly as you wanted them to.

"I understand," he realized. "It's the blood, right?" "He asked. You nodded slowly, blushing violently. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, doll. It's natural." He murmured, staring into your face with such delicacy that it stole your breath. "I don't care about blood, princess. I just want to make you feel good."

"Really?" You whispered, feeling tears welling up under your eyes.

"Really," he nodded firmly. "I'm so sorry the others you've been with made you think that."

"Why do you assume there have been others?" You questioned. He let out a low growl.

"Fuck, you really want to kill me, huh?" –he said making you laugh-

“You’re the first one I’ve gone this far with,” you murmured. “I thought you should know,” you said. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how one is supposed to behave in this situation,” you let out a nervous giggle. “I don’t know if I should keep talking or keep quiet, yes I think it would be better if I did… I won’t say anything else, I promise… I don’t want to…”

“Princess, look at me,” he ordered softly, making you look into his eyes. “Calm down, breathe deeply,” he took a couple of slow breaths, and you followed him. “Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen,” he whispered. “No one is going to force you to do anything you don’t want,” he murmured, resting his gaze on yours again. “If you want to stop that’s what I will do and it will be okay, and if you want me to continue that will be okay too,” he explained. “You have the power to decide what happens next,” he said. “I will accept whatever you choose.”

You paused for a few seconds to think about it, before nodding slowly.

"I want to do it," you said, the smile Bucky flashed was priceless.

"Okay, doll," he winked playfully at you, "I'll be good."

"You don't even believe it," you joked, making him laugh.

Actually, he was really good.

He made sure I was okay the whole time, and when the inevitable pain hit, he kissed you so sweetly that you felt as if, thanks to that gesture, the pain was slowly disappearing until only the pleasure remained.

After that, you lay against his chest and Bucky ruffled your hair with his fingers until you fell asleep.

He watched the calm expression on your face for a few moments, and realized there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be than here, with you in his arms.