#but here I relied on the finish line too much to motivate me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

supramingi · 3 months

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I truly love and respect your writing style because it took me out of a really huge reading slump and I've never seen anyone write so smoothly. As a writer myself I've always awed at how you can gracefully pull of scenes which I know are difficult to write.

I'd be really grateful if you gave me some writing tips :) I've a few things that I want to know from you.

1. How were you so motivated to finish off long stories like HOC and Taste of Ink?

2. How did you adapt to your writing style, did you study another writer's writing style or did you just develop your own?

3. Any words of encouragement you can give for a writer who's going through a writing slump?

Please take your time in answering these questions :) I'm definitely gonna give your new books a shot soon!

Thank you so much for this lovely comment, Anon. I've reflected over these questions for a couple of days and tried to gather my thoughts. I apologise if they are a bit of a ramble, but here we go:

01. Motivation for long stories ... Oh boy, that's a question!

In the past, I used to write a lot of long stories. I don't really do that anymore, I tend to focus on oneshots (unless a story grows too big for that, like HONDA BABY. If you can believe it, that 120k story was meant to be a oneshot haha)

Back then, I used to post whilst writing, and the feedback I got really motivated me. However, I was blessed to have responsive readers that shared thoughts and engaged with me. I understand this is often not the case for writers. Especially new writers, or writers in smaller fandoms that have less engagement overall. The feedback I get now is considerably smaller than it used to be, which is reflective of fandom changes in general. Unfortunately, due to a lot of external pressure, fan content is declining in all spaces and mediums.

Now, I no longer rely on feedback to motivate me because I know I might not really get any. And that's fine, I like sharing my stories regardless of the size of the audience. Just one happy reader sharing their thoughts is good enough for me :)

Instead, I motivate myself to finish stories because I don't work on anything else until I finish each idea. This can sometimes mean I have to take a break for a week or two because I'm stuck at a certain point in the story. But I always avoid working on new stories until I finish the WIP I started first. And I won't post something until it's fully completed. In a way, this motivates me to finish a story because I get excited by the thought of getting to share it with everyone!

In the past, I would jump from idea to idea and end up so confused by it all that I never really wrote anything. Just a couple of hundred words for multiple fics that never ended up becoming full scenes. Now, I would much rather wait until I feel the creative spark and focus all of my energy into one story. As a result, I end up finishing them! And it feels so good to finally complete something that I often go right into creating a new story within a few days, as I still have that creative energy flowing through me.

Also, it might sound funny, but I totally get motivated by making playlist and Pinterest boards. Sometimes, listening to a specific song or looking at the images I have saved can give me a sudden boost of motivation and creativity. If you don't make playlists or boards, maybe try giving them a shot to see if they help? It might not, but it might become a fun hobby!

02. In terms of writing influence, I grew up reading a lot, but I gravitated towards my favourite writers. Mainly, Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk and Anne Rice. They all have vastly different styles. I don't think my writing particularly follows their trends, though I do sometimes find little lines appearing that give a similar vibe. For example, sometimes my character's inner voice can be very biting, sardonic even. They have a strange sense of humour or fascination with something. This feels like a bit of Palahniuk's influence creeping in. So overall, I would say I developed my own style but that I do have some influences, which some readers might pick up on.

I've been writing as an hobby for over 10 years now. My very early work, most of which is no longer online, would probably shock some readers. Though there is a similar vibe with how I write characters, the themes, the dialogue - it's nothing like my current style! It's developed a lot over the years, and I've finally reached a place that I'm happy with it. It's not too short and lacking in substance, but it's also not too long that it drags on and feels bloated.

There was a time when I was stuck with the latter style, and I could see it in my ongoing stories. It really affected my ability to write for a long time because I couldn't get back into that style. I started to hate how big the stories were, how many scenes felt pointless and served no use to plot. So, I just stopped writing altogether.

When I finally gave writing a shot again after a long hiatus, starting with Return of the Motherfucking King and then perfect crimes, I decided to just drop everything and start again. Go for a punchier style, just writing hard and fast and leaving the deeper stuff for later. I started focusing on just getting the skeleton of the scenes written. Then I would go back, fatten them up, add more description and dialogue if required. The result was I ended up writing much quicker, and the stories no longer felt bloated.

I'm glad I've been able to trim away the unnecessary stuff to reach a style I'm comfortable with. It took time to reach this point, so don't ever feel bad or lacking if you are still finding the style that suits you best.

03. Advice is a tricky subject for me. As someone that never studied writing and just started for fun, I always worry about giving bad advice that could affect someone's technical skills.

One piece of advice I have that has never failed me is planning scenes. Personally, I cannot write without planning out the plot of the story. The plans don't have to be 100%, in fact I find just having a loose idea of how a scene will go, and how it connects to the next, is often better than having the entire story planned. This is because the scene might evolve when you start writing and become something different. And that's totally fine! The point of the plan isn't to tell you what you have to write, but more to guide your thoughts towards a specific plot point or scene of development. If that makes sense?

Personally, I had an issue with writing for a long time. I would try and force myself to write, only to create scenes I ended up not liking and felt pointless. Recently, I decided to only write when I feel a creative burst and to just read over and review chapters when I'm not as creative. The end result has been very good for me! I find my creative moments are much more productive, and that my moments of reflection help me visualise and plan future scenes better.

It also helps that I have someone to bounce my ideas off. Honey has been invaluable with helping me with all of my Ateez fics. Not only in reviewing and editing, but also in helping me create entire scenes. Sometimes, her vision for something is much better than mine. This is less advice, more just sharing something that has helped me out with a creative slump. If you have a friend or mutual that also creates, asking for advice can sometimes help a lot!

Truly, the best piece of advice I can give you is that it's okay to not write. If you're having a bad day, or you just can't seem to overcome a hurdle in the story, you can always step back at any time. Stepping back and reflecting really helps me when I'm having troubles with my own stories.

At the end of the day, I write for fun! I write to create stories that Honey and I enjoy, just because we struggle to find such content in our fandoms. If I'm not having fun, what's the point?

#*ask

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

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My Name Isn't

Summary: You find out the guys (Bucky, Steve, and Sam) have a bet as to who can kiss you first, so you confront them at Tony's team building karaoke night.

Warnings: some swearing and drinking

Word Count: 3187

a/n: This was inspired by my love of the classic using karaoke to express your feelings trope and the song My Name Isn't by LOVA. I did change the lyric "yours" into "doll" though because it made sense in the story.

"Not a chance, Wilson." Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve walked into the room, unbothered by the familiar sounds of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes arguing.

"C'mon tin man, you afraid you're gonna lose?' Sam couldn't help but tease the super soldier.

"It's a stupid bet! Steve tell him it's a stupid bet." Bucky stared at his best friend, silently begging for him to agree.

Steve's tone could only be described as exasperated when he responded, "what is it this time?"

"I bet Barnes and Noble over here," Sam stopped talking to dodge the book Bucky threw at him, "that I could get Y/N to kiss me before he could, and he's too chicken shit to take the bet."

"It's a stupid bet!" Bucky was gearing up to throw another book when Steve chimed in. "I don't know Buck, it could get you to finally act on your feelings for her."

Bucky rolled his eyes, responding with his typical denial "I don't have any feelings, punk."

Sam and Steve shared an obvious "this man is lying" look before turning back to Bucky.

"Fine, Cap since Bucky won't take the bet, will you?" The mischievous gleam in Sam's eye shown through as Steve weighed his options.

"It is a pretty stupid bet, but I'm doing this for you Buck." Clapping Bucky on the shoulder, he turned to Sam. "I'm in." As Steve went to shake Sam's hand, Bucky gave in.

"Fine! Fine. All three of us. The first one to kiss her wins." Bucky reluctantly agreed.

"Now, what does the winner get?" Sam posed the question, mischief clear in his eyes.

The first time you had an inkling that something was afoot was your training with Steve and Bucky later that same day. Steve wasn't overly touchy or anything that would make you uncomfortable, this is America's Golden Boy after all, but he kept calling you "honey" or some variation of it. You'd throw a punch and rather than correcting your form in his usual commanding Captain voice, he would feed you a random compliment followed by a "try it like this hun."

You left the gym confused and with more energy than one would typically have after training with Steve Rogers. Luckily for you, Nat and Wanda noticed it too.

"What was that about?" Wanda asked as soon as the three of you were out of earshot.

"I don't have a clue." Your expression of complete confusion was enough to convince the two women you were telling the truth.

"I always thought Barnes had a thing for you. I wouldn't expect Steve of all people to try to mess that up. Especially with how obvious you are!" Nat chimed in. You've never regretted anything more than getting drunk and admitting your feelings for the brunette super soldier to the two women.

"Ugh, are the two of you ever gonna forget about that?" Your question was rhetorical as you nearly slammed the door to your room, but it didn't stop the two women from shouting "not a chance" and "only if you tell him" through the door.

The second time you noticed the weird behavior was the next day. You were running through some basic defense moves with some new Shield agents when Sam walked in with Bucky.

Now, normally Sam avoids you in the gym because he knows you'll kick his ass. All your time spent training with Nat mixed with your advanced perception skills meant you are a force to be reckoned with in the gym. This time though, he asked to spar before running through his typical warm up routine.

"You sure, Wilson? I wouldn't want to bruise your ego any further." You joked with him, unsure of his motives.

"Oh I'm sure, baby. Do your worst."

So you did. You had him on the mat in 4 minutes even, not letting the "baby" comment phase you until later in the night when you were with Wanda and Nat.

"First, Steve keeps calling me honey. Now Wilson is in on it with baby! What the hell is going on?'

The three of you shared identical shrugs, choosing to ignore it for now in favor of girls night.

Your days continued with the random comments from Sam and Steve. Of course, after the first 24 hours you noticed a pattern emerging. The two men would only use the pet names if Bucky was in the room. If Bucky couldn't overhear what was being said, everything was normal, but all bets were off if he so much as stepped in the room. It was constant affection and compliments from the two men.

You were thinking about the pattern you'd discovered, along with what it could mean, when Tony barged into the common room like a man on fire.

He surveyed the room, noting the presence of nearly every team member. The only three missing? Sam, Steve, and Bucky. You had a feeling they were most definitely up to something. "Oh perfect, most of you are here already! I have decided we don't do enough team building. Saving the world is stressful and we deserve to relax, so... drumroll please!" He waited for an extended period of time, until you, Wanda, and Vision gave him a lackluster drumroll. "That could use some work, but I'm not going to let it bring me down. We're doing karaoke! I rented out a bar for tonight, so clear your schedules ladies and gentlemen! We start at 8."

To say he was met with mixed results would be underselling the range of reactions. Nat looked ready to kill him. Thor was so excited, he reminded you of a golden retriever playing fetch. Most everybody else fell somewhere in the middle.

"Y/N, be a dear and let the three stooges know would ya? I don't know where they are and I don't feel like finding them." Tony didn't wait for a response before leaving the room just as rapidly as he entered it.

"I guess that's my cue. I'll be back and we can at least get ready together?" You looked to Nat and Wanda for confirmation before leaving to find Steve, Bucky, and Sam.

You checked Sam's room first because it's the closest to the common area, but there was no sign of life. Steve and Bucky's rooms sat similarly untouched. You went to the gym, the pool, the game room, and circled back to the kitchen but they were nowhere to be seen. Finally, you gave up the impromptu game of hide and seek asking FRIDAY where they were.

"FRIDAY, do you know where Steve, Bucky, and Sam are?"

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Lieutenant General Wilson are on the roof." The AI responded so fast, it had you wondering why didn't just ask her 40 minutes ago when their rooms were all empty.

"What the hell are they doing on the roof?" You huffed as you made your way back to the elevator.

"They are the discussing the terms of their bet." FRIDAY's response surprised you. You hadn't meant to actually receive an answer, but now that you did you were curious.

"What bet?" You continued the line of questioning as the elevator rose to the roof access point.

"The three made a bet to see who could get you to kiss them first."

Suddenly, all the pet names and compliments made sense.

"Son of a bi-" You cut yourself off as the elevator door opened, leading you directly to the three men in question. They turned abruptly, clearly caught off guard by anyone coming to the roof.

"Finally. I've been looking for you three everywhere!" You kept the new found information to yourself for the time being. "Tony decided we're doing karaoke tonight. We're supposed to be at the bar he rented out by 8pm." You smiled, taking in the slightly guilty expressions on each of their faces. Even if FRIDAY hadn't told you, it would be painstakingly obvious you caught them talking about you.

"Thanks doll, we'll make sure we're there." You felt the butterflies in your stomach at the pet name, but quickly shut it down. You wouldn't be giving in to their bet that easily.

"No problem, see you boys soon." You winked, pressing the button to bring you back to the main floor. You had a plan to make after all.

"Well, it's karaoke why don't you just sing a song to call them out on it?" Wanda suggested another idea as you all got ready to head to the bar.

"That could work. You just need the perfect song." Nat chimed in, quickly applying some mascara.

"Wanda, you're a genius, and I think I have just the one." You grinned, pulling the song up to play while you finished getting ready.

Upon entering the bar, you immediately started second guessing your plan. That is, until the pet names came out to play. Sam was back at it with calling you baby, and Steve right there beside him with honey.

When you put your name down to sing, Wanda and Nat were right there with you, hyping you up and providing some liquid courage. Four drinks in and you finally felt just tipsy enough to actually follow through with your plan.

With the encouraging words from Nat and Wanda playing through your mind, you walked up to the stage, pulling up your chosen song on the karaoke machine.

You decided to play the beginning of the song off as a coincidence, not wanting to clue the guys in too early.

"One, two, three have been staring at me. It's been going all night."

You made eye contact with Nat and Wanda, fully relying on the feminist in you to knock these guys down a few pegs. By the time the chorus rolled around, you were ready.

Making direct eye contact with Sam, you put as much sass as possible into the next line.

"My name isn't 'baby,' you cannot say whatever you feel like. I am not the things you call me."

Switching your target from Sam to Steve, you kept going with the performance.

"My name isn't 'honey,' I will always do whatever I feel like. Honestly, you don't know me."

Clearly the three of them realized you knew about their bet, but you were on a roll. Switching focus to Bucky, you switched up the words a little bit to put him on blast as well.

"My name isn't... doll. My name isn't... doll."

The girls must have filled in the rest of the group, because you now had Bruce, Thor, Vision, Tony, Pepper, Clint, Wanda, and Nat cheering you on. They were whopping and hollering in agreement with the lyrics.

"We ain't got the time for you messing around so cut the deal."

"Cut the deal!!" You heard Tony yelling out as an echo, shaking your head with a slight chuckle.

"So don't come here and say, 'boys will be boys.' Behind every act there's always a choice."

The three men in question at least had the decency to look ashamed of their actions. Of course, that wasn't enough for you to not put them on blast through another round of the chorus.

The high from calling them out wore off right around the line:

"Do you really think that you can get your way by playing the same game."

Singing those words made you realize exactly what just happened. You held it together, put up a front long enough to get through the last chorus. Singing the last line to Bucky, you felt like your emotions were all over your face. The annoyance that the bet existed. The pain at him being part of it. The love you'd been trying to hide. All of it felt like it was right out in the open.

"My name isn't... Doll. My name isn't, my name isn't... Doll."

You took a quick bow in thanks for all the applause, before running off the stage. You didn't stop at the table with Nat and Wanda, nor did you stop for the three men trying to apologize. You made it outside, running about five blocks before even taking in your surroundings. Noticing a McDonald's, you sent a quick prayer that the ice cream machine was actually functioning before ducking inside.

The team stood with mouths hanging open at your sudden departure.

"What the hell just happened?" Tony posed the question to the group, knocking them out of their stupor.

Bucky was the first to follow you outside, his panic growing when he didn't see you leaning against any of the brick walls.

"Where is she?" Steve asked, spinning in circles right alongside Bucky while the rest of the group filed out the door.

"I don't know!" Bucky turned on Steve and Sam. "I never should have agreed to that stupid bet. Dammit!" Running his hands through his hair, he took off down the street calling a quick, "I'll look this way" over his shoulder.

He moved quickly down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for your sparkly, dark red dress. He looked through the windows of the many store fronts as he passed them. About five blocks later, he was about to turn around, assuming you went a different direction when he saw the familiar golden "m". A memory from about three weeks ago was quick to flash through his mind.

The team just came back from a two and a half week mission yesterday, meaning Tony was bound to throw a party today. It went about the same as most Tony Stark parties go; a lot of schmoozing until most guests left and the team could actually let loose.

You let a little looser than normal at the after party. After the mission required you to pretend to be married to Bucky, you felt like you deserved it. It was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings from him, especially when he insisted on walking you to your room after the party.

In a last ditch effort to avoid any drunk escapades, you asked him to take you to McDonald's instead of your room.

"Please Bucky?" You asked, drawing out the words and adding a small pout for good measure. "I just want a McFlurry and some fries! Please!"

"Sure, doll. We can go to McDonald's." You jumped up and down clapping, hugging him as you praised him for being so kind.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are the nicest, most perfect man to ever live. Let's gooooo!!" He smiled at your antics, leading you to one of the many cars Tony kept stocked, not quite trusting you to ride a motorcycle at the moment.

After getting the food, the two of you ate together in the car. You, of course, insisting he try dipping the fries in the ice cream.

Reluctantly, he admitted it wasn't that bad before driving the two of you home. He dropped you off at your door, receiving a whispered "thank you" and a quick kiss to the cheek from you.

He smiled at the memory before walking inside. He found you in a booth toward the back, unsurprisingly dipping fries into your ice cream

"Y/N, I'm so sorry." You didn't even look up when he started speaking, choosing instead to study the m&ms in your dessert. "Really. It was a stupid bet. Hell, I didn't even want to do it, but then that punk and birdman teamed up against me and I couldn't let them do it without me! It would've killed me to know one of them kissed you. It was so stupid and I should've just shut it down. I'm so sorry. You deserve so much more than that." He trailed off, waiting for you to say something.

You gestured to the seat across from you, pushing some fries toward him. "It was a stupid bet."

You waited until his mouth was full before asking "Why would it have killed you?" Watching him nearly choke on his fries was oddly satisfying.

"What?" He tried to deflect the question. You shook your head, passing him a napkin.

"You said it would have killed you to know one of them kissed me. Why?" You looked him in the eye as you ate another fry.

"Well, you see, I... um, maybe have um... feelings." It was his turn to stare intently at the m&ms. He mumbled a quick "get yourself together" under his breath before continuing. "I like you. Hell, I think I love you. I don't know when it started, but suddenly you are all I can think about. I worry about you constantly when your on a mission without me, even though I know you can take care of yourself. I see little things that remind me of you everywhere. Like yesterday, I saw a buttercup on the side of the road and I couldn't stop thinking about the time you spent a good twenty minutes ranting about how spring is the worst season."

Suddenly, you were on a tangent. "Because it is! It's always raining, it's muggy, it's always freezing in the morning and way too hot in the afternoon so you have to carry all these extra layers-"

"I love you. That's why it would've killed me. I don't even want to think about you with another-"

It was your turn to cut him off, doing so by leaning across the small table to kiss him. It was quick, but you still felt fireworks.

"I love you too." Your words were sweet, but shifted when you said the rest of your sentence. "I just have one more question." The smirk on your face made him nervous, but he was more than willing to answer anything.

"What do you get for winning?"

After talking with Bucky, you texted Nat and Wanda to let them know you were okay and the two of you were headed back to the compound. You beat everyone else back, but decided to wait for them in the common area.

Steve and Sam came in with their heads low, struggling to make eye contact.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. We never should have made that bet." Steve started, aware of all the eyes on him.

"Me too. It was stupid and thoughtless." Sam added on.

"It was, but you are forgiven." You reached for Bucky's hand, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Bucky told me the winner of your little bet gets to pick the music for all forms of travel on the next three missions." You grinned at their confused expressions. "Bucky, being the winner, has so graciously bestowed that gift to me now. Get ready boys. I'm talking High School Musical. Hamilton. I'll have the two of you singing Taylor Swift in the shower." You, along with the rest of the team, laughed at their expense. Their grim expressions had you smiling, "oh please, I know you secretly love it!"

"Now, I have to go to bed. I have a date tomorrow." You winked at Bucky before sauntering off down the hall, the cheers of your teammates following you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #marvel fic #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #tony stark #marvel

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lululawrence · 3 years

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Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

Note

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess?#am i qualified to give this?#no #but im doing it anyway

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

The Nanny [Maxwell Lord x Dave York x F!Reader] SMUT

Summary: Dave York is cold and rough around the edges, but he’s all you’ve ever been used to. And you’ve never been opposed to the amazing sex that comes alongside working for him, as a nanny for his two young daughters. However, things seem to spice up when you’re requested to watch over none other than Maxwell Lord’s son, and the two meet in an unlikely situation.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT; threesome, unprotected piv, fingering, male receiving oral, female receiving oral, orgasm denial, creampie, cunnilingus, choking, slapping, use of handcuffs, use of vibrator (on Maxwell!), face fucking, degradation kink, voyeurism kink, praise kink, food mention, allusions to murder/missing person. The suburban murder daddy and my sexy capitalist boyfriend come with their own warnings ;)

Word Count: 7000>

Masterlist

REBLOGS ARE SO APPRECIATED. 💛

He was your best customer. You’d been a nanny for the York family for two years now, and Alice and Molly were sweetest children you’d ever worked with. They were good as gold, always doing their homework to the best of their ability, they had wonderful manners thanks to their parenting, and they played nicely together. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a second motive for babysitting the girls.

Dave York was a single father. Despite being close to the family, you never asked what happened to Carol (his ex-wife/Alice and Molly’s mother), you assumed it was a touchy subject and quite frankly, none of your business. It did pique your curiosity though, how she had just seemed to vanish into thin air. It was unexplained, and you assumed it was hard on the family, especially the kids. Although Dave had been handling it quite well all things considered. It was strange to you, how they never spoke a word of her. She was truly an enigma. You saw her face in the very few family portraits that were peppered around the house, but that was all.

When Carol disappeared two years ago, Dave figured he’d need an extra pair of hands to help around the house while he was at work. You had your own place, sure, but you practically lived with the York family anyway. You had the mornings and early afternoons to yourself because Molly went to school, Alice got sent to daycare and Dave went to the office, but it was at night when he needed you the most.

You didn’t know where Dave went at night. He’d call you, once or twice a week on short notice, telling you he needed you to watch the girls. Whatever he was doing, he called it business, and didn’t explain it further. Dave was super accommodating to you, immediately telling you that you could just make yourself at home in his beautiful, extensive sized suburban house. He was like family to you. In fact, he was more. Dave relished in his own independence, but the truth was, he relied on you more than he’d like to admit.

You had your own room-- a soft, plush queen sized bed all to yourself. He even let you decorate. You smiled fondly at the memory of getting the girls to help paint the walls with you while their father was out on a ‘job’ one night. Your smile grew even wider when you remembered hearing the front door open in the early hours of the morning, and shuffling about downstairs. Every time Dave would come home, he’d slide into your bedroom and climb on top of you, smelling suspiciously like blood and sweat (although you knew better than to question it). His demeanour was ravenous and primal as he’d slide his thick, calloused fingers along your body. He’d push your nightgown up, squeeze your thighs, lift your legs up and wrap them around his waist. You were fucking him, sure. And you had been for the past two years. He was the most attractive man you’d ever met, with dark hair and big brown eyes. He was rough around the edges, intimidating, but it only spurred you on even more. Of course, nothing was ever made official. You were nothing more than his daughters’ nanny, just lucky enough to have your own bedroom in the York family home.

Dave was your only source of income, and he provided you with enough to get by. You never requested a large sum of money for watching the girls-- to be honest, you’d be satisfied enough with just the sex, but the pay was decent. You hadn’t really gotten any other babysitting jobs, and when you had, you’d deny them for the sake of keeping Dave in good spirits. You’d favour him over any client. Except today.

Your phone rang and you dived into your purse to answer it. The girls were playing on the floor and Dave was buttoning up his winter coat. “Hello?” you answered, not recognising the number.

“Yes, hello,” a feminine voice replied. “This is Raquel, I’m an assistant to Mr. Maxwell Lord, the CEO of Black Gold Cooperative.”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head upon recognising the name. “The oil guy from TV?!” you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth in disbelief. Dave turned to you, quirking an eyebrow as he tried to gauge your reaction.

“As you may know, Mr. Lord is an esteemed businessman and well, he saw your advertisement in the paper saying you were a nanny-for-hire.” Raquel trailed off before pushing straight to the point. “He has a son, Alistair, six years old. He was wondering if you could watch him tonight? We’ve tried every other nanny in the area but no one else can take him short notice.”

“I- I’m actually on a job right now…” you bit your lip nervously.

“Mr. Lord will pay handsomely.” Raquel hummed, trying to coherese you.

“Just a moment,” you placed your mobile on the coffee table and looked up at Dave, whose dark eyes were already burning into you. They hadn’t left you once. He gave you a questioning look and a shaky exhale left your lips. You didn’t know why you were this nervous -- maybe it was just the intimidating aura Dave gave off. “Uhm… you know that guy on the television with the blonde hair who sells oil?”

“Maxwell Lord.” Dave said, matter-of-factly. You were slightly impressed that Dave already knew who he was.

“Uh… yeah, well. He has a son, apparently. And he can’t get a sitter. And he’s asked for me.” Dave’s expression didn’t change once.

“And?”

Why was your heart beating this fast? Why were you so fucking afraid of pissing Dave off?

“I-- nothing. You’re right. I’ll just tell him--” you stammered, reaching to grab your cell again.

“--tell him that you’ll take the job, I hope.” Dave’s lips curled into a smirk as he finished your sentence for you.

That was… weird. He didn’t seem jealous or anything like he’d usually be. He fiddled with the rest of his buttons on his coat before flicking his wrist out and checking the time on his watch.

“Are you-- are you sure?” you asked cautiously.

“Of course!” Dave beamed. “How old is the kid?”

“Same age as Alice.” you hummed.

“Perfect,” Dave smiled before kneeling down to kiss the forehead of his two little girls. “Daddy’s heading out now but there’s gonna be a little boy coming over to play with you. So be kind to him, okay?”

“Okay daddy, love you.” Molly smiled, wrapping her small chubby arms around her father’s neck.

“Love you too princess.” Dave chuckled and your heart gushed with warmth upon witnessing the interaction. Dave York might have been a scary man but he was a hell of a good father.

“Hi,” you said, picking the phone back up and putting it to your ear. “I can watch his kid but-- he’ll have to bring him here. Uhm… how long for?”

“One second,” Raquel hummed, holding the phone to her chest and looking over at the blonde haired businessman who was sitting at his expensive oak wood desk, neck deep in paperwork. “Mr. Lord?” Maxwell glanced up at Raquel, his eyes tired and a strand of his hair falling in his face. “She can do it but she requests that you bring Alistair over to the house she’s currently working at. And she wants to know how long she’ll have to watch him for.”

Maxwell sighed, exasperated, before looking back down at the paperwork and trying to gauge how long it would take him. “Three… four hours maybe?”

Raquel nodded her head in understanding. “Four hours max,” she promised you. “What is the address?” You gave her the address of the York homestead, watching Dave as he left the house without even muttering as much as a goodbye. Raquel scribbled down the address and handed it over to Maxwell who stood up and fixed his tie. “Thank you Ms Y/L/N, your service is very much appreciated.”

“Oh please just call me--”

And then the line went dead. That was… weird.

Maxwell grabbed his suit jacket and straightened out his clothes, grimacing at the ache in his back that he had from sitting at his desk all day. He shuffled out of his office, took the elevator downstairs, and found his son Alistair playing with a train set in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative.

“Daddy!” Alistair cried out excitedly, shooting to his feet and running up to his father.

“Hi buddy!” Maxwell grinned, forcing out some enthusiasm as he knelt down and wrapped his arms around Alistair, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Are you finished work now? Can we go home?” Alistair quizzed, and Maxwell’s heart broke at the hopeful spark in his eyes.

“Ah-- not quite,” Maxwell admitted and Alistair’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “But I’m going to take you over to someone’s house… a uh-- a friend! And she will watch over you until daddy finishes work. I just don’t want you to be bored, okay? Raquel is going home now and I can’t… I can’t watch you. So…”

Alistair frowned sadly. “But I don’t want to go… I want to stay here. With you.” he mumbled.

“I know sweetie, but I won’t be too late, okay? And once I’m done tonight we can spend the whole day tomorrow together. How does that sound?”

“You said that yesterday…” Alistair whispered.

Maxwell sighed and pulled his son into an even tighter hug. “I-- I’m sorry. You know I’m doing my best, don’t you?”

“I know.” Alistair sniffed.

“And I want to give you the best life. Better than all the other kids. And better than what your old man had when he was your age. So… I have to work hard, okay? And one day you’ll get your pool that you want. And the pony and the race car…”

“I don’t want that daddy, I just want you.” Alistair confessed, his dark eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Maxwell pressed a kiss into Alistair’s forehead and pulled off him. “Okay. Go get your coat and I’ll pack up your trainset.”

“Can I take it to your friend’s house?” he questioned, his lips curling into a smile.

“Of course.” Maxwell replied.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Holy shit. He was even more attractive in real life than what he was on television. You weren’t necessarily nervous when you heard the knock on the door, but when you answered it, your heart slammed against your chest. Maxwell Lord stood before you, holding the hand of his son, but your eyes were just completely fixated on him. He donned a slightly oversized power-suit that broadened his shoulders significantly. It was a pale blue colour and even under the dark evening sky you noticed the lilac and purple tie and matching pocket square. It made you smile. It was endearing, almost.

“Good evening.” Max grinned that same, charming, TV smile that was so familiar.

“Hi.” you sighed longingly, your eyes wide and doe-shaped as you became lost in his gaze.

He looked like a fairytale prince. His hair was styled perfectly and despite the hour, you’d never expected his designer outfit to be pressed so perfectly.

“I’m Max Lord.” Maxwell greeted.

“I know.” you hummed, biting your lip as your eyes trailed down his body.

Maxwell chuckled, finding you absolutely adorable. He cleared his throat and gently pushed a begrudgent Alistair in front of him. “This is my son, Alistair.”

“Yeah…” you murmured. Molly tugged on your arm and pulled you straight out of your thoughts about Mr. Lord. “Uhm-- shit! Right. Sorry!” you gasped, becoming flustered. “Oh fuck-- I didn’t mean to curse-- I just--”

Maxwell raised his eyebrows and gently placed a hand on your arm. “It’s okay.” he said slowly and you felt your cheeks flush with heat.

“Um…” you took Alistair’s hand and grinned. “Hi love, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” Alistair said quietly.

“Now Ali, don’t be shy.” Maxwell chastised.

“It’s okay,” you reassured Maxwell. “Uhm, this is Molly.” you presented Alistair and Maxwell with Dave’s little girl who had been standing by your side the entire time.

Alistair’s eyes lit up excitedly when he saw Molly. “Hi Molly, I’m Alistair Lorenz--Lord. Do you maybe want to be friends?”

“Hi Alistair Lord. I’m Molly York. Do you like popcorn?”

“Yes.” Alistair nodded merrily.

“Okay. We can be friends. Come with me.” Molly said, grabbing Alistair’s hand and pulling him into the house.

“I don’t have many friends…” you overheard Alistair say as the children padded into the living room and your heart shattered. He was clearly such a sweet little boy.

“Uhm, thanks for the favour. Short-notice and all.” Maxwell said, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s honestly fine.” you assured Max.

“Okay. Good. It was uh-- nice to meet you.” Maxwell smiled, before taking your hand and brushing a soft yet polite kiss over your knuckles. His gaze didn’t break away from you once and the butterflies in the pit of your stomach were overwhelming. His soft lips against your skin felt like an electric and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel capturing your own lips with his.

“You too.” you gasped.

“I’ll… see you later tonight.” Max grinned, dropping your hand and straightening out his suit once more.

“Okay. Yeah. Tonight.” you replied nervously, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Good night.” Max said politely before spinning around on his heel and walking back down the lawn to his Cadillac.

“Night!” you called after him, and he waved his hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As it turned out, Alistair was the sweetest little boy you had ever watched over. After Molly insisted you make popcorn, and Alice begged you to put on The Little Mermaid, the four of you were lounging on the floor in a hand-crafted pillow fortress. The conversations between the three children were endearing, to say the least.

Alice: Y/N, what do you want to be when you’re older?

You: Well, when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian and look after all the sick animals.

Molly: That’s what I want to do!

Alice: I want to be a princess.

Molly: What do you want to be, Alistair?

Alistair: I want to be like my dad, I s’pose.

Alistair didn’t talk much-- he definitely was shy and you could tell he wasn’t used to being around other kids, which was truly a shame. He didn’t have the communication skills that Alice and Molly had and by the sounds of it, he was living a pretty sheltered life-- private school and all. But if one thing was clear, it was how much Alistair idolised his father.

The kids played well together, all three of them dressing up as different Disney princesses. Before the movie even finished, they passed out and fell asleep on the floor. You didn’t bother carrying them to bed, not wanting to wake them. They looked comfortable enough in their LED lit castle made from blankets. So you just left them there, and changed into your own pajamas. You settled down for the evening with a glass of red wine and changed the movie to something you figured you’d enjoy more.

You found your mind wandering, thinking about the businessman whose son you were babysitting. In fact, you hadn’t even thought about Dave once. It was a welcome change. Maxwell was definitely gone for over four hours but he was so handsome, you absolutely could not stay mad at him for one moment. When the knock came at the door, at around 2a.m., you gasped and raced over to the mirror to fix your appearance the best you could. You grabbed your silk robe and wrapped it over your body before padding to the front door and unlocking it.

Maxwell greeted you with a bouquet of roses, and your jaw dropped. “Oh my--”

“These are for you.” Maxwell beamed. “An apology for being so late.”

“You really didn’t have too…” you smiled but graciously took the bouquet from him nonetheless. “Where did you even get these from? It’s so late. Nowhere’s open.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maxwell hummed, watching you intently as you turned away from him to place the roses on the side table in the entryway.

His eyes clung to your body and he admired the way the silk robe hung against your perfect shape, emphasising the curve in your ass and even the way your nipples poked through the material. It was cold outside, afterall. When you turned back to face him, you noticed that his eyes were almost black and lust blown. You swallowed and offered him a nervous smile.

“Alistair is asleep. Would you uhm-- like to come in? For a nightcap?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell’s response came instantly in a breathy sigh. He let himself in, pushing past you and his broad chest grazing against your own, much softer chest. “Nice place you have.”

“Oh… thanks. It’s actually not my home-- I mean, I live here but…”

“I used to live in this neighbourhood,” Maxwell muttered, nosing around the different rooms. “Before my big pay rise, obviously.”

You gulped and looked down, following him around the house. You opened the living room door. “Alistair is sleeping.” you whispered and Max just smiled. “The kitchen is this way. What do you usually drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?”

Yeah. Dave’s whiskey.

“Um yes… I think so…” you mumbled, checking the liquor cabinet.

You gasped when a strong arm wrapped around your waist and gave your hip a little squeeze. Maxwell nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and pressed a soft kiss into your skin. “Is it okay if I do this?” he whispered, licking a stripe across your jaw.

Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to fight back a moan. “Y-yes.”

Maxwell skillfully navigated his hand to the ribbon that binded your robe together and tugged on it so the thin material fell open. His large ring clad fingers rolled over your stomach and grabbed your tits, squeezing them a few times as he nibbled down onto your skin.

“Your wife… I mean-- uhm… Alistair’s mother?” you huffed, leaning into his touch. You had to make sure.

“Divorced.” Maxwell promised, and you smiled longingly before turning around and pressing your palms flat against his chest. He chuckled darkly and pushed the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the tiled kitchen floor.

He swallowed upon seeing you in your short lace nightgown, that cut off mid-thigh. He felt his cock began to throb within the confines of his tailored suit pants just from looking at you.

“So… hard day at the office?” you cooed, helping him out of his suit jacket and tugging on his tie.

“So hard.” Maxwell grumbled, biting his lip before leaning in and capturing your lips into a kiss. You moaned under his touch and pressed your body into his. His hands found your ass you began to rub your knee over his erection.

“I see,” you giggled. “Would you… would you like to see my bedroom, Mr. Lord.”

Maxwell grinned and pecked your lips. “Yeah, but please, call me Max.”

Max.

God, you were smitten.

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You had been so caught up with Maxwell you had honestly forgotten about Dave. The same Dave who came home at around 3 a.m. every single night, who fucked you senseless until you couldn’t walk the next morning. He was a man who didn’t want to be messed with-- but shamelessly, you had completely forgotten about him. And poor Max hadn’t even got a warning. The second Dave got home and saw the discarded bouquet of roses on the side table, he saw red. Someone else trying to seduce you? That was never going to be okay with Dave. You were his and his only.

“Oh fuck Max please,” you gasped, thrusting your hips upwards as he needlily sucked on your clit. You arched your back, burying your face into your soft pillow. “So good.”

“You taste so fucking sweet.” Maxwell gasped, the curve of his nose nudging against your sensitive bud. You cried out with pleasure and grabbed a fistful of the blankets as you felt yourself begin to chase your oncoming high.

“Doesn’t she?” Dave’s deep voice came from the bedroom door, where he’d been watching Maxwell go down on you for the last ten minutes. Your heart dropped when you heard him-- and clearly, it was unexpected for Maxwell too. His chocolate brown eyes looked up at you as he tore his face from your soaking pussy. His lips were wet with the sheen from your arousal and he licked at them, relishing your flavour before turning around to face Dave.

Dave chuckled dryly. “No, please, don’t stop. I can't have you deny my nanny of an orgasm, can I?”

You felt your eyes go comically wide. “Dave I-- I can explain-”

“No need babygirl,” Dave reassured you, but his tone was dripping with malice. “Now… why don’t you show Mr. Lord how good you can be by cumming in his mouth?”

Maxwell hummed in surprise and proceeded to press a sloppy kiss into the apex of your thigh before giving you a kitten lick between your folds. “Fuck!” you gasped, celebrating in the way his golden tongue felt like magic. He was a salesman, sure, and a persuasive one at that-- but Maxwell Lord knew how to use his tongue efficiently, that much was clear.

“Didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” Maxwell growled, pinching your skin between his teeth.

“I don’t.” you sighed, tossing your head slightly and reaching down to lace your fingers into the CEO’s hair.

“So who is he?” Maxwell interrogated. You held back, knowing that if you replied he might stop lapping you up. It felt too good to risk it. Maxwell plunged a thick finger into your entrance without warning, causing you to squeal at the intrusion.

“Shit!” you cried out. Maxwell steadied his finger inside of you and began to brush the digit against your sweet spot as he began sucking on your clit, his cheek even hollowing. “I can’t-- I can’t hold on. I’m gonna--”

Your orgasm struck you before you could even get the words out. The hot blaze of wildfire rushed through your body and your mind was filled with such haze you hadn’t even heard Dave discard his belt and unzip his own trousers.

Maxwell dug his fingernails into your inner thighs as you came undone in his mouth. Gently, he pulled away from you again and stood up. His eyes followed Dave who was now naked and pumping his cock by the side of the bed.

“Who are you?” Maxwell changed his tactic by asking the darker haired man this time.

“You’ll soon find out,” Dave shot back. He turned to you and raised his hand, slapping your cheek so you focused your attention on him rather than Max. Maxwell was taken aback by his action, but truth be told, sex with Dave was always on the rougher side. “Open your mouth.” Dave commanded, and you happily obliged.

Still laying on your back, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Dave pressed one knee down onto the bed next to you and pushed his cock in between your lips before fucking your mouth. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you adjusted to his length, and he thrusted into you with no remorse. You were used to it though, gagging around his girth and letting a mixture of your saliva and his precum dip down your face.

Maxwell’s eyes darted between you and Dave. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on before.

“Take your clothes off,” Dave said to Max, before groaning as you swiped your tongue along the underside of his cock. “Baby, why don’t you watch him undress.”

Maxwell stood up, even feeling slightly nervous. He shouldn’t be nervous. He’d hosted thousands of high press business meetings before, he’d even spoken at the White House and done broadcasts that had been seen by millions all around the world. He stood up and began to slowly undo the buttons down his shirt, and, just like Dave had requested, you watched him with a primal glint in your eye.

He was so hot. He wore an undershirt too. And when he took that off, it revealed a gorgeous tan chest. You watched him pull down his tailored pants and noticed the small pink blush cross his cheeks. That’s when you decided you actually, really liked Max.

You liked Dave too. Dave knew how to satisfy you in every way possible. He was always there, ready to go. And Dave was your protector. Somehow, you just knew that if anyone ever hurt you, Dave would make sure they never got the liberty of meeting you again. Dave was brutal, and certainly a little rough around the edges, but you didn’t mind it.

This thing with Maxwell though was new. He was handsome and polite. You’d never had a customer bring you red roses as a token of their appreciation before. He was flirtatious but also, so far, sex with him had been a lot sweeter and passionate. It was a new experience and you certainly weren’t opposed to it.

Once Max was completely naked, Dave’s lips curled into a smirk. “Good boy,” he cooed, and Maxwell felt his cock twitch at the appraisal. “You can use her, you know? Do whatever you want. Why don’t you fuck her?”

Of course the thought had crossed Maxwell’s mind, but he’d never got off with a woman in front of another man before. His delay in a response prompted Dave to speak up.

“I see you on TV,” Dave chuckled. “I know you’re not shy.”

That’s when Max remembered he had a reputation to uphold. Dave was right, he wasn’t shy. Maxwell Lord was powerful and he exuded confidence and charisma. He wasn’t going to let Dave intimidate him anymore.

You pulled off Dave with a wet pop and gasped for air. “He’s right Max,” you assured him, wiping your lips. “Anything you want.”

“I want a blowjob,” Maxwell shrugged casually. Dave quirked an eyebrow.

“From me or her?” He asked incredulously and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up even more.

“Her obviously!” Maxwell said, his voice heightening an octave and you burst out into a fit of laughter.

“Okay,” you agreed and gave Dave a tug on his dick. “Change positions.”

Still hard, Dave padded over to the end of the bed and Maxwell knelt next to you.

“You’re so big Maxie,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock and starting to jerk him off slowly. Your pace was teasing, but Maxwell didn’t press you to go further. He knew you would in your own time. The nickname ‘Maxie’ had the blonde haired man throb in your hands and you giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his tip.

Dave turned around from the bed for just a second, and opened the bottom drawer of your dresser. He knew you kept a box of very special toys underneath all your panties, since he was the one who had bought them for you in the first place. Opening the velvet black box, he sighed in delight, reflecting on all the different things he could use.

Dave took out a pair of padded handcuffs and presented them to both you and Maxwell, the metal chain dangling before your eyes. He passed the cuffs to Max and pointed his finger.

“Tie her to the bed. It’ll keep her still while I fuck her.” Dave ordered and you felt your pussy clench around nothing as you anticipated what was to come.

“Are you alright with this?” Max leaned into you and whispered, wanting to be sure. His hot breath fanned over your earlobe and it sent a shiver down to your core. You nodded your head ‘yes’ and Maxwell unclicked the cuffs before carefully attaching them to your wrists, and then the bars of your headboard. You wiggled around, getting comfortable before spreading your legs wide for Dave.

You already felt yourself becoming increasingly sensitive from when you’d just come from Max’s tongue, but countless experiences with Dave meant that you could go at least another two or three times.

“Shit baby,” Dave muttered under his breath, drinking in the sight of you. Your folds were glistening and it was clear that Max’s thick finger had already stretched you open quite a bit. “You’re beautiful.”

“Come on and fuck me,” you moaned before turning to face Max again.

This entire time you’d been stroking his length, and like a good boy, he’d just been taking it. But Max had asked for a blow job and that was exactly what he was going to receive.

You started by giving him small kitten licks along his slit, collecting his salty precum on your tongue. You had to admit, he tasted delicious. He was thick though, thicker than Dave, and you managed to wrap your lips around just his head before feeling the need to take a moment to let your mouth adjust.

As you sucked on his tip, part of you wished that you weren’t cuffed to the bed. You would have brought your free hand down to the base of his cock and begin to cradle his balls, squeezing them and tracing your fingers along the skin there. The guttural whimpers that escaped Max’s throat were enough to soak your cunt again, which was just as well when you started to feel the bulbous head of Dave’s cock teasingly slide between your pussy lips.

The shock when Dave slid his entire length inside of you came without a warning, and somehow, it got you to open your mouth even wider so you could fit more of Max into your mouth. You supposed it all worked out.

The sound of the chain clanking against the metal bed frame filled the room as Dave began to thrust his cock in and out of you, his movements fast and rough just like always. He pulled your legs over his head, giving him complete access to sink himself right into you. You wanted to scream as he filled you up, his cock brushing against that sweet spot he had memorised inside of you every damn time.

Instead, you forced yourself to keep your cool and continued sucking off Max. You made the effort to open your eyes and look up at the boy who you had wrapped around your lips. His once styled hair was now disheveled and falling into his face, and you had to fight the urge to push it back. His chocolate brown eyes were on Dave though as he watched the man fuck you fast and hard. Dave’s pace was bruising and you knew that you wouldn’t last long.

Dave could tell you were close by the way your pussy walls clenched around him, aching to milk him of his seed.

“Want me to cum inside of you, pretty girl?” Dave asked, and you nodded your head desperately.

“Jesus-- fuck!” Max gasped, his large ring clad hands coming down to hold your head in place.

“You gonna cum down her throat, Lord?” Dave quizzed, but there was almost a taunting nature to his question that Max didn’t like one bit.

Getting a few more sucks out of you, Max doubled back and pulled himself out of your mouth completely, depriving himself of his own orgasm. You were surprised to say the least.

“You could’ve-- fuck-- you could’ve cum down my throat,” you moaned as Dave leaned over your fully exposed body and thrusted harder. “I would’ve let you.”

But Maxwell’s eyes had caught focused on the velvet black box Dave had left out. Curiously, he wandered over to it and took a look at the contents for himself.

While Max was momentarily absent, Dave made it his mission to get you to cum again. He brought his thumb down to your clit and began to rub tight circles into your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were so wet, the noises that were coming from your cunt were obscene and if you weren’t already so comfortable around Dave, you might have been embarrassed. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he started to chase his own high.

He knew that the second you came, the second your perfect pussy tightened around his cock, he’d spill inside of you. So that was his goal.

Maxwell familiarized himself with a small bullet vibrator, silver in colour, and switched it on. The buzzing noise alerted both you and Dave, your heads snapping to face him. Dave halted in his movements and you couldn’t hide the way your lips curled into a grin, seeing Max with the vibrator in his hand.

“Come here and untie me,” you requested of Max. Max gulped and removed the handcuffs from your wrists. You rubbed the skin where they’d been gripping you and took the vibrator from Max. “Have you ever used one of these before?”

“Huh?” Max asked, furrowing his eyebrows together. He’d initially planned on using it with you. Holding it against your clit while Dave fucked you.

You giggled and held the vibrator to the tip of Max’s cock. The vibrations ran through his body and his eyes snapped shut as the pleasure consumed him. How come he’d never thought of trying this before? It felt so good.

Dave resumed fucking you and now, with your free hands, it meant you could stroke Maxwell’s cock. The combination of the vibrator and your hand was enough to send Maxwell over the edge.

He came, all over your face, his milky white seed spurting out. His load was impressively big and you opened your mouth wide for him, hoping to at least taste some of it.

After that, it was like a chain reaction. Once Max had finished, the feeling of his warm cum dripping down your skin sent you into a frenzy and you came around Dave, your walls clenching around his manhood. The feeling of you gripping him tighter than a vice meant that on Dave’s final thrust, he spilled inside of you, just like he wanted. The heat of Max’s cum on your face and the warmth of Dave’s cum fill you up felt amazing. You laid there, panting and breathless, wondering how you had ever gotten so lucky.

You tossed the vibrator to one side and extended your arms, pulling Max down on top of you and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Was that okay?” you asked him, and he nodded his head, unable to hide the grin across his lips.

“Never done anything like that before,” Max admitted bashfully. “But I’d like to do it again.”

Helping Maxwell explore his sexuality like this could be really fun, you thought. You cupped your hands around his cheeks and he nudged his nose against yours. The intimacy between you both was outstanding and you loved every second of it.

“Good,” you smiled. “By the way, that’s Dave. He’s uhm.. I watch his kids.”

Maxwell looked back over at Dave who was tidying up the little black toybox. “Hi.” Dave mumbled awkwardly.

You shot your employer a glare. “Really Dave? You just fucked the shit out of me in front of Max, and now you’re gonna be all weird with him?”

Maxwell reluctantly pulled away from you, stifling a laugh before putting his clothes back on.

“You can uh, stay the night. If you like,” Dave offered. “It’s late and I’m sure you don’t wanna wake your kid up.”

Maxwell scratched the back of his head as he contemplated Dave’s comment. He made a good point. “I can take the couch?” Max asked. “I really don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly,” you smiled, interlocking your fingers with his and pulling him back over to your bed. “You can sleep with me… if you’d like.”

And boy did Maxwell like the sound of that. “Do you uh-- do you sleep with her? I mean. Besides her?” Max asked Dave.

“He never sleeps next to me,” you replied for him. “Prefers to sleep alone like the cold man he is.”

“Whatever,” Dave sighed. “I’m going to bed. Night.”

You rolled your eyes and blew Dave a kiss goodnight before turning back to Maxwell and pulling him back down onto the bed. You worked at the buttons of his shirt and pulled the expensive material off his broad shoulders.

“Is he… married?” Maxwell asked you nervously.

“Why? You interested?” you asked, a joking lilt to your voice, but Max just scowled. “No,” you told him. “His wife uh-- went missing a while ago. Before I worked here. She was presumed dead. Sometimes I think Dave killed her.” you scoffed incredulously and Maxwell’s jaw stood agape.

“Are you serious?” he asked and you laughed.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, swatting his arm playfully. “Dave can be cold, and rough. But behind that mean face he’s actually a good guy. A good father.”

Maxwell nodded knowingly. “Well that’s good then.” he mumbled. It was so easy to compare himself to other dads out there, knowing he’d never be good enough for Alistair.

“Are you okay?” you asked Max, smoothing out his dark blonde hair and kissing his jaw softly.

“Yeah, of course,” Maxwell reassured you, suddenly flashing one of his famous, charming television grins. He picked the bullet vibrator up and twiddled it between his fingers. “What do you think about going for a round two?” he smirked. “Just us. And maybe this time I can use this on you?”

You smiled, roaming your hands along his soft chest. “I like that idea.” you whispered wantonly before attaching your lips to his and pulling him on top of you.

You liked Dave. He knew his way around your body, he knew how to make you feel good and safe. But Maxwell came with feelings. He was attentive and affectionate, things you’d never had in a sexual relationship before. You were excited to see where things went between you two.

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pure-kirarin · 3 years

Text

Slow & Steady [P3] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

A/N : Hi !! sorry for publishing this later than I expected, but I got a beta reader and we worked on this chapter for longer. Please do tell me if you like this more <3 We put a lot of effort into it. Now, enjoy !~ Genre : Romance - Smut - Bestfriends to lovers General warnings : Alcohol consumption - Dark themes - Swearing - S m u t - possessiveness - Mention of ex-relationships - jealousy

Synopsis : Isn’t love a matter of timing after all ?That’s what Sabo has always thought. It was about finding the right tempo, making the right moves and hitting the right spot. Patience is a virtue after all, and he had a lot of it. It all started when your ex cheated on you. You were heartbroken, you needed someone and he was there. Was he always that hot ? You didn’t know. But after that night you have never seen him in the same way. Also, please guys comment because this is the first work I put so much efforts in. If I feel like people don't like it, it just feels not worth it to me and discourages me :( I have 2 other multichapters planned but I am thinking of abandoning them because people don't seem to like it...Anyways, please do interact if you like it :)

Part I - Part II -

In the last chapter :

You looked at Sabo go away and you followed him shortly after. Meanwhile Ace was sitting on the couch and watching some movies. You went back home and was quite tormented. It wasn’t the right time to worry as you had your assignments and studies to deal with. On one hand, you didn’t even have the time to think of your ex boyfriend and his cheating but on the other, you felt like you were let down by Sabo.

But why ? He didn’t do anything.

He just found himself a new friend and a potential new girlfriend.He didn’t even talk about her, but why where you so upset by him meeting her ? After all, he had the right to date just like you always did.A few days have passed and you didn’t get the chance to talk to Sabo. Your exams were getting closer and closer and you didn’t feel ready.Usually, Sabo would help you with your assignments but you were too scared to ask. You realized how much you relied on him and how he has been always there for you.

Who were you exactly to him ?

Maybe you took him for granted.

As you were on your bed looking at the ceiling and trying to collect every drop of motivation in your system to study, you heard your phone ring. It was Sabo’s ringtone !

P III

“Hi (Y/N),how are you doing?”

“Oh, Sabo! I'm fine. Kinda busy studying. And you? Haven't heard from you since last time.”

“Sorry about that. My schedule has been extremely tight lately. But I am free now!”

“I was just thinking of you. I have to turn in my history assignment tonight and I might need your help...Pleaaaaaase~ I know you're so good at history, please come save me!”

You could hear him laugh on the other side of the line. His laugh sounded so bright, making your heart flutter. You really did miss him. In the end, you were best friends, right?

“Alright! I'll come rescue you. After all, I have to make up for disappearing.”

“Sabo, you're the best! Would you mind coming to my place?”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes. See you then.”

“See you!”

Hanging up, you thought to yourself: you’ve never been this happy to see Sabo. You rolled on your bed in excitement. Twenty minutes seemed enough to make your room and yourself look somewhat presentable, he has never seen your messy room before. Fifteen minutes later, Sabo was in your room, both of you sat on the bed and started studying. Sabo had always been a top student, he was passionate about history in particular. Helping with your assignments was never a big deal to him.

Now that you gave it some thought, maybe most of your good grades were thanks to his help. He had tutored you many times when you were both in high school and that stayed a constant in your life even now.. Once you finished and sent the file to your professor, it was already late afternoon and Sabo was putting on his coat to go back home.

You had almost forgotten about what happened last week because of all the studying. Things weren't awkward anymore. But you wanted to bring it up because you couldn't help but think about the words he said.

“Sabo ?”

He turned back and looked at you with a smile.

“Yes? Do you need something else?”

“Don't go, I want to... I want to ask you a question.” You patted the place next to you on the bed.

“Are you alright? You look very pale.” He sat next to you and the proximity made you extremely nervous. Although he had been close to you so many times before, you wondered why this time his proximity was affecting you so. The built up tension was getting unbearable. You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten, but you had to do it, you had to relieve yourself from this situation, otherwise it will still preoccupy you. With a nervous toss of your hair, you asked him, your eyes fixated somewhere on his chest :

“Well...Did I say something weird to you last time?”

“Last time?” he repeats in apparent confusion..

“Well, you know, when I got drunk, did I say something weird?...when you took me back home…”

You didn't even dare look at his face.

“Oh...nothing worth mentioning. Don't worry.” A sweet smile.

Oh, really now? I asked you to fuck me and you're saying “nothing fucking worth mentioning”? Bullshit.

...Or did I make all of that up?

“Didn't I…” you stop, clearing your throat, “didn't I ask you..to...well, you know…” You looked away in exasperation, annoyed that you had to say this and that you could feel your face quickly heating up. You felt your helplessness more fully now as you were discreetly looking at him to guess his reaction. Your eyes were shy and avoiding, looking his way then looking away continuously, almost instinctively.

“Hm? What?” He was amused, the bastard.

“Well...Didn't I ask you to fuck me or something?”

He burst out laughing, looking at your flushed face and the way you said that so fast that he was tempted to tap his ear and tell you that he didn't hear you quite well, but he simply refrained. That would be too much teasing.

For now.

And it wasn't the right time

yet.

“Ha, that.” He marked a pause, “it's only worth mentioning if you want to.”

You bit your lower lip, so he did remember…”Well, about that…”

“Just ask me to and I'll forget.”

But what if I don't want you to forget? You fucking idiot. When did you turn out to be this hot? Did seeing his morning wood put me in such a mood? Do I have this little self-respect? Risking our friendship like this?

He leaned closer to you so that his face was only centimeters away.

His minty breath was ghosting over your cheek;

“But just so you know, there's no going back.”

Was this the same Sabo from a few minutes ago? Was he really tempted to have sex with you? You felt flattered. You thought about Nami's words. Was he really into you? You felt insecure.

You've never felt insecure before.

You contemplated the idea for a second. You had just broken up with your boyfriend and you were now yearning to get fucked by your best friend - a guy that you've never even seen in that way before.

But how many things did you truly know about Sabo? How many things were you not seeing and being unaware of when it came to this man? You were slowly coming to the realization that he had been keeping a lot of things private - his personal life and thoughts mostly held close to himself at all times.

It was always about you in this friendship. And he was patient, oh so patient. You wanted to see all these sides to him that you've never seen before. It was like discovering the hidden door of a secret Eden.

You closed your eyes. You knew that he wouldn't hurt your feelings. You trusted him. You wanted this. You wanted to break the spell that got you dreaming of what you were denied.

You nodded and his smile widened ; Here you were falling, finally.

“I didn't expect anything less from you. What a brave girl you are. I was waiting for you to bring this up. Took you quite a long time.”

He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, pressing his hot lips on your forehead. Your breath stopped for a second, eyes closed tightly. You weren't used to this tension, your heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

Where did the prude Sabo that you always imagined go? He was acting normal a few moments ago, and now this? This was definitely more, or at least different than whatever you would have expected.

Your cheeks warmed up at his praise, you were just like a little girl that was given a piece of candy. But you wanted way more.

“Now that I think of it… you haven’t been really good, have you? You said things that you shouldn't have. You’ve tested my patience quite a bit the other day, baby.”

It sounded so natural, the way he called you baby, as if he had always done it. It surprisingly took you not even two seconds to adjust to this new Sabo that you saw. In hindsight, you think you might’ve longed for this Sabo, one who is so open and expressive with you.

“Huh ? What are you on 'bout ? I still stand by my position…”

Saying this was a bad idea.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's true, I've never seen you with a girl before. Wouldn't be surprised if you were a virgin. But it's okay, I don't mind… well… teaching you…”

You looked away. It felt a bit off, as if you were playing a role but you were very much into it. There had always been that bratty side to you that he loved so much. He smirked, rolling his eyes. Always with the tough talk huh? He thought.

Smiling knowingly, he reached out for your face. He gently gripped your chin between two fingers, brushing his thumb over your lower lip as he said,

“Looks like you need a good lesson.” He shoved two gloved fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise and making you instantly back off a bit.

“Hmm. Let's put this dirty mouth of yours to better use.”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, leaving a leathery aftertaste on your tongue. His arm encircled your waist and he held you up effortlessly, securing you against his lap. As you were just wearing a dress, you could feel him getting hard through your panties and you couldn't help but tighten your thighs at this feeling, getting instantly turned on. When did you start wanting him this much?

The corner of his lips curled up as he saw you already getting eager from a simple touch. His arm held your hips in place so you didn’t move around.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing you hungrily. It was nothing like that drunken kiss that you both shared the other night. His tongue got you feeling butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding so hard as you pressed your chest against his, seeking his warmth.

You were going have sex with your best friend and he had a huge dick and he was nothing close to the vanilla prude guy that you expected him to be. You were thrilled. Everything happened so fast. You never realized that you were so desperate for his touch.

You tangled your fingers into his blond locks, moaning into the kiss. You pulled away, cheeks ablaze, impressed by his skills.

“You're a good kisser…”

“Look at you getting all worked up by a kiss...Tell me, who's the virgin here, huh?”

You blushed at his remark and looked away. Cute, he thought to himself.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet. With a sense of urgency, you kissed him again as if it was your last chance to taste his lips. His pace was slower, he wanted to take his time to enjoy this moment while you wanted to rush it up and go to the next step. Breathless, you pull away, hesitant and curious.

“Sabo, do you… Do you like me?”

“I do.” He put his forehead against yours, making you look deeply into his eyes. The look he was giving you seemed unfamiliar, making you feel intimidated. How did he hide his feelings so well and why did he say them now?If he said he liked me before, would it have been differentWhat changed within him, to make him act like this and most importantly, what changed within you to make you need him so badly? You dipped in for a kiss, trying to get a grasp on your feelings. It didn't feel weird, it felt good, as if you had wanted it for so long.

“Sabo,” you stuttered. He loved the way your voice cracked, how hesitant you were, how your cheekiness disappeared, leaving behind only your conflicted emotions. “I thought about what you said last time and...I...I think I want to. Now.” You emphasised on the last word, goading him into agreeing.

A victorious smile danced on his lips.

“You think?”

He smirked and lifted your chin up so you could look right into his eyes. You couldn't help but close the gap between the two of you, shamelessly rocking on his thighs to get some friction. You kept thinking about the words he had said when you were drunk, you really wanted him. Yes, maybe it was just lust. Maybe it was just a strong desire to sabotage the most precious thing that you had. But for now, you needed his warmth. He pulled back, making you groan in displeasure like a cat in heat. He smiled, his lips barely grazing yours and added,

“You're not ready yet, kitten.”

The look of disappointment on your face said it all. You couldn't believe he turned you down. Once again. You were so adorable, for a moment he thought that he would just snap and take you right there.

“What do you mean ‘I'm not ready yet’ ?! I just said I was. I want you too. That's what I said. I'm sober now, I'll recall how good you are.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

He smiles, and you would’ve given years off your life just to punch him. You could swear you still felt him hard against you and he was acting so composed. You didn't want to let him go.

You were scared that if you did, he would disappear into dust. You felt so desperate, so humiliated.Dying for his attention and heartbroken from past experiences.

“I have to go now.” He lifts you up with ease, placing you on the bed again. He then put his coat on. You looked at him leave with puppy eyes and for a second he hesitated. He was tempted to change his mind. But he had waited for so long and he couldn't afford to ruin everything now. Not when you were so close, so ready and eager to take him.

“Don't go.” You pleaded.

“And who will feed Ace?” He says with a smile.

“I don't care. Don't go…” You got up and hugged him from behind, tightly, letting your mask fall. His departure and abrupt ending of the tense situation he had placed you in, his act so nonchalant, had awakened some insecurity within you.It was driving you insane.

You were confused.

His heart melted at your sweetness. He remembered the reason behind his love for you. You were so fragile, so honest.

“I really have to go, princess.” How could he say such things so easily? “But I promise that I will make up for it next time.”

---

Tag list : @vemuabhi @chloe-abbacchio @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping @portgaslari @lofi-coffee If you wanna get tagged just ask for it :)

#sabo x reader #one piece x reader #slow and steady #sabo #sabo the revolutionary #revolutionary sabo #one piece imagines #artists on tumblr #one piece x you #one piece scenarios

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falling-pages · 3 years

Text

Fight for me: Hikaru x Renge

Renge tends to Hikaru's wounds after he gets in a fight to defend her.

Renge Houshakuji x Hikaru Hitachiin

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, first kiss

Warnings: None

Hikaru knew how to throw a punch, but holding his own against three men was above even his own skill level.

It was amazing he had lasted so long in the fight until Mori spotted him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, tossing him from the circle and finishing the fight himself. Those three upperclassmen didn’t stand a chance--yet he felt his blood run hot at the thought that he had to be saved when he was trying to save someone else.

Toui Kendarishi and his dumb fucking mouth just had to get under his skin, again.

A sharp scrub against his cheekbone jerked him back to reality. He hissed, going to swat at it, before the girl grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just trying to help you,” Renge grumbled.

Yeah, some help she was. With every dab of the cotton ball and slab of ointment he relived every moment of the fight, every right hook and gut punch and kick he had endured for her, and she had no idea. The only soothing thing about this therapy appointment was her nails scratching his scalp, but only to distract him from a bad bout of pain.

He only rolled his eyes, jerking away as she moved on to his mouth. “I know you didn’t just roll your eyes at me,” she said, tugging at his bottom lip. His top lip had taken the brunt of Kendarishi’s fists, and all he tasted was his own blood in the back of his throat. He was sure he was a monster to look at, blood staining his teeth and tongue. As it dried against his skin, Renge thumbed it away, smearing it against her hand before she took a washcloth to it.

“So observant,” he hissed, resisting the urge to spit at the taste clouding his senses. Sarcasm was his trusted defense mechanism, and he relied on it heavily now to distract himself from the feeling of her fingers playing with his lips.

A harsh scrub against the wound was her own way of backtalk. “Sass me again, and I’ll stop, and you can explain to Kaoru why you look like a fucking Picasso,” she said.

“Tch.”

But he listened. The blood and spit and pain rendered him essentially mute, much to her amusement, as she worked. His eyes wandered around her bathroom, impossibly pink and frilly for a college apartment. Like the rest of her place, it was like Paris had vomited itself inside, the chunk of the concoction muddled in the bathroom. A pink fuzzy rug was below him as he was perched on her gilded toilet, a gaudy shower curtain boasting images of the Eiffel Tower, and even her mirror was embossed with rhinestones. Everything, from the toilet paper pile to the cosmetics cases, were perfectly stacked and organized, with not a speck of dust or dirt to be found.

Geez. And he thought her shrill demands of perfection in high school were bad. Their host room was spotless thanks to her dictatorship, but this was on another level.

“Admiring the bathroom, I see,” she said, sucking in her cheek as she fiddled with opening a band-aid. Her nails, long and purple, couldn’t quite find the purchase to pinch the covering from the adhesive side.

His life and health were quite literally in her hands, but Hikaru couldn’t hold back the snicker from his bleeding lips. “It’s mental,” he said, reaching up to help her with the band-aid.

Renge ripped it away from him, glowering down her nose at him in the most egregious French expression she could muster. He hadn’t known her in France, but he imagined that was the look she gave every servant, every waiter, every busboy who didn’t fit her exact demands. “I’ve got it,” she spat, turning her back to him. Her shoulders shook, but because of the effort of unpeeling the band-aid or some unknown emotion, he didn’t know.

“Here,” she resumed, turning to face him, and Hikaru’s heart cracked at the tears welling up in her pretty brown eyes, the heaviness in her voice. It sounded so heavy, despite its usual nasal tone, and exhausted, defeated. What had she gone through when her back was turned?

He made her cry. He knew he could take the teasing too far sometimes, but bringing a girl to tears was childish, a middle school prank he had sworn to leave far behind him. But he had done it again, not even to a nobody, but to the girl who was fixing him up, his friend, whom he had grown up with and bruised two ribs defending.

As she leaned down to apply the bandage to his cheek, he tried to meet eyes, to apologize without aggravating his poor lips, but she evaded his glance, pursing her lips and focusing on her work. Her hands shook, lightly grazing his temple.

“Renge, hey, I’m--” he grabbed her wrist, and she jerked away, stepping back until she hit the wall. His voice forced more tears from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, massive pink bow bobbing with every movement.

“Just stop, Hikaru, stop!” she yelled, muffled by her closing throat. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep stitching you back up when you snap, I can’t take how mean you are. We aren’t in school anymore, we’re adults, we’re in college, and you’re just puffing your chest like you’re invincible, picking fights and losing them.” She finally showed her face, anger and fear and… something he couldn’t place etched into the lines beneath her eyes. “You want to know what’s mental?” She gestured to him, waving her hand up and down his whole form. “This is mental. You getting into fight after fight and not learning a damn thing from them, that’s what. It’s amazing you didn’t break your nose.”

Blood and anger coiled in the back of his throat. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm again, firmer this time, and yelled out, “I did this for you! I got in this fight for you!”

Renge pressed further against the wall, but she stopped fighting. Her hands shook in his tight grasp. Eyes as big as a silver dollar gazed up at him, heart thrumming wildly in her chest. “What?”

“I got in a fight with Kendarishi, right?”

“Yes.”

“And who is he to you?”

Renge blushed, letting her eyes drift to his chest. She spotted a new bruise mottling on his collarbone. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Hikaru released her wrists and watched as they fell to her side, like all the resistance had been sucked out of her. “Every time I fight with him, it’s because he said something bad about you. And then he started saying stuff about me fighting for you, so I just can’t win. I just have a lot of motivation and a lot of anger.”

“Why do you care so much what he says about me?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because it was some bad stuff, Ren,” he said. “And I know we haven’t always gotten along, but you’re my friend, and I’m not gonna stand there and while he calls you a ‘fucking French whore who screws every guy she meets.’”

She swung at him, but he blocked, whining, “Hey, he said it, not me!”

When he put his hands down, she was shaking, with rage and sadness and something that looked an awful lot like determination in her eyes. “Bold of him to call me a whore when he’s the one who cheated.” Her hands ball into fists, and her eyes scanned him again--with a less medical glare, this time, and more of a vengeance. “And he did this to you?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait!”

Hikaru grabbed her by the back of her shirt and suddenly realized exactly how Mori must have felt watching him fight it out on the academic lawn. Renge’s feet scrambled on the tile, but he held her in place, dragged her back in front of him to block her path. “What, so you’re going to go fight him now since he fought me?”

“That’s not a good enough reason?” she pouted.

“No, but…” Hikaru rubbed the back of his neck. “You were just lecturing me about fighting him. Seems a little hypocritical to me, Ren.”

“Don’t use words you don’t understand,” she huffed, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t fight him when he leaned in closer, securely caging in her body. “You were just defending my honor. Let me do the same.”

“Mori dragged me out of the fight, so I’d say he fucked them up good enough,” Hikaru said, and his heart thumped especially hard when she laughed. Oh God, it was like the tinkling of a bell, cool and clear and exactly what he imagined confectioner’s sugar to sound like. He felt himself dragged with a current, down the slope of a well, but he didn’t mind; he looked into her eyes and allowed the feeling to bouy him along. If he weren’t bleeding, he might have just kissed her, but he didn’t need her slap adding to his injuries.

Renge’s breath hitched when he leaned closer, resting his forearm parallel above her head. She was so busy in high school that she never noticed how soft his eyes were, almost golden, like the rising sun over a field of wheat. It reminded her of mornings on her family’s country estate, when she would meditate and do yoga and drink tea while the world quietly joined her in consciousness, when everything was soft and drowsy. Such beautiful eyes, bruised and marred and bloodied for her.

“Renge, I--”

“Don’t,” she whispered, lacking her usual venom. “Let’s enjoy what we have right now.”

Hikaru bit his lip, immediately regretting it as the pain surged back through him. When Renge laughed again, he couldn’t help it; he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, drinking in that sweet, drawled perfume that he so often used to make fun of her for wearing. She smelled like a doll, but she was anything but--smart, outspoken, a firecracker all wrapped up in that pretty pink bow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his hand to her hair without thinking. He caressed the silky locks, trailing his fingers down to touch her temple, tucking the stray hairs behind her ear. “And so soft.”

“You know I’m anything but soft,” she grumbled, but his touch was warm, and like a moth to a flame, she went to him, brushed her knuckles against the bruises on his collarbone. If it hurt him, he gave no indication; from the way he was looking at her, an asteroid could have hit earth and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Sound pretty soft right now.”

Renge rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Gonna make me?”

Never one to turn down a challenge, Renge pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed him, as gently as she could manage. In an attempt to avoid his wound, her mouth only landed on half of his, but he could still taste the cinnamon on her breath, the stickiness of her lip gloss on his skin. Some hell of a first kiss, but at least it was a kiss, so he didn’t mind.

He ran his hands up her sides, tickling her ribs above her shirt. She broke the kiss with a giggle, bumping his nose with his as she threw her head back in laughter. What a beautiful sight he had there, all at the expense of a busted lip and a bruised eye.

“Remind me to get in a fight more often, if this is the payoff I get,” he whispered, grinning at her pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. “You need to let this lip heal so I can give you a proper kiss.”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a proper kiss?”

“No.” Renge lowered her eyes back to his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back in. “Once you’re healed, I’ll show you how the French really kiss.”

Kofi & Commission

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #hikaru hitachiin #renge houshakuji #hikaru x renge #hikarenge

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silkling · 3 years

Text

Of Mistakes Past and Missing Home

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

“You enjoy painting.”

The voice came from behind Boulder, and the unexpectedness of it made him startle. Which, in turn, made him jerk and drag his paintbrush across his canvas. The result of which was him turning a small cloud above a red and orange flower field into a streak that cut through the whole picture. Oops. That wasn’t what he’d been intending.

He turned to see who had spoken, his optics shuttering with surprise when he realized it was Dreadwing. He was quick to realize that the Seeker’s expression had quickly shifted to one of regret.

“I apologize, youngling. It seems I caused you to ruin your art.”

Boulder only smiled, shaking his helm. “It’s no big deal.” he assured. “Part is the artistic process is making mistakes and having to start over. I did it a lot, in the beginning.” He glanced at the canvas, tilting his helm. “But that doesn’t mean every mistake requires you to start over from scratch. That’s the great thing about painting.” he remarked distractedly, tilting his helm in the other direction. “Sometimes, a mistake can be turned into something new, maybe even something better.” he narrowed his optics, then they lit up with a realization. “Sometimes,” he repeated. “All you need,” he reached out, then turned the canvas around so what had once been the flower field was now at the top of the painting. “Is a new perspective.”

When he glanced back, Dreadwing didn’t seem to understand. Boulder smiled. “Let me show you.”

He picked up his paintbrush again, then lifted it and in a few short strokes he added to the stripe that sliced through the picture he’d been painting. He changed colors, adding some more careful strokes around that, and stepped back. It would need refining, but the shape and idea of what he was going for were there.

“See? It’s a feather in the sunset, now.”

Dreadwing only blinked. “I suppose, though I’m afraid I do not much understand art. I always preferred to read data pads and learn about various fields of study.” There was a pause. “Skyquake enjoyed art.” It was a quiet addition.

Boulder found his smile softening. “Yeah? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” he encouraged. He glanced at his canvas. “I like art. There’s no set way to do it and there’s not much penalty for making mistakes. It’s nice.”

The Seeker hummed. “Do you believe most mistakes can be fixed with a new perspective?”

Boulder blinked, frowning. There was something off in Dreadwing’s tone. The others might not pick up on it, but he was good with other bots. He always had been. “…this isn’t just about painting anymore, is it?”

Dreadwing startled, surprise making his field flare. “You are far more perceptive than your teammates.” he said after a moment.

Blades smiled, turning to fully face the flyer. “Blades gets too anxious and wrapped up in his own helm to really pick up on more subtle emotions, Chase can barley understand the complexities of his own feelings, let those of alone others, and Heatwave is too proud and headstrong to really know what to look for. They’re all good bots, and I care about them a lot, but they aren’t the most..”. he searched for the right word. “Emotionally intelligent. Blades can read others really well when he isn’t swept up in his worries, but the other two are a bit hopeless.” He wasn’t saying it to be mean or to criticize. It was just the way his friends were wired, he knew. They were naturally better than him at a lot of other things. It was just how things were.

Dreadwing nodded, acknowledging his words. “You are correct. It is not just about painting. But it is my burden to bare, and I will not trouble you with my struggles.”

Boulder chuckled. “Well that’s a bad idea.” he said lightly. “You’ve already helped us a lot. Chase told the team what you did for him. We’ve all seen what you’ve done for Blades. Why don’t you let us help too? You’re one of us now, it’s gotta be about give and take.”

Dreadwing stared. “Wise words for one so young.” he sighed. “Very well, I will share my thoughts.” he vented harshly, then stared intently at the painting Boulder had been working on. “My mistakes are many, and brutal, and not nearly as neat or benign as a misplaced streak of paint. I suppose I merely cannot see how a new perspective would fix them.” he said after a moment.

Boulder was quiet, before he lifted his gaze. “Can I offer my thoughts?” At Dreadwing’s nod, he continued. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes. You’ve done a lot of terrible things. I don’t doubt that. And I know there are a lot of Autobots who would want to see you pay for those mistakes.” he tilted his helm. “I don’t know the full scope of the War. I don’t know everything you’ve done. But I do know how bad off Cybertron was before we left it.” The Seeker shot him a startled look, and he smiled a little sadly,

“I didn’t join the Rescue Force just because I wanted to help others, Dreadwing. In fact, in the beginning, my motives were entirely selfish.” he explained. “When I got to the age where I’d be expected to work, I was told that my first shift would be at a construction site in Kaon. It scared me. I knew how dangerous construction work was and I knew that even if it didn’t kill me it would kill my spark to be forced into something I hated so much. The only escape, the only chance I had at something different, was the Rescue Force. So I signed up to the Academy, and the day I got in was the day I escaped what I would have suffered through otherwise. The others may not have been as aware of just how bad things were, but…I was from the lower castes, Dreadwing. I knew.” he said quietly.

The Seeker was surprised, his optics wide. He saw how Boulder gradually shrunk in on himself as he spoke, and it made something unpleasant twist in him. The bulldozer was usually more at ease and bright, it didn’t suit him to look so…defeated. After a moment of thought, he put a hand on Boulder’s back and stepped closer. He knew Chase would not want more than this, but Blades preferred hugs as his method of comfort. Dreadwing didn’t know what the little green bot preferred so he wanted to play it safe. His bid seemed to pay off, because Boulder shot him a faint smile.

“What I’m getting at is, I know how bad off Cybertron really was. So even if I don’t know your exact circumstance, I do have an idea of what might have pushed you over the edge. I did originally come from Nyon, after all. Granted, I came from one of its nicer quadrants, but…it was still Nyon.” Boulder sighed. Nyon, at one time, had been the cultural and religious center of Cybertron, rivaling Praxus in beauty and grandeur. But under Zeta Prime, Sentinel’s predecessor, it had fallen into near-total ruin. “You made mistakes, and some bad choices, but you only did it in the end when you were backed into a corner and had nowhere else to go. Your choice was the only one you had that would let you remain alive, and that was wrong. No one should have to choose between death and living life serving a tyrant.”

Dreadwing hadn’t explicitly said any of this, of course. But Boulder was perceptive, like the Seeker himself had said. He’d read between the lines. He had understood what Dreadwing hadn’t been saying. It was one of the reasons he’d so quickly accepted the large bot as a new fixture in their lives. In his optics, this was Dreadwing’s chance at a life he should have had to begin with.

“That doesn’t change what you did, but it adds context. And given that the War destroyed Cybertron and decimated our people…” Which had been another thing Optimus had opted not to tell them. Dreadwing had had to share that particular tidbit. “Well, the War has to end someday, and if it ends in Autobot victory then we can’t afford to lock up every ‘Con. I don’t think there’s enough Cybertronians left for that.”

He realized he hadn’t yet gotten around to answering Dreadwing’s statement, and embarrassment flushed through him. “You made mistakes. That’s true. But context adds perspective. And you have a chance here to prove to anyone in the future who would want to hold your past against you that you can do better. Griffin Rock is your trial run. Heal, relearn how to live without War, and make amends while you’re here. Then, when everything comes to an end and the dust settles, it’ll be a lot harder for people to say that you never tried to make things right or that you’re unwilling to change.” he looked up to meet Dreadwing’s gaze. “Prove to yourself that you can be better than who you used to be, and when the time comes for you to face your mistakes, everyone will see that you have what it takes to make it right.”

Dreadwing was frozen, and Boulder found himself smiling at the hints of shock in his field and gaze. “I…had not considered those points.” the Seeker admitted after a long minute.

Boulder chuckled. “New perspective, remember? I just so happened to be able to provide it. That’s part of the benefit of letting yourself trust and rely on others.”

The flyer shot him an indecipherable look, and nodded. “Thank you for reminding me of that, young one. I have not been able to put such faith in another since I last saw my brother. It is good to be reminded that I do not have to handle my burdens alone.”

Boulder beamed, nodding. His somber mood was seemingly forgotten and he gestured to his painting. “Glad I could help! Now, if you don’t mind, I have sudden inspiration for this and I’d like to finish it.” he said, stepping towards the canvas.

Dreadwing let his hand drop, head tilting. “May I watch?” At Boulder’s nod, he settled on a nearby crate and watched the bulldozer work. It was oddly soothing, seeing the colors go down on the canvas, watching the patterns and shapes form into a familiar image. Into…a very familiar image.

After Boulder finished the sunset and feather, he had begun painting…the Rescue Force Headquarters. And Dreadwing picked up the longing and melancholy in the youngling’s EM field. The Seeker’s spark ached at the bulldozer’s visible grief, and he frowned. So Boulder hadn’t so easily shrugged off his earlier memories of home and his life on Cybertron. Dreadwing was not surprised to see him painting the Rescue Force HQ. From what the youngling had said, it would have been the first place he was truly free of the shackles that had threatened to bind him.

Dreadwing said nothing until Boulder finished and stepped back, and it seemed he hadn’t realized what he’d been painting until then, because when he took in the whole painting his only reaction was to let out a quiet, surprised “Oh.”

Dreadwing stepped closer, letting his own field nudge at Boulder’s, and upon finding no protest he let it curl around the youngling. Boulder’s vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he was able to speak. “I hadn’t realized…”

Dreadwing hummed softly. “You miss it.” he could tell in the aching and longing that all but swamped the bulldozer.

“I don’t know why. Like I told you, I didn’t have the happiest beginnings back on Cybertron. But I still miss it. All of it, not just the Rescue Force. Nyon, too.” he said in a whisper.

Dreadwing put a hand on his back, keeping his field soft and soothing. “It is only logical. It was your home. It shaped you and created the foundation for who you are. And I doubt all of your young life was horrible. You said you came from the better areas of Nyon.”

Boulder nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted. “The All Spark Day celebrations were always amazing. And the bots were great. We all had the same origins and the same troubles so we all just…came together. We were…like a community.” he said softly. “We all took care of each other and helped each other and even if the city wasn’t always the best, the neighborhood we lived in was actually alright, for Nyon anyway. I never starved, even if I didn’t always have the best fuel. My life wasn’t great, but…it wasn’t horrible either. I miss all the good things.”

Dreadwing bowed his head. He couldn’t fully relate. He had had no such struggles in Vos, at least not until the Senate had banned any from leaving the city, but he could understand the longing. “Cybertron is dead, but it’s children are not. And hope for our home is not gone either. Perhaps one day there will be a way to return, and even if not, we still live. Once this War ends, it will be possible to keep the life of Cybertron’s heart and culture alive, even if the planet itself cannot be repaired.” he said softly. “You did not get to know Cybertron’s death as the rest of us did, for we knew our home was dying with each day the War dragged on. We had time to come to terms with the loss. You were forced to be confronted with it in a single, harsh day. The rest of us lost Cybertron in pieces, and you lost it all at once. The loss is harder on you than it ever was on me, or any other Cybertronian involved in the War.”

He paused to let the youngling take in all he was saying, the hand on his back smoothing up and down his tightly clamped armor plating. His tone gentled. “I cannot give you back your home, and I know that reminding you of your new home here on Earth will not make the ache go away. So I will only say this: grieve as much as you want for what you lost. Mourn what you were not able to have and the things you will never get back. If you deny yourself that much, you hurt only yourself.”

Boulder was shaking faintly, his frame just a few degrees too warm from the overwhelming force of the grief was processor was buckling under, and his optics threatening to leak cooling fluid in response. He turned a wide, shining look on to the Seeker. His field probed at Dreadwing’s as if asking for comfort, and his vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he actually was able to speak. “…Blades said you give good hugs.” he said quietly, his field holding the softest undercurrent of hope.

Dreadwing only hummed, gaze softening. So that was Boulder’s preferred form of comfort. He nodded, then wrapped his arms around the shaking youngling and pulled him close to his chest.

As Boulder trembled and let himself finally mourn the loss of his home, he found only one thought on his mind.

‘He really does give good hugs.’

———————————————————————————————————

And here’s the next installment in the “of moments in life” AU! I hope everyone liked it! This was fun! I have so much inspiration for this AU you have no idea.

Boulder is the most well adjusted of all the Rescue Bots. That’s why I figured he’d be the best one to help Dreadwing with his own issues. But, even then, he’s still just a kid! A kid who woke up out of a very long nap to learn that his planet is dead and everything he’s ever known has been destroyed. He hid it well, but that shook him hard.

Dreadwing now has THREE children! All he needs now to complete the set is the fire truck! He also needs proper one-on-one bonding time with his helicopter child because their first real binding experience was with everyone watching. So there is that!

Until next time, friends!

#of moments in life au #tfp #transformers prime #tfrb #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #tfp Dreadwing #Dreadwing #tfrb boulder #rescue bots Boulder #Dreadwing lives #Boulder is the only well adjusted one of the group I SWEAR #he’s the only one who doesn’t desperately need adult help #this time it’s Dreadwing who gets therapy! :D #Boulder is homesick though #it’s a good thing Dreadwing is there to make it better!#Boulder and Dreadwing bond #Boulder gets a dad!#macadam

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

i like it when you sleep

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 2.2k

warnings | mention of anxiety, and general murphy nightmares. shameless smut. minors dni

author’s note | had an idea last night and was possessed by some kinda writing gods so here u go! my prompt fill for day five of hot in wayhaven, temperature. this is set sometime in the future where they’re not official and not living together, but they’re a lot more comfortable w each other – idk what book they’re gonna get together so have this vague scene mwah (i have not proofread this so enjoy the mess) also THIS TITLE IS SO LAST MINUTE SJDFJKKDFJ bc of that one song by the 1975 with a full sentence title that is v them

•─────────────────•

She hasn’t had vivid dreams in a long time, and she’s not sure if she likes it that way or not.

Her dreams are just vague sensations with colors and shapes that never fully form, sometimes comforting ones that guide her through the night till she naturally wakes.

Other times, the creeping anxiety’s broken her into a cold sweat till she jumps awake, left with the distant feeling of Murphy’s fangs deep in her throat, her scar throbbing, the skin there hot.

Tonight’s one of those nights where she’s already woken up panting after outrunning something without a face or distinct features.

The room’s stifling already, but the air conditioning is on full blast. The old system isn’t nearly strong enough to cool down the apartment to her liking.

She shifts under the sheets again, trying to find a cool patch on the bed.

Can’t get comfortable. Can’t cool down. Can’t sleep.

She rolls onto her back, tracing lines from bump to bump on the popcorn ceiling. Her eyes are dried and each blink is scratchier than the last. Her lids are heavy, but her brain’s fighting sleep.

Mason’s next to her, arms folded behind his head, face gentle – his snores are soft and followed by sighs. He’s at his most peaceful like this.

Grabbing the cup of ice water from her nightstand, she takes a few refreshing gulps, tracing her fingers through the condensation on the outside of it, before tapping her cold fingertips to her cheeks.

There’s not much she can do besides lie there until her brain stops working overtime. Maybe then she’ll slip into the dreamless sleep she so desperately wants.

“Sofía?” He rasps groggily, his voice crackling.

It still gets her when he uses her name so casually.

“I can’t sleep,” she smiles weakly, making no move to curl up to his side.

“Didn’t you take some of that sleep shit before you laid down?” He asks, peering at her through a squinted eye, the other one squeezed shut.

It’s true she’s relied on sleep aids for a long time – but something about this summer’s made her immune to them. The drops she puts in the glass of water she chugs before bed are completely ineffective.

“I guess they just stopped working.”

Mason frowns, kicking the sheets off his legs. He’s wearing the soft shorts she bought him, the ones she picked because she knew the fabric wouldn’t make him want to claw his skin off.

“Did I wake you up?” She asks, rolling onto her side. She shakes her bangs away, brows furrowed.

He shrugs. “Not your fault. It doesn’t take much to get me up anyway.”

“It was the fucking water… I was drinking too loudly,” she murmurs, propping her head up with one hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I’ve got my fill. I’m rested.” A soft smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“You’re always welcome here. You know that.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t say thanks often, and when I do it goes unnoticed.” He stretches, the taut muscle rolling beneath his freckled skin.

Her eyes widen. “Oh wow, you really did. Four leaf clover moment.”

He shifts so that he’s on his side, too, inches away from her. “Nothin’ lucky about me.”

“Now’s the part where you say ‘I’m lucky to know you, Sofía’,” she jokes, squishing his cheeks together with her free hand, his brow quirked while she’s tugging his jaw open and closed.

“That’s a given, sweetheart.”

Closing the gap between them with a grin, she presses a kiss to his parted lips, giggling when he darts his tongue out to lick her.

“You’re so annoying,” she laughs, trying to roll away from him, but he just wraps his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her neck.

“Don’t I know it.”

They spoon for a little while (she’s not sure how long), the ceiling fan whirring above them, the grasshoppers chirping relentlessly outside of her window.

The sweat’s still coming, even more so now that she’s cuddled up to him.

She tries and fails to reach her phone that’s on the other side of the nightstand, so Mason leans forward to tap her dark screen. The time is in big bold letters at the top of the screen, and despite her reading it four or five times just to be sure, it doesn’t change.

“I’ve gotta be up in a couple hours anyways,” she sighs, fully planning on brewing a pot of coffee and inhaling it throughout the entire day. “Might as well get up and finish the book I was reading.”

“How many hours?” He asks against her neck, kissing the scar there to punctuate his question.

“Three, I think.”

“You can fit a good nap in right after,” he chuckles, still buried in the dark sea of her hair between them.

“After what?” She asks, but it comes out more of a sigh when he suckles and nips her shoulder.

“After I fuck you senseless.” Her stomach flutters, her thighs clenching. He doesn’t beat around the bush, that’s for sure.

“Mason, you don’t have to, really. I’m a big girl – I can handle being tired for a day.”

“You’ve gotta patrol tomorrow, right?” His lips are pressed against her ear now, and his hands are splaying across her stomach.

He’s right. Tina’s cousin is visiting from out of town, so she jumped at the chance to relieve her for the night. Should be a huge regret, honestly, but she can’t bring herself to feel that way.

She sucks in a breath when his fingers inch past the waistband of her shorts, past the elastic of her underwear, past the trimmed hair above her folds, settling there with a slow swirl of his middle finger.

“Yeah, I do,” she’s already panting like a fucking fool – she can’t help what he does to her, though.

No one’s touch has ever made her feel this way.

“Gotta be well rested to protect the town.”

“Mhmm,” she agrees, groaning low when he adds two more fingers and picks up speed, rubbing her off at a furious pace.

She should be embarrassed by how fast he makes her come, but considering orgasms with Bobby were few and far between, she’s greedy with them now.

Once she got a taste of being thoroughly fucked and pleasured, she became shameless in collecting them from Mason.

Sucking her earlobe into his mouth, he nibbles the soft skin with a soft pant of his own. Her hand’s on his cock already, palming him through the thin fabric.

He slows his hand, setting an agonizing pace this time, and she’s rolling her hips to try and climax, but it isn’t working.

“Mason, please –”

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” he breathes into her ear, pulling his hand from her shorts and bringing it to his mouth, sucking his glistening fingers over her shoulder.

She whines, barely able to see his tongue dart in between his fingers from her peripheral. “I wanted to come –”

“Impatient ass. You will soon enough,” he smiles into her shoulder, kissing the freckled skin there this time.

She feels the warmth of his hand between her legs, and she’s expecting them to sink into her, but instead he’s hastily tugging her shorts and underwear to the side, hiking her leg in the air.

The fabric rips, and he’s got the audacity to chuckle like he didn’t just ruin her favorite pajama bottoms.

“Hey, those are my favorite –” she barely finishes her sentence when he teases her with his tip, running it up and down her heat.

His hand’s holding up her leg from the knee when he pushes into her.

The sweat rolls down the small of her back – the heat had become an afterthought the second he touched her cunt.

He circles his free arm around her waist, tugging her back till they’re skin to skin.

His hips begin to roll, stroking in and out rhythmically, and all she can do is lie there slack-jawed.

“Oh fuck, that’s so good.” She’s praising him in his favorite way – complimenting him through the pleasure – and that always excites and motivates him.

“Yeah? You like when I fuck you like this? Tell me,” he huffs shakily while he tries to keep his voice even.

She knows she’s got just as equal of a grip on him as he has on her. He’s begrudgingly admitted in the afterglow that he’s never fucked like this before, with both lust and affection intermingling.

“Yes, yes, please, just like that,” she chants, eyelids fluttering shut when his hips snap harder and harder, his arm tightening around her waist.

She digs her fingernails into his arm to anchor herself while he fucks her relentlessly, and he grunts into her ear when she starts bucking her hips, fucking him back.

Her sleeping shirt’s almost completely damp on the back, and it’s gross. Thankfully, they’re in sync, so he helps her slip it over her head, immediately cupping her tits and toying with her nipples.

He’s still fucking her like their lives depend on it, and he’s pressing hot, wet kisses to her back, shoulders, neck… and tweaking her nipples with an expert hand…

It’s too much, and she’s overstimulated, clenching around him. “Shit, oh my god –”

With a quick maneuver, he’s tugged her underneath him, flat on her stomach, and rolls his hips into her steadily.

She’s open mouthed moaning into the pillow and he’s hitting all the right spots with the new angle and she’s clenching her legs so she feels tighter –

He’s singing his praises above her, shifting till he’s on his elbows on top of her, not a breath of space between them. The cool surface of his crystal necklace skims her back, raising goosebumps on her arms.

He’s pressing the weight of his chest onto her back, sinking her further into the pillows.

He’s everywhere.

He’s all she can hear. All she can feel.

Any coherent thought of the long patrol and her uneasy dreams are long gone, and there’s him. Only him.

“You’re so good for me, sweetheart. Get your face out of that pillow. Let me hear you.” She’s already putty in his hands, nodding along to whatever he gravels in her ear, so she obliges.

The noises she’s making aren’t flattering in the slightest. They’re an awful mixture of whines and groans, the cadence of them matching the slap of his hips against her ass.

“Fuck,” he huffs as she raises her hips to meet him, lifting them barely an inch or two off the bed.

If her sounds are getting him off, then his are sending her into another realm.

There’s something practically indescribable about getting another person off without trying to. Mason’s probably felt this high a million times in his existence, but it’s new to her.

With a few swivels of her hips, she’s got him just as worked up as her, and he lets her know.

“God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous – so fuckin’ tight around me. Your cunt’s perfect for me, Sofía, oh my god,” he pants into her hair, gathering it in one hand at the nape of her neck.

He gently tugs her head to the side so he can kiss her, her eyes are already fluttering shut, her mouth parted as she’s nearing her high.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he murmurs, still watching her profile while she concentrates on the orgasm on the horizon.

“Just – fuck me like that – a little harder – and talk to me –” she manages a few broken demands.

“You’re doing so well taking my cock like that – can’t wait to feel you squeeze around me when you come,” he pants, curling his hips so he’s deeper in her, and she all but cries out, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“No, no, let me hear you – wanna see your pretty lips when you say my name –” his hips are stuttering. He’s close.

Thankfully, she gets there first, calling out his name, clenching her thighs to ride it out while he still pumps in and out of her erratically. He’s not far behind her.

When he comes in her, he groans this whiny groan like he’s the one being fucked into oblivion.

He slides out of her gently before plopping onto the bed next to her, tugging her to his side.

“I don’t know if I’ll wake up in 2 hours like I’m supposed to,” she murmurs, eyes heavy and half lidded from getting her back blown out in the dead of night.

“So I did a good job then?” He smirks, pressing a kiss to her sweaty bangs.

“A perfect job. You should just recreate this every time,” she sighs, pressing a kiss to the skin nearest to her, right on his outer chest.

“You’re asking me to fuck you like that every night? Don’t know if I can recreate it perfectly, but I’m up for the challenge,” he laughs, running a palm down her side.

She can’t remember what she says after that, as she’s fallen asleep topless, sweaty, and in ripped pants almost instantly.

He stays – watches her as she sleeps this time. And he thinks that she’s the most peaceful he’s ever seen her.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #twc detective #hotwayhavensummer #n*fw #my fic #mason x sofía #detective sofía olmos

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