#so i'd just focus on moving us to that scene instead

[magentagalaxies]

the saga of my newly fucked up sleep schedule is apparently not over!! even tho i did get a normal 8 hours last night i was in a show today and when that wrapped and i got back to my dorm at like 4:30-ish i decided to take a quick nap which turned into me waking up at almost NINE PM

on the plus side i'm fairly sure i lucid dreamed a couple of times during the nap so that's a plus

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[stellas-and-tonitruses]

Everything we know about Project Apple (and, by extension, Anya's past) thus far

thought i'd compile all of that now while endo's on break Just In Case the next chapter happens to start anya's backstory (i don't Think it will but endo likes surprising us LSDFKLFS)

important disclaimer that project apple and the organization in charge of anya's experiments have not been confirmed to be related! there's evidence that they have things in common, in particular employees, but that's our only real connection between the two thus far. still! worth looking into

more under the cut!

so, starting very strongly with the very first mention of anything related to the project: anya's introduction in chapter 1

despite her being a main character, we know very little about her past at the moment, and this little blurb at the beginning makes up a very big portion of what we know.

things to note here:

as an experiment, her name was "Test Subject 007". important to note that the notation differs between her and bond: she was Test Subject 007, bond was Subject 8, no zeroes in there;

she had been made thus by accident, the phrasing itself implying quite heavily that she was just a normal child before said accident (but this is the translation! i don't know japanese so i can't cross-reference with the raws to clarify if the phrasing changes anything, but the fanbook uses the word "gained" to describe her powers too);

because her mind-reading is an unintended consequence, that means the scientists were presumably not, at least initially, trying to achieve cognitive enhancements in humans, and were instead trying to achieve something else, whatever that might've been;

she escaped from the facility and then moved from institution to institution, looking for a family.

so, crucially, through this little introduction we learn that there is an organization, government-funded or otherwise, that is or was conducting human experiments for unknown purposes. we also learn that whatever family anya had prior to being involved in the experiments is more than likely unreachable, at least as far as she knows, and so she has settled for finding a new family to take care of her instead.

in terms of the facility itself, here we see they clearly drilled it into her that she can't ever reveal her secret (and the darn plush is there too -- in the anime it's even more emphasized, as you can see in the gif i made)

through her reminiscing though, we get our very first look at the scientists that were in charge of her! they're in the gif above but here they are in the manga too. it's so interesting that the anime actually shows their eyes behind the glasses though, fascinating choice.

the insistence on world peace is important, as it explains her own personal obsession with it and shows that it's not just because of twilight's own focus on preserving the peace. i also don't think twilight ever really talks about "world peace," only about "preserving the current peace between westalis and ostania" -- anya seems to be the only one talking about WORLD peace (even in the very first scene where either of them mention it in proximity to each other in ch 1, loid says "understanding the other party is the first step towards peace" and anya's interpretation is "understanding me makes world peace?") but take this with a grain of salt because i might be wrong! going through every single mention of peace in the story just to fact check this one little trivia fact is a bit much i think so i'm not doing it JSDFKLSD

but yes

remember mr hair strand and baldy, we'll see them again. not her though, ig she wasn't in charge of bond

now, fast-forwarding to chapter 19, we finally get a name and a premise for the experiments:

"but oana," you might say, "this is talking about animals only! how do we know it's the same project as anya's, which involved human experimentation?"

i don't think it is, is the thing! i think it's related to the experiments anya was a part of, which is evidenced by the same scientists being featured in project apple too, but there's more going on that we don't know about. there wouldn't be such adamancy on keeping the two separate in every official mention of them if they were just the same thing, imo!

back to the evidence, we learn that the project, conducted and funded by the previous ostanian regime (meaning donovan's related to it one way or another, since he was prime minister), was marked by franticness and desperation -- a prime place for accidents like anya's telepathy and bond's future vision.

we also learn that the project was sacked by the new administration and that the former test subjects ended up on the black market.

(this makes it very important, imo, to learn when anya escaped the facility vs. when the project was sacked. it's clearly no longer in function, but while we've heard nothing from them thus far, i'm willing to bet the shady dealings around the desmond group are NOT related to the war, as W.I.S.E. has been led to believe, but rather to reignite project apple. that is speculation however so i'm going to refrain from theorising much on why the desmond group is focused on acquiring pharmaceutical companies!!)

ok speculation tangent over, back on track

so, that's already a decent amount of info! but moving to chapter 22, when bond is finally home, and we finally see some familiar faces

behold! baldy and mr hair strand!

and 2 other guys we don't know but will see again in another bond flashback!

that's 2 out of the 3 scientists we've seen thus far from anya's own time as subject 007, confirming that there IS a connection between anya and bond's experiments, regardless of whatever the project anya was a part of might've been named.

this is also the chapter in which we learn that bond himself was subject 8 (or, if we take it from the fanbook, subject #8. still, diff notation from anya!)

in chapter 31, we learn an interesting tiny piece of trivia. we don't get any further info on it, but it IS mentioned as something that is known by W.I.S.E.:

ostania is rumoured to have done human experimentation! and W.I.S.E., and by extension loid, are aware of that.

do i know how them knowing may be important later? not really!

the next droplet of info we get is in chapter 40. we see that project apple had collaborators that are still functioning unhindered.

of course, born industries is only rumoured to have been involved with project apple, but regardless of whether or not they actually were, the rumour itself implies that the project likely pulled scientists from various other companies' R&D departments.

(this makes the desmond group's acquisition of glooman pharmaceuticals shadier, but anyway)

as a side note, twilight is emoting so much at just his wrong assumption that bond is seeking revenge against the scientists. imagine how he's going to react when he finds out about anya JKSDFKLFSD

and now aaaaall the way in chapter 58, we see the bald guy who anya also knows, the two scientists from bond's previous flashback, and one whole new guy!

and thus ends our current knowledge of it all!

the only other thing worth discussing is anya's knowledge of classical language

but plenty people have already discussed these scenes, especially recently, so here are some links: 1 | 2 | 3

the only thing i can add is that i'm fairly certain that classical language is a lot more likely to be latin than old english, because it's a very common language to learn in school (in europe at least, and ostania is based on east germany so it makes sense to me. i learned mandatory latin in school for a few good years too, even if i wasn't that good at it lol) and because one of the most common modern usages of latin are in medicine and science, it would make sense that she'd be better at it due to exposure.

a possibility is also that the scientists would think in latin to conceal their thoughts from her, and that's how she ended up learning so much. she's not fluent in latin, she's just well acquainted and that cicumstance would explain the how.

BUT THAT'S SPECULATIONNN

also i don't think "ANIA" is an acronym, nor do i think anya's been misspelling her own name out of lack of knowledge. "ania" is a polish diminutive of anna and an alternate transcription of Аня, so i think it's far more likely that anya isn't ostanian or westalian than it is that her name comes from an acronym.

now,

TL;DR!

what we know about project apple (and the "mysterious organization"):

project apple was funded and conducted by what appears to have been donovan's regime and, from what W.I.S.E. knows, aimed to create highly intelligent animals for military purposes;

W.I.S.E. is aware that ostania is at the very least rumoured to have dabbled in human experimentation;

the project is presumably no longer on-going, though it is likely there are efforts behind the scenes to revive it;

it is rumoured but not confirmed that project apple had collaborating companies that are still functioning perfectly fine;

the same scientists who were in charge of bond were also in charge of anya, signalling that there is a very significant connection between project apple and the "mysterious organization;"

based on what they were telling anya, they were/are very focused on "world peace";

their experimentation methods include but likely aren't limited to electrocution.

and what we (vaguely) know about anya that relates to this:

she is at the youngest, 4 years old, and at the oldest, 5 nearing 6. we don't know her real age, all we know is she definitely lied about being 6;

she is very fixated on specifically world peace while twilight is focused on peace between ostania and westalis. the scientists are the very first we see talking about this, so it's likely their fault;

she is unreasonably well acquainted with classical language;

she has escaped the facility at LEAST 1 year ago;

and, one tidbit from the fanbook (page 29): "Anya has been reading minds for as long as she can remember," implying that her memory of a life before the lab is muddy at best and absent at worst.

that's all we know that i know of!!

if you got this far, thank you for reading :D hope any of this was interesting or sparked any theories >:] have a good day!

[magicspeedwagon7]

a lot of analysis of "Saltburn" that i see on the internet focus on the text/subtext and maybe the symbolism but i'd like to focus on how messages can be conveyed by the visual elements of the film.

after your first viewing of the film, you've probably asked yourself a lot of questions, including: did Ollie genuinely like Felix (and all his plans derailed dramatically) ? or was Felix a mean to an end from the beginning (and Ollie's mistaken his obsession with Felix, more precisely what he represents (i.e. coolness, wealth, injustice etc) for genuine affection) ?

first and foremost, let's talk about the ratio used all throughout the film which is 1.33:1. so not a perfect square - that would be 1:1 - but here's a screenshot of my computer while i was playing the film on my media player so you can see the biiiig black stripes to the left and right.

such a square-ish ratio - especially compared to larger ratios, the hollywood standard being 1.85:1 - allows paying attention to the characters instead of the background in wide shots or floor shots and offers 'intimate' close-ups because little to no background is to be see as you get closer to the characters. the main drawback and that we cannot capture imposing backgrounds with it. it just doesn't fit.

the scene where Felix shows Ollie around the house illustrates perfectly the paradoxes of the film. Saltburn is central to the film and yet just a background.

the camera never moves away from Felix, not even when Ollie looks left and right. to add insult to injury, the narrow frame prevents us from looking at anything else even if we wanted to.

"some fucking hideous Rubens" said Felix. Rubens that...we will never see. same for the maze Felix will die in: we'll see it later.

of course, the previous scene depicted Ollie as insignificant compared to the castle but i think this scene is here to establish Duncan as the gatekeeper of the castle in a very literal sense. as if the gates of the castle had taken on a human form in the form of Duncan.

but the moment Felix comes in, all eyes on him.

for me, the message is clear: before the death of Felix, we don't care about the castle . there's not even a single room of that castle that you could describe extensively. do you know what Ollie's and Felix's rooms look like? and the dressing room? etc. Ollie was genuinely obsessed with Felix and he had to improvise when he died that aspect of him is not part of any scheme. in contrary i think the moments when Ollie's sexually excited by Felix (cf bathtub scene, grave scene) are Ollie's rare moments of vulnerability when his real personality slips through. he cold-bloodedly killed all the members of the Catton family except Felix he genuinely cried for.

that's why i do not subscribe to the view that every single thing Ollie does is part of a scheme from the get-go. sometimes, Ollie improvises and his obsession for Felix is not a mean to an end.

[persevereforahappyending]

He Hung Up (Aftermath)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “I’m tired,” your voice cracked. You looked at her through blurry eyes, sniffling, “I’m so tired.” You stared into her eyes, hating to see her heartbreaking because of your pain. “How’d you deal with it?”

Warnings: Nightmares, PTSD, Past Death

Word Count: 4.1k+

Note: Here's the aftermath I said I'd write. Only 5 months later... sorry about that

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“I got you,” you gritted out. “I got you.” You looked into Anika’s pleading eyes as you held her hand.

The voices and screams of the others were indecipherable, all you could focus on was Anika. Her terrified eyes as tears streamed down her face, the way her mouth moved as she screamed, begging for her life. You could feel the slipperiness of the blood coating both your hands. Anika’s wide eyes were the only thing you saw as she slid from your grasp.

Everything went silent, your surroundings fading to black, the only thing left was Anika’s endless falling, her face frozen in terror. There wasn’t even a sound as her body hit the ground. The only thing you could do was stare down at her lifeless corpse, head bashed open, her lively eyes now dull.

You watched her, watched as her body twitched, her head turning to stare right back up at you, her eyes remaining dead. “You failed me,” Anika’s voice void of any emotion said. It didn’t sound like her, it didn’t even sound human.

“I-I-” you tried to explain but there was no explanation. The only explanation was that you failed. You had her in your hands, and you dropped her. Your best friend was dead, and it was all your fault.

“Why did you fail me?” The disembodied voice of Anika asked again.

“I-I-I tried. I tried,” tears were streaming down your face.

Anika’s face twisted into something inhuman, a hatred you knew all too well filling her eyes, it was the hatred you saw in the mirror every day since you let this happen. “You couldn’t save me,” her voice became more distorted. “You can’t save anyone. You won’t be able to save Tara.”

The scene shifted; it was no longer Anika in front of you it was Tara. You were holding Tara up; she was slipping through your fingers just as Anika had. “Nononono,” you gripped her tighter, trying to find the strength to yank her up. “I got you. I got you.”

Tara’s tear-stained face looked up at you, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. “Why did you let me go?” She asked, her voice not matching the direness of the situation.

“What?” You asked confused.

Tara lost the terrified look on her face, instead a twisted smile appeared as she let go of your hand. “No!” You screamed, gripping the windowsill as you watched the love of your life fall to her death, her arms and legs flailing as she screamed for help.

The impact never came though. As soon as Tara would have hit the ground you shot up, your heart beating a mile a minute as you looked around, you were in your room, it was just a dream, just another dream. You buried your head in your hands as you wiped away the tears. Your entire body shook as you pressed your palms hard against your eyes trying to forget the images from your nightmare. You knew it was futile though, the images never left, you saw them every time you closed your eyes. It was only recently you were no longer just being haunted by Anika but by Tara as well. You knew Tara was alive, she has made it out, all of you had, that didn’t stop the images of her death at your hands haunting you. Dream Anika was right, you couldn’t save her so there was no way you’d ever be able to save Tara.

You slid out of bed, moving to your dresser to grab a fresh shirt when you sighed, threw the shirt back down and just made your way to the bathroom. You were drenched in sweat, your sleep shirt completely soaked through, a shower would be more useful, and it wasn’t like you were going back to sleep. You didn’t even bother looking at the time before you hopped in, feeling the warm water wash over you. You stood under the shower head, head rested against the cool tile as the water slowly went from hot to cold, you didn’t even flinch at the temperature change, you let it wash over you for another minute before finally getting out.

You put on fresh clothes and finally looked at your phone, first seeing a text from Tara.

Tara: Night, love you

A small smile tugged at your lips before forming into a frown again. Tara had asked you to come over, but you brushed her off saying you had to much homework. You weren’t trying to distance yourself from her, it wasn’t like you were mad at her or blamed her for anything, you just hadn’t had a good night's sleep since the attack, and you didn’t want to be an inconvenience to her. This was the second time Tara had been through an attack, she lost a friend, she should be focusing on herself not taking care of you. The next thing you noticed was the time, 3:42am, you closed your eyes, sighing, feeling the exhaustion that was now just a part of your life. You decided to make yourself a bowl of cereal and just turn on the TV, throwing on old episodes of Criminal Minds as you waited for it to become time to leave for class. It was rare you didn’t wake up before 4am now, you were getting used to it, the less than five hours of sleep, the nightmares, being covered in sweat, waking up before the rest of the world.

As you passed through the kitchen your eyes landed on the get well soon card your parents had sent. You scooped up a spoonful of cereal as you flipped open the card again, a basic store-bought card that your parents managed to at least sign. You flipped the card away and moved to the couch, easing yourself down. Your wounds were mostly healed but certain movements still ached, Tara and the doctors said that would be normal for a little while, after all it had only been about a month since the attack.

After a few hours of mindlessly staring at the TV, not even paying attention to what episode you were on you jumped to your feet, grabbed your bag for the day and walked out the door, triple checking to make sure you locked it. As you made your way across campus you noticed there were a few students walking about, meaning it wouldn’t be another case of you awkwardly standing outside the building of your first class waiting for Tara.

You leaned against the stone railing, rubbing your hands together to keep them warm. You don’t think to grab anything bigger than a hoodie and you almost never wore gloves, you watched as other students ran into the warm building, bundled up in their jackets. You stared as the door swung closed again, the knowledge of warmth tempted you, but the cold was good. If you were cold, it meant your mind was focused on being cold instead of the death of your best friend. The only positive after the attack was that your grades hadn’t taken a noticeable slip, yet, you were sure it was only a matter of time before the exhaustion would catch up with you though.

“Hey,” Tara greeted cheerfully, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” you replied, offering her a small smile.

“How long have you been waiting?” She watched you carefully, looking for any signs that you weren’t actually okay like you were trying to come off.

“Not long,” You tried for a more convincing smile. Tara knew you better than anyone, she was the hardest to convince that you were okay, even though a part of her never seemed to believe you based on the way you’d catch her watching you.

She squinted, staring deep into your eyes, you started to fidget from foot to foot but you kept your smile on. “Okay,” she said, taking your hand in her own and led you into the building.

You sat next to Tara in class, hand in hand like you always did. The professor was lecturing about something, you couldn’t even attempt to pretend you knew what. You were zoned out, playing with your pen as you stared ahead, your eyelids becoming heavier by the second.

You saw flashes of Anika, her face, her hand in yours, you losing your grip, her falling. Your eyes snapped back open when there was a loud screech as the professor moved something. Your eyes darted around the room, you had dropped your pen, you managed to not yell at being woken up, no one was paying any attention to you except for one person. Your eyes met Tara’s; her mouth partially open, ready to ask what was wrong. You silently cleared your throat, shifting in your seat to get comfortable again, as you offered her a small smile. You turned your attention back to the front, but you could feel Tara’s eyes on you, glancing out of the corner of your eye you saw the worried look. She knew you weren’t okay now and there was no way you’d be able to convince her after class.

When class ended as much as you wanted to run out of there and avoid Tara’s questions you waited, you stood patiently by as she packed up her bag, intertwining your hands when she was done and then walked out of the building together. The two of you walked hand in hand through the quad, you swallowed nervously, waiting for the moment she’d choose to strike.

“What happened in there?” She finally asked, keeping her pace, and only sparing you a worried glance.

“Nothing,” you tried shrugging her off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, grabbing your arm with her free hand to force you to turn and face her. “Bullshit, what’s wrong?”

She was looking at you with those big brown eyes, you couldn’t take it. You looked to the sky, unable to hold eye contact with her anymore. You couldn’t lie to her, you could avoid the questions and try and brush everything off, but you could never lie to her at the end of the day. You wiped your eyes, trying to hide the tears that had begun to form, having an emotional breakdown after your first class of the day was not in your intended schedule, you were meant to save those for when you were home alone.

“Hey,” Tara said softly, gently pulling your hands away from your face and wiping your tears herself. “Talk to me.”

“I’m tired,” your voice cracked. You looked at her through blurry eyes, sniffling, “I’m so tired.” You stared into her eyes, hating to see her heartbreaking because of your pain. “How’d you deal with it?”

“Baby,” she whispered, tears filling her own eyes. You leaned into her hand when she caressed your cheek. “When was the last time you slept?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “When I was in the hospital,” you admitted. “With you.” You dropped your eyes to the ground, finding your shoes much easier to look at than your girlfriend’s concerned face. It was true, once you got released from the hospital you had been staying at your dorm, you hadn’t stayed the night with Tara since the attack. You knew she wanted you to; she always asked you to stay when you were over at her apartment, but you always found a reason to turn her down. You didn’t have to worry about Tara staying at your place, as accepting as Sam was starting to become, she still wasn’t that accepting, she refused to let Tara stay the night anywhere that wasn’t their own apartment.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see Anika,” you looked up, meeting Tara’s gaze again, a few more tears falling from your eyes. Tara let out an understanding sigh. “And more recently, you.”

“Me?” she asked, confused.

You let out a shaky breath, this was going to be the first time you said it out loud, you hadn’t even told your therapist this new development in your nightmares. “The dreams always start off with Anika but towards the end it’s you. You’re the one I’m failing.”

“You haven’t failed anyone.”

“All I’ve done is fail!” you stepped out of Tara’s reach, running a hand through your hair. “Anika is dead because of me.” You looked Tara in the eye, trying to get her to see that it was all your fault. “I couldn’t save her. Mindy hates me because I couldn’t hold her girlfriends fucking hand for a minute.”

“Hey,” Tara said sternly, gripping you by your arms so you were forced to focus on her. “It was not your fault. And Mindy does not hate you.”

You scoffed at the notion. “How could she not? She hasn’t spoken to me since the attack. Not that I can blame her, I could have saved her girlfriend, but I didn’t.”

“You did everything you could! You were injured, she was hanging off a building, there was only so much you could do.”

“But-”

“And she’s not avoiding you!” Tara snapped, getting angry now, you flinched at her change in tone. “You’ve been avoiding everyone.”

“I haven’t,” you defended weakly.

“Yes, you have,” Tara sighed exasperated. “You’re trying,” she moved her hands to the back of your neck, scratching lightly. “I can see you’re trying but you’re pulling away. We haven’t talked about the attack once.”

“I just…” you dropped your eyes back to the ground. “You have enough to worry about.”

“Well, I worry anyway. I would worry less if you did talk to me.” You nodded. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” she ran a hand through your hair, giving it a light shake. “I want to know, no matter what it may be, I want to know. I want to be there for you.” You nodded again. “As long as you’re comfortable sharing with me.”

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you mumbled. You reached across the short distance between the two of you, playing with her fingers before you linked your hand with hers again.

“Let’s go,” she said abruptly.

Your head snapped back up to hers, giving her a confused gaze. “Where?”

“Home,” she started to walk again, tugging on your hand.

“What about class?”

“Who cares,” she tugged on your again.

“What about Sam?” your feet remained glued to their spot.

“She’s at work,” she tugged you impatiently. “Besides, she’ll understand.”

You couldn’t think of any more arguments as to why you shouldn’t go so reluctantly you moved your feet, allowing Tara to drag you back to her apartment. The whole way there she refused to let go of your hand. When you got to the apartment you couldn’t help but look around, Sam had found a new place almost instantly after the attacks were done, you’d been there a few times, but you still weren’t used to the change. Tara dragged you straight to her room and started digging through your backpack before you could take it off.

“What are you-”

“Take these,” she cut you off, holding out a pill bottle for you.

You took the pills from her looking to see it was the pills prescribed for you to help you sleep. “I don’t like them.”

“They’ll help you sleep.” She shrugged off her own bag, tossing it into the corner before helping you slip yours off and tossing it next to hers. “Take them,” she said again. “Now.”

You did as she asked but made sure she could see the obvious pout as you swallowed the pills. She only rolled her eyes, moving to her bed and yanking the covers back.

“Get in bed,” she ordered.

You listened, mumbling to yourself about how she was bossy, and you didn’t have to listen to her. When you settled under the covers, she crawled in next to you. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” she said, putting her hands under your shirt as she wrapped her arms around your waist, while resting her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” mumbled, placing a kiss on the top of her head before sleep quickly consumed you.

You let out a content sigh, feeling comfortable for the first time in a month as you stretched your arm to the other side of the bed. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes when you didn’t feel Tara next to you, the spot wasn’t cold yet, so you knew she had just gotten up. You reached over, grabbing your phone and saw that it was after two now, you had actually managed to sleep, it was only a few hours, but for once you weren’t tormented in your sleep by memories.

You sat up, rubbing the rest of the sleep from your eyes when you heard whispering outside the door. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and decided to venture out to find Tara, you knew she had to be somewhere in the apartment.

“Just be nice,” you picked up Tara whispering as you put your hand on the door handle.

“I’m always nice,” Sam harshly whispered back.

Despite your sleepy state you furrowed your brow, wondering when Sam was nice. You imagined Tara was giving her sister a similar look.

“Fine,” Sam whispered back.

You shrugged and opened the door, stepping right into the kitchen where Tara and Sam were standing. Tara whipped around, smiling at you widely, making it obvious that whatever she was talking to Sam about definitely had to do with you. Sam offered you a tight-lipped smile but didn’t glare at you, it was progress.

“We were going to order pizza for dinner,” Sam said, her voice becoming strained as if it pained her to be nice to you. “Will you be joining us?”

“Of course,” Tara answered for you. “Y/N is staying the night.”

“I am?”

“And the rest of the week,” Tara continued, ignoring your question as she wrapped an arm around your waist.

“All week?” Sam shouted; her eyes widened at the news.

You looked down at Tara for an answer, this was the first time you were hearing the news as well. Sam said she would no longer kick you out, but she also said she didn’t want you over 24/7 and you were thinking staying over for a whole week might be pushing it.

“All week,” Tara repeated, looking up at you with a small smile then raised an eyebrow at her sister, daring her to argue against it.

Sam released a sigh, closing her eyes as she most likely repressed an eyeroll. “Fine,” she shrugged. “Just don’t fall behind on school,” she gave Tara a pointed look.

Tara smiled sweetly at her sister before pulling you to the living room. You saw Chad in the chair, scrolling through a list of movies while Mindy sat on the couch, yelling at him to pick one. You froze in the doorway, wanting to run back to Tara’s room before Mindy could see you. Tara held you in place though, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Mindy glanced to the side, seeing you and Tara for the first time. You figured you’d see hatred, disgust, or any other terrible emotion on her face but there was none of that.

“Hey, stranger,” Mindy said with a soft smile. “We’re going to watch a movie. If Chad ever makes a decision,” she threw a glare at her brother. Chad rolled his eyes, glaring right back. “Join us,” she smiled at you again, patting the seat next to her.

You gave her a small smile, allowing Tara to lead you to the couch, forcing you to sit in the middle seat next to Mindy, while she sat on the other side of you.

“Any preference?” Mindy asked, looking back to the TV as Chad kept scrolling through movies.

You shrugged. “Something funny,” you said.

“I got it!” Chad smiled innocently at Mindy.

Mindy narrowed her gaze at Chad, none of you had seen what he picked and knowing Chad it could literally be anything. When the movie started Miny groaned throwing her head back.

“Dodgeball, really?” she let out an exaggerated sigh.

“They wanted something funny,” Chad defended, pointing at you.

You quietly chuckled at the twin’s argument, it almost felt like things were normal. You also couldn’t complain about the movie, you knew it wasn’t Mindy’s favorite, though she didn’t seem to like anything that wasn’t horror, you however did enjoy the movie and it was the kind of movie you needed in the moment.

So that’s how you spent the night, watching Dodgeball with the gang until the pizza arrived. There was light talking and jokes but mostly you all just sat in a comfortable silence. Even Sam joined in on the fun, taking the chair across from Chad once she placed the order for the pizza. Sam didn’t joke around a ton but there was a few moments when you saw the hints of a smile, not that she’d ever admit it.

At the end of the night Tara went to the kitchen to help Sam with the dishes, leaving you alone with Chad and Mindy. You were playing with your fingers, not paying attention to what the others were doing until Chad got up from his chair without a word and walked into the kitchen. You rolled your shoulders, trying to ease the tension in your back now that you were left with only Mindy.

“Hey,” Mindy said softly, bumping your shoulder with her own. You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, seeing she had moved closer to you. You hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t face her, you still couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eye for to long. “You know we’re okay, right?” you nodded unconvincingly. “Look at me,” she bumped your shoulder again until you finally looked at her. “I know you blame yourself for what happened.” Your eyes drifted back down to your clasped hands. “But I don’t. No one does. You just need to work on forgiving yourself,” she rubbed a hand up and down your back until you nodded.

It was only a few minutes later when Chad entered the room again, grabbing Mindy and the two to of them said their goodbyes as they made their way back to their dorm. You sat silently on the couch, thinking about what Mindy had said. She literally just told you she didn’t blame you for Anika’s death, even though you already knew that, now there was no arguing against it, her confirmation was all that was needed, that didn’t mean you didn’t still hate yourself though. Mindy said you needed to forgive yourself, that seemed a lot easier said than done.

Tara rejoined you on the couch, intertwining her hand with yours. You heard Sam call out a goodnight before hearing the door to her room shut a second later. Tara rested her head on your shoulder and began playing with her fingers and yours.

“Are you doing better?” she whispered.

“The best I’ve been in weeks,” you whispered back. “Thank you.”

“Good.” She lifted her head to place a long kiss on your cheek before resting it on your shoulder again. “We’re all here for you whenever you’re ready.” You nodded, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Even Sam.” You chuckled at that. You knew she wasn’t wrong, if you really needed someone to talk to Sam would be there for you, she might not enjoy it, but she understood, and she’d be there.

“I have therapy tomorrow,” you said slowly. “Would you come with me?” your hands felt sweaty, but you couldn’t wipe them on your pants. Tara hadn’t let go of your hand, so she didn’t seem to mind the sweatiness at least. “You don’t have to,” you added quickly, rambling on, “I know it means waiting in the waiting room and I know you probably have better things to do and-”

She cut you off by grabbing your face with both her hands and pulling you in for a kiss. Your mind went blank, forgetting whatever you were rambling about. Your shoulders instantly relaxed, your hands moving to rest on Tara’s waist as you reciprocated the kiss.

“I would love to,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice anymore. The two of you stayed like that for a minute, just being in the presence of each other. You wrapped your arms around Tara, and she wrapped her arms around your waist, you shifted positions, so you laid on the couch, with Tara laying on top of you. She rested her head on your chest, lightly scratching your back as you drifted back off to sleep.

Taglist: @screechcat

[chadleys]

gallons of the stuff. | roman godfrey

›› pairing: roman godfrey x f!reader

›› wordcount: 3.2k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: you've recently stopped taking your birth control. roman has a problem with that.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, oral sex, dirty talk, soft dom!roman, very explicit tampon scene, both characters are in high school but 18

›› misc: i haven't written in months, very out of practice. it's true - i'm back on my hemlock grove bullshit. if you're new here, we love bloodplay in this household. i wrote this in one sitting, and barely edited it. it's probably riddled with typos.

you had just gotten out of your last class for the day; you spied peter and roman talking near your locker. ❝ hi. ❞ you greeted peter with a wave, but roman you clung to and tried to grab a kiss on tip toes from.

roman, however, took a step back before you could make it. you tripped and almost landed right in front of him.

it was peter who stopped you from falling completely, as roman had moved back even further. he wasn't speaking, instead looking strangely at you, like you had grown a few extra heads in your couple hours apart.

❝ dude, what the hell? ❞ peter chastised his friend.

you stood there, hurt that your own boyfriend didn't want to kiss you, and when roman continued to just stare silently at you, you finally waved an impatient hand in front of his face. ❝ um, hello? ❞

❝ what happened? ❞ he asked quietly. ❝ what did you do? something's … different. ❞

you shrugged, looking to peter for help. he shrugged, too, looking between the two of you.

❝ i don't know, what could be different? i mean, what do you mean? ❞ roman wasn't making any sense.

roman's gaze flickered between you and peter, his mind racing as he seemingly tried to pinpoint what exactly felt off about you. was it your demeanor? your scent? it didn't seem he could put his finger on it, but something had definitely changed since he'd last seen you this morning.

❝ look, if you're not gonna answer me and just give me the silent treatment, i'll take myself home. ❞

❝ I'll give you a ride, ❞ peter offered, but roman chose that moment to reach out and grab your wrist, pulling you back to him.

❝ are you hurt? ❞ he finally asked. his eyes were moving a mile a minute over you, your face and body. ❝ you smell like … blood. ❞

you blushed from the tips of your toes all the way to your forehead. ❝ i mean, ❞ you said, speaking even more quietly than roman had, ❝ it is that time of the month … ❞

but roman had been around you countless times during your period. he liked it, as any vampire would, but he'd never acted this strange about it.

roman's expression softened slightly as he processed your words, but there was still a flicker of something else behind his eyes. ❝ I'm sorry, ❞ he murmured, his voice low. ❝ It's just different today. it's ... more. did something happen? ❞

❝ okay, i'm gonna take this as my cue to leave, ❞ peter said warily, backing away from the two of you.

as good of a friend as peter was, you hardly noticed him go. you were focused on roman, and moreso on his focus on you.

❝ roman, i'm sorry, i don't … know what could be different. ❞ maybe you were bleeding through your shorts? that would be embarrassing. but no, you had just checked in the bathroom mirror before last class. there was no way your flow had become so heavy within the last hour.

roman's intense gaze lingered on your face, his mind racing with possibilities. ❝ can we go home? i'm … it's dangerous for us to be here, together, right now. with you like that. ❞ he tugged at your hand, leading you to the front doors.

as you neared the school parking lot, you remembered something. about a month ago, just after your last period, you had made a change. something you'd been wanting to do for a while.

❝ roman. ❞ you stopped in your tracks, gazing at him. ❝ i remember … i had been wanting to for a while, just to see how i'd do without it, but … a little while back i stopped my birth control. ❞

roman's eyes widened, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily. ❝ you … stopped? ❞ he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. ❝ why … why would you … do that? ❞

❝ i - i thought it might be causing some of my weight gain, plus i was always fucking hungry. and my mood swings … i thought it would help, ❞ you answered meekly. roman was clearly upset about this.

❝ are you insane? ❞ roman hissed, stepping close to you so that no other passing students would hear. ❝ that's so fucking dangerous. you're gonna be bleeding so much more without it. do you really have that much faith in my self-control? ❞

❝ i didn't think … ❞ was all you said. of course you didn't, fucking idiot that you were. your boyfriend was upir, and here you were giving your body more of a reason to tempt his hunger.

roman sighed, his anger melting away into concern as he pulled you closer to him. ❝ we need to get you home, now. i'll … i'll take care of you. ❞ he guided you toward the car; it seemed his mind was already racing thinking about what he was going to do with you.

how he was possibly planning to ' take care ' of you was anyone's guess. he probably wanted to devour you right now …

on the ride home, you sat with your legs clamped together, as if that would help. roman drove with a hand over his mouth and nose, as if that would help.

❝ roman, i'm really sorry, ❞ you blurted. ❝ i didn't think about you, about how it would affect you, and i should have … ❞

roman's severe expression softened, and he reached over to take your hand in his own. ❝ it's okay, ❞ he reassured you gently. ❝ we'll figure it out. we just need to … be careful. ❞

he pulled into the driveway, escorting you gently inside with a hand at the small of your back. the two of you hurried up to roman's room.

you, however, were now afraid to even sit down anywhere. what if you bled through your tampon? bled on roman's sheets? that would really set him off.

so you stood awkwardly at roman's bedside table.

roman watched your discomfort with a mix of concern and frustration. ❝ baby, come here, ❞ he murmured, gesturing for you to sit on the edge of the bed. ❝ i promise, i won't let anything happen to you. just … relax. ❞

you took a seat, gingerly, making sure not to sit too close to him.

roman moved in closer, his gaze softening as he took your hand in his. ❝ i'm sorry if i scared you earlier, ❞ he said quietly. ❝ i just … worry about you. you know that. ❞ his thumb brushed soothingly over the back of your hand.

you nodded - roman typically treated you like you were some kind of treasure, one he had to make sure was safe, that he couldn't bear to lose. ❝ i know, and … i'm grateful. i promise i'll start taking it again and get back on my schedule tonight. ❞

roman kissed your knuckles, gazing up at you through his long lashes. he didn't say anything, and his expression was unreadable. slowly, his lips trailed back and forth over your knuckles. he seemed about to say something, but didn't. it seemed to you that his eyes had darkened.

you took over, flirting your fingers over roman's lips, loving how soft and perfect they were. ❝ roman? what're you thinking? ❞

roman's eyes darkened further as he gazed up at you, a flicker of desire dancing in their depths. ❝ just thinking … that it might be better if you stayed off of it. i mean … how selfish of me would it be to make you get back on, when you were having so many issues? ❞

his voice was quiet, but you heard a hint of something else. something dangerous.

your lips parted, and you slid your hand from his grasp, cradling his jaw. ❝ are you sure? i don't wanna make things awful for you or - ❞

roman's lips curved into a slow, sensual smile at your touch. ❝ darling, ❞ he murmured, his voice low and husky. ❝ you could never make things awful for me. ❞ his hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. ❝ in fact, i think it might be rather … exciting. ❞

❝ exciting how? ❞ you squeezed your thighs together to try and quell your growing arousal. ❝ d - didn't you just say it'll be dangerous? ❞

roman's lips quirked into a mischievous grin. ❝ sure it will be, ❞ he purred, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. ❝ but, with you being off birth control, you're going to be bleeding a lot heavier. and with all that blood going south, you're gonna be so horny … why don't you let me help? ❞ as he spoke, his gaze darkened again, the hunger smoldering in his eyes now unmistakable.

an embarrassing little moan escaped you, and you shuffled closer to your boyfriend. ❝ i'm already horny for you, roman. it's not like i don't beg for your cock practically every chance i get … you really think it'll be worse now? ❞ it had been many years since you started birth control; you weren't sure what to expect being off of it.

roman's breath hitched at your words, his desire igniting like wildfire. ❝ oh, angel, ❞ he murmured, his voice rough with need. ❝ i think it'll be a whole lot worse. but don't worry, ❞ he added, one big hand sliding down to caress your thigh. ❝ i'll take care of you. i'll make sure you're properly satisfied. ❞ his gaze smoldered with primal hunger as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

those words - ' i'll take care of you ' … roman had spoken them to you many times before. they always had the desired effect; to make you spread your legs and ache for him to be between them, to be true to his word.

you did so now, leaning back as he kissed you, spreading your legs wide for him to settle between them. you were still worried about bleeding onto his expensive sheets, but knew roman would take care of it if you did.

roman groaned into the kiss as he settled between your legs, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he ground his growing erection against your core. ❝ god, baby, ❞ he muttered, his voice thick with desire. ❝ you smell so fucking good. i could smell it as soon as you got up this morning, but … i wasn't sure. i didn't know what it could be. ❞

he broke the kiss to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his tongue tracing teasing patterns over your skin. his hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing gently at your clit through the fabric of your shorts.

you let out a broken moan, clinging to his broad frame. ❝ i - it wasn't … i mean, it didn't properly start until after i got to school … ❞

your face was burning, and roman's insistent fingers pressing the rough cotton of your shorts down over your clit was making you see stars. ❝ r - roman … my clit … it's really sensitive … ❞

roman's lips curled into a wicked grin at your confession, his touch becoming more deliberate as he stroked your throbbing clit through the fabric of your shorts. ❝ sensitive, huh? ❞ he murmured, his voice husky with desire. ❝ i told you, all that blood down there … it's gonna make you crazy. i'll just have to be extra gentle with you, won't i? ❞ his fingers danced teasingly over your sensitive flesh, eliciting soft gasps and moans from your lips. ❝ but tell me, baby, ❞ he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. ❝ do you want me to be gentle? ❞

you loved when he was gentle with you. there was always a time and a place for a good, rough pounding, but you loved roman most when he made room for you, gave himself over to you completely and treated you like a princess.

you nodded with a soft pout. ❝ am i a total baby if i say yes … ? ❞

roman's lips curved into a tender smile as he brushed a strand of hair away from your flushed face. ❝ no, darling, ❞ he murmured, his voice laced with heavy affection. ❝ you're not a baby at all. you're my princess, and i'll treat you as such. ❞ his fingers continued their gentle ministrations, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from you. ❝ just relax, angel. let me take care of you. ❞

you held onto him, keeping him close as he touched you. the two of you kissed soft, deep, passionate kisses, and it wasn't long before roman was hooking his long fingers into the waist of your shorts, trying to drag them and your panties down at the same time.

❝ uh, roman. ❞ you grabbed his wrists, looking nervously at him. ❝ i still … have my tampon in. ❞

roman's eyes flickered with concern at your words, his fingers stilling in their attempt to pull down your shorts. ❝ mmm, ❞ he hummed, the timbre of his voice soft and soothing. ❝ you really think i care about that? ❞ he leaned back slightly, his gaze seeking yours. ❝ … can i take it out for you? ❞

it was so embarrassing, to have him asking you that right to your face. but you did, god you did. were you sick in the head?

you nodded, slowly, trembling hands half covering your face as roman stripped your shorts and underwear off.

roman's lips curved into a tender smile as he gently peeled off your shorts and underwear, exposing your naked bottom half to his hungry gaze. with delicate care, he reached between your thighs, his fingers deftly locating the string of your tampon.

❝ it's alright, baby, ❞ he murmured, his voice filled with reassurance. ❝ i've got you. ❞ one strong hand steadied itself on your belly as the other slid the tampon slowly out of you.

you moaned, against your will, as he took it and held it up. it was dripping, all over his bed.

❝ roman, stop! your bedding … ❞ you made to grab it, but roman held it just out of your reach.

❝ tsk, tsk, not yet. i still have business with this thing, ❞ he muttered with one of his signature cute, quirky smiles. you knew what he was going to do, but it still took you aback when he closed his pretty lips around it.

you sat and breathed heavily, watching as roman's cock twitched in his jeans the moment the tampon hit his tongue.

roman's eyes never left yours as he suckled your tampon, his tongue expertly lapping at the spongy material. he made soft, sensual noises of enjoyment as he savored the taste of your fluids, the scent of your arousal heady in the air.

you squirmed beneath him, unable to keep still as heat further pooled between your legs. you wanted him so badly, and the thought of him tasting you like this was driving you wild with desire.

as roman finished, he slowly withdrew the tampon from his mouth, a string of blood, saliva, and your juices connecting it to his lips before it snapped free. ❝ you taste divine, love, ❞ he murmured, his gaze smoldering with carnal desire. ❝ i'm sorry, i can't - ❞

with a feral growl, he dove down, pushing your legs back as he began to devour your bloody cunt.

the sight of roman between your legs, the lower half of his face all smeared with your blood and juices was enough to make you feel faint. ❝ oh god, roman … ❞ his bloodied nose nudged your clit and you sobbed, gripping the sheets.

roman was right - you were bleeding a lot more now that she were off the pill. you could feel it smeared along your inner thighs and dripping to the bed.

❝ touch me, ❞ roman murmured, as he added two long fingers into the mix. he slid them easily, hungrily, into your wetness. ❝ touch me - pull my hair, slap me, scratch my back, whatever you want. i'm yours. ❞

you could feel your wet, open, bloody pussy trying so hard to clamp down on his fingers. but everything down there was so wet and open, roman's fingers glided almost too easily in and out of you.

you did as you were told, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

roman groaned softly against you, his lips working fervently against your clit as he added a third finger to the mix, stretching you open even wider. he was relentless, his movements becoming more frenzied as he devoured you with unrestrained hunger.

your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails grazing lightly against his scalp as you tugged him closer, urging him on with desperate need. your body was on fire, every nerve ending electrified by the exquisite pleasure coursing through your veins.

as your climax approached, roman's fingers quickened their pace, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy. ❝ do you wanna cum like this? or d'you want something else? ❞

that third finger was exactly what you needed. you nodded, tugging and pulling harshly at roman's hair. as much as you loved his cock, you didn't want even a second break from this, for him to whip it out. and you knew roman would give it to you any way you wanted it. ❝ just like this … please, roman, make me cum … ❞

roman's lips curved into a wicked grin as he redoubled his efforts, his fingers working feverishly inside you while his tongue danced skillfully over your sensitive clit. your entire body tensed beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you teetered on the brink of release.

with a guttural groan, he applied just the right amount of pressure, his fingers curling inside of you as his lips closed around your swollen bud. he sucked and licked with abandon, driving you wild with pleasure until you'd had enough and shattered around him, your cries of ecstasy echoing in the air.

as your climax washed over you, roman didn't let up, continuing to lavish attention on your throbbing center, prolonging your pleasure until you were trembling with the intensity of your release. only then did he finally ease off, his lips trailing a path of fiery, bloody kisses up your trembling body.

you were still shaking as he reached your lips, a questioning look in his eye. you grabbed the back of his head and pulled him quickly down, kissing him deeply.

tasting your own blood was … odd. not unpleasant, but certainly not as pleasant as it had been to roman.

roman, who was panting, his mouth smeared with red, dripping onto you, your shoulders, your chest, the bed.

❝ we need a shower, ❞ you grunted, afraid to even close your legs with the slippery mess down there.

❝ i don't see what the problem is, ❞ roman laughed as he gave you another kiss.

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

I used to think that the reason I wasn't satisfied with Izzy's death was because I was too attached to his perspective as a character and couldn't focus on the big picture of the season and the main Gentlebeard relationship enough. I mean, I was still convinced that his death and the way it was carried out was a shit writing decision, but everyone else outside the Izzy Canyon circles seemed fine with it, so I was starting to think that maybe they were right.

So I looked back on the rest of the season and rewatched the finale... And realised something that I'd been trying to ignore because it was too painful to admit. A huge part of why Izzy's death hit so hard (in a bad way, not that delicious masochistic pain of having a beloved character die a good, narratively satisfying death) was because throughout this season he was the only character who actually had a satisfying arc and development. Practically no one else did. I didn't actually care for Gentlebeard this season, not the way I cared in S1. From episode 1 to 8 and a half, Izzy's arc was crafted with more care, kindness, subtlety and narrative weight than the main Gentlebeard arc which, in comparison, felt like a string of choppy beads badly tied together in an approximate shape of an arc, but collapsed as soon as you looked at it too closely.

Yes, we all know this season suffered for being 2 episodes too short, but I don't think that's all there is to it. This is starting to feel like GoT season 8 all over again. Would it have been better if it wasn't so rushed? Maybe. Or maybe it would have been even worse because this season just didn't seem to know what to do with itself or the characters. The themes and symbolism are all over the place and completely inconsistent. Ed and Stede's characters are practically back at the same place they left in S1. All they did was bounce off the walls back and forth with no real growth. As soon as they took a step towards fixing their relationship or growing as people, they either tool three steps back or it just got dropped. Stede letting fame get to his head? Interesting and realistic development. And how was it resolved? It wasn't. Stede and Ed being whim prone? I'm glad they brought it up. And then they just fell for another whim and it was presented as a satisfying ending.

Ed went from the Kraken, to taking the first steps towards being Ed, then suddenly all the way to being Ed by way of a Night of Magical Healing Sex that he he didn't actually want to happen because he wasn't ready. And then all of a sudden he pivoted to abandoning Stede and piracy and becoming a fisherman... for 5 min. And then back to Blackbeard again because two fishermen were mean to him for 5 minutes. And then abandoning it again to open an inn. How was any of this even remotely coherent or satisfying? They didn't even have a single conversation about any of it. Ed had more proper closure and communication with Izzy during his dying scene than with Stede and the rest of the crew put together. Izzy's arc got sacrificed to do the heavy lifting for Ed's arc and became nothing more than a shortcut to speed run his character growth. Except it didn't even lead anywhere. "Ed, they're your family, they love you" no they don't, he didn't even have a single positive conversation with any of them except Fang. Of course this could have been the point, and Ed could have seen Izzy's death, his own discovery of found family and his dying words as a pretext to repair his relationship with the crew. But he just left them and stayed with Stede instead.

Sure, you could say this was only the second act of the story, and S3 will resolve everything. But the second act is still meant to move the story and the characters forward in some way. Yes, of course if we get S3, I imagine Stede and Ed's life as innkeepers won't exactly be idyllic. But the problem is that the conflicts they'd have will only be a rehash and repeat of the same conflicts they've already have, or were supposed to have, this season. Multiple times, even. We already know that Ed is simply unable to live with himself no matter what life he chooses. The title of S1 was literally "wherever you go, there you are". We already know Stede's love isn't enough to fix him. We already know their goals in life are completely opposite. Maybe they could have shown Stede realising, after his humiliating in S7, that piracy wasn't all it was cracked up to be or he isn't suited for it, and that's why he chose to leave it behind and open an inn, but that's not the explanation we were given. It was just another whim. They literally didn't learn anything this season. They had two baby conversations in E4 and E5 and didn't take anything from it, just kept doing the complete opposite of anything. "We're both prone to whims, let's take things slow" became "let's take things extremely fast by moving in together permanently and becoming entrepreneurs". They never talked about the actual, deepseated, longstanding trauma issues they needed to resolve before they could even begin to have a proper relationship. They literally got a heavy-handed glimpse in what their life would become if they just stuck together without addressing their own personal issues, and chose to do that very thing. It that's what S3 is going to address, then why were Anne and Mary part of this season instead of the next one?

I remember everyone saying they wanted Ed and Stede to reunite as quickly as possible in S2, and I get why. They have great chemistry together. The season is about them. But for it to work, spending more time apart is exactly what they needed. They needed to learn how to live with themselves and others, first. Romantic love alone can't fix you as a person. You have to fix yourself first. Community can help (as with Izzy's case), but you still have to put in the work. In retrospect, I'm glad that Izzy didn't get a love interest this season - because he wasn't ready yet, and had to learn how to have normal relationships and friendships with other people before attempting an intimate romantic relationship, lest he ended up falling head first unit another toxic mutually dependent relationship. That's what Stede and Ed should have tried too. Instead the show just ended up using Izzy's death as a quick surgical fix, robbing Ed of his agency and having to do the hard work repairing himself and his relationships with other people. There's a sad irony in getting exactly one character's arc just this, and then using it as a sacrificial lamb to patch over the main character's arc.

[archiveofvirtue]

college sweethearts — sam winchester

content: sam winchester x female!oc, use of y/n, fluff, stanford sam, pre season one sam, college sweethearts, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, drunk reader, 2.7k words

summary: it's been no secret that you have the biggest crush on your friend Sam, it is so obvious that even Sam himself knows about it. As you are on your way home from a college party your intoxicated body almost independently moves towards his dorm, the alcohol in your system making you have the courage to finally let him know how you feel, but will it change anything or just mess up your friendship?

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Your laughter echoed through the dimly lit campus as you stumbled alongside your friends, the night still alive with the buzz of music and laughter from the bar you all had just left. The cool night air nipped at your flushed cheeks, but the warmth of the alcohol in your system kept the chill at bay. You weren't just tipsy; you were drunk, and in that intoxicated haze, a single thought began to dominate your mind..

Sam Winchester.

You always had a thing for Sam. He wasn't like the other guys in your college—where others were loud, boisterous, and rowdy, Sam was calm, reserved, and a little mysterious. There was a gentle kindness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat every time he looked at you. He wasn't one to party, preferring instead to bury himself in books or work on his assignments. You admired that about him, even though it meant he never joined in on the nights out with your friend group.

Your friends were still giggling over something as they walked ahead, but your attention was somewhere else entirely. You were suddenly gripped by an impulsive idea—a terrible, wonderful, alcohol-fueled idea. Without thinking it through, you veered off from the group, mumbling something about needing to go back to the dorms. Your friends barely noticed, too wrapped up in their own conversations.

Your feet carried you almost automatically to Sam's dorm. You had been there before, of course, but never like this. It was well past 2am, and the campus was quiet, most students either still out or already asleep. Your pulse quickened as you reached his door, a rush of nerves mixing with the alcohol in your veins.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should really do this. But the liquid courage surged up again, and you knocked, too loudly, on his door.

Inside, Sam was typing the last few lines of his paper. He had a deadline to meet, and while most of his classmates had been out enjoying their Friday night, he had been stuck in his room, working. He didn't mind though—this was how he preferred it. The quiet of the night allowed him to focus, and he was close to finishing.

The knock startled him, his hands pausing over the keyboard. Who could be knocking at his door at this hour? He wasn't expecting anyone. With a frown, he stood up and crossed the room, opening the door cautiously.

There stood your figure, hair slightly tousled, your eyes bright but unfocused. Your smile was a bit lopsided, and you looked up at him with a mix of nervousness and determination.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice was surprised but soft. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," you said, your words slightly slurred. "I was out with the girls, and...I don't know, I just...wanted to see you."

Sam sighed, glancing down the hallway before gently pulling you inside. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone at this hour," he chided, though his tone was more concerned than anything.

You let him guide you into the room, where you plopped down on his bed, giggling. "I know, I know. But I missed you. You never come out with us, Sam. Why don't you ever come out with us?"

He smiled a little, closing the door behind you and leaning against his desk. "You know I'm not really into that scene," he said, watching you as you layed back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"I think you'd have fun," you murmured. "I'd make sure of it."

There was something about the way you said it, a note of vulnerability beneath your playful words, that made Sam's heart ache a little. He had known for a while that you had a crush on him—it wasn't exactly a secret. And the truth was, he liked you too, more than he probably should. But he had always kept a respectful distance, not wanting to lead you on, especially since he wasn't sure where his feelings might lead.

You rolled over, propping yourself up on one elbow, gaze locking with his. "Sam..." you started, voice a little more serious now. "Why don't you ever make a move?"

The question hung in the air between you two, heavy with the weight of unspoken feelings. Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, you're drunk," he said gently. "This isn't the right time for this conversation."

"Maybe not," you admitted, eyes dropping to the floor. "But it's how I feel. And I think you feel something too. Or am I wrong?"

Sam didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the bed and sat down next to you, his gaze fixed on the floor. "You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't want to take advantage of how you're feeling right now."

You sat up, expression softening as you reached out to take his hand. "Sam, I might be drunk, but I'm not lying. I like you. I really like you."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, he saw a future where he could let himself fall for you completely, while gently caressing the back of your hand. The tension between you two seemed to thicken, growing heavier with every passing second. Your blurry gaze lingered on him, eyes soft and vulnerable, lips slightly parted as you were about to speak—but no words came out. The silence between you two wasn't awkward, but charged, like the air before a storm.

Sam felt it too, the pull between you, the way your proximity sent a strange warmth rushing through him. He had always been careful around you, keeping a polite distance, but tonight—tonight felt different. Your eyes were searching his face for something, breath slow and uneven, and for the first time, Sam allowed himself to really see you, to acknowledge the feelings he'd buried so deeply.

"Sam..." you whispered, voice barely audible, and before he could process what was happening, you leaned in. Your lips hovered near his, breath warm against his skin, and for a split second, Sam felt his resolve begin to crumble. His heart raced, and his hand instinctively reached up to brush a strand of your hair from your face. You were so close, eyes half-closed, and for a moment, he could picture it—the two of them crossing that invisible line.

Your lips touched his, soft and hesitant, and Sam nearly gave in, nearly let himself fall into the moment. He kissed you back, just for a heartbeat, and it was everything you'd imagined—sweet and tender.

But then, reality hit Sam like a wave. The taste of alcohol on your lips, the slight stumble in your movements—you were drunk. And as much as he wanted this, he couldn't let it happen like this.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss gently but firmly, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders, keeping a small but significant distance between you two.

"Y/N," he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion. "We can't. Not like this."

Your eyes fluttered open, confusion and hurt flashing across your face. "Why?" You asked softly, voice tinged with sadness. "I thought you wanted this too..."

"I do," Sam admitted, his thumb brushing the back of your hand again. "I really do. But you're not sober right now. And I don't want us to do something you'll regret in the morning."

You stared at him, your expression shifting from disappointment to understanding. He was right.

You lowered your head, shoulders slumping slightly as you nodded. "You're right," you whispered. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have—"

"Hey," Sam interrupted, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met again. "You don't need to apologize. I just want to make sure we do this right. So let's talk about this once you're sober, okay?"

For a moment, you just looked at him, eyes searching his for reassurance. It wasn't rejection, but more of a promise, that when it happened, it would be real, and it would be right.

You two sat there in silence for a few moments, the tension from before easing into something more comfortable. Your eyes were starting to droop, the night finally catching up with you. Sam noticed and stood up, pulling a blanket from the end of his bed and wrapping it around your shoulders.

"You can sleep here tonight," he said softly. "I'll take the chair."

You wanted to protest, to tell him he didn't have to do that, but your eyelids were too heavy, and the warmth of the blanket was too inviting. "Okay," you mumbled, already half asleep.

As you drifted off, Sam sat back down at his desk, his paper forgotten. His thoughts were too tangled to focus on anything else. He watched you for a moment, your face peaceful in sleep, and he knew he had a lot to think about.

But for now, he was content just to watch over you, keeping you safe through the night.

In the morning you stirred awake, the light of the early hours filtering through the thin curtains. Your head pounded, a dull reminder of the night before, and you groaned softly, pressing a hand to your temple. The unfamiliar softness beneath you made you frown in confusion, bleary eyes taking in the room around you.

This wasn't your dorm room.

Panic surged through you, dispelling the last remnants of sleep. You sat up quickly, heart racing as you tried to piece together where you were and how you had gotten here. The room was neat, sparsely decorated with books stacked on a desk, a laptop sitting open next to a pile of papers. It was a guy's room, that much was obvious, but—

Then it hit you. Sam. This was Sam's room.

The memories from the previous night began to trickle back, one by one. The girls' night out, the drinks, your impulsive decision to stop by Sam's dorm, the confession you'd made while drunk out of your mind, the kiss. Heat flooded your cheeks as you recalled the way you'd practically thrown yourself at him, only for him to gently but firmly turn you down.

"Oh my God," you whispered to yourself, burying your face in your hands. The embarrassment was overwhelming, making your stomach twist. You couldn't believe you had done that, that you had put Sam in such an awkward position. And now, you were in his room, wearing the same clothes from the night before, makeup smudged, and your hair a mess.

You glanced over to the chair beside the bed, where a blanket lay crumpled. Sam must have slept there, giving up his bed for you. Your heart ached with both gratitude and shame. He had been nothing but kind and respectful, even when you had obviously crossed a line.

You needed to get out of there before he came back. You weren't ready to face him, not with everything still so fresh in your mind. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing the pity—or worse, the awkwardness—in his eyes.

Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, you grabbed your shoes, which had been neatly placed by the door, and tiptoed toward the exit. You figured you could slip out, go back to your own dorm, and maybe—just maybe—you could pretend this never happened. You could ghost him for a while, let things cool down, and hope the next time you two saw each other, it wouldn't be as humiliating as this.

Your hand was on the doorknob, ready to twist it open, when the door suddenly swung inward, revealing Sam on the other side.

You froze, shoes in one hand, your face burning as your eyes met.

"Y/N," Sam said, his voice warm with surprise. He was holding two paper cups of coffee, and his expression softened when he saw you standing there, clearly about to bolt. "Hey, I was just coming back."

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the tension from last night hanging between the two of you. Your mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything, to say. But all you could manage was a weak, "Hi."

Sam smiled gently, holding out one of the coffee cups. "I got you some coffee. Thought you might need it."

You hesitated, your embarrassment still raw, but the kindness in his gesture was impossible to ignore. Slowly, you took the cup from him, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. "Thanks," you murmured, looking down at the cup as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Sam stepped back, allowing you to move away from the door, and you reluctantly let go of the doorknob, returning to the center of the room. The silence stretched out between you, thick with unspoken words.

"You didn't have to do that," you finally said, voice small. "The coffee, I mean. Or...any of this."

Sam set his own cup down on the desk and turned to face you fully. "I wanted to," he said simply. "Y/N, about last night..."

Your heart sank at the words, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Look, Sam, I'm really sorry about everything. I was drunk and stupid, and I shouldn't have put you in that position. I totally understand if you're upset or if things are weird now. I was just going to leave, so you didn't have to deal with—"

"Hey, stop," Sam interrupted gently, taking a step closer. "I'm not upset. And things don't have to be weird unless we let them."

You looked at him, confused. "But I...what I said last night..."

"You were honest," Sam said, his voice steady. "Maybe it wasn't the best timing, and yeah, you were drunk, but I know those feelings are real. I've been thinking about what you said."

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. "And?"

"And I don't want you to feel embarrassed about it," he continued, his eyes sincere. "I like you, y/n. I always have. But I wanted to make sure that if we talked about this, we were both in the right headspace. I didn't want to take advantage of how you were feeling last night."

A tiny flicker of hope ignited in your chest, but you were still wary, still nervous about what this all meant. "So...where does that leave us?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your heart flutter. "It leaves us wherever we want to go," he said. "We can take things slow, talk about it more when you're ready, but I don't want to pretend like last night didn't happen. I care about you, y/n."

Relief washed over you, mingling with a cautious excitement. You still felt a little embarrassed, but the fact that Sam was willing to talk about this, to move forward without judgment, made it easier to breathe.

"Okay," you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that."

Sam's expression brightened, and he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "Good," he said. "How about we start with breakfast? I know a place off-campus that has the best pancakes."

You laughed, the sound light and free, the tension finally beginning to ease. "That sounds perfect."

As you two left the room together, side by side, you felt the embarrassment of the night before slowly fading into something far less daunting. You weren't sure where this was going, but for the first time, you weren't scared of finding out.

[kisses-for-you]

Cold (pt. 1 & 2) - Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy X Fem!Reader

Summary: You can't help but feel jealous when Leon goes to Ada instead of you, so you start acting cold towards him.

Word Count: 1,791

You and Leon have just completed the first part of your mission. It was challenging, but the two of you managed to pull through. Turning to Leon, you're about to ask if he's alright, but you notice he's already talking with Ada.

"Are you okay?" he asks Ada, checking her over for any injuries.

"Of course," she replies.

You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at his words. Why did he ask Ada first and seemingly overlook you? 'This is silly,' you think to yourself. 'Why am I feeling jealous?'

Deciding to let it go, you start to walk over to Luis and Ashley. They look in your direction, both their eyes slightly widening at your state. "Whoa, you look like you've been through a lot. Are you alright?" Ashley asks, concern evident in her tone.

"I'm okay," you reply, though you aren't being entirely truthful. And it's like Ashley can tell because she says, "I'll grab some bandages for you." She offers you a warm smile before walking away.

When she's gone, a silence settles between you and Luis until he finally speaks up, "Hey, I can help patch you up if you'd like."

"That'd be wonderful, Luis. Thank you," You reply, flashing him a small, grateful smile.

Not too long after, Ashley returns, holding the bandages. "I got the bandages, Y/N!" she announces.

Luis looks over at her and it's as if they spoke without actually using any words because Ashley hands the bandages to him. He skillfully begins tending to your wound; the cut on your upper arm isn't too severe, but it still stings. At least now, you won't have to worry about infection.

Meanwhile, Leon finally enters the room and glances over at the scene, looking somewhat puzzled as he notices Luis tending to your arm. Luis meets his gaze, an air of disappointment in his expression - as if he knew what happened earlier without you even having to explain it to him.

As you glance toward the doorway, you notice Leon slowly approaching. "You got hurt? I didn't realize," he says, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm alright. Luis was helping me bandage up a cut on my arm," You explain, subtly moving Leon's hand away from your shoulder. Silently, you think to yourself, 'No thanks to you,' though you try to refrain from actually saying those words.

Turning your attention back to Luis, you begin, "Thank you, Luis. I really appreciate your help."

"Of course! I'm always here if you need me," Luis responds warmly, placing his arm around your shoulder.

Leon, with his arms crossed, observes your interaction with Luis, looking almost mad, though you assume you're just seeing things. Leon interjects, "Next time, please just tell me if you're hurt, alright?"

You glance at him, saying, "I'll be alright. Your focus should be on protecting Ashley. That's our main priority after all."

Leon's brows furrow slightly as he replies, "I'd still like to know if you're injured next time. We are partners, after all. Y/N, I care about you..."

You don't let him finish, instead you interrupt him, addressing the rest of the group, "Alright, everyone, it's time to get moving." You begin to rise from your seat, and Luis releases his grip on you. Leon, on the other hand, lets out a subdued sigh.

(Timeskip - approximately 3 hours later)

You notice Luis standing nearby, so you start making your way over to him, leaving Leon, who's by your side. "Luis-" You begin to speak, but before you can say more, you feel a hand wrap around your uninjured arm.

"Y/N, stay close to me," Leon urges.

You gaze up at him, a hint of frustration in your expression. "I'm just going over there to Luis."

He glances down at you, his grip on your arm ever so slightly tightening. "Just stay close to me."

Your irritation flares and you can't contain your frustration for any longer. "What's gotten into you?" You ask but before he could reply, you continue, "You're being so clingy."

"Don't pretend like you're any better. You're acting distant," he retorts.

"I'm just focused on the mission, Leon. You should be too," you reply.

"How can I focus when you're being like this?"

You respond, your tone colder than you intended for it to be, "My behaviour shouldn't matter when our top priority is getting Ashley home safely."

Leon pauses as if he's contemplating something. "Is this about-"

But you've had enough, not letting him finish his question. "I'm done here. We're just wasting time."

You walk away from him, feeling his grip release your arm and you make your way over to talk to Ashley. As you approach, Ashley asks, her curiosity evident, "What was that all about? It looked... intense."

You let out a sigh, reflecting on your earlier behaviour. "You're right. I guess I was just being dramatic. He doesn't deserve this petty treatment."

Ashley presses further, looking somewhat concerned, "What happened?"

"It's not a big deal, really. I'm just upset with him. It happens when you care about someone who doesn't feel the same way."

Ashley continues to probe the topic gently, "How do you know that he doesn't?"

"I guess I can just tell. Enough about that, though. My focus is on getting you home safely," You assure her with a small smile.

You glance back at Leon, who appears to be inspecting a cut on his arm that you didn't notice earlier. After a moment of contemplation, you walk over to him and begin to bandage his cut up.

You finally decide to address the issue that's been weighing so heavily on your mind, "I'm sorry, Leon."

He's silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, until he responds, "We should talk."

"I agree, but later." You finish bandaging the cut and start to walk away. He grabs your hand, but you gently pull away, saying, "Later."

------------------ (pt.2) ------------------

You, Leon, Luis, and Ashley have been walking for a while. Ada would be here as well but she left to do her own thing, like always. The four of you agreed that a break is very much needed. You spot a place nearby that looks somewhat safe - at least enough to rest for a few minutes.

"Guys, should we stop here?" you ask the rest of your group. Leon responds to your question, "It looks safe enough."

As everyone begins to head over to the spot for a break, Leon approaches you. "Y/N, can we talk now?"

You glance at the rest of your group and after a moment of thinking it through, you agree, "Sure, but let's find a quieter spot. They don't need to hear us."

Leon nods and you lead him to an area where your group can still see you but they can't hear your conversation.

"So... would you like to start?" you ask, reluctant to be the first to bring up the situation; you always hate being the person to start the conversation.

"Yes. Why the hell were you acting so cold earlier?" Leon says, leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed defensively.

You briefly look away, trying to find the right words to say. Of course you know the real reason but you can't tell Leon that so you search for an excuse. But to no avail. You've never been a great liar. So you might as well get this over with.

"I was jealous," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Why?" Leon presses, clearly wanting to understand why you felt that way.

"When we returned, you went straight to Ada, asking her if she was okay. You didn't acknowledge me at all," you admit, your voice quivering - much to your dismay.

"I'm sorry, I should've asked about you too. But why does it matter who I ask first?" Leon asks, confusion etched onto his features.

"Because... Leon, I have feelings for you," you confess softly, surprised that those words have actually just come out of your mouth.

"What?" Leon seems confused, thinking he might've misheard you.

"Because I have feelings for you! Is that clear enough for you?" you exclaim, your voice louder than you intended due to how nervous you are currently.

Leon gaze searches your face, trying to decide if you're being serious. To him, it seems as if you are but he still remains slightly skeptical.

He sighs heavily before responding, "Y/N, I feel the same way. I wasn't sure how you actually felt about me, so I.. spent more time with Ada. I hoped that it would make me forget my feelings for you - but it didn't."

You fall silent, processing his words. "So, you went to Ada first in order to hide your feelings for me?"

"Pretty much," he confirms.

A smile forms on your face and you slowly lean in to kiss him. His hands reach for your waist, drawing you closer and you share a passionate kiss.

Leon holds you close to him, the kiss remaining unbroken. When you finally pull away for air, you keep your hands on his chest, feeling your cheeks flush as you realise what you've just done. As you start to withdraw your hands, you notice a small smirk on his face.

Leon, noticing your movement, gently catches your wrist to stop you. He doesn't say anything; he just simply looks at you before leaning in for another kiss. Soon, his arms are wrapped around you once more.

When you pull away from the kiss for a second time, you hug him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Leon closes his eyes, holding you close to his body.

You begin to speak softly, "Leon, I'm sorry for acting so cold earlier. You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I honestly kind of deserved it," he chuckled softly. He asks, "Should we head back to Luis and Ashley?"

You nod, and as you start walking back, he holds your hand and your fingers intertwine with his.

As you and Leon walk back towards Luis and Ashley, holding hands and feeling a newfound warmth between you, you can't help but smile at the turn of events. The tension that has been hanging between you dissolved into something sweeter, and it seemed like a weight lifted off both of your shoulders.

As you rejoin the group, Luis and Ashley exchange knowing glances, their expressions reflecting their understanding of what just happened between you and Leon. They didn't pry or ask questions, understanding and respecting your need for privacy.

The rest of your journey continued with a different atmosphere - one filled with subtle glances and shared smiles between you and Leon.

[toruskiii]

I got you.

Synopsis: reluctantly going to a party, you're offered a drink by a persistent creep despite your refusal. But no worries, your best friend is there to help.

Genre: fluff (modern au!)

Character: Best friend!Blade x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, tension between you and Blade, partying, all characters mentioned here are as of age. Blade takes a hit (drink) for you lol. Reader wears heels.

Edit: holy shit I wrote this before I played hsr so this is very ooc whoops

[masterlist] [about me]

Both you and Blade were not ones to attend parties regularly. Instead, both of you often preferred the tranquility of your own dorm or the serene sounds of nature and music, rather than the cacophony of loud, unpleasant remixes of popular songs or the aroma of cigarettes and alcohol.

Despite the constant pleas from both Kafka and Silver Wolf for you and Blade to "live a little" and "socialize," the two of you reluctantly agreed. As soon as you both stepped foot into the party, the overpowering smell of alcohol and the unmistakable odor of someone's vomit assaulted your senses, causing you to cringe slightly.

"Oh god, this smells awful," you muttered to Blade, who nodded with a furrowed brow in agreement.

"Can we leave?" He glanced at the plastic red cups littering the floor, expressing his dissatisfaction with a grunt when someone accidentally bumped into him while walking past.

"We did promise Kafka and Silver Wolf we'd come. We can't back out now," you shrugged, feeling uncomfortable amid the overcrowded gathering.

"I'm gonna go and look for Kafka," you sighed, giving Blade's shoulder a gentle nudge. "Care to join?"

"I'll just stand in a corner," he replied, his expression deadpan as he surveyed the scene of inebriated youths. His hands instinctively delved into his pockets, retrieving his phone. "I'd rather not hunt them down either, or they'll rope me into playing pool or some other nonsense."

With a pout, you rolled your eyes and ventured into the sea of people. Navigating through, you murmured small apologies each time you bumped into someone.

The shitty TikTok blue lights only made it worse, casting an eerie glow and making it harder to avoid the random liquids (that you really hoped weren't more vomit or some other disgusting shit) on the floor.

"Where the hell are they?" you muttered to yourself, feeling increasingly lost in the chaotic party scene. Somehow, you stumbled your way into the host's kitchen, hoping for a moment of respite.

As you pondered your next move, someone tapped your shoulder, jolting you out of your thoughts. "Huh— Kafka— oh," you began, turning around to find yourself face to face with a stranger you've never encountered before. Arching an eyebrow, you tilted your head inquisitively. "Can I...help you?"

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to startle you," the guy offered a small smile, shaking his head in understanding. You took note of his wavy brown locks and the plain button-up he wore, but your focus remained on finding your friends rather than anything else. "Are you looking for something? You seem lost."

Feeling a tad embarrassed, you chuckled nervously. "Oh, uh... I'm just trying to find my friends. Um... Kafka and Silver Wolf, you know them?"

"Ah, those two. I think I saw them at the ping pong table in the backyard," he replied.

"Thanks," you nodded dryly, averting your gaze. Just as you were about to leave, he spoke once again.

"Drink?" he smirked, holding out a cup of what you assumed was beer or something.

"I don't drink," you waved him off, feeling a little uncomfortable now as he pushed the cup towards you. "I'm not into alcohol, dude."

"That's a shame. It tastes good," he remarked, letting out a huff as he continued to hold out the drink to you. "It's actually a good thing to be able to tolerate alcohol, you know? It's useful for business parties and making friends."

You frowned, staring at him skeptically and then at the cup with uncertainty. Were you easily persuaded? No. But the way he was yapping right now made you feel the urge to just drink it and get it over with. However, you weren't foolish enough to do something so reckless. "I never said I had a bad tolerance, I just said I'm not into alcohol."

"Just a sip wouldn't hurt—" the man persisted, but before he could finish his sentence, a low voice interrupted.

"Thanks for the drink."

A chill ran down your spine as a hand appeared behind you, swiftly grabbing the drink from your shoulder. It then looped around your neck, pulling you into a loose chokehold. Your eyes widened in recognition and apprehension as you realized who it was.

"Blade—?" you gasped, feeling a mixture of surprise and annoyance as he continued to hold you in his grasp. His red eyes narrowed into a menacing glare, causing the other man to back off with a mumbled excuse as he hastily left the kitchen, leaving you and Blade alone.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you said you were gonna stand in a corner," you whined, lightly tapping Blade's arm to prompt him to release you. He simply shrugged, rolling his eyes before letting go and raising the cup to his lips.

"I was trying to find the toilet until I saw a shit-stained towel in the tub and lipstick smudges on the damn toilet lid. Lost my urge to pee," he grunted, taking a sip from the cup.

"Wait, don't drink that—" you nagged, suddenly worried that the drink might contain something harmful. But before you could finish, Blade turned around and spat out the drink into the sink, coughing in disgust. "Oh my god."

"Did he fucking pour apple cider vinegar in here? This tastes like shit!" Blade groaned, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he hurled the cup into the sink. "He sucks at hooking up ladies if he hands out godforsaken drinks like these."

"Stupid," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you rummaged through the kitchen, searching for a glass of water for Blade. "I thought you hated drinking. Why on earth did you do that?"

Blade wiped his mouth, turning on the tap to rinse his mouth with water. "Figured that if the drink did contain drugs, I'd be the best subject to test it on," he muttered, offering you a silent thanks as you handed him the glass of water.

"That's dangerous," you frowned, crossing your arms and watching him run a hand through his hair as he drank the water.

"I didn't want to risk you getting drugged either," he added quietly.

A moment of silence enveloped the kitchen, interrupted only by the corny music blaring in the background as the lights gradually faded to a deep red hue.

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with Blade hovering over the sink and you leaning against the counter, savoring the rare moments of tranquility.

Lost in your own thoughts, you zoned out, gazing downward and fixating on nothing in particular, longing for nothing more than to be back home.

Meanwhile, Blade stole glances at you from the corner of his eyes, his expression unreadable amidst the dimly lit ambiance.

"Let's just go home," he suddenly blurted out, swiftly washing the cup and stowing it away. "Screw those two."

You lifted your head to look at him, uncrossing your arms in agreement. "Yeah," you mumbled, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at the suggestion.

He noticed your discomfort, his gaze drifting down to the outfit you wore and the heels on your feet. "They hurt?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the blaring speakers.

Confusion clouded your expression as you struggled to hear him amidst the loud music. He sighed, gesturing towards your heels. "Your heels. Are they hurting your feet?" he repeated, more insistently this time. When you still didn't catch on, he groaned and suddenly dropped to his knees, his hands gently brushing against your calves as he lifted one foot.

"What the fuck—" you began, startled by his sudden action, your eyes widening in disbelief. "Blade!"

"Take 'em off," he mumbled, his voice softer now as he noticed a small bruise on the back of your ankle, evidence of the discomfort caused by your tight shoes.

"Dumbass! I'm not stepping out of here barefoot with all that disgusting shit on the floor!" you yelled, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the sight of him down on his knees for you. Your hands tightened their grip on the counter as you watched him slide off your heels.

"I'll carry you then," he retorted, his tone determined as he lifted you by the hips, effortlessly settling you on the counter so your feet wouldn't touch the grimy floor.

"You—" you began to retaliate, but your words fell silent as you were rendered speechless by his offer. "You..."

"C'mon," he urged, pursing his lips as he turned around, positioning himself for you to piggyback him. "You better get on before I change my mind. You know I don't do favors like this," he sneered, his tone teasing yet firm.

You gulped, feeling a mixture of nerves and gratitude as your hands trembled while gripping onto his shoulders. With shaky breaths, you wrapped your legs around his waist as you felt his hands slide under your thighs to support you, letting out a grunt of effort.

"...am I not heavy?" you whispered, your breath grazing the shell of his ear.

He shook his head, standing up straight now. The scent of his cologne somehow managed to calm your nerves as you rested your head against his shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace.

"No. I literally bench double your weight," he reassured you.

"No need to flex."

He piggybacked you through the crowd, disregarding the stares directed at him, while you felt awkward and embarrassed under the attention. He couldn't care less, knowing that most of the crowd was either too drunk to remember or too preoccupied with their own activities.

"Next time, just stay by my side," he whispered, finally stepping outside of the party.

"Mm...yeah, yeah," you yawned, your voice muffled by the softness of his jacket. "Thanks."

"And don't chug down the drinks next time."

"Yeah, yeah."

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Ik you said resquests are close but my oh my, I'd love to see your relationship/sex hcs for the GIRLS

Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly, Abigail, Molly, MAYBE EVEN MRS.GRIMSHAW IF UR FEELING QUIRKY

Relationship/Sex HC For VDL Gang Girls

Thank you anon for requesting something with the girls. Also I didn't include Sadie bc I wrote for her already previously in another post

Warnings: smut

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Very affectionate and loves showing you off

Lowkey writes short romance stories about the two of you but uses different names

Loves asking for your opinion on her outfits

Very shy with her writing but allows you to read em

Tries to recreate scenes the romance novels she reads with you

Plays with your hair and tries to style it for you

I can imagine her making flower crowns

Is so lovestruck, she definitely believes y'all are together FOR LIFE

NSFW

I just know she reads smut in her books

She'd probably ask to try out a few of the things she reads about

Comes off as docile or vanilla but would be surprisingly kinky, huge expiramentalist

Bottoms for sure

Would unintentionally grind into your face or shove you in while eating her out

High pitched moans or gentle mewls

Squirms and moves around a lot, just cannot sit still for the life of her

Karen Jones

She'll put on a tougher front but she needs a lot of reassurance

Very sweet in private

Gets flustered with PDA but still does it with you

Loves it when you hold one another closely especially around the camp fire

She'd become very vulnerable with you

Especially when she's drunk

She'd feel as though you're the only person who can see the real her, and that just makes her feel even more in love

When she's unable to take care of herself you do her hair for her

Asks to dance with you randomly

NSFW

As we saw in-game, cries during sex

Feels extremely vulnerable during the act, but instead of sadness it's more of an overwhelming feeling of love that brings her to tears

Super clingy, holds you close during

Wants to stimulate every sense, bascially smothering you

Loves kissing all up and down eachother's bodies while fondling and just holding

Also enjoys hand holding during sex

Likes to start off gentle but things get progressively wilder

Tilly Jackson

She's a playful, yet altruistic lover

Puts you before herself all the time

She could be bleeding out while you have a papercut and she'll insist they tend to you first

Constantly fixes things for you or just generally takes care of things just so you don't have to do them yourself

I hc that whenever she falls asleep on you she drools A LOT

Because she gets really relaxed

Likes sitting along rivers and lakes with you and feeding ducks or skipping rocks

Super short so she's gotta go on her tiptoes to kiss you; constantly cranes her neck to look at you, even gets taller boots

NSFW

Like in other aspects of your relationship, a giver

She knows just what you want, and is more than happy to provide

I feel like she'd be real skilled with her tongue and hands as a result, skill born out of practice

Kinda likes riskier sex so she'll opt for more scandalous locations or situations

Y'all could be doing chores together and the next thing y'know y'all are sneaking off behind a nearby tree

I feel like she'd top, but she's down to switch

Abigail Roberts

She's a good, honest woman

And she's got standards for her lover

Constantly has your back, and is very patient with you as you two grow with eachother

Constantly encourages said growth and improvement in oneself

Loves seeing you put effort into improvement or work!

She just wants a calm, stable life, so if you're able to provide that for her, even if little by little, she'll be happy

Very affectionate with you, one of her favorite things to do is to sit down and have deep, intimate conversations with one another while chilling

Doesn't care how many or mundane dates are, as long as the effort is there

NSFW

She's got demands, and they will be heard

Loves recieving head, or being the main focus of sex as you provide for her. Will hold your head in place

Likes telling you what to do, definitely a dom hehe

Into kinkier stuff so maybe tying you up or even spanking

LIVES to see you cry or to embarass you

She'd probably make you bark for her

Will top or bottom, doesn't matter to her as long as she's taking the lead

Likes passionate sex so she takes her time with every detail, especially foreplay, rather than speeding things up

Molly O'Shea

She falls HARD

The most lovestruck, romantic girlfriend ever

Writes love poems for you

Likes it when you show eachother off

Her favorite types of dates are when the two of you go out together and try new things

Like a new restaurant, a new spot, a new show, etc

Cue that meme of one girl sitting on another's lap while she does her makeup

Yeah that's her

Loves asking for your opinion on her makeup, greatly values your opinion in general

Constantly tells you she loves you, gets sad if you dont say it back

NSFW

Will ask you to be gentle but like rough passionate sex

Moans loudly and shamelessly

Definitely a pillow princess, this is cannon

She'd communicate lots with you about what she likes and what she wants you to do

In a modern setting I feel like she'd wear lingerie or sexy outfits for you

Probably likes roleplaying

Also a huge expiramentalist! Likes trying next and exciting things, including in the bedroom

Susan Grimshaw

This woman keeps you on your toes constantly

Probably a little high strung but it's easy to tear her walls down!

Good at setting and respecting boundaries, while also reminding you of her own

Knows the time and place for affection, so when y'all are working, wants to keep it to a minimum.

But during down time, loves to dance, talk, kiss, and play games together

She's super hardworking and she loves real hard

Good at grounding you and keeping you in check

Like many things in her life, puts so much effort into the relationship and will never let you down or make you feel neglected.

NSFW

Like Abigail, has demands that will be known

Though she'll make sure to pay special attention to you as well and not just focus on herself

I feel like she'd like to be called mommy LMAO

Loves taking care of you and the name during sex would definitely do things for her

She has lots of experience so you'll always recieve the most mindblowing orgasms

SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING AND SHE KNOWS WHAT WOMEN WANT

Has like a mental map of your entire body imprinted into her mind at this point

Also hands, I feel like she'd be into anything hands

[cottoncandy-cult]

Babysitting

I used a wheel to determine which guys I'd write for~

Intro:

"So…Why do you have a stranger's kid?…" (Y/n)'s lover stared blankly at her; a singular eyebrow quirked as he watched how she cradled a sleeping child to her chest. "One of my friends amongst the seamstresses is having to babysit her nephew because her sister is ill, since I've already finished all my commissions I offered to watch him for her." She giggled, gently brushing her fingers over the child's chubby cheeks. Her lover seemed skeptical about toting a kid around the castle, but because of how much fun she seemed to be having he had been willing to just let it happen.

Shingen

The large male chuckled from where he sat next to (Y/n), sipping his tea as he watched his lover settle the baby in her lap so that he was sitting up with his back against her torso. She was currently entertaining the baby with a puppet his aunt had brought from home for him, she was so focused on the giggling baby that she hadn't noticed Shingen's loving stare. At first, he wasn't sure about having an infant in the castle, but (Y/n) had handled every moment like a champ. Even the infant's cries hadn't been enough to frazzle her, instead she went about soothing him with a smile. The scene was enough to make him think, he had been with (Y/n) for some time now and since they were officially married the next logical step was a family. It wasn't something he had put much thought into previously, but seeing his wife playing with and taking care of this baby was enough to have him confronting himself over his own thoughts and feelings of the future. Shingen didn't come out of these thoughts until (Y/n) moved to sit beside him, the little baby giggling happily as its tiny hand grabbed hold of his sleeve. With a warm smile and large gentle hands, Shingen lifted the baby up to his level. "Not even 3 years old and you're a lady killer, what are you parents gonna do with you?" The baby giggled loudly as Shingen gently bounced him up and down, (Y/n) taking the moment of freedom to snag a skewer of mochi and begin digging into her own snack. "He really is adorable; his parents must have amazing genetics." (Y/n) giggled, watching her husband play with the baby boy was she ate her snack. She couldn't help but focus on her lover's grinning face, she took a good hard look at his features as she did her best to imagine him as a baby. She'd be lying if she claimed to have never thought about having a family with him, many early mornings were spent getting ready together and wondering how things would change when they had a child of their own. She couldn't help but gaze at the love of her life, wondering what he had looked like as a baby. Given how big Shingen was, she was confident he was the chubbiest of babies. A thought that made her cheeks flush as she smiled, the thought of having a chubby baby just made her happy.

Of course, Shingen had similar thoughts, especially when they walked through the Castel town and the children would recognize his goddess. The way they get so excited, wanting nothing more than to play and talk with the woman he loved. Sometimes he found himself daydreaming, wondering when the day would come that he'd be looking up from his desk to find his dear wife nurse the fruit of their labors. He's already worked out a few designs for some baby furniture, wanting to make it himself so he knew it was made right. He and his wife had discussed the baby furniture of the future before, the things she described gave him a lot of inspiration. "He's quite small, I was almost afraid to hold him at first." Shingen chuckled, resting the little boy on his leg and gently bouncing him. The large man couldn't help but chuckle as the little boy squealed happily, tiny hands gripping Shingen's sleeves as he bounced comfortably. "i know, it's been so long since I last babysat. When I first saw him, I was almost surprised he wasn't smaller, I forget sometimes they aren't as small as dolls." She giggled, reaching over to gently brush her hand against the thin layer of hair on the little boy's head affectionately. "Perhaps it's my height, but all babies seem absolutely tiny to me." Shingen chuckled, watching her give the boy some affection as she ate. "Probably, you are bigger than most other grown men so I can only imagine how little he must look to you." She giggled, putting down her skewer as she moved closer to Shingen and leaned into his side. She wrapped her arms around one of his, her head resting on his shoulder as she closed her eyes with a soft smile. Shingen could only chuckle, the little boy leaning back against his chest as he seemed to finally tucker himself out. "Now that's a good idea…" Shingen's low voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke softly, gently shifting the little boy to rest in his arm. "Since you finished your snack, why not come here and join me for a nap. The weather is wonderful." Shingen opened his arm, leaning back against the wall as his dear wife smiled at him and shook her head in mock-shame. "I suppose a nap won't hurt." She moved closer to him, slipping under his arm now and snuggled into him as she rested her head on his chest. Shingen had the boy cradled on his lap, leaning against his torso comfortably. It didn't take long for (Y/n) to sleep, Shingen had stayed awake a bit longer though. He wanted to enjoy the sight of holding his lover like this, looking down on the boy and that was how he KNEW it was about damn time he spoke to his wife about starting their family.

Kanetsugu

Kanetsugu stood speaking before a crowd of other vassals, it was a pretty standard meeting so why were these men staring at the man of the house? Because sat on his hip as he spoke was a 3-year-old girl, she was awake but quite content with the gentle bouncing and the sound of Kanetsugu's voice. His wife had to run into town to buy some stuff, so he had offered to watch the little girl since he had nothing to do after this meeting was over with. The little girl had been absolutely smitten with Kanetsugu, lighting up every time she saw him in a way similar to how his wife seemed to brighten whenever he'd come home at the end of the day. It made Kanetsugu chuckle whenever he saw it, this little girl reminded him of both his wife and his younger siblings. He took great part in raising his siblings, he remembered when they were all little like this and those memories were quite dear to him. At the end of the meeting Kanetsugu made his way to the kitchen, paying no mind to the odd stares he got and the whispers that followed him down the hall. He wanted to get the little girl a snack, so he planned to fix her some peaches since they were soft and easy to eat. On his way there he noticed his lover on her way down the hall. She was coming from the direction of their room, meaning she had dropped off her shopping. The young woman's face lit up; he couldn't help but give a slight smile at how she rushed up to him with her own wide grin. "I take it the meeting is over? Thanks for watching her while I ran into town." (y/n) smiled, reaching out to playfully poke the little girl's side and listen to her giggle. They exchanged the little girl, who had smuggled into (Y/n)'s chest. No doubt the woman was a bit more comfortable to lay on, for obvious reasons. "I was on my way to the kitchen to get her a snack, so it's perfect timing on your part. It'll be easier than cutting a peach one handed." He gently took her hand, since getting married, he had begun doing this any time they were together. She was his wife, something he was proud of and more than willing to display. "Food sounds good, lunch should be coming round soon. So hopefully she'll be done eating before then and we can eat without too much trouble." (Y/n) smiled up at Kanetsugu, the little girl resting on her arm and curled against her chest. She was sucking on her thumb, content with the steady sway of the woman's walk cycle.

"Maybe if we're lucky we can put her down for a nap after her snack, she hasn't had one today yet so it's about that time anyways." Kanetsugu lead his lover to the kitchen, his free hand running through his own hair as he found his gaze wandering away from the sky as he took in the sight of his lover with her friend's baby. It was such a domestic sight, something that made an odd feeling stir in him. He had never actually thought about it in depth, he knew he wanted a family, but he had never put a whole lot of thought into it. But confronted with the glimpse before him, it was like something was stirring awake. He no longer just wanted a family with her, he needed one. The thought of having evidence of their love made his heart speed up, a sort of primal shift growing inside of him at the thought of her having his child. It wasn't just animalistic desire though; his protective instinct was starting to twitch awake. To have a family with his wife, that would truly be his peace. It was like a new goal came into focus; one he couldn't wait to discuss with her later once the little girl had gone home with her mother for the night. So, for now he had to settle for gently squeezing her hand, giving her a fond gaze as he watched her talk about her experience at the market. When her gaze suddenly caught his, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Leaving her flustered as he released her hand and stepped through the threshold and into the kitchen. She stood at the doorway, watching him with curiosity as she failed to fight the love-struck smile that crossed her face when watching the man, she loved prepare food for the little girl in their care.

Motonari

Motonari watched his wife with a grumpy pout, on her lap was a 4-year-old that had proven to be the bane of this man's existence. This little boy would not accept anyone but her, and God forbid Motonari be allowed to hug or touch his wife. The boy didn't throw a hissy fit, oh no, worse yet the little boy would hold his palm out to Motonari with a firm but docile "No." With the most expressionless stare Motonari has seen in his life, he hadn't been able to so much as hug his wife with this little boy around. The kid refused to be held by anyone else, he was always giving Motonari such a blank faced stare and it never failed to make the man laugh out of mild frustration. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous he felt. He was competing with a kid for his wife, and it wasn't even his kid. At the end of the day, this kid goes home with someone else, so there is NO competition. Each time Motonari reminded himself of this, rolling his eyes at the jealous side that was near desperate to hold her hand. Though there was some odd part of him that was satisfied with watching his wife interact with this little boy, even when he was fussy, she was calm as can be when handling him. Plus, there was the pride he took in having a wife so loved by so many people, she was the prize jewel out of all his treasures. Currently the two were waiting for the little boy's aunt, (Y/n)'s friend, to come and pick up the little boy for the night. The sun was an hour or two from setting, and he was doing his best to be patient as he had a staring contest with the little boy. At least until the child reached out to him, making a grabby motion that had (Y/n) lighting up. "Aw, he wants you to hold him!" She was excited, moving closer to Motonari, who for just a moment was panicking, he did not have a plan for this particular option. So he had let his wife lead him into holding the little boy on his lap, the boy sat with his back to Motonari's chest. His little head was leaned back on Motonari's collarbone, he still had one hand holding onto (Y/n)'s finger so she had to sit against Motonari's side. Seizing his chance, he slid his free arm around her waist as his other was draped over the boy's stomach to keep him steady.

"I guess you respecting his boundaries earned his trust, that's so sweet." She smiled brightly, nuzzling Motonari's shoulder in a way that never ceased to make him melt inside. This was a situation he had never imagined in his life, the male having never actually thought about having kids of his own. Sure, he knew kids existed, but he never thought about HIS kids existing. This whole situation felt so surreal, looking down at his lover and this child no longer felt real. All of a sudden it felt dreamlike, as if he was discovering something for the first time. A wide array of emotions overwhelmed him, from a strange anxiety to what could only be described as an intense contentment. He had come a long way from the person he was when he and his wife first met, but even still to have such a large discovery out of nowhere was almost startling. He hadn't felt like this since he first realized he truly loved his wife; it was a feeling that could be described with the word emotion. It was so much at once, and yet he felt calm in an odd way. His face was flaming, silently staring at his lover as he processed everything. Of course she had noticed his stare, she had trying speaking to him, but he never responded and now she was simply flustered by the look he was giving her. It was almost innocent, the flustered look mixed with confusion and surprise. Leaning forward she placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, suddenly bursting the bubble he had previously been absorbed in. It took every ounce of self-control in him not to jump, he had already embarrassed himself enough today. The hand that had been around her waist came up, pulling her close and tucking her head into the crook of his neck as he tried to hide his flustered state. These new realizations had him feeling energized in an odd way, he simply had to have her close right now. He knew the look on his face was probably quite out of character for him, and he was embarrassed to admit how little control he actually had over his current behavior. He wanted to hide his emotional state, and what better way to do that then basking in the affection and the touch of his wife that he had wanted all day. Once the boy was returned, he planned to spend the rest of the day and night with his wife in their room. He wanted only her presence, only her voice and scent. Only her.

Masamune

(Y/n) currently sat at a banquet between her boss Nobunaga and her lover Masamune, across from her was Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi. Meanwhile in her lap was a 1-one-year old little girl, the niece of a friend that was taking care of her sister until the woman's husband got home from work. Because of that (Y/n) had brought the baby to the banquet, it was fairly late, and the baby was full from where (Y/n) had taken the baby home long enough to eat and give the mom a chance to see her. The little girl had been quite content after eating, and so now she was happily babbling away at Keiji while Masamune fed his wife a bit of rice. "I shouldn't be surprised you volunteered for such a task; you always do manage to find the most amusing situations." Mitsuhide chuckled from across the woman, drinking some sake and letting a servant refill it. "She was a little fussy at first, but once she got comfortable with us it got a bit easier. Her aunt should be back to get her soon. She's just waiting for the woman's husband to come home to take care of his wife." Masamune chuckled, sitting close to his lover's side as he'd raise bites for her to take and fed her her meal before he had even touched his. He had spent most the day doing paperwork, which left (Y/n) to bear the brunt of the child's care. He wanted to give her a small break and help out now that he wasn't busy, plus he had been wanting to give her some love all day. She was just too cute, playing with and fawning over the baby girl currently in her arms. Looking at the little girl he could admit she was cute, but he just knew their baby would be even cuter. If he had a little girl that looked just like his wife, he'd be over the moon. In truth he wanted a larger family, something he and his lover had discussed many times. They want quite a few children; they hadn't really been trying for kids as of late but also hadn't been avoiding it either. But today made him feel it was time, seeing the way she cared for the little girl, even when she screamed and cried, had reaffirmed in him that they could do this, and it was about time to take the first steps officially.

Once his wife had finished her food he had set the chopsticks down, using one hand to hold one of her own as the other brought his cup of tea up to his lips so he could take a sip. "It seems so natural; I was worried you'd struggle with her when I first saw you in the halls this morning. But you seem to have everything under control." Hideyoshi smiled, taking a bite of some roasted vegetables while observing the baby girl in his friend's lap. Despite all the noise she almost seemed ready to fall asleep, the group laughing at how her tiny head bobbed before she finally gave up and completely rested across the woman's lap as her haori functioned as a makeshift cover. "I won't lie it was hard to be calm sometimes, but I eventually found a good rhythm for cycling through what she wanted or needed until I could find what I needed. Then it just kinda got easier to tell what she was wanting, plus after visiting her mom to drink her fill she's been quite content and a lot less fussy." (Y/n) giggled, gently rubbing the baby's stomach with her free hand. She watched the baby sleep with a fond gaze, her mind wandering to places that her observant friends could easily predict. For Nobunaga, Mitsuhide, and Hideyoshi; it was the same look Masamune got any time they noticed him watching her interact with the little girl. Oh yes, they knew it was only a matter of time before they had children running about the castle whenever the pair would come to visit from Aoba. "Well, at least you'll have practice for when you and Lord Masamune have a child. It'll be quite the sight to see." Mitsunari spoke openly with a fond smile on his face, and as flustered as it made her, (Y/n) couldn't fight the smile she felt forming on her face. She'd be lying if she said taking care of the little girl made her wonder how things would be when they DID have their own child, she'd love to have a little boy that looked just like her husband. Though she had known for a while she wants more than one child, as aware as she is of what childbirth is like in this era she wouldn't miss the chance to have the family she desires with the man she loves. "You guys will be the first we tell when I fall pregnant, I promise Mitsunari." She giggled some, at least until she felt Masamune's arm wrap around her waist. "It'll be more than that, we'll be staying here during your pregnancy that way I can be sure of your safety. Plus, Ieyasu will be a boon to have on standby." The blonde let out an indignant snort but said nothing back. The fussy blonde being surprisingly quiet about Masamune's desire to have him care for Hime in such a state, and none of the other warlords seemed bothered at the idea of a pregnant woman waddling around the castle. Something that both embarrassed (Y/n) and made her feel overjoyed, as she knew she had everyone's support when it came time for this new step in her life.

Kenshin

Everyone stared intently at the trio during a war council, sitting in his usual place was Kenshin. And as per usual, he was the one making a scene. In his lap sat his wife, odd but not entirely unexpected. And then on her lap was a little boy, a 4-year-old she had volunteered to watch during the day for her friend who was caring for an ill family member. The group had been stuck at the hip since the little boy's arrival, though at first Kenshin had been a little jealous and that had been why he was being more openly affectionate than usual. But it was less than 2 hours before his reasoning shifted, some part of him deeply enjoyed watching his wife happily interact with the child. He had thought about having a family with her for many years, even before they had married. Though he had yet to put his desires into words, he didn't want to pressure her and had originally decided he'd just wait for her to approach him when she was ready. But now, while Kanetsugu went over his report for his recent observation mission, Kenshin wanted nothing more than a way to bring up his desires without pressuring his love. Starting a family was a big deal after all, he didn't want her to force herself into something she isn't ready for just to try and please him. Kenshin was staring off into the distance, his chin resting on the top of his lover's head while the little boy in her lap played with a stuffed animal. His vassals watched, absolutely astonished. Even Shingen was quite intrigued with his friend's behavior, meanwhile Kanetsugu could feel his eye twitching as he figured out long ago his Lord was barely listening, and they'd probably have to talk about this again later. Of course (Y/n) wasn't dumb, she could tell what everyone was thinking, and she did kind of feel bad for Kanetsugu. Before Kanetsugu left for his mission Kenshin had the Fearsome God of war, when he returned however he was Kenshin Lord of the bunnies. Sure, he still went to war, but he had changed in many ways. Kanetsugu could recognize the good, but he often found himself surprised at how (Y/n) brought out a childlike behavior in Kenshin.

Sometimes it made Kanetsugu want to laugh, but when his Lord is just blank face no thought staring at him in the middle of a war council, he wanted to throw something. Not that he actually would. He tried to soothe himself by observing his Lord's situation while he spoke, knowing that at least Shingen, Yukimura and Sasuke were listening. From the outside, you'd almost think they were a family. A thought that did calm the white-haired male's irritation, his Lord seemed so content. Kenshin was always quite happy when he had (Y/n) in his lap, but the addition of the child seemed to bring something out of the male. Kanetsugu didn't miss how his lord had gently pulled his wife closer, the blonde man's hand occasionally coming up to pet the little boy on the head absent mindedly. It only further reassured Kanetsugu's expectation that this is likely going to be the future, he wasn't quite sure how he was gonna handle this, but he was sure it was going to involve late night drinks with a recap of the war council. By the time Kanetsugu had come to this conclusion he had finished his explanation of the survey he had been sent on, and as he stepped back to return to his previous seat Kenshin seemed to realize that everything was over. On the outside Kenshin seemed somewhat normal, but Kanetsugu could see the slight surprise in his lord's features upon realizing he had missed the entire council. "I see, I do have a few questions, but we can discuss those later. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?" Kenshin gazed around the room, wanting to make sure there wasn't anything left to discuss before he dismissed the meeting. When it was concluded that there was nothing else to talk about, Kenshin released everyone to go back to their daily duties. "It's almost time for lunch Kenshin, did you want to go out to eat? The weather has been nice the past few days." (Y/n) smiled, leaning back so that she rested against his chest. Her head leaned back against his shoulder, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek with a warm smile. After the door had been closed and everyone left, she let the little boy up so that he could explore the room a bit. Where the two adults sat, they could see every corner of the room and could easily monitor him. "Sure, we can make a date of it. The little one won't notice, and we can stop by a tea house for dessert after if you want." Though Kenshin didn't really like sweets, he still enjoyed the tea house atmosphere while he watched her enjoy her desserts. "You know me too well." She giggled, pressing another kiss to his cheek as they spent a few quiet moments in each other's arms. Watching over the little boy in front of them, both having only the thought of discussing family with each other at the end of the night.

[whchenlvr]

Hi, I absolutely loved your Weak Hero collections. There are just so few of them in here, and you did such an amazing job capturing their personalities. I'm a great sucker for angst, so if requests are open, and you're comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could do a scenario where Y/N gets seriously hurt while taking the hit for them? Like they get in between and get stabbed/punched/near death? Basically, it's their fault you get hurt?

You can write for any, but I'd really like a Wolf Keum one...

Thank you tons and absolutely loved your writing style :p

YES omg i’ve been wanting to write angst and i LOVEEE wolf. THANK YOU SO MYCH

when you get seriously hurt ;

weak hero x gn!reader

wolf keum. stabbed

➤ you had a bad feeling. you tried convincing wolf not to leave that night, but he didn’t listen. when did he ever?

➤ the union was never safe, but recently, the violence has gotten more extreme. you’d witnessed old friends of yours falling into the fighting scene and ending up in the hospital

➤ you even caught yourself waiting by the front door until you see your boyfriend through the window and have to stop yourself from running out to greet him

➤ you’re doing just that one evening, watching, when you see wolf’s purple hair appear. you’re about to welcome him in when something behind him catches your eye

➤ without thinking, you throw the door open and run out to him. wolf is too distracted by your presence to notice the masked man behind him with a knife. “wolf, look out!”

➤ you just barely shove him out of the way when you feel a sharp pain in your side. you instantly fall to your knees, and you can tell wolf hesitates on whether to grab you or chase the man who did this, not realizing you’d just been stabbed

➤ when he does realize what’s going on, wolf would just stare at you with wide eyes

➤ his panic response is always fight, never flight, but he can’t fight this. he stands over you, frozen, for a few moments before calling for help and dropping to your side

➤ “you okay?” he’d ask in a distance voice, more for himself than you, but you know from all the times of cleaning wolf up what to do in a situation like this

➤ you’d have to take wolf’s hands in yours and press them against your stab wound, trying your very hardest to keep calm in this situation, since you can tell by the daze in wolf’s eyes that he’s in shock and won’t be much help

➤ “you’re not going to die. you’re fine,” wolf would repeat, and you’d just nod and focus on your breathing. “i’m fine. you can’t get rid of me this easy.”

donald na. shot

➤ you and donald had been walking home from a date one evening when you noticed someone following you

➤ when you move to warm donald, he only places a hand over yours, catching your eye and shaking his head to signal “no”

➤ that’s when you start to panic, because donald isn’t the type of person to back down or step away from a fight. you assumed it was because you were with him, but donald had seen the light catch on the follower’s hand and knew that this wasn’t something he could punch his way out of

➤ you’d just passed a corner when donald suddenly shoved you forward and turned back to tackle the follower. he had him pinned, weapon tossed to the side, and looked back at you when his eyes widened. “y/n!”

➤ but you’re frozen when you hear something click behind you. there were two of them.

➤ you barely have time to scream when the person pulls the trigger, and white flashes before your eyes as you fall to the ground

➤ donald wastes no time jumping off of the first man to run to you, ignoring the sound of him running away as he holds you in his arms and presses both hands harshly against your shoulder

➤ donald is calculated. he is talented and skilled in fighting. he doesn’t know how to keep calm against a bullet wound in the person he loves most

➤ he’d be too afraid to pull his hands off of the wound to use his phone to call for help, and thankfully a helpful pedestrian would run over and call for you instead

➤ donald would ride in the ambulance with you the entire way there, keeping you talking and laughing as he tried to get himself to stop shaking

gray yeon. glass cut

➤ typically, gray is aware of his surroundings at all times during a fight. your presence threw him off guard and wasn’t something he took into account

➤ you didn’t mean to be there. you had almost been home when you realized you’d forgotten one of your notebooks in your desk and turned back to retrieve it from the school. it wasn’t your intention to stumble upon a fight

➤ you can tell right away that something is wrong. everyone looks too tense, like they’re all afraid of more than just a few bruises

➤ then you see it. on the ground is a boy you recognize from your 1st period, laying in a pool of blood too big to be from fists

➤ there’s another, taller boy standing above him with something clutched tightly in his fist. when he realizes what he’d done, his hands tremble and he runs away from the group. runs right toward you

➤ it was clear by his face that he was scared. it was obvious that this was an accident, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time

➤ you move too slow as you step out of his way, and pain flares in your middle as the broken shard of glass sliced into you

➤ it takes no time at all for you to lose your balance as blood seeps into your once clean white uniform shirt

➤ you were so distracted on trying to apply pressure to your wound that you didn’t even notice gray sprinting toward you, his eyes wet with worry

➤ “what happened, what happened?” he’s repeating his words like a mantra as he falls to your side as assesses the situation. you can tell he’s trying to be brave, but there are tears rolling down his cheeks as he desperately covers your hands with his

➤ he’d be a trembling mess, his mind completely jumbled as thought of stephan fill his head. how he couldn’t help him. he wasn’t about to make the same mistake with you, too

➤ gray would tear the sleeve from his jacket to wrap around your wound and keep pressure with one hand as he calls an ambulance with the other

ben park. ganged up on. beaten

➤ ben can usually handle himself well. even when he’s outnumbered, his focus is only on himself and the men fighting him. not you

➤ the two of you would be walking home from a date one evening when a group of new union members trying to impress donald na surround you

➤ ben would instinctively pull you close to him, and you can’t help but shrink back when you notice how his face hardens and his chest puffs out

➤ “you’re big ben, right?” “…” “so you are! we figured, you know, if we rough you up a little, maybe we’ll get on donald’s good side!”

➤ you weren’t that afraid until more of them started trickling in around you, and soon a group of rowdy teenagers had formed around you and your boyfriend

➤ when the first kid charges, ben knocks him to the ground with a single strike. you aren’t sure what these boys thought they could do, but as more approached, you started worrying for ben

➤ thankfully, he’d been teaching you basic self defense, but you’d never had to use it in real life as he’d always been there to protect you

➤ it happened so fast. more and more kept appearing, and soon ben was overwhelmed. you fought off as many as you could, but when one of the boys threw a brick at the back of your head, you were done and taking kick after kick

➤ ben only noticed when he realized how quiet you’d gotten. when he sees you on the ground, not moving, all he’d see is red

➤ less than a minute later, you’d be in his arms with your body pressed against his chest as he runs to the nearest hospital, begging you to be okay

[bigskydreaming]

The Vampire Daniel Molloy, when Louis asks what he's looking forward to most about the next stage of his newly immortal life:

Hmm. With how much my maker already complains about me ruining his life and how every day I give him a new reason to regret ever siring me, if I had to pick just one thing, I'd say the thing I'm most looking forward to is when I hit vampire puberty.

Louis: ....

Daniel: Vampire puberty's when the really wild superpowers kick in, right?

Louis: I suppose technically that's not....inaccurate.

Daniel: Hey, what are the chances of me getting the 'set shit on fire with my brain' thing you've got? Can you even imagine how much that would piss him off? His disappointment of a fledgling having the same gifts as the ex who dumped his ass....oh, man. C'mon now. I bet I could do some real damage with that.

Louis: Actually, while we're near the subject: would you please stop introducing yourself as 'the reason your vampire parents got divorced?'

Daniel: No, Louis, Louis! You're not getting it, see....the thing that makes it funny is its true.

Louis: You've really decided to lean into the whole 'second childhood' angle, huh.

Daniel: Mmmm. And just think. If you'd turned me fifty years ago when I first asked, I'd be well past this stage by now. And also still twenty. And hot.

Louis: Ahh. Its like that, then, is it.

Daniel: Oh, only a little bit. Really though, its like, every day I discover a new way to make Armand rue my very existence all over again, and maybe I'm just a simple man with simple needs, because that's just....very fun for me. I mean, there's just something extra validating in knowing the guy you're all "fuck that guy, I hate him, he sucks" about hates you waaaay more than you can be bothered to hate him. Because then its like you win the feud, right? You still get to hate that guy, which is great, because fuck that guy, he sucks, but you also get to know your very existence drives him way crazier than his ever makes you, and I mean, let's be real. Who doesn't like winning things?

Louis: Well I'm so glad you've found something that gives you a sense of purpose at least. Its very -

Daniel: Yeah, yeah, immortal blood drinkers need hobbies other than mass murder, it keeps the body count low and is good for the environment. Relax. I know. I literally wrote the book on it. You were there.

Louis: That's what you got out of it?

Daniel: Why, did you want me to fixate on your sex scenes instead? That seems weird. A little narcissistic even. And at the risk of self-awareness, when I'm the one -

Louis: Right. Well. I just wanted to make sure you had something to focus your energies on. It can all be a bit overwhelming at first and with your level of public attention at the moment, its very crit -

Daniel: Nope, all good here. Got myself a steady supply of Deadbeat Dad jokes that make my maker's eye twitch - apparently base word play is "gauche" or some shit - ugh, my god, its like nothing I do is ever good enough for him, and I only ate one of the editors on my shitlist to test drive my shiny new murder skills. He had this thing about Oxford commas, used to bug the crap out of me. Its like we get it, you hate them. They're literally dots on a page, they can't hurt you, can we please move on....

Louis: ....

Daniel: Louis, I'm kidding. Look, you don't have to worry about me. I already decided I find emotional evisceration way more satisfying than the physical version. Less clean up and it lasts longer anyway. I'm not going to get myself into trouble by cosplaying as Jack the Ripper where paparazzi can catch me red-fanged, and even if I do, I hereby absolve you of all responsibility. You can stop mother-henning me, you didn't turn me, you literally said no when I begged you to, its the whole reason I have eternal wrinkles instead of youthful tautness.

Louis: Not gonna let that one go, are you.

Daniel: Gimme a few centuries and ask me again. I'll let you know then.

Louis: Mmhmm. So this was....memorable and we definitely won't be doing it again. But you do seem to have things figured out so I'll leave you to it, then.

Daniel: Wait, Louis, don't go! Don't you want to hear my five-century life plan for annoying Armand into an early retirement mausoleum? I made visual aids!

Louis: Goodbye, Daniel.

Daniel: Fine, leave then! I don't care! You're not my real dad anyway! Et cetera, et cetera!

[bonny-kookoo]

head empty just seven days yoongi and his proposition. mother please tell us what was oc's reaction and how did their first time went? 😭

A/N: Honestly this is kind of just a very long steamy-fluff scene..

True to his word, he's been showing his actual genuine interest in you in many ways up until now. It's been almost two months of knowing him, and since then, he's not only visit you in your home, but he's also invited you into his, and his studio, where he spends most of his time according to him.

Yoongi has noticed the way you.. try and hold back from him. Whenever he reaches out to you, you seem to get excited and you begin to ramble on and on and on, and he could honestly listen forever- but you never reach out first. You never ask anything of him. You never request for anything.

You just try and follow orders, because without a path pre-determined for you, you're absolutely lost in where to go, it feels like.

Decisions puts pressure on you. Pressure makes you uncomfortable. And what makes you uncomfortable, you try and avoid or escape from, he's realized.

Though, he has been able to coax out some of your secret desires out of you, by asking just the right questions and steering conversations towards a mood that makes you open up to him. It's not an easy task- and he's been piecing together as to why step by step, but he's willing to make that effort.

Because every little thing he discovers about you, every memory he makes connected to you, every second he spends with you, makes him want more. It makes him greedy.

He wants to know. He wants to have you. He wants to touch you.

And most of all- he wants you to want him. Seek him out. Rely on him.

Trust him.

"You've been working overtime." He notices, and you nod, sitting down on his couch, clearly exhausted. He knows your job can be quite mentally challenging and most of all draining- but he admires your strong work ethic. He also admires how you know your strengths and limits- you don't need to be told to take it slow, or take care of yourself.

You can do that all on your own.

Because you've learned to do that on your own- since no one else ever did that for you.

"You wanna come to me?" He asks, turning around on his office chair, arms open, relaxed, inviting. You look at him, and he knows how uncomfortable choices like these make you. "I'd like to hold you." He eases the pressure of the question on you a little, by giving you the underlying cause of him presenting it.

And it works, because you set away your phone, and walk towards him to somewhat stand in front of him- unsure. So he instead holds your hands, leads you to sit on his lap, chair squeaking a bit under the added weight, before he positions your arms around him, his own wrapping around your body as well.

He's controlling the hug- positioning you how he wants, but it's clear that he does it with your needs and hinted wants in mind. It makes you take in a deep breath, a sigh escaping you as you let yourself relax, head against his shoulder.

You've not hugged someone like this.. ever.

You've not been hugged like this ever either.

"I've really come to like you." He offers you, chuckling a little. "I guess now is the best moment to say that." He tells you.

"I really like you, too." You agree, all tension having left your body.

"That's good to hear." He hums, leaning back a little further, relaxing as well. The weight of your body feels good against his own, like something holding him down and grounded. It offers him comfort he hasn't felt in a while- and he didn't lie when he told you he's been growing to like you quite a bit over the course of barely a few days over two months.

And he also has to admit that he's noticed how physically attractive you are to him as well.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, voice lowly purring underneath where your ear is resting against his body, and your eyes open again, focus returning. "You don't have to move at all. I'd just like to know if you're okay with that." He asks.

"But.. how're you gonna kiss me if I don't move?" You ask, almost careful as to not ruin the quietness of the room you're both in right now, and he chuckles without any voice.

"You want me to show you?" He asks, a slight playfulness in his tone, and your curiosity gets the best of you, as you nod.

And then one of his hands moves your hair out of the way, before his lips press a kiss to your neck. "Just like this." He almost whispers, and your entire skin is shuddering at the feeling of his affection on your skin, your hands holding onto the back of his shirt, as if to quietly urge him to continue with whatever he's doing. He notices that- because of course he does.

It's something you've come to learn about Yoongi. He's extremely observant.

"Let me help you relax." He offers, and you're not sure what he's referring to, when he helps one of your legs in between his, so that you're now sitting on one of his thighs only, hands still clinging onto him. You know what this is leading to.

You've talked about this before, after all.

'let's do a simple exchange.' he'd told you. 'Your efforts for my affection.' he'd proposed. 'I'll take the decisions off your shoulders- and you'll just be honest with me.'

At the time, you didn't really understand what he wanted. What the hell would even be in it for him. And then he had explained his rather unconventual way of intimacy to you- and it had, surprisingly enough, intrigued you more than it intimidated you.

Yoongi finds pleasure in acts of service. He finds comfort in things he knows will always go according to plan. He relaxes in the things that he knows he can control.

Meanwhile, you don't want to control anything, because control always comes with responsibility. Responsibility carries potential blame for failure. And failure-

you've failed way too much in the past. You've been called a failure way too often in the past. You don't want any of it anymore.

And Yoongi? He offers this shift of control to you. And he doesn't feel or seem like a person to abuse this control for nothing. If anything, the way he speaks to you, the way he treats you, holds a certain sense of honesty in it that grants you a sense of security in his words and actions.

He makes you trust him. And only time will tell if that trust is placed well, or if it isn't.

But for now, you just let yourself feel the rush of letting go- of giving yourself into his hands, of letting him play your body just like he deems fit for the moment. For once, you decide to be selfish, and let yourself have this moment of tranquility and euphoria.

For the first time, you give into what you want-

and what you want, is him.