#will have to do so while i am suspicious and bitchy

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Ranting

[mappingthesky]

burning through you - part 4

hi bbs <3 here's part 4 of the werk room drabble, which I am now calling 'burning through you' as it is turning into a lengthy fic! i'm very proud of this chapter, i hope you love it as much as i do <3

Day Five

By the fourth smirk Morphine gave her that morning, Jane was about ready to smack it off her face. 

She’d been in a bad mood since the main stage the night before. Something about Morphine catching a glimpse of her in a moment of uncommon softness had Jane feeling like she’d been caught. Like an animal in a trap, she was about ready to gnaw her fucking leg off.

She had settled for gnawing at Amanda instead, which was all too easy. Jane was bothered and Amanda was there and looking like that. Could anyone really blame her? Besides, Jane needed to maintain her reputation, if only to Morphine.

Jane considered her bitchy remarks the balancing out of her brief stint in vulnerability. Amanda was merely the victim, looking busted at the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, Amanda was oblivious to this, and made the rookie mistake of taking anything Jane said personally. Morphine’s jaw hitting the floor just barely made the argument worth it. Jane got bored of talking in circles very quickly, and fuck, Amanda could talk.

Jane knew it wasn’t fair coming for Amanda like that. Her real gripe was with Morphine, the only one here who knew Jane in the outside world. Whatever inexplicable emotional hold Nymphia was developing over Jane may not yet be noticeable to anyone else, but she worried her friend may be more sensitive to Jane’s subtleties than the rest. She’d be damned if she would be discovered as having a weakness. The thought terrified Jane. If anyone else was to catch a glimpse of her panic, a fragment of her discomfort, it could undo the illusion of herself she'd so carefully built up. Embroiling herself in a feud had seemed to Jane ample testament to her toughness, yet there was that same, knowing smile on Morphine’s face the next morning. Seeing it, Jane was suddenly all too aware of the girl in the yellow hoodie hovering somewhere over her right shoulder. She silently cursed whatever force kept bringing them together.

Morphine had suggested they work together in the challenge that day. Jane shut them down fast. That wiped the smile off Morphine’s face alright. Jane would feel bad later, for now she was keeping her friends far, far away.

Working with Megami was strategic, and not just because Jane was confident she could out-perform her. Megami had been sitting beside Jane when Nymphia had elicited Jane’s first defensive response towards her. She would consider crushing her in this challenge to be damage control.

Jane ended up having much more fun than she thought she would. She enjoyed losing herself in a character. It reminder her of why she was here in the first place. She emerged from line-reading feeling lighter. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t thought about Nymphia in a suspiciously long while. Weird. Glancing around the room, Jane spotted the girl reading lines with her group. She sat with her knees to her chest, tongue working the inside of her cheek. The expression on her face was hard to read- not quite panic, but certainly not the confidence she’d exuded the night before. Jane felt a pang in her chest.

They were two of the last girls in the room that night for different reasons. Jane was having fun embellishing her character, while Nymphia was rehearsing hers in twelve slightly different, increasingly frantic fonts. Jane found herself striding across the room for the thirteenth.

“How’re you doing sister?” she said, knees brushing against the couch, unsure if she was welcome to sit. Nymphia’s sigh was half a scream as she stretched her long arms.

“I don’t knowwww,” she whined, and let the script fall to the empty end of the couch. Jane accepted the invitation.

Jane scanned the room for Sapphira or Plasma. “Where’d the others go?” 

Nymphia shrugged and picked at her nails. “They said I’m fine. But. I’m not feeling it yet.” She sighed and started rubbing her eyes. “I think they think I’m being dramatic. Or something.”

Jane scooped up the script and flipped to the lines highlighted in yellow.

“Show me what you have so far.”

Nymphia whined again, hands over her face. Jane knew from experience what faking it looked like. She didn’t think it looked like this. Neither one said anything for a long moment.

“This isn’t my thing,” Nymphia finally mumbled from behind her hands.

Jane was glad she couldn’t see her smiling. “Yes it is. You’re acting a fool half the time you’re here. C’mon, read with me.”

Nymphia finally peered out from between her fingers, then dropped her hands. She groaned and sat forward, her knees brushing against Jane’s where they sat criss-cross applesauce on the couch.

“From the top,” Jane began.

Day Six

Morphine was still not talking to Jane, even though they were sitting side by side at the mirror. Jane knew how to apologize, a surprise to most, she just didn’t want to have to explain herself in this particular situation.

She didn’t have to. Nymphia skipped over to Jane’s station not long before they were set to film. She was humming when she hugged Jane from behind, long arms wrapping around her waist. Nymphia was a hugger, as Jane was begging to understand.

“Thank you Jane,” she sang, nestling into Jane’s neck all too comfortably. “For last night.”

“Feeling better?” Jane asked as nonchalantly as possible, pretending not to notice Morphine’s eyes burning a hole through the mirror. 

Nymphia nodded, unwrapping herself from Jane’s waist, “mhm. Thank you.”

Nymphia hovered for a moment, watching intently as Jane smoked out her black eyeshadow. Her hand reached out to ruffle through the hair of Jane’s platinum blonde wig, expertly disheveled for that just-fucked look. Nymphia, as Jane was not quite getting used to, was bad at keeping her hands to herself.

“You look good blonde,” Nymphia quipped, then turned on her heel and scampered away.

Morphine’s tongue popped. Jane pursed her lips and pretended she wasn’t blushing. 

“So is this why you’ve been a bitch to me this week, huh?” Morphine at least had the decency to wait until Nymphia was out of earshot. 

Jane scoffed, and smudged the corner of her red lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Morphine just shook their head.

“Can’t believe you let her call you Jane. Bitch.”

-

Jane hadn’t been able to watch Nymphia’s skit, but she wasn’t surprised when she was called safe. Nymphia hadn’t needed the help. The girl had more than enough silly to go around. All she had needed was a little push. Still, there was something about being there for her that made Jane feel good inside. Nymphia mouthed another completely unnecessary ‘thank you’ to Jane as she scurried from the runway, her face glowing with pride. 

Jane joined Nymphia at the back of the stage not too long after. She tried to stand as far away from the girl as possible, because oh my god Nymphia was practically naked on the runway and her body was ridiculous and suddenly she didn’t know how to act. Nymphia did not seem to have the same concern. 

Nymphia’s perfectly manicured press-ons were flitting through the white feathers dancing at Jane’s sleeves, her mouth in a perfect O as she ooooh’d. “Pretty,” she whispered. A pause. “You look sexy in dark hair, too.”

Fuck.

Nymphia’s commentary made it hard for Jane to keep a straight face at the back of the stage. She was funny, or maybe Jane was just incapable of keeping herself together around the girl. Either way,it made Jane want to launch herself down a flight of steps, and then they were dancing to ‘Dark Lady’ and Jane was having fun. And then suddenly it wasn’t so fun anymore, because Mirage was standing at the end of the stage and dissolving into tears.

Jane could physically feel the energy in the room change. It ripped the air from her chest. Mirage was openly sobbing, and Jane felt hot tears spilling down her own face. The world, which had felt so very bright mere minutes before, was suddenly tinged with cruelty. Mirage, naive and messy and spitfire-sweetheart Mirage, was practically crumbling to pieces before their very eyes, and Jane felt she was looking reality right in its ugly face. It could be her, she thought to herself, it could be anyone. She felt Nymphia shaking beside her.

The moment seemed to drag on unbearably, and then Mirage was waving goodbye and the girls were trudging back through a darkened hallway, the heavy silence punctuated by breathy sobs and shaky gasps for air. Jane wasn’t sure who had reached for the other first, just that she was holding Nymphia’s hand and it felt like the only right thing to be doing in that moment.

The pair paused just before the light that filtered through the doorway. Virtually everyone had to collect themselves before passing into the next room, wiping the mascara from their cheeks and taking deep breaths. Morphine passed by, briefly leaning in to offer Jane a half-hug and a whispered ‘I love you’. Their gaze flickered to Nymphia for a moment, a look of concern crossing Morphine’s face before they disappeared into the next room.

Nymphia’s breathing was hard and heavy. Jane didn’t know why she asked Nymphia if she was okay. She knew what the answer was. Nymphia looked like she was searching for the right words, but nothing came out. Jane squeezed her hand.

“I know,” Jane said, “it’s okay,” It wasn’t, but its all she had. Nymphia nodded through tears.

Jane lifted her free hand to press the wetness from Nymphia’s cheeks. “I’d say don’t cry, it makes you ugly. But.”

Nymphia sputtered a laughed through her tears. Jane didn’t have to finish the compliment. Nymphia knew.

[catgirlshauna]

um hi pookies i wrote my first long smut in a while LOL here it is

warnings: cnc, slight noncon, dubious consent

you only came to this party because lottie begged you to. she had texted you a few nights prior to tonight.

lottie matthews (math class) *your phone*

“wanna come to a party w/ me?😔”

loml *lottie's phone*

“uhhh when”

lottie matthews (math class)

“friday, at 8”

loml

“isn't that kinda l8 lol”

lottie matthews (math class)

“PLS…… 😩” “i don't wanna go alone u know those guys flirt with me 😓”

loml

“fineeeee 😒”

lottie nearly jumped for joy at your response, she would of course… never tell you that. you met her outside of your house, though you don't remember telling her your address, you just figured shauna shipman from lit. gave it to her so she could text you about math.

lottie matthews (bad @ math)

“wear something cute, pleaseeee? don't dress all prudish, it's boring !!”

loml

“i am NOT getting down with some man tonite LOTTIE 😤”

lottie matthews (bad @ math)

“i just want u to have fun and open with urself”

you couldn't really argue with that… so you picked out the loosest sweatpants you owned tied together with the belt string, and a crop top you deemed just cropped enough to be exciting, but not slutty. you hoped. you sent lottie a picture of the fit, hoping it'll please her.

lottie matthews (bad @ math)

“cute!!! that's perfect. i'm omw to pick u up now <3”

loml

“ok”

you sat at your front door, waiting for the dreaded ‘here :)’ message from lottie. and as soon as it came, you were up and out of the door. lottie pulls up in what you can only assume is a custom wrapped tesla that her father told her to get. you stop your jaw from dropping and get into her car.

it smells like incense and cinnamon, meaning you can't help but take a deep breath in through your nose as the air cycles through. lottie feels giddy, she wonders what you'll sound like when she's fucking you numb.

the drive to the party is surprisingly short.. it was near your neighborhood, which felt oddly specific but… oh well! you weren't going to question it. much.. when you arrive, lottie even goes as far as to open the car door for you, a saccharine smile gracing her lips as she grabs you by the hand and pulls you inside. immediately you're hit with the smell of musk, weed, alcohol, and maybe vomit.

you two do end up separating about fifteen minutes into the party, as lottie goes off with her other friends and leaves you to fend for yourself at the drink table. it's a build-your-own cocktail moment, with various clear and slightly cloudy liquors. you make yourself a dirty shirley temple and find yourself sitting on the couch next to natalie scatorccio, who's clearly only there for the free drugs and alcohol.

“wow, did lottie get you to come here? the little prude who's never seen at parties.” she jokes, clearly a little high and a little bitchy. you resist the urge to roll your eyes, until they flit down to the dab pen that rests in the palm of her right hand.

“can i… hit that?” you know you sound a little desperate, but you need to feel high to feel normal. natalie only flashes a knowing smile before handing it to you. you take a deep puff, one that would kill your lungs if you weren't so healthy right now (an absolute lie).

lottie, who's been wandering the party to make herself seem less suspicious, comes down the stairs only to see you sitting with- with natalie scatorccio? why her? lottie sucks in a deep breath through her teeth and lets it out through her nose. she needs to get you more pliable, and fast. she makes her way towards you, crouching down in front of you.

“hey, having fun?” she asks, placing her hands on your knees. she takes your nearly empty drink from your hand and takes a sip, deducing what cocktail you made yourself just by taste. “i'll go fill this up, ‘kay?”

you're too high to care, but your mouth starts to feel dry… you look up at her and smile.

“thanks, lottie.” your words are a little slurred, but otherwise understandable. lottie smiles in return and walks off to the drink table. as she makes your drink, she adds a dash of powder that most definitely isn't a crushed up roofie. she walks back to you, handing you the drink.

“i'm gonna be around, okay? you sit and… talk to your friend.” she waves her hand towards natalie, who's still vegged out on the couch.

lottie will be more than around. she’ll be right around the corner, watching, waiting for the roofie to kick in, before she swoops in a few minutes later to ‘check’ on you.

“oh, baby, are you sleepy? did that pen knock you out?” lottie thanks god that natalie is always packing some serious weed varieties. you end up nodding, and with her help, standing. you say your goodbyes to natalie and let lottie practically carry you to her car. the drive back to her house is quiet, mostly because you've fallen asleep. not fully, lottie knows, but enough. she parks her car out front, not giving a care in the world to who might see her as she carries you out of the car and into her large home. she doesn't waste any time, taking you straight to her room. she sets you down onto her bed, gently, of course, and brushes her thumb over your cheek to ease you into sleeping.

lottie quickly enters her bathroom, taking another pill, a much stronger pill, and dissolving it in a glass of water. she brings the water to you, urging you awake so you can ‘stay hydrated’. you groan in disobedience, but drink the water anyway. as soon as you do? your head hits her fluffy pillows, which feel oddly like they've been fluffed up just for this moment. you start to feel hot, extremely uncomfortably hot, and wiggle around on the bed with a groan. you can't speak, for some reason, but look at lottie pleadingly. she only nods, as if it's completely normal, and starts to undress you. what you didn't tell her to do… was undress you all the way. you're left naked on her bed, almost completely paralyzed as she stares down at you.

“you poor thing… you must be so warm… so hot?” she mumbles, brushing her fingers over your ankle. you might not be able to move, but every sense is heightened, and you want to jerk away from her touch. her hands start to brush over your legs, massaging your calves, squeezing into your plush thighs. you let out little whimpers, though, every time her squeeze on your thigh tightens to something painful. you swear she’ll leave bruises with how brightly red they shined on your skin. she tuts every time you make a noise, only squeezing harder. you bite your lip, which is numb, and nearly bruise it by how hard you're actually biting.

lottie decides she’s teased enough, given you enough foreplay. she drops her pants, then her panties, taking her shirt off as she drapes herself over you. skin against skin, you stare up at her in bewilderment. her cock is hard already, pressing against your stomach as she starts to trail sloppy, wet kisses to your throat and jaw. she's moaning into your skin, absolutely obsessed with how you taste. how she knew you'd taste. she runs her palms over your nipples, rolling them into hard little nubs. you can't stop yourself from trying to buck up against her, your cunt unbelievably wet from her teasing. she starts to breathe a little heavier, before guiding her cockhead to your waiting hole. her dick is average, but rather thick, and takes a bit of easing as she pushes in. you let out a real moan this time, feeling the stretch of her cock as she bottoms out. you rock your hips against hers. she groans and bites into the flesh of your neck, rocking into you at a faster pace as she wraps her arms under yours and pins her front to your front, effectively pushing your bodies as close together as possible while still being inside you. your poor pussy clenches around her, fluttering in a way it never has before as one of her cock-veins rubs against your walls. you want to moan and moan for her, to do anything it'll take for her to let you cum. and she listens, to those broken little slurs you make begging for her to fuck you harder. you don't know why you've become a bitch in heat, but you don't care… you love letting a woman like lottie matthews fuck you raw, and yeah, you don't really know why everything that happened tonight suddenly ended up in her bedroom. and yeah, you don't care, either.

lottie’s hips start to stutter, and her thrusts turn slow and sloppy. she presses a kiss just under your ear, before whispering the most horrifying words you've ever heard.

“i can't wait to see you pregnant with my baby.” you start to squirm under her, whining, trying to get her out of you. there's no way you're letting a girl you just met a few weeks ago get you pregnant! lottie, however, growls and bites into your shoulder again. she sucks and sucks until the bruise borders on painful. “you're mine, understand?” her words start to slur together in pleasure, and suddenly she slams into you one last time, her cock brushing against your cervix as she fills you up with her cum. she slides out, almost all the way, before slowly pushing right back in, fucking her load into you to ensure you get pregnant. you're still squirming, but you've grown tired, really tired… you stop. lottie stops.

“i can't wait, baby.”

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

1:00 is my favorite part of this video. Quaritch: "Oh, shit..." he saw his pussy boss walking and yelling towards him. Not this shit again.

I love this scene and I kind of rushed it the first time I published it. This scene is sooo funny. I rewatched it many times. Haha.

The Colonel was more pissed and mean than usual. Why? Trudy helped Jake, Norm, and Grace escape.

 You and Max were told to stay 

The Colonel shot at them but he was humiliated that he couldn't stop them and Selfridge yelled at him.

So… he would take his anger on you. He was rougher in having sex with you. He kissed you so hard that you would almost faint for air. He would painfully fuck you hard. Like a rag doll.

And grope your ass and breasts hard. You didn't call yourself his girlfriend or whatever. You hate him. But for the sake of the Navi. You spreaded your virgin legs for him. 

 So you called yourself his concubine.

Today, you were tending wounded soldiers and then you heard him.

Not Quaritch but the spoiled baby Selfridge yelling. 

"You're fired!"

The poor coal miner named Logan stared. 

You wondered why he was in a bad mood. 

You went back to work and then it happened…

Your "Master" or "Daddy" heard the commotion as he was ordering his men in the incoming battle against the Navi.

Max was planning a combat rebellion within the base. 

You were sneaking guns and weapons in a closet so your science friends can find them later.

You were secretly talking to Trudy.

….

While you were busy, Quaritch heard the bitchy yells of that pussy Selfridge. Fuck.

Selfridge opened his hands wide out. "This thing is completely out of control…"

Quaritch rolled his eyes. "Oh, shit."

"Listen to me!" Selfridge raised his voice causing heads to turn to them and it made the Colonel more angry and embarrassed at being scolded by his own boss in public. "I am not authorizing you to mine local workers into a freakin' Malaysia.!"

The Colonel turned his back and inspected a bomber weapon. He gave him an order. Then he turned to Selfridge. He explained how he is in command since it is code Red. 

Selfridge got into the Colonel's face. "You think you can operate this palace coup shit on me!" He pointed his finger to Quaritch's face. "I can have your ass with one phone call!"

That does it. 

Quaritch shut his boss up by grabbing hold of his ugly face. His teeth gnarled with hate as he seethed. "You're a long way from earth."

Parker was for once quiet instead of barking. The Colonel let go of his face and then placed both hands on his weak shoulders mockingly. 

Lyle and other marine soldiers surrounded Selfridge. 

"Unass this man from the area. And get that compound loaded!" Quaritch left.

Lyle shook his head. He tried to make Parker move faster. 

"Don't touch me, you are so fired!"

…

As for you, you were working diligently but when Selfridge raised his voice, almost all stopped working to stare.

You flinched in fear when you saw your Daddy choke the boss's face.

Good Lord.

You always obeyed your master and so far never got into trouble. Now, you were more scared of him. What will he do if he finds out your secret? He was suspicious of you since Grace is your best friend and you loved Navis. 

You tried to work again but you heard his authoritative voice. "Name. Come with me."

Then he grabbed your hand and pulled you away from your patient without giving you time to think. 

He was walking too fast. 

"Colonel, can you please slow down?"

He said nothing but tightened his hold on you. It almost hurt.

Then you fell on your knees and one sandal fell.

The Colonel looked down at you and frowned. He dragged you up to your feet and didn't care to say a word. As if nothing happened.

Were you in trouble?

[rescue-ram]

hawktrap, and if someone got there before me, beejhawk

(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠) TrapHawk ✨

Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

Waugh, the first MASH episode I remember seeing was Dr. Pierce and Mr. Hyde, and the funny-turns-touching caretaking instantly set off the little shippy bulb in my brain. I love best friend ships, I love the love and affection between them, I love that they're a paired set and the support they show, and I feel like there's a really special quality to their friendship that makes them feel Very Important to each other. Plus they have great chemistry.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Kfksjsj low key got ahead of myself there. But the thing that keeps me hooked is how flexible they ss characters and their dynamic is. I feel like there's lots of angles you can take and lots of scenarios to explore while still keeping the characters in line with what we see in the show. I love that they're in sync 95% of the time, but those little gaps leave just enough room for drama or angst. I love that they're inveterate kinksters AND softboys who care for each other. They're just great.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I mean there are certain common takes on both characters, especially Trapper, that make me cuckoo bananas rageful. The whole Trapper Abandoned Hawkeye and Broke His Heart thing 🔪🔪🔪 I will also die on the hill that Trapper Is Much Softer Than People Give Him Credit For and Hawkeye Is Much Stronger. Trying to think of how to phrase my gripes and opinions such that I don't come off as unnecessarily bitchy lol. But like, it is SO HARD to find stuff for these two that Works for me. I think they're more interesting and complex than they're given credit for.

Annnnd BeejHawk 🍵

Don't Ship It

1. Why don’t you ship it?

I feel like you articulated this at a deep level beautifully in your meta a few days ago lol. I mean fundamentally I am a Trapper Girl TM and TrapHawk is my One True Pairing, so this was always doomed to at best second tier "I like it fine" ship status tbh. But there's just too much friction in the relationship on screen, there's some genuine meanness and anger, they misunderstand each other at key points, and I don't see the chemistry between them. Being extremely petty and subjective for a second, I just don't like BJ as a character very much, I find him frequently mean and petty and annoying and unfunny. Hawkeye can do better.

2. What would have made you like it?

Augh. Okay, I think in a lot of BJHawk interactions that others read as shippy, I see an edgy clinginess that makes me Uncomfy. So BJ being less "repressed neurotic" and a little more ease in their relationship. Also the fundamental biggest barrier to BJHawk is BJ Loves His Wife and Child, and I don't want to like. Get rid of that aspect of his character because it's vital to him, y'know? But maybe more of Hawkeye corresponding with Peg and building up a friendship with her- it could even be comedic, where he's planning a surprise for BJ who's getting increasingly suspicious then is amused/embarrassed/fond when he figures it out, but just like a sense Hawkeye could be included in the family dynamic without being wildly unfair to Peg, or even just BJ being a little more liberated sexually such that it's easier to imagine them conducting an affair that doesn't IMMEDIATELY implode his marriage. I mean, BJ is the deuteragonist for 2/3 of the show, obviously I have thoughts on their dynamic and how it would change with a romantic or sexual element to it, but I frankly don't see Gay BJ at all, I don't see Bi BJ at all, he's sooooo heterosexual to me, so a more sexually ambiguous or chill BJ is necessary lol. Also more BJ taking care of Hawkeye, more buddy vibes and funny coziness! And like this is probably me ragging too much on BJ... IDK it's hard to say how Hawkeye would need to change, he's already trying to be a good friend given the circumstances... I mean, for my subjective ship tastes 90% of my personal turn offs come from BJ, so Hawkeye is not really the problem in this ship for me. I guess something that really bugs me about the BJHawk fic I've tried that turns me off the ship is Sad Sack Hawkeye, so maybe more content with spunky prankster Hawkeye and co-conspirator BJ, or a proactive seductive Hawkeye pursuing BJ, romancing him, making it more of a "I want this because I want you" than a "I'm clinging to this because I need you" thing, which isn't sexy to me.

3. Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

Jfkdndkdn. Yeah, I guess. It's not like. A bad ship. I get it. They were The Pair for 8 seasons, they have many many moments to build a ship on, it's not without merit or something. They're friends who've been brought together in horrible circumstances, they go through a lot, they're close, there's some great scenes for them. I think you can get some interesting scenarios out of their dynamic, though my brain runs a little darker and angstier than shippy. But it is just so very much Not My Cup of Tea in either the show or in the fan works I've tried. Even fics that were otherwise interesting and well-written and in character, the BJHawk elements were pure 😬 to me. Truly truly "Your ship is not my ship and that's okay" situation.

[miniongrin]

Statute of Limitations (Immortals AU)

Wrote 800 words for an AU that’s been rotating in my brain for over a year that I still haven’t written, but I’m posting this anyway because I do what I want.

AU context, sparknotes edition: Ingo couldn’t get sent back directly to the future for timey-wimey reasons and spent 140 years immortal, chilling in the Coronet Highlands. Accidentally befriended/tamed/domesticated the feral cat of a man we know as Volo (also immortal) while he was waiting to catch up to the future and his twin. Now the Nimbasa trio has been reunited for over a year and Volo is the twins’ weird roommate and Elesa’s bitchiest bestie.

~

“Hang on,” Elesa says one night, as they’re sitting around the twins’ living room eating Sinnoh takeout, two and a half hours and two-thirds of the way into an hour-long documentary on Hisui. They keep pausing to give Ingo and Volo the chance to expound on whatever topic the documentary didn’t have the time or information to elaborate on themselves; Ingo’s infodumping is familiar and comforting, while Volo’s is a bit of a surprise but hilariously bitchy. Even when the documentary gets things right. “Volo—you consulted on this? Historically?”

“That makes it sound like I did so fifty years ago,” Volo sniffs. “I was a historical consultant on the topic. Mostly by mail; by the time they were making this, Cynthia was a little too popular for me to go wandering around Sinnoh without a good excuse for looking like her fraternal twin.”

So, yes, but in fifty words instead of one. Cool. “You like… you got paid money for this? Is this your job?”

Volo makes an dismissive sound. “Yes, I got paid for it, but it’s not exactly reliable work, nor does it pay greatly. As a historian, the best money is in research grants, but those are a little hard to get a hold of without extensive history at a university, and my need to shuffle identities every decade or so did clash with the need to accumulate that sort of history.”

“…So, yes but no?”

Volo rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, but no.”

Elesa mulls over that. She doesn’t unpause the documentary just yet, because there’s a niggling question in her brain now—

“Do you have a job?” Emmet asks before she can. “You’re here a lot.”

Volo huffs, deciding to take offense in that catty way of his, so Elesa jumps in before letting him answer: “Dude, you’re clearly loaded, I have never once heard you say a thing about hopping back and forth between here and Sinnoh and plane tickets aren’t cheap. Frankly, neither is this apartment, and I’d be surprised if you’re just letting the twins pay for it all.”

Volo regards her shrewdly for a moment, then hums as his eyes slide away. “Don’t worry about it.”

That is the least satisfying answer on the planet. She and Emmet immediately turn to Ingo for answers.

“I do not worry about it,” Ingo says immediately.

Elesa and Emmet’s eyes meet. Weird, suspicious emphasis with no real answer. Hmmm.

“I am Emmet. Are we harboring a fucking criminal?” Emmet demands.

Volo sputters. “I beg your pardon? That’s your first assumption?”

“That’s not an answer,” Elesa points out, entertained. “He’s only going to get more suspicious the more you avoid giving one.”

“And you, of course, are virtuously on my side,” Volo mutters bitchily. “The disrespect! And here I thought we had something. A camaraderie, if you will—”

“It’s not like you’re a poacher, Ingo would worry about it a whole lot if that were the case,” Elesa interrupts him. “I can’t really imagine you beating someone up—”

“I can,” Emmet says.

“—without going full-on crazy eyes,” Elesa corrects herself. “So this hypothetical crime you may have committed and have definitely not denied committing is probably, y’know. Petty. Which fits, because you are a petty, petty bitch!”

“I,” Volo says with dignity, “am the classiest bitch any of you will ever meet.”

“I am the classiest bitch in this room, but nice try.”

“You’re all cutting-edge fashion and avant-garde, that’s not the same thing as class.”

Elesa gasps loudly in overblown offense. “You take that back!”

“Ladies, you are both pretty,” Emmet intones. “Ingo. Has Volo committed crimes? Yes or no.”

Ingo pinches the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t have a valid birth certificate and yet has had a functional passport for decades despite being stuck at twenty-seven. Of course he’s committed crimes, we knew that already.”

“I am Emmet. I meant for money.”

Ingo shrugs and reaches for a new can of soda. “Well, that’s none of my business.”

“Ingo.”

“Look,” Volo sighs, “can any of you truthfully tell me that you’ve never talked to a particularly out-of-touch gentleman whose lone battling Pokémon is holding a useless nugget of gold worth more than everything you have on your person and thought, you know, I bet I have an island somewhere that I could sell this moron?”

There’s a beat of silence. Emmet snorts. Ingo puts a hand over his face that doesn’t hide the amused curl to the corner of his mouth.

Elesa cackles. “Oh dragons, you scam rich people for a living? I need to hear about this right now immediately. Story time! Funniest scam you’ve done, let’s go.”

“Accusing me of being a scam artist now?” Volo snips facetiously, but he’s smirking. “I will confess to nothing. …At least, not until I have the chance to check the statute of limitations for a few things.”

[she-karev]

Aftermath

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Three

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

AN: Here’s the second chapter enjoy and I always appreciate a reblog and like.

Summary: Amber helps Jo and Jenny with Paul that ends in an unexpected note.

Words: 1931

After my breakdown in the locker room I opted to spend the rest of the day making sure Paul is alive and not pressing charges against us. It will help keep my mind busy from the fact that I’m about to get fired. And as mad as I am at Alex for inadvertently getting me in this mess, I wouldn’t want to see him go to prison for something he didn’t do. I know it’s irrational of me to be angry at him especially since he didn’t know about Paul until recently but as my dossier points out I’ve got anger problems.

I spot Alex and Jo by the medical cart in the ICU right outside of Paul’s room. I shake my head at their stupidity and approach them calmly. I stand in front of them ready to tear them down.

“You know why don’t you guys just hang up picket signs that say, ‘I Did It!’ you standing outside while he’s dying isn’t suspicious enough.”

“It wasn’t us.” Jo states defensively.

“Yeah believe me I know.” I admit, “But that doesn’t mean the police will and I know you and I are good but Alex is not gonna survive prison.”

Alex looks at me offended, “Did you just come here to insult us? Because we’re freaking out enough as it is.”

“Oh I know.” I whip my hair back over my shoulder, “People who freak out make extremely poor decisions that can make them look like murder suspects.”

“Shepherd came back with her neuro results.” Jo tells me and I listen, “It’s a severe concussion and broken ribs.”

A part of me is glad he’s okay but after my meeting another part of me was hoping he would get a colonoscopy bag for the rest of his life. Then I wouldn’t be the only one with a mess to clean up. I pinch the bridge of my nose in conflict that Alex catches as he looks at me concerned.

“Are you okay?”

“Do you know how stupid of a question that is right now?” I ask Alex in a bitchy tone, “So if none of us ran him over then who the hell did?”

“We have one theory.” Jo says uneasily, “We think it was Jenny who did it. I mean you saw her when she left with him, she was terrified and I told her it would only get worse she did this because of me.”

“I think she would’ve gotten behind that wheel with or without your help.” I inform her, “Trust me hell hath no fury like a scorned woman, it’s the only book that caught my attention when I had to fill my humanities requirement. Besides I think I’m more likely to go to jail than you after the police see the damage I did to Paul’s nose.”

“You can say it was from the hit and run.” Alex offers and I nod in agreement with that plan, “Hey heads up.”

I turn around and I see Jenny Walker approaching us with a coffee in her hand. She looks pretty normal for a woman whose fiancé was almost killed which supports Jo’s theory more. I stand by them so they aren’t facing her alone and don’t say anything stupid in front of her. If history serves with these two it’s a frequent problem.

“Jo. Amber.” Jenny stands in front of us.

Alex comes in to our defense, “They really shouldn’t be talking to you.” Twice in two days I get an overprotective brother, it’s a new record over the past decade.

“I know.” Jenny persists, “I just need one minute please.”

Alex looks at her suspiciously but I decide to let her talk to us. She might say something incriminating and get us off the hook. I turn to Alex and say assuredly, “We’ll be fine.”

Jo agrees with me too, “It’s okay.” Alex reluctantly walks outside the ICU as we both face Jenny who leans in and whispers.

“I just want you to know you don’t have to worry. I didn’t tell the police anything.” Okay we’re getting somewhere now we just need a confession.

“What do you mean?” Jo asks.

“I didn’t tell them it was either of you.” Her words catch me off guard and I look at her in mild shock as she looks at us gratefully, “But thank you, thank you so much.” My mouth gapes open as I look at Jo who also has her mouth open from finding out it wasn’t Jenny who hit Paul.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jo and I lead Jenny to an empty ICU room and close the door behind us so we can have some privacy. This kind of discussion over who ran over Paul is not the kind of gossip the nurses need to say through the grapevine. God knows they’re still on the topic of me.

“Wait.” Jenny faces us confused, “I-I was at the hotel. He got mad and went for a walk and told me to stay p-it wasn’t you two?”

“No!” Jo and I exclaim in shock and I continue, “I went to my brother’s place and she was in bed when I got there. We didn’t find out until my friend came barging in, we thought it was you.”

Jenny looks perplexed at the sheer coincidence, “Who do you think did it?”

“An avenging angel?” Jo throws in and I shake my head at her suggestion.

“I’m sorry.” Jenny tells us in shame.

Jo doesn’t have it though, “No you don’t have to-”

“I do.” Jenny continues, “I really thought I was better than you. I believed everything he told me about you.” She turns to me with pleading eyes, “I should’ve said something when he barged in like that and told your friends all that stuff about your mom and your brother, oh my god I am so incredibly sorry.” Jo looks at me in sympathy over this new information.

“I don’t think that bastard would have let you get a word in edgewise.” I retort bitterly, “It must have been satisfying to see me punch him though.”

Jenny’s eyes glisten, “Not as much as I wanted it to no. God! I'm smart. I'm a scientist. I'm a feminist. I never thought that I would end up in something like this.” My anger towards Jenny shifts to pity as she explains her side, “It happened so slow. I stopped talking to co-workers, friends he didn't like. Then my family didn't understand. They got worried. So I just brushed them off and then stopped talking to them, too, and then my circle got smaller and smaller and smaller until all I had left was him. And then I stopped believing myself, things I had seen and heard, things I knew, because he told me I was crazy and I just believed him. He knows me so well. He can zero in on an insecurity and make a whole argument turn on a dime, and now it's my fault. It's my fault again. I'm always the one that's wrong. When he started hitting me, it was just barely a surprise. And he told me it was my fault, and I actually believed him. Until you talked to me yesterday, I really believed him. How did I believe him?”

“Because he was good to you in the beginning.” Jo starts, “And on the good days. Jenny, we're not stupid. We didn't fall for someone who beat us. We fell for someone who made us laugh and feel wanted and loved and seen. Paul is brilliant and charming and persuasive, and the good outweighed the bad until it didn't.” I look at Jo in awe over how she explains it wasn’t their fault and that there comes a time you have to save yourself even from someone you love. And now it’s Jenny’s turn.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I offered to be there with Jo and Jenny when they confronted Paul and let me accompany them. We stand outside the room as Dr. Shepherd exits the room.

“Are you the fiancée?” Shepherd asks Jenny, “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” Dr. Grey tries to stop us, “This is not a good idea.” We ignore her and walk around her to face Paul who looks at us annoyed. It’s taking everything in me not to press on that headlac of his. “Why are you with Brooke?” “'Cause she doesn't want to be alone with you.” Jo says bravely causing Paul to chuckle lightly, “Oh, why am I not surprised that you tried to poison her while I wasn't even able to defend myself?”

“The only toxic substance in this room is you.” I tell him not caring if I get heard from people outside.

Paul inhales angrily, “Jenny, get my stuff. I'm not staying here.” Jenny doesn’t back down, “No.” Paul pauses at her refusal and I can tell he’s getting angry but he’s too smart to let it show, “Babe. I'm really trying here, but you got to meet me halfway. I know I'm not perfect. You are way closer to that than I am. But, please, can we just leave this place and not look back? We have a wedding to plan.” Jenny exhales sharply before responding, “You should probably call your office and let them know you're gonna be gone for a few days.” Paul grins, “That's my girl.” “Or, like, to years.” I grin slightly at Jenny’s cold statement and revel in Paul’s shocked face. “What?” Jenny explains, “I'm gonna talk to the police, Paul. I'm gonna tell them every time you ever hurt me. Every kick, every slap. You put your hands around my throat last night, so that's not just domestic violence. That's attempted murder. And I’ll tell them you used my email this morning to send Amber’s file to her bosses after you hired someone to hack her.” She turns to us, “Will you two testify?”

“Yes.” Jo replies.

I nod, “Absolutely.” “You sound crazy.” We all deny Paul’s accusation, “Jenny, I'm a well-known physician, and you're…nobody. All you're gonna do is throw your career in the garbage. No one's gonna hire someone they don't trust. Jenny doesn’t get scared, “No, I'm not gonna let you scare me into backing down again.” “Scare you?” Paul asks appalled, “I'm the one who should be scared. You're threatening me in a hospital bed. I-I'm defenseless.” I shake my head at him playing the victim to get Jenny to be his punching bag, “Please. Can we just talk?” Jenny looks broken for a moment before regaining her stance, “Some very broken part of me still loves you, Paul, but let me be very clear. I am never speaking to you again unless it's from a witness stand.” Paul’s face scrunches in anger, “You stupid bitch.” I look at him blankly not affected by his insult, “You're not going to the police!” He moves to get off the bed and I move fast as does Meredith. We pull Jo and Jenny back as they shriek in fear at Paul moving to attack, “You're not walking out on me!”

Suddenly Paul trips and hits his head on the foot end so fast it takes me a moment to process his unconscious body on the floor. Despite my shock I keep Jo and Jenny back as Grey carefully checks Paul’s pulse and looks up.

“His pulse is thready and he’s not breathing. We should get a crash cart in here.” I gasp at the prognosis and keep still even as Jo moves to get a crash cart.

[coldflasher]

Thallen ✨

Once again I am behind haha. This is a much more straightforward one. It's a no from me on this one! 1. Why don’t you ship it?

The main reason I don't ship this one is almost entirely because of Eddie as a person, to be honest. He's very sweet, but the man is so vanilla and I honestly don't think they really gave him much of a personality. They knew they were going to kill him off from day one, and I think because of that, they didn't really develop him much beyond "blandly nice, likeable dude." He's... saccharine, is probably the best way I can describe it. Very white picket fence. Don't get me wrong, I like him well enough, but there's a reason that I don't really include him in fics even as a love interest for Iris, and it's mostly because I don't think there's that much substance there and I have a hard time digging deeper into him because they never really gave us a lot to work with. What do we know about Eddie, other than that he's kind and a good boyfriend? Some very brief backstory about him being bullied that never gets explored and only serves to explain why and how he knows how to fight. That's kind of it. I absolutely can and will glom onto a side character with minimal backstory, but there has to be something to hook me in. We got a whole season of Eddie and I feel like he was less developed than some of the random metas of the week that we've had for a single episode.

To be fair, Barry also throws a spanner in the works of this ship for me, because Barry does NOT like Eddie at first, and not in a fun enemies to lovers way where they're sniping at each other and you get that fun banter. Eddie isn't in on it and has no idea that Barry dislikes him, so it feels like punching down. Don't get me wrong, I love all the scenes where Barry is sulking and rolling his eyes and making cheap, bitchy digs about him, because they're really funny---but because Eddie is so cheerful and nice and genuinely has no clue that Barry's being a dick about him being his back, it just ends up making Barry look petty and mean. I mean, he IS, and I love him for it (god i miss bitchy s1 barry and the giant chip on his shoulder) but I don't love that dynamic from a ship perspective.

2. What would have made you like it?

So there are two very different directions they could have taken Thallen that would have made it easier for me to get behind. One would be if they had let Eddie fight back more. Like aside from punching him that one time after he confessed his love for Iris, Eddie doesn't really react or fight or do anything but stew in silence when he realises what's going on behind his back. I think they should have let him be meaner about it, honestly. Make him more flawed and give him a darker side.

Alternatively, I liked the moments of friendship we got between him and Barry and the love triangle could have been more interesting if they'd leaned into that more, imo. Add more conflict with Barry being genuinely torn about knowing that if he does get with Iris, he will be betraying a close friend who he's actually come to care about a lot in his own right... then he starts to care about Eddie in a suspiciously homoerotic way and the audience gets confused about who those longing stares are really aimed at... who's he really pining for? Is it still Iris? Or is he now jealous of both of them 👀 ooh, the drama

3. Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

I love this scene. You all know.

HARDER!!

Also I really like the scenes we get after Eddie finds out the big secret, where they're all driving around in Joe's car while Barry catches bad guys and they're all having so much FUN with it, and Eddie is in so much awe of what Barry can do... what a sweetheart. He deserved better :(

I do think they had potential, I just wish they had developed the friendship and the dynamic and Eddie as a character because I feel like I never got a good grip on him as a character, really

Send me a ship and I’ll answer three questions based on if I ship it or not.

[xoteajays]

Besides Ryu since he's more Kuryu rather than Mighty Warriors now... I liked Ice and Jesse. And I didn't mind Pearl. I did not like even Bernie because of how problematic that actor is, which you do already know. I never cared for Anarchy, Diddy, and just about everyone else. I could have liked Pho just because he protected children from harm. Sarah's a character that was ruined. I respected that she wanted to become a strong woman because of her father abusing her and her mother, but she would always go after the men who wouldn't fight women - WR is one example that happened multiple times. I only liked those three.

Yeah.. That's a thought. Since you never even see Ranmaru again, you never know if he was killed or sent back to prison. At least in that very moment. But if he's alive, someone could write them in their story but only if they want. Because that could add dramatic scenes from them in some ways, suspenseful scenes too. And everything like that too.

Did you want to see? I'm not 100% sure if I will use her as a face claim yet, but I'm seriously considering it. Not sure with which fandom yet.

But! She is a cutesy punk girl (not like the women from Nemophila) in my opinion. Her style is vibrant. And her colors, are also your colors to your girl school. I find that a bit entertaining for that very reason too.

~

Obviously Hyuga would apologize through physical actions. And I am not talking about sex.. Not that it possibly would lead to sex if he may be convincing enough. But I'm not sure what those actions could be.

Unless I read the sites wrong. The actors of Takeshi and Yu happen to be the same height.. Both of their heights are listed as 5'7 (170 cm).

~

Yeah... I didn't understand why you would beat someone with a ball in that way. Like I understand exercising. But why beat them with a ball.

Like Gun said, "That's not pain, that's weakness leaving your body."

~

If that's true.. That's interesting then. I wonder what might happen to them, between them. Would she cheat on her husband with the really attractive criminal or would she stay loyal to her attractive husband.

Wait! Are they husband and wife, or boyfriend and girlfriend?

And it's funny. Because the man who is the detective, I think he's also an attractive man too. Have you ever seen the show K2? That show is being removed from Netflix tomorrow. Anyway. Episode four of K2, it has a shower scene where he's fighting a group of men in the shower. While he's naked. And that man has really defined muscles, just like in the same way as Do-hwan and Sang-yi. What can I say. I like muscles.

Exactly! Even if you are suspicious about the man. Just.. why would a person, who almost died, be harassed by people like that? That man's on the brink of death, was in a coma, is slowly recovering now but the people decide to harass him anyway. Seriously? That's just fucked up.

yea ice, jesse and pho are the better warrior characters. bernie’s actor’s whole affair thing still irritates me so that ruin his character. pearl, 9, diddy and dixie are basically just filler characters; and sarah’s frustrating. i feel like she could’ve been more interesting, but she wasn’t really given the chance and then she was written out. it’s a shame, but i also don’t care enough to write her for more than a fight scene against one of the girls.

keeping ranmaru alive could make for some dramatic scenes in a hyuga/oc story or a rocky/oc story since they both have ties to ranmaru and hyuga even turns his back on him. it could make for a good kidnapping plot since ranmaru isn’t afraid to hurt women, especially if said women is someone rocky or hyuga care deeply about. i do love a dark plot.

i haven’t decided if i’m making an oc (or more than one) for the worst yet. tho i do like tsukasa. to nobody’s surprise. he is short, blonde and bitchy. hittin’ all my tropes. i do kinda ship him with fujio tho.

~

hyuga can apologise sexually, but it’s more often that he’ll just. do something for her. like order in food from her favourite place or clean up something she accidentally broke by being clumsy or simply cuddle up to her and it’ll be his apology instead of just saying sorry.

the site i was on said yu’s actor is 165cm and reo is 170cm. so not a huge difference but still shorter.

~

i do not understand exercise and i also don’t understand getting hit in the gut with a ball as an exercise. like i’m sure there are better ways to strengthen your core, fellas.

~

they’re married! and the cop husband is already feeling vaguely inferior to her since his drug addicted father lost him any chances at getting promotions at his job while his wife just got promoted to a detective in seoul.

they really went ‘we know you were in a coma and a man is dead, but what about us tho??! are you stepping back on your promise to move us somewhere for free? answer us now!!’ like how self-centred can you assholes be?

also! on the hitv app, i found that they have tempted and save me, both shows that have do hwan in them in main roles. tempted is a romance, save me is a religious cult thriller. so if you haven’t watched those but are interested, they’re available on hitv!

[melo-yello]

💤Can’t Sleep💤 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku🪨💥 HeadCanons

Pairing(s): KiriBaku X black!reader, Eijirou Kirishima X Katsuki Bakugou X black!reader

A/N: fluff and ANGST. Like lots of ANGST. I had a rough week and honestly not very much sleep. What can I say. Sue me, I wanna hug and somebody to watch a movie with.

💤💥🪨 Lay on your stomach opening and closing your eyes as you try and convince yourself to sleep. Kirishima snores softly with an arm around Bakugou’s waist. He’s been pretty stressed lately so he gets to be middle spoon. Baku in turn has an arm draped over your shoulders.

💤💥🪨 The soft and peaceful looks on the boys’ faces are nothing but safe and warm and reassuring . Yet here you are unavailable to close your eyes long enough to drift off to sleep. Each time you close your eyes your heart attempts to tear a whole through your chest. The dim red light of the clock reads 2:56 as you slip out of Baku’s embrace for a glass of water

💤💥🪨 You settle on Jasmine tea instead. Quietly pulling a the kettle from the cabinet and turning on the tap just before placing it on the stove. You busy yourself in your phone in order to banish any form of thought from your head. Soon just blankly browsing through TikToks as you wait for the water to boil

💤💥🪨 The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention as you hear heavy footsteps and the creaking of the bedroom door. Short angry grumbles are traded with deep groggy grunts as the footsteps close in on your position. You glance up to see the time is now 3:22 and you hear the kettle whistling for the first. Mostly likely what woke your boyfriends to begin with. You scowl at the kettle.

💤💥🪨 “fuck you.” you curse under your breath snatching up the kettle to quiet it’s shouting as the two set of red eyes fix on you in the dim light of kitchen. Kiri’s long red hair pulled back into a messy plat, and Baku’s fluffy ash blonde sticking out in all directions except for the right side flatten to the side of his skull

💤💥🪨 “Oí, Chuchu Soul, do you have any idea what time it is?!!” Baku squints tiredly placing a hand on his hip. “That’s actually a good one.” You giggle surprised by his creativity. “I know right?! And they used to call him uncreative.” Kirishima smirks between a yawn. “ Well?” Bakugou’s features don’t change. More likely mad that he’s awake at this ungodly hour than anything else. “Was it another panic attack, Pebble?” Kiri questions walking to rest his hand on your lower back. You don’t acknowledge his soft gesture and busy yourself with pouring the newly hot water into your large mug with it’s awaiting tea bag.

💤💥🪨 “Run that shit back, Eiji?!? When was this?” Bakugou’s foggy apathetic sleepiness raises to concerned confusion . You curse under your breath for the third time tonight. Kiri racks his tired brain for an explanations as he trades tired glances between the temperamental blonde and the vaguely suspicious one blowing at tea. “Pebble you didn’t tell him about Friday Night?” He frowns looking down at you. “...i forgot...” you whisper sipping the overly hot tea and burning your tongue. Hell you wouldn’t have told him either, but he was right beside you when it happened.

💤💥🪨 That Friday night. You couldn’t speak. You stood in a dark room. Small and cramped. No windows. No doors. Just glowing ink on one wall in barely legiable font. Prove It. As soon as you touched the lettering it went blood red and the water began to pool at your feet. You begin to lose your composure trying to find an exit. In seconds the water is at your waist. Then your neck. Then the ceiling. Like that you’re choking and sputtering trying to find. The walls go translucent. Larger than life figures with unmistakable silhouettes and Pro hero customs hold your box in each hand. You bang tight fists to gain their attention. Your blood mixes with the water and you could barely breath. You thrashed across the sheets desperately trying to snatch yourself from your current nightmare. Suddenly Kiri shaking you awake and he’s coaching you into breathing again.

💤💥🪨 The memory of utter helplessness washes over you all over again. You sigh in frustration as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. “Come here, Pebs.”

💤💥🪨 Without another word, Kiri scoops you up bridal style and takes a seat on the couch placing you in his lap. Baku takes the seat next to him gently taking the hot tea from your trembling hands. You hadn’t even realized they were shaking until you touched his steady ones. “Babes, we hafta talk about this. Including Friday, this makes 3 days of shitty sleep. That’s not good or sustainable, Knucklehead.” Bakugou sighs placing the mug on the coffee table before wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek.

💤💥🪨 “It’s not like I don’t wanna do better, Kats. Eiji. I’m just...” you trail off mid explanation. You clasp fingers over your soft lips. Opening twice to speak, but only croaks come out. You try very hard to find a tangible reason for your reluctance to sleep, but there were none. Kiri squeezes your shoulders reassuringly and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your bonnet.

💤💥🪨 “We know you’re trying, love. It’s ok to be scared sometimes. Even the resident hardass, Katsuki still gets nightmares.” Kiri offers doing his best to let you ride these feelings out while comforting you as well. “Yea.”Baku’s grip tightens at the mention of his own nightmares before leaning his head on your legs

💤💥🪨 “I just can’t trust it ok! It’s scary. I’m panicking in sleep now?!! I’m only getting worse and now I crying about. FUCK! I’m just a scared bitchy crybaby who can’t sleep.” You sigh overwhelmed by all the physical closeness and their consistent and unwavering support. You mentally kick yourself for the not realizing sooner that you trusted them enough to hurt like this in front of them. There’s something that unnerves you about that. Tears streaming at full force at this piont

💤💥🪨Kiri holds you firmly to chest tucking your shaking form under his chin. Baku moves to wrap an embrace overlapping Kiri’s arms. “Just let it all out, Babygirl.” He hums leaning his head on your shoulder. Your chest tightens and your fingers curl into angry fists. Suddenly your frighteningly fierce temper rears it’s ugly head.

💤💥🪨 “No no no NO! Stop It! STOP ACTING SO NICE! STOP ACTING LIKE I DESRVE THIS! BE DISAPPOINTED! BE UPSET!! TELL ME TO TRY HARDER! TELL ME TO TAKE BETTER CARE OF MYSELF! TELL ME IT’S EASY! REALLY EASY! BE ANGRY I’M FUCKING IT ALL UP! BLAME ME! I BLAME ME! I blame me... I blame me for not being...better.” You fume trying to push them away. You do your best to squirm out of their gentle comfort and tender embrace your lovers have you wrapped in. Neither one of your boys moves. “No way, Pebs.” Kirishima says resolutely. “Not a fucking chance, Teddy.” Bakugou nods with the same unchanging confidence. The rage in your chest melts as fat tears and roll down your brown cheeks.

💤💥🪨 A heaving and broken sob racks your entire body as you fall apart in their arms. Anger subsides into terrified uncertainty and overwhelming futility settles in its place. Tears and mucus flood down your face and soak Kiri’s t-shirt. Sniffles from above draws you out of the dark thoughts swarming around you. Surely enough tears drip slowly down Kiri’s cheeks. Instinctively you cup his face with trembling hands. “...Sorry.. I’ll be strong...just gimme a sec” he mutters as his broad shoulders slump and he moves to bat away the falling droplets. Bakugou grabs his hand and kisses it while wiping the red head’s face. “Eijirou, you don’t have to. Not right now” You sputter between choppy breaths.

💤💥🪨 His usually unwavering features muddy with insecurity. A fairly uncommon expression for someone so death defyingly optimistic and confident. “But it’s what I’m good at. If I can’t be strong for the people I love most then what good am I?” He retorts apathetically tightening his grip as the tears still trickle. You slink an arm around his hips, and place your face to his chest. “Bullshit. You’re plenty strong enough for us, Eijirou. Stop being so hard headed!” Bakugou raves putting a hand behind his neck and his forehead against his for emphasis before continuing, “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing. You are complex and unique and fearless and fearful all in one. You’re human, Eiji. It’s ok.”

💤💥🪨 “Katsuki, you’re so compassionate and kind.” You hum softly and absentmindedly almost. You don’t know why this observation came but it just feels right. Eiji smiles leaning in the blonde’s embrace. “Honestly Kats, you love remarkably deep and painfully unselfishly. Thank you.” Kiri hums kissing his cheek and you do the same. Hot little tears rest at the corners of his dark red eyes. Most of the public thinks he’s some kind of angry asshole devoid of any softer emotions. Comments on your relationship often criticized Katsuki for snagging partners ‘much nicer than he deserved’. And just like that you are scooting over to make room for Bakugou in Kiri’s lap. 

💤💥🪨 “Such a shitty little week.” Baku sighs with misty eyes. There’s a small comfort in the collective collapse washing over the three of you. All of you holding the hurt from the others in hopes it would just fizzle away like a bad dream. It didn’t. You sob, Kiri sniffles, and Baku lets two hot tear slip from his glassy eyes. None of you break contact with each other. Your fingers linked with Kiri and Baku’s in the opposite hand. A head glued affectionately onto the red head’s broad shoulder. After what seems like a lifetime and you can’t cry anymore and feeling a surprising amount of relief sinks onto you, you clear your throat.

💤💥🪨 “Wanna watch How to Train a Dragon?” You rasp with tired and strained vocal chords. “I’ll get the popcorn.” Kiri sighs kissing each of you on the cheek as he ushers you both out of his lap. He sashays into the kitchen to find a bowl and the popcorn. Baku stands handing you your cool tea as he grabs the remote. Flipping decisively through Amazon Prime, he queues up the movie as he settles onto the far side of the couch to lay out fully. You sip contently tucking your knees to your chest so you can press the soles of your feet into his. “That tickles.” Bakugou deadpans wiggling his own toes. Soft giggles flutter out of your chest.

💤💥🪨 Kiri strolls back in the room with two large bowls of popcorn and a blanket on each arm. He bows presenting them to their proper owners. Movie theater butter for Baku and kettle corn for you two to share. You sit your now empty mug on the coffee table as Kiri retakes his original spot and you settle comfortably into his lap cocooning you both in a cozy weighted blanket. Baku draped in a light throw typically the first to complain about being hot. The DreamWorks title sequence floats across the screen, and wave of peacefulness falls over the tired trio. Less then five minutes in, you and Bakugou snore quietly as Kiri’s heavy eyelids fight to watch the next couple scenes

[incorrectmmpppquotes]

the mischaracterization of Seira by Hanamori Pink makes me so upset. Seira would never act like that. She adored Luchia like a big sister. So not only should she be older than Lukia but also close and caring to her like a sister !! How do you get a simple characterization so wrong !! Seira would be charming , sweet and childish and help Lukia on her journey as a young mermaid princess (much like she is herself). Instead she's written as a no-personality "love-rival" just to add pointless drama that leads to no development for Lukia at all. What a shame.

this may be me placing too much hope in hanamori's writing skills. she truly does not have a good track record on writing skills but i am trying my best to stay positive. but i really don't think this is the real seira. spoilers for chapter 9 below:

last chapter we saw that she was under the care of izul who is confirmed to be working for laurent.

then in the latest chapter:

'seira' literally vanishes when izul creates that wave. she's a mermaid, where did she possibly go & how didn't lukia and the other 5 princesses see her. not only that but her acting the exact opposite of her character in pure is really suspicious. i really don't think this is the real seira. maybe the real seira is in witness protection program & this is a body double; maybe this is seira & she got captured & is under a spell to try & catch the others; maybe this is a rehash of the first arc & she turned dark like sara & is helping laurent. it's really too early to tell.

another theory some people have pointed out that she's acting a lot like michal which is entirely true. the last name & the status of the bitchy love rival really contribute to that. plus the vanishing when the villain attacks. maybe this is michal disguised as seira for some reason to fool everyone.

while hanamori has definitely ignored some things and gone against previously laid canon & proceeds to do so AGAIN in this chapter (see: female only merworld & now the aqua regina issue is popping up again) i don't think she would blatantly rewrite a character like that.

then again. lukia has no personality so maybe she truly just can't write anyone with a personality.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging. 

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here. 

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story. 

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield​, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me. 

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this. 

“What’s so funny?��� Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk. 

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.” 

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.” 

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?” 

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?” 

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?” 

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.” 

“You’re on.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp. 

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks. 

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.” 

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.” 

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red. 

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type. 

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path. 

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat. 

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers. 

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.” 

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.” 

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?” 

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise. 

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.” 

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily. 

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down. 

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back. 

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple. 

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.” 

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms. 

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own. 

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin. 

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve. 

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.” 

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head. 

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?” 

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him. 

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.” 

She’s not fucking kidding about that part. 

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan. 

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear. 

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up. 

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle. 

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.” 

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily. 

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.” 

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word. 

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles. 

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.” 

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?” 

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?” 

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now. 

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this. 

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair. 

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.” 

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?” 

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.” 

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart. 

“Poughkeepsie.” 

“Gesundheit.” 

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.” 

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I trust you.” 

“Really?” 

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.” 

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.   

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”  

“I’m not.” 

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.” 

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.” 

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.” 

“Tryna be a tough guy?” 

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.” 

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…” 

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.” 

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something. 

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark. 

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close. 

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest. 

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless. 

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human. 

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick. 

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks. 

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.” 

“Tell me what you want, Faith.” 

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm. 

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…” 

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”  

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains. 

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone. 

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent. 

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly. 

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it. 

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?” 

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.” 

“Faith.” 

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.” 

“What do you think I want from you?” 

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?” 

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.” 

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button. 

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue. 

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?” 

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.” 

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.” 

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.” 

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *  

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely. 

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. 

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter. 

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?” 

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.” 

“It does. I picked the lock.” 

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly. 

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins. 

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.” 

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable. 

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away. 

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks. 

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.” 

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.” 

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up. 

“Faith?” 

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?” 

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling. 

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line. 

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs. 

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?” 

“No, I’m busy.” 

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream. 

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in. 

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?” 

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand. 

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.” 

There’s a long, weighted pause. 

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.” 

“Faith…” 

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.” 

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?” 

“Dorchester.” 

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms. 

“Good girl.” 

“Well?” 

“Be patient.” 

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily. 

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.” 

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles. 

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt. 

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing. 

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans. 

“Harder,” she grits out. 

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs. 

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him. 

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?” 

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?” 

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake. 

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him. 

“Need you,” she pants. “More.” 

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet. 

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place. 

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.” 

“What did I say?” 

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain. 

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke. 

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table. 

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —” 

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries. 

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out. 

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too. 

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists. 

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.” 

“Anything you want.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge. 

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks. 

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.” 

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?” 

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.” 

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.” 

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…” 

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth. 

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer. 

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his. 

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.” 

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.” 

“At your service.” 

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy. 

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there. 

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time. 

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability. 

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *  

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this. 

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief. 

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy. 

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic. 

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine. 

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll. 

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp. 

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers. 

“Little bit. I like it.” 

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that. 

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead. 

This feels like a form of worship. 

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers. 

“More?” she murmurs. 

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit. 

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.” 

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes. 

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time. 

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight. 

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.” 

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.” 

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers. 

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths. 

“Gorgeous like this.” 

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“ 

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.” 

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows. 

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too. 

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her. 

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back. 

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.  

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful. 

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?” 

“Yeah.” 

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here. 

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles. 

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?” 

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed. 

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.” 

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress. 

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.  

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops. 

“You know how to get back from here?” 

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising. 

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.” 

“If things were different —” 

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.” 

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ” 

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?” 

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”  

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go. 

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.” 

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong. 

.

.

.

[anightflower]

One Night Stand

Summary: After a shitty one night stand, Bucky slut shames your sex life. You get a little revenge by playing a game Bucky doesn’t like. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY: S M U T 

You grumbled as you made your way down to the Towers main kitchen. Your body ached, you were exhausted, and all you wanted was a cup or coffee and some goddamn peace and quiet.

You internally groaned when you noticed that the kitchen was not empty. Bucky and Sam sat at the breakfast bar. One drowsily eating cereal, while the other attempted to flick runaway cereal pieces at the other. Natasha sat perched next to the coffee machine, scrolling through her phone and sipping from a mug of coffee.

Natasha's eyes left her phone and lit up as she focused on you. “You look tired (Y/N)” she snickered. “Did you have a late night last night?” 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Bucky and Sam focus on you.

You glared at Nat as you made your way to the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup of coffee. 

Don’t even start. “I don’t know what makes you say that Nat.” You said irritated.

“Well for one you look like hell, and two I don’t think you’re supposed to put salt in your coffee. Unless you really prefer it that way.” Sam piped up with a shiteating grin. 

“Oh hell.” You hissed, tossing your salty coffee down the sink. 

Natasha made her way over to you with a fresh mug of coffee. “So tell me, was he good?” 

You nearly dropped the cup she handed to you. “NAT!” 

“Oh please. I saw you sneak out last night like a horny teenager. You’re an adult now, you can talk about sex. Unless the boys can't handle it.” She raised a brow at Sam and Bucky who pretended not to listen. 

Sam smirked into his coffee. Bucky remained stone-faced, glaring slightly at Natasha. 

“I for one, don’t need to hear the details of another one of your slinky one night stands doll.” Bucky grumbled angrily, pushing his stool back from the counter. 

“Slinky one night stands? Are you fucking kidding me Buck? Sorry I am a grown woman looking for quality sex that I clearly can’t find here!” You growled. 

Bucky eyes burned with anger. He looked like he was about to say something but all he did was huff and leave the room. 

“Sam maybe it’s time you got Bucky laid.” Nat observed, “He seems to always have a stick far up his ass.”

“Trust me, it’s not all it's cracked up to be.” You mumbled, stirring more creamer into your coffee. 

“Was it really that bad?”  Nat asked. 

“Oh, the guy wasn’t bad, he was horrific. Only cared about himself. I may as well have stayed home and used a toy for hell’s sake. 

Sam winced. “I did not need to know you had sex toys.” 

“Oh grow up Sam, it’s not a woman’s fault that men don’t know what they’re doing. Men are the problem, sex toys are the solution.” 

“Well, who knows (Y/N), maybe you'll meet a special someone at Stark’s Charity Gala Saturday.” Nat said wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“Fuck, I forgot that was this weekend. I’m all for charity, but if I’m forced to go to another one of Stark’s fucking parties-” You groaned. 

“Uhem” You heard a familiar voice sound from the door. “First off you love my parties, even if it’s deep down. Second, you always look ravishing in whatever you wear, and lastly, you get all the free alcohol you want. All you have to do is force a smile and be friendly.” Tony hummed.

You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, careful not to spill your coffee. If Saturday you had to be a social butterfly, today would be a lock yourself in your room and watch Netflix kinda day.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Tony was right, you do always manage to look ravishing. Very Bond-esque” Sam said to you as he entered your room. 

You smiled at him through your reflection, admiring the slimming black dress you had on. “Thanks Sam. Have you come to be my handsome escort?” 

He held a hand out to you,  “Bond, James Bond, happily at your service.

His other hand produced a bottle of expensive liquor from behind his back, a liquor that was most likely stolen from Tony’s “hidden” cabinet. “I have also come to get you throughly wasted before this party. Bucky’s in a bitchy mood and Steve’s very busy trying to untie Bucky’s panties.” 

“In that case, pour us some drinks, it’s going to be a long night if we have to deal with not one, but two grouchy old men.” 

__________________________________________________________________________

You could have sworn this party was more extravagant than the last. The room shone with several different lights, giving it an ethereal glow. Champagne fountains stood about the room. It was like walking into a Great Gatsby fantasy.

Bucky and Steve were already at the bar, causing your joy to deflate a bit. You had avoided Bucky at every cost since the two of you had fought. He hadn’t sought you out to apologize either.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “I hope the bar has enough of the strong stuff, otherwise I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with Bucky’s bitchiness all night, even with the alcohol we had before this in my system.” 

Sam snickered. “He still hasn’t apologized has he?” 

“Nope. So he’s definitely on my shit list. He had no reason to be angry with me or shame my sex life.” 

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself. He shook his head. “Just ignore him (Y/N). Bucky will be Bucky. Besides if you really feel like enacting revenge I know a little game you can play to piss him off even more.”

You groaned. “Sam as much as I would love to piss Bucky off more, I am not in the mood to play 'One Night Rate’ right now. This last guy really put me off for a while.” 

“Oh come on (Y/N)! One guy can’t ruin your chances of a great one night stand. Look at all the beautiful people here.” He said gesturing around the room. “You’re telling me there isn’t a single guy you want to take home?” 

There was one guy you wanted to take home, but he currently was the one person who you weren’t speaking to. You knew you would probably regret this but-

“Fine.” You groaned. “I’ll play, but that doesn’t mean I have to follow through with it.” 

Sam grinned as you two made your way over to Bucky and Steve.

Steve smiled at the two of you, but it quickly turned into a suspicious look at the grin on Sam’s face.  “What are you two up to?” 

You and Sam remained quiet smirking at one another. Steve finally put the pieces together. 

“You two are not playing One Night Rate again are you?” He groaned.  

“Listen man, (Y/N) needs a better partner to make up for the last guy. The least I can do is support her and give good advice.” Sam said, as you blushed. 

“You’re the one who convinced me to do it! I wasn’t even going to play it.” You laughed, nudging Sam’s shoulder. 

Bucky stared at the three of you stone faced. “Do I even want to know what this game is?” 

You gave Bucky a sarcastic smirk. “It’s a game Sam, Steve, and I came up with one night at one of Tony’s galas-” 

“It was mostly Sam and (Y/N).” Steve interjected. 

You rolled your eyes. “Sure it was Golden Boy.” Sam snickered. “Anyway, we were bored and perhaps a bit more intoxicated than we should have been-” 

“Excuses, excuses.” Sam interrupted you. “You are avoiding the point. It’s basically a game where one of us chooses a person and the jury,” he gestured to you and Steve, “Comes to a consensus on whether or not that person should be brought home or not.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Are you guys serious?” 

“If you’re going to slut shame, you can always hang with Nat, I’m sure she’s drunk enough to put up with your assholery. Besides, you wouldn’t want to play such a sleazy game right?” You said, plastering a fake smile on your face. 

Bucky winced. “(Y/N)-”

You held up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear it right now James.” You only called him by his first name when you were really pissed with him. “Right now, I want to drink, find a guy, and get an actual good fuck. So if you’ll excuse me.” You pushed past the three men, ignoring their shocked faces and Bucky’s very pissed one.

Sam grimaced. “So much for playing the game. Something tells me she’ll follow her own rules right now.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Sam had remained at the bar with Bucky and Steve, long after you left them. Bucky’s face was steely, his eyes following every move you made on the dance floor. You weren’t alone, and of course the guy you had chosen was incredibly handsy with you. As his hands slide down your body, Bucky couldn't help but let out a growl.

“Buck, I don’t get it. Why won’t you just apologize and tell her how you feel? You’re being idiotic.” Steve said gently, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Sam nodded along with Steve’s sentiment. “Dude maybe if you opened your eyes you’d see that she actually likes you back.” 

Bucky’s eyes shot to Sam. “What the hell did you say Wilson?”

Sam gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb with me Barnes, you heard what I said. She likes you. I’m surprised that such a good assassin like you could miss something as blatant as that.” 

“Then why the hell does she go off with other guys then?” Bucky asked, irritated.

“Because she’s just as blind to it as you. You have no idea how obnoxious it is to be the middleman and keep quiet, especially when you’re dealing with two oblivious morons.” Sam groaned. Steve cackled loudly.

“What am I supposed to do? She’s off with some other guy.” Bucky sighed. 

Steve smirked at him, “That never stopped you in the 40’s.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

This guy was doing nothing for you. He was sweaty, way too handsy, and was unfortunately not as attractive up close, a drunken mistake on your part. But you knew Bucky was watching and you would not cave easily, so you kept dancing. 

The guy pulled you taut against him. “So babe when do you want to get out of here?” 

You grimaced, resisting the urge to push the guy off you. Was pissing Bucky off really worth all this?

“I think I can take it from here bud.” A familiar voice said. It sent chills down your spine. Your date, what was his name? Jake? Jason? You couldn't even remember, that’s how uninteresting he was. 

He turned to Bucky releasing his grip on you. “Back off dude, she’s taken.” 

Bucky glared at him unmoving. “I think you misunderstood me asshole. Fuck off.” The dance floor lights flashed over Bucky’s face giving sweaty hands a better look at who he was talking to. 

His face paled. “Oh shit I’m so sorry man, she’s all yours.” He quickly pushed through the crowd on the dance floor to get away. 

You turned to Bucky and crossed your arms. “Are you fucking kidding me James?  First, you call me sleazy and now you chase off any fucking guy I am interested in? What is wrong with y-” 

Your rant was cut off as Bucky dragged you off the dance floor and through a maze of halls. You were too shocked to say anything as he pushed you into the fancy one stall bathroom and locked the door. 

You yanked your arm out of his grasp. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just scare my date off then drag me into a bathroom.”

“Oh please, that guy was a scumbag, you could do much better.” Bucky snarled.  

He turned his back on you and let out a frustrated growl, running his hands through his hair. 

“You weren’t even playing the game right.” He said quietly. 

“What?” 

He turned back to you and moved toward you, causing you to back up until you hit the sink counter. His arms pinned down on either side of you and he leaned in. There were mere inches between both of your lips. 

“I said you weren’t even playing the game right. You’re supposed to consult Sam and Steve and come to a consensus. You just picked a random asshole to piss me off. I at least played the game right.” He growled.

You heart was in your throat. You thought of what to say to defend your choices, then you realized what Bucky said. “Wait what do you mean you’re playing the game right?”

Bucky smirked. “The jury came to a consensus. You’re the best choice to take home tonight. You got the highest rating (Y/N).” His smile turned more sincere. “I want to take you home tonight and every night if you’ll let me. I know I’ve been an ass to you and I’m sorry. I was just so pissed that other guys got to have you while I couldn’t. And-”

You grabbed Bucky by his shirt collar and pulled him in, smashing your lips against his. A growl emanated from his throat as he wrapped his arms around you. Causing both of you to go into a frenzy. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you up and placed you on the bathroom counter. You whined as Bucky placed kisses all down your neck. He sucked harshly in certain areas making you gasp. 

“If I can finally have you all to myself, I want to mark you as mine.” He mumbled against your neck. His words went straight to your soaking core. 

You began unbuttoning his shirt as he pushed up your dress. He pulled it over your head and  threw it behind him, pausing to admire you in your matching black lace set. You returned the favor and pushed off his suit jacket as he attempted to unbutton his shirt. You let out a moan when his chiseled body was finally fully in view.

Bucky pulled down your bra causing your breasts to be pushed up from the material. He purred as he leaned down and worshipped each one, placing kisses all over the top, then moving down and sucking on your nipple. His hand went to your other breast, his fingers massaging and playing with your other nipple. He tugged at it causing you to let out a loud moan. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cried out. He smirked as his hands and mouth traveled down your body. When he finally reached your panties, he looked you in the eye and slowly pulled them down with his teeth. 

You were speechless. 

“Fuck baby, just a few words and some teasing and you’re soaking for me,” He hissed out, his dick hardening as he gazed at your sexed out and wanton state. 

‘Bucky please.” You begged. Wanting, no, needing him to touch you. 

He smirked at you. “Oh I see now doll, when you want me to fuck you I’m Bucky, notJames?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you do not fuck me right now-” you growled. 

Bucky chuckled, lowering his mouth to where you needed it most. Your growl turned into a pleasurable scream. 

Bucky looked up at you, amusement in his eyes. He paused his work. “You know love, you’re lucky the music is so loud, otherwise you and I could be caught in this very scandalous position.”

You smirked and bit your lip. “Let them find us then.” 

With that Bucky feasted on you like you were his last meal. His tongue swirling over your clit and licking your slit until you felt that delicious build up in your stomach. Your hands grasped and pulled at his hair. 

“Bucky, don’t stop, I'm going to-” whiteness filled your vision as you came. You tried to close your legs, but Bucky had them pinned against the counter, continuing his work until you finished riding out your orgasm. 

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as Bucky kissed back up your body until he met your lips. 

You undid his belt and pants, letting his bulging member free. Bucky wasted no time lining himself up with your entrance. Sliding in slowly until he filled you completely. 

You gasped at the pleasure that filled your body. You had never felt so full in any other one night stand. Hell hardly any of them had made you come like this once, or at all. 

“God doll, you’re so tight.” Bucky groaned as he gave you time to adjust to his size. 

“Bucky if you don’t start moving-” you threatened, but were cut off as Bucky quickly thrust in and out of you.

He smirked as you let out a pleasured squeak. 

“Fuck you” you giggled. 

“Gladly.” He replied as he picked up his pace. 

It was relentless and god it was the greatest sex you had ever had. He had actually put your pleasure first, and was about to make you come again. 

The feeling built up in your stomach, and you clenched around Bucky. As if he could read your mind, he reached down and began rubbing your clit. You had to bite back a scream. 

Bucky smashed his lips against yours, as white flashed again in your vision, as your second orgasm hit you. Bucky followed soon after. 

When you both came down from your highs, your eyes met and you giggled. 

“What?” Bucky asked, returning your smile. 

“I swear this better be the last one night stand I ever had, because all I want for the rest of my life is you Bucky Barnes.” 

Bucky’s eyes softened and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. “Funny, because all I’ve ever wanted for the longest time, is you.” You felt your heart skip a beat. 

Bucky’s face turned more mischievous. “Now let’s get out of here. I have a long night planned to show you that you actually can find quality sex around here.” 

[funfunfuntillmydaddy]

Naked Ambition

Getting up the corporate ladder when you work somewhere that is dominated by misogynistic alpha males requires a good dose of talent, resilience and ambition. Not to sound full of myself but, well, I do get a lot of compliments on my talents from the guys at the agency where I work. Especially from the senior partners.

So I was pretty happy with myself when in my mid 20s I was promoted to a manager to lead a team. But it wasn’t plain sailing and I quickly learned that you can’t be friends with everyone. One of the guys in the team, Alex, who I beat out for the promotion, was particularly sour and difficult.

For two months, Alex was nothing but a total pain in the ass. He would argue with me, not do what I asked and bad mouthed me to other people in the office

Being the independent woman I am, I didn’t complain to my boss or any of the other senior partners. But then my boss came to me and told me he noticed how much of a prick Alex was being. He asked me if I wanted him to fire Alex. I didn’t want to admit defeat and wanted to fix it myself. My boss told me that maybe I should try and clear the air with him. But if that didn’t work I needed to get rid of him.

So I put a bit of a plan together. It meant having an informal chat with him late on a Friday. It also meant that I wore my best looking casual Friday outfit. This meant tight jeans and a top with a low neck to give a glimpse of a couple of my talents that were particularly persuasive. I wanted to assert my own type of dominance with some honey, rather than vinegar.

And surprise, surprise, it works a treat. As soon as we were alone and I call him out, he was back tracking and apologising like some pathetic puppy dog. He goes on saying how sorry he is and how much this job means to him and how he was getting married soon and was probably just stressed about it.

After a while, it gets a bit painful and I say we could get a drink and maybe a bite to eat to really clear the air and we could start afresh. So we head to one of the trendy city bars and get stuck into the cocktails.

I knew his type. I wasn’t surprised that he would let himself get sloppy drunk even with his boss. I guess he thought we were all good and even friends now so he felt comfortable letting go. Soon his arrogance and macho attitude came back. But I was ready for it. Now it was time for some twisted fun.

So I start flirting with him. Laughing along, touching his arm, smiling a lot. The usual kind of encouragement.

We continue drinking and get something to eat from a small and cosy restaurant where the drinking and flirting keeps going. By the time we finish dinner, it’s late but instead of calling it quits I suggest we head to a club. He messages his fiancé to say he’s stuck at work because some client was going nuts. As he tells me what he’s writing I smile to myself. I know exactly how this is going to play out now. I message my boyfriend something similar but he’s used to these kind of things. He’s proud of my success even if it means I have to prioritise work sometimes, even on a Friday night. I then message my assistant and ask her to book a room for me at the hotel down the road from our office.

The hotel booking was nothing out of the ordinary. We often did it for clients but also when we were stuck in the office or the city. My assistant had been around awhile and knew all about it. She had worked for senior partners and knew she might be asked to do it at short notice. And she always does it discreetly. I worked this out in my second week when my boss at the time took me out for dinner and drinks that started as a client meeting and continued as a debrief in the hotel into the wee small hours.

So when Alex and I get to the club, we down a shot and get even sloppier on the dance floor. He’s losing control and can’t help himself. His hands are all over me. But I don’t object. In fact I encourage it. I grind against him and feel how excited he is.

After a few more drinks in the club, I pull away from Alex and give him my best devilish grin. I tell him I should let him go home and get back to his fiancé. As I see the pain of disappointment on his face, I bite my lip as I suppose out loud that we could go somewhere else, more private. I almost laughed when the expression on his face instantly changed to that of a puppy with a new toy.

As we leave the club and find a taxi, Alex starts getting even more handsy, groping my ass and pushing into me as we walk out. Then we find the taxi and once we are in the backseat he just goes full on. He leans over planting his mouth on mine and going for it like only a drunk, horny guy can.

He keeps going all the way to the hotel and then he follows me out the door. I pull away from him again and ask him if he’s sure he wants to keep going and I don’t want to get him in trouble with his fiancé. He answers by pulling me back into him and sticking his tongue down my throat. So I grab his hand and we go into the lobby.

It’s now after 1 am and the lobby is mostly deserted. I confidently check in under my name knowing my assistant is totally reliable. My face shows no shame even though the time, our condition and the lack of any luggage makes the state of affairs irrefutable. I just exchange a brief, knowing smile with the cute, late night receptionist

With the room key successfully procured, we head to the elevator and Alex continues to carry on like a hopeless little puppy. Once in the elevator, he goes even harder at me. His hands all over me especially my ass and my tits. I keep encouraging him and even unbuckle his belt as the elevator gets to our floor. We stumble down the corridor as we get to the room and open the door. I pause briefly at the threshold and look at him, trying to get him to recognise the significance of crossing over. But he’s too horny to care.

So we walk through and the door slams shut behind us. He moves me over to the large bed in the centre of what is a pretty ostentatious suite. But we could be in a $50 motel for all Alex cares. This thought amuses me.

He bends me over the bed and roughly undoes my jeans and pulls them down my thighs and then pulls my panties to the side. My suspicion about the kind of lover he would be is soon confirmed as he goes straight to trying to ram his dick into my pussy. There is no discussion on protection. Fortunately I was wet enough to allow his dick to slide in with reasonable ease.

He hammers away at me as his hands squeeze my tits through my top. He starts groaning already so I pull away. I smile at him as I tell him to slow down. I pull down his jeans and take off his shirt as I push him on the bed. Then I pull off my own clothes as I grab his phone out of his pocket and throw it on the bed.

Naked, I climb on to the bed. Straddling Alex, I lower myself and set the pace as I ride his dick. As I hear his moaning return, I look at his phone, letting the vindictive ideas swirl. Instead of anything particularly evil, that would be thwarted by the passcode anyway, I opt for something a little more passive I pick up the phone and open the camera app. I see a look of panic on his face.

I tell him not to worry and that I just want him to have something to remember this by. Then I squeeze my muscles around his dick and ride him hard to distraction. His moans of pleasure fill the room and I snap away with his camera, framing his naked torso and face as he writhes around as my Pusey works him over. Then I hold it to the side to get my lower body and him in the frame so the cause of his pleasure is indisputable. I even switch to video a bit as I ask him to tell me how good it feels. He tells me how tight I feel which is a nice compliment given how much sex I have and how ungenerously proportioned he is. Then I can’t resist and ask him if I’m tighter than his fiancé while I squeeze extra hard. He groans out in confirmation. I can tell he’s close so I turn into bitchy mode.

I know he isn’t going to be able to get me to orgasm. I ride him hard, alternating between grinding my hips while squeezing and bouncing up and down. I moan out telling him not to cum and pleading for him to keep going, already knowing it will be futile. He is getting really close. I think about lifting off and just ruining his orgasm but decide on the other option.

I plead again for him to keep going and to make me cum. Then as he groans more sharply, I tell him he can’t cum inside me knowing he is too far gone. As I yelp out again for him to hold on, I feel his dick swell inside me as his face contorts and he groans out as he shoots inside me.

I stop abruptly as I look down at him with the most bitchy face I can put on to convey my annoyance. Behind it is a face of satisfaction as this played out exactly as I expected. The pleasure on Alex’s face evaporates as he shoots his last lots of cum into me.

I climb off of him and continue the pretence of my annoyance. Tutting and looking down as his cum leaks out of me. I growl at him, asking rhetorically why he couldn’t hold on. But secretly pleased with myself that I made him totally lose control.

It’s now after 2am and I tell him he should go back to his fiancé as I need to take a shower. There is no invitation from me to join in. We are not embarking on a second round. I make the disappointment palpable. He sheepishly walks out the door and mumbles an apology.

As I enjoy the twin jets of the opulent marble shower, I wonder if he will remember to delete those photos before he gets home to his undoubtedly suspicious fiancé.

After that little escapade, poor Alex was never the same. He was meek and unsure around me, couldn’t speak up in meetings, couldn’t pay attention to what anyone said, his work was full of mistakes. So I’m sure he wasn’t surprised that a few weeks later, we had another meeting late on a Friday. But instead of it ending with him cumming inside me, it ended with him walking out with a box packed with all of his personal effects, Including the picture of his fiancé that adorned his desk.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 04 (first part)

(Masterpost) (Episode 03) (Episode 04 second part)

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

Also warning: these posts just keep getting longer how are they getting even longer good lord I had to split this one. 

School’s in for the Summer!

All of these nice young actors show off the results of their movement training as they beautifully perform prostrate bowing in near-unison. (yes, there is a Chinese word for this action, but it’s used in English in a shitty orientalist way, so OP is going to call this prostrate bowing)

Note that the very last person to hit his knees, by a wide margin, is Head Snob Jin Zixuan.

Lan Qiren looks them over with pleased dickishness.

I am really wondering what actor Huang Ziteng looks like without a struggle beard and mouth blood and chronic fainting.

That's...a lot of crosses, my dude

(more after the cut!)

Lan Clan Rules

The Lan rule set is basically a checklist for shit Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang can get up to this summer.

The rules include several that Lan Wangji is actively breaking this very moment, including “Don’t wear any jangling objects like beads,” “don’t be suspicious,” “don’t pierce your ears” and “don’t be supercilious.”  

Wei Wuxian’s Summer Project

Extrovert Wei Wuxian gets started on the important work of making new friends. Waving to Lan Wangji in class doesn't get him anywhere (apparently), but he meets Nie Huaisang and forms one of the most important relationships of his two lives.

He doesn’t even know what they are being mutually squirrely about yet but they are instantly on the same wavelength.

I like you, yeah I like you, and I’m feeling so bohemian like you

When Wei Wuxian discovers that this classmate has smuggled an entire live birb into this boring-ass lecture he is completely delighted, and they are brothers in troublemaking from this point onward.

This is where we learn something important about Nie Huaisang. He wanted a rare canary, so he stalked it for three days, caught it, and caged it.  

This careful hunter is 15 or 16...I wonder how much more patient and determined he will be when he's 35 or 36?

The Salute Ceremony: The Unstabby Bit

The Jin Clan starts off the salute ceremony by presenting Lan Qiren with a fancy book bound with gold string.

Wei Wuxian is genuinely impressed, but Jiang Cheng calls it "meretricious" [op looks it up] which means "apparently attractive but having in reality no value or integrity." Wow, Jiang Cheng is so deliciously bitchy.

Then it’s Nie Huasang’s turn. Wei Wuxian is impressed when he hears his name, meaning he befriended him without giving a fuck about who he is, which is sweet.  I adore this friendship and think there are so many reasons NHS chose WWX to carry out his vengeance, none of which come from him being the dread Yiling Laozu.

The Salute Ceremony: The Thirsty Bit

To represent the Nie clan, I present this nice pot to Lan Qiran, and this rare and beautiful twink to Lan Xichen

Note: the trash talking jerks in the background are from the Jiang clan. Yanli does not remind them about their manners.

Quiet, reserved Lan Xichen greets Meng Yao with compliments and a hand massage and by doing this thing with his mouth.

No words are being produced at this point, he is just...parting his lips gently while he rakes his eyes over Meng Yao’s face.

Meng Yao doesn’t mind a bit

Flames on the Side of my Face

The Wen Clan guys have left Club Ruohan and are coming to summer school. Wen Chao is evil. It's subtle but you can tell by the way he casually sets people on fire.

Lan Clan Rules for Gate Keepers

do not draw your sword to stop someone from setting you on actual fire

do not use magic to stop someone from setting you on actual file

do not call for help when someone sets you on actual fire

Wens Qing and Ning believe in helping people, so once the smell of burning flesh starts to annoy them, Wen Qing puts out a solid 80% of the flames.

Note: We’re going to be spending a lot of time hating Wen Chao, so now might be a good time to have a look at (actor) He Ping out of costume.

Clearly, Wen Chao is just a beautiful troubled person with pretty moles who totally deserves a second chance.

The Salute Ceremony: The Stabby Bit

The Wens interrupt Jiang Cheng’s salute. Lan Xichen apologizes to them for not knowing they were going to show up like a bunch of interrupting assholes.

Lan Wangji wants to murder Weng Chao and looks at Xichen for permission but Xichen says no.

I never get to murder anybody not even that Su She asshole

So Wei Wuxian starts running the WWX fight book, which has to actually be pretty gratifying for the Lans, who are stuck being good hosts.  

He skips the windup in this situation of heightened danger, so he is formal, polite, and doesn't cross any boundaries. But Wen Chao came looking to fight so it escalates immediately, with Jiang Cheng also getting in Wen Chao’s face.

The Wen Clan decides to teach the Jiang Clan a lesson.  This is really the seed of the Lotus Pier massacre...it was always going to happen. The Wens draw swords and almost the entire Jiang Clan immediately draws as well.  

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both use the same sexy move, kicking their swords up off their benches into their hands.

Nie Huaisang hides behind Meng Yao, who immediately uses his whole body to shield him and shows a bit of his titanium spine. I LOVE Meng Yao’s strength here. 

Wen Qing protects her brother by putting her arm across his chest, which is not going to be helpful in any way if someone wants to stab him.  

To end this urgent and dangerous standoff Lan Xichen slooooowly brandishes his flute and plays a little toodleoo for 15 full seconds, eventually causing all the swords to fly up to the ceiling and then down into the floor.

{I know, flautists, I know. Never let facts get in the way of a joke!]

Everyone politely allows him to do this without actually taking any swipes at each other.  Then the swords all magically vanish along with the holes they made in the floor, which is convenient.

Now we get to see Lan Xichen angry, and oh my god, the tiny glimpse of that secret fire. 

Now Wen Qing finally steps up to defuse the situation. She cannot believe she has to work with her boss's horrible stupid son who insists on fucking up every project, god why did he ever get made a vice president I can't believe I have to work with this tool.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen is going to rue the day he introduced Wei Wuxian to Flute Magic.

Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang 4-EV-R

After the ceremony Nie Huaisang, calling Wei Wuxian “Wei-Xiong” (brother Wei, a bit more formal than -ge) praises his bravery. Wei Wuxian says that he enjoys resisting evil, harking forward to his chivalric calling & future promise with Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng says, without irony, I think, and with only a little bitterness, that normal people can't compare to Wei Wuxian’s bravery. Wei Wuxian downplays his courage and says that he wants to teach Nie Huaisang to have fun.

Now - hopefully we've all seen Fatal Journey, right? I won't spoil it here. But if you've seen it you know that a person who gives Nie Huaisang permission to be his true self is going to be precious to him.

Lan Wangji shows up and Wei Wuxian calls out to him, calling him "Ji-Xiong." Lan Wangji totally blows him off but Wei Wuxian is undeterred.

Xichen and Qiren Talking.

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren talk about this whole Wen situation while Qiren pours some tea that appears to just be hot water. Dude.

Qiren is afraid this murdering of cultivators is going to be something the two of them can't handle. You think? There are already about 16 dead cultivators in the mosh pit at Club Ruohan; at what point are you planning to handle it?

This Ship is Sailing

Meng Yao comes to say goodbye to Lan Xichen and to trade hearts with him. Also to have a lot of feelings that his giant eyes and adorable dimples cannot contain.

Lan Xichen: Don't bow to me. No need to thank me like this. We’re equals. As equals we could take turns kneeling to each other, if you catch my drift.

Lan Xichen: Why not stay for several days? Oh if you're Nie Mingjue's boy I guess I have to let you go. He's great. Really. SO great.  

Lan Xichen: Look, you’re with Nie Mingjue and I’m with Nie Mingjue and it only takes one stroke to turn a Vee into a triangle, is what I’m saying.

Grown-ass man Lan Xichen is so much less prudent than his teenage brother. Each of them has fallen hard for someone but the much younger Wangji tries to control it. Hopeless romantic Xichen goes right over the cliff, as well as deliberately knocking away many of the fences around Wangji’s heart so Wei Wuxian can make a home there. We love him for it, of course.

Episode 04, Part 2 is right here.

[poppysmc]

You Bet

CHAPTER 2: All Over Me

Poppy's group leave Belvoire early in the afternoon after their classes. They planned on perusing several stores downtown for the stuff she needed.

Why did she let Veronica talk her into this? If I get humiliated, I’m going to kill her. Poppy silently curses herself and her friend.

“V, if you’re not going to help, go outside.” Poppy’s eyes start twitching at all the frilly and fuzzy things that Veronica is sticking under her nose.

“But I am helping.” She drops the bear she’s holding and sulks, Chloe pats her in the back.

Several hours of shopping and she’s ready to pull all her hair out. Who knew it would be this hard. She normally likes shopping, but this? She can barely tolerate.

Poppy planned a full on romantic apology and then she’ll ask her out. That’s what girls want right? She just assumes, she's never been the romantic type. Even with numerous men and women clamouring for her affection, she never really felt a romantic connection with any of them.

She sets everything up, with the help of Chloe, her ever loyal pup. Veronica is tasked to distract the roommate, for a few hours at least. She’s confident that she’ll succeed in the first try, she could almost see the look in Veronica’s face. “I can’t wait to be driven around by Veronica.” She grins and continues preparing with renewed confidence. After all, who could ever resist her…

Poppy waits in the room; Chloe goes outside, hidden, keeping watch for Morgan. Tasked of texting her when she gets close.

Earlier, Veronica suggested that she surprise her. “Hide under the bed. Then when she enters jump out and offer her your flower."

" What the hell, V! Stop being gross.” Poppy turns away, blushing.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. Get your mind out of the gutter, Pop. I meant your bouquet obviously. Why would you even think that?” She wiggles her eyebrows at Chloe, who silently laughs behind Poppy’s back.”

Should I do it? Ugh, who knows what I’ll find under there.  She decides to crawl under anyway, the floor was surprisingly clean, to her relief. She almost falls asleep, Morgan was taking way too long. Before she dozes off, Chloe texts her informing her that her target is entering the room. Poppy hears the bedroom door open, then she sees legs slowly coming closer over to her hiding spot.

Okay, deep breaths. One, two, three. Poppy tries to get it together, preparing for the surprise. She was ready to jump out when a shirt drops in front of her, followed by jeans. She instantly knew what was happening, Morgan is undressing above her.

“Oh god, no. this isn’t happening to me.” Poppy’s eyes widen and was blushing furiously. She thinks of ways on how she’s getting out. Her plans very quickly turns out into a disaster.

She sees Morgan’s legs retreat. She waits for a moment until she hears the door to the bathroom close, giving her a split second chance to escape, she slowly and quietly crawls out of the bed. There’s a soft click and the lights flick on.

A blood curdling scream is heard throughout the building. “God, what’s wrong with you, newbie?” Poppy straightens up and approaches her.

“If you’re here to kill me, you better make it quick.” Morgan croaks out, slowly backing away, forgetting her state of undress.

A beat passes between them. Poppy finally gets it. “Wait! No, I’m not here to-” She tries to defend herself, she was caught in an awkward position. Before she can eloquently pry herself out of the situation, almost half of the floor’s occupants rush in to see what the commotion is about. They see them both looking at each other, Morgan half naked with Poppy standing beside her.

Poppy realizes what’s happening, she comes closer to her and places her body to cover Morgan’s, to preserve her decency.

Poppy was absolutely mortified. She musters up whatever’s left of her bitchy aura to glare at the surrounding crowd, they mumble and retreat. She grabs the towel and throws it over to Morgan, not before catching sight of her toned body.

Oh, she’s hot too.  She walks out averting her eyes. She drags an equally embarrassed Chloe, who lingered by the doorway, she shoos the lingering crowd back to the hall and closes the door.

Poppy leaves Morgan all confused. She sighs helplessly and leans her back to the door. “What the hell was that?”

Morgan finally gets the chance to look around her room. The floor was scattered with rose petals and unlit candles. “What is happening?” A notification from her phone interrupts her train of thought. She reaches for it and surprise, surprise it’s their photos from earlier posted in The T.

 Good Evening Thoroughbreds!

Our very own newbie, Morgan Hughes is caught climbing something (or should I say someone) other than the Queen B’s rank. Kudos to Queen Min-Sinclair, Hughes is a catch.

- Kisses The T

Morgan sighs at the misunderstanding, they make her sound so desperate. She catches sight of a paper left in her bed, she picks it up and sees that it's a letter from Poppy. Of course her handwriting’s perfect too, all curves and loops.

Morgan,

I know we didn’t have a great start earlier, but it’s not entirely my fault that you were being too annoying, but anyway let me make it up to you.

-P

God, can she be anymore abrasive? Morgan tosses the letter over to her dresser, she could almost hear Poppy's voice as she was reading it.

Poppy and Chloe cut across the quad running, she quickly grabs Veronica who’s still flirting with Zoey, dragging her along. Veronica makes a “call me” sign at Zoey, who laughs at her. “Wait I’m still- W-what are we running from?”

“Poppy’s disaster.” Chloe casually replies, earning a swift slap on the back of her head.

“Shut up Chloe, and it’s not my fault anyway.” She grits her teeth at the memory.

They can finally catch their breath in the safety of the Zeta Sorority House. Their phones chime simultaneously a moment later. Poppy already knows what it's  about.Veronica pulls her phone out and bursts out laughing, earning a dirty look from Poppy. “How can you go from an apology to this? Only you Poppy.” She shakes her head, still snickering.

“I can never show my face to her ever again.” Poppy groans as she lies down in the sofa and buries her face on the cushion.

“Are you conceding? It’s been what, barely a day?” Veronica makes grabby hands, asking for her car keys.

“No. Stop that, not yet. I just have to think of something else.” It all comes out as a muffled reply.

“Maybe you should try for a more direct approach.” Chloe advises her while patting her head.

“How much more can you be direct, Chloe?” Veronica asks.

“You two just shut up.” Poppy growls, exasperated.

“Guess what? What in the hell?” Zoey walks in Morgan’s room; she sees her miserably picking off all the petals Poppy scattered in her carpet, which were too excessive.

“Zoey…”

“I think someone’s trying to tell you something.” Zoey chuckles, getting the vacuum from the storage. “She must have bought all the flowers in the shops downtown.”

“Please, I’m not going to fall for it. If she thinks for one second that I-” She picks up a bouquet on the other side of the bed, one that Poppy was supposed to surprise her with.

“You what?” Zoey looks at her knowingly.

“I’m still apprehensive, she’s all up in my throat earlier. What changed?” Morgan looks at the bouquet suspiciously.

“Maybe she just likes you and has a terrible way of showing it.” Her room mate shrugs.

“I seriously doubt that, maybe it’s a keep your enemies close sort of thing. Who knows what’s going on inside her head.” Still, as she says that, she can’t stop the warmth blooming in her chest. “I’m going to talk to her tomorrow.”

THE NEXT MORNING

Morgan tries to find her before her classes, to clear up the misunderstanding she caused but she couldn’t seem to find her. She sees a flash of strawberry blonde hair here and there but when she tries to follow, she immediately loses sight of her.

“She’s hiding from me.” Morgan comments over her burrito bowl, while having lunch with Zoey.

“Maybe she’s just busy?” Zoey cringes at her weak reply, even she didn't believe what just came out of her mouth. After the disaster yesterday all splashed over the T, she couldn't blame Poppy from hiding.

“I saw her try to duck behind the hedges when I called her name.” Morgan deadpans.

“Try to ask Chloe, she’s always following her around like a lost puppy.”

“Nevermind. I just found her.” She catches sight of Poppy walking inside one of the nearby buildings. Morgan jumps up and sprints towards her. "You’re not getting away from me this time" She mutters under her breath. When she enters though,  she looks around but she sees no sign of Poppy anywhere. “Damn, I lost her again.”

“Hi Morgan!” She almost jumps when someone suddenly spoke right next to her. A scream was stuck in her throat.

“Uhh… Do you need something?” Morgan questions the girl.

“T-This is for you.” The girl hands her a bear, she leaves immediately after handing it to her, offering no explanation. She looks down at the card attached.

Morgan,

I’ll pick you up at 7pm tonight, be ready.

-P

Her again? Why can’t she just speak to me like a normal person.  “Ugh, can she even be more annoying?” She walks back to Zoey, and she does the unthinkable; she hugs the bear to her chest. It smells like her...What am I doing?

“So, you followed her and came back with that?” Zoey asks her, eyebrow raised. Morgan didn’t know what to say, she just blushes. The students milling about were starting to look in their direction, snapping a couple of photos, presumably for The T.

“Let’s go Zoey, I hate when people stare.”

“You’ve been hot topic from day one, get used to it.” Zoey chuckles and stands. They begin their trek to the dorms.

POPPY POV

She has been trying all morning to avoid Morgan and she’s sort of proud that she’s doing a good job at it.

Veronica texts her: I heard you were avoiding Morgan. Wtf are you doing, you gay disaster???

I got it under control. Don’t worry. PS. I’m not a disaster, I do everything with grace and fyi I'm bi. Poppy types out a response.

Yeah right. I’m more worried about Chloe, she might die from second hand embarrassment. Anyway, just go to her, you’re making it seem like you hate her with all your dodging.

NO! Can’t show my face yet. I’ve got a plan, just watch and learn.

She receives another text from Taylor, her lackey. It’s done, Poppy. Attached was Morgan’s photo, hugging the bear with a small smile in her face. She smiles softly, staring at the photo. She forwards the photo to their group chat after realizing that she was staring at it for an inordinate amount of time. She captioned: SUCCESS! She can’t wait to rub it in Veronica’s face later.

>She walks back to the Sorority House while typing up a new text to Morgan. Hey, We’re still on at 7, right? –P

How did you even get my number? You’re such a creep.

I have my ways. So? Is it a yes?

So, you just assumed I’ll go out with you? Why exactly are you doing this?

You’re pretty, I’m gorgeous. We’d look good together. What's there to think about?

If this is your demented way of flirting, think again. It’s a no for me.

No one says no to me, Morgan, you’ll realize that sooner or later.

Like I said; it’s creepy, Min-Sinclair. I’m not going.

“Where did I go wrong.” Poppy thumps her head on the table in confusion and irritation.