#and also don't ask how but this is also tied to my frustration on VERY few sapphic material within fandoms

[xx0yeet-everything0xx]

very interesting how the pjo fandom tends to infantilise hazel, almost. especially in fics she's very much depicted as the "youngest," which is particularly funny because like... nico is right there. he's younger (or the same age, at least) than her. and we don't see anyone doing that with nico—in his case it's almost the opposite. this genuinely baffles me

[madlori]

My ankle journey

I am sharing this with all you good people on the dash because I am so fucking mad it took so long for me to learn it and if I can spare one (1) person the agony it will be worth it.

So for like...oh, 8 or 9 months, I've been struggling with pain/inflammation/tendinitis in my left Achilles tendon. I don't know what caused it. It just started up (welcome to middle age, this shit happens). It wasn't severe enough to be debilitating, but it was annoying and limiting. It was also intermittent, in that some days it would be very painful and other days hardly at all. The kind of shoe I was wearing affected it a lot.

Now, I have bone spurs on both heels (it's just a thing that happens as you get older sometimes). I'm also aware that heel pain is usually the result of tight calf muscles that pull and irritate the tendon. I tried stretching that calf muscle. You know the stretch, this bitch right here:

I did it all the time. I also iced the ankle after walking for awhile, hoping to avoid inflammation. Results were...unsatisfying.

I went to:

A chiropractor

A podiatrist

A physical therapist

A bodywork coach

They all gave me some variation on the "strengthen your calf muscle, stretch your calf muscle" advice. I continued doing this without results.

I was getting frustrated, and a little afraid that this was just my life now. Finally, I thought...maybe some targeted massage might help. I asked for rec on a local FB site and was pointed to a woman who specializes in therapeutic massage including cupping, etc.

I went to her a week ago.

She spent over half our first session working on my left lower leg. Within about 10 minutes of making my eyes water, she uttered the sentence I did not know I had been waiting to hear:

"Oh, it's your soleus."

Excuse me, what?

"It's your soleus that's the culprit. It's all tied up and stiff." She started digging into it and I felt literal sparks run up my leg as she released adhesions and got the muscle moving a little. When she finally put the leg down, it felt like it was on fire with all the blood rushing into it.

She said, "You'll need to stretch your soleus. It'll clear up, but it'll take a bit of time - tendons take ages to heal."

But I HAVE been stretching.

"No, you haven't. The usual straight-leg calf stretch only stretches the gastrocnemius, that's the big belly muscle in your calf. That's not your problem. That stretch doesn't stretch the soleus. Don't worry, I'll show you how to stretch it."

My mind is spinning.

So here are the muscles in question:

The gastroc (as the pros call it) just attaches down the back but the soleus runs underneath it from the knee around the side to the heel. The lower part above the ankle is where it typically gets tight and forms adhesions.

To stretch it, you do the same calf thing where you put your foot back and press your heel to the ground, but you have to do it with your KNEE BENT:

The bent knee keeps the gastroc from engaging. It's one of those selfish muscles (like traps) - if you give it an inch, it'll just take over and prevent other muscles from working or stretching. There are other ways to stretch the soleus but this is the easiest and you can literally do it anywhere. I've been doing it while standing and waiting for things (the elevator to come, the toast to toast). You just put the heel back and bend the knee. It's kind of like curtseying.

The minute I did this stretch, I could FEEL where it was pulling on my tendon. I knew that THIS had been the problem.

The massage therapist also told me to stop icing my heel. She said icing is for an acute injury, but a more chronic aggravation needs heat, to increase blood flow for healing. She recommended elevation with heat every day (I've been doing it in bed during "phone before bed" time).

I have been doing the soleus stretch at least half a dozen times a day for almost a week, and the ankle is at least 70% better. It is still a little tight and tender, but the improvement is significant. I think a few more weeks will have it feeling normal.

I am...blown away by this. This massage therapist was able to pinpoint an issue in only a few minutes that eluded all the other professionals I saw. I can't wait to go back to her and have her solve all my other problems, tbh.

[bboricha]

we did... what in your mind?!

➳ wc: ~600 ➳ pairings: pervert streamer!kaedehara kazuha x mind reader afab!reader ➳ cw: shibari, one (1) hickey, pet name (my love), praise kink if u squint ➳ kabukicho bad trip: 5wirl edition masterlist

synopsis: you're in lit class with one of the most famous people at your university, kaedehara kazuha, a streamer. you happen to be bored and ran out of things to do, letting your eyes wander around the room and you end up meeting kazuha's, getting a glimpse into his mind.

you're sitting in class, zoning out to the droning voice of your professor, going on about Chaucer or Conrad or something—you're not sure, you don't really care. heart...darkness...canterbury... it's whatever, it's not important.

you've already run out of things to do on your laptop too. solitaire? you're tired of it. tetris? you might rage even if it isn't a rage kind of game. amazon? you're too broke. you huff out a frustrated breath, opting to look around the class instead, to maybe daydream, or maybe listen to what others have to say. in their minds, you mean.

yes, you'd rather not listen to other people's thoughts because you know how creepy it would be if they knew, because you know, you just want to respect their privacy. but sometimes you genuinely can't help it if you happen to make eye contact with them—that’s what triggers it after all. it’s kind of hard though to keep your eyes cast down all the time because you also try to make an effort to seem like a normal, sociable person. it just gets awkward sometimes when you're speaking and they start thinking of a lunch menu instead.

your eyes wander over to kaedehara kazuha—a popular streamer known for his parasocial relationships with his fans that happen because he's apparently genuinely nice. not that it matters, but his existence in your class has been a bit of a nuisance to say the least. at the start of the semester, people used to flock around your class at the beginning and the end in hopes of snapping a photo of him. you understand why, he's very attractive pretty and famous, who wouldn't want a picture of an internet celebrity? a lot of people actually, but it doesn't too much anymore because apparently he asked on stream for people to stop it and to your surprise, they actually listened (lol). 

it was then his eyes met yours and you flinch, a barrage of obscene images flooding your head.

”you actually like being tied up, don’t you?” kazuha asks, the breath of his voice hits your ear as he tugs on the binds around your body, pulling you towards him. the red rope digs into your skin, the sting complementing the way his fat cock drags inside your walls. he sucks a mark onto the crook of your neck, promptly pushing you back into his pillows as he takes hold of your hips, spreading you apart as he pulls out, leaving just the tip in.

“you’re sucking me in so… much,” he groans, slowly thrusting back inch by inch, making you whine against his sheets begging for him to go faster. “patience is a virtue, my love.”

he bottoms out, grinding on you when he tugs at the rope again, tears falling from your eyes as a result. he takes notice of this, caging you with his frame as he leans in, the angle of his cock seemingly hitting you even deeper than before (if it was even possible), and he wipes the tears from your eyes.

“just a bit more, alright? you’re doing so well,”

you gasp, averting your eyes and immediately slapping a hand over your mouth to prevent any more unprompted noises. what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?? you think, entirely unsure how to process this sudden surge of information. you cautiously look back up towards kazuha’s direction against your better judgment, almost flinching for a second time when you notice his stare. he mouths a “are you ok,” his thoughts reading as genuinely concerned so you vehemently nod your head and he smiles in return. you can feel your cheeks heating up as you place your arm on the desk, resting your chin on your hand and returning your attention to your computer that was left open on a new tab.

➳ an: foaming at the mouth i love ooc kazuha where there's more than meets the eye with him oh god

[oliviabear]

tbh i am not a fan of this weird narrative about osha that's being tossed around. saying she has no agency is such bullshit and saying that we fell for that by liking her dynamic with qimir is even more annoying.

osha's whole thing is agency. that is literally, in my opinion, the root of her character. in the coven, it is because of osha's own agency and need for independence that she hesitates saying 'yes i accept this life' to her own family. she's craving freedom she thinks the jedi can give her. her own curiosity and utter need to be her own person, to not be tied to her twin sister are so well portrayed in this desperate grasp onto what she thinks will offer her independence and some kind of understanding of her true self. and then she leaves the jedi order, because it's just another set of rules and ways she must abide to fit into it. just another prison for her because she can't be her own person; her true self. she literally left the one thing that caused the entire conflict with her family in the first place. if that's not agency, i don't know what is. when qimir asks her why she's not a jedi, osha doesn't blame the jedi for anything, she says "because i failed." once again, she's focusing on her own choices and actions, indicating she's very self-aware of her independency and how it may have harmed her. she failed because of her own emotions, also something she's aware of. these emotions she couldn't keep at bay because of her agency; they're a part of her and a part she could not ignore or suppress like the jedi needed her to. it can even be interpreted as the show almost portraying osha as selfish because of how much agency they've given her. i honestly want this to be the case, i need messy, flawed osha

not just that, but osha is constantly practising her agency in many ways; she's leading her life the way she herself has chosen. what she thinks of these choices is a different thing entirely and can be interpreted by however you see it but ultimately her own choices led her to where she is.

which is the same thing that happens with qimir. he literally gives her an option to leave and go after master sol and her sister or just do whatever she wants. she doesn't have to stay there. i know a lot of people think he was manipulating her because he would've trapped her if she had left anyway, but i think that's a wrong way to look at what's really going on here, especially considering osha's characterisation. osha makes the choice here again, implying she has a lot of agency, again, and it makes a lot of sense why she stayed. this is just another way for her to seek out the freedom to be herself. osha is curious about the dark side, whether she denies that or not, and she wants to learn about it in hopes of gaining a sense of who she truly is. it doesn't tie her down to anything and it doesn't take away her agency. seduction from qimir's side may be a part of it but that doesn't negate the fact osha makes her own choice to allow him to teach her. she literally puts on the mask herself, it's not like he forced her to do that. she does that because she is desperate to find her true self once again.

she has so much agency in all her actions i think it's rather frustrating to see people reduce her character to 'she's falling for qimir's seduction because she's such a weak, passive character' like do you hear yourselves... in my opinion the show has made a great point of showing that osha, even if repressed and hesitant/presented as passive, will act out on her choices. and i think that's exactly what she's doing right now. she could've killed qimir, but she chose not to. after he opened up to her, her own empathy and curiosity led her to make that choice. even if she knows he's on the dark side, she still chooses to hear him out. she puts on the mask because she wants to. a part of her can see it could potentially give her what she always wanted: to be herself.

you could say qimir might seduce her to want codependency as this is something he seems to seek, but to imply osha has no agency is to disregard everything that has led her to this point in the story lol.

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER THREE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, dead bodies, murder that is very female targeted, canon character death, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 9.5k (yes you read that right…I'm sorry)

The sterile walls of the hallway close in around you as you make your way towards the autopsy room. "Agent," a familiar voice calls out behind you.

"I'm not your 'Agent' anymore, Jack," you say, wincing as you turn to face him. You were never officially an agent; Jack only started calling you that when you began sticking your nose into his cases.

"Force of habit," he deflects, his tone unusually soft for him. "I need to talk to you."

You glare at him, hoping he'll get straight to the point. The last thing you want is for Jack to drag you into his office, which always feels like a principal's office—the prelude to a lecture you’d rather avoid.

"I'd like you to resume therapy," he says finally.

Your heart sinks. "No."

"Bloom knows a therapist in Baltimore-"

You cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Are you serious? The last time I took her advice, I ended up tied to a chair and tortured. I'll pass."

"Dr. Lecter is one of the best in his field. She recommended him when I expressed my concerns." He tries to reason. 

Is he serious? "So, you discussed your concerns about me with her first instead of just asking me if I felt I needed help?"

"It's not about what you want. If you’re going to continue working on this case, you need a psychological evaluation."

Frustrated, you turn away and continue down the hallway. This is such bullshit. You don't need therapy. "I'll pass, Jack, but I appreciate your concern," you dismissively yell over your shoulder, not slowing your pace.

The moment you enter the room, everyone's eyes fall on your frame. The three in lab coats momentarily feeze while Will quickly makes eye contact before his gaze shifts to behind you and paces out of the room. 

“Were you honest when you said you two never dated—hell even slept together because this is awkward.” He says in an awful attempt to break the awkward silence.

“Any close relationship that didn’t leave on a positive note can cause tension, not just romantic ones, Price.” You state. 

Beverly clears her throat. “So Will thinks the killer is eating the girls. Elise's liver was removed and then put back in place; the killer did that after he realized she had liver cancer.”

“We also found metal shavings on her body,” Zeller chimes in. 

You sigh. “It’s plausible. It creates a very vivid image of this man. He…cares for these girls in his own twisted way. He’d view their consumption as an act of devotion, most likely a waste if he didn't. It’s a hunter's mentality; if there's anything left of these girls, it’s most likely fragments. Hair stuffed in pillows, bones made into various things—he wouldn't waste. If he is a hunter, he most likely has a dedicated space to this, a shed, probably doesn't live in the city.” You propose.

You’re met with silence for a moment before Beverly speaks once again. “I can’t believe you were never a profiler.” She shakes her head and smiles. 

"Well, I momentarily am of sorts now.” You raise your arms forward and wiggle your fingers.  “Maybe I understand him so well because I am him.” You say it in an unserious tone. 

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Hmm, yeah, I'm real scared.” You didn't even realize how much you missed Bev until now. 

"Well, is that all?” You ask. 

"Yup, that's it.” Brain tells you before grabbing something behind him. “I’ll be off then.” You smile and walk out the door.

2 YEARS EARLIER

Jack’s call came twenty minutes ago, his voice clipped and urgent. “Another one.” That was all he said, but it was enough. It wasn't just another body, not a one-off murder. He made it clear by his simple lack of words that this was connected. 

During the entirety of your drive, your heart couldn't stop beating. The dull vibration filling your ears and pounding your chest overwhelmed you so much that you felt relieved at the red stop lights, giving you a moment to collect your barring's. Jack pulled up at the same time, his grim expression mirroring your own.

As he approached, his words were drowned out by your internal rhythm. But when Jack opened the door into the room, your body finally went quiet, and you finally feel like you’re alive again—living in the present. 

A woman's body lay sprawled on the cheap, stained bed, blood soaking deep into the mattress. Your gaze travelled over her naked form, legs spread wide in a provocative display. Decaying vines twisted around her ankles and the bed frame, their dark, withered tendrils contrasting against her greying skin. It was a brutal, degrading spectacle.

There is a precise incision right above her pelvis, which is mostly one of the reasons why her entire torso is covered in her own blood, except her breasts. They look as if they were deliberately cleaned, the pink hue still lightly remaining on her skin. 

Her mouth is slightly agape; something inside it is forcing her jaw unnaturally wide. Compelled by a mix of horror and professional detachment, your feet move towards her. You hear Jack say something but it becomes mute when you hear your heartbeat pick up again.

Your gloved hand delicately touches her jaw; now, closer, you can see her features. Up close, her traits become clearer. She’s unremarkable—plain, even. A white, brunette woman of heavy European descent with a slim build. It’s odd to think how un-special she may have been in life but now, in death, she's a spectacle.

Gently, you pry her jaw open, revealing a small, fleshy mass inside. You look towards Jack in confusion and ask, “Can I pull it out?” 

Crawford gives a small nod and moves beside you. You give the object a small pull and it doesn't budge. “You hold her jaw; I’ll pull it out.” Jack says while looking at the strangulation marks on her neck. 

You move your hands and the man pulls. You watch him struggle between delicately grasping it and forcefully yanking it. 

You adjust your grip, one hand on her lower teeth and the other on the upper, pulling them apart. Jack pulls a bit harder; you watch as it starts to slide out, and just when you think its going to be stuck once again, Jack gives a final, forceful yank, and the object comes free.

Jack is holding the woman's uterus. 

“What the fuck?” you exclaim. Momentarily forgetting you two weren't the only ones in the room. Someone behind him brings an evidence bag to Jack, where he drops the organ inside the plastic. 

All eyes shift to the incision on her torso. Another forensic tech steps forward with metal forceps, his face pale but determined. He fiddles with the cut, and when he finally pries it open. You hear others gasp but you're still trying to compute the sight of the mess inside. At first, it looks like a jumble of smooth, misplaced intestines—until you recognize the pattern.

Scales. Snakes.

She’s been hollowed out, and her uterus has been replaced with dead serpents.

PRESENT DAY

It’s been days, and still nothing. The most frustrating part of working in a field that is centered around solving crimes is the cruel irony that sometimes you need more evidence to build a profile—to move forward at all. You've heard about Jack narrowing down the search by identifying the specific metal found on Elise's body, but you honestly couldn't care less.

You deluded yourself into believing that taking on this case was a selfless act, but your defenses are crumbling. You’re here for Will to glue together what was once broken. But you’ve never fucked up on this scale before, and you don’t know how to fix it. Your fingers stick together from your messy revival attempts, and the toxic fumes cloud your mind. Why did you think it was a good idea to show up at his house?

A knock at your door—your own door—in Baltimore interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

No one called to warn you of an appearance; your overactive work brain can't shut off even now, envisioning an ax murderer standing outside your home.

How comical.

"Open up, it’s Crawford." Jack’s voice is muffled but unmistakable. Not an ax murderer; that makes more sense considering it’s 10 AM and you live in an apartment building. Unless he’s here for other reasons, maybe he knows and wants to give you a chance to explain yourself before slapping handcuffs around your wrists.

Unsure how to navigate this possible confrontation, you blurt out the stupidest thing: "Why?"

“Because I need to talk to you,” he shouts impatiently. 

With a sigh, you walk to the door and begin to unlock it. “That’s what my number is for. I thought showing up at my workplace was invasive, but this is—” Your words cut off as you opened the door.

“Who are you?” you ask, your eyes shifting to the unfamiliar man standing beside Jack.

"I’m Dr. Lecter. Jack has asked me to assist in this case, similar to you," he says with a polite smile, more out of courtesy than genuine pleasure.

You recognize the name from Bloom. She mentioned him plenty of times, but this isn’t how you envisioned meeting him. It reminds you of when, after the "incident," as she likes to call it, she recommended him to you and offered to call him. You declined.

"Okay." Your glare bounces between the two men. Jack's scowl deepens while the doctor’s eyes remain fixed on you. You're not sure if he’s blinked once since you opened the door.

Jack groans and begins to speak. “I want you to speak to a professional for a psychological evaluation. I already told you this.”

You’re taken aback by his intrusion. “I’m sorry, is this an intervention?” Crawford opens his mouth to speak, but you continue before he can justify himself.

“This is ridiculous. First, you begged me to help you on this case, and now you're doubting my sanity?” 

You focus on maintaining eye contact with Jack, not fully seeing the doctor's face beside him, but through your blurry peripheral vision, it looks like amusement. What an asshole.

“I’m not doubting your sanity; I’m clearing this up for legal reasons.”

It’s bullshit, and you know it. “You know what I think, Jack? I think you’re scared of another fuck-up.” You bite, “You lost Miriam, and then, because of a lack of diligence on your part, you almost lost another one of your worker bees. And you just can’t handle another tragedy like that again.”

Jack opens and closes his mouth, more-so shocked by how cold you were to him than anything. You’ve been pissy before, but nothing like that.

It’s harsh and untrue; what happened to you or Miriam isn’t Jack's fault, but that’s not the point. You wanted to strike him where it hurts most. He confided in you about his guilt during the aftermath of your incident, and using it against him is cruel, but that’s what you’re going for, and it clearly worked.

Your gaze finally directs to Lecter, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I think it’s best you both leave.” 

As you swing your door shut, you see him smile. This time, it’s genuine. His crow's feet become prominent, and his top lip slides up to reveal his pointed canines. You much prefer his disingenuous smile to the one where he looks at you like a pretty little doll who just did a party trick.

2 YEARS EARLIER

The victim, a model named Clare Greene, her once beautiful face beaten until her nose lay flat across her face. Blood pools around her head from her slashed throat, soaking into the plush carpet that her back lies on. In both of her hands rest two magazines; she’s on the front cover of both. 

As you approach the body closer to snap another picture, you notice the defense wounds her wrists bore. “Who found her?” You ask, not to anyone specific; you just let the words come out of your mouth with hopes of an answer. 

“Her fiancé, ma'am. Ethan Kingsley, he was supposed to meet her for breakfast; when she didn’t show up, he came here to check on her.” The officer beside her answers.

You nod, your eyes scanning the room. Broken glass glittered on the floor near the bar; an overturned chair in the corner; the place was covered in blood splatters. 

“Jack!” You shout, hoping to get his attention. 

You hear his footsteps before you see him. “What?” He asks. 

“There's a fine mist of blood over here, most likely a result of her severed artery.” You say while motioning to your neck, “All across the back wall right there. The fatal blow happened here—then she stumbled onto the carpet, where she collapsed, and he started beating her. She was either unconscious or already dead when he started so he did it for the sake of it.” You explain. 

You move closer to her. “The long, linear streaks of blood that fan out from her indicate she was also stabbed before he started beating her. The angle and distribution suggest he was standing above her—not straddling and swinging the weapon in a very vertical downward motion.”

You continue as you lead Jack towards the bar area. “These smaller, less-directed spots are all scattered around this area. I think the first attack was here, but she put her forearms up to block it and ran, leaving the droplets behind as she ran.” You say while mimicking an X with your forearms, “It also matches the shallow defensive wounds right below her elbow; it didn’t go too deep; it seems like a very light slash.” 

Jack nods, quite for a moment. “Okay.” 

Not satisfied with his response, you say, “This is bad, Jack; four murders and no suspects. I’m just-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, ‘“I’m not very confident in my usefulness.” Your head ducks down in your admittance.

“I’m sure many feel that way; there's no point in festering it; that’s not how things get solved.” Jack scolds. 

As much as you’d rather allow Jack’s words to fall deaf on your ears, you know he's right; it’s not about you; it’s about the victims and solving what's been done to prevent more tragedies. “You’re right I’m sorry, you’re not my therapist. I don’t know why I said that.”

Jack says nothing and walks away, leaving you to stew in your own embarrassment over your unwelcome confession. 

PRESENT DAY

The next day, you arrive at your momentary office in the BAU. You can’t shake off the invasive encounter given by Jack. It sits heavily in your mind as you try to focus on the case files in front of you. It feels like your head is so full of tenacity it’ll start leaking out of your ears.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of determined footsteps outside your door. 

The door knobs twist and Beverly speedily walks in before you have time to adjust. Looking a bit more chipper than usual and dropping a stack of papers on your desk.

“Good morning. Any updates?” you ask, masking with a forced smile.

“Just the usual. Lab results, cross-references, the fun stuff,” she replies, giving you a teasing look. “‘Found out the specifics of the metal found on Elise’s body, which narrows things down a bit.” She smiles. 

“What?” you say, picking up and flipping through the papers without really seeing them. "You've got to be shitting me, and Jack didn’t even say anything to me.”

"Well, he mentioned heading off to Baltimore to talk to you but it seemed that never happened.” She cluelessly shrugged. 

Grateful for her being unaware of your awkward encounter with him and Lecter, you ask, “So what happened?”

With a smile, she turns her back and says, “Read it and talk to Jack.”

“Oh fuck you.” You say unserious; she doesn't give another response but you hear her laugh accompanied by your door closing as she leaves the quaint room. 

After reading the file, you make your way towards Jack’s office, curious as to why he didn’t bring this to your attention. As you approach the door to knock, it swings open and bumps into you. “Shit.” You say under your breath, pain blossoming where the door met your toes a moment ago. 

As you back away, Will immediately comes out. You both stand there staring at each other. You see his jaw open to speak before he turns and quickly walks away from you. 

You figure he was going to apologize for the collision, and now all you can think is if the reason he scurried off was because of the obvious stress he was exuding and decided to book it, or if he didn’t deem you worthy of an apology. 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you peek into Jack's partially opened door and say, “I was wondering-” You feel yourself become silenced with the notice of another person in the room, Dr. Lecter.

“Oh.” Is all you can give for an immediate response. The room is quiet, Jack looks annoyed with your uninvited presence, and the man across from him seems to be sizing you up in a clinical fashion. 

They’re both waiting for you to speak, not wanting for this unbearable silence to continue for longer than you do. “My apologies; I didn’t mean to intrude.” You say before closing the door behind you. 

You quickly scurry off, and as you turn into another hallway, you see a familiar figure hunched over a water fountain. You fasten your pace and Will’s eyes open suddenly from the sound of rapid footsteps. He pulls away from the fountain, water dripping off his chin that he wipes off when he brings his forearm to his face. 

Within the few seconds you have before you reach him, you practice what to say and points to make speak that hopefully can de escalate his discomfort. 

“I understand my presence is quite unbearable for you but I’m asking for your assistance in a professional manner. I’m being left out of the loop on plans for Nichols and I would like to be more aware. I don’t feel as if I’ve contributed much and I’d prefer to do better.” You justify your presence to him. Some parts of you feels pathetic, not because of what you are doing but because you know you would never do it for someone else.

“I’m sure I know as much as you do.” 

You want him to say more to you so desperately. You’d rather him yell at you or punch you in the fucking stomach than be so reserved. You suppose it’s best; you quite literally came up here asserting it’s for professional reasons but only wish he’d deconstruct his walls and allow you in. 

God, you’re so entitled. 

With your shoulders slumped, you cordially respond, “I understand. Thank you for your time.” Before walking away. 

As fate would have it, everything unfolded in its twisted, godly way. The call came in for another victim—a woman impaled on a stag head left to be displayed in an empty field. A stark contrast from the meticulous love of the Strike; the dissonance Jacks is unable to see is migraine-inducing. 

Ding

Your phone chimes, and you really think that whatever higher-power there is is determined to rest your patience today. 

The screen, annoyingly bright, stares back at you, displaying a name that’s foreign to your recent call history.

Will

No last name; you know multiple Will’s, but they’re contacts are accompanied by their last name. But not Graham’s; he’s much more deserving than that. 

You feel like you’re hallucinating when you look at the words asking you to see him and where he’s staying. From any other man, this might have been a crude proposition, but not from Will. Sweet, enigmatic Will. 

You’re not sure if this is meant for someone else. He would have had to search through his contacts to find you, given the long period of silence between you. He couldn't even be sure you still had the same number. 

It must be meant for you. This is the opening you’ve been praying for; you’ve never been more thankful for deities you’re not sure if you even believe in. 

Your legs feel like they're moving for you as you stand up, hardly fazed by the morning cold as you walk to where Will’s staying; leaving your dingy motel room just to go to his. 

It feels like mere seconds from receiving the text to standing at his door; time feels so warped in the grip of anticipation.

Your knuckles gently tap the door multiple times to alert him of your presence. Flashbacks invade your brain of how awful your last encounter was, though your presence seems more welcome now. 

The door opens faster than you can blink. Will’s messy hair and lack of pants make you feel like you're intruding, despite his invitation. 

He cranes his neck out to look behind you. “Come inside,” he says, hushed. 

You walk inside, and all you can think of is how “Will” this place is; it’s like he was meant to stay here. But that could also just be you holding him in higher regard than necessary and assuming the world revolves around him. 

That very well could be it. 

As he closes the door, the room becomes cloaked in darkness. “Can I—could I open a curtain?” You ask. 

"Yeah, sure,” he says, waving off. As you open the curtains to see the morning sun, you see a familiar man dressed in a fitted suit walking towards the door. 

You stiffen, your muscles tighten and lock as you feel Will give you a glance, expecting you to know the visitor. 

“Did you invite Doctor Lecter as well?” You ask, just as confused as he is. 

"No, I did not.” He huffs as he opens the door, revealing the man with his fist raised, about to knock against the wood.

“Eager.” The man outside says with a subtle, entertained smirk. “Good Morning Will” 

Walking closer to the door, tilt your head to take a peek. "Morning, Doctor.” You unenthusiastically greet. 

His face momentarily drops, just quick enough to show disappointment, before rearranging his facial movements to show false delight. 

“Good morning to you as well.” He says politely. You can’t bother to verbally respond; this was meant to be a moment for possible reconciliation. Not interruption. 

Will, who’s deep in thought, snaps back into the present and offers the doctor to step inside out of the morning chill. He accepts it happily, seemingly aware that he interrupted something but he doesn't seem to care; if anything, it seems he’s taking enjoyment in it. 

“I came bearing gifts.” He says, raising the glass containers of food he’s holding. “Though my apologies, I didn’t expect you to have a guest.” He apologizes to Will. 

“I don’t eat in the mornings anyway; it makes me nauseous.” You excuse. 

Will gestures towards the small dining area, silently and awkwardly indicating for everyone to sit. You take a spot, sitting on a stiff wooden chair, trying to ignore the piercing gaze of Hannibal.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” Hannibal asks you as he gives Will his prepared meal as they both settle into their seats, with Will beside you and Hannibal parallel to you.

Wills eyes continue avoiding both of yours. "I needed to talk to someone who understood," he responds for you. 

Hannibal, opening his container of food on the table, raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you need to talk about, Will?"

Will hesitates, his fingers nervously fiddling with the fork in his hand. "Cassie Boyle. The case... it’s different this time."

Hannibal leans back, looking intrigued. "Different how?"

“What is the purpose of your visit?” You redirect the conversation. This was meant to be a private conversation and you don't appreciate the way Lecter finds it appropriate to put Will on the spot. 

You watch as his hand tightens the grip around the fork in his palm; he’s mastered the art of his facial control. He really is an incredible attempt at the personification of nonchalant, but he still has his tells. 

“An attempt to befriend a coworker; I’d like to serve the purpose of a mediator, alleviate tension when possible, and give my insight on more grim- work related things.” He answers. 

You know you shouldn’t taunt, but you can’t help it; the temptation is too grand. “What makes one worthy of a visit and what disqualifies another?” 

Hannibal seems pleased by your words, oddly enough. “You are more than qualified; I figured you’d appreciate time. I understand you’re not necessarily fond of me.”

“I’d argue the only person fond of you in this room is yourself.” You bite. Hannibal says nothing in return, nor does Will. They both eat in silence as you fidget with your hands, desperate to be soothed.

Staring at the painted wall in front of you, you watch through your peripheral as Hannibal swallows a bite of food from his fork and opens his mouth to speak to Will. “I would apologize for my analytical ambush the other day, but I know I would be apologizing again.” He says, flicking his head towards you briefly in recognition. “And you’ll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.”

Quickly and harshly Will responds, “Just keep it professional.”

Hannibal responds after taking another bite of his cooking, “Or we could socialize like adults; God forbid we become friendly.”

“Where's Crawford?” You ask as soon as the thought rolls into your head. 

Hannibal’s head stiffly turns to face you. “Deposed in court. The journey will be ours today.” He curtly says. 

Then why did he exclusively come to Will? Why has he seemingly made no plans to properly introduce himself to you?

It’s not that you're jealous; it’s not his attention that you want; it’s just the simple need to be recognized as an equal. You’re good at what you do—great, even. And this isn’t the first time someone has disregarded you for no apparent reason. Well, you think you know why. 

Standing up from your chair, you speak. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be off-”

“Why?” Will immediately asks, mouth full of chewed food. 

“Gotta get ready for the day. Unfortunately, it takes more effort than just a clean shirt and brushed hair for me to be presentable. I’m sure you’d understand that, Doctor.” 

The moment the words come out of your mouth, you realize the accidental insult you've just given. You didn’t even mean to insinuate that he’s someone who must put in extra effort in order to be ready for the day, but by the way his grip tightens on his fork once again and the displeasing curl of his lips, you're sure he took it that way. 

“Jack gave a rental; I can drive you when you're ready?” Will offers, as pleased and equally confused you are for his sudden change of heart on your existence. You are also well aware that Lecter will most likely be hitching a ride to.

“I actually drove here. I thought it would be good for me to have some more time to sort out my thoughts.” You say, walking towards the door. “But thank you; I’ll see you both soon.” You say, as curtly as possible before twisting the handle and making your exit. 

Files, files and more files are all you’ve sorted through since you arrived at your destination, the place where the Shrike most likely works. 

You hear a car pull up next to the dingy little trailer of the office of the work site, the sound vibrant against the noise of ruffling papers and the secretary talking to her boss on the corded phone sitting on her desk. 

The door creaks open, and as you turn around, you’re greeted by the sight of Will walking in through the door held open by Hannibal. 

“I’ve sorted through these four on the left so far,” you say in reference to the seemingly never ending towers of file cabinets. “And those boxes are where I’m throwing shit that if you twist an arm and a leg, you might be able to find something slightly suspicious.” 

Hannibal walks in, closing the door behind him and Will nods. “What about her?” He asks, tilting his head to the side where the secretary sits. 

“Conversation with her boss, I think. One that doesn’t seem to be going very well.” You explain with a tiny humorous smirk. Her head snaps towards you as she glares, unable to verbalize any frustration so she settles for squinted eyes. 

“Do you need direction?” You condescendingly ask. Hannibal, seemingly unfazed by your attitude at this point, does nothing but shake his head and say, “Not yet, no. But I’m sure you’ll give me some.” His smile contradicting his pointed words. 

Moments went by, flipping through papers upon papers. The feeling of being stuck in a never ending loop is finally broken by the secretary's voice directed at the three of you. 

“What did you say your names where?” She asks, standing up. 

Before you or Hannibal could respond, Will does. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs?”

With a sigh, the woman answers, “He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. ‘Plumbers Union requires ‘em whenever members finish a job.” She says, before quickly spinning around and whispering into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” And places the landline back onto the plunger. 

Finished with her phone conversation, Will continues to inquire. "Uh, does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?”

“Might have.” She says in her tired, monotone voice. 

“Eighteen or nineteen, wind-chafed, um- plain but pretty. She’d have auburn hair; be about this tall.” He motions a bit below his ear. 

She shrugs in response. “Maybe I don't know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

“What is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?” Lecter's voice chimes in. 

“He left a phone number, no address.” He answers, his back still facing you both. 

 The doctor questions Will once again, turning to face more towards him, “And therefore he has something to hide?”

Taking a short breath to breathe, Will answers, “The others all left addresses; he also missed work for days at a time.” You can see he’s slowly getting more wound up. His mind is moving and scrambling around different possibilities too fast for him to make sense of, and what he can decipher is nothing short of tasteless. 

"Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?” You chime in an attempt to take a sliver of weight off of Will’s shoulders. 

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes and silently walks toward her desk. She takes a few moments to gather her information, the sounds of a keyboard clicking and shallow- impatient breaths fill the room. 

Grabbing a pen, she scribbles numbers onto the small square of paper before standing up once more to hand it to Will. 

As often as it happens, you feel like you’ll never get used to the way men are consistently served first in this field. It's not Will’s fault of course, and you’re sure it wasn’t intentional on her part. But in a way that makes it worse, how habitual it is to subconsciously ignore you, woman, really anything out of the typical white male mold of an old detective movie. 

You’ll never forget how Jack was so quickly disregarded in one of the first cases you accompanied him with. It was in some southern state where a series of home invasions resulted in multiple murders over a handful of months. On the way to the crime scene, the neighbourhood held lawns of homes that were decorated with not only American flags but Confederate ones as well. You watched the way the local police interacted with Crawford. The kind of people who tolerated him for his help but nothing else—aversion constantly clouded their eyes. 

It's not that you haven't encountered appalling people of that sort before, but it was the moment when it clicked that no matter how remarkable your work is, if Crawford could be so quickly disregarded because prejudice, the man who was truly their saving grace for this case, what chance do you have to truly excel in your field?

“I could start loading the boxes in the trunk; can you unlock it?” You ask, not even bothering to look at the yellow Post-it note containing the address. 

Looking at you with brows furrowed, he digs in his trouser pockets. “It’s manual, you have to unlock it.” He says while handing you the set of cool rigid metal. 

“That's fine.” You say with a smile before heading out the door. Taking a breath of metal-scented air in an attempt to calm your nerves. Things are going okay—well, even.

 Will seems to be no longer sickened by your presence, for whatever reason that may be. You're trying not to think of that, the reasoning for this sudden change of heart, and how you may already know it if it weren't for Lecter's earlier intrusion. 

You're trying not to hold much disdain for him, to put it aside for the time being when there are non-metaphorical lives on the line. But it’s hard when the only thing you now personally know him for is an invasive little bastard. Not much like Bloom had described him to you before, back when you were civil. That's not fair to her, though; she’s civil—you're not. You're much too bitter now for niceties.

Moments pass by while you, Will, Hannibal and the secretary are hauling boxes out of the small office trailer into the back of the rental car. A monotonous and tedious task. One that may not seem to be fit for all though, as the doctor allows a box to stumble in hands, paper falling onto the wet ground. 

Of course, Will’s the one to solve the problem, falling to his knees to scrounge the paper and telling the man not to worry. You watch as he doesn't even give a thank you in return; he just hustles back inside. 

Clearly, the man doesn't have as much decorum inside of him as he presents. 

Though you may not have room to speak, the moment the task was done, you grabbed the address covered note and put it into your car's GPS before telling Will just to follow you. You're sure you're contributing to his stress by being so evasive, but until you can stop being so erratic, your best bet is to stay slippery, not allowing him to get a good enough grasp on who you are before you can conceal it.

The robotic voice from your center console alerts you of the approaching destination. Turning on your turn signal a bit early to alert Will driving behind you of the driveway you are about to pull into.

You can only appreciate the home once you step out of your car. The plain suburbia of the family home becomes clearer once you get closer to the front door. 

You turn to watch Will and Lecter step out of the car, Hannibal surveying the place with an analytical gaze much like your own, while Wills is unique. It’s Wills. 

You're unsure if you should wait for Will and have him be the one to knock at the door. You’re defenceless; you have no gun, no badge, and no reason for someone to open the door for you alone. 

The decision seems to have been made for you when the door opens. Turning to look, you are greeted by the sight of bloodied hair and body weight pushed onto you. Before being granted a moment to collect your thoughts, you feel yourself falling. The sight of a man with a knife turning away is the only distinct thing you can make out as the rest melts into a scene of blurry green and blue before you and the body on top of you hit the ground.

The moment your head hits the concrete, you know you're done for. The sound of your hard skull smacking against the ground reverberates through your spine like an echo. An uncomfortable pounding takes over all your senses as Will runs up to you. The body weight of the woman is pushed off of you. You can hear the vibrations of his voice against your eardrums but nothing more—all unintelligible in your mangled brain. 

You can feel your mind quickly leave its haze as fast as it came to you, your senses returning. You pull yourself up on your forearms to try to slowly raise yourself up. “Go.” Your voice sounds weird coming out of you; it's so loud that it feels like a microphone is hiding in your throat. 

An unfamiliar hand grabs the back of your skull. “I’m here; you can go, Will.” Hannibal's voice firmly says behind you. 

And he does; he quickly stands, pulling out his gun and walks into the house as Lecter pulls you by your armpits to sit properly. “You’re not bleeding.” He states, moving your hair around your head softly to check. 

“Bleeding.” You think. Blood. You can feel blood all over your skin. You know you’re not bleeding, you don’t feel anything leaving you. But you feel everything on you. 

The woman lays beside you, face up towards the dreary sky, as the sound of a quiet pattering of blood collects in a pool below. “God.” You exclaim while attempting to push yourself up from your wobbly arms.

“Slow do-” The accented voice behind you speaks before being cut off by a series of gunshots. You feel each noise in your chest, each one causing your heart to sink further into your stomach. Ignoring the dizziness blooming in your head, you clumsily stand up. Hannibal's hands pointlessly attempt to grip you to help your stability as you quickly stumble into the Hobbs residence. 

The overwhelming smell of iron invades your nostrils—you freeze. Will huddles over a limp body, you from behind as he struggles to place his hands. Jack was right, you're not ready for this. Slumped in the corner lies a man, bullet wounds decorating his chest in rows.

Will killed him.

Your mind plays the sentence over and over again on loop as you feel Dr. Lecter's eyes bore into the back of your skull. He walks over to Will, his posture so straight that it's unnerving. The way his hands steadily grip the young girl's throat to prevent more blood from spurting out mocks your shaky ones. 

Will beside him looks just as shaken up as you do, sitting there frozen, watching as the girl on the floor clings to life. 

“Call in.” Hannibal's voice shakes you from your thoughts. As if on autopilot, your bloody hand messily dials for an ambulance. Your words sound so foreign, entirely not yours, as you explain the scene in front of you, eyes locked on Will as he dissociates from his surroundings. 

It happens so slowly and so fast. A whirl of paramedics running in. Ushering you all to leave, but you can’t. The moment you exit the door, you freeze at the woman's body in front of you.     

She was murdered, died on top of you and was the last bit of warmth she felt before she went cold. You feel sad, A woman's life was brutally stolen from her far too early. You feel sad about the surrounding context of her death, but mostly you feel gross, dirty, sticky, and frustrated that she had to expel her life force all over you. 

You want a shower.  

After getting checked by the waiting paramedic outside, who confirmed a grade 1 concussion. You can't stop thinking about what just happened to Will's head. He just murdered a man to save a life and you know what that can do to someone—it's the exact thing that ruined you. 

You’ve done it again, showing up uninvited again, only this time to his motel room and not his home. But you have to talk to him. 

Some agent you never even got the name of drove you both back to your respected quarters. Neither of you were in a state to drive; you can’t for the next 48 hours and Will... God knows how Will is. 

That's why your visit is needed; it’s not for your peace of mind; it's not an apology; it’s to make sure he's not alone with thoughts and has someone to help clear them. 

After knocking at his door once again, he opens it. “Hi.” Your voice cracks.

“Hi.” Greets back. He sounds…tired.

“I wanna come in.” You tell him there's no point in pleasantries; he’s known why you’re here since the moment you knocked on the door. 

Fortunately, that gets him to crack a small smile and say, “Sure.” 

As you both walk further into his room, he closes the door behind you. The room’s dimly lit, and the curtains drawn tightly to block out the world. You can see the disarray around you—books strewn across the floor, papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and an untouched dinner plate on the nightstand.

“I brought a gift.” You say, sticking your arm out, handing him the bottle.

"Vending machine root beer, you shouldn’t have." He attempts a joke, but the effort is hollow. Everything he says only deepens your concern; he’s so quick to brush off everything that's happened and act as if everything's fine.

“You’re freaking me out, Will,” you awkwardly laugh. “I know your feeling pretty fucked up right now. You don’t have to act unbothered.”  

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a defensive look quickly absorbing his eyes. “Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean I can’t.” The moment the weight of the words he’s thrown at you registers, Will's face drops. His entire guarding demeanour immediately shatters the moment they come out.

"I-I’m sorry." You stutter out in shock of how his attitude is instantaneously flipped by words. "I know what happened was different; I just wanted to check up on you." Your words are met with silence, the two of you just pitifully staring at each other. The room feels colder, the silence is more suffocating.

He breathes out your name so softly that you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know…why I sa-said that.” His hand roughly runs through his hair as he takes a step forward. “I want you to stay.” He states, uncharacteristically bold from him. 

Unsure what to make of his words, you just stand there. Both your minds are reeling—Will’s for a way to apologize and yours to just disappear. 

“I know I didn’t handle myself well.” You say, taking a deep breath, “I’m not saying my actions will be your own; I just wish I had someone to understand what its like to take a human life and not hate it.” 

That's it—the thing you could never admit, not even to yourself. So much time was spent sprilling about why you are the way you are. Trying to convince yourself that this feeling brewing inside you is new, that it had been manually moulded. 

Panicking from your admission, you quickly follow up. “I didn’t mean to project—fuck, I just don’t want you to wallow in the guilt of change like I did. What Hobbs did- who he was—was entirely irredeemable.” 

Another step closer and the gap between you both becomes bridged, and his large hands rest gently on your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He delicately whispers. 

You can’t help it; you fall apart and the dam behind your eyes breaks. The tears cascade down your cheeks faster than you can blink them away as he pulls you into his chest. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the reminder that he’s real, he’s here, and he’s okay.

“I was so fucking scared when I heard those gunshots,” you whisper into his chest. His grip on you tightens, pushing you further into him. You both stay like that for God knows how long. From how heavily you’ve soaked his T-shirt with your tears and how you feel it around your brow bones and eye sockets, you’d guess it’s been a while. And with a deep sigh, you finally feel him pull away. “Are you okay?” He asks, gently looking you up and down.

“I should be asking you that.” You scoff, “Minor concussion; I’ll be fine in a couple days and a good night's sleep.”

He raises his brows in shock. “Yeah, well, good luck getting that.” You can’t help but laugh at his tone and reaction, as if you just said the most bizarre thing in the world. 

A grin makes his way across his face at the sound of your laugh. “I miss you.” 

You freeze. It’s what he said that took you off-gaurd, just the way he said it. The tone wasn’t sad or nostalgic; it was happy. Present tense too; he didn’t once mourn you and, over time, healed the wounds of a lost friendship. No, they’re still open, and he still misses you.

You were so caught up in your concern for him that you never had a moment to grasp the closeness between you too. Looking up, you see him. The individual hairs growing out of his chin, forming his stubble; the small scar on his cheek that he got when he was a child but doesn't remember how; and his eyes. Those blue eyes that hold so much patience, so much care and so much understanding it makes you weak to your knees. You see Will—sweet, complex, deserving Will. 

His hands grip your face more firmly this time, peering into your soul like you just autopsied yours. He's drinking you in your image, like he’s been starved, dehydrated, and famished. You wouldn’t dare pull away and deny him what he wants; you’ll give him anything and if he wants your soul, you’ll bare it to him. 

“The only thing I regret is everything I did to you.” It’s such a heavy admission—one that’s entirely out of left field, and he still doesn’t know the true weight of it. “Please,” The words so delicately come from you. You’re not sure what your pleading for—forgiveness? But for which of your sins? In what context are you begging for repentance?

It doesn't matter what you decide. The only thing that does is how close his lips are to yours and how it’s still not enough. 

“I know.” His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more certain. The kiss is a soft exploration, a silent conversation filled with all the words you couldn’t bring yourselves to say. You feel his hands trembling slightly against your skin, betraying the calm exterior he’s trying to maintain. 

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. He’s quiet, waiting for the moment for you to turn and run like you do, but it doesn’t come. Instead, your hand finds itself on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls as you pull him in for another kiss. 

Just as eager as you, he deepens the kiss, his hands moving from your cheeks to your waist, desperate to have you as close as he can. You could feel his heart beating against his chest, rhythmically in-sync with your own.

Energy intensifies, with hands greedily grabbing whatever they can, saliva coating each other's lips, feet scrambling across the floor until your back hits the crumpled sheets of the unmade motel bed.   

The thin mattress creaks under your combined weight, but you barely notice—too preoccupied with catching each sound that spills from Will's mouth. His hands explore the curves and slopes of your torso with an urgency so similar to yours. Every touch, every kiss, makes your body buzz with ache, desperate to consume him from the outside-in. 

He breaks away for a moment, his breath ragged, eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

"Yes," you reply without hesitation, your voice as steady as you could be despite the pounding of your heart. "I’m sure."

With that, he captures your lips again, his hands slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his calloused fingertips on your ribs sending shivers within you. You lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside the room fading into oblivion. 

All you can think of is Will. 

Will's hands slipping off your shirt. 

Will’s chest bare against yours as you slip off his. 

Will’s mouth on your neck, nibbling on your collarbone. 

Will looking deliciously vulnerable covered in crimson outside of the Hobbs house. 

The moan that slips out of your mouth as his tongue meets your nipple is involuntary; his wet mouth lays kisses and bites along the fat of your breast as he grips the other. 

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry as he breathes your name out, his voice thick with lust coating his vocal cords like honey. His hands roam lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your hips. His kisses trail down from your sternum to your stomach, getting sloppier as his breath contrasts with the coolness of his spit. 

You gasp as he reaches your underwear, his fingers teasing the fabric. "Will," you whimper, your voice a mixture of need and desperation you’ve never heard from yourself before. 

He peers up at you, his silvery eyes filled with desire—desire for you. "Do you trust me?"

Without a moment of hesitation, you reply, "Yes."

With a smile both wicked and tender, he pulls your underwear down and spreads your legs, revealing you to him. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail, every curve, and every inch. He leans in, his breath hot against your slick center, and then his tongue flicks out, tasting you.

You arch your back, a moan escaping you as he explores you with his mouth. His fingers tease your entrance, rubbing just around it in circles while his tongue dances around your clit. 

You grip the sheets tightly, your nails digging into the fabric. You’d latch your hands onto his head but you're afraid you’d rip his scalp off his head. The sensations are overwhelming, not because of the pleasure coursing through you, but because it’s Will distributing it. 

Will's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and probing, while his fingers continue to tease.

He was devouring you, and you were more than happy to be consumed. 

“Will," you moan, your voice breathy, desperate for more—anything else he’s willing to give. "Please." 

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, then slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. You cry out, your body bucking against his mouth, your hips grinding against his fingers as you feel the prickle of his facial hair on your thighs as you squeeze them tighter around his head. 

“So good,” he whimpers into you, his voice a mixture of need and desperation while he works you closer to your ledge. He does nothing but continue his assault, his tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You can feel the orgasm building in your stomach, the pressure mounting higher and higher as he desperately bucks into the bed for some form of friction.

"Will," you cry out, your voice louder this time, begging him for your release. He’s still so wordless—nothing but the vibrations of moans and grunts coming from him. Instead, he responds by increasing the pace of his fingers, his tongue more aggressive as you feel yourself tipping over the edge. 

You feel your body move for you, sporadically convulsing as your orgasm washes over you as he drinks up release, coating his mouth and fingers. He continues his movements while you come down from your high, his hands prying your thighs open as he fucks his tongue into you, savouring your taste.

You're left panting, your body trembling, and your mind swimming in a foggy haze of pleasure when he finally pulls away from you with an expression of satisfaction. He moves up your body, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss. 

You can feel your slick coating his facial hair as he kisses you, rubbing it onto you. It’s a messy and filthy action but fuck does it get you going. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gruff but gentle. 

You can’t help but smile; he’s so fucking perfect. 

A grin coats your face. “Yeah.” He’s gorgeous; the light is low, the cool light of the moon peeking out the sides of the curtains. You can’t see Will in his entirety, but that’s fine. His face so close to yours, his body on top of yours—you don’t need to see him; just feel him. 

He smiles a small-relieved grin. “Good,” he whispers before pulling away. You didn’t realize he removed sweats until you felt the tip of his cock teasing you. A whine escapes from your lips as he rocks his dick back and forth along your pussy, coating himself in your cum. 

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his pace deliberate, giving you time to adjust. Your brain short-circuits from how deeply he’s stretching you out every time he slips himself further inside you. 

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

You feel braindead; you've never been so pilant in your life. “More.” You manage to whisper out, your voice shaky. 

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and shallow. Just the feeling of his cock repeatedly entering you makes your brain feel fuzzy. You can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you, how tightly you’re wrapped around him. 

You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. “‘Missed you so fucking much,” he grumbles into your neck.

“M’sorry.” You whimper, “M’sorry, M’sorry.” You say fragmentedly, it took him nothing to fuck you dumb and yet your entire brain is filled with nothing but the repetition of his name. 

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of your bodies, and the occasional moan that escapes from either of your lips—the both of you soaking up the feeling of each other in this moment. 

You can feel the pressure building up again—the familiar prickle in your abdomen. “Please, don’t fucking stop.” Your voice desperately cries out.  

He doesn’t slow down; instead, he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. You can feel him shaking, his body trembling as he nears his climax. Not bothering the silence himself anymore, he becomes just as loud as you, no longer speaking coherent praises, just moans and grunts that slowly raise in pitch with each stroke inside you he makes. 

Nothing but each other’s names spill from your lips in affirmation that you're both here, together. You cry out, your back arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to be closer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around him, milking him as he spills himself inside you, as he collapses on top of you. You feel his breath against your neck in ragged pants as his cock continues to twitch inside you, the last of his cum filling you up. 

You wrap your arms around him, you're both spent. Bodies slick with cum and sweat, the euphoric high wearing off allowing the reality of how tired you’ve been the last couple to take hold of you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You breathlessly ask. As sleepy as you are, you have to make an attempt to do what you came for—someone to talk to. 

Head on your chest, you can feel his smile form. “I was liking how little talking we were doing.” 

A laugh puffs from chest at his response, “That works too.” You say, gazing down at him. As if he could feel your stare, he raises his head to look at you, chin resting on your breast. “I’m happy.”

A small laugh now finds its way from his chest at the juvenile remark. As ridiculous as it seems, that is the best way to describe it. It doesn't need complex-flowery language, you're just glad to be in his presence, alive and healthy. You're just happy. 

And he understands, his gaze softens as a sincere smile crawls on his face, “Me too.”

[wosoluver]

Celebration

Claudia Pina x reader, Barça femeni x reader

-> this last game, Clau wasn't able to score, but you helped her chill and celebrate the league's win >>

Claudia Pina Masterlist

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

You could see the frustration plastered onto her face. Not once, not twice, but over five shots. None of them would hit the back of the net.

First being taken down in the penalty box, on a very promising chance, making sure we got a penalty.

Frido hit it perfectly, placing it right in the goal. Making it 1-4.

At 85' Clau kicked the ball, but it went straight into the Granada goalkeeper's hands.

Then Brugts made an amazing cross, but she missed it, by so little. Someone was able to get a rebound, and still, it just wouldn't go in.

Next Hansen passed her the ball, but she had fallen down after another player had harshly pushed her.

At the stoppage time, she dribbled well, but the ball was deflected, now getting a chance from a corner. But nothing. Like every play after that.

You were already winning the game.

But Claudia felt an extreme need to prove herself. Even knowing she was one of the best in the team, and definitely the future of Barça.

And you weren't saying this just because she's your girlfriend. Everyone saw it too.

When the final whistle blew, instead of instantly celebrating, she sat on the grass with her hands on her head.

You ran from the bench straight to her.

"Amor you did amazing. Don't be so hard on yourself." you kneeled down in between her legs.

"I missed all my fucking chances!"

"You did everything in your reach. They did some good defending. And overall, the rest of the team could have done better too. Esmee and Bruna also made some mistakes."

"I know, I just can't believe I couldn't do anything."

"You almost scored the first pass you got after entering the game!

But I know no matter how much I try, I won't convince you, so.

How about we celebrate our league title tonight, your amazing 12 goals this season and when we are back home we can work on your finishes and do some practice?"

"Deal." she said giving you a small smile. That didn't quite reach her eyes. But you were determined to change that.

You pulled her up and instantly jumped on her back.

"VAMOOOS! CAMPEONES!" you screamed from the top of your lungs.

You got down to hug the other girls, getting ready to take the celebration picture, sitting on the ground in between Vicky and Ona.

You went in to the bathroom, needing to pee, but when coming out of the stall, you were sprayed in the face by Patri and Lucy, who were jumping around euphoric.

"Goddamn! It stings!" you yelled while being pulled in by the girls.

"Amor, close your eyes." she asked you, while using her shirt to clean your eyes. "There."

"Thank you."

You proceeded to jump around in a mosh pit, along with your friends. Then Patri had the brilliant idea to go around the hallway dancing and singing. She held the speaker in one hand and the phone on the other, as everyone trailed behind her, you held onto your girlfriend.

"IZQUIERDA, DERECHA, IZQUIERDA, DERECHA, AYE VAMOS!"

And while the team was somewhat distracted, you pulled Clau back into the locker room.

You both did the best you could to keep professional during work. But today felt okay to let go.

"Another one! Together." you said grabbing two tiny bottles of champagne, handling her one. "Cheers."

"Cheers mi amor!" she pulled you in for a kiss. "I love you."

"Y yo a ti." with your hands around her neck, kissing once again.

But you were rudely interrupted.

"Oye!" said Ona walking in with Lucy.

"Oh don't start! What were you two walking in here for? Together?" you teased them.

"Yeah, the party is outside. Unless you were here for the same as us." your girlfriend joined you, while wiggling her brows.

"What? No!" they said at the same time, nervously.

"Come on! We already know!" laughter erupted in the room as everyone walked back in.

The next thing you knew, Cata was slip' n sliding in beer. Claudia joining her, and you knew this wouldn't end well.

As you turned to talk to Patri, you felt yourself being taken down. Your girlfriend had basically stricked you down like a bowling pin. And ended up under you.

"CLAUDIA!" you yelled out, as a drunk Cata, could only laugh, looking at the whole situation.

As Salma filmed everything, and the girls cheered on.

"Fuck! My hand!" you whispered.

"I'm so sorry!" she said helping you up. "Are you okay?"

"No, I think I might have broken my hand."

At the start of the night you all knew, you were in for some partying, but not that everyone would take the flight next day with an insane hangover, Cata still wasted, and you with a cast on your hand.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

I know some of you expected some smut, and it's not. But I can confidently say there is a Pina smut coming! 🩷

[bixels]

If it's not too much trouble would you mind sharing more on your thoughts about AJ? Esp the line she shouted at Rarity and her "struggle with sexual identity" I'm kind of new so I would like to hear more! Does Rarity also struggle with sexual identity and fearing AJ would leave? I love the family oriented person A and the business inclined and impressed by shiny new things person B trope

Ok, this is gonna get into head canons and personal opinions.

The writing in Rollercoaster of Friendship (and EQG as a whole) is much simpler and more stripped down in comparison to FiM (most likely to appeal to a younger audience; don't want to seem like I'm dissing the writers), but that one confrontation made me sit up in my seat because it carries the entire special.

More under the cut cuz I don't want MLP analyses clogging up my blog.

For one, we've seen AJ get frustrated and angry about the same exact conflict over a girl in FiM (Rara), establishing a pattern. And even though she's right (her friend really is being manipulated), I read both cases as her acting out in jealousy too. Here's this girl who she's felt a unique attachment to being "taken away" and changed by someone new. This is most apparent in RoF; the moment Vignette introduces herself, kisses Rarity on both cheeks, and establishes herself as Rarity's "new best friend," AJ immediately reacts with shock, betrayal, and boldfaced jealousy (made even worse when Rarity forgets her during introductions). Although AJ acts independent, she's actually very emotionally dependent on certain people in her life.

If we come into this with the assumption that AJ has romantic feelings for Rarity –– which is a normal assumption given the director/writer confirmed the special was written as a romantic drama between the two –– AJ's line is all the more heartbreaking. If I may slip into fictional speculation: your crush is no longer listening or paying attention to you, even though you know something is wrong and that she's getting hurt. Your frustration at her lack of awareness is really your anger at her lack of care –– she doesn't care about you anymore. So in a fit of rage, in your big, dramatic confrontation, just to make her look at you, react at you, feel how she's been making you feel all day –– unwanted and unspecial –– you hurt her back. AJ yells, "You're not special!" and Rarity cries.

And what really gets me is that AJ lies. In this moment, she lies that Rarity's not special when (again, assumption of romance) she's the most special person in the world to her. So special that she's placed all her feelings of self-assurance and security on their relationship. So special that the moment their relationship is shaken and she doesn't know to recover it –– recover herself –– she lashes out, acts against her character, and says something dishonest just to hurt the girl she loves.

(Honestly, rewatching this special, AJ is so insecure and attention-needy. The way she pouts and slouches and lags behind the group and says, "Never mind. It's nothing," when asked what's wrong is textbook "please pay attention to me and ask me what's wrong because i need a reason to be honest about feelings i know i should be ashamed of" behavior.)

I think AJ's insecurities (which could be tied to her lack of experience with romantic relationships) reveal how she has a tendency to misattribute and redirect anger onto the person she cares most about (see Simple Ways as well, where she's caught on the opposite end of a jealousy spat). This could easily become a very toxic trait, but AJ grows past it. Near the end of RoF, the two come together and apologize. AJ recognizes her entitlement and confesses her insecurities about their relationship. She felt hurt and attacked when her status as Rarity's best friend/girlfriend was threatened because it's a role she uses to self-identify –– if Rarity isn't hers, she loses part of her identity. And she admits that she thought her motivation was to protect Rarity, but really she was just being selfish and protecting herself. Rarity was busy and stressed and needed someone to lean on just as much AJ needed her. She isn't AJ's emotional support girlfriend, and it wasn't right to expect her to be one.

(Which is why Rarijack is peak because throughout both series, they repeatedly show just how important honesty, open communication, and trust is in maintaining, supporting, and growing a romantic relationship.)

[fandomonetwo]

puppy love and flowers — remus lupin

▸summary: he's absolutely sure he loves you. he's absolutely sure you love him. flowers aren't given to just anybody.

▸characters: remus lupin x f! reader, lil snippets of james and sirius and peter

▸tw: hay fever, small sadness moment

▸a/n: consider this my apology for the previous angst post. also, look at the guy. he's a smol bean

REMUS LUPIN WAS a sucker for a good bouquet. He'd always want to give them to you, yet he could never find the moment. There'd always be something that would stop him.

Today was one of the days where his plans were smudged.

It was a Hogsmeade day, so naturally, he with his posse decided to head into the town to scope out bouquets. There was one he'd seen little bit ago that he was fidgeting to buy. It was a beautiful set of red and white roses with baby's breath surrounding them. They were your favourite flowers.

Sirius Black had never felt so depressed than when he had watched his friends realise that the 'sold out' sign was for the bouquet he wanted to get for you. He felt so out of place when Remus looked like he had just been deprived of his natural resource of chocolate.

"Why not just get her different flowers?" the Black boy asked, awkwardness coating his very body in a tense feeling.

Remus sighed. "But those were for her. They were like, specifically crafted just so that she could have them. And now they're gone. And I still haven't gotten her flowers!"

James sympathised more with Remus that Sirius could. James often got flower for Lily from this very shop. Albeit, she always threw them out when she got them, but it was the thought that counted. Peter didn't say anything. He was too busy drawing stars in the snow.

The bespectacled boy put his hand on Remus' shoulder, noticing his friend's eyes welling with tears. "It's alright, mate. There's always tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day."

"But I wanted to get her those today."

There was something so frustrating about not getting something done on the day you planned. You'd feel so incomplete in your tasks, and he'd never get to sleep tonight. Well, he might drift off if he cried long enough.

The walk back to the dorms was long and awkward and tense and depressing. There were so many emotions. Remus has just been thwarted yet again in his attempts to woo you. Peter was plucking the snow off of his mittens one by one.

"Damn, mate, you are so in deep," Sirius teased, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, I've heard of puppy love, but this just takes the cake."

"Is that supposed to be a pun?" Remus muttered. It was kinda funny.

"I suppose so."

They had only gotten to the dorm when they heard the girls. They were laughing. No, hang on. They were shrieking. And... sneezing?

The four boys entered the common room to find Lily and Marlene holding onto furniture for dear life, their faces as red as their ties. Marlene tried to heave in a breath and little was wiping her face.

And then you sneezed. They erupted into laughter again.

"What on earth is going on?" James asked, confusion filling his bloodstream. The girls couldn't find the words, too busy giggling, so you decided to speak.

"I bought flowers for Remus," you started, your nose stuffed, "and I have just found out that I am, in fact, deathly allergic to flowers."

You sneezed again. The girls didn't completely fall apart, but they still chuckled.

Remus looked at you with those big eyes of his. "You got me flowers?"

"Yeah," you said sheepishly. "I though it'd be a nice surprise, but now I'm covered in snot, my nose and throat hurts, my head kinda aches, and my eyes are red."

You sneezed, and Remus started laughing. He rested his head on your shoulder, despite your protests.

"How did you never realise you had a tendency to get hay fever?" Sirius asked, trying to stifle his own chuckles.

"I don't know. It doesn't get this bad at home. The flowers there are small, and here, I don't go out much in the spring. It's too warm. Plus, it's not like I get up close and personal with flowers now, do I?"

"Yeah, but still. It's hay fever, it's a pretty common thing."

"Like I said," you sneezed again, away from Remus' face, "there just wasn't enough for me to notice." You paused for a second. "I always wondered why I got the sniffles in the springtime. I thought it was just spring colds."

James grinned. "Well, now you know."

You sneezed twice more, Remus brushing the hair out of your sweaty face.

"I think we need to rescue you from your natural foe." He guided you by the hand outside of the common room, and he stole a glance back at the flowers you had bought for him, his heart swelling.

Red and white roses surrounded with baby's breath.

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 93... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

IT HAPPENED...! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!! 😵

Honestly, words cannot describe how crazy this chapter was, but we're gonna talk about it anyway...!! 👀 LET'S GO!!! 😆

The chapter begins with everyone checking how well they did on finals, and Anya did a whole lot better than last time...!! 😆

I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!! 👏😄

Anya went from 213th to 168th place!! 🎉 Let's hope that Anya continues to improve in the future...!! 😊👍

Then, we finally got to see how well she did in Classical Language and...:

She got second place...!

But, she will still receive a Stella for it!! 👏😆Then, we find out that she got 24 points in math, which is just below the cut off point... Which means...:

So, not only did Anya get a Stella, she ALSO received A TONITRUS BOLT!!? 😵😂🤣😌

GODDAMNIT ANYA!! 😂 That means the score is still tied, but now it's 5 and 5 until she either becomes an Imperial Scholar or gets expelled...!! 😌

Then, we got probably my new favorite Loid expression...:

🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 I'M SO SORRY LOID!!🤣

This poor man can't catch a break, but at he's quite proud of Anya for doing well on the test...!! 😊

After that, we cut to Authens praising Anya as well, but Sigmund says something that intrigues me...:

"...One day you'll experience the frustration of realizing that hard work is not always rewarded..."

Hmm... What could this mean...? Personally, if Sigmund does have something to do with the experiments that were conducted on Anya, then this could be his way of saying that not many know of his scientific experiments... But, that's just a guess at this point and I could very well just be reading too much into this single sentence... 🤔

Moving on, before Anya goes to bed that night Loid asks her a question...:

I was surprised that Twilight asked this!! 😲 But his question turned out to be for naught because Anya doesn't really remember... 😔 So, Twilight just tells her to forget about what he asked and now I'm wondering if this will lead Twilight finding out the truth about Anya's past and that she's a telepath... 🤔

Well anyway, we cut to Anya and Damian receiving Stellas for doing well on the test, and then it's the middle school students turn... AND GUESS WHO SHOWS UP...?! 👀

DEMETRIUS MOTHER F---ING DESMOND!!!😵

AFTER ALL THIS TIME, HE HAS FINALLY APPEARED...!! 👀

I can't believe that I was ACTUALLY RIGHT that he was gonna look more like his dad...! (Check out this post where I drew what I thought he might look like!! 👍)

But to continue, Demetrius is also as strange as his mother and father... ESPECIALLY BECAUSE OF THIS...!!:

After finally getting to meet him and seeing that Anya can't read his mind, my original theory that he might be working with his father, just got thrown out the window...!! Because now, I think that Demetrius has been experimented on... 😥 I hope that I'm wrong, but I just don't know this point...

AND THINK THAT'S ENOUGH ABOUT THIS CHAPTER FOR TODAY!

Today's chapter was excellent, but now that Demetrius has finally shown up, my mind is going crazy about what this ALL MEANS!😫

Anyway, I think I'll stop for today and possibly regroup with myself to figure out WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DESMONDS!! (Except for Damain, who is the only normal one there..! 🥲) So until the next Mission or if I try attempt to figure out what is up with the Desmonds; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! Later!! 👍

[ohbo-ohno]

If I chant noncon puppy play enough times will you grace us with more ghoap x reader noncon puppy play?

I would really love to see what you could do with Ghost coming across Soap and reader who are in a relationship but it’s rapidly becoming toxic with Soap becoming pervy and flirty with other people and reader being frustrated with it and the unsatisfying sex she’s having now because of it. And Ghost just takes one look and goes “yeah, I can make them happier” and then puts them in crates.

I like to think he’d put them in separate crates so they can’t actually touch each other but he’d make sure they were tied together so they couldn’t escape each other -💙

if you THINK noncon puppy play hard enough i'll probably feel it through the force and try to write it

also i fucking LOVE this ask and concept i love you for sending it in. this post is kinda scatterbrained though because i didn't want to write an actual drabble lol

im not a big fan of cheating in fics so im gonna exclude the idea of soap flirting with other people, but!!! i really really enjoy the idea of soap and reader being wrapped up in a toxic relationship and ghost going "let me get in on that". peak humor tbh.

i think this version of ghost would be sort of like howling and barking ghost - way more... subtle? puppy play. he's not taking you two home and shoving you in cages, he's getting you two conditioned to certain tones of voice and his whistles.

this is kinda difficult to come up for something with, because im trying to think of ways for ghost to slide himself into your relationship that even feel a tiny bit natural

my fave one (off the top of my head) is maybe you and johnny have been trying to pick up a third like every weekend to spice up your sex lives (you end up having near violent sex and arguing through the third person, and they're usually not down to hook up again) and one weekend you just so happen to ask ghost. he'd usually never take up an offer like that, but he sees the little fissures in your relationship pretty immediately and figures "what the hell?" might as well wreak a little havoc. unfortunately for him he gets far too attached as soon as he gets his hands on you two

i like to think he sort of just... becomes your third. at first it's just hookups (regularly, because you and johnny are fighting a lot recently and you love to do it with a third there instead of alone in your apartment and ghost never says no a threesome) but he pretty quickly establishes himself in your lives

from there, the training is easy. you and johnny are both fighting for power in your relationship, and you're too focused on your little game of tug-of-war to realize that ghost is swooping in and taking control of both of you instead. you're too busy working against each other to realize what he's doing to you

to be fair, he actually is helping you and johnny out quite a bit. you two are both hotheads with a lot of energy, fights happen very quickly and get very heated. ghost is there to step in, to knock the two of you on your asses and make you talk. you would not believe how often he sticks you in time-out, otherwise you two would say things you don't mean and end up pissy

he kinda literally talks to you two like you're dogs. a sharp "hey!" for bad behavior, scruffing one of you by the neck to hold you back, whistling to get your attention instead of saying your name, one word commands like "sit", "stay", and "come" instead of "wait a minute" or "come over here". pups need simple commands they can actually understand

he works on fixing your manners too :/

first step is to get you two waiting for permission to start dinner. sits down at the table and glares when either one of you eats before him, clears his throat all obnoxiously, does that horrible "thank you" when you drop your utensil. it's too awkward to push back against him (especially when you know how quickly he could stomp you down) and it's easier to just... listen. you get a pleased hum and a solid pet over your hair, a "good boy/girl" and the trade-off of waiting for permission to eat is worth it

(ghost places both yours and johnny's plate in front of you, smirks when he walks away and neither of you move to eat. fixes himself a plate, sits down, takes a few bites. neither of you move, you both get a little squirmy, huff a bit. he gives you the command word, and praises you both so good in bed that night. neither of you even notice that he's the only one at the table with utensils)

he sleeps between the two of you in bed because you both get jealous and possessive :/ wakes up to johnny snarling over his chest at you, grabs him by the jaw and hisses don't make me fuckin' muzzle you, rumbles all satisfied when johnny settles a bit

anyways you and johnny genuinely are happier with ghost <3 you're also more well-mannered and understanding of your positions!!! you're just a pup, pups shouldn't have an attitude, and they wait to eat until they're told, and sometimes they have to sleep in a crate when they've been bad :/

(when he crates one of you he has to crate the other. if he locks johnny up you spend the whole time trying to taunt him, and vice versa. also you two are more well-behaved when you know you both get in trouble for your misbehavior)

it took a bit of work to get you two used to the crates. really ghost fights you with the pure power of nonchalance. you're both already Attached, and he's in control of so much of your lives (more than either of you really know), and he treats the crates like they're normal. Expected. he's not someone who changes his mind, and both you and johnny know that. you can pitch as much of a fit as you want, but you're going in that crate no matter what. there's just... a sort of inevitability around ghost

[khloxxy]

hello! i hope you're doing well ^_^ i just wanna ask about your favorite headcanon of rus, cana and ame (if you're up for it, no pressure, i wanna see what kumajirou looks like in your style)

i like your art! don't mind me if you see me liking your posts hehe

Hello (^_^) thank you... Your art is very beautiful I'm honoured... Sorry if this is kinda late(?) my brain works best when it's the middle of the night. I wrote this in my notes at like 3am...

My headcanons are really messy and subject to change so keep that in mind 🙏 Gonna put them under a read more cause they're pretty long and I rambled on and on.. Got carried away sorry!! Also it's kind of cringe at some points but that's okay. To be cringe is to be free.

---

Rus: My beloved... He's cute, yes, but also very creepy. (I love a creepy rus) I see him as this character that's always looming over everyone, always watching... He likes how docile and obedient Cana is, and with Ame... well... He likes the challenge.

He likes the arts... And I believe he's an incredible poet and dancer. I like to think that Rus spends his free time writing hauntingly beautiful poetry in a journal of his since there are a lot of beautifully written Russian literature... That journal could also probably work as his diary too because why not. He also does ballet and figure skating, and Ame probably calls him gay for it, this irks Rus but that's okay. He'll rip the tongue out of that American's loud mouth one day. He just has to be patient. (that last part is cringe but my rusame brain told me to write it)

For music I think he'd like classical (tchaikovsky) and metal. I also think he'd visit old abandoned buildings just to see the ruins. Maybe even appreciate the architecture? He finds beauty in the decay.

His relationship with Ame is a game of chess (Rus loves chess, so he loves whatever he has going on with Ame), each move calculated, each interaction charged with unspoken tension (they never reveal their love for eachother... the only time that would happen is probably in life-or-death situations but with their immortality that's practically impossible – actually you know what?? Scratch that. No confessions... Unless drunk or under the influence of something maybe.) With Cana, it's more like a delicate dance, appreciating his gentleness but always aware of the fragile nature of their bond – he's aware that cana and him are only really bound together through Ame.

---

Cana: Neglected boy (eng and fra both coddled Ame more) ... Envious of Ame but still loves him – he's frustrated. He knows so much about Ame but Ame knows nothing about him. Ame doesn't care enough to bother learning about him. It's unfair. I believe he actually has Kumajirou for comfort... But even his pet bear doesn't remember him (to be fair, he doesn't remember Kumajirou's name either.)

For music taste, I think he'd like shoegaze actually... it's calm yet messy-ish and it matches well with his vibe. (Totally not just projecting my music taste onto him)

He dislikes being in the shadow of his brother but he does appreciate his brother sticking up for him. Doing all the talking for him. He doesn't like new people usually. They never understand. (Never understand his freak.. yes Cana has a hidden freak to me.)

He genuinely gets along with rus. They're more similar than they initially thought after all. I mean they're both shy (to a point), both live in cold climates, both have weird relationships with ame... And both are connected through Ame... Rus and Cana both recognize that they are intrinsically tied together only through Ame.

---

Ame: Insufferable (put him in the eternal torture chamber!) Even so, Rus and Cana are still drawn to him like moths to a flame. Type of guy to test the limits of his immortal body... I wish Hima did more with their immortality because that is such an interesting subject. Probably has more DUIs than you can count. Has crashed a plane on purpose. No way you can be the United States of America and not end up crazy.

For the Cold War... Ame was genuinely disappointed when the USSR fell, he was like "well... what now...??" Because for several decades he had a villain to match his hero... But now that Rus fell off... what now? He misses the thrill and rush of it (he's a thrill-seeker... Type 3 fun typa guy). Also, he knew nothing would actually happen anyhow because of M.A.D (Mutually Assured Destruction) no one would actually drop bombs.. right? (they had a few close calls). Maybe the cold war was just one big edging session... (Lmfao sorry had to say it)

Okay adding to the above thing but the paragraph got too long for me. Another reason why Ame thrived in the cold war is that Rus had his singular attention on him. Just him. He loved that. He loved having all of someone's attention. He can't help it. He's just a girl! 🎀 (Kinda yandere-ish vibes but I fw yandere ideas so... Actually all 3 of them could be yandere in the right mindset.)

To me, Ame is the kind of person who thrives on adrenaline, always seeking the next big rush – he's also a huge sucker for attention. That's why he does the crazy things he does. For attention. After all, what is he without attention?

With Cana, well this is a me thing but I like to think that Ame is actually quite clingy with his brother.. He's one of the only people Ame allows to touch him.. Ame's not a very touchy person. Ame does crave genuine connections and Cana is one of the few that can offer that. They're each other's one and only brother after all. That has to mean something.

His relationship with Cana? Complicated... They seem good from the outside but Ame barely knows anything about his brother. Cana could say a million things about Ame but Ame could only respond with maybe a few hundred or so things about Cana – heck, maybe even that would be stretching it. Although, Ame does care for his brother in his own way, truly.

Last little thing I'd like to add: Ame has a collection of vintage stuff. I don't know why. Vintage things just scream American to me. Like old comic books..

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

I know this is random coming from me but corrupted kisaki nsfw hcs specifically this timeskip kisaki

NSFW HC's // Timeskip Kisaki

Minors DNI under the cut, please.

WC ::: Less than 950

Also ::: Thank you, Kat, for dropping this in my box! Ilysm!

Sorta proofed. Sorry for any oopsies.

✢ Kisaki is a busy man. He makes sure of it. He once heard somewhere that idle hands are the devil's playthings. But he's come to know the truth is quite the opposite. His hands, specifically, are the devil's playthings. And you? Well, you are Kisaki's plaything.

✢ He's taken to keeping you close by his side whenever he can. In his office, in his home, and anywhere in between. He's always one step ahead, knowing just where you'll be, what you'll be doing, and how to take advantage of the situation.

✢ He loves to watch you work. Your hands are delicate, graceful, and efficient. It's a shame that he feels the need to tie them up every night and he has to remind you just who you belong to.

✢ Kisaki keeps you on a tight leash, making sure to keep you under his watchful eye. He's trained you to be so obedient, and it pleases him to no end.

✢ You don't fight him anymore. You've learned your lesson. When he tells you to bend over his desk and stay still, you do. When he ties you up and spreads you open for his viewing pleasure, you stay put. You know your place. You know exactly what he wants from you, and you're more than happy to give it to him.

✢ Kisaki loves to use toys on you. He's got a whole collection, and he loves to see your reactions to each and every one of them. He's always looking for new things to try out, and he's very generous with letting you try them out first. To see which one(s) you like the most, or which ones just don't hit any nerve whatsoever.

✢ Kisaki loves to play with your mouth. He loves to watch you suck him off, to feel your tongue work its magic on his cock. And when you're on your knees in front of him, he loves to pull your hair and shove his cock down your throat. It makes him feel powerful and in control.

✢ Kisaki loves to make you cum. If he's feeling generous, he'll let you cum first. But more often than not, he gets to blow his load before you're even close. He loves to see you frustrated and desperate for release. It just turns him on even more.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you hard. He loves to bend you over and pound into you from behind. He leans over you and reaches up under to grab your tits. Massaging the soft, squishy flesh - for his pleasure. It's just an added bonus if you happen to enjoy it too.

✢ Kisaki loves to play with your pussy. He loves to explore every inch of your folds, every crevice and curve. He loves to taste you, to smell you, to feel your slick juices on his fingers. It embarrasses the fuck out of you when he stuffs his face in your cunt and takes a deep breath in through his nose and moans right back into it. You've learned to not speak up about it though. He doesn't like you talking bad about yourself. “Cunts smell, darling. And I love how yours smells. Don’t let me hear you say this again.”

✢ Kisaki loves to take his time with you. He loves to take you slow, to tease you until you're begging for more. He loves to make you wait, to leave you wanting more. And when he finally lets you cum, it's like heaven and hell all at the same time. It's intense and overwhelming, and you love every second of it.

✢ Kisaki loves to cum on you. He loves to mark you as his, to claim you as his own. He loves to see his cum drip down your face, or splatter onto your tits, or just down your throat. He loves to see his cum all over your body, to see his essence seep into your skin and to know that you belong to him.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in his car. Mind you, there's no divider that can be put up. And he doesn't ask the driver to get out 1/2 of the time. So you're basically riding him through town on the way to his next meeting. It's incredibly risky, and the thrill of getting caught is just too much to resist. Although, he did slap you across the face that one time - the first time ever - you squirted all over his suit. He apologized immediately and profusely. But now you’re afraid to completely let yourself go when you’re in the car with him. 

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in his office. He loves the idea of someone walking in on the two of you. And if someone were to walk in on the two of you, he'd just keep fucking you, and make sure you scream his name so they know who you belong to.

✢ Kisaki loves to fuck you in the bathtub. He loves the idea of having you so vulnerable, so exposed. Knowing that you're completely at his mercy. He loves to see you naked and wet, and to feel your soft skin against his own. He likes how wet you feel between your thighs - the mix of the bath water and your pussy juices makes him almost lose his mind. 

✢ Kisaki loves you in the only way Kisaki knows how to. He’s told you many, many times that you can take it or leave it. But “Good luck finding someone who will put up with your whining.”

And you’re like, “What whining????”

Taglist ::: @katkitkats @kazutora-kurokawa @viburnt @darkstarlight82 @arlerts-angel

[yuurei20]

Hi there! Quick question, How does Idia feel about Leona?? to me, they have such weird dynamic. They don't like each other but they don't outright hate each other either, but sometimes it feels like they're totally fine with each other?? Is this just a respect thing??

Hello hello!! This gets into character analysis which is definitely not my strength, so I reached out to one of the most knowledgeable Idia-analyzers I’ve ever seen ( @frost__tw ) who was so kind as to collaborate with me on this response, and I am forever grateful ♡

Also: agreed! Their dynamic is particularly fascinating because they are both complete opposites and extremely similar, simultaneously:

Both are housewardens, near the same height, canonically attractive, unusually intelligent, very sarcastic, enjoy chess, are from important families, keep others at a distance, often complain about having to go out of their way to do things they are uninterested in, have brother issues and won’t put effort into things they have predetermined to be impossible, which ties directly into how they are trapped in situations they can’t do anything about due to the circumstances of their birth.

And we also have their recently introduced titles (on JP server): “Ambitious King” and “King of the Underworld.”

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly how Idia feels about Leona, possibly because he doesn’t know very much about him (which is possibly because Leona doesn’t want him to).

During Book 6 he assumes that Leona isn’t suited to a leadership role, for example, despite how people who actually spend time with Leona say otherwise.

The two overlap in Idia’s second birthday vignette, where Leona gifts him with an artisanal chess set and the two pause the interview to play together.

They seem to mutually agree not to mention who won the game, and it may have been a draw.

We see Idia categorize people and generalize them into character tropes (from anime/manga/games) throughout the game, and based upon Leona’s appearance/outward behavior, Idia may labeling him as the scary top boss of the Savanaclaw hooligans (re: their Halloween vignette together) in his mind.

But he is able to overcome his initial flight response in this birthday vignette once Leona procures the chess set (one of Idia’s personal interests).

(This is part of the reason why Idia’s stutter is such an important part of the character: he stutters when he panics, but then speaks smoothly when he becomes passionate, which the characters even comment on in the game (Ortho calls it his "go off switch" on EN, and his "heat up switch" on JP).)

(Recreation of this trait varies by scene on EN.)

Leona is difficult to read because he will insult the people he likes and respects just as readily as he does those he does not (something that we see Jamil come to understand in real time during Book 6), so trying to work out his true opinion about anything can get into conjecture.

They also do not overlap particularly often, which gives us less to work with, but his teasing of Idia in the birthday vignette is not dissimilar to his teasing of characters like Jamil and Vil. Whereas they understand Leona’s humor, however, Idia may not.

What we know for a fact is that Leona has canonically complimented Idia for being both intelligent and powerful during Spectral Soiree, and this may have been a parallel to Terror is Trending when, extremely impressed by Savanaclaw’s Halloween set, Idia asks, “Did Leona use his magic for it?”

Idia also comments on Leona’s power during his evaluations at STYX, saying, “I already knew Leona was tough and could handle whatever danger comes at him…”

I think you are correct, and it is a respect thing!

They are both aware of the other’s familial situations and strengths and, in any other circumstances, they might get along well. But their personalities are just too different, they frustrate each other in every conversation they have, and whatever positives the other person has might just not be enough to outweigh how obnoxious they find the other to be.

We learn from Vil that the rule at NRC is “the weak obey the strong,” and the Housewardens at NRC seem to take this literally, with Idia, Leona and Vil all being constantly torn between sincere annoyance and grudging respect. The three referring to others as “spudlings,” “normies” and “herbivores” is another interesting overlap that they share.

(Despite being even more different than Leona and Idia, Leona and Vil repeatedly find common ground in allying against Idia.)

(In a parallel to this, Leona and Idia find common ground on the subject of Malleus, with Leona saying, “It’s a pain when the majority forces their opinion on you,” which is an opinion Idia seems to share.)

Thank you so much for this question, it was wonderful to dive into!

Overall, Leona and Idia seem to share a mutual undertone of “I know you’re the best at what you do, but I can’t stand you. I acknowledge that you’re intelligent, capable and talented, but please go be that somewhere else,” which ties directly into a comment from Yana’s 2023 interview:

“Since the characters in the story are villains they do not admit defeat, but they will admit, ‘Hey, you did pretty good.’ Even if they don’t like each other, they will recognize each other’s abilities.”

(And thank you again to @frost__tw for all the amazing insight! ♡)

[lexosaurus]

I worked as a substitute teacher for a few years and one day I helped sub in an 8th grade science class. They were doing math like speed=distance/time. But they had a...really odd method for it. That I commented on because I'd never heard of it before.

And the teacher was straight up like "Oh yeah, this makes it really easy for them to do it for the tests. But its going to really fuck them up next year when they are in high school because they won't understand how to reverse the division. But that's not my problem."

And that comment has lived in my head so much. Like, she just did NOT care that the method was bad in the long run. She just needed them to pass the state test that year.

Also, it's literally a very basic formula, what do you MEAN?

Ohhhhh yeah. That's not exactly the issue in my district, as funding for us isn't directly tied to our state exam scores (thank god). Mine is dealing with both grade inflation and no grades below high school. So kids don't want to learn things if they're not graded on the material. Which is fair, honestly, as I also would not have wanted to learn things I didn't like if I wasn't given a grade or any consequences for not knowing it either. Mine's also dealing with a lot of the "memorization bad" thing that's going around, hence why the kids are entering high school not knowing any of their times tables. They just used a calculator their entire lives. They have NO concept of what numbers mean.

Like, at the start of the year, I asked one of my classes what 2 + 0 was and I got about thirty seconds of 15 kids shouting every number except 2. Which was sort of wild to witness.

At the start of the year, we did a week of review and then we had all the freshmen take a quiz of 7th and 8th grade level easy math problems as a sort of wake up call for them. No quiz corrections either, which they've never not been allowed to retake a test before...

The class average was a C-. Unsurprisingly.

Content Teacher warned me right before she posted the grades, and I spent a LOT of time that afternoon talking the kids down from a metaphorical ledge.

Lots of angry parent phone calls, too, but the math department held firm. The students HAVE to know how to solve this stuff. They NEED to know their basic times tables, they NEED to know how basic fractions work, they NEED to know how to rearrange one-step equations.

After that, we had our Very Frank Class Discussion about how they felt about their education. They felt very frustrated and unprepared, which we validated as we're also frustrated that they're so unprepared. But we were honest about other things. We told them that they couldn't get by just sitting there on their phone and copying the answers off the key anymore. We aren't going to reward an A for minimal effort. Yes, you have to take notes, and yes, you have to follow along with classroom example of problems or you won't pass the class. The students are responsible for their education, we all offer extra help, all our emails are open, all they need to do is ask and we'll never turn them away. But they do need to start taking advantage of all the learning opportunities/supports they have now.

Honestly, I'm so glad we had that convo with them. Felt like they got to vent a lot of their frustrations, and they realized that we were here to push them, but we're NOT their enemy. All our students have a study hall block, and if they come to one of our rooms for even 10 minutes out of the entire hour, we will help them however they need.

A lot of my Freshmen have been really really good about coming for extra help, or emailing and asking if they can stop by for a few minutes to do a few homework problems 1-1 with me.

(And yes, for those worried, while we didn't let them retake that first quiz, two weeks later we did give them another assessment after on the same material, but with slightly harder problems and worth more points. Class average was a B!)

I tried to keep this short, but I guess I had a lot to say aksjnfksjdnkajn

[ryuichirou]

Replies

I’ll start with some news.

I am currently locked out of my twitter account. We did everything we could to try to get it back, but no matter what happens, it will most likely take some time.

I don’t like bringing attention to this kind of stuff because we have tons of other things to talk about which are more important than some toddlers trying to obliterate us for 1000th time (frankly I would rather talk about the colour of Leona’s butthole), but this time it’s kind of serious and important. We don’t know what’s going to happen next, but for now I wanted to say that if we won’t get the account back in time or will lose it indefinitely, we will have to ask for your help. I am sorry for that in advance.

Also, if you were discussing/working on commissions with me via DMs there, please email me or contact me via any other platform as soon as possible. Just in case.

Mass-reporting is wild, eh?

I am rambling a bit, and I didn’t really want to complain, because I know for a fact it would give satisfaction to some people, but you know? I am going to complain: it sucks ass. It happened at the worst time possible and it happened over nothing (literally, the art that got it was a Todd/Wallace non-sexual piece that got too many likes for children’s liking). I don’t care if people don’t like us, I don’t care if they gossip with their girlies about us, all I want is for them to leave us the fuck alone and let us do our thing in peace. Imagine being so unbelievably boring and so incredibly unlikeable and unable to make meaningful connections not only with other people but also with any kind of media that you just have to go out of your way to ruin things for others because this is the only thing that makes your immature brain produce something that even remotely resembles joy. Because your own pathetic self is so deeply insecure and constantly frustrated at yourself that you just have to create an illusion of control over someone else to feel important. I can’t even call it a troll behavior – at least trolls are funny sometimes. This is just someone who hit a midlife crisis at the age of 16 and made it my problem for some reason.  

And yet, it’s okay. Even if we end up losing our account, it’ll be a huge disappointment and it will hurt us tremendously, it already did. And it’s scary to think about this scenario, and it’s difficult to talk about how, if it happens, that it’s going to be okay. But eventually we’ll get over it and build ourselves up again, just like we did before several times. And these clowns will still be boring, unlikeable, lonely and very likely shit at drawing.

So yeah. Take care of yourself and block everyone who seems suspicious on sight. It’s not a panacea, but certainly is helpful.

Alright, time to talk about Leona’s butthole (not really, but we will talk about SebeMal, and it’s even better) 💪

Anonymous asked:

Seeing Vanitas made me curious about something: did you ever read Pandora Hearts? I think for a lot of people that series went hand in hand with Black Butler as the main "victorian aesthetic mangas" from the late '00/early '10. Gothic lolitas really had it all back then..

Ohh you’re so right Anon, it was the ultimate late ‘00/early ’10 aesthetic! Boys in vests with bows/ties, crosses and rosaries and traumatic and problematic backstories lol I really miss it sometimes. What an era.

I personally haven’t read/watched Pandora Hearts, but Katsu did! But it was even before we met… So my only association with this title is that Katsu’s old username was “ozbezariusnya” 🥰 Oh, and that Gilbert (?) looks very cute, but let’s be honest, of course I would think he is cute.

nebula-ryuu asked:

Regarding my question, I mean if the Malleus and Sebek ship has a dynamic or a context 😅😅 a background or a story. I have a certain feeling about what it is like but I don't want to affirm anything hehe

I don't know if I made what I said better understood, in any case I can explain it again, no problem 🙏

Oh! Thank you for clarifying!

As for our background for shipping them, we just really really love loyal characters that are a bit unhinged about their loyalty and love/obsession. So we didn’t even have a choice, they stole our hearts… and Malleus is very interesting in his interactions with Sebek too; he is annoyed by him sometimes, but he tolerates a lot and teases him.

As for the ship itself, we tend to think that in addition to Sebek being loyal and obsessive with Malleus, he is also deeply in love with him ever since he was a child. He is conflicted because he really wants to be his lover, but also thinks that he isn’t worthy. Malleus is amused by Sebek and allows him to do much more than he probably should. Actually, I think I talked about their dynamic in this post!

I hope I understood you correctly. Thank you for your question! And if you have any more questions, please let me know.

Anonymous asked:

would Lilia and Azul ever fight over who gets to have Idia?

Replied here! Thank you for your question, Anon.

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4:

In the time that Coryo's been taking care of you, which has been nearly 2 weeks now, you've discovered that he's an enigma. You just can't figure him out. On one hand he can be a right condescending bastard, but on the other hand he can also be very caring and attentive.

Some of his remarks cut deep. They even make you feel frustrated or useless sometimes. You hate feeling like that; you hate that his smug attitude has that effect on you.

But then he has his gentle moments, moments that make you feel cared for. The way he gently runs his calloused fingers down your back when checking its healing progress sends sparks up and down your spine. How he has you lay on top of his chest every night, to keep pressure off of the lashes on your back, while wrapping his arms around you has you swooning. His kisses can be soft and sweet or hungry and feral full of neediness and want, but every kiss you share makes you feel desired.

Yes, he's quite the enigma indeed.

“You think you're healed enough to go to the market with me?” Coryo asks, walking thru the door.

He went back to his peacekeeper duties a few days ago, but that hasn't stopped him from living with you. In fact, he sets an alarm to go off about an hour before wakeup call in order to sneak back into the barracks before dawn. Coryo always presses a kiss to your hair and tells you to go back to sleep before he goes.

You always groan and bury your nose in his pillow.

“Yes, I can go, but why didn't you just do it before coming here?” You reply, finding it a bit odd that he just didn't buy some groceries before returning home- like he usually did.

“Sejanus says that you need to get out and about; that fresh air and walks will be good for your healing.”

“Oh.”

“How bout you take a shower and I'll help you get dressed when you're done, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, rising from the table and heading to the bathroom.

At least Coryo's letting you shower by yourself now. For a while he was bathing you, afraid that you'd hurt your back if you were left to your own devices.

As Coriolanus rooted thru your clothes basket to find you something suitable to wear in the harsh winter weather, his encounter with Sejanus earlier played in his mind like an old movie rerun.

“How's your girl doing, Coryo?” Sejanus asked his friend as they patrolled the streets of the factory sector of the district.

“She's doing better. Her back’s healing, but she still can't put any pressure on it.” Coriolanus explained your condition to his friend. “I've started cutting down her doses of morphling; been giving it to her during the night and leaving her a bottle of aspirin for the day.”

“Has she been out and about yet?”

“No, Sejanus. She hasn't left our apartment.” He told the dark-haired peacekeeper, who in return shook his head at Coriolanus. “What?” Shot out of Coriolanus' mouth faster than a shooting star. “She's been hurt; she lost her coat during the whipping incident, plus I had to start patrol work again. Why would she be out and about?”

“You can't keep her locked up in her apartment, Coryo. She needs fresh air and some exercise to help her healing.” Sejanus explained, hoping that the platinum blonde would see reason.

But, of course, he didn't see reason.

“She knows how to open the window, if she wants fresh air that bad. And she's been walking around the apartment, it's not like I'm a monster that's got her tied up to the bedpost or something.”

“Did you forget that I've been inside of her apartment? She doesn't have a bedpost, her mattress is on the floor with a tiny wooden table next to it.”

“Stop calling it her apartment, I live there too.” Barked out Coriolanus. Pointing at Sejanus, he added in, “And don't worry about our bed. That's my bed with my darling rose, you hear me?”

“Yea, I hear you.” Sejanus heavily sighed. “Look, if she needs a coat and ya’ll are struggling to buy one I can always have Ma send Y/N one in the mail.” The kind hearted peacekeeper offered, hoping that a new coat would help with you being able to leave your apartment. An apartment that Coriolanus insisted was his now too. “As a Christmas present.” Sejanus quickly added in, reminding Coryo that the winter holiday was in a week.

“Yea, Ma can send my girl a coat for Yule.” Coriolanus nodded.

Sejanus smiled, happy that his friend was letting him do something nice for you. If only he could convince Coryo to let you off of your house arrest…

“Coryo, Y/N needs to spend some time with you outside of your apartment. Even just a few minutes will be good for her healing.”

“The last time she went out she got whipped so badly that I had to stitch up half of her back. So, excuse me, Sej, for just wanting to keep her safe; away from people gawking at her because of what happened.”

“She can't stay locked up in that apartment, spending her days in nightgowns waiting for you to come home every night all because you're scared of her getting hurt again; of not being able to protect her- again.” Sejanus told his best friend, trying to get it into the platinum blonde’s thick skull that you needed to see more than the inside of the same 4 walls day after day. “What happened shouldn't have, but it did, Coryo. It did and you've been caring for her better than a nurse could; now it's time to aid in her healing by letting her walk around town for a bit.”

Coriolanus bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. Sejanus has a point, but he doesn't want to admit it. The district born boy's right, what happened to you shouldn't have happened, but it did because Coryo turned you in. Turned you in without the apple as evidence.

He truly didn't know how harsh your punishment was going to be. He thought a quick flogging, maybe no more then 2 or 3 lashes. But he didn't know that you'd be stripped naked in the snow and whipped repeatedly until you fell down from the pain. God, you had about a dozen lashes on your back and half of them were so deep that you'll have scars. Honestly, Coriolanus felt guilty when he watched you get whipped; felt remorseful and regretted his actions.

But he'd never let himself admit it. No, he keeps rationalizing his actions as the right thing. That you stole, that I'd you didn't steal then he wouldn't have turned you in. That he needed to look good in his superiors eyes, that turning you in got him one step closer to the Capitol.

To home.

But now his plans have slightly altered. Now he has you and he's bringing you home with him.

“Coryo, if you really want to protect her, then maybe you should sign up to take that elite officer's exam. Nobody messes with an officer's girl.” Sejanus told the tall blonde, pulling him out of his mental musings.

“Elite Officer's exam?” Coriolanus parroted, sounding stunned.

“Yea.” Sejanus nodded. “I thought you knew about it.” Apparently nobody told Coriolanus about the exam, but considering he's been trading work days with people to be able to spend so much time tending to you, it's not hard to figure out why nobody told him.

“There's a test in a week or so for an Elite Officer's commission. It's for Naval and Air Force tho, so you'll be shipped out of 8.”

“Thank you for telling me. I'll have to sign up before going home.” Coriolanus gratefully told Sejanus.

Yes, since he's in a good mood he'll take you to the market once he gets off work. You should have a sweater to wear; if not then you can borrow his. God knows he's moved his shit into your place; has the bag nestled right next to your wicker basket at the foot of your bed.

And while on your walk to the market he'll tell you the great news about the Elite Officer's exam he's signing up for.

Once you were finished with your shower, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the main room of your apartment wrapped in a towel. You saw that Coryo had laid out your blue floral dress and orange-russet sweater. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, clutching some kind of orange material in his hand.

Hearing your feet pitter patter across the one-room apartment, he looked up at you and asked, “Do you need any help getting dressed, baby?”

Coryo still asks you that, every time you bathe and need to change, even tho you're able to dress yourself now. You guess he just likes to feel needed; offers to help cause of it.

“No, I'm fine, Coryo.” You told him, coming to a stop at the bed. “But thank you for your offer.” You added in, picking up the cotton panties he laid out for you.

Coryo waggled his brows and lowly whistled, “Can't wait til your back’s fully healed so I can fuck you, baby.”, as you took off your towel and pulled on your panties.

Yea…

You knew he'd want to do that as soon as you got better.

There's just one catch tho.

“I've never been with anyone before, Coryo. You’ll prolly be disappointed with my lack of experience.” You told him, grabbing your dress and pulling it on.

Before you could reach for your sweater, Coryo took your hand in his and tugged you until you fell onto his lap. “Darling, don't say that.” He cooed. “I’m proud to be the only man to ever touch you; your innocence will never disappoint me.” He assured you with a soft smile. “Don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know.”

To Coriolanus, you being innocent when it came to sex fueled his ego. Made him feel powerful. Yes, he enjoyed having power over you. Sex was another way to wield that power. Plus thought of being the only man to have you makes him feral with primal, possessive instincts.

You're his, all his!

Pecking you on the lips, he says, “Put your sweater on, little dove. I have something to give you that'll go perfect with it.”

You wondered what he had to give you. Silently, you nod and reach over to grab your sweater. You put it on while still sitting on Coryo's lap.

“This was my mother's; I'd like you to have it, Y/N.” Coryo told you, smiling brightly while handing you the orange bunch of silky material.

“Oh Coryo…” You gasped, taking the offered token from him. Inspecting the bright orange material, you quickly figured out that it was a large scarf or a shawl. “It's so pretty.” You mused, still in disbelief about receiving a gift of such fine quality. “Are you sure you want me to have it?. It belonged to your mom.” You ask, feeling a bit guilty about accepting the scarf. It belonged to his mom and from the look in his eyes, well, you know that she's gone.

“My mom would've loved you, baby. Please, accept my gift as a token of my affection, darling.” Coriolanus said, taking the scarf from your hands and wrapping it around your neck.

“Okay.” You relented.

Guiding you off of his lap and onto the bed, he told you, “Put on your knee highs; I'll get your boots.”

He picked your stockings up from the bed and handed them to you before going over to where your boots were at. As you pulled on your stockings, he brought you over the boots. Taking them from him, you slid them on.

Once you’re ready, Coryo gives you a closed lip smile and leads you out the door. He’s happy to be going to the market with you. You on the other hand…Well…You're nervous about people seeing you with a peacekeeper.

You and Coryo are walking along the urban streets of District 8, the cold winds chilling the both of you right down to the bone. You’re glued to his side with his arm wrapped protectively around your back. His large hand resting gently on it.

If he wasn't a peacekeeper from the Capitol, people might think that you make a cute couple. But, since he's a peacekeeper and you're a transfer, well…the residents of 8 turn their noses up at you in disgust. Coryo didn't seem to notice tho.

No, he was too caught up in his own upturn of luck to care what the locals thought of him with you. Their opinions didn't matter. They're just dirty dogs, scumbags, and rat bastards in his opinion. And soon Coriolanus will be an Elite Officer in either the Naval or the Air Force division of the Peacekeepers; he'll be getting the two of you out of the shithole you're stuck in and around civilized people.

“Y/N, I got some good news for you.” Coryo announces with excitement in his baritone, grinning from ear to ear; looking a bit like a homicidal maniac from Dateline.

“What is it?” You curiously ask. You two live in a wintery wasteland that's a smog and sweatshop hell. You're also a very unconventional couple, so you can't imagine what his good news is. Seriously, does anything good actually happen in 8?

“I signed up to take an Elite Officer's exam; when I pass we'll be able to leave 8; go to a nicer district or even the Capitol.” Coryo announced, his icy blue eyes gleaming, as his tone was filled with pride.

Hearing that the platinum blonde peacekeeper could possibly get you out of District 8 by becoming an Elite Officer gave you hope that maybe your luck wasn't shitty after all. You'd love to be able to go to a nicer district, like 1 or 2. And the possibility of going to the Capitol.

You…

Wow, it sounded wonderful. Perhaps too good to be true. But one things for certain, you wondered, “What's the difference between an Elite Officer and an Officer, Coryo?”

“An Elite Officer serves in one of the specialty forces- Naval or Air Force, while an Officer serves boots on the ground.” Coriolanus explained as the entrance to the marketplace came into view.

Looking up at him, you ask, “So you really think you can pass your exam; get us out of here?’

“My darling, I know that I'll pass and get us out.” Coryo confidently told you as the two of you walked into the marketplace. “Don't worry, I'll take care of you.” He pressed a kiss to your head.

As Coryo led you over to a produce cart, you could feel stares burning a hole into your back. You know that they're judging you because you're with a peacekeeper. Especially after what happened a couple of weeks back.

You're most likely a pariah now because you're with Coryo. But it’s not like you got into a relationship with him because you wanted to. You had to, because of your back injury. But that doesn't matter because to the citizens of District 8 you’re Peacekeeper's kept woman.

At least you won't be here much longer, since Coryo's slated to take his exam next week and he's positive that he'll pass. That he'll become an Elite Officer and be able to get the both of you out of the textile district of Panem.

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