#and every single time he stops to talk to someone he would lean his elbows on the table and like. arch his back

[saeiken]

more jojo sketches :>

[seungkwanniee]

pairing : boyfriend!seventeen x gn!reader

genre : fluffff !!!

warnings : mention of food

synopsis : how they show love around people

an : felt so ispired today that I writed sm 😭

〔masterlist〕

S.COUPS 』

I think he would be always clingy even around the boys

he is not ashamed to show love at all, just a little bit laied back

and, we know seventeen, they would tease their leader so much about his

he would pout, while wrapping your waist with his arms and leaning his chin into the crack of your neck

never speaking to the boys until they stop with their teasing

eventually, he would scold them still with pouting lips

he clinges beside you when it's crowdy, always staying on the front so he can lead you and you are safe

JEONGHAN 』

this man is SHAMELESS (loved this serie btw)

don't even think he will hide his actions, he will most probably display them

maybe he would even do it on propuse, just to see you all frustrated

the boys don't even try to tease him, Jeonghan would roast them ×13 so

the type to kiss you on the lips, your forehead or play with your hair

eventually he has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leaning closer to you so he can smell your scent

JOSHUA 』

a true gentleman, so he wouldn't do nothing if you are not the type of skinship in public

but, if you are he is still so gentle about it

when you two accidentally do eyes contact, he would smile and pinch your cheeks because you are too cute for him

but he is much cuter

he is feeding you for sure, but he is so casual about it that it makes you a hundred times more confortable

observe you from afar doing nothing, he just likes to admire you

JUN 』

he is shyyy

he likes to move your hair on the side so your neck and cheek is exposed to him

he is looking at you like he want to shower you with love but he is blocked for some reasons

you look at him with a smirk when you feel his eyes on you

you'll do nothing, you want him to be bolder

when he finally find the courage he would place a quick and warm kiss on your jaw

he is blushing after this tho

HOSHI 』

soo clingy

he just looks at you and it's over, you're too cute in his eyes

scares you by suddently hugging you from the side and shaking you in his arms

or he would lower at your height squeezing your cheeks togheter

pecking your lips is a must

he would laugh a little embarassed after, especially if someone point it out

but he can't help it, he needs to do it

WONWOO 』

reserved about it but not that much

he would fix you hair even if they are pefect just to have a claim

he need to touch you but at the same time not dispaying it, leave him alone

holding your hand or squeezing your thigh under the table every single time

if you wear glasses, he is cleaning it for you

this is his love lenguage

WOOZI 』

he is really reserved about his relationship

pda isn't really a thing for him in private, so imagine in public

maybe he is putting his hand on your lower back

mostly for letting you walk, but if he is in the mood the would just do it because he wants to feel him

whispering things in your ear and thats when he slightly touches your shoulder or you arm

DOKYEOM 』

man is WHIPPED fo you, so don't even try to ask him to not touch you in public

he phiscally cannot touch you when you are near him

calling you pet names is a must

his voice goes so sweet and honey when he talks to you

his eyes and big smile tells everything that needs to be said

when he feels extra clingy, he goes so far as to kiss you on the lips

BLUSHING SO HARD AFTER that he hides his face on your neck

MINGYU 』

man is so goofy

even himself is confused about what he is doing

when he thinks he is going to hug you, he change his mind mid way and now he want to coup your face

thats only make him hit your face with his elbow

he laughs at your face holding the place where he hitted you

for excusing he kiss your forehead or near your eye

feel like he is the type to lay his head on your shoulder and listen silently your conversation

MINGHAO 』

it may seems the contrary but he is reserved about his relationship

he search for your hand, just for intertwine your pinkys

yk, they are smaller, they get less attention lol

he checks on you COSTANTLY

he almost look like a mother for how he worries for you

words are deffo his way to show love and get unnoticed at the same time

he adjustes your dress or lace your shoes or even the heels

SEUNGKWAN 』

he is stressed because he would shower you with love every second but at the same time he is awkward

he makes sure that everyone is listening when youre talking

and if someone interrupts, he is giving them a big side eye

becomes almost like the evil when someone disrespect you and would stand for you like his life depends on it

small touches are the cherry on top

maybe when youre talking he move your hair out of your face

or hold your purse for you

VERNON 』

vernon is weird (in a good way)

he doesn't even realize he should do something to show love lol

the love is inside of him and he tells you when there are just the two of you

unconsciously orders food for you because he knows you too well

or buy things for you at the vending machines even if you didn't ask because when he thinks about whay you like frist

feel like he would intertwine his arm with yours even if it's unexpected.

or take the Seunkwan habit and touch your ears every now and then

DINO 』

not shy to admit his love in public

he have 12 hyungs that will probably make fun of him? yes. He cares? absolutely not

he touches you every chance he get

if he passes you something, It is MANDATORY to let your hands touch

he gets so into you that he literally gets stuck, he can't leave his eyes from you

gets so involved in your side profile, an hand supporting his head and love escaping from his eyes

someone always gotta call him back to the real world

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners - Part 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2k

TW: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, imprisonment, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Howdy babes! I'm back in action (and in therapy!) so the will to write is stronger than ever. I am so excited that this is becoming a mini series since I loved the whole premise I had come up with last year. Pls enjoy part 2!

Part One

Last Week

“We have a White Male in his late thirties, breaking and entering into single women��s homes.” Hotch started, he put his hands in his pockets and continued talking. “ We know he used to be homeless, or transient, because of the manner in which he is gaining access to home.”

 Derek took over. “Pickpocketing. He snags the women’s keys, makes a copy for himself, and then breaks into their houses, condos, apartments.” 

Emily gestured to the board in the front of the room. There were several images, along with a map in front of the officers. “We know this because he leaves the set of keys on the kitchen table, along with the polaroid of the woman he’s kidnapped.” 

Derek spoke up. “He’s targeting women in their late twenties, with high paying jobs. We assume this is due to some kind of grievance where he believes he was wronged, and left him feeling powerless.” 

Hotch nodded at Derek. “Think promotions of jobs, priorities, breakups, divorces—something that would make this man feel as if he is no longer fulfilling the role of the head of the household.” 

 Derek leaned against the desk. “He takes his time with them. We know this because there’s been a body a week for the past three. We are assuming that he has a new victim considering the newest body was found yesterday. And we know that he picks up a body on Monday nights, and dumps them early Friday Mornings.”

“Look through reports from tonight and this morning about anyone missing. Even if it’s just a concerned call about someone not showing up to work, we need to know about it.” Emily held her hands in front of her as she spoke to the group. She gave a brief smile to the officers looking up at her. “Thank you.” 

As the room started to clear out, Derek looked over at Spencer, who was just staring at the board, deep in thought. “Earth to Reid. Hey.” 

Reid snapped out of whatever depths of his mind he was in, and looked up at Morgan. “Sorry, sorry. What.” 

“What? That’s it? Reid you just blanked out of that entire session. What is goin’ on with you man?” 

Spencer shook his head. “Sorry I-I, I’m not really…Sorry. It’s just..”

“Just what.” 

Emily nudged Derek with her elbow. “Be nice.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and trudged away. 

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t stop thinking about the security cameras. How has he not been seen, anywhere. L-Like, for example, when he goes and makes the copies of the keys, all of the locksmiths in town have cameras everywhere because of safety reasons, right? And-and-and, even if he didn’t go there, and went to a Walmart outside of the city, or something, they all absolutely have cameras that work. So how has this guy not been seen by anyone?” 

Emily nodded while Spencer continued to rant. “And I can’t quite figure out how—” Spencer pushed out of his chair by the window and went up to the board. 

Across the center of one of the whiteboards was a timeline.. 

“It’s such a specific timeline—A-As if he can only operate on those certain days, like he’s limited to Mondays and Fridays, because part of his week is blocked off.”

“Or.” Emily chimed in, following his train of thought. “Something triggers him every weekend, like he sees her…whoever she is, every weekend. Maybe he works in a restaurant, or something.” 

“But why would she go into a restaurant where she knows he is?” 

“To taunt him?” Derek pipes up. “Bring a new man in, once a week, on a first date. Show him how much better she’s doing?” 

“And risk her safety? I don’t think so.” Emily scoffed and turned back to the board. 

Headaches have always been your least favorite part of waking up from being knocked out by chloroform. You had never been knocked out via towel and drug before, but whenever you would watch your favorite crime-related shows, you would think about how god awful that headache must be when you wake up. 

And you were right. It was a fucking bitch. 

Your vision had spots dancing across it as you let out a groan from being conscious for the first time in god knows how long. You were still in your pajamas and weren’t shivering, which meant that wherever you were, was warm enough to keep you alive. 

You tried to move your hands but found that that was over your head, chained to the wall. The chain connecting both of your wrists was pegged into the wall like you were in some old castle during the Medieval Ages. If you weren’t dying of thirst and hunger, you would have found the situation almost comical. 

Once you got used to the complete lack of sunlight, you were able to make out the rest of the room, which was decorated with splatter across the walls and floor. It was obviously not a choice in decor, and more of a mess someone wasn’t willing to clean up. There was an outline of what seemed like bars at the far end of the room, directly across from a small wooden staircase that had been built up against the wall. 

It was a cell. 

You had been stuck in a cell like one of those prisoners in Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was not as silly and fun as Disney World had made it out to be. 

You went to speak, with only a sharp intake of air, and only a cough could come out. Luckily for you, the cough had alerted whoever was upstairs that you were awake, meaning that the silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the stairs when the door opened. 

You were just hop[ping this was one of those stupid melatonin induced dreams where something bad would happen but then you would wake up and suddenly you were safe in bed. As the man’s footsteps echoed louder and louder as they trudged down the stairs, you realized you couldn’t wake up. 

“You’re up. Good.” 

Your back pressed against the wall as you recognized the voice from the man standing at the bars of the cell. 

“What. Y/n hasn’t texted you today?” JJ  elbowed Reid lightly as the two of them were sitting next to each other in the bullpen. 

Reid blinked and looked up at her. “How did you…” 

“You’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. Either you’re really trying to analyze…something, or you haven’t actually read the page and something was bugging you.”

Spencer scoffed but put the file down. 

JJ gave his shoulder a little squeeze. She was about to say something when Garcia walked into the room, eyes wide, carrying a file. “New—we have to…” 

That was all the two agents could pick out of her sentences before Garcia was in Hotch’s office. 

“No rest for the wicked.” Emily called out to the two of them as all three made their way towards the meeting room. 

Eventually the team had all gathered in the conference room and Garcia was setting up the screen. 

“There’s been another body.”

The team sighed and nodded. This killer in DC has been evading them for a whole month now, that they knew of. It was becoming increasingly frustrating since the killer wasn’t rushing, wasn’t speeding up. They were still as meticulous as before. And right on schedule, a new body was discovered. Same markings as before, handcuffs on the wrists, and a quite gruesome death. 

“Still no fingerprints?”  

Garcia sighed and nodded. “Nothing.”

“I just don’t get how someone can be so meticulous, and stick to a schedule, and then….do something like that to a person.”

Spencer sighed and looked at the map Garcia had updated for him. “At least we have a slight geological profile. He’s picking houses all over DC, but then dumping the bodies in West End and Kalorama.”

Spencer pointed to the map. “He’s literally forming a route. Look. The bodies are placed almost like a trail. This newest body just connects the rest.” 

“He’s gearing up to someone. And whoever it is probably lives and works….” Spencer looked over at Garcia. 

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. No no no no.” 

“What?” Emily looked between the two before looking over at Derek. 

“Spit it out baby girl, what’s going on.” 

“Uh…Y/n’s firm is in the West End, and she lives like a ten minute walk away in Kalorama…” She whispered. 

The whole team shifted their gaze to Spencer, who was frantically looking at all of the information over and over on the board, trying to find anything. 

“Just because she hasn’t texted you doesn;’t mean that she is the next victim of our killer guys, I mean come on. What are the odds of that.” Derek tried to talk Spencer out of whatever he had just induced for himself. 

Spencer shook his head and turned towards the team. “Who always has a strict schedule that they have to follow, even if it’s against their wishes. Court-mandated.” 

Derek was stunned into silence at the fact that Reid didn’t even bother giving him a pity statistic. 

Hotch spoke up. “She’s a lawyer right?” 

Spencer nodded. The team was not following where they were going with this. 

“Have any of her clients, or opposing councils given her grief recently? That you know of?” 

Spencer was about to shake his head but then remembered what you had told him last night. “S-She has this, uh, client, that doesn’t like the schedule he was ordered to by the court. And hasn’t left her alone now...for weeks…blowing up her phone…she told me about him last night, complaining that he hasn’t stopped calling her work phone and somehow even got her personal number…” 

“So you talked to her last night.” Derek crossed his arms. 

“She texted me saying she made it home b-because she fell asleep at her office and walked home…at two in the morning...” 

Hotch nodded and stood up. “We’re going to head down to the main station, and bring all new information with us. Clear?”

“I already sent it over to them electronically sir.” Garcia piped up. 

Hotch nodded. Everyone exited the room, but Hotch and Reid stayed back. When the last person had left, Hotch closed the door and looked at Reid. 

“I’m not going to tell you to sit this out. I know you, and I’d rather have you focused on the task at hand with us than trying to do your own investigating.You have emotional stakes in this Reid. And you know how that clouds judgment. Every single decision you make, you run by me. Clear?” 

Reid set his jaw and exhaled, but agreed to Hotch’s request. There would be more room for arguing when you were found safe and sound. 

Reid’s silence continued throughout the next twenty minutes and then in the car on the way to the station as well. Every single one of the agents could tell this case was going to be a lot more painful than initially believed. 

And Spencer was freaking the fuck out. All he could do was sit and stare out the window as the building passed, a sinking feeling in his gut that wherever you were, it wasn’t pretty. He just didn’t understand how he failed to miss the literal trail of bodies the killer had been leaving for you. Literal warning signs in front of you. And he let you walk home alone last night. 

It was his fault. He should have known better. 

Spencer had just found you again—he couldn’t stand to lose you a second time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Next Part

Also! Tags! It's so crazy to me that y'all actually want to be tagged in my work so I am seriously so grateful. <3

@sadroses98 @teddy-275 @teddy-275 @donttrustlove @donttrustlove

[shalotttower]

A Heart Deceived

Title: A Heart Deceived

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Characters: Jacob Seed x Reader (female)

Summary: AU where soulmates share the same marking and Jacob doesn't have to brand you any further.

Word count: 2900+

Notes: soulmates, yandere!Jacob Seed, Reader is not the Deputy, captivity, violence, emotional manipulation, dub-con kissing, scars and injuries description: Reader has a mutilated ear and facial scars from a wolf attack and is not happy about it, a mild form of Stockholm Syndrome.

His fingers are surprisingly gentle. You don't expect it from him, the gentleness, Jacob is not kind or caring. Jacob is not warm, not nurturing, not indulgent. Yet his thumb skims across your jaw with quiet focus. Down the side of your neck, up your chin to follow the slanted line there, then it repeats the whole procedure on a different scar. They had long healed by now and turned into uneven ridges of mismatched tissue.

It hurt when the damned wolf bit you, the next day, and for many following days; the effective and precise killing machine aimed for the throat, and if you didn't twist the last moment, would have succeeded.

Jacob never punished the wolf, it was serving its purpose, while you, you were supposed to think before acting and understand the possible consequences.

The pain could be endured and later forgotten, what could not was the humiliation of lying on the dirty ground and the shiny view of Jacob's boots growing larger until they stopped in the line of your vision. A moment of painful awareness: the escape attempt which failed so abruptly and so brutally had become laughable. Jacob grabbed your hair and shook you like a disobedient puppy. "That's on you, sweetheart. Be wary of the quiet ones, they say."

Those last words sounded as if he were talking to himself, rather than anyone else.

"I warned you."

He did.

Jacob is right, not in everything, but in many things. One can try and deny it, another can scoff, but the bottom line is the same: Jacob is right in many things, and at times it's better to listen. Even despite an involuntary gagging reaction.

Your heart hammered and every single beat of it brought to the surface what you already knew — there would be no other attempts. The paleness from fear or perhaps blood loss must've shown on your face, because he let go of you and crouched down. "Pathetic."

It lacked genuine heat, disappointment, or any emotion. Being disappointed would mean that Jacob expected something in the first place. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it to your face, stemming the bleeding. The ground seemed more interesting than ever, dry soil dotted with rocks and grass blades scattered everywhere, trampled by people's feet.

You don't want to look at him or acknowledge the touch to a small sword on your wrist, identical to the one above his left elbow. The mark is a clean reminder and a binding claim for life. You don't want to see it or remember how Jacob's face twisted when he realized just who you were.

Like someone had slapped him.

A lot has happened; Montana turned different from what you saw on TV and the world suddenly shifted under your feet, rearranged from a little road trip across the states into his territory, his commands, his people. A part of you — a foolish, soft part — wished you could've met under different circumstances, in a different place and you told him once about it in a moment of weakness. Jacob stilled at first, but then kept cleaning his gun. "We're here, sweetheart. Nothing we can do 'bout it."

Could've beens and never happeneds weren't worth wasting thoughts on.

Now Jacob is tracing your scars. He's not handsome, not really, there's too much roughness to the lines of his face, dark circles and untrimmed beard, but... you frown. You don't know how to describe Jacob Seed or why you even bother trying. It's odd to think about him this way. Weird.

Jacob catches your eyes. "What?"

You close them. "Nothing."

He makes a noncommittal sound, then leans in. The kiss to your forehead is unexpected and brief. A lot of them are — quick kisses on your temple when Jacob thinks you're asleep, on your nape when he leaves the bed before dawn. They make you wonder just what he wants from you.

He never expects affection back.

Doesn't try anything further, and you both are suspended in this limbo, neither being the first to break it, nor acknowledge its growing significance with every passing day. One part of you craves it, to yield in a different way, not because it is required, but because you want, yet Jacob doesn't ask, so perhaps it's for the better.

Another gets nauseous. He breaks people. Like dry twigs, discarding the pieces when they have no more use. You've seen his Chosen training until they begged, cried and crawled, their pride crushed along with the body.

There are days you can't bear looking at him.

***

Sometimes, sometimes, you wish him dead and gone from the world, then the mark on your wrist aches like a fresh wound.

"When will you take off the chain?" You ask and wiggle your foot a bit. It's long enough to reach the bathroom, to wander around the quarters, but not to walk outside. Jacob doesn't look up from his book. The cover is worn out and you suspect he read it many times already, military stuff. Strategy. Survival tactics, you have no idea.

"When I know you've learned your lesson."

So, not today.

You sigh and roll onto your stomach. "It's stupid."

He doesn't respond.

It's annoying more than anything. Reason — you're his soulmate, not some runaway cow ready to get lost in Montana wilderness — didn't help and only gained you a blank stare followed by a lock click. The chain rattles with each movement, loud and distracting; Jacob just keeps reading as if nothing happens.

Sometimes, sometimes, you catch yourself thinking that this isn't so bad after all. He treats you well for a cult leader: fed, clothed, clean, sheltered. Compared to the cages his future Chosen sleep in, you don't get to complain. You have a comfortable bed instead of cold dirty floor, normal meals rather than a chunk of raw meat, privacy and silence without old school music 24/7.

You frown. No, it's not nice. It's Stockholm Syndrome, plain and simple. You should be free, away from this place.

"Are you angry?"

Jacob turns another page. "No."

His room smells of pine wood and gun oil, with an undertone of metal. The furniture is scarce and practical. A wardrobe, a desk with a radio placed on top, one bookshelf. Bare walls except for a giant map pinned opposite the bed; you've memorized all the markings on it during your stay. The areas which got liberated by Deputy are red, his outposts are circled in blue. Jacob doesn't talk about Deputy much, but the way he clenches his jaw over the radio frequency makes you think they must be a real pain in the ass.

Secretly you hope they blow Eden's Gate HQ to pieces soon.

What would it mean for you?

These are questions, vague and inappropriately timed, coming to mind. What if Deputy happens to eventually tear the Project apart? They escaped John, escaped Jacob and you were to personally witness his foul mood for two days straight. You overhear bits and pieces of conversations, the Chosen talk if they think no one listens — Deputy is strong and clever. Persistent and cunning. Maybe that's the reason Jacob's so obsessed with them.

What if...

You glance at him from under your eyelashes and rub the mark. They say there's a connection between soulmates. If one dies, another experiences it on a physical level. Jacob said that was bullshit. His brother didn't confirm or deny when you asked him after a sermon.

Joseph Seed unnerves you. Not just because he believes himself to be God's vessel. There is something in his voice, quiet and soothing like the distant rolls of thunder, it raises goosebumps when he starts preaching and you're forced to sit through it. Something in his eyes behind yellow-tinted glasses sends shivers down your spine, very little to do with his religious fanaticism.

What would you feel if Jacob died?

The thought creates an unpleasant twist in your stomach, unwanted bond or not, it leaves you queasy. You curl on the bed. Jacob has reading glasses, you barely held back a snort the first time you saw them propped up his nose. He shoots a flat look from above the pages but doesn't comment on your inquisitive stare.

By now you know when to speak and to remain silent (mostly). He dislikes unruly ones and finds satisfaction showing them just how insignificant they are, how mistaken in every single sense. Weak. That's why you annoy him mildly when feeling particularly brave or in need of interaction, but never play soldier or power. It triggers something which is best avoided, gets people punished, then shot in front of others. Or sent for trials, you're not sure which is worse.

Jacob marks a page and sets the book aside. "What?"

"What 'what'?" You ask back, fiddling with the hem of a grey camouflage shirt. It's way too big on your frame, Jacob likes the look of it, judging by how much of your wardrobe consists of his stuff now that you don't leave the room.

"I can hear the wheels in your head turning, spit it out."

"What would happen to me if something... happened to you?"

You're afraid of saying 'if you die' because it's final, even though Jacob seems invincible most of the times. A mountain against hurricanes. Yet everyone dies eventually and the Deputy keeps winning against all odds set before them.

"Nothing. Joseph takes care of you."

This is news, and frankly not the answer you hoped for.

('You'd go free' was. He didn't say 'I won't die' either.)

Tension seeps into your shoulders without a conscious thought. "Why? I am nobody to him."

"You are my soulmate," Jacob replies, simple as that, like it explains everything. Perhaps in their cult world it does, but not yours.

"So?"

He pats his thigh.

It's a gesture without much interpretation required, but you stay rooted on the bed. Cautious. You've grown familiar with each other after living together for months — sharing a space tends to do this to people — still tonight is different, full with awkwardness you haven't felt since that time he walked in on you changing.

Jacob's stare is intense. Heavy, cold blue eyes linger on your wrist where the sword surrounded by flames peeks from under the long sleeve. You swallow a lump in your throat and get up on unsteady legs.

"So he will do it out of memory. You're family, pup, whether you wish it or not."

With the same caution you sit on his lap, war memories written in pink-red skin decorate his face. Just like yours, you think, the only difference is the place and origin. There's something intimate about being like this. Jacob holds you in place once you settle down, not comfortable, but not exactly uncomfortable either.

"Never took you for a cuddly type," you say to shield yourself from growing unease. "Why the change?"

Jacob's thumb presses to the corner of your lips. "Got tired of those puppy eyes staring at me the whole evening, sweetheart. You can have a closer look."

"I don't have puppy eyes. And maybe I like looking from afar."

"Yeah?"

His beard has a prickly feeling to it.

You know your face will never be the same after what happened. From his point of view, Jacob can probably see where the scars begin in the hairline, then continue downwards only an inch away from your eye; small miracles and such. Half of your ear is missing, a good solid chunk. It's not a nice look.

"Don't touch them," you mutter.

You don't mean to share your thoughts in such an abrupt manner, but these intimate moments become a source of discomfort, like a sharp, twisting knife. Jacob doesn't flinch at the sight, he probably saw worse things, still it feels humiliating being reminded of your shortcomings and the fact that this is your face — permanently marked.

Jacob doesn't stop.

"Beauty dies fast, darlin'," he says slowly. "This here... this'll stay."

He never sugarcoats anything. Never lies to spare feelings, ruthless and pragmatic with a clear understanding of what matters and what doesn't. Only the weak need empty reassurances; his words. You hate this side of Jacob just as much as admire it on occasion, right now you wish he said something else. Beauty dies fast.

"Thank you Jacob, very comforting. Top ten phrases you should tell someone who got mauled by a Judge." You cross your arms, wondering why the hell are you talking about this. With Jacob. The worst choice possible to bring up sensitive topics, or maybe the only one, since there's not a lot of people around anyway.

"I ain't here to stroke your ego, sweetheart. This," he traces a scar, "is a lesson to remember. Next time when thinking 'bout running — think again and think good."

There will be no next time regardless of how he phrases it. The chain rattles every night when you shift under the blankets and falls down with an annoying bang as soon as you get up. There's nowhere to run too, the Whitetail Mountains belong to Jacob, he rules them like a king would rule his kingdom, with iron fist and strict order, and who knows what the local Resistance will do to you if they catch you first.

If they figure out whose soulmate you are.

You're trapped between the Deputy destroying outposts and Jacob hunting them across the region, like a mouse stuck in a corner while cats keep prowling around.

The sky outside has an orange-pink hue, casting Jacob's face into soft light and deep shadows. He takes off his glasses, setting them on the book's cover, then wipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. "You gonna cry over looks?"

You sniffle. "Yes. I wish I never met you."

He stiffens. For a second you worry it might have pushed a wrong button. Jacob never hurt you physically, still there's a healthy dose of fear, not necessarily born out of past experiences. At times his presence just radiates off in silent waves so thick you can feel them crashing into yourself before he walks away and doesn't return for days, leaving you alone with the Chosen stationed behind the doors to watch over and report back to their Herald.

Jacob leans closer until your foreheads almost press into each other.

He doesn't initiate touch often. Once in a while he lets you sleep on his arm instead of a pillow or allows you to sit closer than usual during meals, but that's it. There are boundaries set, most of them are unspoken rules which you picked up along the way: you can ask questions and be generally yourself within reason — as long as it doesn't border on disrespect, Jacob will tolerate occasional attitude in very small doses; you can request certain items provided he approves; he prefers silence during breakfast.

Never challenge him publicly and don't talk bad about his siblings.

This confession can't be taken back, nor do you wish to, because it's true. You regret meeting him, and it was much better to wonder and guess, create images of a faceless man somewhere in the depths of your mind and fantasize about possibilities. How does one even go back to normal life after this?

(Not that any chance of doing so exists in the foreseeable future.)

"I figured, darlin'," Jacob says finally. His voice lacks anger, as if he expected those words one day or another, Jacob isn't naive or stupid and is surprisingly aware of himself in a lot of matters, of the fact that very little would want to end up where he dragged you and being imprisoned under the heavy metal chain doesn't add to fond memories either. "Fair enough."

In all months you two lived together, sharing food and space, in all months, he never kissed you.

Now he does.

His lips are chapped, dry and slightly rough.

You find yourself going rigid at first, unsure what to make out of it. It's different from what you imagined, the fantasy version seemed more... violent and harsh, less intimate and private. He breaks the kiss briefly and then resumes it again.

Slow-slow-quick, Jacob steals your breath away bit by bit until your head spins, until your hands feel clammy and then, when you think you can't take it any longer, he pulls back.

"Won't apologize 'bout the scars, pup. You deserved a lesson."

Your throat feels parched.

"But not of this kind. Never wanted it for you."

It doesn't sound apologetic, neither regretful, but it is what it is, probably the closest to it Jacob will ever be capable of. His hand strokes the back of your neck in slow and repetitive circles, and in an odd way, it does seem soothing.

He takes you to bed minutes later, maneuvers you closer under the sheets and turns off the light. The window is open letting in the sounds of evening wildlife: crickets chirp loudly nearby, some owl hoots in the distance; Montana smells different than other states. Sharper, wilder. You lie like this for a bit, curled against his side and he's always so fucking warm, a human furnace incarnate.

"The moment I saw the marking — I wished you never met me too."

[eoieopda]

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too. 

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to see him furiously wipe his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll clock how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.” 

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating. Unfortunately for him, the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you, like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning. 

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off behind you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a “yes, please,” and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — as if he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a tiny bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that actually is a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 34. to the miya's

word count: 1.9k YAY!!

“oh? come in, you’re finally here,” someone greeted you in front of Onigiri Miya. 

you had been chatting with atsumu before approaching the restaurant. apparently, he wanted to pick you up and arrive there with you; the gesture made your stomach churn with warmth. 

“you must be atsumu’s brother!” you stepped closer until the lights above the shop illuminated your presence. atsumu followed behind you, stepping into the light to see osamu’s amused face clearer. 

“nope, wrong person. he’s just the garbage boy,” your co-star sneered. 

osamu ignored him, smiling at you knowingly. “well, what do you think? don’t we look the same?” 

“i would hope you do,” you laughed. “otherwise, atsumu would’ve scammed me.” 

“i’ve always been told i’m the better looking one. don’t you agree?” the darker haired twin questioned playfully.

his tease made atsumu quirk a brow. in one swift motion, a hand laced around yours, leading you towards the shop’s entrance. it happened so suddenly that you didn’t even have a chance to answer osamu’s question. your words were hopelessly caught in your throat. 

as you and atsumu shuffled in (notably still holding hands), you took in the homey atmosphere of the restaurant. wooden chairs and tables huddled near each other as an appealing aroma swirled around the space; it awoke your stomach, rattling your cravings. osamu followed in shortly, pausing to lock the doors. 

you and atsumu approached the counter seating. after you reside next to two other figures, atsumu lets go of your hand, allowing your heart rate some mercy and a chance to calm down.

“woah! sakusa?!” you nearly jumped after turning to your left. there he was: your previous, forthright co-star who you worked with on “vengeance”. how long has it been since you’ve last seen each other? when you looked further behind him, you were caught starstruck with another surprise: suna rintarou in the flesh. overridden with shock, you nearly bumped your shoulder against atsumu sitting on your right. 

“hey, y/n. woah, you look better in person,” suna said, the corner of his lips curling upwards. “it’s a compliment.” 

you were still trying to comprehend the sight, blinking rapidly with astonishment. sure you knew you’d be meeting them, but the whole situation was still making you speechless. you respond anyway, smiling at his words. “thank you. i’ve been listening to your new singles, you really outdid yourself with this one.”

“oh? then, can we get each other’s autographs before we leave?”

you nodded, eyes glowing with admiration. unbeknownst to you, atsumu was making a face and mouthing something to suna irritatedly. you heard osamu stifle a chuckle. after locking the doors, he hurried behind the counters to set up his cooking equipment. 

“hi, y/n,” sakusa said. he’d been sitting awkwardly still while you and suna were talking. he wasn’t sure if he should lean back to help you two converse or not. in the end, he didn’t do anything. 

“it’s been a while,” you beamed. “i watched your latest film by the way. your acting still blows me away every time.” 

“yes, it has been. and thank you, i also heard about the ruckus at the movie theater.”

you felt atsumu lean closer towards you and sakusa, whispering loudly, “dude!”

“it’s fine,” you reassured him. “i’m over that and i’m used to sakusa’s straightforwardness.” 

somehow—somewhere, atsumu knew this might’ve been a mistake. he continued to sulk, propping an elbow on the wooden counter and resting the side of his jaw on his palm. 

sakusa continued, ignoring his friend’s pouty expression. “getting recognized like that just means you’re becoming more famous, y/n. it shows ur success.” 

the last thing you were expecting from this strange meetup was sakusa complimenting you. “thank you. my efforts are being recognized,” you laughed. “i won’t stop here, though. i’ll continue to work harder. i don’t want anything to get in the way of me becoming a better actress.” truthfully, you were just caught up in the moment; words were hastily spilling out, but you genuinely meant them. 

for a moment, the atmosphere shifted and paused. you were conversing with sakusa, but the others were still listening in. if sakusa noticed the awkward tension at all, he didn’t show it, only continuing to say, “that’s a good mindset.” 

then, everything resumed when osamu approached the counter with a full plate of onigiri. he leaned against the counter, smiling and watching as the four of you dug in. this continued for a while: you’d finish a plate then wait for osamu to work on the next batch of his new recipes. there’d be more pointless conversations filled with TMI; some gossip here and there; and even embarrassing stories regarding mostly of atsumu’s high school antics. you thought they were cute, but your co-star seems to think otherwise. 

“huh? games? you guys wanna play?” osamu asked from the sink. he was washing the plates while the four of you were still chatting. seriously, there were a million things you guys could talk about. 

atsumu turned towards his brother. “you have some upstairs, don’t you? here,” atsumu stood up from his stool, flashing you a quick smile and patting your shoulder before saying, “i’ll go check real quick.” 

then, he was gone—for a long time. you hadn’t realized it, but you were counting every minute that he was away. his absence was piercing, obviously clear. you were fine being alone with his friends, but there was more to it. being with atsumu, having him right next to you was another kind of reassurance you’d never experienced before. in a way, you wouldn’t mind anything if he was there by your side. 

“so, where’s atsumu?” suna asked, looking around for the blond actor. 

“is he still looking for the games? it shouldn’t be taking this long,” sakusa chimed in. 

you saw osamu grimace, trying to hold himself back from facepalming himself. “this guy…” he murmured with a sigh. it looked as though he knew something that you didn’t. “i actually moved some stuff around recently, so everything’s in a new place now. uh, i should go check up on him.” 

“sure,” suna said. “we’ll stay here then.” 

osamu ducked under the counter, pulling out a thick photo album. he smiled with satisfaction. “here. while you wait, you might as well check these out. was gonna show you these and make fun of ‘tsumu, but since he isn’t here, it’s the perfect opportunity, right?” 

removing his apron, osamu placed them on the counter. he left shortly after, disappearing behind the curtains concealing a set of stairs. you were so distracted watching him leave that you didn't even notice suna getting up and taking atsumu’s seat. he pushed the photo album towards you, and suddenly, you were sandwiched between sakusa and suna. 

“what are you doing with that phone?” sakusa asked, staring at the singer’s amused smile. 

“taking pictures, obviously. it’ll be good blackmail—you should do it too, y/n.” 

“hey,” osamu called from behind, stepping into his living room. 

atsumu, crouched on the carpet by a shelf, turned around to stare at osamu. “oh, were you waiting for me?” 

“yup, the others were getting worried,” he replied, plopping down on his couch listlessly. “so? why are you moping?” 

an annoyed wrinkle formed between atsumu’s eyebrows. “not moping. i was gonna come down but then i saw these CDs on your shelf. didn’t know you still had them.”

osamu smiled. “duh, you were the one who bought them for me when you got your first gig. i’d be a jerk if i threw them out.” 

“you’re always a dick, though.” 

“so you weren’t thinking about y/n and moping about then?” 

“who knows,” the blond mumbled. 

it was painfully silent until osamu facepalmed himself and grumbled. “look. stop beating yourself up honestly. i saw how she acted around you. y’know? your little hand holding? if she didn’t like you, wouldn’t she have—i don’t know—pulled away? but she didn’t and you were the one who pulled away instead.” 

“you’re saying she likes me? the feeling’s mutual?” 

“obviously. who would want to spend their time off with you anyway?” 

“hey!” atsumu frowned. “rude jerk. are you a fortune teller or something? how would you know?”

“i don’t need to see the future to know, dummy. i’m starting to think you like being hopeless because the answer's right in front of you. whether or not she knows it, her actions completely give her away. if you continue spending time together, she’ll eventually realize her feelings.”

atsumu dropped to the ground, supporting his weight with his hands on the carpet. he sighed heavily, “there’s still that thing she said, though.”

“what? about not wanting anything to get in the way of her business or something?” 

atsumu faced the wooden shelf, his eyes downcasted. he hadn’t been able to shake those words off of his mind. if that was truly what you wanted, there was nothing to compromise. the two of you couldn’t be together without something possibly obstructing your dream. 

“god! the two of you are so stubborn. why not? why can’t you just be together?!” osamu blared, shooting up from his spot on the couch.

“why are you getting worked up?! i’m the one dealing with this after all!” 

“i should’ve eaten you in the womb.”

“funny, because i was just thinking the same thing,” atsumu scoffed. “look, y/n and i can’t be in a relationship without it potentially holding her back. well, you wouldn’t understand, you’ve never been in one.”

“and yet here i am: giving relationship advice to a persistent brat,” osamu rolled his eyes. 

atsumu groaned, “even when i was with emma, we still had to make compromises to make the relationship work. y’know, schedule conflicts…different priorities. y/n doesn’t need that right now. she doesn’t need me right now.” at this point, he wasn’t sure if those words were for his brother or himself. maybe both. maybe just one, and it was the latter. 

“you want to respect whatever she wants.”

“exactly,” atsumu said with firm hands pressed against his eyes. even when he only saw darkness, his mind immediately conjured an image of you; and somehow, that pained him more than anything. atsumu let his hands drop, his vision clearing up. anymore and he would’ve pictured the two of you being something more. being in a relationship, him being able to love you. 

“so? what now?”

“nothing, i guess. i won’t do anything so everything will be over when filming is done.” 

osamu didn’t respond. he only stared at his twin brother. he never thought atsumu would fall in love again after the whole ordeal with emma. he thought his brother had bore his defenses and swallowed his feelings. who knew you would make him fall deeper? make him come back to his senses—to his usual, sloven self again? 

osamu had you to thank, and the world to hate. his brother was about to get heartbroken again, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

atsumu stood up, dusting his pants and grabbing the deck of cards on the top shelf. before he headed downstairs, though, atsumu braced himself. he took deep breaths and slapped his cheeks a couple times until they turned red. it was silly, but if he didn’t prepare himself—if he saw you laughing and getting along with his friends, atsumu would’ve gone back on his word. he wanted you, and you were cruel for making him want you even more. 

osamu approached his brother, raising a puzzled brow. “what are you—”

“okay! i’m ready, let’s head down. we’re wasting too much time.”

“that was all you, dummy.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. hurry! i’ll race you down there.”

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu didn't know if he wanted to embarrass y/n by telling her she'd been pranked/tricked or not. he didn't want to, so he went along for her.

sakusa and suna arrived early! right before y/n and atsumu.

y/n and suna exchanged autographs before they left. she was really happy on the way home but atsumu didn't know what was so exciting about his friend's wobbly autograph. (he's salty and stubborn, but he still took you home).

y/n didn't take any pictures for blackmail. only the ones she thought were exceptionally cute. the three of them had no idea who was who though, so they just prayed and guessed.

osamu really wants to challenge y/n to mario kart. he wants to know how good she is to have beaten his twin brother. family game night! (+ suna and sakusa).

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: i think osamu is much more attractive he's my favorite twin... funny how i have a whole smau abt atsumu though...

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

(1/2) ⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl l @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer @cherrypieyourface @azharyy @mimi3lover @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @dazball @whykirbo @r0seandth0rns @localgaytrainwreck @miyamoratsumuu @zephestia @luvvmae @seeyapizzazz

[mushiewrites]

(I'm about to kill you here Mushie) I just realized, no one has ever written about this position. Let's use snf as an example (for Sap's thunder thighs)

Sapnap chilling on the couch until George decides to be annoying and sits between his legs on the floor, constantly jostling his comfortable position, talking through the whole movie, tugging his leg hair. Sapnap eventually just leans forward and snatches George’s tiny wrists, pulls them out so he's T posing in a way and sets his legs over his biceps. When he releases George’s wrists, the weight of his legs pressing his keeps his arms pinned out, he can't even reach past his thighs with his bent elbows. Sapnap just takes out his annoyance slowly and methodically, working all of George’s tickle spots in just the way he knows how, to drive George crazy, even worse for him is he's so close to grabbing him but he can only brush his fingers against his wrists

first off. i am so so sooooo sorry im so late on this (i know you dont care but IM SORRY ANYWAY)

second. i adore the trope of a lee almost being able to stop the ler, but stopping just short of it. it's so incredibly cruel for absolutely no reason. its perfect

….anyway, lets get into it

we all know how much of a little shit george is - he's a natural brat, he just cant help it! its not his fault he was born like this! but regardless, there are people who take it better than others. dream and sapnap being the perfect example. i mean, dont get me wrong; dream absolutely gets annoyed by george, but hes just so fond of him that he normally just lets it slide

but sapnap? absolutely not.

the day he learns how ticklish george is is the best day of sapnap's life. he uses it for everything; to get george to give in to whatever sapnap wants, to cheer george up when hes grumpy, to punish george when hes annoying. and boy is george annoying

so its no surprise (even though it always is to george somehow) when sapnap suddenly growls out a quiet "that's it" from between his clenched teeth before grabbing george's wrists, pulling them quickly out to the sides against the couch cushions behind him. sapnap throws his thighs quickly over george's arms, successfully trapping his arms and his body in place from where hes sat between sapnap's legs on the floor

george is immediately pleading, never having been in this vulnerable of a position before and finding it incredibly flustering. sapnap can tell, and he plays it up. he pokes his pointer fingers under each of george's arms once, making him yelp and try to yank his arms down. but sapnap's weight keeps him practically immobile from his waist up, trapped between and under the strong thighs of his friend

sapnap would coo at him, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair as george let's his head fall back into sapnap's lap to look up to him. his boba eyes are glassy and wide, clearly full of nerves and excitement at the compromising position hes found himself in. sapnap would laugh, loving how much of a mess george was already before slowly drawing circles in the middle of his underarms, sending him into hysterics

he digs into each and every rib, making sure to take his time to really dig between them. he makes sure that george feels every single tiny spark of ticklish energy as intensely as he can, and george swears fireworks are exploding under his skin. his eyes are wet, and whenever george flings his head back to laugh sapnap can see the trails of wetness down his cheeks from the tears. sapnap flutters his fingers over george's stomach, making sure to press gently at the lower tummy a couple of times to make george buck his hips up into the air....it's much easier for sapnap to latch onto them this way :D

eventually sapnap makes his way back up under george's arms, and it's then he remembers just how sensitive his triceps are. so he drags his nails there experimentally. just a tiny scratch on the soft skin of george's right tricep. the reaction is insane. george screams like someone is killing him before breaking out into the most ridiculous high pitched cackles sapnap has ever heard. his cheeks are bright red and he’s pleading every chance he can.

unfortunately, it goes without being acknowledged

sapnap switches to lightly dragging his fingers over both triceps, and george enters a whole different level of hysteria. george is frantic, bending his arms as much as he can. his fingers are outstretched and lightly brushing against sapnap's knuckles, but never reaching far enough to grab them to stop the tickling. it's a never ending loop of torture, and being so close to successfully putting an end to it makes everything ten times worse. sapnap uses both hands on one of george's triceps and his laugh goes silent, signaling to sapnap that it's time to stop

of course sapnap slides down onto the floor with george, cuddling into him and hugging him tight. george continues giggling deliriously, still feeling an overflow of ghost tickles all throughout his body. he whines and complains to sapnap that it's not fair, that he hates him, but george stays glued to sapnap's side the rest of the night, just absolutely floaty and giggly and completely satisfied

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wedneday

“Scoot over! Scoot over! I wanna see!”

Yuuri grunts as he takes an elbow to the side, flailing nearly off of the bed as Phichit weasels on up onto the bed with him.

“Okay, am I not allowed to talk to him by myself?”

“No.”

And, yeah, alright, Yuuri should have expected that.

It’s been four months since Yuuri’s trip to Las Vegas, four months since Champions on Ice, and, more importantly, four months since he has a middle-of-the-night shotgun wedding to International Figure Skating’s darling, Viktor Nikiforov.

At the time, Yuuri had immediately offered to annul it (why the hell would someone like Viktor want to marry someone like him?), but Viktor had merely smiled at him and told him he’d rather not.

Now it was Skype calls every few days, constant texting, and two very, very nice care packages as they go through the clumsy work of working backwards from “married” to, well, certainly friends, to start with.

Yuuri feels like he’s the only one perturbed by this whole thing sometimes given the fact that Phichit has run away with the idea of his best friend being married, only lamenting that he didn’t get the chance to give a best man speech (“You should have called me at the church!” “Phi, I could barely write my name let alone work my phone.”) and Viktor is messaging Yuuri constantly with idle conversation bordering from friendly to salacious in a single line.

He has pointedly not shown Phichit those messages.

The laptop rings and Yuuri throws his weight back against Phichit so he’s taking up most of the screen before clicking the ‘accept’ button. There’s a bit of fumbling around on the other side of the screen before it comes into clear-ish view and Viktor is there in his fuzzy, post-practice flushed glory.

“Yuura!” He cries like he they didn’t just talk two nights ago. It doesn’t stop Yuuri from smiling though and even flushing a bit when Viktor starts blowing kisses at the screen.

“Hi, Vicchan.”

Viktor beams at Yuuri for a moment, just staring like he can’t get enough before his eyes slide slightly to the side and his face lights up again.

“Oh! Oh, is this Phichit?! Hi, Phichit!”

Phichit shuffles around so he’s koalaing around Yuuri’s back, arms over his shoulders and head beside his.

“Hi, Viktor! Yuuri’s been so mean keeping you to himself!”

“Mm, well, you know Yuura gets protective.” Yuuri, in spite of that flushes and frowns.

“You’ve already monopolized my video calls with my mom, can I have Viktor?” Yuuri asks, trying to get Phichit off of him to no avail.

Phichit leans closer and it forces Yuuri to have to bend over, Phichit putting his hand to his mouth in an exaggerated stage whisper.

“He’s just mad I’m his mom’s favorite son.”

“Oh, you’ve chatted with Mrs. Katsuki?! Yuura, why won’t you let me talk to her?!”

Yuuri rubs at his temple with his free hand, throwing Phichit a look.

“I want to be present the first time you talk to her, I don’t want to just give her your number.”

And, to be fair, it’s also because she doesn’t yet know that Viktor and Yuuri are married, none of his family does. He didn’t know how he was supposed to broach the conversation of “Hi, I got married” and “Hi, it was drunk in Las Vegas” and also “Hi, I married my celebrity crush.” If Phichit was heartbroken about not being at Yuuri’s wedding, that’s nothing to the guilt that Yuuri’s going to feel when his mother finds out she didn’t even know about the wedding.

“I can behave myself. Around her, at least.” Viktor winks, or at least Yuuri thinks he winks, the video lags for a moment.

“You’ve never behaved once in your life.” They’ve only been talking for four months, but Yuuri knows that. Still, he can’t help his own smile when Viktor sticks his tongue out at him. This back and forth banter has gotten a little easier, Yuuri doesn’t puff up like a wet cat whenever Viktor teases him now and even Yuuri can get out a little teasing, especially when it makes Viktor Nikiforov a little bashful.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Phichit accuses, pinching Yuuri’s cheek before turning to the screen. “It’s a shame you didn’t see it in Las Vegas, Yuuri gets so sexual when he’s wasted. I’m surprised he didn’t try to (ave his way with you in a—“

“Okay, okay!” Yuuri sits up fast enough that it knocks Phichit off of his back and onto the bed. “Group video call time is over!”

Both Phichit and Viktor whine in the same moment as Yuuri reaches over Phichit to grab his headphones.

“Oh, come on! I wasn’t going to tell him about the—“

“You’re not telling him anything!”

“No, but I want to know about my husband!”

Yuuri puts the headphones on around his neck, plugging it into the laptop.

“Don’t you have an English paper to write?” Yuuri asks, waving Phichit off.

“Oh, what? So when you shirk off your physics homework to talk to your boyfriend, it’s acceptable, but when I take a break from my essay to talk to him, it’s not?”

Yuuri gives a sharp nod of his head as he picks up his headphones.

“He’s my husband, so yes.”

[mytheoristavenue]

OP Usopp x Perv!Reader 🍋- ISpy

Summary: Your newest bad habit mixes your feelings about how moral your desires are, but not enough to stop.

Warnings: fem!reader, perv!reader, perv!usopp, masturbation, peeping, dirty talk, heavy praise

You had to stop doing this before you got yourself into trouble. Not only was it wrong from a rule book stand point, but it was morally wrong too! But you had been doing it too long and now it was a habit. Several nights a week now, you would sneak around the ship until you found the door to Usopp's factory before pressing your ear to it to see if it was a good time.

When it wasn't you might hear the sounds of lead scribbling on parchment or fingers rummaging through bins of bolts, but when it was good- God. When the time was right, you could be blessed with squelching, airy sighs, and the most disgusting dialogue. Needless to say, tonight was one of the later.

You sank to your knees, lip sucked between your teeth and one eye screwed shut to peer through the keyhole of the door. You could hardly see anything, only a shadow casted from the light of a single bedside candle, burning lowly, threatening to be extinguished from exhaustion. From what you could make out, the shadow was shaking, a single angle of it jumping back and forth- no doubt the elbow of a soon to be very sore arm. 'Perfect,' you thought to yourself, letting your hand wander down to your thighs before your fingers dug even further beyond.

"F-Fuck..." a voice called from within the room. "Feel so fucking good..." You trembled with arousal at the thought of his words being a result of your ministrations; your hand creating the gushy noise that echoed in your head for days every time you heard it.

"I know it does, sweet boy," you whispered back, tone shaky and barely audible as your digits slithered around and prodded you- a result of your poor position. "You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

"Y-Yes!" Usopp's voice cracked, making you freeze in place. Had he possibly heard you? You relaxed as he continued, reassuring that he was not, in fact answering your rhetorical. "Yes, yes, yes. Right there, feels good..."

"Good boy..." you cooed to yourself, finally resorting to dropping off your knees in favor of sitting flat on the floor, sacrificing your chance to possibly catch a glimpse of his perfect ochre skin. Now, you leaned your back against the door so you could still plant an ear against it, but stretch your hips and prop your legs up just right. You sighed, once again lowering your hand between them, this time fully sliding your panties and shorts to the side and immediately plunging a digit into your core with a light gasp. "U-Usopp, wait-!" you sigh, conjuring up the image of him ramming himself into you without warning in your mind. Inserting a second finger, you let your head fall onto your shoulder momentarily as you face began to tingle with overwhelm. "Y-You're so big..."

"Yeah, baby," his voice called again from the other side of the door, more gruff this time- almost frustrated, but you could still hear the grin playing on his lips. "Just c'mere and let this fat cock stretch that little hole." You weren't sure if you'd been entirely lucid that last time, thinking it possible that your fantasies were beginning to leak into the awake world. Regardless, you didn't care. His words made your insides twist in a way that so wonderfully complimented the bullying you were doing to your cervix. "Ah- yeah, just like that baby. Shit-! Just ride this fuckin' cock!"

You were beginning to feel sweat accumulate on your forheld as you slapped your hand over your mouth to subdue the lewd racket that begged to spill out. "Y-Yes, daddy..." You whispered against your palm, having revoked your speaking privileges, lest someone might find you out. "Love riding your pretty cock, Usopp- please fuck me! Please, please, please..."

"Shit, baby-" he sighed, the sound of squelching getting louder and increasing tempo leading you to believe that he was close, had you been paying enough attention. "Gonna fill that pretty pussy 'til it drips."

"Want all your cum!" you replied desperately, three fingers ravaging your core while the digits of the opposite hand lifted your shirt up to your collar bone to knead your doughy breasts. "Fill me up, Usopp!" You shrieked, your hand falling lax with knuckles knocking the floor.

"Ahh, (Y/N), Goddamnit, just take this fuckin' cum, pretty girl." He groaned simultaneously. Suddenly, upon faintly hearing his name from the hallway, he froze before shooting up. You however, were too entranced and unable to discern real from fake, to notice that the noise on his side had ceased, not even when the door unlocked and swung open.

You had long since morphed into a position that locked you into a self sustaining stability, so you couldn't be bothered by the lack of the door that had once supported you. Unbeknownst to you, the object of your latest obsession now stood behind you, looming over and watching it astonishment as you dug a climax out of your abused hole. He couldn't help but instinctually thrust his hips in the air ever so slightly in your direction- never even enough to make contact with your hair, but it was seeing you unravel that really did him in.

You came to a messy, obnoxious end, nearly sobbing his name and with slick thighs- a result of the cream that leaked from your core. The scene sent him over the edge, creating a reaction that he'd never experienced before. As you fell back, your posture unlocking and laying you out on the wooden floor, you were brought back to semi-consciousness with the dripping of a warm, thick fluid onto your cheek, and then forehead, followed by your nose. Just as your eyes fluttered open, a fat glob landed directly on your left one, congealing in your long lashes, while ropes came down to decorate your hair and throat.

"I-I'm sorry..." Usopp whined from above, hands crumbled into fists and shyly pressed against the lower half of his face. "I-It just happened, I didn't even touch it! I-I-!" Suddenly, the shame from accidentally finishing on your face melted away and was replaced by suspicion.

"W-Wait...were you spying on me?"

Taglist:

@imamonsterfucker-sorry, @killmewithafanfic, @elii0, @starblazer124, @lilpumpkinpastie

[meetmyothersouls]

Hey, could you do a part two of "Just my luck"??

Oh yes! This one is one of my favorites!

Just My Luck

Part Two

Part 1

Warnings: some language, fluff

You apologized to the sitter as soon as you walked through the door and promised you'd pay her extra.

"Don't worry about it, y/n," Lily said.

"Really?" you said still breathlessly, still reeling from what Timothee said to you before you left him in his car.

"Really," she said, " Your son is a dream to watch. He's sleeping. He went out like a light around 7:30. You need to cut yourself some slack. You're a single mom. Your book just got picked up for a movie. You're in the studio every day making sure it's done to perfection AND you're in the process of writing what will probably be another best selling book! And..."

"And?"

"And I saw that cute guy in the car...was that Timothee Chalamet?" Lily's voice went an octave higher at the end. She nudged your arm with her elbow, as if she thought there was something happening between you and him. Which there absolutely wasn't. Was there? You weren't sure you could let yourself fall for someone like him. Someone who could bag any hot A-list celebrity walking around at any given moment. Someone who would not ordinarily be attracted to someone like you. In that moment, you decided that he didn't mean anything he said in the car. He couldn't have. People like Timothee Chalamet didn't date people like you. And more importantly, people like you didn't date people like him. It just didn't happen. Maybe in movies and cheesy romance novels. But this was neither of those. This was real life and you refused to allow yourself to be swept up in a fantasy such as Timothee Chalamet having feelings for you. Tomorrow, you'd go to work like any other day. You'd go to work like Timothee Chalamet said nothing at all to you the night before.

"Yes. And before you say anything he's just a friend, he was driving me home."

"Mhm," Lily said, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "Friend." She added, putting the word inside air quotes with her fingers.

"Have a good night, Lily," you said ushering her to the front door. "I'll Venmo you your pay for tonight."

"Okay, but if you end up fucking, I need to know all the de-" she trailed off as you opened the door. And when you looked over her shoulder, realized why.

Timothee Chalamet now stood on your front porch. Apparently, within the last five minutes it had decided to start raining. His curls, now curlier, dripped water onto your "Go Away" welcome mat and his clothes were drenched, his maroon shirt now appearing a blackish red color.

Lily made a noise somewhere between a gasp and the word "oh".

"Is that...at your door?" Lily asked, not even able to say his name in front of him.

Timothee smiled, a closed lip, nervous smile. "Hi," he said, raising his hand and giving Lily a small wave.

Lily leaned her head back, and not so quietly said, "If you don't take him, I will."

"Bye, Lily," you said, pushing her out the door. She reached out and touched Timothee's soaking, wet shirt just to say she did.

Timothee waited for Lily to round the corner and for her footsteps to start echoing down the stairwell to start talking, and when he did he didn't stop for a long time.

"Before you say anything. I'm sorry. I know I should have drove away and let you think about what I said like you said you would. Only. I couldn't. I knew that you'd get home, you'd chalk it up to me just being nice. I knew that just like you wouldn't let me have actual feelings for you, you wouldn't let yourself. I knew that you'd come to work tomorrow and act like I didn't I didn't beg you to think about the possibility of being with someone like me. And maybe you shouldn't, you know? Maybe it's shitty and selfish for me to ask you to take a chance on me, but I'm glad I did." He sounded passionate, and slightly upset, like he was on the verge of an argument, with himself or with you, you weren't sure. He took a quick breath and continued. "Anyways, I decided to come up here-which I rang the doorbell of six wrong apartments before I found yours-and at this point, I don't care if your mad or creeped out by me. I'm not leaving until I convince you to let me take you out to dinner."

You stood there, gaping at him. You weren't sure how he knew you planned on avoiding him tomorrow. Or how he knew you had already decided he didn't mean anything he said earlier. You weren't even sure what to say. Was he expecting an answer right away or were you supposed to think about this now too?

You weren't sure how long you had been silent or how long you had been staring at him, but the sound of Timothee's chattering teeth snapped you back to reality. He was still standing on your porch, still drenched in his soaking wet clothes.

"Your freezing," you said, taking Timothee's hand and pulling him inside of your apartment. "Let me dry your clothes for you. I've got something you can wear."

Timothee was now standing awkwardly in your kitchen. His arms wrapped around himself, teeth still chattering only now much softer making his bottom lip quiver slightly and his hair was forming a small puddle around him on the yellow and black tile. You came back with a towel and an old Marlboro Red t-shirt and some grey sweat pants.

"Here," you said handing him the items, "these look about your size."

Timothee made a face.

"They're my brothers not a lovers." you assured him.

Timothee nodded. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Just down the hall second door on the right."

He was in there for five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, after twenty minutes, he came out. His hair tousled perfectly and only slightly wet. Your brother's clothes fit him perfectly. You were chewing on the side of your thumb, pacing when you hear him walk back into the front room. You looked up and smiled at him. He looked good in your brother's clothes.

"I'll take you anywhere you want," he said.

"What?" you asked, still lost in his attractiveness.

"You want to have dinner in Paris?" he pulled his phone out." I can get us first class seats on any airline you want, and we can be there tomorrow night. What about...London? Tokyo? Vegas? I can take you anywhere you say the word."

"Timothee," you said, shaking your head.

"Please? Please don't deny me this." He walked up to you. Taking your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He placed the softest kiss to your lips, so soft you weren't even sure he kissed you at first. "Please," he whispered again.

"Your place."

"Hmm?"

"I want to have dinner at your place. And I want you to cook it."

A smile, pulled at the corners of his mouth, one he tried to mask the size of.

"I'm not much of a cook," he admitted, "but I will do anything for you, y/n."

You stood on your tip toes, this time placing a kiss on his lips.

"Then it's a date," you said.

"Then it's a date."

Tags: Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @ghsotfar @leecrunchybones @shahshhah @oddlyenoughiamweird @vampire-reanimator @xoxoloverb @kteezy997 @tropicalrozmajzl @lifeineverycolor @sabrinasonlyangel @violetsmutt

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober 2023 Day 15 - Makeshift Bandages

FINAL ONE OF THE BATCH! Congrats folks, if you've read every single one of these you have officially read 30k words worth of my work in a matter of hours. If you want to be included in the taglist for the next batch please let me know so I can put you on the list!

@splinnters final tag until the next batch because I already know you're going to want to be there!

Words: 2.1k

Jay felt it as soon as he tried to move his leg.

It took everything in him to not scream as the wooden plank shifted, and he grit his teeth when he pushed himself up on his elbows. There was unfamiliar sand piled under him; it must’ve been what cushioned their fall from the sky.

Where were they, exactly?

He spit out a mouthful of sand, finally turning back to see what was wrong with his leg.

And had to quickly look away because the sight almost made him sick.

“Gotta fix it, Jay,” he said to himself, steeling his nerves and looking again. He saw the plank that was pinning the limb in place, noticing that it was one of the destroyed Bounty’s floorboards. With shaking hands, he reached out to grab the end of it, his back twinging in protest and the cuts on his arms stinging. It took a firm yank to dislodge it, and this time he couldn’t contain a small scream as the wood left large splinters behind, buried in his skin.

Definitely wasn’t the worst injury his leg had ever suffered, but damn it was up there.

With another pull, his leg was technically free, and Jay took a proper look at it. It was scraped to high heaven, leaking fresh blood onto the sand and staining it a dark brown. There were large patches of skin missing, and Jay could feel every grain of sand settle itself into the injury, almost like they were burrowing into his muscles. He felt nauseous watching the exposed muscles flex when he tried to move it, and suddenly his vision was tunneling and his air supply was running out as his chest turned inside out.

Oh, he could not afford to start panicking right now.

“Guys!” he shouted, leaning against one of the ship walls that he happened to land near. He hated the way his voice cracked, but there was nothing he could do. “Guys! Anybody?!”

Now that he was paying attention he could feel all of the scrapes along his chest, his back ripped open like he was dragged along a cheese grater. Somehow his gi was almost completely intact despite the damage to his body, and Jay would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bitter about the fact that his clothing seemed to be more durable than him.

“Jay?” he heard Kai yell, but as soon as he tried to answer back his leg twitched hard; it felt like someone had lit it on fire. Instead of calling out Jay screamed, hand going to clutch at his leg in desperation for the pain to stop.

That was a bad idea. Jay’s head was swimming, and he swayed dangerously from the bolt of pain shooting up from his calf where his hand had landed. The feeling of blood coating his hand was far too familiar in the worst of ways, and Jay hurried to pull it back and scrub it on his gi.

Except it wasn’t coming off.

Why wasn’t it coming off?!

“Cole, Zane, I found him!” Kai shouted, rocketing around the corner of the wall. He slipped on the sand, stumbling, catching himself and paling as he took in Jay’s condition. “Shit, holy shit. Get some bandages! We got a man down!”

He would’ve laughed if he had the oxygen. Why were Kai’s zingers always so terrible?

Kneeling down next to the blue ninja, Kai looked him over, and Jay could feel his warm hands ghosting up and down his back as he tried to guage how injured Jay was. “Jay, Jay can you talk to me? Say something, please, I gotta know if you hit your head or not.”

Jay clumsily nodded his head, shutting his eyes and trying to control his dizziness. Panic threatened to overtake him, but he kept running. The world needed to stop spinning before he did anything else. “You got water?”

Looking relieved, Kai pushed some of his curls out of his face. “Yeah, yeah I think we found some. It’s on the way.”

“I know I hit my head,” Jay said, reaching up with a shaky hand to massage his sore jaw. It clicked softly, but the pressure rocked Jay’s vision like it was on a ratchet joint. “But I dunno how hard.”

“I’ll check for a bump,” and Kai did just that, running a single hand over Jay’s scalp. He didn’t find anything, but he was startled when Jay threw his own hand away from his face. Jay’s face lost its color, breathing turning stuttery as the blood ran down his cheek where his hand had been pressed against his skin.

There was blood on his face.

His blood on his face.

“Kai,” Jay said breathlessly, groping around and latching into the fire ninja’s knee, “Kai-”

But Kai already knew what he was going to say. He took a corner of his red gi and wiped Jay’s face as gently as he could, making soft shushing noises as Jay whimpered. “I got it, Jay, don’t worry.”

Zane finally showed his face around the corner, and the nindroid’s look of alarm only made Jay even dizzier. “What happened?” he demanded, sinking down in the sand next to Kai. He started analyzing the debris stacked around the three of them, and Jay cried out when Zane tried to move one of the large pieces of metal his leg happened to be leaning on.

The cry attracted Cole, who was hauling a large and mostly intact crate filled with various bits and bobs that Jay could not be bothered to identify right now. “Jay!” his best friend cried, dropping the crate and rushing to Kai’s side. Jay should’ve been relieved to see all of his brothers alive and well, but there was only the impending feeling of vomit coming up his throat as he watched his leg glisten with fresh blood. Anxiety tended to have that effect when left unattended.

“Move,” he gasped, shoving Kai to the side, “move-”

And not even a second later and he was emptying his guts into the sand, watching it turn from a fine gold to a disgusting mustard. Kai thumped his back, and Jay could hear garbled words from Zane even if he didn’t know what the nindroid was saying. Too much effort.

“-find bandages. We cannot leave his leg like this,” Zane said firmly.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” Jay spat out another glob of gross body stuff, Kai being the only thing holding him up after the red ninja had moved to sit behind his back. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”

“I bet,” Cole said sympathetically, face pallid from looking at Jay’s injury for too long. “At least you still have it.”

“Did you want me to lose it?!”

“No! I’m just saying it could be worse!”

“If his leg becomes infected,” Zane popped in, “and gets any worse, then we may have to consider amputation. Jay could still very well lose his leg.”

“What I’m going to lose is my fucking lunch if you keep talking about cutting my leg off,” because for as brave of a face as Jay was putting on, the idea of amputation terrified him. He was sure that they would build him a prosthetic, but would he still be able to be a ninja? Could he still save people? Would he even be able to work properly? Amputation and anxiety were not a good mix, what a no-brainer.

Kai snorted. “I think you already lost it, bro.”

“Amputation is the last possible option,” Zane assured, patting Jay’s uninjured knee and squeezing lightly. “Cole, did we find anything that can work as a bandage?”

The earth ninja started rummaging through the crate, looking for any sort of anything that they could patch Jay up with, but Jay was suddenly tilting to the side as his vision went topsy-turvy, and Kai was the only thing keeping him from dropping like a stone into the vomit-soaked sand.

Blood loss, his brain supplied helpfully, and Jay groaned from the dizziness that overwhelmed him. Everything was moving in circles, and he barely recognized Kai snapping his fingers right in front of his face. He was trying to get Jay’s attention.

“Shit,” Kai muttered from behind him after seeing how unresponsive the blue ninja was, and he thought quickly. “Zane, give me your sleeve.”

“What?”

“Just trust me,” Kai reached for his own gi sleeve, tearing it off at the seams. He quickly ripped the sleeve open so that it was completely flat, and while normally Kai would’ve done anything to keep his gi intact this situation was an emergency. Zane mirrored his actions on his own sleeve and handed it to Kai, who quickly tied them together. Jay’s head thunked against his chest, and Kai started panicking upon seeing his brother’s closed eyes.

He shook Jay harshly, eliciting a pained groan. “Jay, stay awake. We need to keep an eye on you.”

Frowning, Jay squinted up at Kai’s face. “I am awake, just dizzy. I don’t want to see everything spinning.”

Kai startled when Cole took the makeshift bandages out of his hands, adding his own black piece to the mix. Cole didn’t have sleeves, but he still tore off a large chunk from the strap over his shoulder, letting the front of his gi fall down and expose a couple scratches across his chest; they were nothing compared to Jay’s wound.

Handing it over to Zane, Cole reached for Jay’s limp hand, lacing their fingers together. “Squeeze if you need to, Sparky. This is gonna hurt.”

“Huh? What’s gonna- '' Jay didn’t finish his sentence before he screamed, and Kai was suddenly very hyperaware of the fact that they were in the open. They didn’t know what was in this realm, dangerous or otherwise, and they were sitting ducks with Jay downed like this. Any sort of sound alerting others to their weakness needed to be shut down.

Fumbling around, Kai’s hand eventually closed around a good-sized stick, and he hastily shoved it into Jay’s mouth and told him to bite down on it. Jay whined but did as he was told, strangling the life out of Cole’s hand while Zane wrapped his leg as quickly as he could. It was one of the longest five minutes of Kai’s life, watching as his little brother squirmed and sobbed and knowing that there was nothing he could do to make it better.

“Where’s Wu?” Kai asked as Zane finished, tying the makeshift bandage off with a tight knot and checking it over once more. Cole reached up to take the stick out of Jay’s mouth, grimacing at the splinters that it left behind and the drool leaking down his chin. He wiped away the drool and Jay’s tears as gently as he could.

Zane kept rubbing Jay’s knee to try and comfort him. “He is safe, don’t worry. Cole and I left him in the shelter.”

“Should we try to move Jay to the shelter?” Kai asked, smoothing his hands over his smaller brother’s sides and kissing the back of his head. Jay’s hair was covered in sand but Kai didn’t care; his brother needed the comfort.

“Give him a minute,” Cole said quietly, noticing the way Jay’s chest was heaving, sweat dripping down his brow and the collar of his shirt. He tugged out all of the splinters that he could find, aided by Zane, until there were none left that he could see. Kai kept Jay still, rocking them back and forth as gently as he could.

They heard a roar in the distance, and Kai’s grip tightened out of fear. “We need to move. Cole, get him up, but be careful.”

He and Zane kept a careful watch while Cole took Jay from Kai, debating the best way to carry the blue ninja to safety. Eventually deciding on just a simple carry, he hooked his arm under Jay’s back and the other under his knees, lifting. Jay’s head flopped onto Cole’s shoulder, and Cole could feel his brother’s eyelashes against his skin as his eyes blinked open.

“We’re going somewhere?” he mumbled, hand latching onto Cole’s shirt out of pure instinct.

“Yeah, bud. There’s a shelter nearby that we’re taking you to,” Cole said, starting the brisk walk across the desert sands to the Bounty’s cabin where they had left little Wu, “so just work with me, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

“Okay,” Jay said, and Cole could tell that he was trying to be quiet despite every movement of his leg eliciting a small whimper; it wasn’t long before Jay had his buried in the crook of Cole’s neck, and Cole did his best to ignore the blood leaking through the makeshift bandages and onto the sand below. 

He just hoped that dragons or Oni or whatever else lived in this realm couldn’t smell the blood to track them.

[kickis-conan-king]

Lance walked into the gathering room, the last one back from the party, and allowed gravity to take his limbs, sending him crashing down into the conversation pit. He landed upside down on the cushions between Hunk and Pidge. He let out a huge sigh, practically begging for attention.

Pidge frowned and scooted away. Hunk raised his eyebrows but didn’t tear his eyes away from his tablet.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Lance heaved another huge sigh and flung an arm over his eyes, the very picture of dejection.

“We don't care” Pidge said at the same exact time Hunk sighed and said “What is it, Lance?”

Lance elbowed Pidge only to receive a hard and painful poke in the ribs, but he used his squeal to launch himself upright.

“I’m never going to find love.” Lance declared. “Not a single person at that party would even dance with me, and I had the full charm turned on.”

Across the room someone snorted.

Frowning, Lance turned around.

Keith was leaning against the wall.

“Something funny, mullet?” Lance asked.

“Nothing much.” Keith replied, arms crossed and voice cross. “Just you.”

Pidge and Hunk were now paying attention.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Lance said, swiveling his legs around and standing. His hands went to his hips and he glared.

“As if you don’t already know.” Keith huffed. “I’m just tired of it.”

“Tired of what?” Lance yelled, spreading his hands out and gesturing to the universe at large. “Pretty sure we’re all tired of your attitude so if that’s what you’re talking about, you can can it.”

“I’m tired” Keith said, taking an intimidating step forward. “of you complaining about not finding someone to fall in love with at every single planet we go to when everybody knows that you’re already in love.”

Lance’s jaw hit the floor. “Woah, woah, woah there!! Has your mullet gone and infected your brain? Who exactly do you think I’m in love with?”

“Me.” Keith said darkly, crossing his arms over his chest once again.

Lance stared at Keith in shock. He froze for a beat too long, something admitted in that pause that he didn’t even know he was aware of.

Quickly, too quickly, Lance sputtered “As if!! That’s ridiculous!! Wishful thinking, much!?”

Keith snorted and tossed his head. “Yeah, okay.”

“Why would you… I mean, what!” Lance turned to Pidge and Hunk who were staring at him in a mixture of open pity and glee, wincing uncomfortably but unable to look away. “C’mon guys, tell him!”

They both averted their eyes. They couldn’t have been less subtle if they started whistling nonchalantly.

Lance turned back to Keith, his hands held out like he was trying to stop a runaway train.

“I’m not in love with you!!” Lance shouted, his voice breaking and screeching.

“You just keep telling yourself that.” Keith said, advancing on him. “Meanwhile, your “charm” is hardly turned on, you spend all your time training with me and you hate training. You snuggle with me on movie nights, you lose your mind trying to protect me during battle. You’re always talking to me like youre totally bothered, but I’m literally always on your mind and youre not. subtle.”

Keith had gotten close enough to poke him in the chest to emphasize his words.

“No way!” Lance tried to protest. “That’s just-“

Keith shook his head and gave him a sharp and dangerous smile. “Baby, don’t lie.”

Lance choked on his spit.

“I’m the only one that makes you feel right. Bet you think about me at night, too.” Keith said. “You flirt and try to get with everyone but you always always end up with me at the end of the day.”

Lance’s face was turning a deep deep red. “No, no that’s not true. You’re reading into things!! I don’t love you.”

“Explain your behavior then.” Pidge piped up from the couch.

“Stay OUT of this!” Lance turned and snapped at her.

“Admit it. Other boys and girls never really make you feel like I do. That’s why you have no luck. You’re already in love with me.” Keith said.

He was so close now and Lance couldn’t think. Staring into Keith’s eyes like this made his mouth dry and his palms sweat.

“Keith, I-“ Lance started.

“Feel totally friendly and normal when I’m this close, do you?” Keith murmured, tilting Lance’s chin with a finger.

Lance had to admit to himself he felt…maybe not entirely platonic about Keith being within kissing distance. And maybe his heart was pounding and somewhere deep deep down, his soul was thrilling.

“I-I…” Lance didn’t know what to say.

“Shut up.” Keith said, looking down at Lance’s lips. They were so close that when he spoke Lance could feel the shape Keith’s mouth made around the words, lips brushing. “And choose me already.”

Lances brain went offline. Keith pushed him and stalked out of the room. Lance fell backwards to sprawl on the ground with what felt like an explosion of steam out of his ears. He laid there simmering on the ground, worldview wrecked and heart skipping.

A goofy grin wiggled over his face.

“Holy shit.” He said with what little breath he had. “I’m in love with Keith.”

Hunk leaned into his field of vision. “Uh, yeah ,dude. We know.”

[xirayn]

Let Steve be in the Band: The Prequels

Let Steve be in the Band (Eddie and Steve Against the World series on AO3) is obviously canon divergent so I will be doing some scenes from before Like Biting Bats (Very Metal).

Feel free to send asks or message me or @aibhlynn​ about whatever you want filled in.

It was a typically slow Thursday at Family Video. Steve had spent the time before using his break to pick up Robin up from school watching Brat Pack films between processing returns, cleaning, and politely ignoring that Mr Thompson was renting porn as he did every week during school hours. Now, Oxford Blues was playing as Steve leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his head slightly cocked as he checked out Rob Lowe. The actor is objectively attractive; especially when his character doesn’t remind Steve of Billy fucking Hargrove. If Lowe was a woman, he would definitely be Steve’s type: expressive eyes, supple lips, dark hair-

“How did you know you-” Steve hesitated. Robin had never actually used the word ‘lesbian’ to his memory, so he wasn’t sure if he should. Queer was definitely out of the question. He still needed to apologize to Jonathan for that. Other things, as well, but they were both very good at not talking to each other. He settled on, “-weren’t attracted to men?”

“How did you know you weren’t?” Robin shot back from the documentary section.

Steve shrugged a single shoulder. "I don't."

“What!” Robin scrambled to the counter. She braced herself with spread arms as she gaped at Steve with a strange mix of disbelief and delight shining in her eyes and curling her lips. “Steve Harrington, you enigma of a human, enlighten me on where that thought came from.”

“I just-” Steve took a breath. Hearing Robin’s frustrated rants about being outed and the fear that underlied them made him feel like he needed to be having some crisis. He wasn’t, though. Nothing changed about him if he was attracted to men as well as women. “I never considered it an option before.”

“And you are now?” Robin had dropped so that her head was propped against a fist with the arm of her other hand folded beneath her chest. The way she studied Steve made him feel like one of the artsy films she liked to analyze.

“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes and moved to rest on his elbows across the counter from her. “Dustin had this whole speech about moving on from ‘primitive constructs’ and dating someone I enjoy being around. Of course, he said that all while trying to get me to date you-”

Robin’s nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

“Yeah.” Even if Robin was interested in men or Steve was a woman it would be like dating his sister. “But between that and knowing you I’ve started to think maybe I’m missing the one because I’m not even looking at them.”

“Alright, well-” Robin clucked her tongue a few times. “Sex is important to you in a relationship- I mean having it not the whole-”

“I get you.”

“You do and that scares me sometimes.” Her hand left her cheek to flick his nose. “Anyway, I think the big question is if you would want to have sex with a man. For you. Other people might be perfectly happy with a strictly romantic relationship.”

“I know.” It was one of the many things Robin’s ramblings had brought to Steve’s awareness. He tilted his head as he considered sex with a man. It definitely wasn’t something he was opposed to. “Rob Lowe could get me there.”

“O-kay!” Robin smacked the counter with both hands then turned to go back to work. “Think about it without me around.”

“Bon Jovi”

“Stop.”

"That guy from WarGames."

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I’m in love w quiet but DYING for George POVs! What does he think is happening throughout!

Hi friend!

I contemplated writing dual POV for this story, but I decided that it was a little...more heartbreaking if we only got one side of the entire situation. I really wanted to lean into the unreliable narrator bit in the beginning and then I was like...I'm writing this from only Alex's POV.

(We will be getting a whole chapter of George POV in the epilogue fic though, so.)

.

But, here's a bit of a drabble from George's POV with Susie:

The thing about George's family is that everyone assumes they're hands off. House cleaners and drivers and personal shoppers and George was probably raised by a slew of nannies, but that's not quite right.

His mother taught him how to make a bed and expected him to do it every single morning from the time he was four. "You cannot ask someone else to do what you are unwilling or unable to do yourself. Your messes are never someone else's problem."

His father taught him how to do laundry for the same reason.

Sure, George had nannies, but his parents didn't send him away to school. His mother took him to school everyday until he turned 12 and asked her to stop. But the point is, they raised them.

Toto and Susie have never been afraid of rolling up their sleeves when needed - which is why it doesn't shock George when Susie kicks off her flats and starts to help George scoot Alex's dresser out of the bedroom.

“George,” she says, halfway through the scoot, “you know I try not to overstep, but if we can do anything for Alex, you will let us know?”

George feels raw and exposed, and gives perhaps too much of a shove on the dresser, huffing. “Sure, mom. Yeah.”

Susie’s voice goes glacial when she asks, “Is everything ok?”

George is terrified of that tone of voice. People always assume it’s Toto that would be the terrifying one - tall and severe looking, but he has never scared George half as much as Susie does. 

“What is it?”

George stands up straight. “We’re just...things are a bit -” he shrugs. “We’re...it’s hard. Right now.”

Susie crosses the room and sits on the arm of Alex’s terrible couch. It’s far too small for him and they talk about getting him a new one all the time, but they never do.

“Why is that?” Susie tilts her head.

“I don’t know, mom. He’s here and I’m there and it’s hard to talk sometimes and I just feel so disconnected from him.” God, it feels good to say this. “But, I love him. And I thought love was enough, you know? I thought, oh I love him and everyone can see how much I love him, and it’s that simple. Mom and dad love each other and they’ve spent tons of time apart, so why should we be any different?”

“Right.” Susie crosses one leg over the other and leans down, one elbow on her knee, propping her chin up.”So. Let me tell you something, George William Russell-Wolff. Love is not at all what keeps a marriage going.”

She pauses long enough that George realizes he’s meant to be asking a question. “What -”

“Do you know that every single night your father isn’t home, he calls me before I go to sleep? Or if I’m the one gone, he calls me.” She’s smiling. “It doesn’t matter where he is - if it’s the middle of the day or the middle of the night. He calls. Without fail. He’s missed one call in all of the years we have been been together.”

George hadn’t known that. 

“So, love does not make a marriage. Devotion makes a marriage. Friendship makes a marriage.” She breathes deeply and looks at George like she’s seeing him - really seeing him. “Alex loves you. and I know that you love him, but are you showing him that?”

George...knows he hasn’t. He’s been in a constant state of feeling sick since he got the phone call, but he feels doubly sick now. He knows they have a lot of shit to work through to fix it, but he also was feeling a bit like Alex was the first one to pull away from him. All the way back when they were still in California.

“I want to remind you that he is not like you. He did not watch two parents be in love with each other. He did not have a home where he knew all of his needs and wants would be met without question. Love is not a safe concept for him. Love is not a thing that is guaranteed for him the way that it is for you.”

George feels like there’s not enough air in the room, like he breathes nothing in. “I can’t fix this.” He looks at his mom, begging her to understand that he’s made irrevocable mistakes somehow. He can’t fix this. 

Instead of understanding, she goes back to that glacial tone of voice. “That’s not the son I raised at all. And you had best find him. Because you’ve made a commitment to him. To see him through this. Perhaps you’ll find some of that devotion you’re having a hard time with.”

She stands and George can still barely breathe. “Mom.”

“I’m going to call Lance. Arrange for someone to come pick up the couch. They can move the dresser. We still have to go and get his things from his office.” 

She doesn’t look at him as she steps into her flats and pats her hair back in place. 

She doesn’t speak to him as he follows her out the door and down the stairs. 

George deserves it. He deserves it.

[autumnbrambleagain]

Yhelm p11 - readmore for full

Day fourteen.

Day fourteen of Drizzle's stay in Flyhhnemonia, day fourteen of constant, non-stop rains. A few dozen degrees ago--not that anyone could even see Ardet-Argent to measure the angle of time anymore--but a few dozen degrees ago, Princess Flyhh, Heir of Love and Indulgence, one of the creators of reality itself, had finally acted.

Outside was wild, now. A once-in-a-lifetime thing. Princess Flyhh had exercised some great secret of her divine nature. The rain still fell, but in deference to Flyhh's mastery of the world, it did not land. Or more, the raindrops were missing everything they aimed at. They missed the people who walked dry through the sheets of downpour. They missed the buildings. They missed the ground. On her way here, as far as Yhelm could tell, the rain just sort of… disappeared, right when it was about to hit anything.

This was one of those rare moments that everyone, surely, would remember for the rest of their lives, and Yhelm was far too distracted to even enjoy it. She thought that was the worst part of it, really. Whenever, decades from now, whenever anyone talked about the time it never stopped raining, about the time Princess Flyhh changed how rain worked for a day, all she'd have was "Yeah I was going through some stuff then, kinda distracted."

Afternoon Sale, the tall, lace-draped knicknack, was teetering on a single stilt-like foot over Yhelm's head.

"Most people seem to be outside playing in the rain," Afternoon Sale said. "The silly things are merely observing the transient work of a god, when they could be in here, instead, savoring a god's sacred craft with every intimate crevasse of their tongue!"

"Can you actually taste coffee?" Yhelm asked.

"Prim'ent Machato, can I taste coffee! Can I taste coffee! I do not taste coffee, I experience it on levels the mortal mind would not even comprehend. I would need to invent six new words for my six coffee-specific senses that allow me to understand the true nuances of coffee in ways that poor mortals such as yourself can only percieve the shadows of! Taste it indeed!"

Yhelm bite a laugh trying to break out of her muzzle. "You're really leaning into the heir of coffee role today."

Afternoon Sale threw a dramatic, oversized hand to her dainty face and mock-swooned. "Well I must entertain myself somehow! We're practically dead today. As for you! You!" She pointed accusingly at Yhelm. Yhelm just leaned back in her seat and watched. "You are waiting for someone. But no, not one of your regular companions… you are waiting for… someone new, isn't it? You're bringing someone new to me! Ah! Tell me my prognostications are correct and I will develop even greater love for you!"

"Yeah," Yhelm said. "All devotees should turn new worshippers to their god, shouldn't they?"

"You Jayce, but speak red all the same," Afternoon Sale chortled. "Meadoe but provide they arrive timely."

Corbis was a guild miniboss, being summoned by one of his subordinates, of course he'd show up when he damn well pleased, which ended up being who-knows-how-late. In he finally strutted, not walked but outright strutted, wearing tightly buttoned layers of red and browns that clung sleek to his lean runner's body, on all fours with boots and sleeves that went all the way up.

He threw himself into the seat opposite Yhelm with his perfect graceful lack of grace. Tossed his elbow onto the table, and let his head fall onto his paw, making a show of being half asleep. "Sup," he said.

On Hartlight's Ribbon Yhelm wasn't letting this display of sheer Style go unchallenged. Hooking her hoof around the leg of the table, she leaned back in her chair, tottering at dangerous angles, arms crossed, eyelids lowered behind her glasses. "Hey." Don't ever try to out-Style a daughter of Bad Boy.

Corbis' eyes glanced around the dark coffee shop. "Weird place, but all right."

"You haven't met the weird yet," Yhelm said.

Afternoon Sale arrived immediately as Yhelm said that. "Well well well this is a new one! I am sensing: workplace acquaintance! But no, I taste a seedier undercurrent, something deeper beneath the surface… oh my, oh my how scandalous!" Afternoon Sale covered her little pointed face with her thick lace fingers, leaving only beady little glass eyes staring down. "You are more than just workplace acquaintances aren't you! Well it is not to me to judge! You are both young and in the primes of your lives! It is merely mine to provide you with the coffee your soul needs, not to judge it!"

Corbis' eyes slid from Afternoon Sale to Yhelm with a sort of "What the fuck" kind of look, his Stylish composure completely broken. Hah. Yhelm'd won. One of the reasons she had him come here. Second reason was that Afternoon Sale's coffee was so damn good.

"Corbis, Afternoon Sale. Afternoon Sale, this is my--boss, sure. Manager. Whatever he wants to call himself."

"Call myself Corbis most of the time," he said.

"You," Afternoon Sale pointed a finger down at Corbis, "will have, oh, let me guess, let me understand. Oh, really, a liquor-tea, this early in the day? And with a bravan leaf! You do not yet know that you want that minty flavor, but when you have your first sip you will understand the depths of my craft! And Yhelm! I believe… something less bitter than usual, isn't it? Yes, with sugar even, I can see it in how the skin around your eyes holds itself, you are in need of some relief from dark matters! Well! I will go prepare your prescriptions and leave you to your business!"

Corbis mouthed silent confusion as Afternoon Sale spun her way around tables and chairs and to the mass of coffee preparation devices that waited for her touch.

"Yeah she does that," Yhelm said. "I'm not sure if it's knicknack whimsy or if she has some actual Knowing-element power or something. I've honestly never had better coffee though."

"She's a knicknack, though," Corbis said. "What does she know about taste?"

"I'm to understand she has six coffee-specific senses that allow her to experience the nuances of coffee in ways we cannot understand. You'll get it when she brings it out."

Corbis lifted his head lazily off his paw, twisting his wrist with an audible pop. "Speaking of bringing out, why are you bringing me up here for? Is this a date? Normally people go on dates before they start fucking. We going backwards?"

Yhelm huffed. "This isn't a date. I wanted to talk, and I didn't want to do it in your bedroom."

"What's wrong with my bedroom?"

"There's no seats."

"There's a bed."

Yhelm sharpened her eyes. "Yes. Exactly. And I need your mind out of the bedroom."

"Pfft. You know I can have more than just Flyhh's ass on my mind right? What's up?"

She let her chair back down onto all fours. Resting her entire shoulder against the rough stucco wall. And sighed. "You've been in the business a long time, right?"

"You're doing it uh," Corbis paused to think, "roundabout," and twirled his finger in the air to give the words more context. "That's not what you really wanna ask. I've been inside you we don't gotta play coy."

Yhelm grimaced. It was a full tongue-out grimace, like she had a bad taste sensation come over her. "You don't gotta say it like that so bluntly."

"Yeah but I'm asking you to say what's on your mind bluntly."

Blunt. She could be blunt, fine. "Don't you think what happened with Lastsong was fucked up?"

Corbis shrugged. It wasn't even a very committal shrug, it was the laziest shrug Yhelm had ever seen. One of his shoulders barely moved. "I mean, gaitsbird, you know? You beat a gaitsbird at a game enough times sometimes they snap."

"I meant what happened to her. After."

Corbis' big, gold eyes stared at Yhelm, holding time in place for a long, suspended moment. "She almost killed a guy. She got almost-killed herself. That's not fucked up, that's fair. That's as fair as you can get."

"She was locked in a room--"

"Okay, I get it," Corbis said, that irreverent, cocky bravado dropping and a more reluctant maturity poking its head out, eyes blinking, so unaccustomed to the light. "That's why you're asking how long I've been in the business. Because college girl can't deal with the realities of guild life now that she's had to get her hands a bit dirty."

Yhelm's lips raised in a wordless growl that she directed away to the floor. She couldn't be that angry if he was right.

"So guess I can answer the first question then. You know who my dad is, right?"

Yhelm shook her head.

"That might as well be Belham Pio. I was given up real early. Pio took me in, raised me up in the life. So yeah, I'm the person to ask about this. Lemme guess. College girl is used to golden justice, criminal gets to sit in a cell eating dry bread for a year and then they're let out, problem solved right?"

"I guess?" Yhelm admitted.

"The guilds are old, Yhelm. And this is an ooooold city. All this, these lawizards, these courts, that's all extra stuff Aiax tossed on top of Law. You know that? Primal Law's a lot more simple. It's the reason the scale of justice is a sub-symbol of Law's antler. Direct balance. Catharsis." Yhelm hid her surprise Corbis knew that word and could pronounce it right. "The aggrieved party is tendered resolution directly upon the offending party." That was a lot more big words than she thought Corbis could use, wow. What was happening. "Big golden justice gives you, well, the system did its job, hurray for the system, which is great for people the system doesn't fuck. But most of us guild, we're poor-ass cobblepounders. Not even the Is give a damn when a background H-lights. We can't all afford the big lawizards. We can't afford the keys to the doors to get around golden justice. Gold's pricey, college girl, and red's the real color of Law anyway."

… this was all supremely more well thought-out than Yhelm had, had ever even expected Corbis of being capable of. Corbis was usually yelling or posturing and while he was sometimes right he was never articulately right.

"We throw Lastsong to gold justice and the people she hurt, they just sit there and assume price's paid. Trust in a system that ain't even theirs to do it for them? She comes out a year later a few actions proscribed and what, she's still walking around, you assume she got hers but do you know? Anger's still there. Clear it through tables, and now everyone's squared. It's a problem of abstraction, and we cut through it to the red, hard. Lastsong'll be fine in time. Pyrene, gallowc she fived on, she's quiet under Argent well knowing Lastsong got hers. Feud's done. Gold justice works if you let everyone be a rational actor, but you can rescue a princess if you think you'll keep her."

Yhelm shook her head. The basis of academagic was treating reality as a work of fiction. A spell was just a literary essay debating one aspect of it, manipulating it, reframing it. Academages by their very nature had to keep their minds open to new arguments, or their magic didn't work. As a professional academage Yhelm should allow Corbis' argument to stand on its own merits instead of just brushing it aside with a sweep of her emotions. "It's fucked up," but she did it anyway.

Corbis scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Let's say someone kills Madrigal. Just, doesn't like them being a phanteasel, whatever. Stabs them in the streets, blood cold on the dirt. You find out about it, you're upset, you're angry. Rose Knights collect the killer. Give him a jail cell. Felicity and Falina lock him down so he can't attack anyone anymore. He's let out a year later. Harmless now, the officials say. Learned his lesson. You pass him in the street. Think he survives walking past you?"

"I--"

"Because you're still angry, you didn't get a single paw in on the deal. Someone else did it. You're taking it at someone else's word he's been punished. You didn't see it, you didn't know it, you're full Figments on it, does he survive walking past you."

This wasn't a fun thought experiment. "Probably not."

"Law can't just paint something red and call it red. You have to dye that cloth so it won't flake the moment Drizzle shows up, speak of the lunar," Corbis added a gesture out the window, where the rain fell silently on the dry city. "How long you been guild?"

"A few years?" Yhelm ventured. She hated when Corbis had the better footing than her. "It's hard to say when I exactly--"

"By the Captain I know I've sent you out to rough people up sometimes. You've stolen shit. You've gotten in a few fights. Why this one?"

"Because of how clinical it was!" Yhelm said, forcefully, finally having an actual opening! "Because when I rough people up it's drunks at the gambling loops or people stealing from the guild, or, or! We aren't--we're not the good guys but we're not the bad guys either. I--I thought we weren't the bad guys."

Corbis' eyebrows raised, slowly, showed no signs of stopping until they reached his antlers. "You're wearing a traditional Bad Boy jacket. You worship a literal god named Bad Boy."

"What do you know about adversaries," Yhelm growled.

"I know I might as well've been born one," Corbis growled back. "Freepeople weren't born with a destiny but we sure can inherit it. I inherited Bad Boy's. I try not to be a villain but if guild life's too rough for college girl Trackless built a big old world."

Afternoon Sale, at that exact moment, arrived with coffee. Yhelm's was a burnt, deep orange this time, rather than the usual Void-black. Corbis' was almost clear, faintly green-blue, with a single, multi-bladed leaf floating at the top. It was enough of a distraction the argument fell apart between them as they blew on their cups and sipped their drinks.

Yhelm's was sweet. Vaguely cinnamon. Hint of citrus aftertaste, more in the nose than the tongue. Bitterness and sweet fought in her mouth and neither was winning. Corbis looked suspicious of the leaf but after two sips he'd downed half his cup already.

"This isn't coffee," Corbis laughed. "This is like, a tea--"

Afternoon Sale Yhelm-swore-to-Aiax full-on teleported behind Corbis she moved so fast. "It is in fact made with a glass cultivar that has very little bitter flavor but retains ample caffiene quantities, mixed in equal measure with salaja imported from the Rebant colonies. The bravan leaf denies the more acidic taste of the salaja liquor and grants it a minty kick! It is a very sophisticated blend and also has an inordinately high alcohol content, mitigated by the small cup size. Tell me you do not like it, I challenge you to this very thing."

Corbis shook his head. "Dad taught me never take a bet you've already lost."

"A very wise man to have a very wise saying, and moreso wise are you to use it!" Afternoon Sale said. Satisfied in another conquest, she traipsed about to the next set of customers in need of her expertise.

"It's funny," Yhelm started over, "how it works like that. I was born into a freeperson's life. I choose adversary. I say 'chose,' I'd argue being yourself isn't a choice, but, all the same. You're a freeperson, but you were born adversary. It's a curious parallel. I think I should like you less than I do, but for it. You're an abrasive dick half the time--"

"Oh," Corbis interrupted, smiling, "oh you love that about me though. You choose every time to get into fights with me and goad me on. It feeds your duldge, Fig me not."

Yhelm rolled her eyes dramatically enough that Corbis could see it in the dimmer light.

Corbis' drink was already near-empty. The leaf sat at the bottom, a thin layer of green coffee swirling atop it as he gestured with his cup. "So what is all this, you're doubting your life in the guild now?"

"I've been reconnecting with my family lately. And I had--something of a talk with the Arbitrator. And she--I guess she made me feel bad about some of this? I guess?"

"… shit, okay, I see where this is," Corbis said. He drank the last of his coffee and ate the leaf right out of the cup, grimaced at the mint overload, and forced himself to finish it anyway. "You're not looking to go straight, are you? You got reminded some of the bad parts of the life you need me to remind you of the good, that's it, right? You want me to talk you out of quitting."

Yhelm answered with a drag of her coffee.

"Well, okay, here's the baculum of it. I'm gonna give it to you, nice and peeled."

"Ugh."

Corbis waved away her disgust. "If you really liked college you'd be there. Having your paper fights in the greenlight. But that's polite and fake and you know it. It's fake and you're an adversary. Guild is real. You don't have to fucking, wear six masks and swap 'em out depending on who you're talking to. You got a problem in the workplace you don't, I don't know, have to worry about your grant money and your advisors and whatever they have in college. You don't sit there and go, humdeedledee. Fuck I don't know how publishing works but you aren't arguing with your, what do you greenlights get, magic editors? Publishers? You're an adversary. You have a problem you fix it. Someone disrespects you they pay for it. People don't respect you 'cause a piece of paper you bought, they respect you because you have power. And you have power. And all of that is how an adversary wants to live. You can trust me in that, because with all the freedom Meadoe gave me I choose to be her boyfriend's child instead. And now here's the real good stuff, the top shelf I'm holding out on, I'm gonna reach on up and take it down just for you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Most of the guild is just poor people trying to fucking survive this mess Flyhh dumped us into. And we ain't Apat, we ain't building a party-dome to die in, when a guild in good standing's in trouble, needs something, we play the heroes the Rose Knights pretend they are. That's really why you're guild, cutie. Because you're a hardcore servant-in-the-biblical-sense. You don't have to play games with anyone. And now and then you get to do some good too. So. Dad has me go around to retired guilders who did enough guildshare for a lifetime. Drop off their pension. Make sure they're alive and healthy. Keep them from getting lonely. So you'll be taking that over for me for a bit. How's that sound?"

Yhelm finished the last of her coffee. There was a thin, too-sweet sludge at the bottom of the cup she licked up in a single slurp. It made her fur stand up and it was great. "You want me to go keep old people company."

"Aiax's folly Yhelm you're complaining you had to see something too rough to sleep through and I'm offering you some feel-good work. Take it."

"I will. Thank you. You're not the worst boss, Corbis."

"You're not the most useless enforcer I have to babysit," he said gracefully.

Yhelm spun her cup on its plate, by the handle, in counter-clockwise circles. "You know, I honestly didn't expect you to be so well thought-out."

"Pfft. I'm the boss. You think I can get away with just shouting a lot I have to know what things are." The smirky grin so well worn into Corbis' face eroded a moment. "You ever read Murmur's writings?"

"Murmur. You mean Figments' Servant, Murmur?"

"A person as a fixed crystal."

"Since when the fuck do you know phil--" Yhelm started, and then considered what Murmur, Servant of Figments and God of Philosophy, had actually written 5,000 years ago, and stopped. "We appear differently to different people because of the angle they approach us from and how their own structure reflects light onto us."

Corbis pointed at her with a 'I got you' look. "I have to be in charge. And you have to be full of stupid ideas and go around fucking up all the time. So I have to yell at you and be an ass. I don't think life's so complicated you have to spend your whole life sitting around thinking about it, but that doesn't mean I haven't done my thinking on it already either. Come at me from an angle other than bratty know-it-all college-girl-turned-thug I can give you other angles of me too."

Purely because it would be an appropriate and useful way to delay responding, Yhelm wished she had more coffee to sip. "That's fair. I think I prefer this angle over the Corbis who makes me wait for him to finish jerking off before he tells me what my job for the day is."

"Oh that's too bad, college girl, that Corbis you're gonna see from every angle. Can't help it. Just how your light reflects onto me, you know? That's my way of saying you're too hot to help it."

Yhelm sunk in her chair. "We've fucked already, dude. You can stop hitting on me."

"Unless I'm not trying to get you to fuck me," Corbis said, leaning over, "but just trying to make you miserable, 'cause it's funny to me."

"Sonofabitch."

"And you make it so easy, too!"

[118eddie]

The entire flood of Eddie's blood came to his face. "Abuela!" he said, maybe louder than intended, but he then chuckled and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?" he said, to which she simply huffed. "I used to change your dirty diapers. You don't think I can tell when my nieto has fallen in love for someone?" Her smile then turned fond. "I can't remember the last time I saw you looking at somebody the way you look at him, mijo." It was pretty obvious she was referring to the early years of his relationship with Shannon, where they shared a similar sentiment, and they thought they were meant to be, in every possible way. But they were also very young, and very naive.

He huffed too. "Wellll... I wouldn't call it 'pining'" he started saying, which got him a good elbow on the ribs from his grandmother, who then proceeded to take the plates, already filled with food outside. When she was out of earshot he leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Maybe a little bit" he said, then smiled at him and they both got back out the door, holding the remaining of the plates. The lunch went on smoothly, mostly with Eddie trying to decide when it would be a good time to talk about what they needed to talk about. Eventually, it came down to cake and coffee time, which left a lot less plates on the table, which was good, considering the possibility of having some of those flying over their heads.

"Mom, dad- There's something I've been wanting to tell you, and as happy as it makes me, I feel it's not fair of me to share that happiness with the people who means so much to me, my family. I... um, I've been struggling with myself, for a long time now. With the things I thought I wanted for myself at one point. I chugged it all down to simply being 'confused', and then I met Shannon, and I thought that every single doubt had gone away. I loved her dearly, until the day she died, and in a way, I'll always love her for giving me the biggest blessing of my life, Christopher." He looked at his son and smiled, and the boy smiled broadly back at him. "I love you too, dad!" he chimed.

He nodded back at him, then turned his attention back to his parents. "But ever since- From about two, almost three years now, I've started to question myself, again. About what I wanted, about... who I wanted to be with. And it took me a while to stop fooling myself, and finally taking that step that would allow me to be happy again..." The look in his parents' face let him they were doing their best to process what they were listening. "So... what are you trying to say, mijo?" his mother finally asked, and Eddie took a deep breath. "I... am bisexual, mom. Dad. I like both... women, and men. Always have. I just made the choice not to allow myself to explore anything more, especially after I met Shanon." There was a frown on the older Diaz' face. "You said this happened, or whatever three years ago... That's the time when you moved to Los Angeles." It was only then that Eddie swallowed thickly. "Yeah, Dad..." he said, then reached out and placed his hand on top of Buck's. "It happened when I met him."

118eddie​:

YOU ARE FAMILY || BUDDIE (APRIL 9TH)

Eddie gave Buck a hard look, and then turned to look at his parents. “If I even see you pulling out the photoalbum, I swear-” He was half joking, half serious, since last thing he wanted was to be embarrassed in front of his boyfriend. But he went along with the teasing and followed Buck inside the kitchen, where they busied themselves into setting the plates with food up. “No sane person in the world would even think of hating you, Buck. You’re like, the nicest guy anyone could meet” he said, using all his restrain not to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, not yet, at least. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see” Eddie said, then Isabel was standing behind them, each of her hands holding their shoulders. “Edmundo is right, Buck. You’re nicest, likable and cutest guy in the world! Besides-” She lowered her voice, so that only they could hear her. “They’re not going to dislike someone Eddie loves so much, are they?” Eddie’s eyes went wide like plates, his eyes going from his grandmother to Buck. “You.. knew?”

Buck hummed, wishing he could believe Eddie. Sometimes people thought he was too friendly. People always seemed to think he was flirting with them when he wasn’t. Even long before he and Eddie had got together, he’d not really been interested in flirting with any random woman he met. He’d wanted something real, something meaningful. Of course, then he’d been blind to the fact it was right in front of him but at least he’d got there in the end. And he wasn’t sure if Eddie’s parents views on him would change the second they found out he was the one dating his son. A man. Would they approve?

Isabel’s hand on his shoulder made him jump, so caught up in his own thoughts and he was sure Buck’s face echoed Eddie’s at the words said after she lowered her voice. And then he remembered who he was talking to... of course she knew. Eddie’s grandmother was one of the most observant people he’d ever met. “How long have you known?” He asked her and she made a pah sound, waving her hand. “You two have been making love eyes at each other since you met - “ “We’ve only been dating a few months,” Buck protested weakly, and she patted his cheek, “I know. You’re lucky you’re cute because it took you a long time to catch up - Edmundo was not good at hiding his pining even when he thought I did not know.” Buck smirked sideways at Eddie, “pining for me, were you?”