#and we might have seen both sets but they’re hard to tell apart at this age

[fruitgoat]

One thing I really love about young fawns is their complete inability to chill. In another month they will be able to walk calmly and nap in the shade. But for now everything is done with, at bare minimum, a frolic.

[bi-writes]

If you have time I am kindly asking for Simon and the teams POV on the arranged marriage fic!! Like why they put that ad out! I also think they’re silly for doing the whole ceremony in their gear 👉👈

the arrangement prequel

it wasn't much of a choice. ghost knew this was coming, knew this might happen--disciplinary action from the increasingly...unorthodox ways he was coming back from an op.

one too many times, a capture or kill became looking for the pieces of their target scattered across the field. an accident on the way back to interrogation--he doesn't know how his blade ended up embedded in their mark's throat. he misfired his gun--it's too bad it went straight through that prisoner's forehead.

disobeying without saying no. taking matters into his own hands without exactly defying the rules. ghost had been walking along the boundary line for a long while, and he knew eventually someone would realize the risks he was taking.

it was kate's idea. ghost needed something to chew on, something to satiate the hunger in his bones. a companionship, is what she tells price, but even he knew that was a stretch. anything given to ghost would surely be shredded apart on impact. anything that belongs to him ends up tucked underneath layers of shadows, not to be seen again.

but ghost is the best at what he does. all kate needs is for him to fucking listen once in a while.

when they ride back in the humvee, ghost is fiddling with the chamber of his pistol when price speaks up.

"got somethin' new," he says, looking into the rearview mirror. the sergeants shuffle a little closer to hear him. "new program between CIA and SAS. pilot program, not...exactly routine. but they'd like one of you lot to be the first to participate."

"what is it?"

price clears his throat, "the legality is a grey area. but both parties need to be willing."

"spit it out, cap'n."

"an arrangement of sorts," he says finally. "it's...not a secret 's hard to keep a bird with the things we do...always away, hard to reach. but you're the best at what you do, and i think if you take it seriously, it could be good for one of ya."

soap snorts. "cap'n, ye wanna play matchmaker with us? see if we're worthy of little bonnie spies?"

price snorts, rolling his eyes, "i need you to set an example, is what i need. i need one of you to step forward."

ghost looks up when he says that. his eyes flicker, and he looks at his captain, who keeps his eyes on the road as he drives. he hears what price doesn't say. this is your punishment, he imagines. and you will take it and not say a word, like the lieutenant that you are.

in the dark of his room later that evening, he opens the file with your name typed across the front. CONFIDENTIAL it reads, and he flips the manila folder to spread your profile out onto the desk.

you're smiling in the first photo. it's a headshot, from high school maybe, from college, a pretty photo of you beaming at a camera with a nice background. he eyes your height, weight, measurements, the skills they've identified and the answers to your questions about why you want to participate in the program.

Q: What kind of partner are you looking for? A: Resistant. Unmovable. Loyal.

Q: Why do you want to participate in this program? A: I'm tired of being disappointed.

Q: What are some of the qualities you possess you would like your partner to know about you? A: I'm not afraid of what I don't know.

short answers, straight to the point. affirmative and honest, with no room for interpretation. ghost doesn't need interpretation; he knows what it is you're saying.

when he looks back at your picture, he brings it closer, narrowing his eyes as he studies you. the smile you wear, while beautiful, isn't real. it's a persona, a ruse, a costume that you wear to put the outside world at ease. you understand that a smile makes you agreeable, but he knows, somehow he knows, that there must be a tick that you feel that no one is able to quiet, an anger and a lilt to the soft voice you must speak in that carries the weight of your defiance and your disappointment with everything the world is that you thought it wouldn't be.

ghost isn't told that the program is a lie. you aren't an operative for the CIA, you aren't some kind of spy in need of company. when he reads the rest of your file, he is amused because he knows the rest is made-up bullshit that doesn't apply to you. you are as civilian as they come, but with how well you lie, he wonders if you should be recruited just for that.

with just a little training, he thinks perhaps you might be everything your country needs and more. a little blood wouldn't scare you.

it's weeks later when ghost eyes the date on his calendar. he has marked it with an X, black marker haphazardly traced there to indicate the day. he told price he doesn't want bells and whistles--no music, no men, no party. an unmarked room and his bride is all that is necessary.

he steps outside to smoke a cigarette. he sucks on it gently, blowing it out to the side, and he eyes the car that pulls onto base carefully. when price steps out of the drivers' seat, ghost stubs out the cigarette and turns the corner. he catches a glimpse of a lace veil before he disappears.

and when he steps into the room hours later, your back to him, he can't help the way his pupils dilate and the way his body goes rigid with rage. there you are, standing there, in white silk and lace, your back to him but the picture of elegance and the presence of something honestly deserving.

it is only when he lifts the veil off of your face and sees those eyes that he understands what you are, what you wear.

a façade, a beautiful mask of your own, to cover up the ugly you hold on the inside.

he smiles under the mask when you kiss him over the fabric. because fuck, yes...he doesn't care where you have come from. he doesn't care that they lied about who you are, that they didn't tell him the truth, that in all honesty, they have given you to die and you don't know it--he doesn't care because it worked, at least for him. the finest flesh he has ever set his eyes on. he cannot wait to brand you for what you are worth.

if they meant to punish him for the crimes he has committed, he is sorry. because you are his reward, and there is no hell to pay.

[homestuckreplay]

acrobatically fucking pirouetting off the handle so hard i turn into my best friend

(page 607-614)

9/7/2009 Wheel Spin: Sburb Lore Verdict: i fucking wish :(

9/8/2009 Wheel Spin: Character Switch Verdict: HELL YEAH JOHN’S BACK !!!! :D

A couple of shorter updates compared to the bumper 13 pages on September 6, but it’s all relative, and would be silly to complain about.

The narration on p.607 tells Dave, ‘It is time to face your destiny.’ In the short term, this obviously refers to the trap that Dave’s bro has set up for him, but it also gets me thinking about whether destiny more broadly will play a role in this story, and if so, what Dave’s might be. On p.293, GG – who appears to have knowledge their friends don’t share – theorizes that saving the world is John’s destiny. Nannasprite in her exposition refers to John’s ‘purpose’ (p.427) but it’s left very unclear whether this is a fantasy-novel style Prophesized Destiny, or just a result of John choosing to play Sburb.

I think this might be intentionally vague in the story right now, either to allow for readers to theorize, or because Hussie hasn’t yet decided the exact nature of the story. However, when destiny is a theme in fantasy, a chosen one's destiny is usually to defeat a great evil. I think it'd be neat if Dave's destiny was actually to defeat Bro once and for all - probably the most evil character we've seen yet, and certainly the one who's most affected Dave's life - which would make this line on p.607 end up looking really prophetic and bringing things full circle.

I am wondering just how many Smuppets Bro owns, and what the turnover rate is like. There’s at least 20 in the puppet pile Dave’s stuck in, and a lot of them get sliced in half. Bro needs these for work and has a large collection to draw on at any time, but they’re regularly getting destroyed, so logistically I am imagining a large crate of a couple hundred Smuppets showing up at the apartment each week, which is a horrendous thought. No wonder they are in Dave’s dreams. The ‘puppets per square meter’ and ‘new puppets per day’ are probably much higher numbers than the equivalent for harlequins or wizards in John and Rose’s houses. If these decorative choices represent sources of alienation and anxiety for the kids this could suggest that Dave’s mental state is even worse than that of his friends.

Also I think that if Bro really wants to be Jigsaw so bad he needs to put some variety into his traps. Puppets every time is nowhere near as creative as the saw traps in the movie.

Page 611 repeats a Dave-Rose Pesterlog from p.522. I like when this happens – it clarifies where we are in the timeline, as well as giving the characters equal importance while showing both perspectives. Earlier when Dave referred to himself as ‘enrobed in chafing, wriggling god fucking damned puppet pelvis’ I did think he was exaggerating for effect, and was just describing the puppet-strewn living room with an overactive imagination. Reading this for a second time knowing that Dave is being extremely literal is very different – it feels like someone begging to be taken seriously and failing, instead of someone committing to the mutually constituted bit.

Dave’s bro referencing Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff – ‘where doing it man where MAKING THIS HAPEN’ – on a sinister note pinned to the crawlspace hatch with a weapon feels really insidious. Taking this piece of art that Dave made and is proud of, and turning it into something threatening, is upsetting to me. What does Dave get to have for himself? Is there an aspect of his life that his bro doesn’t twist into something evil? Does Bro know about Dave’s friends, and if so, does he work them into his schemes too? And yet it’s effective despite all this – it does provoke Dave into action, jumping up and escaping the puppet prison, leaving Dave’s story on the cliffhanger of what exactly Bro wants to ‘make hapen’ as we smashcut to John.

I am very excited to see what John and Rose get up to and I hope it is not famous last words to say that it will surely be less disturbing than what is happening with Dave. At the very least, I feel lighter and freer knowing that I don’t have to think about Dave’s bro for a few days.

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Aiden’s Worst Day

They do not speak of it.

Lambert thought for sure he’d seen Aiden in every state of panic there was. After all, they’re witchers. They go through hell on a daily basis and get a kick in the ass as thanks.

But this had been different.

“Where is it?!”

They’d been traveling all day. The last town hadn’t been friendly, but they’d at least let them stay the night at the inn for only slightly too much coin. Even so, Lambert had been happy to pack early and get the fuck out of dodge before most of the towns people woke up.

Now, they were in the middle of the woods somewhere. Their horses were tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing, munching on some grass. Lambert was busy cooking the rabbits he and Aiden had been able to catch for dinner. Aiden was setting up their bed rolls.

Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

Currently he was shaking all the bedding apart and onto the ground.

“Where’s what?”

“Aife!”

Lambert went still.

“She’s not in the bedding bag?”

Aiden had started to dig through their other bags. Lambert had never quite seen him like this. So frantic.

Well… maybe that time they’d been fucking around and Aiden had stabbed him a bit too well…

“No! I double checked! You said you packed her!”

“I could have sworn I did.” Lambert abandoned the fire and their dinner to start looking through more bags. “She’s gotta be here somewhere, damn it.”

After several minutes of looking through their clothes, their rations, and triple checking their bedding, it became clear that Miss Aife was nowhere to be found.

Aiden plopped down on the ground and began to cry. Lambert had never been good at this sort of thing, comforting. But he put an arm around Aiden and did his best.

“I haven’t gone a night without her since the trials.”

“I must have forgotten her back at that inn. We’ll go back and get her. I promise.”

“We’ll have to wait till morning to travel… the sun is already down.”

“Fuck, I know. I’m sorry.”

Lambert went back to the rabbits after a few minutes. He was able to coax Aiden into eating a bit before putting them both to bed.

He held Aiden all night. Neither of them slept much.

—————————————————————————

The next morning, they were up and on the path before the sun had truly risen. They barely stopped to relieve themselves all the way back to that fucking town.

When they arrived at the inn, the few people there all stopped to glare at them. Aiden stayed by the door as Lambert approached the counter.

“What d’you two want? ‘Nother room?” The innkeeper’s tone and expression made it very clear they weren’t welcome.

“No. We left something here the other night. We’ve just come to get it back.”

“Wasn’t nothin’ there but the beddin’ when I cleaned it.” The grimace on his face made it clear he disapproved of the evidence of his and Aiden’s evening activities that were surely still on the sheets the next day. “So you’s can leave now.”

“No! It has to be here!” Aiden had clearly lost his temper and was stomping to the counter. “We’ve checked all our things and we didn’t go anywhere else. Now give it back!”

“I said there ain’t nothin’ of yours here! Now get out!”

Aiden looked ready to launch himself over the counter and tackle the innkeeper. Normally, Lambart wouldn’t have stopped him, watching Aiden kick ass was one of the best sights on the continent, but they were on a mission. They wouldn’t get Miss Aife back if they were run out of town.

Fuck, he hates having to be the rational one.

So he grabs Aiden and hauls him out of the inn. Aiden is fighting so hard to get at the innkeeper that by the time Lambart has dragged him to the alley his arm is bleeding.

“Calm down, cat, we aren’t done here, but you need to calm down. We can’t save Aife if the whole town wants us dead.”

That seems to do it. Aiden deflates and chokes on a sob. “He must have taken her. Given her to some snot nosed kid…”

“Yeah, probably.” Lambert doesn’t have the heart to tell Aiden the innkeeper might have thrown her away, or worse. “So we’re just going to have to think of another way to get her, ok?”

“Ok.”

They leave.

They make camp in the woods just outside of the town. There’s not much daylight left, but enough to eat and make a plan.

They decide that they can’t directly confront the innkeeper again, and they can’t directly harm someone. But they can threaten.

“Maybe if we make enough bombs and demand Aife back ‘or we’ll blow the whole town up, us with it,’ we’ll get her back.”

“Create a hostage situation?”

“Pretty much.”

“And then never come back to this shithole again. Let’s do it.”

Lambert has always believed that any problem can be solved with the proper application of explosives, as long as you aren’t around when they go off. Having Aiden on board, he grabbed his bomb making kit.

Lambert opened the bag and there, right on top of all the explosives ingredient bottles, was a pink unicorn stuffy. The fabric of her fur so old that it wasn’t really pink anymore. The yarn main and tail coming apart would look more like hair if it weren’t a tangled mess. The horn had a blue patch sewn onto it where it had been ripped open once. One button eye mismatched from the other, clearly a replacement, but sewn on with care one can only give to a beloved childhood toy.

Lambert stood staring down at his bag a bit too long because Aiden got up and started to walk over. “What’s the matter? Did they steal your explosives too?!”

“No,” Lambart swallowed and gently picked the stuffed unicorn up and held it out to Aiden. “But we don’t need to blow anything up today.” Usually, Lambert would be upset by that, but right now he’s just relieved.

Aiden let out a sound that Lambert would never have guessed he was capable of. He ran the last few steps and snatched the unicorn out of Lambart’s hand, crushing it to his body in a hug.

“Miss Aife! Oh, thank the god you’re ok! I was so worried.”

“I must have accidentally put her in this bag. I’m sorry, Aiden.”

Aiden wasn’t listening. He had sat down and started to cry while holding his unicorn like a life line.

Lambert got out the bedrolls and somehow managed to get Aiden onto one. He was asleep within a few minutes. Worn out from all the worry, stress, and lack of sleep from the night before.

Lambert sighed as he watched his lover sleep, stuffy still clutched tightly in his arms. He knew that Aiden would be mad about it tomorrow, but for now, Lambert was just happy he was content and sleeping.

—————————————————————————

He was wrong. Aiden didn’t act mad the next day. (At least, not mad at Lambert.) He didn’t talk about it at all.

“Let’s get going. I’m sick of this fucking town and I never want to come back here.”

“Ok, cat. Let’s go.”

He watched as Aiden carefully made sure Miss Aife was put into the bedding bag, where she belongs during the day. Double and triple checking before he finally mounts his own horse. They set out back the way they had come the day before.

They never speak of it again.

(This is a follow up to a post I made a little bit ago detailing the Kaer Moron’s different best and worst days. I didn’t know how to summarize this one for Aiden’s worst day. I hope you enjoyed it.)

@toi-monogatari @0dde11eth

[sisterofficerlucychen]

Favourite chenford scene so far & why?

this is so hard, there are so many to choose from! lmao. i have to do two because that’s what i could narrow it down to, pre-canon and canon: 

pre-canon

2x11 has a special place in my angst filled heart - tim finding lucy, digging her out with his bare hands, pulling her out of the barrel, and bringing her back to life altered my brain chemistry. the entire episode was so good but that scene in particular like the build up to it was beautiful and so crucial to how it pivoted chenford’s trajectory. i think that this was the scene where you could really tell how much they cared about each other and how it was so much more than a rookie/t.o. relationship. i don’t think there were romantic feelings there yet but i do think that it set the foundation for them to get where they’re at. i think it was crucial for tim to find her giving how guilty he was and how we saw that he would stop at nothing to get lucy back. the entire montage of how he sees the ring in the middle of the desert and he knows it doesn’t belong, the fact that he goes to it and picks it up and knows it’s hers. that just sticks out to me so much because it’s not like she wore it on duty like the couple of times i saw her wear it prior to 2x11 was always off shift so he must have seen her wearing it while they weren’t on duty and up until then, it wasn’t like they spent as much time together off the clock? and he’s digging with his bare hands. they all are at first but then someone brings a few shovels and he continues to dig like the desperation he must feel knowing that she’s underground and locked in the barrel that he can’t even stop for a minute to grab a tool which may make it easier for him. the fact that he’s the one who pulls lucy out like it feels almost full circle to the begging of the episode in a way because while all of them were worried about her, i’d argue that he was the one who showed the most concern or seemed the most affected. and she’s gone like they don’t get to her in time but he brings her back. he holds her and keeps her safe as completely falls apart.

canon

this was hard to narrow down because i have loved every single chenford canon moment but i think i have to go with 5x20, that last scene with them on the couch. i'm such a sucker for tim and lucy comforting each other so it was really sweet to see them do that. but also, that scene just had so much weight to it?? they both said so much without actually saying anything. the fact that it started with lucy admitting she's worried about tim if she goes deep undercover despite the fact that she's the one who we've seen react so sadly every time tim brings up how their professional careers might have them seeing each other less. but the moment she actually says this, it's like they finally (somewhat) address the (new) elephant in the room because up until this point tim has been nothing but supportive - and he still is but you can see in his reaction once he pulls her in, how hard he's trying. the way he sighs, how his hand strokes her thigh, the way he closes his eyes and shakes his head because something came to mind and he has to brush it off. lucy's reaction is just as important too. the way she touches her chin reminded me so much of 4x01 when tim let go after the hug and she was so conflicted. i think she's just as conflicted now. i think that the reason i really loved this scene is because of how they're reaching a boiling point. they've been in this absolute bliss these last couple of months and while they still are, they're also realizing that there's a reality in front of them that they can't quite ignore. i really liked that scene bc a. chenford canon angst which we haven't really seen but b. it felt like it was laying the groundwork for what's to come because clearly the resolution to this is missing and i am excited for it because at the end of the day, they'll be okay, but it will be interesting to see how it fleshes out.

[goldenfreddys]

september ‘04, cont.— ndn summer, babe!

A batch of frybread didn't take much: just flour, oil, water and a little bit of baking powder. Simple, easy, difficult to mess up. Most vitally, Nadia liked it. She liked it when she was sad, when she was sick, and even when she seemed to have lost her appetite completely.

Jeremy had one of his mixtapes playing quietly from an old stereo on the counter as he cooked. The dough had been largely trial and error, given measuring spoons weren't exactly on the top of the priority list when it came to getting stuff for their apartment, but it looked good nonetheless.

He flinched hard as a sudden knock came on the door. The puck of dough he was holding hit the oil with a tad too much force, sending small, hot droplets onto his hands.

Jeremy swore quietly and rushed to run some cold tap water over his skin. Another string of knocks.

“Can y'all hold your horses for a minute?!”

He heard a muffled apology from outside. After a couple seconds, he turned off the tap and dried his hands. He twisted the knob on the stove to low heat then headed over to open the door.

Two people stood outside.

“Hey, cousin!” The girl with straight brown hair and long, beaded tassel earrings greeted him.

Jeremy started quickly adding up her features in his head.

“... Chantelle?”

“And Tate. We brought food.” Her older brother added, holding out a foil covered dish.

Both of them were taller than Jeremy remembered, though that was unsurprising given how long ago he last saw them in person. He vaguely remembered spending a summer—maybe sophomore year—with his uncle and cousins, helping them work the trapline. The mosquitos were thick as a veil that year.

Jeremy let them in, then went back to the stove to finish cooking the frybread, nodding along as Chantelle chattered.

“So where are you workin’ now, Remy?”

“Stuck doing graveyard shifts as a security guard.” he said, far more focused on trying to flip the frybread with a fork against the side of the pan without splashing more oil on himself.

“She asked where.” Tate interjected flatly.

The dough sizzled. He managed to get the bottom side perfectly fried, which was a rare feat to accomplish on the first piece— usually, you had to poke around a bit with the stove temperature and cooking time as you went.

“Sorry, uh... One sec.”

Jeremy grabbed a paper plate from the cupboard and put it down by the stove before continuing hesitantly, “... The new pizza place.”

“Freddy’s? Say sike,” Chantelle groaned.

“I told you not to go promising auntie we’d look out for his dumb ass. Doomed from the start.”

“My bad. I assumed most people wouldn't wanna work at the murder arcade.”

Though Chantelle was flippant about it, the way she spoke had a weight to it that surpassed the mere superstition that had surrounded the pizzeria for years. He felt like he might have missed a community notice from the municipality reminding him that the animatronics at the local Freddy’s Pizza, for reasons unknown, become lethally aggressive at night.

Jeremy sighed, “It- uh, gets worse. I’m only making 6.75 an hour, too.”

“My friend’s brother worked there for a while. They haven’t seen him in weeks, but someone found his car in the lake a few days ago.” Chantelle stated, “Not like the cops are gonna do anything, though. They’re fuckin’ allergic to the place.”

“I know. It’s temporary.”

“That’s what everyone says! Then they get killed or get real fucked up, like that Afton guy.”

“Said I know.” Jeremy repeated, though it came out much harsher than he wanted, “... Sorry. I-I just gotta make rent until I hear back from somewhere else, okay?”

He piled hot frybread onto the paper plate and set it down on the beat-up dinner table Nadia had snagged off the side of the road. The room was in desperate need of a subject change.

“You gonna tell me what you brought?”

“Rabbit roast. Dad cut off the head so you wouldn't act like a baby about it.” Tate nudged him teasingly.

“Tell him I said thanks.”

Jeremy felt deep in his gut that this was going to be a phenomenal mistake; though, in his head, he felt a fresh wave of nauseating pain shooting through his temples.

Eventually, his cousins went on their way. Jeremy switched the stereo off, then sighed.

Though he’d spent the duration of their visit waiting for them to leave, a feeling of dread began to pool in his chest. Dimly, thick-fingered beams of light reached through the partially drawn blinds above the sink.

He forced himself to step away from the counter. The pills Dr. Miller gave him were still in his bag, which was on a chair by the door. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. The bottle was orange with a child resistant cap—fairly standard affair—though entirely unlabelled. No instructions on dosage, nor how and when to take them. Hesitantly, he opened the bottle and took one of the round tablets out. Light purple, round, no imprint number, scored on one side.

The taste of coppery tap water lingered in his mouth with something oddly sweet after he swallowed the tablet.

[crimeloyalty-arch]

"For once in your life, what is it that you want?"

harley wishes that sue would just yell. she knows how to respond to anger,  to sharpness,  but sue only ever gives her patience,  no matter how hard harley pushes.  it disarms her in a way she can’t admit but that sue can see anyways,  and harley whimpers,  pushing her hips towards sue.  she’s wearing a bright red lingerie set with so many straps that it’s nearly impossible to get off without tearing,  cut just so the bat symbol on her lower back is on full display.  the red perfectly matches the ropes binding her hands to the headboard -- and her wrists are beginning to turn the same shade,  from where she’s been pulling and pulling and pulling to get free. 

she looks up at sue,  mascara already streaking down her face, with those big blue eyes that only seem to say i did this for you.  i put this on for you.  i waited for you. for you,  for you,  for you. 

“ fuck me, ” she pleads,  spreading her legs wider,  but even she can tell that she doesn’t mean it.  susan presses her hand to harley’s cheek,  and she whimpers again,  squirms until she can press her thigh between susan’s legs. “ please.  please.  you want to. i know that you want to.  c’mon,  i’m ready. ”

if she doesn’t put out,  sue’s not going to come back.  harleen knows that she’s only good for one thing,  and it’s never been her personality. but sue’s unmoved,  reaching for the ropes keeping harley in place.  she unties her,  then pulls her into her lap,  wrapping her arms tightly around the younger blonde as panic sets in. 

“ i’m okay, ”  harley gasps, even as she shakes in sue’s arms. “ i’m okay,  i’m okay,  i just need a minute -- ”

it’s more than a minute.  it’s far more than a minute.  it’s the first time that anyone except for joker has seen her have a panic attack,  and the first time harleen’s wholly fallen apart in front of sue. the other’s gentle reassurances slowly guide her back to herself,  and after several whimpered apologies ( and more than one attempt to slip her hand in between sue’s legs ), she’s nearly calm in sue’s arms. 

( calm -- or catatonic. ) 

“ we can still -- ”  she offers,  but it’s monotone,  unenthusiastic.  sue shakes her head,  running her hand through harley’s hair.  she asks her,  again,  what she wants -- the question that sparked this episode.  harleen’s quiet,  and sue,  to her credit,  doesn’t tense.  she just continues to run her fingers through harley’s hair. 

“ can we watch a movie? ”  she finally whispers,  as if the request might offend the other woman badly enough to send her on her way.  “ something with julia roberts,  maybe?  do you like her?  and -- ” she swallows,  hard.  has to reach for the glass of water that sue got her earlier ( as soon as she could leave harley’s side without harley wailing about it. ) “ and can you -- stay?  until breakfast? ”

it isn’t until much,  much later -- when they’re tucked under the covers,  when harleen’s tangled herself in sue,  holding her so tightly they might both have bruises -- that she whispers,  barely louder than a breath, “ can we please -- is it okay if we --  i don’t love being tied up. ” 

[sukirichi]

a thing or two (m.)

tutor geto has a thing or two to teach you.

cw. oral sex (f and m receiving), lube, unprotected sex, sweet! geto, halloween setting so priest! geto, age gap, slight body worship, fingering, overall romantic sex, kitchen counter sex, dirty talk, lots of kissing, mutual masturbation, intoxication, pwp, unedited as always eep

note. for my right boob @sixeyesgojo​ my first ever geto fic and i hope it’s to your liking...writing this with a frozen arm and numb fingers weeeee, i almost became a geto simp.

Halloween festivals have never felt livelier in the city. People dressed up in various outfits milled about the events place, your drink nearly sloshing on the ground the more they bumped into you. 

Bass and music boosted from the large speakers smack in the middle of the grounds, and everyone danced to their heart’s content, you and your friends a huge inclusion to the crowd.

You don’t really go out to parties that much. Hell, you don’t even drink.

But after numerous encouragements from your friends, you’re now dressed in she-devil skin-tight black dress, black lipstick, and red horns placed on your head. It’s hard not to feel confident and sexy – the kick of the liquor is settling down as well – when you’ve got human eyes, vampiric red eyes, ghoul sclera lenses and even a fucking Cyclops eye turning your way.

You’re excitedly grinding against your friends, the whoops and cheers mixing in with slurred mumbles of the lyrics.

The night is young and so are you. 

This may have been your third or fourth drink, you don’t really know, but probably some way along the second since you’re not really hammered. You’re somewhat sober enough to feel large hands gripping your hips, a protest of not tonight, Dracula about to leave your lips when you come face to face with a face you never thought you would see here.

Clad in a long black cloak, a silver cross hung around his neck, his dark hair in a neat bun and black earrings a perfect completion to the hauntingly stunning look he pulled off, your throat ran dry.

“Sir Geto?”

“Hey, it’s you,” your tutor spoke up with unmasked interest, his curious eyes trailing down your revealing outfit…the way your dress hugged all your curves and how your breasts are practically popping from your top. Geto smirked, “And please, we’re not studying at home, just call me Geto. Surprised to see you here.”

“Well, it’s Halloween, would be a shame if I didn’t go out,” laughing nervously, you found yourself acting out of habit as you twirled a strand of hair to your finger. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d have work.”

“Nah, the boys and I are free for tonight,” he answered with a grin, nodding to where his friends – a really tall white haired man and a bored blond who looks like he’s ready to leave anytime – dancing and drinking at the corner. Geto must’ve felt your unnecessary prolonged stare at his attractive friends for he’s pulling you closer again, not sexually or even hidden with motives, but because it’s hard to hear each other through the music.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” Nodding, you waved goodbye to your friends. They didn’t really notice considering they’re way too hammered and occupied dancing with others. Surely, they wouldn’t notice your little escapade.

Geto’s warm hands leads you somewhere out the bar and into the open grounds, where cups are already littered on the grass and people are drunkenly shaking their ass to everything and everyone.

It’s a ridiculous sight that has both you and Geto laughing.

“So…you liking the festival so far?”

“It’s…pretty fun,” you admit and loop your arms around him with ease. Normally, you wouldn’t be doing this. 

He may not be your actual professor or teacher, but he’s still a family friend of your friend who’s been tutoring you for the past semester and is basically the only reason you can endure math. Granted, he’s always been deadly attractive, but you’ve never really been affected by it, not up this close, anyway.

But you’re most definitely closer now, and Geto’s forehead is pressed against yours as he sways you both side to side.

“My first time drinking and I feel so light,” Geto hums at your slightly intoxicated eyes, his grin turning gummy when your curious hands trail up his robes to experimentally grope his pecs.

“First time, huh? We’ll I’ll be here to hold you up if you feel dizzy.”

“Thanks,” you beamed up at him. Geto, albeit being at least seven years older, feels so youthful that you’re not really bothered by the age gap. Again, it could be the alcohol, but he feels so warm, so nice, that you lean back to survey him this time around. “You look great, by the way, though you’re dressed up as…”

Geto rolls his eyes before you can finish.

“I know, the priest costume looks weird, but we found it pretty funny so here I am.”

“No, no, it looks great,” you wave off, your smile freezing on your face when a nostalgic song starts to blast through the speakers. In your head, in your head! “Zombies by the Cranberries. A classic.”

Geto’s hands snake around your waist before they hover over your ass, his eyes mischievous and slanted as he mumbles, “It’s a great song to dance with a perfect little devil with.”

You don’t know who leaned it first.

Not like it mattered, when Geto tasted strongly of strawberry flavored bear and cheesecake. An odd combination, even more so with his spicy cologne, but it only has you pulling you in closer to him.

He’s such a great kisser. Legs turned to jelly, knees weakening and lips locking in rhythm to the beat – it feels like it’s just the two of you in that moment. Geto smiles through the kiss, tongue prodding your lips to open before you’re gasping for air. Your attempt to regain air back to your lungs is cut off when Geto leans closer to slip his tongue inside your mouth, greedily sucking on it until you’re moaning in his arms.

Soon enough, you’re both holding on to each other to the point you might as well be fucking openly.

Geto is cupping your cheeks as he excitedly kisses you, his smiles intoxicating and the bubbling laughter he lets out much like music to your ears.

“Yo, Geto, are you sure about this? She looks like a minor, dude,” one of his friends speak up, and that’s when you see his white haired friend – who has extremely azure eyes that you can’t tell whether it’s contacts or not – crossing his arms on his chest, though his amused smirk said otherwise.

If anything, the guy is only suggestive, wiggling his brows up and down as he puts his fingers into a V shape, his tongue poked out.

You snort at his gestures, and just like how Geto did before, he turns your cheeks towards him again, his gaze feral and wanting. “I assure you,” Geto murmurs over your lips, “She’s not.” Eyes wide and all attention to him the way he wants, Geto’s smirk is cunning before he leans down to capture your lips in another heated kiss.

Stumbling back to his apartment turned out to be a lot more challenging. With the urgent need to relieve each other of this burning in your cores, you and Geto have made out everywhere, hands kneading each other’s skin until you fall awkwardly at his bed.

There’s no time to worry about it though. Not when he’s eagerly unbuttoning his robe, his dark hair messed up and a few strands shielding his eyes that glimmer when you struggle to squeeze out of your dress. He helps you get it off before he hovers over you, knocking your knee with his to make you fall open. You’re left completely vulnerable and naked under his predatory gaze, large hands smoothing over your skin – from your ankle, up to your thighs and the dips in your body, before he settles right above your breasts, nipples hard between his fingers.

“Fuck, you look stunning,” he praises, biting his lip at the same time you drunkenly giggle. “Bet you taste perfect too.”

“Only one way to find out, then.”

“Come here,” Get growls and rips off your panties, your half-hearted protests completely missed in his haze of pleasure. Upon seeing you bare for him, wet and pussy lips glistening, Geto groans deep in his chest. “Such a pretty pussy. Shoulda fucked you a long time ago when we were alone for so many hours,” curling his upper lip, he begins to settle down between your legs, peering up from you under his lashes as he teasingly blows air over your core that has you shivering. “I could’ve taught you so many more things, don’t you think?”

“Careful there, father, wouldn’t want you to sin tonight.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that to me tonight, sweetheart,” he laughs evilly, joined by you afterwards at the little teasings. “You’re a little devil and I’m nothing but a mortal man. Of course I’d fall to the consequences of my sinful desires.”

Sitting up with your elbows resting on the mattress, you tug him by his cross, hard. “Here’s your one way ticket to hell then,” you dared, letting your legs spread wider and pushing his head down. Geto inhales sharply when the tip of his nose nudges your clit, drawing out a shuddered moan from you. “Feast for yourself.”

“Hmm, you’re a whole ass fucking meal, baby,” he marveled, giving little teasing bites on your inner thigh that you’re sure would leave a mark. “I’m going to devour you.”

Geto isn’t kidding.

You clearly undermined him, or perhaps you knew all along what he could do and you just wanted to bring out this side for him, because riled up Geto who was excitedly sucking on your clit like a man starved had you seeing stars in the whites of his ceiling.

“Hnggrr, G-Geto, fuck!”

“Yeah, you like that?” he chuckles from your pussy, the vibrations of it sending electricity jolting down deep to your core. Geto begins to trail down, his tongue playfully poking your entrance as slick coats his muscle and cheeks, licking and kissing everywhere that you actually find it hard to keep quiet. Narrowing your eyes at him – and you wished you didn’t, because you’ve never seen a more lewd sight before – you slap your palm over your mouth, the only thing keeping your legs apart the strong grip he had on you. “Don’t be shy, babe. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves tonight. Scream as loud as you want. Let the neighbors hear how good I’m fucking you.”

“Y-you’re so lewd, fuck-” you announce, but the sounds of your squelching being sucked by his eager, unquenched self is even more lewd. “Geto, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Geto just pushes you over the edge, ignoring the way your thighs are shaking and you’re pushing him away once the overstimulation becomes too much to handle. You giggle when he sighs at not being able to eat you out anymore, but his glistening face is a lot more arousing than entertaining. Struggling to catch your breath, Geto smirks at how easily you’ve come undone, groaning as he wipes your juices with his thumb and licking his lips afterwards. He bends forward as he stares at you the whole while, slipping his digit through your mouth in a silent demand for you to taste yourself.

Never pulling away from holding his gaze, you wrap your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue and sucking just hard enough that he absentmindedly humps the air.

“You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up. You literally ate my soul out,” you stare at the trail of saliva connected to his finger, the image so fucking dirty yet arousing that you begin to clench around nothing. Meanwhile, Geto’s biceps flex as he runs his hand through his hair, and that’s when you see he’s so rock hard that he probably feels uncomfortable. “Do you want me to…?”

“You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“Seriously, Geto, you’re declining an offer to get your dick sucked?”

“I mean, I’m not against it but-” you shove his boxers down and immediately take him into your mouth, no foreplay at all, and your teeth graze his dick as you do so. Geto’s hips sutter forward in a knee-jerk movement he almost falls down on his bed, but catches him on the last second to not crush you. He ogled at your cock-stuffed mouth and puffy cheeks, his breaths sharp from the pleasure he’s receiving. “Sh-shit, not so fast, baby. I don’t want to cum like this.”

“Hmm.”

Staring up at him innocently, Geto closes his eyes and runs his finger through your locks, slightly bucking his hips deeper into your mouth. Even in his euphoria, Geto is careful to let you go at your own pace, though his self-controls falter a little bit the moment you fondle his balls.

His eyes snap open. Teeth bared and belly flexing, you keep rendering him frozen with how you take him in deeper until his hair is tickling your nose, cheeks sucked in and hollow as you slide his cock along your warm walls. “Oh, fuck, you’re really a fucking devil, right there, yeah,” he hisses, taking a handful of your hair so he could get a better look at you. “Well, who would’ve thought? Always seemingly so innocent. Who knew you could suck dick like this?”

“You like it,” you tease while pumping his shaft up and down and giving kitten licks to the head, where Geto smirks at you.

“Yeah, I love it,” he corrects, his cock twitching on your dainty hands that look so tiny in comparison to his girth. “But no way I’m coming tonight anywhere than your pussy,” Geto pushes you back down on the bed where he showers you with heated kisses, wrists pinned under his grip and hickeys left everywhere on your neck. His sticky fingers trail down your skin to finger you, the sensation too much, too good, too wrong, and that thought alone that’s been drumming into you as the intoxication fades away make you both pause.

“I-I…”

“It’s okay, just relax,” he reassures, withdrawing his fingers that can’t get past your pussy that has now tightened the minute he touched you down there. Geto sends you another approving glance before he pumps his shaft and up down, aligning it with your entrance and kissing you flat on the lips the whole time. “I’ll put it in, okay? Tell me if anything hurts.”

“Hey, hey. Breathe,” he cups your cheek while looking deep into your eyes, though that slight pinch on his forehead let you know he experienced the same discomfort.

Geto must’ve realized both of you aren’t getting anywhere tonight because soon, he’s falling back to this side, eyeing your pussy with longing and lust before his arm lands over his face.  “Well… Maybe not tonight.”

“Geto,” you begin, turning on your side in hopes of easing the pained frown on his face. “I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” he blinks at you and rests back on the pillows, his hand already wrapped around his hard, throbbing cock where the tip is leaking. “Let me just relieve myself. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”

You don’t know what you’re expecting, but definitely not for him to jack off right beside you. You watch; perplexed, awed, undeniably aroused as he holds your gaze, his jaw clenched and accentuating his sharp features more from the movement. Geto is absolutely shameless as he fucks his own fist that is cum-stained, beads of white pre-cum coating his incredibly thick shaft with thick veins.

It’s so wrong yet so fucking hot that you can’t help but do the same.

Sneaking your fingers down to your kitty, you rub your clit and bite your lip, pleasuring yourself the same way he does. Geto exhales in wonder from watching you masturbate, his muscles ripping and arm so buff, you wonder why he hasn’t folded you in half yet.

Oh right, you’re too anxious to ever have his dick inside you, yet you’re shamelessly rubbing circles in your clit. Spreading your pussy lips open, you slide your fingers down and collect your juices, gasping right beside Geto who’s angrily pumping his dick.

Geto suddenly leans back on his calves to stare at your pussy and jacks off, catching some cum from your pussy lips which makes you giggle in surprise, but he comes back to fisting himself. The eroticism of your actions pushed you both to the edge until the both of you came, his dick softening and his cum shooting all over your thighs.

“God, you’re so sexy, I could stare at you all day.”

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he breathes out in stuttered chuckles, throwing a leg over the bed as he stands to hs full naked, cum-stained glory. “Hey, I’ll clean you up. Do you want something to drink or eat? A glass of water, maybe?”

“That sounds great.”

Geto comes back with a shirt of a rock festival and wipes his cum from your stomach, then folds it to wipe your arousal off. He helps you settle inside his oversized shirt that is warm, comfortable, and smells so faintly of him that the exhaustion of tonight’s events is rapidly coming to you.

“Come here. It’s pretty cold tonight,” You gladly cuddle with him, your head laid on top of his buff arm while his free one is wrapped around you.“How’s your studies going? Do you understand math a little better now?”

Despite his innocent queries, his actions are everything but.

His hands are trailing up to slowly to stroke your nipples. Geto thumbs at the hardened peaks before he softly squeezes your breast, letting his hand repeatedly graze over your sensitive nipples as if it’s second nature to him. It turns you on so bad, but you’re exhausted and you’re rubbing your thighs together, sighing and quietly moaning every now and then.

“A-a little, I guess,” you answer, a little bit distracted. He’s modest and no longer aroused (judging from his state inside his boxers), so you try not to start something you’re not prepared to finish. “Hey, Geto, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you more of an ass or boobs person?”

Geto handles the question with ease. “As long as the proportions are right, I like both, and I like yours,” he grins, cupping your boobs in his hand as if to prove a point. Then, he tugs your (his) shirt up just enough to reveal the erect nipples, his eyes narrowed before he sucks lightly on the sides. You gasp at his ministrations but voice no complaints, and neither does he when your nails dig into his arm. “Yours are so beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” you playfully punch his chest, but Geto only chuckles and brings you closer to his chest, his lips warm on top of your forehead. “I’m pretty sleepy…”

“Then sleep. I’ll still be here tomorrow, don’t worry. You’re free to stay as long as you like.”

The next day, Geto is already gone from the room. You’re not worried because one) this is a one night stand with your hot tutor, you’re not supposed to be attached, and two) the smell of pancakes wafting from the slight crack of his door is very much present.

Stretching your arms out, you pad to where Geto is busy flipping pancakes. He’s already dressed comfortably in a white shirt and dark sweats, turning around to smile at you at the sound of your footsteps. “There’s a naked girl in my room? Wow.”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen everything last night.”

Geto doesn’t need to gesture you to come closer to him, you’re already too pulled in by his presence that you’re wrapping an arm around his neck while he kisses you flat on the lips.

“Doesn’t mean I get tired of it,” he teases, lips lingering above yours before he drifts down the crook your neck, voice deep and husky as he greets, “’Morning. Can you pass me the syrup?”

Nodding, you bend over the counter. The syrup is located in the bottom of the pantry and you’re halfway to opening the glass panels when you hear Geto shut off the stove. His hands come to grip on your hips as he grinds his hard cock on your exposed bottom, his lips hovering over your ear. “On second thought…I think I’ll have my meal a little differently.”

“G-Geto.”

“I bought lube while you were asleep. Maybe it’ll make you loosen a little bit?” Geto touches you down there, his eyes glimmering with mischief once he witnesses for himself your state. “You’re already wet babe,” he announces, proudly presenting his wet fingers right before your eyes. “Wait for me.”

Nervously, you fix your shirt and hair as Geto runs to the living room where he pulls out a bottle of lube and discards his shirt somewhere. He wastes no time in lifting you up to the counter where dives between your legs, and you’re tugging at his hair as his tongue eagerly licks your wetness.

“Geto, ah, stop playing around!”

“Wasn’t planning on it, babe, I’m a little impatient,” Geto stands up again to kiss you for a quick second before he grabs the lube and spreads it all over his cock, his fingers experimentally prying your hole open to see if you could take it.

Once his digit slides in with ease, you moan the same time he grins wickedly.

You think he’ll go straight for it but Geto takes his time with you, making sure you’re properly stretched open before he splits you in his half with his cock. He’s really thick, after all, and your tight little cunt needs to adjust well to make sure you enjoy it rather than be in pain. Once satisfied, you pull Geto by the collar and wrap one leg around his waist to bring him closer, gasping when his tip slides between your pussy lips.

Both of you are too lost in a daze of lust to be able to speak properly. One nod from you is all he needs before he’s slipping inside your warm walls, his head falling into the juncture of your neck where he keeps grunting on how good you feel around him.

You can’t help but scratch down his back the deeper he drives his hips, the mere movement of his cock sliding against the bumpy drags of your tissues making you fall apart.

Not a minute later, your shirt is bunched up under your breasts, free for Geto to suck on while he fucks the living daylights out of you. His knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping the counter, another hand planted right under your knee to keep your leg spread open for him. You’re moaning openly under him, strings of fuck yeah right there and shit, Geto, you feel so good filling in the early morning air that would’ve been innocent if there weren’t such loud sounds of skin slapping against skin mixing with the chirping birds.

You squeeze Geto’s ass as he plants himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that is both mind-numbing and exhilarating.

It’s hard to believe that just days ago, you’re in the exact same place sharing waffles with him, only you’re studying math and he’s wearing glasses; professional, formal, polite – the exact opposite of the sinful things he’s doing to you right now.

Geto’s grunts are almost choked in your ear as you come hard, walls convulsing and spasming around his thick length.

He immediately pulls out his hard cock to come all over your thighs instead, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing while his slippery dick is smeared and repeatedly slapping your inner thighs. You keep gasping as you ride out your orgasm, thighs burning from the uncomfortable stretch of having one leg propped by him and the other heel planted on the counters. Geto’s moans are deep, sinful, and inherently masculine the whole while he shoots his deep all over you, creating a mess both on the counter and on your skin.

It takes a while before you both regain your breath and composure, with Geto awkwardly pulling his pants up as he laughs along with you. “So…breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, “I’m famished.”

Safe to say, that morning was spent with not much enough breakfast, but definitely lots of kissing and even more fucking around. Everything Geto said the first time you met him had been proven true – he did have a thing or two to teach you.

[calling4glaives]

Here's a link to Part I. Let's continue with our look at Nyx's apartment.

What Nyx does have a lot of is books. He has this shelf and stack of books, and there’s another one by the front door. Two out of three shelves in this single-room apartment are filled with books. Are they mementos from Galahd? Is this just how Nyx prefers to spend his time? By the way, the first picture here is the opposite view of the very first image in part one, and shows the front door by which Nyx will leave to report to the Citadel. So you've seen most of the apartment at this point!

So if that's the front door, what is this door?

It has too high of a threshold to be a closet, and seems to have a lightswitch beside it. Might it be a very tiny bathroom, the kind where the whole thing doubles as a shower? It could also be a very tiny porch, but bathroom seems the most likely.

Next to the bathroom is this metal stand. There’s one in the back room of the arcade where Libertus meets the rebel bombers, as well, but that doesn't help us much. Our first thought was it’s an incense burner, perhaps, or maybe a very large candle stand. There’s no wick, but that looks like it might be melted wax, maybe from an oddly-shaped candle. For when the power goes out? Or religious purposes? In so sparse an apartment, surely it has some sort of significance. Do you have ideas for us? Drug paraphernalia?

Speaking of odd equipment, this set of items on the desk is interesting… My best guess is a shaving kit . I hope he’s not drinking from the shaving mug, though! Any other guesses? Why does he not do this in the bathroom? Where there is presumably a mirror? Long experience?

Okay, here’s the actual incense burner, and it’s very fancy. Any guesses as to whom this winged figure might be? There is smoke rising from it in several scenes, so we know it's not just decorative.

The other item in front of Nyx’s shrine/corkboard seems to be a simple votive candle, perhaps for lighting the incense, perhaps for the light. If hearths are so important that they’re used in the glaive battlecry, the fire could be a simulation of a central hearth in an apartment-safe way, though it’s not always burning like a hearth should be.

He does have an oven, it seems, which might also count as a hearth. He seems to keep the place impressively clean, for all that it’s run-down.

Over both windows are a set of iron bars. At first we wondered if the bars were part of a fire escape, but it looks like they are much closer than that, though it’s a bit hard to tell because the window is frosted. Might be a sign of the state of the neighborhood, or it might be to deter wandering glaives from warping in while drunk. It's a bit odd because Nyx's front door doesn't appear to even have a deadbolt.

Nyx has a very small, bare-bones TV, but he doesn’t actually appear to have a cell-phone and this is the most technologically advanced item in the apartment. It seems to have built-in speakers for peak efficiency, which might make sense with the janky wiring situation going on here. There doesn’t appear to be a game system or video player connected, not that we see anything that could be played on them, but the man does appear to have three chairs and three tables, so he seems to entertain guests despite that. Is this a different tech route indicative of Insomnia, or just a Nyx/Galahd thing?

Below the TV are two boxes. If we assume the rear door is a bathroom, that means there isn’t a closet, and we always see the same outfit on the clothesline. If Nyx has any other clothes (spare uniform parts, real socks, underwear) presumably they’re in one of these boxes. What might be in the other one? (Note that this picture is before Nyx gets Crowe’s effects, so that’s not one of the boxes).

Well, that was a lot of information! Let us know if we missed something (other than the corkboard) or any ideas you have! We’ll be back with a closer look at the neighborhood and Nyx’s board later this month.

Good luck with your creating!! Hope this helps!

[mackenzielovee]

Hi, I loved crazy love. Literally I become obsessed, so I was wondering if you could write something about them when they are moving to their new apartment near to college and both of their families are helping them to have everything in order, but Rafe only want them to leave to be all alone with you in their new home. Maybe a little bit of smut?

a/n: this idea had my heart bc i'd really been wanting to write something like this ;) i hope you enjoy! thanks so much for the request!

Warnings: swearing, smut, mentions of planned pregnancy, discussion of sex

crazy love masterlist

my writing

our home: crazy love blurb - rafe cameron

"No, no a little to the left. Ward, are you listening to me?"

You sigh as you set the very last box down on the kitchen counter, stealing a glance at Rafe, who is sitting on your new couch. His head is in his hands as he listens to his parents bicker back and forth, trying to hang up the painting they had bought the two of you. Rose had gushed over it when she bought it, telling you it would match the rest of your decor perfectly.

"Of course, darling. You're talking loud enough," Ward gripes, shifting the painting to the left as Rose demands.

"Oh, come on, now. Back over to the right-"

"It's straight!" Rafe raises his voice, standing up from the couch.

You inhale sharply and step into the living room of your new apartment, wrapping an arm around him to try and calm him down. Ever since his parents and Wheezie arrived with the moving truck to help you both, he's been on edge. When your parents showed up with Macy, you thought he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

"Actually, I think it might just be straight," Rose nods, "Good eye, Rafe."

"Thanks so much," he remarks sarcastically.

"Hey," you whisper to him, trying to tell him to quit being mean to his step-mom, "They're here to help, remember?"

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I could do this shit myself."

"Because you're such a handy man?" you snort.

Rafe clenches his jaw as he looks down at you, but can't help the smirk on his face. He pulls you closer to him, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Where did Macy and Wheezie go? They should start on those kitchen boxes," Rose tells Ward, stepping away from her husband to look for them.

"We can handle the kitchen boxes," Rafe tells her.

"Y/N?" Rose looks to you for a final answer.

You glance up at Rafe only for a second, noting the look on his face, then nod your head in agreement.

"I like the kitchen organized a certain way, anyway," you tell her with a smile.

She nods her head, "All right. Ward and I can start on your sheets-"

"Y/N's parents are taking care of that," Rafe informs her.

Wheezie and Macy come tumbling into the front door, running past all of you and into your bedroom with your parents.

"What the hell are those two up to?" Ward questions.

Wheezie and Macy have become as thick as thieves, the best of friends, over the summer. One day, you'd shown up at Rafe's only to find your sister in her kitchen with Wheezie, baking away. Ever since then, you and Rafe have had to be extra quiet upstairs.

Rose and Ward step toward your bedroom as well, which is down a small hallway just off the kitchen. Rafe grabs your hand and yanks you with him, following the crowd of people.

"Can everyone get out of our bedroom, please?" Rafe grumbles, standing behind his father and watching your parents finish up making your bed.

Your parents had not been crazy about you and Rafe living together right as you both make the transition to college. You had cried, begged, threatened to not go to school, and even dragged Rafe over for a family dinner so all of you could talk the situation out. You'd never seen Rafe's face so red as the night he had to sit at a dinner table and discuss with your father how the two of you would be sleeping in the same bed.

When your parents found out that the Camerons would be financing your rent bill, however, the living situation had changed. Your parents hadn't realized how expensive dorm living is, and the thought of not having to pay for housing on top of tuition sounded like a dream come true.

Which is how you land in your new, empty kitchen, trying to hold Rafe back from killing every family member the two of you currently have within arms reach.

"It's quarter to three," your dad tells your mother over your bed.

"Macy," your mom speaks, "Get your stuff, honey. We have to get going."

"Yeah," Rafe perks up, earning the attention of his parents, "You guys should get moving, too. Y'know, lots of traffic, and Wheezie's got that thing early in the morning."

Wheezie opens her mouth to speak, but stops suddenly when Rafe gives her the death stare. She looks to you, to which you just shrug, and then turns back to her parents.

"What thing?" Rose asks her. Ward's phone buzzes in his pocket, earning his attention.

"Uh," Wheezie hesitates, looking to Rafe once more.

"Girl scout meeting," Rafe blurts.

You cover your face with your free hand to try and prevent Rose from seeing your laughter. You truly have no idea where Rafe gets this idea that Wheezie is old enough to be in girl scouts. Wheezie narrows her eyes at him, shaking her head slightly.

"Girl scout?" Rose questions to herself, still trying to figure it out when Ward speaks up, eyes still glued to his phone.

"Wheezie, get your stuff. You won't want to be tired in the morning at your meeting."

Wheezie rolls her eyes but does as she's told, making her way out of your bedroom and down the hall to collect her things in the living room.

"Seriously, Rafe?" she hisses, "Girl scouts? I'm fourteen-"

"Shut up, Wheeze," Rafe says back to her through gritted teeth.

Wheezie turns to you, "He's your problem, now."

"Oh, boy, do I know it," you tease Rafe, smiling with Wheezie. She laughs, but it's short lived when Rafe shoves her away.

"Get your shit," he mutters.

"Stop it," you demand, stepping in front of him and holding onto his forearms as they are wrapped around your waist.

The one thing you love about Rafe more than anything is how he always shows affection to you, even if your parents or his parents are around. He just doesn't seem to care about anyone except you.

"I want them to go," he defends himself, keeping his voice quiet, "I just want to be alone with you. In our home. I didn't realize that was such a difficult request."

You smile up at your fussy boy, dragging one hand up to his face to stroke his cheek. You can faintly hear your families moving around the two of you, but you're too lost in your own little world to think too much about it.

"Be patient," you whisper to him.

He smirks, "Will you make it worth my while?"

You give him back the same look, loving the way he smirks at you and allows his eyes to rake over every inch of your face and torso. It takes everything in him not to just grab you by the throat and kiss the hell out of you, only controlling himself because your dad is ten feet away.

"Don't I always?"

Rafe groans, trying his best to keep his composure. He has to close his eyes as he continues to whine, knowing that if he keeps looking at you, he'll be hard in no time.

"All right," Rafe says loudly, tugging himself away from you, "Thanks for coming, everyone, but we have a lot to unpack here. Dad, Rose, Wheezie, I'll show you to the door."

You snicker as you watch him attempt to lead his confused family out the door. You turn to your own family, giving hugs and promising to call whenever you can. Rose refuses to leave without giving you a hug, which pisses Rafe off, as he's gotten Ward and Wheezie out successfully and only needs one more.

Rose promises to send flowers, one that match the color scheme of course, and tells you she'll call you to check on Rafe, since he doesn't bother to return her calls. You give Wheezie a hug and give Ward a polite smile and wave from the doorway.

The second they're all out the door, Rafe slams the door shut and locks it before any of them can decide they forgot something.

"Ah, free at last," you joke.

Rafe turns around, licking his lips as he thinks about how you two finally have an empty house and he has you all to himself. No distractions, no parents, no little sisters listening intently at the door for secrets and drama. He eyes you up and down once, and when he brings his blue orbs to meet yours again, you know what he's thinking.

"Come here," he demands, but he can't help himself.

That boy rushes over to you, pushing you up against the wall in the entryway of your new apartment, kissing you as if his life depends on it. You accept his kiss without a second thought, allowing your hands to wrap themselves around his neck.

"Up," he mutters against your lips, hands guiding themselves to your waist as you jump up and let him position himself in between your legs, wrapping them around his torso.

He moves his kisses to your cheek, then your jawline, then your neck, while his hands relentlessly roam your ass.

"Rafe," you say, tilting your neck to give him more space.

"Hmm," he hums against your skin, not stopping or slowing down for anything.

"I really do have to unpack the kitchen if you want to eat dinner tonight," you tell him, although you're fully aware he would never set you down for anything right now.

"Not hungry."

"Rafe-"

"I think," he stops you, wet kisses trailing your collarbone, "We should fuck everywhere. Y'know, break the place in."

Even though you two have been together for a while, him saying things like that to you always seems to send tingles through your whole body. He always knew what to say, what to do, to get you riled up in all the right ways.

"That would take us all night," you whisper, smirking because you already know what he's going to say.

"Fine with me, baby."

You smile, then reach down and grab ahold of his cheek with your hand. You lead his lips back to yours, kissing him harder than you had been before. He moans into your mouth and you know you have him right where you want him now.

"Kitchen first?" he questions, breathless, "Or should we mess up that pretty little bed your parents just made up?"

The raspiness in his voice gets you going, enough for him to notice you squirming in his grip. He grins, knowing exactly what it is you need.

"Kitchen," you tell him, watching as he barely nods before he kisses you again, carrying you over and setting you on the counter.

With ease, he removes your shorts and underwear, dropping his own shorts to the floor beneath him. He kicks all of the clothes away, knowing the two of you won't be needing them for a very long time.

"I can't wait, baby," he mumbles, excusing his lack of foreplay.

You shake your head, and he already knows you don't mind based on the way you're dripping onto the granite, "Please, Rafe."

He smirks and then grunts as he enters you, breathing out a sigh of relief that you two are finally home.

By the time you and Rafe even make it to your bedroom, he has to carry you because your legs can't physically function anymore. Rafe's proud of his work, but pretended to pout when he finished you off on the couch and you told him you needed a break.

He lays you down on your new, freshly made bed, moving the pillows out of your way and tucking you underneath the duvet. He climbs in beside you and molds you into his body almost instantly, inhaling your shampoo scent and perfume, thinking about how perfect this moment truly is.

"I can't believe it," he whispers.

"I know."

"Our home."

"Yes, it is."

You two lay there for a while, staring out at the tens of boxes that have each of your names written on them, just begging to be unpacked. You're sure Rafe's boxes will still be sitting there in two weeks, as he had packed a separate duffle bag of his 'essential' belongings.

"You know," he starts after a while, a devious smirk finding it's way to his cheeks, "The next big step is having a mini you. Or a mini me. But, I'd rather have a mini you."

"We just moved into our college apartment and you're talking about impregnating me," you laugh, as if to ask him if he's serious.

"She'll be so cute," he goes on, "A little girl that looks just like you. And she'd have your smarts, thank God, because she'd be screwed with mine. But she'd have my humor, of course."

"Of course?" you tease him.

"And then we'll have a boy."

"Wow, Rafe Cameron, you really just have this all figured out," you move your head up to look at him, noting the small, cheesy smile plastered across his face.

"I do, baby. He'll be a hellion, though. Never listening, always running away, but a total momma's boy. Never wants you to leave his side-"

"So, just like his dad, then?" you grin, watching Rafe clench his jaw and shake his head.

"Break's over," he grunts, rolling you on your back and climbing on top of you, "We're trying, now."

"No, we're not," you say forcefully.

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I'm joking. We'll wait until, like, junior year or something."

"Rafe."

"Fine. But the second you walk across that stage with your diploma, I'm putting a baby in you."

"Deal."

Tags:

@hollandsour @flowerkidlxrry @kookkyra @pogueslandia @sarahwasfound @fuzzyhumanpersontrash @rafecameronn @rafeswh0ree @outerbankies @morganwilliams

*if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist at any time, please send me an ask!

[mimzy-writing-online]

You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

[inkandpen22]

Chaotic as The Sea (3/?)

Pairing: Jack Sparrow x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k Warning: swearing, violence Part Summary: The Black Pearl arrives in Bimini and as any adventure with Jack Sparrow, there’s chaos

Masterlist

Two days later... 

Will

We arrive at Bimini as the sun begins to set. Y/N and Barbosa argue that we should wait until sunrise to explore the island. I argue that we can't waste another minute without trying to rescue Elizabeth. Jack, to my surprise, agrees that we shouldn't wait. Though, I think his reasoning is because he wants to see the fountain. 

Barbosa, Jack, Gibbs, Ragetti, Pintel, Y/N, and I all hop off the boat to explore the island. Gibbs, Will, and Pintel all carry long torches for us as the only sources of light. 

"Okay, so I know the general direction, but unless you feel like risking the chance of getting lost, which I don't, I suggest we use the compass," Y/N announces. 

"I thought you were certain of the fountain's location," Barbosa remarks a tad agitated. 

"Every tree and speck of white sand look exactly the same. Next trip, I'll drop your ass in a jungle in the middle of the night and tell you to find your way out!" She snaps. 

"Okay, well then let's use the compass." Ragetti takes the compass of Jack's belt and hands it to Y/N. 

The device begins to spin in her hand and Ragetti peeks over her shoulder. Jack quietly moves to stand beside her, wishing to catch a glimpse of himself. 

Abruptly, Y/N shuts the compass and frantically tries to get rid of it. "Oh uh, no it's okay, Jack can take it." She tosses it to him. 

"Me?" He looks at her wide-eyed and panicky. "No, give it to Will! He wants to find the bloody place." He tosses it to me. 

"What's wrong with you two?" Barbosa yells in frustration. 

"The compass doesn't work for them," I state. 

"Seriously!" Y/N huffs. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Barbosa questions. 

"When Jack holds it the arrow points to Y/N," I explain pointing between them. 

"Who told you that!" Jack questions. 

Then, Jack and Y/N both glare at Gibbs. "Gibbs!" They bark in unison. 

The older man holds up his hands in surrender. 

"Well, why can't Y/N do it?" Pintel questions timidly, circling his hands together. 

"Why can't Will just bloody do it and we can move on!" The woman challenges. 

Jack nods. "I'm with her on this one." 

I sigh. "When Y/N holds it, it points toward whatever she wants so bad in New France." 

"But isn't New France North of here?" Ragetti questions. 

"Yes!" The rest of us answer in unison. 

His face scrunches together in confusion. "But uh-" 

Y/N elbows Ragetti in the ribs. "Shut it!" She's quick to change the subject. "Let's go! Will! I'll lead the way, you just act as a checker." 

_______________________________________________

30 minutes later... 

Y/N

As the seven of us continue to march through the thick jungle, Jack appears beside me. "After we're finished in New France. I say you and I pay a visit to Tortuga for old time's sake." 

I laugh. "Ha! Wish to relive our break-up?" 

"Think of it as a celebration of our reunion," he tries to sugarcoat it. 

I roll my eyes, laughing as I move ahead to join Will up front. "In your dreams!" 

Ragetti

I pick up my pace to catch up with Pintel. "I know something you don't know!" 

"What?" He eagerly asks. 

"When Y/N was holding the compass, the arrow was pointing toward her," I whisper. 

His face scrunches together. "Y/N desires herself?" 

"No!" I huff. "Jack was standing next to her!" 

He gasps, putting it all together. "So you mean-" 

"Yes!" 

He grins. "That's kinda sweet actually." 

Y/N

"Now be careful!" I announce to the men, watching my step as we get closer to the mountainside. "The natives made pit traps and other boobytraps-" 

Before I can finish my warning. Jack screams from the back of the group. When I whip my head around, Jack is nowhere to be seen. "For idiots like Jack," I sigh. 

"Does anyone see him?" Will questions, moving his torch around. 

"It's kind of dark!" Gibbs remarks. 

"Thank Jack and Will for that! They refused to wait until morning," I grumble, marching back to where I last saw Jack.  

"Jack!" We all call in a scatter as we search. 

"Captain!" Gibbs shouts. 

We all watch our steps, checking the heavily covered jungle floor and sky for any sign of him. He could be hanging from a tree in a net or in a hole somewhere. If it's deep enough and well covered, it'll be hard to hear him.

"This is ridiculous!" Gibbs huffs. 

"I say we leave him and tell the crew some natives got him," Barbosa suggests.  

"I have an idea," I announce as one pops into my head. "Give me the compass," I ask Will, holding out my head. 

"But how will that help?" He questions with a raised brow. 

I hold the compass in my palm and lift the lid. I watch as the arrow spins. Soon, each of the men are gathered around me in a circle, eager to catch a glimpse. Then, the arrow stops, pointing Southeast. The men break apart, allowing me to follow it. 

"Watch your step," I advise. 

I keep a close eye on the arrow, making sure it doesn't change direction. I'm about to take another step when Will suddenly grabs my arm. I glance ahead and realize there's a massive pit in front of me. Its edges were covered in leaves and brush. 

"Oh, thanks," I exhale deeply. 

"Captain! You down there?" Gibbs shouts down below, holding a torch above the massive pit. 

I kneel down beside the pit and await an answer. 

There's a faint, "Am I dead?" 

I giggle and shout back. "No, you're not dead you idiot!" 

"Pintel! Ragetti! Go fetch a rope from the ship!" Barbosa commands, sending the two off. 

I laugh, relieved that Jack is okay. Based on the distant swooshing sound, the pit is filled with water thankfully, not spikes. This could've been a recovery mission. I sit back on my knees and glance up to find the remaining three men staring at me with knowing grins. 

"What!" I sass, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"Nothing," they all say, breaking apart to roam in different directions. 

I roll my eyes, such nosy people, pirates. 

____________________________________________

The men work together, yanking Jack up from the bottom of the pit. I remained to kneel beside the edge, holding up a torch so we can see Jack when he pops up. 

"Ho!" Barbosa calls out as they tug the robe. "Ho!" 

Soon, Jack appears from within the darkness and I grip his belt, guiding him to safety. The men release the rope and relax, releasing panting breaths. 

"You okay? Captain!" Gibbs questions. 

"Yeah," Jack flips onto his back, catching his breath, "yeah, I should be fine. How did you-" His eyes flicker about until his eyes land on the compass on the ground beside me. 

"Ah, now that's interesting." A cheeky smirk begins to form on his face as he lifts his gaze to meet mine. 

I shove him in the shoulder, frustrated. "I told you to watch where you were going!" He has no idea how worried I was. 

"I was a tad distracted by you, Love," he chuckles. 

My eyes fall shut as I release a sigh of relief. Thank God, he's okay. 

Jack places his hand on my thigh, capturing me by surprise. His dark eyes meet might and I place my hand over his. He flips his over and they interlock in my lap. His eyes soften at the sight. 

Suddenly, there's a series of yells from across the jungle. Each of us tosses our heads to the side and sees small glimmers of light in the distance. Jack flies up beside me from his laid position. 

"Are they with us?" He questions. 

There's the ring of a gunshot and the bullet hits the tree right by Barbosa's head. 

"Don't think so!" Will declares, his voice shaky. 

"Who are they?" I shout. 

"Wait! They're Black Beard's men! I remember one of them. He's the one who took Elizabeth!" Will determines. 

“How did they find the fountain?” Barbosa yells. 

“He knew you’d come and find me!” I comprehend and look over at Jack. “He’s been following us here!” 

Pintel and Ragetti immediately make a run for it. 

“I’m with them, time to go!” Will decides and starts to run back to the ship. 

Jack takes my hand and instantly brings me to my feet. We begin to run too, hand in hand. 

“Cowards!” Barbosa shouts and stands his ground. He whips out his gun and begins to shoot at the mob. “Come and get it you slimy gits! Ha!” He laughs. 

Running utterly blind in the dark jungle, there’s hardly any light other than that that can make it through the tree tops from the moon. We make it through the jungle and see the beach a few yards ahead. Will and the two morons make a bee-line for the ship, when they’re suddenly stopped by a cluster of Blackbeard’s men running from down the beach. Jack pulls me into his side and draws his sword.

 Suddenly, I feel a hand wrap around my wrist and I’m yanked away from Jack. He immediately whips around and his eyes grow wide. My back slams into someone’s chest and I struggle to free myself. More of Blackbeard’s men appear from within the jungle and begin to fight Jack. Two men begin to drag me off and I fling around, trying to break free. 

"Jack!" I scream. “Let me go you bastards!” 

Jack searches for me and when he finally spots me, he screams. "No!" He looks at me pleading and full of guilt. 

As more of Blackbeard’s men appear, we both quickly realize there’s nothing either of us can do. These morons are taking me to their ship, more than likely to see their captain and to be held prisoner. This is yet another reunion I did not request. 

______________________________________

After sailing out to the Queen Anne's Revenge a couple hundred yards from the island, the nasty men take me aboard and immediately drag me off to the captain’s quarters. They swing open the double doors below top deck and we enter a familiar red velvet decorated office. 

A tall man stands behind the desk with his back to us. "And who do we have here?" A familiar voice purrs. When he spins around, his grin falls to confusion. "Y/N?" 

"I told you! Idiots!" I huff and yank my arms free from his buffoons."Hi, Eddie," I offer a fake smile.

"Eddie?" The pair beside me repeat in unison. 

The captain pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "How many times must I tell you?" 

"You could hand me the Templar Treasure yourself, I won't call you Blackbeard. It's stupid," I laugh, approaching him. 

"Leave us," he commands his minions. Once we’re allow, he moves to stand the other side of his desk. He props himself against it with a grin. "So, you and Jack are back together again..." 

"No way in hell," I snicker, taking a look about his office. He’s changed it in the last five years. "He promised me he knew where the Templar Treasure was, I'm simply completing my half of the deal." 

"Which is?" He inquires. 

I stop my admiring of his decor to meet his gaze. "Showing him to the fountain." 

"You would honestly betray me like that?" He acts offended my placing his hand against his chest. 

"If it guaranteed me the Holy Grail? Yes,” I stand firm. 

"Your loyalties still lie with that treasure? You truly are a pirate at heart,” he smirks. He rises from his position on the desk to pour us chalices of wine. As he approaches me, his eyes travel up and down my entirety. "Dare I say, you look amazing." 

I accept the wine, but roll my eyes at his compliment. "Oh save it.” 

He pouts dramatically. "What happened to the spirited eighteen-year-old I first met?” He reaches up and tucks strands of my hair behind my ear. “You're bitter now." 

I lift my arm and knock his hand away from me. "It's called maturing." 

"Have you matured enough to conclude that I'm the better man than Jack?" He smirks, stepping closer to me. 

I move away from him and toward the book case against the far wall behind his desk. "I think I prefer neither of you,” I answer over my shoulder. 

"One point, if I recall correctly, there was a point where you couldn't choose between us." He narrows his eyes, taking a sip of his wine as he creeps closer to me again. "Do you remember those few months in Bermuda?" 

I shift of my heels, allowing my eyes to fall to the Persian rug beneath them. "It was always going to be him, Eddie..." 

Abruptly, he rushes toward me and pins me against the bookcase. My wine falls out of my hand and stains the rug. "I could've had you if I wanted!" He growls. 

I look him dead in the eyes with a clenched jaw. "You dare threaten me!” 

He laughs mockingly. "What? Going to curse me?" 

I grin. "That used to terrify you if I recall correctly." 

"You're all bark and no bite. I happen to know for a fact, you don't practice dark magic!" He challenges. 

"Just because I don't practice it, doesn't mean I don't know how to use it.”  

There’s a commotion outside and soon the double doors swing open to reveal Jack marching in, gun drawn. While Eddie is distracted I pick up a vase off one of the shelves near me and I knock him over the head with it. The vase shatters into a hundred pieces over his head and the man falls to the ground with a thud at my feet. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I meet Jack’s gaze. His eyes flicker away from the man knocked out on the floor and up to me. 

"I hate that I'm relieved to see you," I pant. 

He runs over to me and takes my hand. "Consequence of loving me." He guides me over to one of the windows and swings it open. “Can you jump?” 

I look at him as though he as three heads. “Can you jump? What kind of dumb question is that?” I mock. Then, I ask him a similar dumb question. “I don’t know Jack, can you swim?” I roll my eyes and climb up onto the windowpane and jump out. 

“Jesus, Mary, and the bloody camel sorry for asking!” I hear him grumble under his breath as climbs out the window and jumps in after me. 

___________________________________

Jack

We’re not sure how we’ll get Elizabeth back, but we will. Though, I suspect that he was never after the fountain. No, what he truly wanted was Y/N and the fountain was just a cover-up. I brought her right to him. For now, we just need to create some distance between us so we can form a plan. 

Y/N climbs the ladder above me and Gibbs helps her on board. She offers him a thank you and brushes herself down. The crew is well into their tasks, getting us far from this island as soon as possible. 

“Glad to see you’re safe, Miss,” Gibbs greets. 

“Did everyone make it back okay?” She questions as I climb aboard. 

“Yes, even I,” Barbosa announces with a proud grin. “Not with the help of you lot,” he adds. 

“Don’t exactly have a death wish,” she giggles. 

“There’s a change of clothes for you in the Captain’s office,” Gibbs informs her. 

She offers him thanks and begins toward my quarters. Barbosa and Gibbs break apart to return to their positions. 

“You! Hold it!” I call out. 

The two men glance in my direction, wondering who I’m speaking to. They follow my gaze to Y/N. 

She whips her head around, her gorgeous, long, wavy, Y/H/C flowing in the breeze. She crosses her arms over chest. “Excuse me?” She scoffs with a grin forming on her lips. 

I narrow my gaze at her. “I have one question.” 

Barbosa and Gibbs watch the interaction, their heads tilting back and forth between us with each exchange. The crew too watches as they attempt to multitask with their duties. Her eyes remain on the deck panels and anywhere else but me. 

“Did you know the compass would lead you to me?” I ask. 

There’s a pause and I can tell she’s reluctant to answer despite the amused expression she wears. Then, her eyes rise to meet mine with a sigh. “Yes... maybe...” 

I smirk, approaching her slowly. “Oh see now that’s interesting, don’t you think?” 

“What? Just going to gloat about the ship now?” She rolls her eyes, directing her focus in the distance away from me. 

I bring my hands up to her cup her face and make her meet my gaze. To my surprise and pleasure, she doesn’t move from her spot or shove me away. Instead, brings her fingers to hook through the loops of belt. 

“You stay with me from now on. No more hiding out.” I smirk. “That’s an order,” I tease quietly between us. 

“Whatever you say...” Her eyes fall to my lips and then flicker back to my eyes. She grins. “Captain.” 

One my hands slips behind her head to her neck and I bring my lips to meet hers in a needy kiss. Her arms fling over my shoulders, deepening the kiss. 

“Now they’re going to be insufferable!” I hear Barbosa grumble to Gibbs as he stomps off. 

Five years of searching for her, waiting for, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. What happened between us all those years ago is one of my greatest regrets if not the biggest. Our relationship has never been easy, in fact it’s exceedingly complicated and one giant headache. We haven’t stopped arguing since the moment we met and rarely agree on anything. Yet, we love as we do argue with each other, passionately and with everything we have. Now that I have Y/N back and I know she loves me in return, I’m never letting her go. God help me if I let Blackbeard anywhere near her. 

_______________________________

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[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

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You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

Insecure

Summary: Spencer and Reader are both a little uncomfortable with the idea of having sex

A/N: I firmly believe that dry humping shouldn’t just be for horny teens <3

Pairing: Virgin!Spencer Reid x Virgin!Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut, Fluff

Warnings/Includes: cursing, smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, grinding, dry humping,  please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

Requests Filled:

“I may have asked you this before but I’m not actually too sure if I just thought about it or if I actually sent it so I’ll resend to be safe (I have Dory’s memory I promise I’m not trying to be pushy) But could you write a blurb about riding sub!spencer’s thigh bc he’s not sure if he’s ready to lose his virginity and he gets so worked up he cums in his underwear (idk if you’re comfortable with that so please ignore this if you aren’t no pressure at all just lots of love) xx

Hi Ellie! I'm a new anon to your blog and I have a blurb request about the grinding on spencer gif you recently reposted. Maybe y/n and spencer are "in the mood" but y/n has never done "it" before but she still wants to get spencer and herself off so they dry hump in their underwear because that's as far as she's comfortable with going. I'm sorry if this is worded weird I've never requested smut before. Also can I please be the 💜 anon?”

--  --  --

It wasn’t like they’d done nothing. But there was something about sex that felt like such a bold step. He knew she was inexperienced too, which sort of helped ease his nerves whenever he thought about it for too long. He just hoped that the whole thing freaked her out as much as it freaked him out really, but he still just found himself a little too shy to say anything about it. Instead opting for awkward and abrupt ends to make-out sessions, or cuddles, or dates, for fear that it would spiral into something he wasn’t exactly ready for.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to. In some paradoxical way it still turned him on, and whenever he’d leave and make a break for the bathroom in the middle of a make-out session on his couch he’d more often than not find himself with his hand around his cock, pumping himself to the thought of her. He wasn’t sure what was so intimidating about it to be honest.

But she never seemed to say anything about it, so he sort of thought he might be in the clear about the whole thing. Even though deep down he knew that’s not how relationships or communication worked. So he’s both surprised and unsurprised when he shows up at her front door with take out and she’s wearing a robe with what looks like little else underneath. A far cry from her usual comfy clothes that he’d grown so fond of.

“Hey Spence” she says with a nervous smile, and he just stands there dumbfounded, staring at her like he’s never seen her before.

“Oh— I— um, hi!” he mumbles out, forcing himself back to reality as she steps aside to let him into her apartment. “I brought food” he says, leaving it down on the coffee table and all of a sudden having no idea what he’s supposed to do with his hands.

“Spence, I wanted to talk to you about something” she says, looking almost as nervous as he does, bracing herself as she sits down on the couch and beckons him to sit beside her.

“What is it?” he gulps down the lump in his throat before he speaks, preparing himself for the conversation he’s been dreading.

“I don’t really know how to phrase this but, um, I don’t think I’m ready to have sex yet” she blurts out, her arms crossing over her chest, defending and comforting herself as she speaks, her eyes looking anywhere but his.

“That’s alright” he smiles, reaching out a hand and placing it on the side of her face, gently tilting so that she has to look at him, “Me neither”

Saying it out loud feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his chest, he feels lighter than he ever thought possible as she looks in his eyes and they’re filled with a similar ease.

“You’re not just saying that?” she asks, hopeful, and he shakes his head.

“No, god no! I’ve been so worried that you were going to get annoyed, or impatient, or freaked out by me. I just didn’t know how to tell you that I wasn’t ready for that yet. And don’t get me wrong, I do want to… eventually, and I think you’re so pretty, just not, now.”

“You have no idea how good it feels to hear that Spence” she lunges forward and pulls him into a tight hug, and his hands pull her in instinctively, spreading out against her back. As he feels the smooth satin beneath his fingertips he has a thought.

“If that’s what you wanted to tell me, then what’s this about?” he asks, pulling back so that he can cast his gaze over her robe again, lingering a little longer this time, letting his eyes trail along her bare legs that stretch out beneath it.

“I don’t know if this was a stupid plan or not. But I wanted to prove to you that I do still want to be with you. And just because I’m not comfortable with sex yet doesn’t mean I’m not comfortable doing other things with you?”

“Oh” his breath catches in his throat, maybe it’s nerves, or just anticipation but he can feel the heat rising in his face, “Like, um, like what… things?”

“You’re not allowed laugh” she says, taking her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and he smiles at her.

“Never”

“I know it’s a real ‘teenage’ activity but I thought we could both get off together if we dry humped?” his eyes go wide at her suggestion, because it’s perfect and he’s nodding before his lips can even think about forming words.

“Yes, yeah! That’s a great idea” and then she’s grinning at him and he’s grinning back before they’ve even really touched each other. “How do we start?”

She takes a moment to consider before speaking, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but maybe if you took off your clothes so we’re both in our underwear?”

“But you’re not—” before he can finish his sentence her hands have pulled at the tie keeping her robe together and it drapes open on either side, revealing the rest of her body clad in nothing but a white lingerie set. He has to force himself to start breathing again before he can do anything else. But once he does he’s standing up and making his way out of his clothes in an uncoordinated rush.

When he sits back down on the couch in only his boxers she wastes no time climbing into his lap, one leg either side of his thigh, her knee nestled in against his crotch. The pressure is immediate and he can’t stifle the moan that falls from his lips.

“Take this off baby” he moans, his hands coming up to push her robe off of her shoulders until she can shrug out of it, discarding it on the floor. “Fuck” he whispers at the unobstructed view, his hands ghosting along her sides with almost ticklish amounts of pressure.

While his hands are occupied and he's just a little distracted, she dives in to kiss him. Her lips a little rough against his from the excitement but he doesn’t seem to mind, opening his mouth in response to let her tongue in. They stay like that for a few moments, hands roaming over bare skin, tugging gently at hair, moaning against each others mouths.

It takes an embarrassingly little amount of time before they’re both desperate and aching, and she can’t help the way she grinds down against his thigh, resting her hands on either one of his shoulders for support.

“Does that feel good baby?” he asks when her lips break apart from his own to let out a gasp.

“Uh huh” she moans, her lips hanging open, soft and swollen from kissing his own.

“Why don’t you come a little closer?” he whispers, tightening his grip on her waist and pulling her in tighter so that her knee is pressed up against his bulge, pushing closer with each soft rock of her hips.

“Fuck” he whimpers, his head falling backwards to land on the back of couch, giving in to the overwhelming sensation. If it was ever possible for something to feel too good, this was it, he cursed himself for knowing it wasn’t going to last long. And then she started to kiss his exposed throat and he knew he was fucked.

His hands began to dig in tighter against her waist, both guiding her movements and letting out some tension. “You’re gonna kill me” he forces out as she begins to gasp and moan between the soft kisses she leaves along his neck.

“Sorry, it just feels so good” she chuckles a little as he tries to bring his head back up so he can look at her, admire her. She was always so beautiful, but somehow even more so like this. With her hair just a little messy, her eyes full of lust, her face and chest lightly coated with sweat in a way that made her look like she was glowing. It was all so perfect that he couldn’t be more thankful for his memory in that moment.

“Are you close baby?” he asks and she can only nod, her breath coming out in harsh pants as she tries to move her hips with some sort of rhythm. So he decides to concentrate his efforts on her in an attempt to slow himself down.

Holding her still with his grip he starts to move his thigh, alternating between shaking it so that it vibrates, and pushing it up in a very harsh and deliberate grid against her now soaking wet panties.

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” she whimpers, trying to steadying herself against his shoulders without much success. “I’m so close—uh—”

“Cum for me baby” he soothes while keeping his movements forceful until she’s almost doubled over on top of him, collapsing against his chest with a loud and desperate moan of his name. And he can feel the soaking fabric against his thigh and the idea that he’s the one that’s responsible for it has him throbbing.

But he waits. he waits for her to regain her breath and sit back up from her resting position against his chest. But she’s way ahead of him, and he can feel a hand pressing up against the fabric of his boxers, squeezing gently, but it’s more than enough stimulation to have him squirming.

“Shit Spence, you’re so hard” she groans, sitting up finally so that she can look at his blush covered face and neck.

“It’s ‘cause of you” he manages to mumble out as her hand begins to move, squeezing and pressing against his bulge, spurred on by each desperate little whine.

“Are you gonna cum baby?” she asks, her other hand coming up to knot in his hair, tilting his face so that he’s looking up at her, just in time to nod. And then he’s cumming, warm and messy inside of his boxers. Something about the feeling against her hand has her almost good to go again.

Spencer’s eyes close as he turns a brighter shade of red, his mouth hanging open in a little ‘o’ shape as he comes down from his high. When he finally returns to Earth to find her still perched in his lap he can hardly believe any of what’s just happened is real.

“So that’s what I was missing out on in high school?” he chuckles, his hands coming back up to graze her sides softly again as she smiles down at him.

“We’ll make up for plenty of lost time together. And we can take as long as we need.” she leans in and presses her lips softly to his. And even though he still didn’t feel comfortable with sex, he knew he felt comfortable with her.

-- -- --

Thank you so much for reading, any feedback is always appreciated, love you! <3

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[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part fourteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Tom explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Tom haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Sam, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Tom, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

He nodded and took his dough back to continue kneading it. You noticed his jaw clenched subtly in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else. You watched as he rolled the pasta dough with a little more force, maybe a little too much.

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Tom’s, even though Sam had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Sam had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Tom was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

You were starting to sweat with effort, you were so out of shape that even cooking had you catching your breath. You had thought this was going to be fun, but instead you were having flashbacks to high school P.E. class.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Tom. He took over for Tom and instructed Sam to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Sam assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Sam whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Sam’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Tom set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Tom said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Tom put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what's the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Making the fillings for the pasta was a much simpler process than making the dough. All you had to do was mix certain ingredients together. It didn’t matter what order you added them, if you whisked fast or slow, the only important thing was that everything made it into the bowl one way or another.

You worked in pairs for this step. Sam mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Sam explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Sam ended up having to help you and Tom because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Sam warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Sam was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you said, remembering all the times you had teased him for stressing out over his ‘soufflé final’ or ‘crepe labs’. “I would much rather be writing a paper right now.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Tom snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Sam’s family, even if they had a... complicated relationship.

When the class finally settled in the dining room of the restaurant to eat you were sweaty, sore, and exhausted. You could feel your skin sticking to the leather seat, and you felt severely underdressed. Back in the kitchen you hadn’t been so self-conscious. But now you couldn’t stop thinking about your appearance.

The atmosphere was much more sophisticated. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. All of the other guests were following an unspoken black-tie dress code while the fifteen of you were still wearing your disposable aprons, only now they were covered in flour and egg yolk.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Sam to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Sam wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Sam was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Sam’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hollands chat with other students at the table.

You weren’t a huge fan of wine, but the one served with dinner was palatable, and to be honest you weren’t one to turn down complimentary alcohol anyway. It tasted more expensive than anything you had ever drank, like the equivalent of velvet on your tongue. You finished your glass and the rest of Harry’s.

-

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hollands like a dog, worn on Sam’s arm like an accessory.

You had known what you were getting into, and you were trying your best to enjoy the experiences- because who the fuck knows when you’ll ever get to go on such a nice vacation again, but pretending to be in love with your best friend was a harder feat than you had thought.

It felt like being in a school play. Every move and phrase had to be intentional. You tread the lines of your relationship with rehearsed expertise. And you had to watch what you said, because everyone’s eyes were on you. At least that’s what it felt like.

Sam’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Harry, though. Tom was the problem. Tom was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Sam had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Harry was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Sam, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Sam explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Sammy.”

You had dinner in the restaurant attached to the hotel lobby. Nikki passed around her Canon for everyone to look through the pictures from the day while a bottle of limoncello was passed around the table.

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Sam went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Harry, and Tom. You told Sam you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Sam. Back at school you could always find Sam in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

When he moved out of the dorms and into an apartment he bought a keyboard, and you’d spend nights together in his room illegally pirating sheet music for him to learn new songs. He’d play whatever you requested, and if he didn’t know how to play it he’d teach himself.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Sam always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Tom dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Harry said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Harry groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Harry,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Tom wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Tom, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You had to act uninterested, you couldn’t let on to- but he was staring back. His eyes were intense, and almost impossible to read in the darkness of the room. You knew you should look away, knew you had to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Sam but then suddenly Tom was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

logging off before i get yelled at but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[relaxxattack]

hi im asking u this bc u seem to be bee duo enthusiast so

ive been calling c! beeduos relationship platonic because i thought that was what their cc’s said, and i thought they had said that they were uncomfortable with ppl shipping the characters. But ive seen a lot of posts that say their relationship is canonically romantic? and i absolutely do not want to come across as homophobic by watering down a mlm relationship to just friends because that happens so much in media so.

what is the canon state of their relationship / ur opinions on the platonic thibg

dont worry abt answering if u dont want to!! i see a lot of differing opinions and i trust yours :)

aw it’s totally fine, im flattered you asked me about this!

let me put it simply: it’s a whole mess, lol.

first im going to talk about what’s happened fandom-wide that caused differing opinions, and then i’ll explain my own opinion/interpretation. :]

(this got really fucking long im so sorry)

ranboo and tubbo initially proclaimed the relationship was romantic, specifically in argument with the wiki editors who had set it as platonic by default. (you can see this in the vod where they decide they’re canonically married— it’s very funny. chat tells them the marriage is already on the wiki, they check, tubbo is jokingly offended that it says platonic and asks if he needs to up the romance).

tubbo also makes jokes about adultry, which sort of implies the relationship is not necessarily a platonic one.

(theres definetly more in that stream alone but it’s been a long time since i watched it so i don’t remember a lot of it.)

the wiki, because of this, suffers from going back and forth on platonic and romantic, seemingly unsure where the joke ends and the canon begins, or if its canonically a joke! a mess, as you can already tell.

this gets more complicated as the marriage bit goes on: outsiders, such as phil and scott, both at one point say “platonic marriage”, which then ranboo and tubbo agree with. however, when chat asks them if they’re platonic, they say the opposite. so there is a lot of confusion there.

there’s also the difficulty of being able to tell streamers and characters apart. ranboo and tubbo both don’t like being shipped irl, and that’s their boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. (they’re also minors, but tbh when they’re 18 in a year i will still be following their boundaries regardless of their legal age).

due to people not wanting to be accused of minor shipping, they started adding the platonic tone indicator to most of their drawings— basically a way of saying “no homo”. meanwhile, tubbo frequently on stream flirts with ranboo and makes quite a bit of nsfw comments towards him that are frankly hilarious.

this goes on for a while with nobody really sure what’s canon, but a lot of people assuming it’s probably platonic, until: the drama of the mods night. a few mods dmed all the wiki editors telling them ranboo wanted his canon character relationship officially set to platonic.

unfortunately for those mods; the very same day, a few hours later, ranboo on stream makes fun of puffy delivering him and tubbo “friendship flowers”. because, and i quote, “bruh. we’re literally married. this must be how the ancient greeks felt.”

in case you don’t know, the internet often jokes about how historians will call ancient greeks ‘very good friends’ when they are quite obviously gay. so in this context, ranboo is joking that people will call him and c!tubbo, who are married, “close friends”, when he doesn’t think they are.

basically, ranboo canonized romantic bee duo, the very same day the mods told everyone he’d wanted a platonic one.

chaos and drama immediately erupted everywhere. on tumblr, we were talking about how weird it was of his mods to do something like that without asking him first. we ALSO talked about how weird it was of them to assume that ranboo can’t make his own decisions, or assume teenagers cannot be in relationships without it being sexual. twitter did the same thing but in the opposite direction: called ranboo mods homophobic, or said they were mad ranboo felt pressured into making a romantic relationship canon ‘just so people could have mlm rep.’

i dont want to go into detail about the drama that happened that night because apparently official people follow me and i dont want to stir it up or have them come “clarify” things. im just saying what we talked about.

ranboo in typical ranboo fashion apologized quickly and seriously. he was deeply sorry for possibly offending anyone with how he’d portrayed his rp relationship with tubbo, and he also assured everyone the mod thing was just a miscommunication.

he said he would talk to tubbo and they’d decide once and for all whether it was platonic or romantic, and then announce so everyone would know.

it’s now been a few months and we've had no word from them on that development. we still have no clue.

-

now, here’s my opinion:

i want to take ranboos word for it that it was a miscommunication with his mods, but... we had it on good authority from people on the wiki team and people in the discord with the mods that (while it was happening) they were really going after the wiki admins, and also made some weird comments about it. that combined with the way ranboo seemingly had no clue (considering he canonized their romance that very same day).... it’s very. sus of the mods.

then there’s the canon we’ve got since then. although occasionally adults in the room have called it a “platonic marriage” and tubbo once (back when it first started) called it a “plankton tectonic” marriage, in roleplay it’s been... kind of not that. tubbo and ranboo make nsfw jokes about each other in character, and their characters also share a master bedroom and bed in the mansion. there's also the way c!tommy really thinks it’s a romance between them as well, and they agree with and play off that— for instance confirming that they “fell in love” when he asked, or ranboo confirming that they “make out on occasion”.

people will still put platonic on their art and posts, imo, because they’re worried about breaking ranboo and tubbo’s irl boundaries by looking like they ship them. or even just being accused of shipping real life minors. and that’s a valid fear to have.

the thing is though: c!bee duo are not cc!bee duo. they’re roleplay characters. cc!bee duo are not okay with being shipped, but they made their characters get canonically married, and call each other “husbands”. so it’s okay to write the word “husband” in your comic without adding “platonic” to it, i promise.

telling the ccs that their characters have to be platonic is... weird. it comes off as not only babying them, but also as saying teens can’t date without it being gross. which isn’t true.

(this is why seeing people overuse “platonic husband” so much bothers me. like, they ARE husbands. you can just say it. what are you trying to hide...?)

-

do i think they’re canonically romantic? ehh, its likely. it’s still okay to interpret them as platonic, because again, it’s hard to tell where jokes end and roleplay begins. like, maybe it’s jokes in the rp too, and c!bee duo are just friends. friends can and should be allowed to make jokes like that with each other! aro & ace marriages exist!

or, maybe it’s actually part of the rp, and they’re very much romantic. we don’t know!

some people say they could be a qpr (queerplatonic romance), which i could see. (a qpr is a relationship that fluctuates between, or can’t quite be sorted into, “romantic” and “platonic”. people in a qpr can do romantic things while having platonic feelings for each other). in my opinion this is a very valid interpretation as well!

-

CONCLUSION (sorry this got so long omfg):

are c!bee duo romantic?

its likely, but you can still interpret them however you like!

should i put /p on bee duo content?

ehhh? i find it annoying when it’s overused (as do others), but if you’re worried you can. its up to preference. putting it too much is weird though

should i put /p on things cc! bee duo do?

no. you’re not the one saying it so you can’t decide the tone tags for that. imagine you said something to your friend and a random stranger came up and was like “haha but that was /p right...?”

can i ship c!bee duo?

mmm. i’m not sure on this one. they are canonically married and very flirtatious, but the ccs don’t like being shipped and they’re close enough to being the ccs that actively shipping might be against boundaries.

can i treat c!bee duo as romantic?

yes. literally just don’t be weird about it. it’s not that hard! you can understand that two characters are husbands without making it weird

here’s the most important thing: boundaries. cc bee duo still haven’t told us what their preferences and canon is about this whole thing.

right now, i am assuming based on what they already show us they’re comfortable with, but! the second they give us any more info! all these opinions will change!

i am only going off what they do. i would never want to cross boundaries at all. i just wish they would make theirs a little more clear.

..... i hope that helped anon, i went way off the rails... i need to go to sleep.