#bc that's how it's been for most of their life

[crescenthistory]

begging for a fic where regulus says “i love you” to reader for the first time and it FLOORS them bc reggie is not one to voice his feelings a lot, much less something as powerful as the feeling of love

listen, when i saw this ask i sat down and wrote this in ONE sitting, THANK you. you probably intended for this to be a scene at the beginning of a relationship, but i instead decided to psychoanalyse my poor darling reg for a few thousands of words and give him a patient partner. hope you'll forgive me lols<3

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, the most ancient and noble black family trauma (including descriptions of abuse and neglect), gn!reader, black brothers angst and reconciliation, sunshine!reader, reader is very patient and understanding with regulus, kinda past bartylus, barty is a hugger here, reg pov so some spiraling, vague implied references to sex (so implied that i believe it's safe for minors, but just putting that out there)

on the tip of my tongue

It’s not that Regulus didn’t love you. Quite the opposite, actually. 

It’s just that love had not been a spoken matter in his life until you barged into it. Love was implicit as much as it was hidden and reserved; something you grabbed greedily at while you had it and rationed carefully over the next few weeks or months, hoping to get by on it. 

For a long time, Regulus thought his mother loved him. She was strict and firm, but when he came to her for advice, she would give it and might even pat him on the cheek if he accepted what she had to say readily enough. He would hold his cheek afterwards and syphon the warmth left from her touch, wishing there was a way for it to stay with him forever.

When he got to Hogwarts and experienced true, unrestrained friendship he realised there was a way for it to stay with him forever – the other party just had to not withhold it. His cheek would be warm if the people who loved him kept holding, kept returning. With them, attention was not something he was occasionally graced with, it was always on him, within easy reach.

It took him a while, but Regulus eventually got used to the physical affection, at least from his friends. He came to expect it and lean into it, which in and of itself felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were hugs and pats on the back and tousled hair. There were pretend-scuffles on the quidditch field and the common room. There was that one term in third year where Barty decided he and Regulus simply must learn how to kiss and the boys spent most nights sneaking off into the empty common room and unskillfully, sloppily making out through kisses. There was that one night in fifth year where they picked it back up again. 

Still, with the hands-on approach to love that Barty and Dorcas had and infused into their little safe haven of a friend group, it remained unspoken. There was the occasional “mate” or the nicknames he brought with him from home – “Reg” was fine and while he did not much care for “Reggie”, he let it slide due to the affection it held. The closest they got to spoken love were the promises to fiercely protect each other, to kill and die by each other’s sides if must be. To beat the living daylights out of anyone who lays a finger on the other and then hex the pain to stay with them forever. An oath of loyalty was their "I love you".

Other than them, Sirius had been his one source of affection throughout his life, but as everything else in Grimmauld’s Place it had been quiet. 

Sirius was the perfect big brother, whether Regulus wanted to admit that or not. He held his hand when they crossed the street and held Regulus at night when he cried. Sirius taught him as much as he could, and though he occasionally was arrogant or impatient with his lessons, he didn’t give up on them. Regulus knew he loved Sirius at the very least, even if he had in more recent years questioned if that love was returned.

The problem with Sirius is that Regulus does not know of most of the affection the older boy showed him. Sirius insists that the two spent the majority of their first years attached at the hip, but Regulus struggles to remember much before the age of 12, which you had once told him he might want to look into with a professional at some point. To which Regulus emphasised the “at some point” more than the rest. So any hugs or touches or love Sirius showed him has been long since forgotten. Apart from the bed-sharing; Regulus remembers that vividly. Crawling into his older brother’s bed at night when he had nightmares, hoping Sirius could chase the monsters away. Regulus didn’t think he did it that often, but Sirius swore he once slept an entire three months solely in Sirius’ bed.

The most significant way Sirius loved Regulus, though, was through what he did for him, not to him, which Regulus did not himself see. He was such a good shield between their parents and Regulus that the young boy didn’t even realise the service he provided. Scoldings, blames and beatings – there was nothing Sirius did not take for Regulus.

If Regulus’ childhood was painful enough not to remember, he could not stand the thought of how Sirius’ must have been.

That is part of how he learned not to resent him for leaving Grimmauld’s Place – even that he did in part for Regulus. When left alone with an increasingly vexed Walburga Black, Regulus learnt quickly how severe some punishments can be. Consequently, he learned what Sirius had endured for him, how strong of a shield he had been. 

Sirius knew he could no longer withstand the weight of that house, so he left, in hopes that he could be a better protector for Regulus from afar. Finding a good home full of warmth and smiles, and coaxing Regulus into joining him there under safer circumstances than he himself had. When the two had their infamous heart-to-heart, it was Sirius choking on the words “better protector” that finally broke Regulus – the first time he had cried in front of his older brother since they were little.

Now he knew well that Sirius loved him, beyond most words. And the things they said to each other during that talk where he convinced Regulus to leave might even mean more than a simple “I love you”. Still, it remained unsaid. 

It was simply not tradition for Regulus Black to speak them.

Then, he met you. 

What was that thing James always says? Game-changer? You were that for him.

Somehow, affection just came pouring out of you like you were overflowing with it and just had to share it. With your friends and your family, even strangers – it just came naturally to you. And when Regulus entered your orbit through his reunion with Sirius, you more than happily let that extend to him as well.

It absolutely floored him. 

The first time you said “I love you” to him was long before you got together or before he even had the nerve to actively flirt with you. You ran into him in the hallway and stopped him, trying to squeeze as much conversation as you could out of him in the few minutes you both had between classes. It was evident you were soaking up his presence as if it was truly enjoyable, and it warmed something in him he was only able to name later on. When you had to run, you ended the conversation with a casual “okay, see you later, I love you, bye!”. Regulus was left gaping. Nearly ended up late to McGonagall’s class because of you. 

Saying it as a form of temporary goodbye reminded him of how he used to ration his mother’s touches, it carried him until the next time he saw you. Except next time with you was dinner later the same day, and then breakfast and then hanging out in the library. He never had to wait long, never had to go wanton.

The love kept flowing freely from you in all the ways he had gotten used to over the years and then many more – physical touch, quality time, acts of services, words of affirmation, you checked off the whole list. He began calling you soleil, French for sunshine because of how you shone with that love for everyone. It was a slip of the tongue one day, and when he saw how it made you smile, he just kept calling you that.

With such a loving and lovely creature, Regulus thought he couldn’t help but fall in love with you; he was not at fault for it, you were entirely to blame with your loveliness.

His voice had shook some when he first confided in Sirius about it. The older boy had smiled fondly and joked, “That was not quite what I meant when I told you to make yourself at home with my friends, but I’m glad you’re comfortable.” Regulus argued he in no way shape or form felt comfortable with the emotion, but Sirius would have none of it.

His voice shook even more the first time he told you how lovely you look today, but unlike Sirius, you didn’t notice. You smiled and returned the sentiment with ease. He realised then that he would likely not be able to talk himself into a relationship with you, given his lack of skill and your lack of deducing any intent behind sweet words, so he went the Regulus-route as Sirius had called it.

Meaning, he pursued you through quiet, unwavering loyalty and company, attaching himself at your hip for as long as you seemed comfortable with it. When he realised there was no limit on the amount of time you were willing to spend with him, he went further. 

Regulus went to hold your hand for the first time in Hogsmeade. Looking back on it, you both laughed at how he spent ten whole minutes inching his hand closer and closer to yours, practically holding his breath, awaiting a rejection or harsh response. Ever so slowly, he interlinked his pinky with yours. An opening both for you to take it further or cast him aside, whichever you pleased he would accept. The beaming smile you flashed as you looked up at him then, lacing the rest of your fingers together tightly, never left his mind for long.

Hand holding led to walking arm in arm which led to prolonged hugs which finally, finally found you both sitting in the Astronomy tower, kissing with large, dumb smiles on your faces. The same night you had your first kiss Regulus surmises you probably had your first hundred kisses.

Now, laid in bed beside you, two years into dating, Regulus could not imagine not being comfortable around you. He smiles fondly when he thinks of the boy he was before you decided to simply drown him in affection, but he does not relate to him anymore. There is no place he would rather be than here by your side, in the flat he purchased for the two of you straight out of Hogwarts – the last time he can remember panicking before asking you to take the next step in your relationship – playing idly with your fingers as you hummed some melody he could not place. It felt right.

The one thing that had remained the same throughout your relationship, both before and after it turned romantic, was that you overflowed with “I love you”s and he had not said it once.

You had talked about it before, of course you had. Sirius had given Regulus a stern talking to about communication when you first started going out, unwilling for his baby brother and friend to get hurt by their own stupidity. 

“I don’t know if I can say it,” Regulus had said then. “It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t need to then,” you had said so simply, through a smile that made his heart spin happily. “I know what I need to know. I like saying my truth because that’s how I am; but I am more than happy to accept you showing yours because that’s how you are. And I love you as you are.”

Regulus had known in his bones that you meant it, and that made it all the more sweeter. He attacked you with kisses after that, relishing in the giggles it drew from you.

“If it ever changes, will you tell me?” Regulus asked after, when you quieted down in each other’s arms. “If you ever need to hear it?”

You had said something about how you “do hear it”, always with your metaphors and abstract ways of viewing things. When Regulus, ever the pragmatist, had insisted on getting an answer to his question because “you know what I mean”, you had promised to tell him. You never did need to because it never changed for you.

It was Regulus it changed for.

In your shared bed, your hand in his as he followed its outline and your bare legs entangled, something deep in him shifted. You were sleepy and content above him, reading some paperback he borrowed you ages ago that you only picked up once you moved in together and all your books were in the same place anyway. He was laying half on top of your chest and staring at you with what had to be love in his eyes because that’s what he felt in his soul. He had been staring for the past half an hour, not even realising it, lost in his train of thought.

He had expected that when he would finally say it, there would be some grand reason, some special moment. Something that would cause that shift, something that required him to voice what he felt and you knew.

There wasn’t; it was just you and him, and he was so unbelievably happy and comfortable. He had tried microdosing love and you ended up giving him a lifetime supply instead. You were everything.

“Sol?” The question drawled out of him, mouth ahead of his brain but heart running miles before both. 

You looked up with a smile, stopping your absentminded humming. “Yeah, love?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he spent another minute just looking at your face. You let him, indulgent and sweet as ever.

“I love you.”

You froze. The smile remained on your face, the same contentedness there, but your eyes widened and your hand on his back stopped mid-circle. “What?” you whispered.

He kept staring at you with a smile, almost finding humour in your increasingly shocked expression, though some old part of him remained alert for rejection. Which makes no sense, she tells you it every day, he reminded himself. Still, old habits die hard.

You decided to trade one question for another upon his silence and your mental recalibration. “Why?”

“Why?” Regulus repeated through a laugh, as if the thought was incredulous. “Have you met yourself, soleil? Have you seen what you’ve done to me? I’ve always loved you.”

You sat up quickly at that, jostling Regulus up with you, though he was less graceful in the change of position as he did not anticipate it. You looked at him with the same wide-eyed expression. “Not what I meant,” you said then.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what.

“But you didn’t have to,” you blurted out before he could. Rushed, almost frantic. “Don’t say it because you think you have to.”

Regulus furrowed his brows in confusion before they cleared up in realisation of your fear. He shifted to sit closer to you, practically pulling you between his legs, and grasped both your hands softly. They had been hovering between your forms, as if over an injury you did not know how to treat. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs back and forth over your knuckles. “Amour, soleil,” he whispered, emphasising the words with all his might. “I know I don’t have to. I wanted to. I want to, it feels right. I– I love you.”

The second time, the phrase flowed more freely from his tongue. Easily. He found he quite liked the taste.

You opened and closed your mouth twice, eyes flickering all over his face as if to deduce whether you trusted his words. Then, ever so slowly, he saw that smile he loves so much begin to grow over your lips, that looked increasingly more kissable to him.

“Yeah?” you asked him breathily through your oncoming grin.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “I love you. I always have, you know. But I felt like saying it now.”

Your laughter was almost watery as you squeezed his hands in yours. “I do know. And I love you,” you asserted clearly, as if there had ever been any doubt.

“So I’ve heard.” The cheeky remark was the last thing that left Regulus’ lips before he moved forward and captured yours.

Just like that first kiss in the Astronomy Tower, one led to possibly a hundred more. Giggles and sighs all mixed together into what Regulus was proud to call his life.

A life with you. A life of love.

[keeira2]

I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU

stalkerexbf!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

summary: life takes a weird turn when your introduced with an anonymous stalker. but everything changes when he breaks into your house and your met with him face to face..

warnings: crazy!rafe, pantie stealing?, creepy!rafe, rafe threatens you with a gun, sort of cnc, heavy on the smut, CNC, spit kink, degrading kink, tied up reader, soft!rafe at the end? MDNI 18+!! if i miss any pls lmk

a/n: this is kinda long whoops, not rlly proof read so ignore any mistakes pls. it’s also rlly kinky js giving everyone a heads up. hope you guys like it :3

after another long shift at the pelican yacht club, you’re finally home. throwing your keys onto the kitchen bench nd undress for ur shower. which was what you desperately needed after serving snobby kooks for the past six hours. you let the hot water fall down your body. scrubbing ur scalp and body clean of any grime from the day.

wrapped in ur towel, you walk to ur bedroom to get dressed. grabbing a baggy tee nd a lacy thong. as ur going thru ur lingerie drawer, you notice ur favourite pair of black panties missing? which was weird because you remember folding them nd placing them in there the night before.

you brush past it, getting dressed nd collapsing onto the bed to watch murder documentaries. after less than half the episode, you find urself drifting into a deep sleep.

days, even weeks go by, your daily routine unphased. another closing shift at work, you grab ur belongings nd start to walk home. usually you’d catch the bus, but when you close it’s already 10pm nd there aren’t any buses running this late to the cut. so you walk home, wrapped in ur fur hoodie trying to ignore the cold air.

it’s only a 10 minute walk to get home, which has never been a problem especially bc you know most ppl in the cut. but this time you feel a burning gaze shooting right thru you.

you shiver, partly because it’s cold but mostly bc you have an overbearing feeling that ur being watched. you hear a rustling in the bushes behind you, which could’ve been the wind but you were NOT taking any chances. so you start to run, not looking back. you don’t stop until you get home, quickly unlocking the door nd slamming it closed behind you.

you make sure to lock all the doors and windows before hopping in the shower, which helped you shake the creepy feeling off of you. you heat up some popcorn nd snuggle under your covers.

ur trying to pick a movie to watch, occasionally leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn you hear your phone ‘ding!’. lazily reaching over to grab and check it, you freeze when ur gaze lands on the message.

unknown number: you don’t need to run away from me, doll. was js making sure you got home safe ;)

someone was following you. oh my god. you sat still for a moment, still in shock. how did they get your number? how long have they been following you? you basically led them to your home, do they know where you live now?

millions of thoughts racing through ur head, you couldn’t help but text back, your hands shaking over the letters.

you: who are you???? please leave me alone.

before you can even shut ur phone off, another ‘ding!’ catches your attention like he was waiting for your response.

unknown number: you’ll find out who i am soon enough. i’m just looking after you, don’t be scared, doll.

what does he mean i’ll found out soon enough? is he gonna come after me? did he follow me home? you’re literally shaking in fear now, ur mind racing with different possibilities.

you: please. leave me alone.

you see he’s typing, but stops. he doesn’t text you for the rest of the night, maybe he listened and he’s actually gonna leave you alone. you were just hoping that maybe it was a prank from ur friends. anything except the fact that you might actually have a stalker.

you struggle to fall asleep that night. tossing and turning in your bed, desperately trying to calm yourself. ‘the doors are locked, nobody can get in. ur okay’ you reassure yourself.

a few days go by and you start to notice more panties going missing. what the fuck? you’re left with only a few pairs now, and there’s no way you’ve just misplaced them. the realisation dawns on you. what if he’s been here. has he been in ur house??

you try calming yourself down. ensuring every window nd door is locked. sitting back down ur cozy bed, u slip under the covers and bring ur knees up to your chest in a fetal position. your breathing is heavy while u hold ur head in ur hands. you quietly sob. ur so scared. you’ve only been living by yourself for 6 months and you were scared then. why me??

you didn’t even realise how much time had gone by or when you’d gotten tired. but you rub your closed eyes, letting out a big yawn and stretching your arms out. but when you finally open them, you freeze.

a man is standing in ur room, looking right at you. you can’t muster up the courage to say anything so you just stare back completely still, unable to see his face.

“hey doll, you miss me?” a familiar voice asks, stepping closer.

your mouth falls agape. no. no. no. no. no. this cannot be happening. you’d ended things with him MONTHS ago after he started acting out, getting angry all the time, threatening to hurt you and being literally insane. you blink ur tears away, one managing to roll down ur cheek.

“r-rafe..?” you whisper, if the house wasn’t completely silent he wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

“you’re so pretty when ur sleeping, baby.” taking a step closer to you now. you try to move backwards but ur back already pressed against the bed frame. u see him reach behind him, pulling what looks like a gun out of his back pocket.

“n-no, no please.. what are you doing?” you ask shakily, trying to back away further away from him to the other side of the bed.

he sighs, “i don’t wanna have to use this, doll,” shaking the gun in his hand to refer to it,” just listen to what i say and don’t give me a reason to hurt you, alright?”

you tremble with fear, “please, rafe, please leave.. i wont tell anyone. just please” you plead with him. praying that he’ll just go and never come back, even tho you know deep down that’s not gonna happen.

“m’sorry, no can do,” taking another step foward until he’s standing over you, ”missed you so much, can’t leave now.”

his words made your heart flutter, you couldn’t help it. you couldn’t deny the way ur thighs clenched together at the thought of him putting in all this effort just to see you. why are you like this oh my god?? no. u want him to leave. you need him to leave.

after a second of hesitation you finally ask “..what do you want, rafe?” wiping a tear from ur face.

he sits down across from you on the bed, holding the gun up to face you. ‘he’s only doing this to scare you.. he would never actually hurt you’ you try convincing yourself.

“aw come on, don’t be like that, angel” his hand grazing ur knee, before placing his large hand inbetween them to gently pull ur legs apart, “i bet ur so wet right now, so desperate f’me.” he groans nd u notice the massive buldge in his jeans.

u shake ur head, “no, rafe,” you sob again, “please go.” he brings the hand that’s holding the gun to your face, pushing the hair out of ur face with it, “sh sh, it’s okay.. ur okay. save the tears for when i’m done with you, alright?”

you don’t know if that’s reassurance or a threat but either way you feel your pussy getting wetter, his hand travelling lower until its resting on ur plush thigh.

“i need you to stay still, baby, or ur gonna get hurt.” he warns sternly before standing up and reaching for his back pocket again, pulling out a thick rope. u already know how this is gonna go.

he snatches both ur hands nd goes to tie them to the headboard. u squirm nd use ur trembling body to try and push him off, he doesn’t budge until u slap his face. his face turning back to you slowly, a hand against his jaw with a smirk.

“what did i just say? hm? ur gonna regret that, doll, makin me do things i rlly didn’t wanna do.” with a harsh grip he snatches ur wrists again, ur body squirming trying to release your arms but to no avail. when ur wrists are tied down, you whince, the pressure making you sore.

he reaches down to grip ur face and pulls you in to a desperate, hungry kiss. he hovers over you, pulling ur legs apart with his body. his tongue invading your mouth. as much as you hated this, you couldn’t help but kiss him back.

when he finally pulls away he wastes no time in ripping off ur shirt, “no bra, hm? knew you wanted this.” he groans and attaches his lips to ur tits, licking and sucking at ur nipples causing you to let out a series of faint moans.

rafe pulls away, snatching ur knees to spread your legs apart wide. eyeing you down, admiring the wet patch he’s created through ur panties. he lays on his stomach infront of you, giving ur thighs open mouth kisses.

“r-rafe, please..hmmpf” u whine. u don’t know if ur asking him to stop or if u want him to do more. ur so ashamed.

“please what, doll? use ur words cmon.” he teases ur swollen clit with his thumb, over the fabric of ur soaked panties.

when u don’t respond, his big hand slaps your pussy, causing you to let out a scream. “i said use ur fucking words” he raises his voice at you.

“p-please, eat me out,” u whimper when he rubs circles over ur clit, “need you.” that was enough to please him. so he tugs ur panties off, sliding them off ur legs and his tongue was licking a long stripe thru ur folds. “u taste so good, baby” he mumbles into you. without any warning, he inserts two fingers and thrusts mercilessly, now sucking ur puffy clit.

you let out a scream, or a moan, you didn’t know what it was but he makes you feel so so good. almost made you forget how he’s been breaking into your house and stalking you.

u tug to wrap your hands in his hair but remember ur wrists are tightly bound. he’s holding u down with one hand and fucking you with the other.

you feel yourself getting close, clenching around his fingers. u start to squirm, lifting your hips so he can get deeper but he detaches his mouth from ur clit and pulls out his drenched fingers.

“..why’d you stop?” you whimper, desperate for your release.

“youll cum when i say you can.” your eyes pleading with him but he shakes his head. “now your gonna take my cock like the filthy slut you are.” reaching for his belt nd yanking his jeans nd boxers off.

he starts teasing your folds with his cock, making you squirm even more. you know this is wrong. he’s insane. but you can’t help but enjoy his torment.

suddenly he roughly thrusts into you, without letting you adjust, pounding into you ruthlessly. the sounds of your skins clapping, his heavy grunts and your screams echo the room.

your legs unconsciously wrap around his waist. his hands grip onto your hips tightly, surely leaving bruises for you in the morning. “r-rafe, fuck, please sto-“ you screech when he goes in deeper. “fucking take it, quit complaining.” he yells before taking your tit in one hand, teasing your nipple inbetween his fingers.

he knew your body so well. you hated it. if this was anybody else you wouldn’t have been enjoying it like you are now. but it’s rafe. even when he was acting crazy in your relationship, he always made sure you knew how much he loved and cared for you. how he would do anything for you.

you can feel your release finally coming. you clench around his cock, silently begging he’ll let you cum. but to no avail, he pulls out. he unwraps your legs and sits over your chest. “open.” when you don’t comply he grabs your jaw and sticks his thumb into your mouth, “i said fucking open.” the second your lips start to part, he pushes his dick into your mouth, thrusting relentlessly making you gag around him. tears start to well in your eyes and when you try to pull your head away he latches his hand in your hair to stop you from moving. finally releasing you when you feel his cock twitch, followed by a hot flow of cum invading your throat.

he grabs onto your jaw again, giving you three light slaps to you cheek and spits in your mouth. “fucking swallow it,” hesitantly you do, opening your mouth back up and sticking out your tounge to show him.

he smirks, content with the sight in front of him. your hair disheveled, hot tears covering your cheeks and that look in your eyes, which you always had when you were around him. his sweet angel. he loved ruining you.

“rafey.. can i cum now, please? i’ve been a good girl.” you beg. the nickname making him flustered, which fortunately for him you don’t notice in the dark room.

“d’you think you deserve it?” he asks teasing to which you nod eagerly.

“please.” all your self respect and pride out the window now because you were so cockdrunk on ur psycho ex boyfriend you couldn’t think properly.

he shuffles back, spreading your legs apart again and moves his hand towards where you need him most. he begins toying with ur swollen clit before thrusting back into you. this time slower but just as deep.

you don’t hold back your moans, he makes you feel so good. but your cockdrunk haze interrupted when he started to speak again. “tell me you love me.” he groans, his eyes locking on yours. his thrusts hitting deeper, picking up the pace.

you were immediately taken aback. ofcourse you loved him, it’s rafe. but he’s crazy, god, he broke into your house and threatened you with a gun. he noticed your hesitation and starting rubbing your clit, almost sending you over the edge.

“y-yes, fuck, rafe i love you! hmmpf” you scream, your pussy clenching around him once again, his hand tightly gripping your throat. his thrusts brutal, pounding into you. you tug at the ropes bouncing your wrists when you feel pure bliss, your mind hazed and your pussy aching. his thrusts not stopping to ride out your high. you let out a loud, shaky moan/scream. the neighbours probably thought you were getting murdered. your orgasm leaves you limp, only ur legs shaking when he pulls out, yanking his boxers and pants back up.

what you’ve just done dawns over you. you’re so ashamed. you actually begged him to keep going. your tears reappear, trying to be as quiet as possible so rafe doesn’t notice and yell at you again. you wanted to kick him out, call the police and never see him again. the other part of you wanted him to hold you in his arms while you cry, and beg him never to leave your side. but right now, rafe decides for you.

he leans over to give you a sweet peck on the lips and reaches for your bound wrists. “are you gonna be good?” he whispers, eyes scanning your face for any lies. “i’ll be good, rafe. promise.” and you meant it, even tho you were choking back sobs of humiliation, you still meant it.

he untied the rope, your wrists aching and bruises already appearing. he leaves pecks all over the markings, which is his way of saying he’s sorry for hurting you. “i love you so much, y/n” he confesses, straightening back up to face you again. without even thinking, you lean forward, taking his jaw in your hands and you kiss him.

the kiss is beautiful, it wasn’t rushed or heated. it was slow and meaningful. when you finally pull away, you avoid his gaze. “i love you, rafey,” his eyes widen, he didn’t think you’d actually say it back. he knew you said it before, not because you meant it but because he basically forced you. but you did mean it. you never had stopped loving him, you were just tired of his lack of sanity.

he stands up and walks out of your room, leaving you on the bed alone without saying a word. a minute goes by, you felt so dirty and disgusting now. but before any worse thoughts could swarm your head, you hear footsteps heading towards your room. rafe is back, and hes holding a towel. oh, how you missed him.

he taps your thigh, signalling you to spread your legs and cleans up the mess you’d both made. discarding the towel, he crawls onto your bed and slides under the covers with you. “i’m really sorry, baby. i wasn’t trying to scare you. i just- i didn’t know what else to do.” his excuse was sloppy (and insane) but you still forgave him. you knew he was messed up, but so were you. in his head, he was just trying to show you how much he loved you, even tho to any normal person it’s a really creepy way to get someone back, you understood enough to let him hold you.

his arms wrapped around your waist, ur head snuggled in the warmth of his neck. “i know, rafe.. i’ll always love you.” you whispered before drifting to a heavy sleep in the comfort of his arms.

[sleepy-fiction]

Got a crush- got a crush- Crush you all beneath me. ⚗️

Jinx x F!Reader SMUT

3k WORDS

tgs: intense violence, erotic asphyxiation, water sports, bdsm, knife play, powerplay, masochist reader, oral, cunnilingus, sexual repression, religious terms/oppressive religious language, reader is shit and pathetic its lovely

syn: Jinx spares you before your death, the adrenaline, the ecstasy, its euphoric. You re-emerge bright-eyed like the first oracle of a God. Only this time, you want to eat God's cunny, and she'll let you.

an: hii err questioning myself with this one wow. this takes place in act 2 of arcane s2, jinx is rumored to be older bc of a possible time skip between act 1 & 2, but jinx is early 20s in this fic. I wanted to write something freakalicious and get back in touch with my weird side. mildly proofread

Smeech's gang had been your home since you were little. You were born into it, your parents' loyal followers, devout, and strict as they came. The rules were engraved into your brain, defined like the Old Testament. You were linear, closed-minded, and point. Your parents died in the battled post silco. Your neighbors, the other kids. The gang's numbers were dwindling, if not by death, then by them abandoning the cree for others. And the years went by. Your silent, dormant hatred for Jinx muddled up.

It continued until her little revolution, where she gained her little blue headed cult following. You'd be lying if you say a part of you wasn't swooned. But your revenge called for more.

What they called "Safety". No, it was nothing but plain blameless sin.

And you were put on this earth to eradicate it.

So it only came natural after Smeech's disassembly, for the gang to disemble themselves as well. Like a ghost town, you found yourself being the only righteous one holding up the banner. And if A^2 + B^2 = C^2, you were going after the women responsible for it.

No.

THE woman responsible for it all.

Jinx.

Blue eyed, blue braided, soon to be blue bellied, Jinx.

Jinx was a flithy mongrel, poisoning Zaun from the inside out. Her almost physiological poison bubbled out of its bloodied cauldron and frothed onto the deep floors of Zaun. Like a thick and heavy smoke blinding the ground, sucking the souls out of sinners, and blinding even the most powerful. Tempting, and as small as an ewe lamb, yet brewing and seizing like an unruly urchin. Baring pretty pale hips, milky white skin smothered in tattoos. And those eyes. Those round doe eyes.

They kept you awake at night.

Tempting.

They made you shudder.

With the bloodlust you had been building for weeks, weeks until the day your holy vengeance struck from the skies. With the last remaining loyal souls with nothing to live for, other than the fragments of Smeech's impressive legacy.

Yet why.

How.

How did things end this way.

Your body seized the moment your very own blades, the one you fantasized about taking the life of Jinx, was twisted deep into your belly. Your eyes flashed white, your gasp deep and profound, your balance suddenly no longer mattering to you anymore. The surprise attack was going well, well, until Jinx drew her devilish strength from hell and slaughtered your gang like animals. And you, being brave enough to stop her, freed her of all her guns. You fought like chickens, scratching and scraping at each other, throwing rocks, tossing dust, kicking crotches, pulling hair (you mainly), all until you had her.

She was pined beneath, whimpering and blabbering useless mantra. You revved your blade. But you stopped. You had to tell her why she deserved this. Your speech you had prepared before vanquishing this world of evil. Your glorious speech of Smeech and your gang. And unbeknownst to you, that was more than enough time for her to flash bright magenta eyes. And whimper a sound so attainable, your breath locked, and suddenly, for no reason at all, you had an urge to piss.

That one second of weakness.

No.

She turned your speech against you, she built up her bewitching tactics, disarming you and filling you with mercy, all for her to drive your beloved knife, your knife that your parents made you, deep, deep into your belly.

Then those doe eyes sharpened and she laughed.

She pushes you off her like you were nothing, your body hitting the wet dirty floor. It was raining, and glory's pellets dribbled woefully onto your cheek. Your breath was broken up into sharp, unattainable gasps as you meekly tried to crawl away. Your vision shook white in a painful mix of adrenaline, pain, and panick. Panick thick enough to make you spit and froth out the corners of your mouth.

Your body was ringing, brazen silver alarm bells loud and sparky in your ears. The flashing of tree roots and veins in your vision, and how sharp your sense of smell suddenly became. You could smell the muddy streets clearer than day, and even the smell of cotton candy and battery acid death pouring out from her body. A smell that, even now, still made your lower parts clench.

"Ha-! Ahaha-ha," she laughs. Her voice echoes. In your shaken vision, you see her rise before you, blurry bright cyan blue blinding. Pitifully, you crawl backward, desperate to flee death. Once Jinx has you, she never spares any mercy. You knew that going in, but never, never did you believe it'd become a reality.

You were going to become another number on an ever growing list of people who thought they could kill Jinx and failed.

Once that settled in your brain, pitifully thick tears sprang out from your eyes. You cried loudly, a wail strong enough to shake the most powerful souls. A wail so primal, so childish, a wail that stemmed from early development yet also the evolution of humans itself- the last cry of a dying homosapien at the hands of a bloodlust driven Neanderthal.

A cry that was stopped by the quaking footsteps of Jinx. The booming, sloppy, wet footsteps filled with the vibrations of her getting closer. She fell on top you with a cadence, a gust of quick wind as she straddled you. You gasped and reached forward blindly, raindrops falling in your eyes and mixing with the tears as you clawed at her jaw and neck.

She didn't care. She grabbed your left wrist in a vice, hard enough for you to cry out like an injured lamb. And with her other hand, she gripped your face and trusted hers into your view.

She spoke, "You feel that?"

You gasped, your breathing erratic.

"You're going to die," she laughed at you. "You're going to die, and you almost had me! Not even my sister got that close!" Her voice is like a wicked hyena. Gravely and strained from the battle, creaking to show her physical pain.

But it was enough. It enough for your body to grow limp in her hands like a frightened goat.

Your eyes bare into her face, your head uplifted by her tight hands. As you stare at her skin, as pale as powder, eyes as tired and jaded as a wilted flower, and smile as deranged as a wheel on its last hinge.

She smiles, growing ever close, closed enough for your noses to touch, and for her breath, the mingle with yours, "You know. At this stage. You're suddenly aware of everything around you. Your vision goes to shit. But you can still hear the little birds go 'cheep-cheep-cheep', and the rain-- 'pitter-patter-pitter-patter'. And you can't quite feel the pain, but it's the fear of knowing it's coming that gets you." She grabs the knife, twisting it slightly.

You jolt, crying out in agony. "Your heart rate spikes, you begin to hyperventilate. And there's this ringing in your ears... And... My favorite part, the buzzing behind the eyes," she says as she reaches and stretches your eyelids back. Your pupils shrink, and just as she says, your body systematically begins to follow. Snot pools down your nose, a tell tale sign of your inability to get oxygen. "It's totally useless how we have a nose and mouth. But yet they get so scared and they start working against eachother! Just like families... Just like gangs... like rats," she hisses, and you can feel the etchings of her lips near your cheek as she loopily giggles towards your ear.

"You know, if you breathe through your nose, your hyperventilating will stop," she smiles. Eagerly and foolishly, you obey, shutting your mouth instantly and sucking in gifts of air. But just as instant as you gain it, you lose it within seconds. Jinx pinches your nose shut, her thumb and index vicious like the jerking bite of a shark.

You panick, you eyeballs ringing. And as you try to open your mouth again, she drops your head, ot crashes to the ground, and she slams her free hand to clamp your mouth shut.

"Nhahaha," She laughs. Oh, she laughs. It's manical in nature, enough for you to wet yourself in pure fear. Your hands shoot up to claw at her hands, albeit weakly, and it feels nothing more than a massage to her. By now, you're aware of the warm wet clinging your shirt has to your belly, your pants to your crotch, and the flavorful blend of urine and iron in the wet muddy air.

Your vision spots.

She releases you, but it was already much too late.

"You know what," she says. Her voice trails in and out in your ears. Her blurry figure rises, "I think I'll spare you... That is, if you don't bleed to death out here."

Your head sags, catching the final glimpses of her limping away before it all fades to--

You jolt awake with a hard start. You shoot up, blinded by white lights that eventually shimmer down to a familsr room, your hideout. Your heart bursting a hundred miles an hour out of your chest. It was the feeling of shimmer running down your veins like a cold shower.

Instantly, you recognize your old partner, Kilo, rushing up to you from their seat in the back. Their hands grab yours, but you're even quicker to smack them away. "What t'hell! I was supposed ta-ugh die," you blabber out, spit flying in your jittery rage. Your hands grip your head of hair, your heart racing painfully.

"I heard about your dumb plan, and I came to save you, (y/n)! You had been laying there for God knows how long--" They say but you cut them off with a deadly glare, "Why are you mad? I saved you! Listen, God, you just need to calm down," they pleaded, burning their doe shaped brown eyes into your skull. Eyes you used to find allu ng, before they abandoned Smeech.

Smeech.

Dammit.

Did it really even matter anymore.

Dammit you can't fucking think straight.

How much shimmer did they use on you?

They reached again for you, and you smacked them harder, as hard as your jittery body could manage. They were as thick as a barn, burly and bearded, so your shove did nothing to them. But still, you powered up, barely making out of your bed before you knocked into your bedside table and cracking into your lamp.

As soon as you stood, your heart rate spiked, causing a brilliant gasp to leave your body. The kind of gasp they've only ever heard you release in bed. The kind of gasp that was filled in nostalgic ecstasy, the pain was so reminiscent of when Jinx--

Fuck.

No. Please God no.

"Are you okay," they asked. And with one look from them, you knew that they knew.

They knew.

And they were judging you with those pitiful eyes.

"Jinx did a number on you," they tried to whisper, but you seethed like a jackal.

"Jinx did nothing to me! I am normal! I am fine! I haven't changed," you screeched. Your face was warming, your heartbeat was painful, but memories of your last encounter flooded your brain.

You were going to die in the marvelously sinful hands of Jinx. But she spared you. It made every part of you tingle. You didn't notice when your partner sprang up to catch you, and you as hell didn't notice you falling forward. No, but what you did notice was the worry in their eyes. The worry in their deep masculine voice. And the devil horns springing out of their head.

They knew.

They knew and they were going to tell everyone.

"Get the fuck out of here, bastard!"

You yelled it with all your heart and soul.

And within seconds, you notice their heart crumble. Bleary brown eyes only complimented the flicker of guilt that panged you.

You just.

Needed them gone for good.

You collapsed moments after they left you, moments after the door quietly shut.

You were never going to see them again. They weren't just a partner they were your best friend.

And Jinx.

Jinx was brewing in your heart.

And you knew it then.

You were becoming something you never knew before.

⚗️

You'd imagine Jinx's surpise when the little runt she spared weeks ago came crawling deep onto Silco's old zone (now turned her streets), fully armed. What she thought was a foolish revenge battle turned into something else.

Sevika dropped you dead onto your knees before the desk in Silco's office. Your hands were bound behind your back, and Sevika had already stripped you of all the weapons you had. She walked up to the desk, where the back of Silco's chair faced you, and dropped all the weapons onto it. The daggers and guns flattered and shined in the light.

A dry, crackling laughter sparked into the air. A laughter you knew was hers. It made you tingle again. It made the bruises Sevika left you in all the more worth it.

You were shivering from withdrawals. Jinx withdrawals, adrenaline withdrawals, shimmer withdrawals. You needed her to make you experience that death spark again.

Please Jinx.

"Are you dumb or something," she asks. The chair finally spins to face you, her feet clashing against the table. Her face ridden with withheld rage. She blinks in disbelief with an agape mouth. She jolts forward, grabbing ome of your daggers and launches it towards your face. It narrowly dodges your eye and slices a thin scratch into your cheek.

You hiss and laugh.

It irrates her instantly. Her eye twitched. For the first time in forever, Jinx experienced the stress felt Silco once before. The stress of dealing with idiotic subordinates.

And for once. She didn't find it fucking funny.

"I spared you! But you come back with an even dumber plan. What? Did you think you could just waltz in here and slice me up," she asks. You laugh. She clenches her jaw. With an aggravated start, she jumps out of the chair, stomping on the desk as she slides off it in one quick athletic gesture. In seconds, she's on her feet crouching before you, squeezing chunks of your cheeks between her fingers. "What are you thinking," she spits.

Her grip is vice. It makes your eyes water. But you tingle and shiver all over.

"Mmh. Look at those pupils. You're on shimmer. Or- well, off it. What? Did the jitters make you think you could take me? Reclaim your honor," she says.

"M'hehe..mh," you giggle.

She bares her teeth. She drops your face and stands at break neck speed. Your head crashes to the floor, and you hear the familiar sound of a click.

"Everything about this is stupid and makes no sense. Your plan before was beautifully executed and thought out. So why... Why are you," she winces before she can finish her sentence and pinces her temples. You can hear Sevika cackle in the background. You peek up, staring up the barrel of a pistol. "Geez toots... I might get withdrawls next if you don't- I'dunno, say something," she says.

"Mmh... Jinx... Jus' just kill me... Jinx," you gasp out. Your nose aches, a perfect compliment to the ringing from your ribs from taking a robotic punch earlier. "Kill me... And it'll all be... like it was supposed to... Another number on the "anti" tally," you murmur. Not even you know what you're getting at. Why you're here.

Her heel touches your head. She's purposefully digging it into you. "Aah- haa," you shake.

Sevika gasps sharply, "Oh?" Her eyebrows quirk knowingly. Jinx turns to her, but Sevika merely smirks. "I'll leave you to it," Sevika hums, her shoulders slumping as she steps out. Jinxs eyes flicker with wilderment. Sevika lowered her guard. Totally.

They both knew you weren't a threat. But here, that small gesture confirmed a lot to Jinx. You were harmless, you didn't want to die, but you wanted to be around her. No. You wanted her to hurt you. She tests the waters. Jinx's muddy shoe pets down your head, its light not to hurt you. You buck and shiver again, blabbering out heedless.

No.

You didn't want her to hurt you.

When the realization dawned on her, a breathy cackle split the air. "Ooh! Oh god this is too good! What's that little runt," she squats right down next to you, flipping you onto your belly, "you want me to play with ya? Oh, daddy'll play with you toots."

"Wait- that's not what I what I w-want you to kill me! My honor! I lost it in battle, and i-it can only be claimed in--"

"Nn'haha! You really believe that? Oh god you're a riot! Say it. You want Jinxsy to touch you... And err... Ya'know! Take you to p-town. Play with your cunny?"

You felt an electric jolt sink to your clit. One strong enough to shut you up. Your eyes flicker to her crotch, where her legs were spread as she crouched.

"Ooh," she caught it immediately, "you want my cookie instead, eh?"

You gasped in horror.

"Or box? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Box... Box... I always wonders why, but," she says as she pushes Silco's desk out the way and sits down in the chair, spreading her legs wide, "apparently! It's called a box cause you can stuff it! Myahaha! Ain't that something?"

You stare blissfully at her spread legs, painfully aware of your slick oozing.

She pats her thigh. "Well? What's the verdict? I'm not pulling my pants down till ya tell me ya' want it. Say it cute-like! Oh Jinx-jinx-jinx-jinx! I want your cookie wookie! Pleaase'z," she drags it out, saying it sing-songly to fuel your embarrassment.

You blabber in disbelief, "Buh," and gulp, "B-But why. Why are you letting me?" You sound like a shy child.

"Why dya' think I spared you? You're pretty hot. And... I liked being handsy with you. It felt good... Gooder than usual... Hah! Prolly cause your whorish, sensual aura stunk up the place. All that temp'TIT'ous-humbo-jumbo! N'ahaha... God you-"

"Please, Jinx," you whimper.

She returns, "Hey. I already told you. We're not unt--"

You squeak, "Let me... Eat it..."

"Huh? Is that how you ask -"

"Let me eat your cookie," you say. She gives you a bland look. "Uh," you gulp, "Please Jinxsy... Let me eat your- c-cookie. Wuh... Wookie."

She laughs, "Tehe, you got it dollface!"

this wasn't ever about smeech, was it?

⚗️

"Ooh... ff-fuck dollface," she mewls breathlessly. Your hands are still tied tight behind your back, balancing wobbly on your knees as you bury your face deep beneath Jinx's bare, pale, milky legs. Your nose is buried deep into her cunt, your tongue and lips viciously lapping at her clit. Twitching between sucking and tapping it. She was swollen already, a clear sign of her sexual negligence.

No, part of you is convinced she is a virgin. Jinx bucks into your mouth, gripping chunks of your hair. Her leg twitching, barely missing kicking your shoulder as it flies off the seat it was propped up on. She let's it slump over your shoulder. And you almost cried at how far her hole was now from your greedy lips.

You growl, "Jinx put your other leg on me... C-cant suck all of you like this."

"Uhh... Hmm," You're sure she was only half listening, but still, she lazily hunches down and stops her other leg on your shoulder. She adjusts herself and leans slouches downward more, sitting on her upper ass and pushing her cunt straight onto your face in the process.

You snuck in deep sniffs, the smell balanced, tart, and salty. You slurp up her folds into your lips, pulling and letting them slip out between your lips. She hisses and mewls delightfully, an airy cackle leaving her lips. She taps your head with two fingers and bobs her head rhythmically, a delighted hum squeaking from her lips. You giggle humored, licking a stripe up her, slowing down to enjoy the moment.

She's staring deep into your eyes, grinding against your flat tongue, slowly matching your rhythm. Your rhythm was closely following the one she hummed and drummed on you.

It was odd, how calm it all suddenly became. How you couldn't seem to look away. You wanted to please her so bad.

A ferocious shiver sparked down you again. You locked in, cupping her clit in your lips, suckling and tapping against it. You buried yourself into her, erratic and fanatic, slurping all of her like it was your last dinner. She squeaks and bucks into your mouth at the sharp change, bowling out her moans. "Aah- ff... Oohh, dollface-ugh," she whines. Her arms fall out, one landing on her forehead, her index and thumb propped up on it, rolling her head back into the chairs cushions.

Her bucking became erratic, her moans spiking, her grip on herself becoming undone. As she reaches with her free hand again to grab chunks of your hair at the root. Her cunt is pink and pale, littered with pretty hair. But your bullying turned it a vulgar shade of red. A red you'd wear on your lips any day.

"Aah! Ah! Aaa-mmgh," she barks out. Her thighs clench vice around your neck, her leg spasming before finally, "Oouh," she janks your head away from her pussy, gasping and waning in the chair.

Her eyes rolled back, while senseless blabbering drooled out her lips. "Mmht... D-Dollface," she sighs blissfully.

"It's (y/n)," you murmur and lean back in to peck at her swollen, ruined pussy.

"(Y-Y/n)?" She gulps, her eyes never returning from their blissful heaven beneath her eyelids. "Mmh yeah... (y/n)," she mumbles, half listening. She sighs after a few seconds, finally looking down at you and- smiling? It was a soft one, geninue and pure.

She asks, "What else can you do?"

"Mmh... I want... to feel good too," you murmur still pecking her pussy and inner thighs.

"Hmmmrr.... Alright. Let's get you fingered up."

"N-No... At the same time as you... Let's grind on our thighs... er like how they do in those... Brothels."

"Ooh what? You mean scissoring? Ha, is this your first time with a woman," she barks a laugh.

"Is this your first time ever, Jinx?"

"Hey," she commands, her face twitches. She shoved your face back into her lips. "Don't get smart with me. You're still my doll," she hums.

"M'forgive me," you mumble out, with pussy between your lips. That was all the answer you need. You slowly begin to suckle her again, hearing her breathy moans pour in.

"Mmh yeah... Let's go to my room..."

⚗️

😁

[mangled-by-disuse]

One of the most important things I've learned talking to older (like, 60+) people is

and I am being dead serious here

there are no precedented times.

(this is going to be UK-heavy bc it's what I know but I think it's transferable)

Before COVID, there was Brexit. Before then, there was the Great Recession. Before that, there was 9/11. Sandwiched between those, by the way, was the foot and mouth outbreak which felt like, on scale and impact, it should have been a decade's worth of crisis - but honestly sometimes I forget it happened, even having grown up in a hard hit area where you could see the fires.

And before 9/11, there was AIDS. There were the Troubles. The fall of the Berlin Wall, remember, the time so dramatically historic that it was declared the end of history. There was Thatcher and Reagan and the Falklands, the miner's strikes, the Winter of Discontent. People spent the 1980s inventing punk because the world couldn't last like this. My mum didn't want kids in the 70s because general consensus was that they'd drop the bomb before she got a chance to raise us.

And she had us anyway, albeit not until the 90s, and our whole lives have been an unprecedented, historical, unbearable fucking mess.

But so were our parents'. So were our grandparents (fascism! rationing! two world wars and a Great Depression! the fall of imperial politics! a major royalist reconstructionist movement! fucking Winston Churchill! most major cities in Europe leveled and completely rebuilt!), and their parents (Great War! Moroccan crisis! Bengal famine! Spanish flu! Russian Revolution! Glasgow was briefly an independent socialist state!), and theirs (cholera epidemic! women's education! Disraeli being a weirdo! Government censorship!), and theirs, and theirs, and in 1666 people were writing screeds on how it was the end times, not because of religious fervour but because of plague and famine and political upheaval and an oppressive state and false prophets and bad business decisions crashing the economy and shitty rich guys who think they're better than you but can't organise a piss-up in a brewery, and just

history is thousands of years of constant, apocalyptic upheaval. and it is not a new observation that every generation thinks this, right now, is the worst it's ever been.

But it's not. It's not the worst. It just looks different, and we have proximity bias.

This isn't sacrificing your adult life to unprecedented upheaval. This IS adult life.

I don’t know how to explain this well…but I’m 30 years old and I feel like I’ve had to ‘sacrifice’ my entire adult life to unprecedented times, the pandemic and daily anxiety over hateful politicians and whatever rights they want to take away on any given day and I’m just so fucking tired

[shima-draws]

So every year my company has a huge conference where we all come together and go to different presentations and stuff. That’s the boring part. The FUN part is getting to talk to everyone and drink and party and listen to the higher ups talk about their experiences which always ends up being super inspirational.

Long story short they had a discussion about like. Taking chances and getting involved in things you want to be involved in even if it means changing positions in the company. And y’all know how much I fucking HATE my current job lol and while I have been searching for work outside of this company I haven’t had much luck (very competitive field + not a lot of open jobs that suit my experience + half the jobs in my field getting taken over by AI, etc etc). But!! While it’s not EXACTLY what I want to do with my life there is a position in this company that definitely has a more creative and artistic side. And that’s marketing. And there’s one (1) guy handling marketing for our entire company and he offhandedly mentioned to me a few weeks back about how he’s looking for help—and he went straight to me in particular bc he knows I have a background in art and design and stuff like that.

So being ✨ inspired ✨ by the conference I stepped wayyyy outside my comfort zone and worked up the nerve to tell him hey I’m interested in what you do and I know you mentioned you might need help and I’d frankly love to help. And he was SUPER excited lol I mean we’ve been friends for a while and he’s literally the friendliest and most extroverted person I’ve ever met. Things are already moving so quickly lmao he’s talked to my boss and his boss about getting me into marketing so I’ll be able to do things like. Photography! And video editing! And web design! And swag design! And lots of creative things!! And I’m very excited!! Bc I’ve felt so fucking stifled at my current job bc it’s just. Very opposite of a creative type job and while I do appreciate my teammates I just. Don’t want to be there anymore.

So I saw the opportunity and I was like. Clearly looking for other jobs is not working rn so you know, maybe marketing isn’t something I want to do forever, but it’ll at least give me more experience in my field if I do end up finding a job elsewhere. You know? And if I do this I won’t be absolutely miserable every single day doing something I don’t care about and don’t love doing. So.

Anyway long story short I might be getting a new position soon and I’m VERY excited and jazzed and grateful to finally get to have a job that I’ll actually enjoy doing. And I wanted to share. :))))

[awsugar]

And I forgot about the DRUMS!!! I think this is an album they may have been working on for years. I think they are going for a magnum opus

yea so i read this went you sent it at 6am cause ive been out of work sick for a few days now and my sleep is allll messed up. and i tinhatted EXTREMELY close to the sun on this one. but i kind of think im cooking. so let me explain.

also ill just say i think because we know somethings coming but we dont know what BUT we know there are threads throughout somehow connecting things from years prior like. all tinhatting is plausible until proven otherwise. if we want to draw a connection between two things we CAN. and i think thats why im so on board with mcr5 now when i havent been since 2019. bc ive done this before. i was in the trenches for the danger days rollout/promo and the transmissions on the website and everything and THAT was one of the most exciting times of my life and THIS reminds me of that. im glad people never gave up on mcr5 but they never gave me ENOUGH before now to really run with. and now they have and its a free for all. THIS is what being an mcr fan is about. tbh. this is what this fandom has been missing for AGES. when they dont give us teasers and lore and crpytic messages we devolve into like theorizing and arguing with each other about who they are as people. but this is the basis of mcr community to me....getting together with your pals inside your phone and inside your laptop (who now have grown ito irl friends for so many of us) and dissecting every shred of info they give us. thank god for my chemical romance.

ANYWAY sorry that. went down a path i didnt intend when i started. so yes um so what you said about them going for a magnum opus. let me tell you a little story. when i was in my first year of being a my chem fan, i was 13, i became QUICKLY obsessed, first with the black parade and then after i spent i think 2 months straight listening to nothing but the black parade on repeat all day every day (literally) i ventured into their other stuff and got like really sucked in to everything else, reading articles and interviews and watching every video of them youtube had to offer and talking about them 24/7 on the forums instead of doing homework, i would sneak the family laptop into my room at night so i could keep reading about them and talking about them instead of having to go to sleep it was THE most exhilarating and exciting time of my life. anyway. i remember (16 years later) reading a specific review of the black parade that said something like "my chemical romance will never top this album and they know it" and i STILL REMEMBER sitting on the couch and crying over it. because i had never listened to music that had made such an impact on me as the black parade IN MY LIFE. nothing had ever made me feel that way and that strongly as listening to that album. you know how we all always say we wish we could listen to my chem for the first time again just to have that feeling again. that was me. i had never experienced an album of their when it came out and i felt like the author of the article was telling me that i would basically never acheive that high again. it was devastating. i promise this is relevant. bc regardless of your PERSONAL FAVORITE my chem album, it is generally agreed upon that the black parade is their magnum opus. it just is. both in scale and musically and its impact on pop culture and its the best known to a general audience.

so you say they're going for a magnum opus. when the black parade is DEAD. they killed it. (in the new lore they were sent to the MOAT which i assume is some kind of exile and stripping of their status as the national band)

and so i started thinking about "in the face of extermination say FUCK YOU" and i think this applies here two-fold actually. MAYBE 3-fold. on one hand, in-universe. extermination being the concrete age, the dictator holding the people down and exterminating their livelihood. but also the extermination of the black parade! and then - irl - we have the extermination of mcr's chances of doing something huge again like this. music publications resigning them as soon as the album came out to never achieving something as epic and grand as that again.

and the FUCK YOU being, the opposition of the dictator from the people, the black parade being reinstated but? maybe they have plans to overthrow the dictator? IRL mcr saying fuck you, we can actually use the concept that you said was the best we would ever do, completely turn it on its head, and make something even more grandiose and epic and MAGNUM OPUS.

and also hail just reminded me obv of the UNKILLABLES drumhead in sydney. which both relates to franks personal experience there but also like. with this concept of in the face of extermination say fuck you. along with his end of tour post being a cockroach, notoriously unkillable! notoriously a target for extermination!!!!

god theres so many layers to this but i needed to get it off my chest do you still like me

[compressedrage]

Okay I can't not talk about this anymore– I've got a headcanon/canon-compliant au/interpretation of the Life Series events (as I'm sure many of us do) and the most recent season is working so well I just have to talk about it somewhere

sticking it under a cut, bc I just know im gonna go off and make a long post :P

(I haven't been in this fandom very long, so this is probably not very original, but I don't care! I'm having fun! anyway–)

The Life Series is a time loop. And Grian is the one who's keeping it going.

It was just meant to be a fun game, but then the Watchers found him. They warped Grian's game into their own twisted tournament, with the intent to take the winner as their champion.

They're about to take Grian again, when he reaches out with the power he'd kept locked away, and he resets the world.

Every time the bloodshed stops and the Watchers are about to reap their champion, Grian wrenches them back into the void and forces a world reset.

Except... with every reset, the world cracks a bit more. First, it was the boogey man. Is it the Watchers trying to push their influence on the players? Or is it something else? Grian isn't sure.

It goes until Secret Life. And then Grian is absolutely sure, because the world has shifted enough for the Watchers to slip their claws into it. They've gotten impatient. They want their champion. Grian tries, but there is only so much he can do with the weight of the tasks on his back. His own power is beginning to slip through too– he even manages to bring Jimmy back for a time, even if it's only a ghostly projection.

And then it's over. Grian is dead, drifting in the void.

(I have a scene in my head where he speaks with Mumbo while waiting for the end of the session. he basically tells Mumbo that he's been doing this and he doesn't know how to stop it, because he has to save them all)

And then Scar wins. And it nearly breaks him. Grian hovers over him, prepared to grab him and reset the world, when the Watchers yank Grian back into the void. It's a harsh, eldritch conflict in the void, and it's all Grian can do to hold onto his sanity, and throw his friends into the next loop.

But in it all, he momentarily forgets Scar. Still in the previous loop. He goes back to get him, but it's been an entire year for Scar. He's weary, and barely registers that Grian is real.

This new loop is the most broken yet. But Grian is still holding it all together as best he can. If it weren't for him, every weird aspect of this world would descend on his friends all at once and they would instantly die and Grian would lose track and then he would lose them–

So he holds things back, trying to keep things straight and monitor how his friends are doing. But he's starting to slip.

Mumbo knows what he's doing, and it doesn't sit right with him.

Scar is a victor. And his lonely year has given him plenty of time to regain lost memories.

Ren doesn't quite understand everything, but he knows Grian knows way more than he should.

Grian's not going to be able to hold it all together for much longer.

[obaewankenope]

I was a Teacher's Pet because of my information recall as a kid and then a teenager. Trauma™ broke my brain and has made it harder to recall things in the past decade but I can still pull up so much random information, inane comments made years previous, technical terminology I heard in a conversation I wasn't even part of and provide answers to questions I wasn't even asked but overheard being asked to someone else, and yet, for all that, if you ask me the birthdays of some of the most important people in my life, I STILL get them wrong. Or I have to play "guesstimate the number".

@maawi1253 has to deal with me having to use reminders to remember her birthday and how I forgot it for years because my brain could only recall One (1) Birthday Per Month (which meant I remembered my Step-Dad's bc same month). Also forgetting important dates and parts of conversations that are Important while recalling truly irrelevant comments that definitely don't need to have been stored in my brain yet were.

I also have no clue what my dentist is called even though she introduced herself the at my first appointment with her but I can remember every tooth and dental term she listed when looking at my teeth and have to consciously stop myself from answering her when she asks the dental nurse a question about my teeth.

movies where someone hears an important message only once and retains all the details….

girl if that were me, we’d be fucked. I have to reread emails like 4 times.

[diangelodork]

DBDA nightly analysis #21!

tonight’s topic: edwin payne and touch/charles is most of the reason he can touch people

edwin payne struggles with touch. this is not something that affects him much with charles, likely because of the exposure therapy that over thirty years of being best mates and business partners with someone who’s love language is touch and you are quite LITERALLY the only person/thing he can really touch creates, but i still think it is an indisputable fact about his character.

though i, as an autistic person, 100% head cannon edwin to be autistic, i acknowledge that steve yockey has stated that he was not WRITTEN to be this way. this being said, i recognize a lot of my own characteristics in edwin, most of which relate to my autism. though he is not canonically autistic, i will be writing about him as if he is (because i truly believe that he is, in my own interpretation and that of many others within the fandom). take that with you in this analysis.

i don’t think edwin was ever excessively touchy. we see one scene of him pre-hell and i simply cannot imagine that he was one to show much physical affection, not to mention that it would have been uncommon to do so in this time and region. on top of this, lots of autistic people are sensitive to sensory stimulation, touch commonly being portrayed when looking at media surrounding autistic characters. even if he had been in any way touchy, he was certainly turned off of touch after hell. this is not only because trauma and the constant feeling of being hunted for close to a century has trained him to be on edge and to jump at every contact or noise, but because the last bit of touch he got before being sacrificed to a literal demon was when he was wrestled from his bed and tied down to a table. that, alongside the watching-himself-get-murdered-a-million-times thing would’ve made it monstrously hard to find comfort in touch, or rather, to not be afraid of it.

i think this affects him in many other ways, as well. we don’t see him being as perceptive once he’s with charles because that is decidedly something charles is very good at, but maybe it’s also the same reason he’s not a fighter. he could be, if he needed to be, but he doesn’t. not anymore. regardless, his posture is very stiff and his head always held high, rigid in his movement. maybe this is just because he was a high class edwardian citizen in his life, but it’s likely to be a mix of both that and the fact that he had to take in so much information in hell. he had to be perceptive. though standing tall increases visibility (clearly bad for hiding), it also makes it easier to notice things. to see more. to hear more.

there is decidedly not a moment where charles touches him in the montage of their first meeting, interestingly enough for such a touchy character seeking comfort in this moment. either way, edwin’s posture remains far more rigid than we see of him later, bc he’s straight outta hell.

in E1, it is evident that he and charles are close, even if we discuss only contact. charles pushes him through the mirror, they have a moment where they play fight when trying to get him to box (he seems a bit uncomfortable here, but only when charles really gets in his face and it is not nearly to the extent that we see later and with other people), they exchange causal touches (nearly if not all initiated by charles, but not uncomfortable in nature for edwin), etc.

one could even make the argument that his ability to warm up to niko so quickly that she is touching and hugging him in a matter of episodes, but you must keep in mind how much of a sudden kinship he feels with her. he loves charles and he is his other half, but here is a girl that is so intriguing in nature and so kind and fucking strange and her brain seems to work similarly to his (cause she’s autistic too, literally fight me) and that’s not even mentioning that charles has made touch easier for him through the slow ramping up of it of over decades.

though it might seem that crystal is sort of the “exception” to his general okay-ness with touch, i think it is the opposite. it isn’t about crystal in specific, it’s about the connection he has already cultivated with charles as well as the immediate bond that overtakes him and niko. granted, he doesn’t super like her very much because of his own jealousy, but i think that’s how he would be generally with anyone but niko and charles for the reasons i have already listed. it is rather unfortunate that the exceptions happen to be more common in their sphere of friendship.

this may feel, in the fandom and in the show, like it’s still that jealousy or anger or hatred or frustration or something else towards crystal, but i’ve mentioned before that he is much more comfortable with her from Eps 5 and on. the reason he stiffens when she hugs him and wishes only to shake her hand no longer has much to do at all with the contempt he once felt, and all to do with his own relationship with touch that doesn’t come from his best mate or the only person who’s ever matched his freak like this.

now, does touch simon when in hell, but i fear that this is, again, another exception. he is just now realising that his murderer is not only in hell, but that he is there because of him and his punishment is fucking bullshit. he is angry. he is seeking revenge. he is seeking to make him hurt just like he did over a century ago. being faced with it when he meets despair forces him to realise that he does not want to be that person. he must treat him in kind. he holds his face and comforts him when he confesses fears and shame and guilt so similar to his own all that time ago. he has only just made the strides to understand that he needn’t hate himself and he must relay this information to someone who felt that same way, not only in hell, but in life. they were there, together, in st. hillarion’s. in the 1910s. forced to hate themselves and anything that reminded them of themselves. edwin has gotten to see the modern world and see that life does not need to be pain.

it’s so, so important to me that he holds simon’s face here.

why?

because if this show does nothing else well (which is not true), the thing it undoubtedly excels in is parallels.

because this

to THIS???

it kills me every time.

he learns to be as okay with touch as he is because of charles. he learns to use it to comfort others just as charles does it to comfort him. he still doesn’t like touch outside of charles and niko, but this is a moment of great emotion and he needs to make a sacrifice.

he is comforted in the same way he comforted simon, by the boy who taught him how.

he was probably never touched much and never viewed it as a comfort, but charles taught him what it could be.

this is the same reason, imo, that it stings so bad when charles refuses to let edwin touch him after fighting off tnn in E4. it took so long to warm up to it and now he sees the benefits, he sees why people do this, he finally takes comfort in it. here is his person in need of comfort and edwin tries to reach out and provide it in the way he taught him works best for him and he acts like he was burned.

anyway i’m sensitive to both touch AND rejection (+ i project onto edwin an UNHEALTHY amount), can ya tell???

[triglycercule]

would i be considered a lunatic if i said that horror's story could be read as a parallel for SA. Hear Me Out: (obviously be careful for reading this bc like,,, sensitive topic)

i feel like the largest parallel could be the actual event of getting his eye taken. a part of his body is "taken" and literally or metaphorically horror was pinned down and forced to give up his body (even worse considering that a literal part of him was PULLED out with a foreign object designed solely to hurt HIM SPECIFICALLY). it's digusting and horror claws and fights his way out to prevent it but unfortunately it still ends up happening no matter what he could've done. no matter how many backup plans or extra contibutions or begging or fighting he did. which like. sounds honestly pretty simple to the reality of victims of SA. that hopelessness of knowing that even if you did as much as you could, covering up, devoting yourself to a life of chastity, not hanging with people like thay, there's still a chance that something bad could happen and all of a sudden everyone's out to get you and how could they just stand by and do NOTHING while you were left to suffer and defend yourself

which leads onto the next point i wanna bring up which is horror's rage immediately after getting his eye stolen. his anger at the betrayal is (very justified my boy did nothing to deserve this) solely about him and his bodily autonomy. undyne (and alphys ig,,,,) couldn't consider ANY other possible solution than to deprive him of his autonomy and decide to just take what they wanted from his body??? AND THE FACT THAT ALPHYS SAID THAT HE MIGHT AGREE TO GIVING UP HIS EYE? it's giving very much so "oh it'll feel good so don't worry" type shit or whatever (horrortale alphys i DONT like you). a betrayal at the hands of someone you trusted a lot about your bodily autonomy? it just gives off that sort of parallel

and the sheer anger and fury that horror felt and enacted on alphys and undyne and everyone else at the CORE just like DUDE. that is a type of anger that only comes out when you've been deeply wronged. sometimes when a horrific experience like getting SAed happens you just wanna explode and drag down everyone around you and ESPECIALLY the perpetrators no matter how much you rationalize. you can have as many people as you want try to convince you that revenge and being hateful isnt the way but it doesn't matter because they havent been wronged the way youve been. horror deserved to be that cruel because undyne and alphys were just as cruel back to him, so he'll be the same and return it 10fold (he probably wasnt even out of bones when he decided to turn them into chips he just wanted to make it a point that he didn't even need to use his full strength to hurt the guards. horror could've EASILY killed alphys but no he wanted it to hurt for her so she could live a life of eternal suffering and fall to her lowest and to ESPECIALLY hurt undyne. because they deserve to suffer just as much as he did if not more for the crime commited against him)

a betrayal as bad as alphys's is only worsened when she tells him that she doesnt regret a single thing about using him for the underground. that has to be the single most infuriating thing for horror to hear because WHAT DO YOU MEAN alphys doesn't regret a thing? that's exactly what some people gloat about after doing terrible things; they try to sweep it under the rug as nothing that bad or justify it OR JUST STRAIGHT UP ADMIT IT!!! nah horrortale alphys deserved to suffer idc

and back onto that feeling of wanting to kick and scream and drag everyone else down with you after being left so used and betrayed due to getting SAed: i know it was bad that horror tricked snowdin into eating humans it was TERRIBLY BAD but really horror was just operating on anger and spite and the need for vengeance. nobody in snowdin ever did anything to hurt him (and i'm sure horror knows that considering he definitely regrets what he did) but to him maybe they also should feel the pain he feels so they can all relate. so that they can't try and fight against him when he says his side of the story and say that undyne was right with what she did. that maybe he wouldn't feel so absolutely devastated after what happened if he saw everyone around him suffering too, and maybe JUST MAYBE he'd get a bit of something back from his sacrifice that he never consented to

i KNOW i'm not reaching with this but idk if i phrased it the best. but to me horror's story really does genuinely parallel to one of an SA survivor's: the betrayal, the anger, the feeling of loneliness and isolation and just feeling absolutely used for a simple thing as your body. chapter 4 of horrortale really is amazing storytelling and so is horror (he was reasonable in what he did IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS he might be WRONG but it was reasonable. i love horror sans)

[bippot]

Hi hun 💜

I have a request for a smut fic with Bob Floyd

(This isn’t compliant with top gun maverick btw x)

ok so, Bob and the reader are in college together and the reader is a huge bookworm

Bob just like admires her from afar until he finally plucks up the courage to talk to her about a book she’s reading after class

She flirts with him and his lil brain can’t compute so he just stands there like 😳

anyway long story short they go back to her place and she seduces him

thought I’d leave it up to you bc you’re so talented 🩵🩵

Ducky's

Story Summary -> After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

Tags -> Fluff and Smut, College, Teacher-Student Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, cafe setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Study Date

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

(I took some liberties but I hope that's okay with you anon!)

The small bell above the door chimed as Bob Floyd walked into Ducky’s Café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He scanned the cosy, dimly lit space, noting the clusters of students, artists, and locals deep in conversation or study. It was a sight that felt new and foreign. Just days ago, he’d been stepping off his last Navy deployment, wrapping up a career that had spanned more than a decade. Now, here he was: a thirty-four-year-old freshman, feeling both out of place and oddly hopeful.

It was weird. He'd spent years in the Navy, living through it's strict rules and structure until they became second nature. He'd always wanted to fly planes and be an aviator adjacent, but he failed to realise how much it frayed his nerves. His mind had to be constantly alert, constantly be whirring, constantly be worrying, and it was a lot of mental strain. As soon as his contract was up, he declined to renew it. He wanted a slower life, one where he could focus solely on bettering himself without having to constantly deal with the pressures that came with a government job. And now, here he was at the cafe directly opposite the university he was enrolled at, living it up.

And living it up meant that he was audited every class he possibly could. He had the drive to be a Renaissance man, full of knowledge and talent and passion for the world that he’d never had before. Officially he was a creative writing major, but the psychology that he was carrying under his arm pointed to a different subject.

Sitting at an empty table, Bob spread out his materials, trying to arrange the chaos of notebooks, pencils, and highlighters so he didn't seem so unorganised in front of all of the other students around him. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. These eighteen-year-olds were his peers in academia, and if he made any mistakes, they would surely laugh at him behind his back for being so old and inept.

He'd been working for around half an hour when the lady behind the counter very loudly greeted, "Ah, she finally makes an appearance," and his head lifted to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at walk into the cafe.

The beautiful woman replied, "Mama, my class ran late, okay?" She flashed a smile as her mother handed her a large coffee and looked around the packed cafe. "Didn't save me a seat? You must not love me any more."

"You're spoilt, and you know it," her mother laughed. "I'm sure that handsome man over there will let you sit with him."

As if by magic, Y/N's mother pointed directly at Bob's table, and he smiled shyly and pretended that he hadn't heard their whole conversation. He hoped to God he hadn't blushed too obviously. Yes, he wanted her to sit somewhere near him, but, no, he would have no idea what to say to start a conversation. To his benefit, she started the conversation for him with a simple, "Hi, do you mind if I sit here? You look kind of busy, so it's okay if not."

"Uh...sure. Go ahead," Bob said awkwardly. "I can tidy up if you need some space; just say the word."

Quickly, she shook her head with a smirk and sat down next to him, crossing one leg over another as she settled herself into her chair and brought out a book from her bag. Glancing over the top of his glasses, he read the cover of her book, Room, and realised that he had a way in. He'd kept a reading list for the past few years, and for some reason, despite the fact that Room had always been on the list, he'd never actually gotten around to reading it.

"I've been meaning to read Room; how are you finding it so far? Would you recommend?"

She tilted her head as she came up with a response, and Bob couldn't help the way he let his head rest on his hand as he admired the profile of her face. She had an air of thoughtfulness about her, and her hair was pulled back loosely into a ponytail, framing her face and neck and giving her a very studious look. But then she opened her mouth to respond, and Bob found that he loved the way those lips curved as she spoke about what she was passionate about: books.

The detail she went into was insane; Bob was impressed and intrigued. It was fascinating to watch. There was passion, yes, but also humour and immense empathy. Her eyes were expressive as she told him all about the case the story was based on. It was a harrowing tale - they both knew that - and a little light-hearted comment every now and then helped to ease the discomfort that came along with discussing such a topic.

"... so, yeah, it's an intense read," she finished, her final words rushing into one. She'd gone on a full rant and, while Bob had added the occasional sentence or two, had taken the reins of the conversation without realising it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she mumbled, "Sorry for rambling like that; I didn't even ask your name." She gave him a sheepish smile. "And I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, no, please, keep talking," Bob said quickly, hoping that she wouldn't notice how he was staring at her lips. He held out a hand for a handshake, which she returned, unable to take his eyes from hers as he did so. "I'm Bob, Bob Floyd."

"I'm Y/N. If you hear my mother call me Ducky, please pretend you didn't hear it."

"You're the eponymous Ducky?!" he teased, his blue eyes flashing playfully. "You didn't tell me I was in the presence of cafe royalty!"

She lightly smacked him on the bicep. "Shut up," she chided softly. "It's a childhood nickname; my mom loves to embarrass me with it."

They laughed together, their voices soft in the chatter around them, and a gentle warmth washed over them as they gazed at one another. It was so comfortable and easy to talk to Y/N; a sense of familiarity overcame him, and he began to feel that this was exactly where he belonged. It was weird. They just met; they hardly knew anything about each other. Yet they felt so connected already. A bond seemed to develop between them that was almost instinctual, as if they were drawn towards one another in some mystical way.

They talked and talked and talked. Their shared fascination for literature led to discussions about various genres of fiction and poetry, and, before they knew it, time flew away. He mentioned being in the Navy briefly, just as a bit of flavour in a story, and he watched as Y/N's eyes roamed over his frame. 

She interrupted him midsentence by mumbling to herself, "Oh, that's why you're so hot."

Bob stopped. His voice abruptly cut out.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"...yeah," he replied, his cheeks burning at her compliment. In his life, he'd never really considered himself as hot. He was in shape - that's essential in the Navy - but he'd always been around other pilots like Hangman and Rooster, who were 'hunkier' by society's standards. 

That insecure nerd he was as a kid was still inside of him, and it was times like this that made his insecurity resurface. He wasn't vain - his ego was never big enough to allow him to consider himself that - but he knew for a fact that he was definitely a catch. He was kind and polite (his mama made sure of that), yet he didn't consider himself as 'hot'.

"You're incredibly pretty," Bob blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone as beautiful, inside and out, when I woke up this morning."

Y/N giggled, covering her lips. "Flatterer," she teased, though there was no bite to her words, just fondness.

"I'm just saying it like it is, Ducky."

The nickname slipped out so easily. For some reason, it felt right. So naturally, it felt like something that should fit perfectly on his tongue. And maybe it did. Maybe it did indeed belong. 

The conversation continued to flow between them, yet this time there was a hint of flirtation that neither had felt before. There were touches and looks exchanged across the table. The air became heavier and more intimate, and it became obvious that this wasn't just casual flirting that passed between strangers. 

"Hey Duck, I'm going to close in 5 mins. Get your butt moving," Y/N's mother suddenly called from behind the counter. "I love you, but I'm not extending my shift any further today."

"Okay mom!"

"Take your new 'friend' with you."

With that, Y/N rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to look at Bob, who was slightly red in the cheeks and trying to suppress a huge grin as Y/N stood up. "You heard the woman; get a move on."

Bob hurried to pack his stuff away and follow Y/N to the door until they were outside. "Did you walk?" Bob asked as the door was locked behind them and Y/N's mother turned the hanging sign to CLOSED.

"I don't live that far away, so, yeah, I walked." 

"Would... uh, is it okay if I walk you home?"

"I'd like that, Bob."

They made it to her front door in no time. They lingered for a second once they reached her doorstep, staring at each other for what felt like ages, feeling the energy build and grow between them. Then, Y/N gave up on the whole tip-toeing around the issue thing. "You should come inside. Someone might’ve broken in while I was out. I might need a strong Navy man to help me out," she stated plainly, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to refuse.

He didn't want to refuse. He simply couldn't, so instead, he nodded slowly and followed her inside the house with a blush high on his cheeks. "Strange, it doesn't look like a break-in has happened here. Maybe I should just -"

She silenced his joke by tugging his hand and, consequently, bringing him closer towards her. Bob looked down and smiled shyly at the sudden proximity between them. 

"I mean, I'm gonna stay. I want to stay. It's just... I don't usually do, uh, this," he explained, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and his thumb stroking the skin beneath her lower lip. "So..."

His words hung in the air, a little awkward and a lot nervous, but she understood nonetheless. She leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded and lips curling upwards in a small smirk. 

"Me neither," she whispered teasingly, leaning forward slightly and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw, and for the briefest of moments they were suspended in silence, their breath mingling as they looked into each other's eyes. 

Bob swallowed hard, his mind buzzing with questions. Was this wise? Was this a smart idea? He'd never moved this quickly before, but with Y/N, it was different. She was different. He liked the way she made his stomach flip flop, the butterflies in his stomach, her lips on his cheek, and the way she looked at him as if she wanted nothing else but to kiss him again.

"Are you sure? We can go slower if you want?" He asked quietly, breaking the spell they'd fallen under. She shook her head and placed her hand gently on the back of his neck, caressing him ever so gently, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

In a blink of an eye, her lips were on his. They were soft, pliant, and warm against his, and, within seconds, everything else faded away, leaving only her, the feeling of her soft lips against his, and the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

As they smooched, Y/N walked their connected bodies into her room. If they happened to be more than an inch apart at any point, one of them was closing the distance as soon as possible. Even when Y/N pushed Bob down on the bed, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and pressed herself against him within 5 seconds. 

She could feel the smile spreading onto her face as he groaned softly into her mouth as she began to trail kisses across his cheek and down along his jawline to his neck. Bob grabbed hold of her shoulders tightly, his breathing growing uneven as his desire rose. As he let his hands wander underneath her shirt, tracing soft circles around her back, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes. 

"Do you have a condom? I'd usually be prepared, but I didn't leave the house this morning thinking I'd be, uh, needing one, to be completely honest," he said nervously, biting his lip slightly, his eyes darting from hers down to her lips, and back up again.

"Yeah, of course," Y/N replied, sitting upright and reaching into her dresser drawer and rummaging through a bunch of items, eventually finding what she was searching for and pulling out an unopened box of condoms. "Bought these when I moved here, still haven't had the occasional to take the Saran off."

"Been a while?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Same here."

Their clothes were thrown off and fell into a heap on the floor somewhere in the midst of things. As soon as she felt his hands exploring the expanse of her back, Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. He took the opportunity to trail light kisses down her chest and neck, pausing whenever a gasp escaped her mouth to revel in the sound. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back slightly as she felt him nip at her hip. "Bob, please…" She pleaded quietly, barely able to keep quiet, the heat building between them rising higher with every passing second.

He grinned against her skin as he bit down harder on her hip bone than before, eliciting a moan from her throat. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Let me savour you properly, darlin'. Then, you better believe I will make you scream my name like nobody's business."

"Oh god..."

It sounded more like a whimper than anything, and he chuckled against her and kissed his way along her stomach and down her thighs. The feeling of being touched so deliciously and tenderly was almost too much to bear. His hands travelled all over her, tracing patterns, caresses, even kisses, and then, finally, he found her sweet spot. One gentle swipe of his tongue, and she was clutching at his hair and arching upward, moaning loudly, begging him to give it a little more attention. 

"Yes, baby," he whispered against her skin. "I'll give it to you. But we're going to take it slow, darlin'. I promise," he reassured, and then, after getting comfy on his stomach, he dipped a single finger into her.

After all, Bob was a patient man. He waited for her to adjust to him first; to get used to how he touched her before he dared to move another centimetre, and, even if she was aching now, he would wait. He would try and ease her body back into the rhythm, slowly increasing his pace until it felt right, until she was screaming his name, till he got the reaction that he needed. 

Foreplay had always been his favourite part of intimacy, and this was no exception either. He was careful and gentle, giving her the chance to adjust to him and teasing her just enough for her toes to curl, until her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding, until she was falling deeper and deeper into the haze of passion, her fingers digging desperately into his scalp and her breaths shallow and rapid.

It was all in order to prolong the pleasure and, hopefully, cause her to come back another day for more. And, oh, did he intend to make that happen.

Who knows how long Bob spent with his head between Y/N's thighs, kissing and licking his way along the insides of her legs until the sensation became too much to bear? Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her moans turning into cries as she begged, "Bob, Bob, Bobby, please! Please! Fuck me! Need you, need your cock in me, fuck -"

And, oh boy, was she about to find out just how much he needed her too. The desperation in her voice spurred him on, making him lose control and finally give in. With a heavy, panting sigh, he slid deep into her, filling her perfectly with all he was, all she was, and all he could be. All they were together. 

The moment he started to move, she threw her head back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice, grasping his biceps with both hands as if they were life preservers. "That's it, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling himself out once again and repeating the process over and over again. 

"You're doing such a good job, darlin', so very, very good..." he praised huskily and kissed the side of her neck repeatedly as he continued moving in her. "So, so good..."

Her nails dug painfully into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood from his body, and he gritted his teeth, pushing his weight down on her so she couldn't possibly move. She couldn't squirm away from him though; he was holding her too tightly. It was driving her crazy. 

With each thrust, Y/N's intelligence dropped until she was left as a sweaty, dumb mess beneath him, gasping and sobbing and pleading and cursing. "Oh, pretty girl," he smirked, burying his nose in her cheek. "You look so beautifully stupid right now. Am I fucking your brains out?"

It was a rhetorical question, but if it needed an answer, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she came was the answer Y/N gave. She let out a silent scream of his name one final time as her walls clenched around Bob, squeezing tight, and tipped him over the edge too.

They lay there, in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, listening to the sounds of their breathing fill the space around them.

"...Holy shit," Y/N breathed.

At the same time, their heads turned to make eye contact, and a laugh erupted from their lungs. Neither was able to stop giggling as they tried to calm themselves down and make sense of what had just happened. Slowly, Bob lifted himself and hopped out of bed.

"Where's your bathroom and kitchen?"

"Door opposite the bathroom; the kitchen is left of the living room." 

Within 2 minutes, he came back with a warm flannel and a bottle of water. He helped Y/N sit up, wiped the sweat from her forehead before cleaning up the mess down below, and then wrapped her in his arms as she rehydrated. 

"Can you pass me your phone?" she asked him, looking up towards him through half-closed eyes. Bob was quick to rifle through the pockets of his discarded jeans and hand her his phone. Y/N added her number to his phone and took a selfie of their post bliss faces to use as her contact picture. "You better not ghost me or you're dead meat, capiche?"

"I wouldn't dare to, darlin'," he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Well, it was supposed to be quick, but when he felt Y/N's hand come into contact with his jaw, stroking softly across his stubble, he lost any intention of stopping. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, his other arm coming around her waist to pull her closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly. 

When the morning came, their parting was bittersweet. Both of them were reluctant to leave, but Y/N had a job to go to, and Bob had already missed one of the lectures he was planning to go to. Plus, he had his first creative writing lecture - y'know, the one for the major he'd chosen - at lunch, and, as much as he wanted to be around Y/N, he didn't want to miss that lesson.

He knew it was silly to feel this way after one night, but he couldn’t help it. Y/N had a warmth about her that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He thought about texting her but decided against it, not wanting to come off as too eager.

Bob stepped into the classroom with a spring in his step, the remnants of a whirlwind night with Y/N still buzzing in his veins. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the rows of desks, and for a brief moment, he felt invincible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. As he slid into an empty seat, the door creaked open once more, and his heart nearly stilled in his chest. There she was — Y/N L/N. She strode in with an air of authority, her demeanour polished and professional, a stark contrast to the intimate whirlwind of the previous night. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes as they locked, a spark of shared secrets that sent a rush of heat through him.

Her confidence radiated as she introduced herself to the class, her voice smooth like silk, but Bob caught that fleeting glint in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction. His mind raced, processing the surreal scenario: he had done what most frat boys only fantasise about—he had crossed that line and succeeded in banging his professor, all before the semester had even begun.

Bob tried to focus as she outlined the syllabus, yet every time she turned to face him or glanced away, his thoughts derailed. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken tension, a delicate dance of professionalism clashing against the wild intimacy they had shared. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders today, soft and inviting, and Bob's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her collarbones, and he caught a glimpse of faint marks that still lingered—a testament to their passionate night together. His heart thumped wildly as he fought to maintain his composure, a mix of pride and sheer disbelief bubbling within him. Could it really be that he was sitting in a class, learning from the very woman who had wrapped around him so tightly just hours before? 

As the class finally emptied, a rush of relief washed over him. He lingered, letting the last stragglers filter out, the echo of chairs scraping against the floor fading into the background. Bob stepped forward and approached her desk, the thrill of their secret coursing through his veins. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, unable to contain the playful lightness of the moment.

Y/N chuckled, a delightful sound that danced in the air between them. She seemed to gather herself, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her features. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Small world.”

“Look, if this is going to be an issue, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice steady and assured. “We’re both adults. I see that you're actually enrolled in this class and not just auditing, and if this is the course you want and as long as we keep things professional, I don’t see a problem."

“Right. Totally professional,” he replied, the teasing lilt in his tone betraying the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, the memory of her beneath him fresh in his mind. "I guess I should wait until the end of the semester to ask you on a date."

“Probably for the best, yes,” she laughed, the sound rich and warm, her laughter drawing him closer despite the tension. Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance. Then she stood up straighter, a subtle shift that reminded him of the professional façade she wore so effortlessly. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you during class, by the way.”

“Good,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “Because I’m not exactly the type to settle for less than perfection.” 

The air thickened with unspoken promise, an electric connection that pulsated between them, holding the weight of their shared experiences. Bob felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, invigorated by the thrill of the unexpected and the rush of possibilities. As he left the classroom, a smile plastered on his face, he felt the eyes of fate watching him. What had started as a night of reckless passion was transforming into a tangled web of feelings he was only beginning to understand. The world outside bustled with the chaos of students and faculty, but for Bob, the universe had narrowed down to one singular thought: he couldn’t wait for the semester to end.

She was an exceptional teacher, guiding discussions with a skill and insight that made literature come alive. He watched her command the room and admired the way she could turn a simple line of poetry into a profound discussion on life, love, and human nature. And every so often, he’d catch her looking at him with a hint of a smile, a glint in her eye that reminded him of their night at Ducky’s.

They developed an unspoken understanding, exchanging glances that held layers of meaning. He often stayed after class to ask questions, sometimes just to hear her talk. And though they kept their conversations professional, there was always a tension lingering beneath the surface, a shared recognition that they both wanted more. Sure, they’d agreed to boundaries, and Bob respected that, but he was counting down the days till he could hold and touch her again. Their amorous exchange had been a blip in the grand scheme of his life, and he was determined to expand it with no more delay than was necessary.

Fortunately for Bob, time went by in a flash. Thanks to his extensive study schedule, he was always busy. It was necessary. Whenever he slowed down, his brain would flash back to that night—her soft gasps, her sweet taste, their intertwined bodies, entangled in passion. Being busy ensured that he could wait it out, that he wouldn't interrupt his lecturer half way through her lesson to snog her face off, that he wouldn't get distracted, because he knew if he did, the day would take so long to come.

He had done a good job at suppressing his desires until one fateful library session. With only a few days left until all her students had to submit their writing portfolios, Y/N held a study session in the library to help them refine their work. This session wasn't anything unusual; it was simply a teacher helping her students prepare for the upcoming exam, and by the time they got to Bob's work, he'd completely forgotten that the subject of all of his poems and prose was her.

Obviously, some part of his brain understood that, yeah, she was his lecturer, so, duh, she'd have to read and analyse his work. Each student got a private 1-1 with Mrs. L/N (as the younglings knew her as) in one of the quiet rooms, and Bob was dreading his session. Whenever they had academic meetings, Y/N always saved Bob for last. He knew it was so he couldn't distract her halfway through her shift, but it always left him sat twiddling his thumbs in anticipation as he watched everyone else go before him.

Once it was his turn, he walked briskly toward the table, pulling out his chair and setting his folder down next to her. "Hi Y/N," he said breathlessly, his palms becoming clammy as he gripped the edge of the table. He forced himself to calm down as she peered at him curiously, her brow wrinkling slightly as she noticed the beads of perspiration forming along his forehead. 

"Hi." She reached out to wipe a bead away, a tender gesture that caused his insides to stir. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothing really, just… uh…" The words came out awkwardly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He sighed heavily, attempting to push through his nerves. He leaned over the table towards Y/N, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you pretend to not know that all of these poems are about you?" Bob asked shyly, gesturing to the papers. A slight flush coloured Y/N's cheeks, a coy smile curling onto her lips, and she tilted the folder so she could read what was inside.

Beneath cold waves and navy blues,   He holds secrets in tight-lipped views.   In cockpits, sky-bound, firm and sure,   A warrior, honed, clean, and pure.   But here, she breathes with ink-stained hands,   Weaving worlds like soft, dark sands.   Her voice, a rhythm, raw and deep,   Stirs dreams he'd hidden, locked to keep.   His uniform, his life’s firm chain,   Feels lighter now with her in frame.   Her words unfurl like silken thread,   Untangling thoughts he'd left unsaid.   In every story that she spins,   He finds a place his heart begins.   Though bound by orders, flight, and tide,   For once, he feels alive inside.   And as she speaks in gentle prose,   A warmth inside him blooms and grows.   The warrior leans close to learn,   While letters smolder, pulse, and burn.

She flipped to the next page.

In shadows deep, where pages softly turn,   A quiet soul with ink-stained hands does seek,   The whispered call of words, where passions burn,   A bookworm’s grace, her thoughts both pure and sleek.   Her gaze is lost in realms of untold dreams,   Each line a kiss upon her trembling lips,   While I, entranced, watch every quiet gleam   Of knowledge wrapped in the softest fingertips.   Yet though her mind is bound to tomes she’s known,   Her heart, like mine, still seeks what words can't say,   For in her eyes, a warmth I’ve never grown,   A yearning deep that pulls me in each day.   Oh, let me trace the secrets she may keep,   And in her world of words, my soul to steep.  

And the next.

In shadows deep where passion clings,   I wait, as silent longing sings,   For her whose touch once set aflame   A heart now bound to her sweet name.   She taught me words, but not the art   Of keeping still my wild, torn heart,   A glance, a breath, a fleeting kiss,   And now the night is void of bliss.   The fragrant pages know the tale,   Of stolen hours where senses sail—   Her lips, a promise, soft, divine,   And every sin that calls her mine.   But cursed be this love so frail,   Where tender fingers weave a veil,   For though the flame within me burns,   Her absence leaves the world to churn.   I ache to feel her near once more,   To know the taste of that sweet lore,   But now, I am but shadows cast,   Forever bound to the lessons past.

And the next and next.

Then, when she raised her head to meet his gaze, she found his seat empty, the only sign of him being his jacket draped over the wooden back. With a sigh, she set the folder back on the desk with a small frown marring her features and went in search of him. It didn't take long before she made her way outside, as some of the younger ones had swore they saw Bob dart to get some fresh air. He hadn't made it far. 

In the purple of the evening, Bob sat on the bench right at the side of the building, staring blankly ahead. The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him away from his reverie, turning towards her with wide eyes, his face pale with shock and worry. Luckily, most students had already left campus or were cramming in the library, so despite the fact that they were out in the open, they had some semblance of privacy.

"Do you want comfort or space?"

"... I don't know." His voice trembled. “Both, maybe?” 

Y/N nodded in understanding and sat down beside him, not too close or too far apart, giving him the space to breathe and compose himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, taking a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"I'm not used to putting everything out there like that," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I know that you know that I'm infatuated with you, but... well, now you know that I'm totally in love with you. Like, writing bad sonnets about you kind of love." 

"I quite liked your sonnet," she said with a reassuring smile, placing her hand atop his own gently as she offered him an encouraging squeeze. "Your poems were beautiful and heartfelt and full of so much emotion and passion that I was moved beyond words, and though it's currently irresponsible for me to say, the feeling is mutual."

He smiled bashfully in response, then turned his attention to her hand, studying the smooth skin, her graceful fingers, her delicate nails trimmed short and neat, and the silver ring on her finger shining brightly. Without thinking, his index finger ran across the surface of her hand, brushing the top of the ring with his thumb."Bobby," she murmured softly, turning her palm upward and allowing him to caress her skin. He did so slowly, reverently, as if it were something sacred and fragile, something which he may never have the pleasure to touch again if he weren't careful. 

Once he made contact, he began tracing circles around her wrist, following the lines of her veins and mapping the contours of her skin with featherlight touches, drawing shapes and words into her flesh wherever possible. She remained still and patient and silent, letting him draw as many hearts and roses as he wanted to let him calm himself down enough to speak again.

When his breathing eventually evened out somewhat, he lifted his hand from her arm and looked up at her again, smiling shyly. He brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone in greeting, and she giggled, her eyes crinkling and filling with mirth, before they both realised that maybe this wasn't the place for this amount of affection. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he stood up hastily. "Um, let's go back inside?"

"Yeah, good idea."

Y/N had only taken two steps before Bob caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. Before she had time to react, he yanked her body closer to him until their lips met and all thought flew out of her mind. Their lips collided in a hungry rush, tongues tangling together as if their lives depended upon it. Her hand clutched onto the front of his jacket while Bob's hand went to the back of her head, cushioning it so she wasn't concussed when he pushed her up against the cool brick wall of the library. Their kisses grew heavier and more frantic with each passing second, desperate and needy. 

Their chests pressed against each other tightly, leaving no room between them; their bodies moulding against each other with ease and familiarity like two halves of a whole. He gripped at her hips tighter than ever, pulling her impossibly closer and deeper into the kiss. Their mouths moved together feverishly, their tongues tangling with the taste of mint and salt and everything nice in the universe. They kissed and kissed until her back was flush against the wall, and her legs felt like jelly beneath her. 

The only thing that broke them apart was the signature chatter of her class quoting brainrot memes as they began to get closer and closer to the library exit. They stepped away from the wall reluctantly, trying hard to hide their flushed faces as they tried their best to calm themselves and gather their wits in the minute before they were found out. But it was hard when you could barely think straight.

As they walked, Y/N kept glancing towards him, her eyes full of questions, her lips curled into an amused grin. He knew exactly what she was asking: Are we really okay? He answered with a nod as he took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hey everyone, I'm sure you're all going to do brilliantly. Please don't overwork yourself. Sleep. Stay hydrated. Eat. And, pretty please, don't worry too much! You've done the work, you got feedback to think about, and a whole semester of notes to fall back on," she instructed, giving a little wave as they passed by her class. "Good luck. Let me know if anything goes awry before next Friday and I will do my best to help you! 

With a last smile and a wave, they returned to the study room with the knowledge that they were truly alone in there. Only the librarian was there, reading a book behind the counter, her face devoid of its usual stern countenance as she snoozed in her chair. They had no plans to do anything salacious, not today anyway, but they didn't have to have that student/teacher pretence anymore. Today was just theirs, theirs to enjoy, and they could have an open and honest discussion about his poetry without having to ignore the context behind them.

Bob, his heart racing with a blend of joy and mischief, slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they strolled side by side. The world around them blurred into a backdrop as he pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head, a gentle act of affection that sent a shiver of warmth cascading down her spine. “If I take you home and fuck you stupid again, will you give me extra credit?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock outrage, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that could rival the evening sky. “Robert Floyd!” she exclaimed, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder, the impact barely registering through the haze of laughter enveloping them.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” he laughed, his laughter infectious, echoing against the brick buildings surrounding them. But the teasing wasn’t done; he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Although...” he trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air like a promise, and was rewarded with a flurry of soft hits from her.

He tightened his hold around her waist, stopping in his tracks and squeezing her tighter, their laughter mingling in a melody of youthful abandon. Y/N, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, buried her face against his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Thanks to that comment, I’m going to give your assignment to another professor to grade,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression feigning seriousness, yet a spark of amusement lingered in her eyes.

Bob’s smirk widened, his confidence soaring. “That’s understandable. You are very, very biased towards me, ducky,” he replied, leaning forward to plant another quick peck on her lips, their mouths brushing together in a soft and intimate connection that set her heart racing.

“Oh, I am indeed,” she agreed, her voice a mock solemnity that was impossible to take seriously. With a playful tug on his hand, she continued, “Shall we go home so I can show you how biased I am?” The sultry tone slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and tempting, causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright crimson as he stole a glance at her.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rush—the desire to be alone with her, to explore the depths of their connection, propelling him forward. The thought of returning to her apartment filled with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of their newfound intimacy made his heart race.

As they weaved through the familiar streets, the golden light of the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the pavement, each step taking them closer to their sanctuary. Bob felt like he was walking on air, buoyed by the weight of Y/N’s presence beside him. With every shared glance, every soft touch, he was reminded of the warmth and brightness she had brought into his life, a light that pierced through the fog of his worries and anxieties.

Weeks turned into months, and when the semester finally commenced and all the assignments had been graded, a wave of euphoria washed over Bob. He learnt that Y/N’s lecturer friend had awarded him a high score, a testament to his growth and effort, and in that moment, he felt like he was soaring through the skies in his beloved F/A-18F Super Hornet. 

Bob cradled the subject of his poetry in his thoughts every morning, realising she was not just a muse but his sun itself, illuminating every dark corner of his mind and guiding him through the clouds of uncertainty. The world was suddenly a canvas painted with their shared moments, laughter echoing in the hallways of his heart, and he knew he would do anything to keep that light shining brightly.

*Click here for my Bob Floyd masterlist (including Rhett Abbott and Miles Miller), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

[bisclavret]

#from a shipping lens I’ve thought that Gwaine knew Merlin wanted to be alone with Arthur & that the firewood was bullshit #and that contributes to him giving Merlin a hard time about it too #just a general resentment that he has to go out into the dark for the sake of Merlin’s feelings (again. again and again he does this!!) #and a resentment that Merlin is dancing around the thing he wants when otherwise Merlin is so honest with Gwaine bc it’s GWAINE #and that Gwaine is pushing back against it here but ultimately resigning himself to it with a smile bc well. it’s Merlin. #sorry the Merlin/Arthur/Gwaine love triangle can be deliciously angsty @lancelotofthelake

i think you're spot-on with this! every single episode that features gwaine in s3 hints that gwaine can see the devotion merlin has for arthur and seems to have opinions on the matter (the indulgent "maybe that one's worth dying for eh?" in 3x04, the knowing look he gives merlin in 3x08, and also the scene from this post). calling it a general resentment is interesting and i think you're right; this is neither the first or last time gwaine comes off resentful about having to censor and sideline himself for the sake of merlin. i definitely think this is more the case rather than straightforward romantic jealousy (he just doesn't seem the type), but it is probably a little fueled by his not-so-secret belief that arthur is simply not worth merlin's devotion.

i also agree that gwaine really doesn't seem to appreciate the air of repression that merlin (and probably camelot at large) has about him and wishes merlin could be honest about what he wants, at least in front of gwaine (about his sexuality and his magic, which are almost literally the same thing on this show, but gwaine seems to be the only character that is more overtly aware and representative of the gayer aspects of this allegory rather than the magical ones. and i love that for him). like if merlin had asked him to leave so he can be alone with arthur to a) whisper sweet nothings to him or b) heal him with magic, gwaine would likely have been surprised, yes, but ultimately relieved to be told the truth. but merlin would never admit anything of the sort in a million years, so gwaine has no choice but to ride out his annoyance in private and respect merlin's boundaries. these are the conditions under which he can stay in merlin's life/this story.

it's therefore truly a testament to how much gwaine cared for merlin and how tired he must've been of his old life that he chose to get knighted and stick around, especially since there isn't even much evidence he became more okay with the arthur/merlin relationship continuing to be so unequal and so dependent on posturing, self-deprivation, and repression. but instead of pointing this out in any way after being knighted he just continues biting his tongue and makes himself roll with absolutely everything good or bad, which used to piss me off but now i'm just fascinated by him. it's crazy how even the gayest and most freedom-loving character on the show wasn't immune to starting to repress his true self to fit into a fatally flawed system full of lovable people who are all also repressing their true selves for the exact same reason.

hi. gwaine overthinker here. i love this scene because the way eoin performed it does not sound like he's joking at all. to me. in fact he sounds like he's in a miserable mood.

mind you this is what the past few days (an optimistic estimate) have looked like for gwaine so far:

and lest we forget:

yeah.

so my interpretation of this scene is that gwaine really is being short with merlin, but it's merlin. and gwaine catches himself making him feel worse. so fuck it! ptsd and moral apprehension can wait. merlin needs firewood.

and to be fair, it's probably a relief to have someone drag you out of your doom spiral and pout at you until you run an errand for them.

in conclusion,

[luvmahae]

live, laugh, y/n!

‣ y/n (my melody): business admin/management major, wants to be a human resources manager for a corporation in the future. she's addicted to matcha lattes (specifically with oat milk) and has a huge passion for music festivals and concerts, particularly electronic dance music events. her chaotic yet fun-loving spirit is what her friends love most about her—she’s always down for anything and everything. in chenle's words, "what a down ass friend fr".

‣ karina (cinnamoroll): majoring in early childhood development with a psychology minor, she dreams of becoming a kindergarten teacher. her natural nurturing qualities make her the "mom" of the group, always giving great advice and is the #1 person you run to for comfort. poor girl is a lightweight with everything... but at least she can hang! she's patient, empathetic, and did i mention she's drop dead beautiful?

‣ ningning (kuromi): the sassy bombshell who's a hospitality major with aspirations of becoming a corporate event planner. she's the organizer of the group, always making sure their trips and events go off without a hitch. whether it’s a casual hangout or a full-on vacation, she's the reason why they "made it out of the group chat". queen of standing on business... literally.

‣ chenle (pochacco): a sports management major not because of stephen curry but because he's obsessed with the sports industry as a whole. he's the type to always has some game or match streaming, no matter where you are. like why are we watching basketball reels at the club? not to mention, he's the king of scoring tickets for events, count on him during presale!

‣ renjun (pompompurin): surprisingly, he's a nursing major on track to become a pediatric registered nurse. like karina, he loves working with kids but has chosen the medical path instead. he's the responsible one in the friend group, always prepared and looking out for everyone. he's actually crazy— not in a bad way, more like how does a nursing student pull all these missions and benders back to back? renjun is just god sent according to ningning (is she wrong tho) (all hail renjun)

the "sanrihoes" group formed during their first year of college when they all lived in the same dorm building, just on different floors. karina and y/n were roommates and ningning roomed right next to them (she basically had the room to herself because her assigned roommate never came... rip). initially, they met through a series of study sessions and campus events, but their bond truly solidified after attending a university-hosted music festival together. despite their different majors and interests, they found common ground in their shared energy for college life, late-night hangouts, and their love for edm. since then, they've been inseparable.

masterlist — haechan's group

notes: i highkey love this friend group so much... just reminds me of the good ol times! just a couple of besties battling college together!!!it took me forever to make both yn's group and haechan's group... im just so nervous doing this LMFAO </3 also it took me so long to even finish up half of these things bc ive been traveling!!!

[mcyteggs]

woke up at 12 am and all i can think abt the empire and the sticklers like im sorry but i am so not normal abt their alliance it means the entire world to me.....

like especially the trust JUMPER has in the empire. ive been chewing through her s6 vods and the speed at which she went from fearing and wanting revenge bc they killed her and ro to her trusting them and wanting them to trust her was actually crazy

and this is all bc mapicc and minute chased clown away from her base bc he was hunting her down and she had no one else to protect her w her team offline. like yeah other people like zam and pangi were on but realistically how can they fight a clownpierce when zam was, at that point, a pacifist and pangi is pangi? /lh

them choosing to help jumper that day changed soooo much, it led to her warning the empire of her and reks silly end portal prank and warning them abt her trap,, and her taking direct action to build a bridge between their two teams which was both only possible bc yk. mapicc and minutes inherent bias for some people on the team ANDDDD their sense of honour when it comes to who they choose to fight

like as much as the empire WANTS to be the bad guys this season, its quite funny how they just ARENT (yet) bc they have actual honour and morals in comparison to the blindfold bandits (flame, mane, wemmbu, and pentar i believe) who have been terrorizing the server, especially low heart players, since the beginning.

bc like choosing to protect jumper from clown was just...THE most minute and mapicc thing ever like theyre both just like that; i dont think either of them see any purpose behind terrorizing and hunting players like jumper, pangi, squiddo, etc who both dont really involve themselves in pvp and who dont HAVE the capability to fight back if theyre jumped by someone w like 20 hearts

like dont get me wrong theyll attack players who are weaker than them, theyre not moral and faultless people, like minute killing sb for a heart, mapicc wanting to kill kab for a heart bc he thinks she has too many (before he hit 20 hearts), etc but those are players who have CHOSEN to involve themselves in pvp and to kill other players—

and im crying wait i hate devotion duo so fucking bad bc ive just now realized mapiccs standards for players he will kill vs ones he deems needing his protection if he knows theyre being hunted by like mane, clown, or wemmbu is literally identical to ZAMS own standards for players he will involve himself in conflict for vs those he wont (aka innocent players vs those who choose to involve themselves in Situations)

anyways! im just yapping atp but idc. yeah so mapicc and minutes inherent sense of honour in regards to fighting and pvp on top of hopperclock-duality friendship buff from previous season(s) has lead to one of the most interesting alliances ever like if u could not tell i love and adore this alliance so very much bc the foundation of it is trust and friendship rather than power or how they can benefit one another

they have common enemies for sure, but a lot of what they do doesnt even really involve fighting or conflict. its mostly just spending time together and being silly likeeee jumper and spokes silly4silly friendship, ro helping mapicc stalk zam, chief refusing to trap/kill rek after chat asks bc theyre buddies, etc etc

i really desperately want to see them interact and do more together bc i just wanna see both teams login more ngl but i'd also like to see them just have fun TOGETHER like they did during the pangi wipe out recording during that one session a few weeks ago yk,, i also hope the empire will involve the sticklers in whatever shit they have planned for january bc they allegedly have some evil, devious things planned when minute is more free / available for life steal

i actually just have no idea what im saying anymore ngl ive been typing for over an hr but tysm if u read me yapping abt the empire and the sticklers. it will happen again. /threat

[instantpansies]

sfth abigail is very tricky for me to headcanon bc i can't decide which is better: "tragically heterosexual" trans woman profoundly isolated in suburbia trapped in the only relationship she thinks she can have, or extremely in-denial seemingly cishet housewife caught up in traditional gender roles after a failed career in a male-dominated field and reminded of it every day.

both are so good and so full of potential and i can do both but it does have a bearing on how i approach a specific timeline/storyline i'm working on. idk, trans!abigail is so compelling bc she's in this very normative, very not-queer space and marriage, and i can imagine her experience as being just. so lonely. and she feels stuck there, in such a precarious position where there's nothing quite wrong but nothing at all right. and the trappings of suburbia are very restrictive of how she can even talk about herself or her marriage or her life. i also just get a very queer vibe from most of tom's women characters and abigail is no exception.

cis!abigail is super compelling too!!! mainly bc i think she is deeply closeted about something and i want to give her a horrible lesbian crisis in the middle of her decaying marriage. and i think that a trans woman who has been queer for a long time having a sexuality crisis is a very different situation from a middle-aged straight woman who has never even considered it and barely knows queer people exist. additionally, a cis woman marrying someone she met during her career, with the constant reminder of her failure and the weight of living up to her new role as a wife, has a ton of potential.

either way, gender is really important to (my interpretation of) abigail's character, and i want to find a way to depict her relationship with her gender and gender roles and her place in the society in which she finds herself, in a way that is interesting and compelling and does her justice. both are good, i just can't decide what to do for this storyline (that will end up determining how i think about and synthesize her story in general).

[yharnamsnewslug]

When I broke up with my ex-boyfriend this year, the true moment that made me stop feeling bad for being aro at all (and ace but the aro part is the one that I struggled with the most) was when we decided for it to be amicable and for us to still be friends. He spent a lot of time doing things for me that he didn't do for anyone else, and it made me DEEPLY uncomfortable and, for some reason, all of my friends decided that it was me exaggerating things. I felt infantilized a lot of times with him, and I also felt like he didn't care at all about my feelings or the fact that I did not want to have sex with him.

I remember when he finally realized that he still had feelings for me, we decided to talk like adults (also bc he just. Didn't fucking listen to ANYONE, not just me lol) and when I said, "And hey, like, I'm aroace, I'm in the spectrum even if I don't really know what exactly it is" and he looked at me and went;

"Do you want me to treat you like someone aromantic?"

And it just. STUNNED ME. On the spot, I felt betrayed, disgusted and like an absolute fucking idiot for having given this guy a single OUNCE of my attention. My friends, who were listening into the conversation from the kitchen bc it was summer and the windows were open - they told me later on that they all wanted to beat him the fuck up right there and then.

They don't fucking believe us. They DON'T. FUCKING. BELIEVE US. And when they do believe that we DON'T feel romantic attraction, it's always, "well, it'll CHANGE. For ME. Because we have a CONNECTION."

And I kept explaining to him - "hey, I'm not gonna treat you like you're the specialest guy ever just bc we're dating, that's not how I work." And he said "yeah okay" but it wasn't 'yeah okay'. He didn't listen to me.

And that's how??? It's been for SO MANY aromantic people I've known in my life, too.

We deserve to have a fucking MODICUM of respect and NO QUEER PERSON ever fucking gives it to us. Aros are disrespected and our boundaries broken WAY MORE than anyone else I've fucking seen, except maybe ace people. And I'd know because I'm both.

The ace part? They're misguided a lot of times and pushy. But they won't force it. The ARO part? They don't give a FUCK.

So at this point there is not a since millimeter of fucking shame in me for being aromantic. Shame on YOU for being a little bitch who can't handle your own feelings.

Fuck off.

one of the hardest things about being aro is that the minute you start explaining your identity (which you may have spent months and years processing, working through internalized hatred and feeling broken, grappling with the constant pressures of amatonormativity) to an alloro person they suddenly decide that no one on earth has ever valued romance more than friendship, that all romance is juat sex + friendship if you think about it, so ACTUALLY you don't need to identify as aromantic or talk about how being aro affects you or ask anyone to change anything about society ever and if you do, you are actually crazy :) and they still don't even know what amatonormativity means