#figuring out how to draw BJ again

[tondw0o]

Guess what movie I watched ?

[stromulites]

The Window to You, The Other

okay this is like, semi related. Pre-RGBverse stuff let's call it. My adhd addled brain can't figure out if it's consistent or not or if the convo jumps around too much but i also,,,,,kinda too tired to bother now, jkerlsdg.

Word Count: 1446

Hannah (IDU!gf) and BJ (IDU!bf) talk :) it's completely normal.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse. But whether he wants it or not, the smoke stings in his throat and burns in his lungs. A too bright fire flashes in his vision, his eyes already too dry to see anything beyond the white, black, and licks of orange dancing in mockery. 

He’s dying, he belatedly recognizes. He’s dying, and someone killed him. 

“Your death is an unrighteous one.” He hears Grayson say, days later when he finally stops running away. The older Reaper hangs over him like a vulture, eyeing its prey sprawled out on an open field. “...Come with me.”

The burning never goes away. It crawls on his skin and leaves him hating it. A persistent itch lingers in his lungs. The air hangs thick with black smoke and the scent of burning plastic. It’s his death all over again. He’s dead but it’s like his mind hasn’t fully caught up with the fact. 

So like a rat in a wheel, it goes. And goes. And goes and goes and—

“BJ…? BJ! Liam!”

He jolts awake, body spasming as he immediately falls off of the bed he’s borrowing and onto the expensive hardwood floor. Between the mess that he’s made himself and the light thump of his landing, he’s no worse for wear thankfully.

Where the hell was he again…?

“...BJ?” Hannah’s face looks down at him from atop her bed, worry written all over her face. “...Are you okay?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah?” He replies, drawing a smile onto his face as he pulls himself upright. “Why?”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“You were having a nightmare again, weren’t you?”

He deflates instantly. Well, that’s kind of on him for trying to lie to his girlfriend.

“Kinda. Reapers aren’t supposed to really sleep, y’know?” he relents, averting his gaze. At least he doesn’t get the morning sleep haze like he used to. “...how long did I…?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Just ten or so minutes. Come here, you dummy,” she patted the mattress, inviting him back. “I’m still picking that new full body mirror my parents want me to replace, remember?.”

Instead of actually getting on the bed, BJ shuffles closer and sets his chin on the edge of the mattress. To accommodate, Hannah rotates her laptop halfway so that they both are able to see the screen.

“...They’re all so expensive.” Is his immediate reaction, seeing prices all the way to a thousand on the curated list Hannah had been given. 

Her parents were still the same, after all; absolute control freaks in ever minute detail. BJ’s not sure how much energy they would need to micromanage all this, or how they have it at all. Seemed like a complete waste of time.

“...Not really? They’re only three-hundred dollars. That’s still on the lower end. My old one was in the five hundreds.”

He makes a face at that statement. Sometimes he forgets that she was also immensely rich and not raised in a frugal, stingy household like he was. 

“Still, I didn’t think that Sebastian would destroy the old one,” Hannah remarked offhandedly as she continued down the list. “He seemed…fun, if a little gross.”

BJ winced. It was technically more of his fault, since he had riled up the older Reaper. But only because he would budge on who ‘Pinnochio’ was. Honestly he should’ve asked Rammy to accompany him. At least she was reasonable about her outbursts, and was liable to smash something out of nowhere. 

‘Mommy issues: old man version.’ Not that Fafnir could be measured on a human age scale, but everything about her had promptly flew over his head. 

“This one looks like my old one,” Hannah said, snapping him out of his musings as she pointed to her screen.

“...isn’t it kind of small?” He scoots further onto the bed to get a better look at the screen. 

“I mean, maybe? But it has a wooden frame and backing. Maybe it’ll stand up to a little beating. Plus, it’s not like you need to walk through it to get to your…spooky dead people land, right?” She jabs, smiling. 

“Why would I need a mirror for that…?” he asks, genuine confusion setting in.

“I’m just joking, BJ. There’s a lot of media that uses mirrors as portals is all.” She pushes the laptop aside after shutting it off. “TVs too. I guess anything with a screen can be a conduit to the supernatural.”

“In fiction,” he amends.

“Yes, in fiction,” she agrees. “...How is that side doing, by the way?”

“Huh?” He sits up a little straighter.

“You know. With Sebastian. I know Grayson left recently, but I don’t know what that really means for you. You don’t really talk about him now. You used to whine all the time about how he wasn’t letting you steal his coat or taught you something new.”

“Them,” he corrects as a habit. “It’s um…” he wrestles with the words to talk about it. 

“You’re doing that thing with your hands again…” Hannah says, pointing out his fidgeting fingers in his lap. “...is it that bad?”

“No! It’s not bad, I still see them. They’re not gone or anything,” he crossed his arms. 

“And the others?”

That question was harder to answer.

“...I dunno. I don't really go to Veilside anymore. Everyone I give a shit about is here; you, Grayson, my parents...”

“What about Sebastian?” Hannah asks.

“He’s a Reaper. I don’t need to look out for him,” he replies defensively. The skull-headed man was downright obnoxious to be around, what with the constant teasing and jokes that might as well come from a twelve-year-old’s mouth. The guy was at least five hundred…

“Rammy?”

“She’s busy.” Looking out for her still living family and all. Truthfully, they were both doing the same thing, so he can understand.

“Grayson…?”

“I told youuuuu, they’re not a Reaper anymore! They’re doing like…rehab or something. I dunno,” he mumbled the last part. He last visited maybe two weeks ago now, back when they first woke up. Not sure what they were doing now, but they were probably fine without him.

Hannah only sighed at the rebuttals, weak as they were.

“Is there really nothing better for you to do other then…haunting me?”

“Hey! I go out and do other things!”

“For three days out of a seven day week, because I made you.” She immediately pointed out, an unimpressed look directed at him.

“Guh.” He wilted.

“...I’m just worried okay? Not that dying but still being around is normal or anything, but you’re always around me and I don’t hear about how you’re doing. You weren’t even this clingy before the accident.” She kneels down on the ground and pries his hand out of the deathgrip he has himself in. Her hand is warm, as it usually is nowadays, and BJ finds himself reluctantly letting her have it. “So can you tell me why?”

He could just brush it off, take his hand back, and go back to being a shithead about his own feelings. But it’s just Hannah. She has a right to know, wouldn’t she? 

“...I have to be around when you die, y’know?” He lets himself say, “So your soul doesn’t drift off and—”

Not that the universe wants him to finish, anyways.

The shrill call of his girlfriend’s ringtone cuts through the air, drowning him out. He falls quiet anyways, as she has to answer it. There’s only two people still living in this world that have her number, afterall, and they’re the kind of people who don’t like to wait.

Hannah’s face is stone still as she listens. The call cuts without her having said a single word beyond a simple noise of affirmation.

“Sorry, I have to go. They’re…parked in the front already. Tell me next time?” She says, standing up. He stands up with her and follows her to the bedroom door.

“...yeah. Okay.” Regret and guilt stings his lungs, but he keeps himself from coughing. 

The door closes, leaving him in an empty house. The warmth of her hand was already leaving his, even as he held it against his chest. A chest filled with ash and soot and that no longer intakes air, of a heart that no longer beats, of flesh that isn’t warm. 

‘...I don’t want you ending up as demon fuel, with no one to guide you.’ He finishes for no one in particular.

He supposes he’ll follow her around now. Just out of reach, but ready if the worst comes to past. It’s the least he can do after going back on his word, after all, even if the circumstances were completely out of his hands.

[darlingshane]

UNBOUNDED | PART 5

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,7k

Summary: Rope play with Frank. That's it.

Content/Warnings: explicit, bdsm, dom!frank, rope play, bj's, ball sucking, orgasm control, orgasm denial.

A/N: For reference, Frank ties reader in a rope dress if you wanna search it up beforehand. You can also find the source I used as inspiration in the ao3 chapter.

– Links: Read Below or at AO3. You can also check out the series masterpost on tumblr.

Part 5: Shibari

As promised, Frank takes you on a little gateway a week after your last punishment. He wakes you up way earlier than you’d want to with bags already packed and loaded in his truck, and the smell of toast of coffee that he brings you to bed on a tray.

He’s excited to show you the beautiful place he’s picked for your stance in the mountains – a small cabin close to town surrounded by a stunning snowy scenery on a cold winter day. It’s exactly what you expected of Frank. He knows you too well and loves you even more that he plans the whole thing by himself just to surprise you.

After your arrival, you take it slow, go on a stroll to enjoy the sights, get some groceries in town, and visit the local café and other stores in the vicinity. Before it starts snowing again, you get back to the cabin and make the best out of your well-deserved mini vacation with him.

At nighttime, the unfamiliar space, smell, and temperature of the cabin make you a little nervous, and excited to see what Frank has in storage for you. Admittedly, you've never felt as safe as you do when you're in Frank's playroom, so trying this in someone else's space intimidates you a little.

You've already kicked it up a notch by wearing your master's leather collar under a turtle-neck sweater since you left the apartment this morning. Your relationship is solid enough to taste new boundaries and so far, while it's not something you'd like to incorporate in your daily routine; from time to time it'd be nice to wear it longer and hand him all the control of your actions. Frank's not extremely demanding, however. He seeks for your wellness above all, and having him tell you where to sit, what to eat, giving you permission for mundane tasks is actually just as liberating as when you're doing your usual rough play. You're a master's little pleaser, he's gathered. You thrive in praise and every time you follow his words, he's there to reward you with a kiss, a good girl, or a treat.

While Frank prepares the bedroom for a good playing session, you take a relaxing hot bath, per his command.

When the room is ready, your master comes to find you, and after ushering you out of the tub, he helps you dry your body before tying a black, satin blindfold around your eyes.

“Do you trust me, sweetheart?” he hushes in your ear in that swoon-worthy, deep tone that makes your skin shiver.

“Always, Sir.”

“Hmm.”

That's his pleased response you've come to adore. He takes your hand and steers you towards the bedroom. After a few steps, the texture of the floor changes from wood to something plush and cozy under your bare feet. He stops when you hit the middle of the fabric and your body quickly heats up in anticipation, and at the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

Only Frank can see how gorgeous you look right now, with just the glow of the flames dancing across the surface of your skin, drawing every curve of your figure.

His palms hover the plane of your body for a moment without so much as a touch, letting you guess where he’s going to put them first. After a few seconds, they land carefully on your shoulders. His breath touches the back of your neck, as he places a tender kiss on that spot.

Preparing you for the activity he’s chosen, he spends a good amount of time massaging your neck, shoulders, and arms in all their length down to your palms. Your skin buzzes in delight with his hands thoroughly kneading your back afterward.

When he’s done, he grabs a coil of rope from the chair and proceeds to constrict your body with it.

He takes his time, gingerly binding your torso with a rope dress — you can tell what he's picked from his maneuvering around you. Sir’s rough but careful fingers caress your prickled skin as he ties the folded rope in a series of knots in a line down the middle of your torso. You shudder when a happy knot is placed over your clit, and you try not to move much to not get overexcited. He pulls the tail between your legs and up your back, from under your ass, to link it with the first loop he left hanging between your shoulders blades.

Next, he circles your body, back to the front, and extends your arms up, so he can bring the tails from the back under your armpits. From above your breasts and down to your waist, he starts lacing the rope with great dexterity, creating a diamond pattern along your chest.

It's arduous work, but it seems like a piece of cake to your master. And it's quite rewarding for both.

You’re partial to rope. However, you rarely practice rope play cause a couple of times you’ve felt a little overwhelmed when too much time is spent bound like this. Last time you did, you cried yellow in the middle, but you were restricted in a more intricate way from head to toe; that’s why you figure he went from the rope dress this time.

Almost finished, he frames your mound in one last diamond and curls the tails around your waist to secure them at your back, keenly tying and looping the remains around the line that goes up your spine.

As a final touch, he folds your arms comfortably at the small of your back and uses another coil of rope to bind them to the harness, rendering you completely useless, except for your legs.

“How does it feel, sweetheart? You good?” he squeezes your hands.

“I’m good, Sir. Thank you for being so careful.”

“Anything for my good girl,” relying on touch only, you then feel his fingers moving between your legs, tapping on the knot on your clit, “How about this, does this feel right?”

“It feels amazing, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he presses on it for a few seconds, earning a good sigh out of your lips. “We're gonna get you to your knees now, alright?”

You nod and trust his hands as he lowers you to the floor.

Out of sight, as you get comfortable on your knees, he takes off his shirt and walks around, observing the beautiful form of your surrendering position. Like you’ve already guessed, he opts for leaving your legs free this time to avoid that over exhaustion of last time.

He stops in front of you and cups his bulge, watching you as you take a deep breath and get used to the rope. He admires how much you’ve progressed, and how much trust you’ve put in him. Like now, he could do anything with you right now, and you’d let him without question. That takes a lot of time to build, but with you, it came fairly easy.

After a moment, he picks up the flogger he laid early on the bed and does another spin around you, this time gently letting you feel the leather tresses on different parts of your skin without striking. Surveying your every reaction, he casually places its weight on each of your shoulders, brushes the back of your neck with its tails, tickles the soles of your feet, and then teases your hard nipples, bringing that dizzying arousal that comes from handling him that power.

You stay centered, for the most part, minding your Sir’s desires as he changes your position. He coaxes you to lean forwards until your head and shoulders are propped on the end of the mattress.

“Lift your ass as much as you can,” he orders, patting your rear as you push your ass upwards, “good girl.”

You swallow as he runs the leather tails softly on your rear, cueing you before swinging the flogger. He starts fairly gentle and slow, warming up your cheeks, and the back of your thighs.

When the strikes start coming slightly harder and quicker, your hips jerk and that sweet knot, sitting on the right place, stimulates your clit as a result.

He notices how your body waves, aching for more friction against that knot.

“You’re enjoying that, huh?”

Thud.

“Ahh, yes, Sir.”

Thud.

“What do we say?”

Thud.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Thud.

“Attagirl,” rumbles deep in his throat, followed by a grunt, and a harder thud, “what’s your color?”

“Green, Sir.”

Pausing, he inhales, trying to tame his own arousal, “we’re going to count backwards from ten, and move on. Tell me when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, “ready, Sir.”

Much in sync with the other, he swings evenly as you to utter each number after each strike.

The pain is evenhandedly dull with the flogger, it resembles more of a deep massage than anything else. It's the rope around your body that inflicts more damage than the leather falls.

Your body strains against your constraints as you get down to the last three, and it relaxes after the final hit.

Your slickness extends around your binds, reaching your thighs when he's done.

A long, heavy exhalation comes out of your mouth as one of his caring palms touches your ass, assessing the warmth of your skin.

“You took it so fucking good, sweetheart.”

“You gave it so fucking good, Sir,” you murmur.

He smiles to himself and lets you recover for several beats before straightening your torso and checking that your blindfold is still in place.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Sir reaches to your mouth, tilts your chin up with his tucked index finger as his thumb rubs back and forth on your lower lip.

“Hmm, yes, Sir.”

His thumb then slips between your lips, and touches your tongue as you wrap your mouth around it.

“You want something bigger to fill that insatiable mouth?”

“Uh-hum,” you eagerly mumble around his finger, “I’d love that, Sir.”

Scoffing, he plays with your tongue a little more before pulling his thumb out.

If you could see his face, you'd capture the ignition in his eyes, and the plush of his lips turning a few shades of pink deeper at the prospect of what comes next, — him feeding you his cock.

“Stick out your tongue, kitten,” he purrs, undoing his zipper, and releasing his aching erection as you follow his order.

He holds his thick length in one hand, and places his other palm on the side of your head, as he first tentatively taps, and slides the breadth of its head on the plane of your tongue a few times before shoving half his dick in the depth of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he growls, “go on.”

With nothing but your mouth to please your master's stately hard-on, you swirl your tongue, drawing the familiar flare at the top, teasing its slit, and tasting the first drops of his precum. Then, you bob your head back and forth, taking him further down until the tip of his cock touches the back of your throat.

“Attagirl. Keep going.”

Wrapping your lips around his shaft, you worship his cock with passion, earning praises and delightful groans out of your master's mouth.

Extremely aroused, your hips undulate lightly, searching for the delicious pressure of the rope on each side of your lips, and the knot that shifts with your movements over your swollen clit.

Suddenly, Frank stops you from finishing him and takes his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath.

You pout, and he smirks, holding his length, stepping an inch closer to your face and propping his balls over your lips, so you can feel them.

“Suck’em,” he orders gravely.

Your tongue swipes across your lips as you follow your Sir’s wishes. You take one blindly into your mouth, capturing the already taut skin of his scrotum, and cover it in your saliva before taking the other. He jerks himself, flattering the ways of your doing between clenched teeth and well garnered grunts as you drive him out of his mind with the swirling and desperate sucking of his sack.

When he’s close, he takes them away and shoves his twitching cock back in your mouth. He holds your head still with both hands, as you set your jaw a little slacked, so he can fuck your mouth obscenely hard the rest of the way until he ejaculates in the middle of your tongue with just a handful of thrusts.

Standing still from a moment, he anchors himself to you as his breath catches.

You're nearly in tears when he puts his cock away and crouches in front of you to wipe your mouth, and bathe you with more sweet adulation.

“Who’s my best girl?” he rasps, removing the blindfold off your eyes.

“I am, Sir,” you blink as your vision adjusts to the warm light of the fireplace.

“Damn right you are,” he states huskily, cupping your jaw in his palms, massaging the joints of your mandible, “you did so good. How are you feeling? You wanna keep going?”

“Thank you. I’d like that, Sir… I haven't… yet…”

“I know,” he smiles softly, “I was getting to it. Do you want me to untie you?”

“Just my arms, Sir.”

“Okay,” he sighs, utterly pleased, and proceeds to untie your hands.

He helps up to your feet and places you on the bed on your side. His large form spoons your shape, tucking one of his hands between your legs. His fingers slip under the rope and that well-placed knot, and he gently caresses your over-excited clit that was begging for some attention.

His lips roam your neck, nibbling and kissing, as the pressure of his fingers madly fuel that fiery flame growing in your core.

“Can I come, Sir?”

“Tsk, not yet baby,” cause he likes to make you beg a few times.

As you squirm in his hold, he rubs harder on you as the rope strains in all the right places, marking your skin.

“Please, Sir,” you plead again after a couple of minutes.

“Shh, just a little more. I know how long you can hold, sweetheart,” he grins smugly before sucking a good chunk of your neck between his lips, “be a good girl for me.”

You moan and hold tight for several beats, gripping at his arm that tenses with every move as it rubs fiercely on your clit until you reach a point of no return. It’s either stop or let go. There’s no in between.

“Pleasepleaseplease, Sir,” you desperately pant, overtaken by that torrent of pleasure held only by a shred of will.

Reveling in that power, he makes you wait, — just a little more – before granting you the right to unleash that powerful orgasm that flows freely through every inch of your body, setting every cell ablaze.

Under a heavy breath, you utter your gratitude to your master and relax in the safety of his arms. You love the extra cuddles and kisses, and he loves indulging you for being a good girl. He's always so tender and attentive, it makes your heart swoon. Tonight, he waits until you've completely come down from your high, and your body has turned to jello to remove the rope tying your body. Carefully undoing each knot, he enjoys seeing the temporary marks of pleasure and devotion left on your skin. He cares for them, spreading lotion on your skin and making sure there is no burn or extreme damage to the surface of your body.

Then, you sit comfortably against the headboard and cover your body up to your chest with a blanket afterward, while Frank gathers some food from the kitchen.

“You were so beautiful today, I should have taken a picture,” he says, holding a spoon near your mouth to feed you a piece of cheesecake after settling next to you.

“Thank you, Sir,” you smile timidly, take your bite of food, and express with your mouth full, “you don't have to feed me.”

“I wanna,” he shrugs, taking a piece of cake for himself.

“Next time you could take a picture, you know?”

“Would you want that?”

“In other circumstances I'd say no, but I trust you, Sir. I know it'd be only for you.”

“Maybe I will,” he offers you another bite, followed by a quick kiss to your lips.

[remyfire]

Silence, her face hidden by the paper in her hands. She waits, rocking on the balls of her feet for her audience to absorb her work before Erin peeks over her drawing. Wide ocean eyes and unruly blond curls spring to life as she lowers the paper. "See? See?" She implores, pointing at the squiggles and circles meant to stand in for people. "That's Baby," she begins, pointing at the smallest figure, meant to be herself. "That's Mommy and Daddy," Erin continues, pointing at the second smallest figure and the massively tall one on either side of her. "An' Uncle Hawk an' Uncle Mack Tire!" She's quite proud of it too, especially when she holds it back out and exclaims, "See! We hold hands!!" Which is true, the five figures connected by the hands even as squiggled and messy as the drawing is. "You like it?"

(QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF QUAD FLUFF—)

There's a long moment where there's no response. It's not surprising that Erin has finally drawn a full family portrait, but the implications of it take a little bit of time to fully set in for all observing parties.

Erin pops her head around the side of the paper with a frown, and that's what spurs BJ into dropping to one knee in front of her with a warm smile as he cocks his head to the side. "It's perfect, sweetie. I love the colors you chose." He taps them one by one. "Red for Uncle Hawk, pink for me, blue for Mommy..." There is one detail, however, that makes his smile just a bit more barbed. "Why did you make me and the Tire hold hands?"

"BJ," Peggy murmurs with that sweet warning tone from the kitchen table. Trap, who'd been grabbing the orange juice out of the fridge, stares holes through BJ's head, which he doesn't acknowledge.

One long, slow, deep breath in. "Sorry. Daddy misspoke." No, he didn't. "I meant Uncle McIntyre."

Erin blinks rapidly. "'Cause Mommy and Uncle Hawk always hold hands."

"Do we?" Hawkeye glances all around the room, even to the ceiling, trying to solve the mystery, then gasps gently when he looks down and finds his fingers lightly laced with Peg's on top of the table, just like they have been for the past ten minutes. He beams at her, like isn't this just the most delightful surprise? "Oh, look at that!"

Peg presses her lips together, trying as hard as she can not to laugh.

BJ nods encouragingly. "That's right, they do. You've got great eyes. I love how you see the world." Encouragement is the name of the game—even when his daughter accidentally manifests absolutely awful things. He can accept Trapper's presence in their home and even the joy he brings to both Peggy and Hawk, but there are lines in the sand one should never cross. "But you know what?" He drops his voice.

Erin leans in. "What?" she asks in the loudest stage whisper known to man.

BJ taps the page again. "You forgot someone extremely important."

Erin stares back at him. He can see the gears turning behind her eyes in her young but incredible mind. Finally she gasps and turns and starts running out of the room as fast as her tiny legs can go. "Waggle! I didn't do Waggle!!"

Hawk's the one who finally succumbs to the laughter, bright and beautiful sounds that fill the whole room, only going muffled when Trapper circles around behind him and puts a hand over his mouth to muffle it. "Quiet, don't embarrass her," Trap tries to say as commandingly as he can, but it doesn't quite work when his words are wobbling from his own barely restrained laughter. "You wanna give her an art complex for the rest of her life, Hawk?"

Hawk pulls Trap's hand down when he's got himself more in control, but his eyes still sparkle. "S-Sorry, sorry, she's just so goddamn cute," he whispers.

Trap taps Hawk on the thigh, and Hawk obligingly stands up just enough so Trapper can slip into the chair. Hawkeye retakes his throne shortly after on Trapper's lap, burying his face in the man's curls so he can keep his last few chuckles quiet.

As BJ sinks into the seat next to Peg, he rubs his face. "You know she's going to start saying things to people soon."

"Or doing them," Trap points out. Out of all of them, he's the one with the most to lose—the last thing he needs is a summer visitation with his girls becoming the final one because word of his perverse lifestyle makes its way across the whole country to Massachusetts.

Peg clears her throat in the particular way she does when she's trying not to laugh as well. "It might be a bit too late for the latter."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Yes," Peg murmurs. "Do you remember the birthday party at the Stantons last Saturday for their little girl?"

The three men stare her down. Beej is the one to speak. "What happened?"

"I stepped into the kitchen for a second to refill my tea." Peg clears her throat, brushing one of her fingers over her upper lip, trying to keep her voice even. "When I went back to the backyard, Erin had every single child holding hands."

Trapper wraps his arm around Hawkeye's waist to steady him better as he peeks around his arm. "Well, I mean, kids play games doing that sort of thing all the time. Hell, the first thing we taught Becky and Cathy was to always be holding hands before we crossed the street or anything."

Peg slowly shakes her head. "They weren't playing anything. They were just talking and waiting before cake. Then she started leading them one by one to the table in a little daisy chain behind her."

They all absorb this information. It's tricky. Celebrate how their little girl is unafraid to be affectionate with her friends? Or squash it where it stands? All four of them spent so long being isolated to one degree or another that restraining physical contact in the house feels almost impossible.

"We have to talk about this," BJ points out, scanning over them. "Make an actual game plan for what we're gonna do from here on out."

Hawk looks between BJ and Peg with fondness. "With your lead, she's maybe a week out before she just starts laying a wet one on all her friends when she sees them."

"Jesus." Beej rubs his eyes.

"Well?" Peg heaves a sigh. "Where do we even start with this?"

They're all at a loss. They're still processing when Erin calls, "Okay, I'm done!" from the other room and comes running back.

Sheer instinct is what makes Trap shove Hawk straight out of his lap and onto the floor, and arguably is also what makes Hawk follow his yelp with a loud, "FUCK!"

Erin skids to a stop in the kitchen door with huge eyes and a gasp. "UNCLE HAWK."

After all her hard work at keeping it at bay, Peg finally bursts out in such a bright laugh that there are tears in her eyes.

[thewriterg]

♡︎nsfw alphabet♡︎

Pairing(s): Miles Morales x Fem!reader,

Summary: Miles Morales Nswf abc’s —flufftober day; 11—

Warning(s): Language, Kinks, college au, and all around NSFW lmao

A/n: —GIF’s aren’t mine— I’m feeling lazy today so *shrug

Aftercare

Miles 100% would want to clean you up even if you made him do all the work in his opinion his Miss deserves the best

(You Also better do your part 🤨)

Body Part

Miles favorite body part of yours is most definitely your hands the way you hold him and when you run them through his hair *chefs kiss

Miles favorite body part of himself will probably be his height like he likes how taller he is then you but you can still bring him to his knees yk?

Cum

He likes to cum inside you he starts going nuts as soon as you clench around him he’s also not against your mouth but kiss him and make him taste himself immediately he’s in love.

Dirty Secret

Just like the rest of the bug boys he wants you to use his own webs against him to tie him up lol

Experience

Probably Gwen and maybe like two other random frat party hook ups

Favorite position

Reverse cowgirl he likes to watch’s your boobs bounce up and down he also wants to see your face so missionary comes 2nd

Goofy

It honestly depends, if you’re letting off some steam or honestly want a intimate serious moment then he can be serious other than that he ready to here 101 sex jokes

Hair

He keeps himself trimmed doesn’t care about yours though he enjoys clear land or carpet :)

Intimacy

Miles is very intimate he could be naive in lots of thing but when your in the mood he catches on pretty fast and enjoys you while he can before you take over

Jack Off

He doesn’t really sees a reason to he has you and no one’s touches him better than you not even himself congratulations y/n he’s hooked

Kink

Praise.

Do I even need to elaborate?

Location

Boobs.

Motivation

When you wear skirts or tighter clothes that shows off your figure he looses his fucking shit and will shamelessly stare at you

No

Hard kinks like bodily fluids and pain not against love taps though

Oral

Miles loves rimming he loves rimming you and he loves when you rim him, he also loves some good bj’s and fingering

Place

Privacy.

Miles does not have any beef with Mr. Good ol’ bed room feeling fancy and need a change is scenery… shower

Quickie

Absolutely.

Miles his a college student he lives off of quickies

Risk

Not a big fan of the thought of being caught it just not something he’s particular or as static about

Sext

Once again college. student.

Miles knows his fair way around dirty talk and sexting and his more confident than In person

Toys

Miles understands that Toys aren’t the enemy they are friends to help but he doesn’t use them quite often

Unfair

You make up to 96% of teasing in your relationship

The other 4%; Miles Tipsy, Miles sleepy, Miles just being miles and rubbing

Volume

Very vocal.

Moans, whines, groans, mewls, you will hear everything

Wild Card

Once Miles were eating you out and was sure he begin to loose consciousness and of course you felt the limpness of his head

You will always be hesitant to face ride after that

X ray

6.5 to 7 inches

Spider genes

Yes

Mark. him. up.

Hickeys, harsh kissing marks, scratches on his back

He will indeed keep coming back to to remark him because he heals so fast

You two are fucking rabbits

Zzz

Unless Miles has had a particularly rough day he always waits for you to go to sleep first drawing shapes on your hip, tangles legs, head scratches, etc.

[hintsofhoney]

Game Night

Pairing(s): Dom!Dean Winchester x F!Sub!Reader

Summary: You decide to send Dean a few dirty texts while at game night with all your closest friends... it doesn't go as planned.

Tags: 18+, sexting... a whole lot of it, exhibitionism if you squint I guess, mentions of sex, a BJ, and masturbation, sir kink, swearing, there’s no actual smut in this really

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: So, @ellewritesfix05​ and I were talking about that Tik Tok trend where you text your S/O something dirty in public, and then I had to ask, how would Dean react? And then I had to go further and ask, how would dom!Dean react? And then this was born. Decided to make it a bit more realistic with the texts, too. Hope you guys enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You watched Dean as his face broke out into a laugh at something that Charlie had said. It was game night at Jody’s house, and just about everyone you knew was there. Sam, Eileen, Cas, Jody, Donna, Charlie, Kevin, Claire, Alex, Patience, Kaia, and even Bobby came, not that he was participating in the current round of UNO that was being played. He was always one to just sit back and watch while he sipped on his beer. All of you were sitting at Jody’s dining table, playing game after game. It was always a good time, ever since Jody came up with the idea to have these game nights about a year ago. She figured it’d be good to have something that would bring joy into the otherwise rather grim lives of hunters. So, once every three months, when everyone was able to get together and take a break from hunting, it was game time.

You, although enjoying the company of your most favorite people, had other things on your mind other than UNO. Dean was sitting diagonally across from you, and you’d been eyeing him all night. He always looked good, but on some days, he looked extra good, and today was one of those days. You couldn’t wait to get back to the bunker so you could act on everything you’d been thinking in your head while sitting there across from him.

“Earth to Y/N! Your turn!” Claire said, snapping you out of the dirty fantasies that were beginning to form in your mind.

“Oh, right. Sorry!” You exclaimed, placing down a draw four and looking at Sam apologetically, who had his turn next. Dean chuckled at his brother’s misfortune. “It’s the only card I can play!” You said in defense, hoping Sam wouldn’t hate you too much. UNO was a serious game, and a draw four card was a serious offense.

Sam rolled his eyes as he drew four cards. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he huffed, eyeing you suspiciously. You just shrugged in response as the others around the table chuckled at his misfortune, too. A few more turns had passed and you still couldn’t stop thinking about Dean. The heat between your legs was growing with each passing minute and you so badly wanted to make all these people disappear so he could take you right then and there. Knowing full well it might get you in trouble with him later, you decided to pull out your phone and shoot him a text anyway. What’s the harm in teasing your boyfriend in front of all of your closest friends?

You watched as Dean shifted his weight and pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, trying to keep a straight face as he read your texts. He shot you a warning glare before responding.

You smirked at his response before replying and looking up to see his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, as much as he was trying to keep it together. So far, no one had seemed to notice the little interactions between the two of you.

Dean cleared his throat and placed his phone face down on the table before laying some cards down for his turn.

“You okay?” Jody asked, looking at him skeptically.

“Yeah, yeah, just… something in my throat,” he replied quickly, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. You bit back a smile. You really did love watching him squirm. You picked up your phone again and shot him another text.

You watched as he picked up his phone and read the text, shooting you yet another glare that told you to watch yourself. You weren’t going to listen; you knew exactly how Dean got when you pushed his buttons, and you fully intended on bringing out that side of him tonight. You watched as he texted you back.

You glanced at him, a barely noticeable sly grin on your face that only Dean saw. He gave you one more warning glare which you happily ignored before replying to him.

The two words that you knew would push him over the edge. He waited a minute before picking his phone back up, as to not make it too obvious that the two of you were texting while across the table from one another. You put your phone face down on the table as your turn came around, scowling as Donna made you draw four.

“Haha! Revenge!” Sam exclaimed, laughing at your misfortune.

“It was my only card, I swear!” Donna said defensively.

“I believe you,” you chuckled, as you drew four, not even caring about the game anymore. You placed your deck face down and watched as Dean texted you back out of the corner of your eye, a stone-cold expression on his face.

You gulped as you read the text, trying to keep the heat from rising in both your cheeks and your core. You clenched your thighs together as you made quick eye contact with Dean, who smirked at your reaction and sent you a few more texts.

You swallowed hard as you read the next few texts. Oh, how the tables have turned. You could feel yourself begin to sweat as your heart rate increased. You looked back up at Dean, wide-eyed, silently pleading for him to take the last text back. You’d do anything. You needed to feel a release; you couldn’t go another day without one, let alone a few weeks. You watched as he chuckled silently at your reaction and went back to his phone. 

You bit your lip as you typed out your reply. You knew exactly which side of Dean you’d brought out, and you were both excited and extremely horny because of it.

A few turns passed before Dean picked up his phone again, biting back a cocky smirk at your text as he responded.

Fuck, you’ve really done it now, Y/N, you thought to yourself as you read Dean’s text. You had no choice but to obey him, because there was no way you were going without an orgasm for five days. You glanced over at him to find that his eyes were already on you, a cocky look on his face. You shot him a quick text back.

You waited to play your turn, which took off a minute from your time, before excusing yourself and heading to the bathroom. Your phone buzzed as you made your way into the hallway and you read the next text from Dean.

That sly son of a bitch. You were the one who started the sexting; he was the one supposed to be in the bathroom taking care of himself, not you. Just like in UNO, he played the damn reverse card.

[marley-manson]

BJ/Hawkeye for the ship meme lmao

Thank you! lol I think I'm going to have to answer for both categories, this is schroedinger's ship for me.

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

Ship It

What made you ship it?

Ok this is actually a weird ass answer, and honestly even weirder considering the order I watched the show in, ie I started with season 7 and wrapped back around (bc I'd seen seasons 1-6 a decade ago but didn't remember details) so this is one of the last episodes I watched, but it was the scene in The Grim Reaper where Hawkeye is ranting to BJ about his impending probable court martial and BJ is sipping a martini and telling Hawkeye dude has an open and shut case and Hawkeye says "You know you'd make a hell of a witness for the prosecution" and BJ's like "you'll make a better one." Then BJ gets mad about an unrelated jacket dispute and leaves, and this scene is never brought up again.

It made me sit up and go "what the fuck" and immediately start wanting to write fic and meta and rewatch more of their scenes etc. It was just so interesting because it was clearly a purposeful writing choice, Hawkeye draws attention to how shitty BJ was being, but it's never actually addressed or followed up on. And that's what made me recognize that it's a solid, deliberate yet almost entirely uncommented on pattern of their relationship. And I'm very intrigued by that.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

The dysfunctionality. BJ's weird mind games and jealousy and condescending refusal to emotionally support Hawkeye. Hawkeye leaving and coming back multiple times. The sense of like... enforced intimacy because they're stuck together in a war zone and they need each other. The replacement marriage jokes and vibes. I'm gonna write a post on this eventually but the way you can genuinely frame BJ's emotional conflict throughout the show as Peggy vs Hawkeye.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

All of the above lbr. But to say something different and specific: I don't think Hawkeye would be reticent about adding sex to their relationship if he ever realized BJ isn't straight. The most common take I see is that Hawkeye is afraid of breaking up BJ's marriage or thinks he wouldn't be as good for BJ as Peggy, etc, but I think the only reason he might hesitate is because he knows he'd probably be the one getting hurt, and then I think he'd go for it anyway.

And I wouldn't say this is a given, but I could easily imagine a scenario where he actively tries to break up BJ's marriage and steal him away, particularly if BJ is gay rather than bi, but even just because... I think that's how Hawkeye rolls. We saw him with Carlye and Kyung Soon, we see the way he latches onto campaigns even when he knows they're all doomed to fail - he goes after what he wants, hard. (Though I could see Erin being a reason for Hawkeye not to do that. But if it was just Peggy I don't even think he'd hesitate in trying to seduce him away tbqh.)

Don’t Ship It

Why don’t you ship it?

I don't endgame ship them because I think they'd be terrible and miserable together, and if they did figure out their issues and chill out and manage to be happy together I'd just be bored so I don't want that anyway. I want an intense relationship followed by a break up.

What would have made you like it?

Honestly... it all comes down to chemistry. Their vibes are just not engaging in that happily ever after way to me, I find them boring when they're in sync, and I only find them interesting when they're being toxic and fucked up. So if they were more entertaining when happy together, I'd probably be more inclined to endgame ship them.

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

Like I said, I would love to read like 100k of them having an intense fucked up relationship that crashes and burns epically, I think that would be my ideal Mash fic.

[slashmebois]

Overstimulation

“Mmmmmay I request slasher boys (I really really want HoW boys, but you can add anyone!) getting a bj from their s/o who just keeps sucking them even after they've already came? They just overstimulate them!”

 Gonna make these short-ish because I’m unfortunately very busy currently but I hope these are to your liking!!

 Bo

It’s late at night and Bo isn’t home yet, you bite your nails and stare at the clock, concerned about how late dinner will be. He finally walks in, breaking your thoughts.

“You took your sweet time” there’s an edge to your voice that you fail to hide, a result of your imagination taking you to dark places and reasons for why he wouldn’t be home yet.

He sighs throwing his arms in the air, “What? A man can’t get home a little late. D’you see the fuckers that came into town today? That guy was built like a fuckin’ truck”

You try to let it go but you’re kinda mad, “well, I didn’t know whether to cook or not so we don’t have any dinner.” You state it matter of fact, trying not to glare holes in him.

He stares at you, before barking out a harsh laugh, “What the fuck is this? You gotta problem with me?” he starts taking large steps towards you and stops barely an inch from your face, bending his neck to get right in your face.

You see the furious look in his eyes, but decide stupidly to push past the fear, “I’m just saying. I can’t start dinner if I don’t know when the fuck you’ll be home. Next time give me a head up, or is that too fucking much to ask asshole”

Well now you’ve done it. There’s a tense moment before his hand whips up to grab your face, smooshing it in his wide hands.

“Okay sweetheart I’ll give you your fucking dinner. Hell, should shut that preeetty mouth of yours up”, you can feel your blood running like ice through your veins.

He leans in close to breathe down your ear, “Get on your fucking knees and beg for it before I decide on a worse punishment”

You don’t need asking twice, having been on the receiving ends of those ‘worse’ punishments. You clatter down and look up at him, unbuttoning his jeans, “please daddy, please can you fill my mouth up with your cock”

He grins like a shark, “That’s a good start. Make it good and I won’t take this further”

You pull out his cock and rub your hands over it, giving him kitten licks on his tip.

“Fuck I love how your hands look wrapped round my cock. They can’t even reach all the way round huh?”

You open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out, waiting for him to take charge- you know he likes to take charge.

“That’s a good little slut” he purrs before slowly inching his cock all the way into your mouth, making a guttural sound as his balls reach your face and you reach you tongue out to lick at them.

The kitchen tiles are cold against your knees, but you barely notice, your focus directly on the panting man in front of you. The sounds of Bo’s loud groans fill the room alongside the lewd noises your mouth and tongue make as you slide them along his shaft.

“Fuck, god. That…uhhh…that feels so good doll. Don’t stop”

His hand is gripped tight in your hair, making you wince as he tries to stop himself taking control. All he really wants to do is fuck your throat raw but he knows better than to draw your ire. The last time you had held out on sex for a month, leaving him with only his hand as solace.

You’re taking long deep mouthfuls of his cock, hollowing out your cheeks and lavishing your tongue around the girth of it as his head hits the back of your throat, before pulling back and teasing his weeping tip with languish flicks of your tongue.

“Fuu…fuck. I’m gonna fucking cum soon. Tell me what you want baby. Hmm? You want daddy’s cum down your throat”

You smile sweetly up at him, hoping he’ll leave the punishment at this “please daddy, please give me your delicious cum. I want to taste it, I want it inside me” you savour how his eyes roll back before his grip on your head forces his cock back down your throat.

You can feel how his dick makes your throat bulge out, and his thrusts become more and more erratic. Just when you think you’re about to pass out from the lack of oxygen you feel the telltale twitches.

“You fucking want it so bad you little cumslut. Ungggghhh, take it”

His hot seed spills out into the back of your throat, coating it. There’s a lull as Bo comes down from his high, his breathing slowing and the glaze in his eyes lifting.

It’s then that a wicked thought hits you, your mind only slightly focused on revenge. You swallow his cum with his cock still in your mouth causing him to yelp. Then you start to run your tongue along the veins on his cock, causing him to yelp, “Fuck. Ahh-ah, that feels too good”

You ignore his pleas, figuring he’ll rip your head off his length if it’s really too much for him.

You suck on his throbbing red tip, as he judders his hips against you- unsure if he wants more or less. You keep bobbing your head along until he’s a mess of expletives and tears barely able to form sentences. His hands can’t seem to decide where they want to be until finally they manage to pull you off him.

Panting he gives you a dark look, “I’d suggest you start running before I catch my breath again”.

 Vincent

You had been messing around painting together, dabbing small fingerprints on the corner of Vincent’s easel when he wasn’t looking. Before long he had noticed the giggles coming from you each time he turned away and was onto your game- waiting for you to be distracted yourself before tackling you to the ground. From there it had turned into some light wrestling as you tried and failed to overpower him, being easily trapped again each time. It was easy to forget how strong he was…and it was amazing how turned on that made you.

“Vinnyyyy, let go. I didn’t do anything”

His mask-less face pulls into a lopsided jovial smile and he shakes his head at you knowingly, his eyes darting from your own eyes, down your body and back.

You try to squirm from under him, figuring if strength wasn’t on your side then maybe you could use your smaller size to your advantage. You quickly stop as you hear a groan from Vinny and feel his growing excitement against your stomach. You gasp and still, looking him straight in the eyes, a staring test ensuing. You’re the first to look away, his eyes blazing into your own- all hints of jesting gone from his features. You can feel the blush heating your face and pray he doesn’t notice. But he does.

Moving his grip on one of your arms to your hair he pulls you to his mouth, kissing you deeply and grunting into your mouth as he ruts against your stomach. You knew that if you didn’t act quickly you would skip the foreplay entirely in favour of getting pounded into the ground by him. Reaching your hand down you easily find his cock and rub your hand over it through his clothing, causing him to groan into your mouth again.

You pull away for air, determined to do the thing you haven’t found the chance to do with him yet, “Let me taste you Vinny” you whisper in his ear and you feel him shudder against you in anticipation, his hand coming up to grip your throat lightly as he turns to kiss you again.

He stands and pulls you up by the neck to your knees, you salivate at the thought of his cock fucking your sweet mouth. Quickly you help to strip down his dungarees and gasp as his cock springs free, the tip engorged and oozing precum. He stops, unsure of himself in this moment and you gladly take charge, leaning forward to lick a line from his balls to the head of his cock, he makes an appreciative noise and throws his head back.

His hand moves from your throat across to your cheek stroking it gently, as you take him in whole, slowly inching your way down him until his cock is filling your whole throat. You repeat the movement a few times earning you a plethora of sounds from the large man, before you speed up your movements, circling your tongue around him and using your hands to work the areas your mouth struggles to reach.

He finally looks down at you, panting and signs as best he can ‘your mouth is killing me’, you grin around his cock and wickedly take the tip only sucking hard as he yelps and grabs at your hair, making your scalpel scream in pain. An idea strikes you and you pull off his cock, leaving him slightly confused before you stand and pull him to the table, draping yourself backwards across it and opening your mouth wide to waggle your tongue at him.

His eyes widen, and he swallows, licking his lip before stepping forward and guiding his cock to your waiting mouth. He starts slowly but quickly gains momentum as he’s spurred on by the bulge his length makes in your throat.

Growling he signs sloppily ‘where do you want it’ and you realise he’s close. You sign back ‘shower me’ and he feels his soul ascend as he pulls out and paints your face and swollen lips with his cum.

He has to grip the table for support, trying to regain his senses after witnessing what he thinks may be his finest piece of art yet. You inch your way over to his semi-hard cock and guide it back into your mouth, causing him to moan and huff, his hand grasping at your throat again. He’s never experienced this before and bucks forward, the pleasure too much to handle.

‘your mouth. Too much. Fuck.’

You giggle and release him from the purgatory of overstimulation.

He sighs in relief and reaches up to wipe a thumb across your mouth, before rubbing the cum onto your tongue.

‘I think I found my new favourite activity baby’

 Lester

It had been a nice day so Lester had offered to take you on a ride through the country. Something about the way the sunlight reflected off your pretty features had him gulping and shifting in an attempt to hide his growing arousal. Being you though, you had noticed and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“What you looking at, gorgeous?”

“You, Lester”

His breathing hitches, “now why would you wanna do that. I’m nothing much to look at” he replies, those confusing feelings he gets around you swelling up like a wave.

You reach your hand towards his leg, running it from his knee up towards his groin. He nearly swerves in his efforts to stop the car, but once he’s flicked the engine off he’s scrambling to pull you to him. You meet in a clash of lips, tongue, and teeth. He keeps you there, stealing your breath like a drowning man, only pulling away once your lips are thoroughly swollen

He looks you dead in the eye, “This ain’t a dream right?”

You can’t help but giggle before you shake your head no, “I’ll prove it to you”

Your hands unbutton his trousers and you shove them down with a little help from his lifted hips.

He’s already hard as a rock, and you take a moment to feel all of him as you whisper in his ear, “your cock makes me so hungry Lester, can I taste it? Please Les?”

“Ohh god, please yes” he’s distinctly aware of the painful erection that he’s convinced only you can mend.

You kiss him hard again before trailing kisses across his collarbone and then down his chest, to his navel and finally to his leaking member. You kiss it the same way you’ve dreamed of kissing his mouth- slow, sensually and with your tongue. His whimpers reach your ears, and you glance upward to find that adorably he has his hand covering his face. You take that hands and bring it to your mouth, sucking on his fingers slowly. He makes little gasps as you do.

“Watch me baby, watch me Les”

He nods, unable to do anything else at this point. You lower yourself again but this time you take more of him into your mouth and suck hard, moving your mouth further and further onto him with each bob of your head.

When you reach his balls you swallow around his member and he cries out, “Fuu…oh my god. Y/N please, I need…oh my god”

You set a fast pace, using your hands to stimulate his balls. The forest is filled with the sounds of Lester and you are living for it, his own pleasure fuelling the slickness between your legs. You make do with rubbing your legs together for now. Lester must have noticed though, he reaches his hand under you to grasp at your chest. Your moan vibrates his cock and he sucks through his teeth. He rubs your nipple between his fingers, working it to a peak and flicking at it.

You can barely believe you’re finally doing the thing that has fuelled your solo sessions. You try to show it in your actions, trying to show Lester how much you worship him and his cock. You push yourself to your limits, allowing his large size to stretch your throat- gagging around him before coming up to suck greedy breaths of air into your deprived lungs.

With the pace you set it isn’t long before Lester’s breath turns ragged and he bucks up into your mouth, the only warning before his seed spills into your warm and wet maw. You’d be mad at the lack of warning but hell, it might be his first time.

“Fuck. Where the fuck they teach you how to do that?” he groans.

You’re about to answer when there’s a call from outside the car.

“Hey, you” A male voice calls out. Lester pushes at you protectively and you kneel in the small foothold of his truck.

“H-hey there sir, what can I do for you?” he manages, fumbling to button his trousers.

He allows you to take the material when you reach up, thinking you’ll button his trousers. What he doesn’t expect is to fill your mouth stretch around his spent dick and he jolts up slightly.

“You okay?” the other guy asks, before shaking his head, “look, I need some help. My car broke down.”

Lester is bursting, trying to hold himself together as he responds, “Uh..Uhhh yeah, I’m mm, I’m all good. You uhnn, you sound like you need a mechanic. You head down that trail and past the flooded area then ohhh, uh, then you’ll find Bo. Just uh, just ask for him” he is sweating from the pure effort of getting the words out as you overstimulate him, his cock leaking precum in a desperate effort to make it less painful.

The guy simple nods and dismisses the weird guy in the truck as being socially anxious. He walks off to his certain death, as Lester finally manages to rip your head off him.

“Hey now, that was just mean”

You smile up at him, wiping your mouth, “Sorry Les, you just taste so good”

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Want to kiss?

Pairing = Poe x reader

Words = 5.2k

Summary = You and Poe are friends. Acting married won’t lead to anything. Will it?

Warnings = SMUT (18+only); semi-public fingering, semi-public grinding, implication of a bj, also language 

A/N =  Prompt no.23 requested by @witchyavenger as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” w/ Poe  and bolded in text

Also i might have concentrated more on the smut, than the plot, so if there are a couple of plot holes, that’s why, im not sorry 

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

You weren’t looking forward to this. 

A small, masochistic part of you was, but the larger part of you, the more sensible part, wanted to scream at the prospect. 

Pretending to be a couple with Poe, to have the real thing so close in front of you, yet knowing that you couldn’t, made you want to cry. In fact, you already had. 

The two of you had been briefed together, and told you would be acting as married senators at a gala. The way Poe’s face had tightened at the word ‘married’, made your chest hurt. He hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t need to before you’d drawn your own conclusions. 

You’d tried not to think about it too much as the briefing had continued, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, and having to blink a little faster. You’d managed to keep it together until you’d gone back to your room, where you’d immediately burst into tears. 

Poe couldn’t even stand the idea of being married to you?

You knew he wasn’t interested in you like that, but that hurt. Hurt more than you’d anticipated. Poe only had to pretend for a mission. And he didn’t want to do that? Now you’re sitting in front of the mirror, and you blow out a big breath. Not right now. Your make-up’s half on, and you don’t have the time to redo it if you start crying, now of all times. 

And the truth was, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. You knew Poe. He was your friend and Commander, nothing more. He’d never given you any indication that he’d ever wanted more, never acted as anything but a good friend to you.  

Now you were in the bathroom of a hotel on Coruscant, and Poe was next door and stars you had to share a bed tonight but you didn’t even want to think about that yet . All you had to do was finish your make-up, do your hair, put your fancy dress on, hope that Poe could bear to pretend to be married to you while the two of you looked for an opportunity to sneak upstairs, break into Senator Sewinn’s office, and gather any incriminating evidence stored there. Simple.

And that wasn’t counting getting out, and sharing a bed with Poe tonight, before your ship departed for the Resistance base tomorrow. 

To put it simply, you were fucked. 

But you’d pushed the emotions away, not wanting to address it. Not wanting to have that horrendous conversation. After all, it wasn’t a crime for someone not to fancy you. 

Now you took a moment for yourself, looking up at the corner where the wall met the ceiling, and exhaling deeply. 

Ok, think. What’s your first job? Make up. 

You took your routine step-by step, finishing your makeup and hair, and pulling your dress on. You took the time to admire yourself in the mirror before you stepped out to face Poe, knowing that he was no doubt going to look absolutely dashing, while not caring either way about your appearance. 

You knew that, except you did look good, even if you said so yourself. You let yourself breathe once more, hands fluttering out any invisible creases in the front of your dress. It had a nice cut for your chest, falling to the floor with a split down your right leg. 

Ok. “Poe?” You knocked on the door before you returned to your room, not wanting to catch him in the middle of changing.

“I’m ready!” Comes the response, and you can’t help yourself, exhaling heavily again before greeting Poe. 

You’d been prepared. Or so you thought.

You’d never seen Poe in a suit before, and it’s more than you could have ever imagined. He fills it out nicely, shoulders looking broader than ever. He’s brushed his hair neatly back, curls subdued for the night. They look darker than ever, strands curling over the back of his collar. Desire and heat are pooling low in your belly, your eyes slow in their movements as they graze over him

He’s freshly shaved after his shower, bronze skin glowing in the yellow light of the lamps scattered around the room. Your mouth is dry, and your breath shaky again. Poe’s looking at you funny, and you must be staring, so you clear your throat, shaking your head a little. 

His tie is slightly to one side, so you step towards him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Can I-?” Your voice is a murmur as your hands reach out, one going to the centre of Poe’s neck. You straighten his tie, ignoring the warmth of his body below your hands and step back. 

You hadn’t realised how intimate that would feel, how close you’d have to get, and now you feel overwhelmed, your body heating up, your heart beating faster. Poe’s looking at you with a strange look in his eyes, like he can’t quite figure out what your motives are, he can’t decide what you want. 

Only, it’s not unusual, is it? Poe’s always been a touchy-feely person, hugging, holding hands, touching whenever he could, it didn’t tend to matter who it was, or what the situation was. 

Except this feels different somehow, heavier. Like you crossed a line in your friendship that you weren’t aware existed. That the intimacy of fixing Poe’s tie, being this close to his body is teetering beyond friendship. Poe’s still looking at you with this heavy gaze, and maybe there’s something in his eyes, but you can’t bear to meet them, can’t bear to face the rejection you’ll find there.

So you swallow, fixing your gaze on the section of wall just to the left of his face, ignoring how your palms are singing from touching Poe, even through his shirt. They itch to do it again, hungry for more, and it takes all of your self control to stop yourself and to take a step back, widening the space between you. 

“Shall we go?” You’re the first to speak, and at your words, Poe seems to snap out of it, closing down, any softness in his eyes, in his face, disappearing. 

He nods, stiffer than he normally is around you, and you can only hope that he’ll loosen up when you get downstairs. “Here's your ring.” He reaches into his breast pocket and hands you a wedding band, gold and simple.

And you’ve been so distracted by the top half of him that you hadn’t seen his on his ring finger, hanging loosely at his side. You don’t say anything as you slip the cold jewellery on, your heart stuttering at the implication of something so plain. 

Stepping out of your room, you take Poe’s offered elbow, and the two of you start your descent to the lobby. It takes you a while to get used to the breeze on your right leg, where your skin is exposed. The building is an old one, corridors extending in every direction with bedrooms and storerooms scattered in a seemingly random order. The lift is quiet, muzak playing faintly out of a tiny speaker. 

“We’ve got this,” you murmur under your breath reassuring yourself. Poe looks at you, but doesn’t say anything, just patting your hand where it rests on his arm. 

The transformation in him when you step into the hall is amazing. His smile, which you recognise enough to tell it’s fake, spreads across his face, and as you enter, he turns his head to your ear, murmuring, “I didn’t tell you how beautiful you looked before.” 

There’s suddenly no air as you turn to look back at Poe, that familiar grin tugging on his lips. Your faces are close again, like a married couples, and you don’t try to hide the pleased look that’s clear across your face, feeling more flustered than you expected. 

His eyes are encouraging, and you’ve never noticed how warm they are, what a soft brown. They’re lighter than you thought, having never been so close to his face before, dark irises increasing in size as he looks at you, waiting for your response. 

You’re married, remember?

So you press your cheek to his smooth one, with a soft “thanks.” 

You turn back to the crowd, missing how Poe’s gaze catches on you for a second longer than normal, instead concentrating on how no one noticed you walk in. Good. The room is busy already, you and Poe one of the last stragglers arriving. Soft music, not dissimilar to the one in lift is playing, largely drowned out by voices chattering away.

The ballroom is light and airy, yellow lamps creating a warm atmosphere, with a marble floor that causes your steps to click. There’s a bar near the entrance, and a stage to your left. 

The beginning of the night is spent hanging off Poe’s arm, making conversation with Senators about brain-dead topics, Poe’s hand moving to squeeze yours in warning whenever you make a slightly too sarcastic comment, usually about the First Order really having an impact, and how it was about time someone made a monopoly of the galaxy anyway. 

You push down the urge to be more sarcastic, if only to feel Poe’s skin on yours again. 

No one seems to notice, especially not when you start to zone out, looking for opportunities to sneak away. The office had to be around this room somewhere; hours of poring over maps of the building had revealed a lot of empty space around the ballroom. And now Senator Sewinn was walking out of a concealed door in the back right of the room, which had to led to his office. 

Unfortunately, he and a number of other important, puffed up looking peacocks of politicians seem intent to stand right in front of it, drawing, if anything, more attention to the door. 

You huff, unknowingly scowling. What was the point of a secret door when you act like that? You may as well make a sign saying ‘Secret, Do Not Enter.’

“You alright, sweetheart?” Poe’s the one to drag you back to where you are, and you do one of those smug, self-centred couple smiles, one that you’d seen far too often, smoothing out your face. 

“Yes, sorry honey.” You step back from the group, suddenly needing a moment. “If you’ll excuse me.” You direct this to the rest of the group, mumbling something about getting a drink, stumbling away, sure they won’t miss you. Poe’s behind you, his presence both stifling and a comfort. 

When you reach the bar, his hand is on the small of your back, and he’s still so warm. How can his hand spread heat through your body like this? Through your dress? “Hey,” his mouth is by your ear again while you wait for the bartender. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head, unsure yourself. “I don’t know Poe. Nothing.” Maybe it’s him. You can’t look directly at him, fearing you’ll combust. 

It’s definitely him. 

But instead, you turn your mouth back to his ear, close enough your mouth just grazes his earlobe as you talk. “Senator Sewinn isn’t leaving the door behind him.”

Poe looks behind you in a casual sweep of the room as you order two drinks. 

When he turns back, his chest is pressing against you now, his arm around your waist, caging you into the bar, and you hope you don’t look as hot as you feel. You practically vibrate under his touch, the urge to push back into him stronger than ever. Poe’s blazer isn’t buttoned up, and it’s almost around you, you can feel the silk of his tie on your back.

Your breath sticks in your throat as he bends to whisper, again. This man is going to kill you. “Good spot sweetheart.” 

Don’t press your hips back into him, you remind yourself, he’s there, but don’t do it. 

You can smell the cologne Poe’s wearing too, the one he only uses on really special occasions and it’s making your head spin. Maybe you need some air. 

You accept the drinks from the bartender, passing over some credits and turning in Poe’s arms, the cold glasses in your palms helping you a little, distracting you from the heat which seems to have settled in your core, pulsing in between your legs. 

Except now you’re facing Poe, facing those warm brown eyes, and are they darker than they were before? Is this better or worse? Face to face, or chest against your back? 

He’s licking his lips as he’s taking the drink from you and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so bad. Breathe, in and out. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll move,” it takes a second for you to tune back in, to realise what Poe is talking about. “Sewinn has to make a speech at the other end of the hall, we’re to move then, when everyone’s distracted, remember?” 

His voice is soft, quiet, and you do remember, that the movements he’s describing are all part of the plan, have been ever since the brief, but this man who’s crowding you into the bar, the sharp edge cutting a vertical line into your back, is distracting you from the mission. 

This mission, which is important for the Resistance. 

The mission, which you can’t fail at. 

And, more than that, you can’t let Poe down. 

He’s not interested, you have to remind yourself when a pang of disappointment shoots through you as he steps back. This is fake, you’re fake married. 

Somehow the reminder doesn’t help. 

You sip your drink, cold liquid shooting down your throat as you look anywhere but at him. 

The introductory section drags. You don’t return to the group you were talking to before, instead choosing to stay near the bar, exchanging the odd observation with Poe, the two of you consistently getting closer than you really need to talk. 

He’s acting more normal now, his smile more natural as he relaxes. His hand has found a home on you, it doesn’t seem to matter where, moving from your shoulder to your back to your waist. You don’t dare mention it, afraid he’ll stop, when that’s the last thing you want. 

Sometimes you feel like a black hole, desperately looking for love and touch, and sucking up whatever you can find, always needing more. You hate to think that maybe that’s what you cherish most about your friendship with Poe - that even as his friend, he touches you, and hugs you, and gives you a kiss. Although it does spark the idea of Poe being cuddly in bed, that if you ever went out with him, he would always try and have his hands on you. You allow yourself these soft dreams for a moment, before tuning back in before Poe can notice. 

You’ve nearly finished your drink when the quiet background music starts to fade, and to your delight Sewinn begins to move. The crowd easily parts for him, and you wonder briefly what it is about him that makes people so responsive. What would it be like to have that kind of power? 

You grasp Poe’s hand, feeling his calluses on your palm when he makes his move, pulling him to stay with you a second longer. “Wait for him to settle,” you say, knowing there’s no rush, yet. 

And so you do, the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, pretending to listen to the senator’s drivel. And then he turns, looking for the trophy he’s using to make his announcement more convincing, and you pull Poe along the back wall, still holding his hand as you lean against the hidden door and allowing a grin as it clicks open. 

And you’re in. 

You blink in surprise when you realise it’s really been that easy. You’d expected at least a locked door to get in the way. But no, you’re standing in the Senator's office, looking at a large desk, footsteps suddenly muffled by the plush carpet and still holding Poe’s hand. 

You drop it like you've been burned, not daring to look at Poe as you go to the other side of the desk. There’s bookshelves around all the walls, creating a slightly dark and gloomy look, especially in contrast with the light ballroom next door. 

You start going through the drawers as Poe plugs in the holostick that he’d been given, downloading files for later reading. Most drawers contain useless information, files on drinks needed for the party, a bill for the band later, business cards and other junk. There’s one locked drawer you can’t open, even when you try and pick it. 

You give it a kick in frustration when it still doesn’t open, earning a snicker from Poe. “Did that help, sweetheart?”  

You scowl at him, not bothering to answer, and determined to not mention the fact that your foot really hurts now. “How long left?” you ask, deflecting instead.

“Two minutes,” is the answer and you nod, going to one of the bookshelves, hand idly tracing down a number of spines. None are in a language you recognise, and when you turn back to tell Poe so, you find him leaning against the desk and watching you. His legs seem longer at this angle, thighs … bigger. And you’ve seen this man with a harness wrapped around his legs like a second skin. 

You wonder what it would be like to … You shake your head before you can finish that thought, mouth dry even as you remind yourself that Poe’s your friend. Your friend. “I can’t read any of these,” you tell him instead, watching his head snap up to meet your eyes as you talk. 

And then a lot of things happen very quickly. 

Before Poe can respond, the holostick beeps, he unplugs it, just as the door to the ballroom clicks open. Before you can react, he’s closing the steps between you, holostick clasped in a fist, crowding you into the bookshelf behind you. When he speaks, it’s a low, quiet, “I’m sorry,” his forearm coming to rest next to your head, and you can smell him again, eyes falling closed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The scent is familiar and grounding, and even as your heart rate picks up, you feel calmer, Poe’s other hand holding your cheek. His head turns, your noses bumping and his lips are so close to you … he’s going to kiss you.

And then he stops, except he’s moving like he is kissing you, and you realise his hand is connecting your two faces and there’s someone else in the room, so you don’t think, you just react. You widen your legs so Poe can step between them, and you let out a breath, nearly but not quite grinding on his leg, moaning low in your throat as one of your hands flies to the nape of Poe’s neck.

“Excuse me!” The guard’s voice is sharp, and cross, which is fair enough, you later reason, when you think that you wouldn’t want to find two people snogging in your boss’s office. Awkward one to report, that. 

Poe is slow to separate from you, his eyes dark when he opens them, and you're breathing embarrassingly fast considering he didn’t actually kiss you. He turns, standing just in front of you, a protective stance, whether he realises it or not. 

“Sorry, sir,” his voice is more hoarse than normal, and you never realised what a good actor Poe is. You sheepishly smile at the guard who just huffs and ushers you outside, grumbling about how disrespectful the two of you are and warning you not to do it again. 

The two of you stand in the hall, Sewinn just wrapping up his speech. Your head is spinning and you can’t think. 

Poe seems entirely unaffected by the whole thing, winking at you as he grins, joining in with the clapping at the end of the speech. You copy him, but you feel like you’re moving at half the speed of everyone else, your whole body screaming to be surrounded by Poe again. 

“Are you alright?” Poe asks you, and is it that obvious that you aren’t? You can only nod, not trusting your voice to be steady. “I’m sorry … about, in there, I just-”

“Stars, Poe.” You interrupt, not wanting to hear it. “It’s fine, it was good, quick thinking on your part.” You force a smile, and if Poe notices, he drops it. “We did it, though,” You add after a second, the silence between you somehow worse. 

Poe grins, and you know you’ll be ok, the breathless, hot feeling gradually fading, your senses tuning back into the room around you, hearing the band setting up, everyone moving around you. “We did.” Is all he says, extending his hand in mock performance when the band start playing. “May I have this dance?”

You allow yourself to relax, graciously accepting it. “Why, kind sir, of course!” The two of you are giggling as you start to dance, neither of you aware of what the steps are, just concentrating on having a good time. The music isn’t particularly great; the stuffy sort that politicians think make them look classy, when really it just makes them look like pretentious assholes. 

You both get bored of this pretty soon, Poe losing his jacket as the two of you get warmer and warmer, dancing ridiculously in a corner. 

When your feet begin to hurt you pull on Poe’s hand, taking him away from the dancefloor. The hall is hot, and you want fresh air. You feel flushed, the cold air nice on your warm cheeks. 

You’re walking along the corridor back to your room, talking about the best song you’d play to start a party. Poe’s jacket under hanging off his arms, hands stuffed in his pockets. You try not to look directly at him too much as the two of you discuss better songs. “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy is one that would definitely get everyone going.” Poe says it likes it’s the simplest thing in the world, his answer the definitive one, while you snort. 

“You only think that because you want an excuse to ask everyone that all the time. No - Gimme, Gimme, Gimme is the best. Hands down.” Maybe you’re just as bad as he is. “Rasputin is another good one,” you add, “there’s dance moves and everything.” 

“No!” Poe’s voice is low, exaggerating his horror by dragging out his vowels, being over-dramatic now, “the best one for dance moves is Rock the Boat.” 

You ruffle his hair in that way he hates. “You like that because you can sit down!” Your laughter is interrupted when Poe’s head snaps up, looking towards the end of the corridor.

You pause, looking for the cause of the change in Poe’s attention. Hearing the voices approaching you, he grabs your hand, pulling you into an alcove, pulling the curtain across. There’s hardly room for the two of you to breathe, bodies pressed together, wall cold on your back as you listen to the footsteps coming closer. 

“... and Sewinn is going to want his whores there.” A nasal voice, coming closer. 

You stop breathing, glancing at Poe, who shakes his head. “The usual ones?” The question is spat by a deeper voice, while the other person presumably nods. “Fuck! They think they have more influence, always looking down on us, when Sewinn listens to us.” 

Poe’s hand fumbles around yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing gently in comfort, sending electricity up your arm. The same deep voice continues down the corridor, passing you. “And he just can’t get enough of them, especially that boy with the awful fashion sense, I mean really...” 

The voice fades gradually, passing you in a blur in the corner of your eye. You determinedly concentrate on looking at the fluttering curtain, a shade of blood red, suddenly too shy to look at Poe. 

This mission has been a lot. Working with Poe, who you have a desperate crush on, pretending to be married, and now standing far too close for comfort while you listen to people talk complain about influence in the Senate. You can’t hold it in any longer, the two of you dissolving into giggles, bodies collapsing forwards, Poe’s jacket landing on the floor with a soft whump.

And maybe it’s the release of this tension but when you finally compose yourselves, leaning back as much as you can in the small space even though you could leave, or maybe it’s the fact that his thumb is now massaging your palm, but the words tumble out before you can think. 

“Poe I like you.” He hasn’t let go of your hand yet, which is a good sign, right? But he also hasn’t said anything, so you keep talking. “Like you, like you, I mean.” Why can’t you shut up? There’s something unreadable in Poe’s eyes. “Like I would quite like to go on a date with you sometime and maybe -” 

Eventually Poe stops you with his free hand, covering your mouth for a beat, enough to get you to shut up. Is he closer? You didn’t think it was possible. His face is unreadable, even as he looks into your eyes, considering something “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” 

Your mind goes blank, your mouth dropping open as Poe removes his hand, going to his tie, loosening the knot. “What?” you just manage to stammer out. 

Poe just tips his head, like he’s considering the best angle to kiss you. “I like you like you too, sweetheart.” He’s teasing, but it’s fond, you realise with a rush of affection. All night he’s been looking at you like this, with fondness. “Can I kiss you?” He’s almost begging. 

Words escape you. You nod, unable to breathe, unable to talk anymore. Poe leans towards you, tilting his head, eyes closed, long lashes fluttering on his cheeks. At the last second, you remember to close your eyes, kissing him back. 

His hand moves to your hip, pulling you towards him, where you can feel him, already half-hard under his trousers, pressing against you. Poe slides his hand under the split in your skirt, warm hand on your skin, pulling your leg up as his hand travels down your thigh, settling into the crook of your knee, opening your legs and pulling your core closer to him.  

You catch on, wrapping your leg happily around his waist, not caring how exposed you must be, gasping when you grind against him again, and Poe’s even harder now, the seam of his trousers catching on something pleasurable between your legs. You’re already more aroused than you really have any right to be, considering he’s hardly done anything to you yet, but you’ve been thrumming at a low level all evening. 

You’re still kissing, even as he grinds against you, pushing you more into the wall behind you, and you feel overwhelmed, already, in the best way possible. All you can hear are your combined breaths, breathy sighs that fill the small space. You feel hot, nearly overheating, the cool wall balmy on your flushed skin behind you. 

You forget where you are, what you’re supposed to be doing, Poe taking over all your senses. His tongue is in your mouth, teeth biting at your lip and all you can do is let him. Your free hand moves to his hair, tugging gently and feeling a pull of satisfaction in your core at his low groan. His hair is soft, and thick and you don’t want to let go, the sudden image of pulling on his hair when his head’s between your thighs jumping to your mind’s eye.

You finally let go of his hand so you can hold onto his shoulders, the crisp white shirt becoming crumpled in your grasp and helping you balance on one leg. Poe’s now-free hand pulls your skirt fully up around your waist, no doubt causing some creases and teases you, playing with the hem of your underwear, fingers tracing circles into your hip.

You groan into his mouth, you can feel yourself getting wetter, and your hips unconsciously buck into his hands, wanting more. When Poe pulls back, resting his forehead on yours, you’re both breathless. His eyes have blown wide, and you’re sure yours look the same. You’re panting a little, even as Poe keeps his movements regular, grinding his dick into you, moving his hips up and adjusting his position with every moan you let out. 

“So good to me, sweetheart.” He’s kissing down your neck now. “You feel so good, you … urgh … you don’t even know how much you turn me on…” He sounds breathless, even as he continues to talk. 

And then he surges up, hitting your clit and you can’t help it, crying out. Pleasure’s building in your body, all centred around Poe, and you want more of it, more of him. You can’t see Poe’s face, but you feel the smirk he presses to your skin as he does it again. And then his hand that’s playing with your underwear moves, pulling it away from your skin, dipping his hand down and stroking one long finger through your wet folds. 

The moan you let out is broken. “Poe…” That’s all it takes for him to push his finger inside you, motioning gently towards himself. You can hear how wet you are as a second finger joins the first, a steady squelch in time with his movements. His fingers are thicker than yours are, and you feel dizzy at the thought of being stretched on his dick. His palm is grazing against your clit with every movement, steady and repetitive. 

Poe’s fingers feel so good, moving inside you, gently building you higher and higher while he watches your face, kissing your jaw, your ear. Your moans come out in breathy whines, repetitions of his name, and soft oh’s of pleasure. You can only hold onto him, trusting he’ll catch you if your leg gives out, only half-aware that anyone could walk past and hear or see Poe utterly destroy you. 

You start to moan more and before you even realise what’s happening, Poe’s greedily kissing you as you fall apart from his fingers. He keeps kissing you as he works you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers, his tongue in your mouth while your hips buck forwards still. 

You’d feel embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good. “Yes, by the way,” His voice is low as he moves to kiss the soft spot under your ear now. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

You can only frown as Poe removes his fingers from inside you, glistening wet and placing them on your lips, pushing gently until you open your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers, your own tart taste filling your mouth. “What?” You mumble, Poe’s digits muffling your voice. 

“I’d quite like to go on date with you sometime too.” 

You nod slowly, your post-orgasm haze lifting slower than normal. “Can we go to bed first?” Poe’s fingers are still half in your mouth, and you suck on the tips a little for emphasis, widening your eyes. And then you get an idea. “Or, actually,” you purr, removing your leg from Poe’s waist, and gently pushing his shoulders so he hits the wall behind him as you drop to your knees in front of him. “Maybe we should stay here for a minute.” 

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

this is the suit I was imagining, but the hair was all wrong for Poe. also I know that there are technically no suits in Star Wars canon, but I wanted to write it this way so

[ackermanshoe]

Edited lmao: warning this is kinda pointless and alot of farfetched theory and a veryyy long post please read at your own risk 🤡

Edit again: my analysis when I started it 1 month ago: 👩‍💼🖨️📇✒️🖋️✏️

My post now: 🤡🤡🤡🕯️🕯️🤡

Edit: I started writing this like ages ago but I don't see my own point with this writting and I'm editing it after reading @nini14 's Ackerman breaking the cycle analysis and I feel like both of these go hand in hand. So without further ado:

Triangles

Let's see as we all are made aware that aot significantly revolves around trios of friends such as the following :

Although these are the main trios that is noticeable, other trios can be made out by taking some characters from their original trios to make trios based on looks / character and dynamics. And this is where my argument comes in with this trio:

Their dynamic has always been mother father and son. Now let me explain, idk if anyone has heard about the drama triangle but here

These terms can be applied to MLE trio, Levi being the persecutor, Mikasa is the rescuer and the victim being Eren. In the first 3 seasons at least, Eren was being taken away and his decisions constently put him in danger, Levi being the persecutor who always gives Eren what he deserves for being a pain the ass and Mikasa being the rescuer always siding with Eren and protecting him no matter what. Do you see it?

This is Mikasa to a T.

The following is an example of the dad being the rescuer and the son "junior" being a victim, and much like Eren, could possibly refuse the hand that is helping him.

So that being said now that we have an understanding of their dynamics in the relationship, let's get back to understanding a triangle. Did you know triangles are one of the strongest shape because it has three sides that rely on each other hence shifting their energies on to each side and it makes the perfect shape for a bridge, architectures favourite. Why am I tell you this?

Because these dynamics that every trio is made up of in aot is because they have strong relationships.

Someone mentioned isayama loves putting move triangles and I couldn't help but agree, look at how many times he has placed Eren historia and an angry Mikasa? And subtly he has always ( to me at least) hinted the love triangle between Levi Mikasa and Eren, outside of their father-mother-son dynamic. Personally this makes sense to me the most, fueled by mikasa's dream. A choice was there to make and she unknowingly chose Levi.

Now this brings me to the death of all the trios Levi has been part of, from Isabel & Farlan to hanjo & Erwin to where we are now. Our situation before S4 was EMA+Levi = 4 people but we all know that a square isn't as strong as a triangle so something shifted. Eren, even with him in it Armin and him were more connected as for Levi and Mikasa as a pair it was more obvious. Especially in the conversation EMA had in that stare place as depicted on @gilly-bj 's analysis on similarities between rivamika and Mika's parents. Not only was Mikasa placed directly next to Levi although being feets apart in reality but her lines "another conversation only you two understand" it. Visually and verbally divided Mikasa from Eren and Armin and connected her to Levi. Both alone.

Yet another triangle placed by isayama intentionally or not is Armin Mikasa and Levi.

Because a triangle represents the process of recycle and reuse it also represent the cycle of life, an on going thing that doesn't stop, a history that repeats itself. And going back to Ackerman finally breaking this cycle of tragic fate, will they?

The fact that the whole manga series start at chapter 0 is very suspicious in it self. Why does it isyamaa? A 0, a circle that comes back around? A 0 which represents both the ending and the beginning? Why is the 1st chapter called "to you, 2000 years from now"? ( That's such a fucking impactful chapter name gives me chills )

Before my theory start I just wanna add that the story started from a narrative perspective makes me wanna believe in rivamika even more. Did eldians share the same fate in 2000 years? Who knows, but I know for sure Erens and mikasa's dynamic as the impulsive hotheaded doer and their protective calm but strong friend thinker will continue forever just like the never ending triangles.

I forgot all these ppls names on chaoter 0 so PLS bare with me.

The main dude who heavily resembles Mikasa even tho he is a man, has a incredible power just like the Ackerman's as a human AND he can shift into a titan???? Last time I checked weren't Ackerman's the bio product of titans? Remember is science is on a ongoing journey and forever progressing towards the impossible ;)

Hmmm

The little girl who resembles Gabi, who has the same dynamic as Eren, the girl also looks up to his inhumanly powers, a little too much alike Eren's idolisation of Levi ( and looking up to Mikasa's strength I think )?

Lastly, chapter 0 makes me believe it was set in the future. Look at the buildings, 2 story buildings I don't remember seeing buildings like this in the pre time skip era have you? I could be wrong tho.

If Isayama is as smart as we think he is then he might have related this chapter to the whole plot of aot. 🤷 Or it could mean something. And here's where my theory comes in and it may not be the most favourable for eldians. Let me start with the good part tho, the guy who looked like Mikasa is could be a descendant from the Ackerman clan, but he isn't half and half like Mikasa and Levi, he's full blooded. Which might be why he has the power to shift ( idk this kinda don't make sense since Mikasa and Levi can't buy hush )

So let's say rivamika got married had a family they always wanted and had the peaceful life and 2000 years from then this guy^ existed. Oddly familiar to great great great grammakasa 💀💀.

The cycle never ended for eldians, the whole world could still be mad at them for Erens action and has the prejudice against them for a long time. And the fact that they can shift is never going to change even 2000 years in the future. And the guy ( omg I keep calling him the guy cause I literally can not be bothered figuring out his name ) who lives in a far more developed society with richer civilization within the wall. It could be possible that Ymir or someone erased the eldians memories ONCE AGAIN after the rumbling ended. Because Mikasa levi weren't effected they probably were excused and got to live as they pleased. This dude is also the reason why I believe isayama does not consider the Ackerman's as side characters at all. In the end the story might have actually started with them, alluding to "the ending is just the beginning" as said by kingsama himself. ( Wtf am I saying lol )

So yeah in conclusion as I said yes story is weirdly really influenced by a large amount of triangles and loops. And yes ackerman probably would break the cycle of death after all living through hell fighting hell all for what? If not recreating into a heaven, giving it new life. I do believe in rivamika living the life they are destined for with each other but eldians fate might just be too tragic for me to see them as truly free people who gets to roam around outside the walls as they please.

I guess my point is that everything that goes around will come around, that will bring good karma for the Ackerman's and maybe a repeation of the past for the rest of the world. 😩😩 I think I fully somehow believe Eren is gone for good. Unless isayama draws him waking up from a long dream on his bed then 💀👀👀 I will throw myself away.

Thank you for reading 💞 once again I'm so sorry this post isn't as good as I'd like it to be I am sleep deprived right now and it isn't worded as well as of like it to be. But hope my delulu ness was enjoyable at least. ✌️💀

[spookysmujer]

Chupa, O. Diaz

Summary: A rainy day with Oscar takes an arousing turn.

warnings: fluff, oral s e x 👅 (18+), kinky s h e t 

word count: 1.6K

requested by anon!

A/N: We all know Oscar cannot resist his mujer! Ladies/men, how do you get your mans/women to stay in bed with you? Thank you for requesting, just to give y’all a heads up REQUESTS ARE CLOSED! I hope you like this. Please consider following my blog, heart/comment/reblog my content as well as turning on notifs for when I post something new!

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @firebenderwolf @spookysnena @princesstiffxoxo @mbaku-babygirl @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66  @kkim120​ (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

(gif credit goes to @merakiaes​ ✨)

If it’s one thing that can automatically align your chakra’s is the soothing sound and smell of rain. It’s opens up the smell of nature and despite living in one of the dirtiest cities in California, you love the rainy days. Especially when it consists of cuddles with Oscar. You love to be entangled with him under the sheets even though he isn’t much of a cuddler.

You’re half on top him with one of your legs over his waist and head resting on top his chest, his shallow breathing adding to your ultra calmness. He initiated the cuddling today probably because he was out late yesterday and wanted to make it up to you. Nothing could ruin right now. But of course, the universe is forever against you, he gets a call. 

“I’ve gotta bounce, mami.” 

He says as he stretches under you. You groan and pout, holding on him. Today is suppose to be all about the two you, you’re determined to make him stay. And you know just how to do it.

Oscar pulls out his phone and is sending out texts to the rest of the Santos to let know the plan’s for today. He’s so focused on his phone that he hasn’t realized you’ve rolled off of him. Now sitting up, you are looking down at him. He never fails to look so good. So yummy.

You’re biting your lip as your eyes rake his body. His upper half is bare and bottom draped with the sheet and underneath he only has a pair boxers on. You look to his bottom half then back up to his face. As you bite your lip at the thought of convincing him to stay, you smile.

The plan is in motion. You crawl off  and stand at the foot of the bed. He’s still in tune with his phone, oblivious to what is about to happen. You pull your hair behind you and tie it into a high ponytail. Quickly, before he can notice or protest, you throw off your tank top and crawl under the sheets. 

Oscar finally takes notice to the movement below him. Just as he moves his phone from his view, he sees your figure moving under the sheets on him. “What are you doing, hm?”

You palm him through his boxer and feel him stiffen under you as settle between his legs. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“I told you I gotta bounce.”

You only hum and you squeeze more in between his legs and grab his boxers to pull down. Despite his protests to stop, you pull them down enough to take out his semi-hard cock. Your eyes glistening as you stroke him along his shaft.

His body begins to relax under you the more your hand moves up and down on him. He throws his phone to the side and moves his hands to rest under the back of his head, closing his eyes to enjoy getting this BJ.

You move up enough to get your face directly in front of his cock, watching his pre-cum spills out and down onto his sack. You’re not gonna lie, your mouth begins to water at thought of him coming undone in your mouth. You love to give him blowjobs, the way his body shudders gets you off alone.

Oscar wiggles his hips forwards when he doesn’t feel you getting to work, you smile and take him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his throbbing tip, a low moan escaping from. Nothing like focusing on the tip when it comes to sucking him off. You move him further into your mouth til you feel him hit the back of your throat.

If it’s one thing that Oscar absolute loves is hearing you gag on his cock. You always thought it was a funny kink that guys have. Mostly because they believe their dicks are so bomb you’re choking on them but they are quick to forget that a lot of girls also choke on their toothbrushes when cleaning their tongues.

You shake your head and hold him in the back of your throat, feeling the reflex kick in. A gag sounds and he hums in happiness, “Choke on that dick, nena.” 

Bobbing your head up and down, Oscar finally opens his eyes and peers downward, taking one hand to push the sheet off him. You peer up at him and pull your mouth off him. You pucker your lips and turn your head to the side, letting his cock slide through your pouted lips. He loves your lips.

Your tongue licks the underside of his length, up and down til you reach his scrotum, you hold his hard member to the side and take his entire sack into your mouth, maneuvering it in one after the other. Oscar’s mouth forms an O and his eyebrows crease, “Hm, take my dick into your pretty little mouth. The whole thing.”

As your told, you move his dick into your mouth and play with his tip before taking his entire length, encasing it in your saliva to his hilt and his tip now resting in your throat. Once it gets there Oscar removes his hand from behind his head, placing both on top your head. 

He begins to buck his hips, throat fucking you and moaning nicely adding to your arousal. You have your hands holding onto his thighs as the feeling of his cock begins to overwhelming you. “Ah, fuck. Your tight throat feels so fuckin’ good, mami.”

Oscar grabs your ponytail and pulls you off his cock. You’re gasping for air as saliva drips down your chin and onto him. You lick your top lip and Oscar groans, nodding you to move off him, “Lay on your back.”

You smile and roll onto you back, pushing off your sleep shorts and rubbing your arousal around your cunt. Excited to feel is cock deep inside of you. Oscar climbs ontop you and kneels above your torso.

“I wanna fuck your tits. I wanna cum on them then I’m gonna fuck you.” You bite your lip and feel yourself throbbing more. You nod and bring your hands to squeeze your boobs together. Oscar grabs you by your throat and you instinctively open your mouth, he spits it in making you nearly cum. You spit the mixture of his and your own saliva into your cleavage. 

His cock slides through from the bottom on your pressed breasts and pokes out at the top. He moans and slides in back out but back in just as quick, his pace beginning to pick up now. Oscar leans forward and lets his hands rest on the sides of your head on the bed.

Now at a steady pace, you tip your head down and stick out your tongue, the tip of his dick just hitting it. Your flick your tongue up and down, adding to the nut he’s about to bust, you keep doing so when you hear the change in his breathing. You keep your mouth open as his hips being to falter and his seed is spurting on your chest and partially in your mouth.

You’re a squirming, horny mess under him.

He sits back and you let go of your boobs. He has sweat covering him and trying to catch his breath too. You pick up some of his cum with your finger and suck on it. He watches you and climbs off, you know he’s gonna get tired so you quickly straddle him.

“Eh, mamas, give me a sec.” He lays his arms out as you disregard his words and sit in his softening cock. He can feel your arousal saturating him. Oscar’s hands goes to your hips and you rub your hot cunt on him, his cock starting to stiffen quickly again. 

You’re grinding on his now, his dick sliding through your folds. His hard member rubbing against your sensitive clit and drawing your close to a release, “I love how your cock fits through my folds, baby. You make me cum so fast, fuck, I’m gonna cum already.”

He digs his fingers deeper into your skin, aiding to your rolling hips and when the orgasm hits you, Oscar reaches behind you to line his dick with your entrance, sliding in with ease.

The feeling overwhelming you, he grins, “No break for me, none for you, lil traviesa.” Your whine as you take him completely, though still shaking from your first release. He lets his arms fall back on the bed, letting you take the reigns.

Oscar closes his eyes as your squeeze him like a vice. You’re lifting your hips and falling back down on his cock, hands planted on his chest. You lean back and expose your swollen bud, biting your lip and giving him a look he cannot resist.

He moves his hand to in between you, taking his thumb to rub your clit. The way he does so and how you are moving up and down, your release is close and you both know it.

“You gonna fuckin’ cum, I can feel it. Cum on my cock, mami.” As his wish is your bodies command, a fire spreads throughout you and you are shuddering, hunching over ontop him. Oscar grunts and cums inside of you, the feeling so nice and fulfilling.

As you lay ontop him, he runs his hands down your back and moves his hips to slip out of you.

“I still have to bounce.”

All Oscar gets is a soft snore from you. He laughs as you love to give him shit for being such a guy and getting so tired after sex but here you are. He only kisses your forehead and basks in the glory of the rainy day.

[solarisensun]

I'm not sure if your requests are open or not but would you be willing to write something with a yandere oikawa. I love the thought of him fucking ushijimas fem s/o in front of him and ushijima is in misery since he's tied up and can't do anything. Noncon obviously... your writing is legitimately mesmerizing and I feel like I won't be judged for this. I'm so sorry if you aren't doing requests!!!!!!

mmmm time to use my big brain and what if ushijima is the one that initiated it in a stupid bet that he will let Tooru have a go at his pretty little gf if he ever loses a match. Ofc he never thought that Oikawa will ever beat him..........

Warnings: Noncon duh, vouyerism(?) , general yandere themes, cheating, bj, dacryphilia(?)

You wake up to the uncomfortable sensation of weight pressing on your chest.

“Wakatoshi,” you immediately mumble, muscle memory kicking in as your wind your arms around the figure in you.

Maybe if you weren’t so sleepy you would realise that the touch was rougher, Ushijima always treated you gently, always mindful of his immense strength. These fingers were greedy, already blazing a path to dip under your shirt.

You whine at touch, his fingers feel smoother too. Not calloused like Ushijima’s rough texture.

A chuckle puffs at the side of your neck accompanied by the drag of his tongue up the side of your neck. “She usually this whiny?”

Your bleary eyes fly open immediately, the saccharine sweetness dripping in the words was certainly not Ushijima Wakatoshi’s.

It takes you several long moments before your eyes adjusts to the dimness of the room. Honeyed eyes meets your wide eyed stare and you scream.

Hands immediately find purchase against Oikawa’s chest as you try to pry his grip off your shoulders.

“Calm down princess,” he laughs at your outburst, a cocky arrogant sound that slices through the air, larger hands easily pining you down to the mattress.

You can’t calm down. Why was Oikawa Tooru of all people with you? It suddenly settles that you are clad in nothing but your underwear and you can feel the hot heat of his weight pressing down on your body.

Undeterred you struggle again, leg connected briefly against the side of his taunt stomach and you hear a oof sound as his grip loosens.

It’s not enough for you to escape.

A soft creak draws your attention away from Tooru and the scene in the corner makes your blood run cold.

“Wakatoshi,” you can’t help but croak hoarsely, eyes widening in horror when you take in the ropes that are binding him against a chair. You can see red areas where his olive skin has been chafed by the ropes and the sight brings tears to your eyes.

“Toshi,” you gasp again, your pitiful attempt to lunge towards your boyfriend is halted once more by a painful grip of Oikawa’s hand in your hair.

“Let me go!” You squeal, tears beginning to stream in hot trails down the sides of your face. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

Ushijima’s eyes narrows, yell partly muffled by the rag that had been stuffed in his mouth and you see the muscles in his body strain against the ropes.

“What?” Oikawa yanks you up by the hair to sneer. “Dumb little bitch, do you really think I could wrestle that monster into ropes?”

His sentence makes you still, the puzzle pieces clicking cruelly in place.

Oikawa speaks the truth that your too afraid to acknowledge.

“Always knew you were a whore,” Oikawa squeezes your cheeks. “How could I resist when your kind boyfriend.” His voice drips with mockery. “Offered me to have a go at this slutty cunt if I won?”

You can barely focus on breathing at this point, not that Oikawa particularly cares. He’d wanted to bend you over and bury his cock in you the moment he found out Ushijima had managed to snag himself such a pretty little thing.

The fact that Ushijima would be there to watch merely made his cock throb in anticipation.

“Open up for me,” Tooru grunts, pushing you to eye level with the large tent between his legs, his harsh grip tangled in your hair prevents you from moving.

You sob even harder when he yanks the waistband of his trouser down.

Your refusal doesn’t sway Tooru the slightest bit, the blow to your face comes so hard that it only registers when the stinging pain blossoms across your left cheek as you cry out.

“I said open up,” he give you such a sickly affectionate smile when you turn glossy eyes to him. “Gotta get this dick wet before I fuck you stupid hmm?”

Fear rushes through your veins at the darkness that glints in the depths of his eyes. He’s crazy, utterly drunk on the power he wields over his enemy and the girl he’d been jerking to for the past 4 fucking months.

The way you had smiled and said “Good game!” When Seijoh first lost to Shiratorizawa. It drove him insane, despite your warm smile, he knows deep down your probably sneering at his loss. Just like your stupid boyfriend

Your ridiculously short skirts that you wear to matches? It only confirms how much of a whore you are. All Tooru had to do was pretend to bend down to tie is shoelaces to snap a perfect picture of your perked ass in those snug panties so fucking tight he could see the outline of your pussy pressed against the frilly fabric when he zooms in.

When his twitching cock finally slips into your open mouth Oikawa let’s loose a audible hiss of pleasure at the contact of your wet mouth on his cock. Breath stuttering just the slightest bit when he forces himself deeper in your throat, ignoring your choked whines.

Every little mewl from your mouth only spurs him on further. He’s not exactly surprised you can fit so much of his length, seemed like your boyfriend had taught you how to suck cock like a pro.

As his eyes flutters open, he finds Ushijima glaring at him. The stoic man straining so hard against the ropes that Oikawa is surprised the chair hasn’t broken.

The weird thing though?

For someone so against it. It’s funny how Ushijima Wakatoshi has such a visible erection between his legs.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

airhorn sounds in your ear as you try to sleep ITS FIC TIME, CHILDREN

His father’s first reaction is, predictably, nervous. They’re sitting in the living room as a family, all sort of hanging out, but doing their own thing. Hoarders is passively playing, Lydia is tucked under the couch with a book and flashlight, Emily is in the corner with her laptop, and BJ and Charles are each sitting on opposite ends of the couch, going through their phones. He gets a very sweet text from Adam, showing that the other teen has put the photo Lydia took of them in a frame, and he grins, and holds the device to his chest, feeling giddy and flustered. His dad notices. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Charles smiles, and BJ figures this is as good a time as any. “I got a text from my boyfriend.” Charles stares. From her chair in the corner, Emily’s typing slows, and then stops, as her brain catches up with that sentence. His phone pings again, and he looks back down at a message from Barbara, then back to his parents. “And my girlfriend.” Emily closes her computer. Her smile is enormous. “Shut up.” “No, seriously!” he grins back at his mother, and then notes the color Charles is going. “Adam and Barbara?” Emily asks, knowingly, and he nods. “We made it official yesterday. I took em to th’ Smallpox Hospital.” “Awww! That’s so romantic!” “You’re dating?” Charles finally finds words. “Unclench your everything, dad, jeezus.” “It’s just… do you think that’s a good idea?” “I think it’s a great idea,” BJ says, a little defensive. “What, I’m not allowed to date? M’too weird for it?” “That’s not what I meant, BJ,” Charles frowns. But he can tell it kind of is.

“Charles, honey, he’s sixteen. He’s going to date,” Emily says softly, and Charles looks back at her. “But two people at once? And they’re-” “They’re what, Chuck?” “Humans. They’re human, BJ.” “Holy shit, they are? Here I thought they were just really crappy demons.” “I just don’t know if you’ve thought this through. Wouldn’t you be happier dating another demon?” “I don’t know any other demons, dad,” he growls, temper flaring. “Unless you want me to date Sam, an’ look like a total creep, since he’s stuck at like, ten.” “Stop it, BJ.” “You stop it! Just be happy for me!” “I am.. Happy. For you.” BJ sits back, crosses his arms, and scowls. “Got a funny way of showin’ it.” His father stands, and takes to pacing. Christ. “We should lay out ground rules.” “Me an’ Adam an’ Barb did that already.” “No, I mean, house rules,” Charles says, rubbing at his beard. “Things you’re allowed to do, and not. Oh, god, first things first, I’m going to get you a box of condoms.” Betelgeuse feels himself flush, and then Lydia finally pipes up, sticking her head out from under the couch. “Gross.”

“You’re seriously blowin’ this out of proportion. We’ve barely held hands!” “I was a teenager. I remember how things escalate. The last thing we need is someone pregnant. Especially with whatever a human and a demon would make.” “Th’ anti-Christ, maybe,” he says, unhelpfully, and he sees the way his dad’s expression twists into further worry. “It was a joke! Oh my god!”

His mother, bless her, swoops in, just then. “BJ’s just told us good news,” she says, standing, and putting a hand on Charles’ arm, which stops his pacing. “I need you to reassess how you’re making him feel, right now.” Charles looks from his wife to his son. BJ rubs at his nose, embarrassed and upset, and probably purple, and he sees his father make a choice. “BJ, I’m sorry,” Charles comes over, hesitantly reaches down, and Betelgeuse responds by throwing his arms around his dad. Chuck rubs his back. “Tell me about them,” he says, “and I promise to be cool. As cool as I can be, at least.”

That’s at least something. He can tell his dad is still worried, but he does listen, as Betelgeuse describes his two partners. “We spend a lotta time together,” he tells his father. “An’ they’re both goody two shoes. Seriously, they’re borin’, nice people.” “Tell us how you met them, BJ,” Emily smiles. He regales them with the story of Barbara and the flower, and then Adam in the library, and by the time he’s done, he’s back to feeling green, all smiles and excitement and stimming hands. It feels really, really good to not be alone.

Monday comes a day too soon, and he sort of misses the atmosphere of the library, because at lunch, he’s forced to pick up trash, with Honeywell watching him intently from a bench. The only consolation prize to this is the vice principal’s time is also being wasted. He doesn’t miss how a few kids walk by and intentionally throw things at his feet for him to pick up. They don’t get away with it, though, because either they trip and find their shoelaces are mysteriously tied together, or for those unlucky ones without laces, they’ll find a snake in their lockers. The miserable part is, Adam and Barbara aren’t allowed to hang out with him while he’s working. They’d tried, and were told in no uncertain terms to leave him alone, leave him to his task, or they’d be sent to the other side of the campus to do the same thing. A little bit of punishment, he understands. But he draws the line at threatening Sexy and Babs. He’s absolutely plotting exactly how he’s going to ruin the overbearing adult’s day when he feels a strange sensation in his chest, like a slight tug. He pauses. It’s not a pain, not really, more like a pull away from himself, which doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it is. He has to assume it’s another demon thing.

He glances at his watcher, who seems engrossed in paperwork.

Man, if only this guy would fuck off, he could be enjoying lunch with his friends- The pull away from himself is stronger, this time. He concentrates on it, and then remembers how physical the summoning of clones is, requiring a motion like he’s tossing something, and he gives that a try, this time, gently lobbing nothing at a student passing by. The kid looks surprised, and then goes rigid, and he thinks maybe he’s killed someone for the first time, but then the teen straightens up, and stands, stiff, facing him, and BJ feels mentally split, between two bodies. He raises his right hand. The student mirrors the action, eyes wide, confused. He lowers it, then kicks his leg out to the side, and again, he’s copied. Not copied.. Followed? The other student is like a marionette, and his mind is the strings, or something close to that. “Possession,” he grins, wickedly, and then he pulls himself back all to one body, and the kid falls on his ass, confused, and scrambles away.

Oh, he is so going to use this new power for evil.

“BJ Deetz! I don’t see this quad getting any cleaner!” Honeywell has looked up from his paperwork to find Betelgeuse standing there, grinning to himself, and the teen responds by spinning around, and throwing nothing at the overbearing authority figure. Honeywell also goes rigid, and BJ lifts his hands, directing the VP to stand, and the hapless adult does so. “Looks clean enough to me,” he mouths, and hears that sentence come out of Honeywell’s lips. “Clean enough to eat offa!” With a swiping motion, he forces the man to knock his own hardly touched lunch to the ground, and then BJ crouches low, and the adult follows, shoving his face into what was clearly leftovers from some night’s dinner, and coming back up with a mouthful of noodles and dirt. The big man’s eyes are wide. He’s scared, confused. It’s thrilling. With a hand motion, BJ forces the breather’s face back into the mess of food and dirt, and doesn’t let him up until the muffled cries become truly panicked. Possession out in public might be a bit too noticeable, though, because there’s a gathering group of kids watching what the teacher is doing, their phones out, taking video, and he doesn’t need them connecting his own strange movements back to Honeywell’s. He makes a final hand motion, releasing the adult, and shoves his hands in his pockets, just in time for Adam and Barbara to appear as faces in the crowd. Honeywell, freed, sits up, coughing and sputtering, and looking horrified. “What the heck happened?” Adam asks, and BJ shrugs. “He started throwin’ a fit, outta no where,” he lies, but he feels the vice principal watching him, staring up from the dirt, where he’s still sat, dazed. He gives the adult a grin. “Totally fuckin’ weird.”

The rest of his lunch period is freed up, suddenly, as Honeywell goes to clean himself off in the men’s room.

This fun new ability requires further testing, but not right now, now when Adam and Barbara are around. Soon, though. Very soon. “I’m really bummed we can’t be in the library anymore. I tried to pop in to grab something this morning and the librarian chased me out.” Adam looks genuinely sad, at that, which startles BJ out of his downright vicious thoughts. “By the way,” Adam adds, “They put up the casting sheet today. Want to guess who got that dentist part?” Barbara is grinning wide. “Me?” he croaks. A few other kids tried for it.. He didn’t think he’d get picked, honestly, thought that maybe someone more likable, or more friendly, would be chosen over him, but Barbara squishes his cheeks in her hands. “You!” she cheers, and he blushes. “You’re going to be amazing! But that means,” she tells him, suddenly serious, “-that you have to actually try.” He nods, as much as he can, her hands still on either side of his face. “Effort,” he grunts. “Got it.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose. He scrambles to throw his hood over his head, and cinches it closed, knowing for a fact he’s gone pink from the tips of his hair down to the roots. “BJ?” Barbara giggles, as he peers out at her from his hood. “Should I not do that?” “NO! No, no, I, uh, just.. Warn a guy, next time.”

He hadn’t thought through the logistics of this, clearly, because he can’t be scrambling away from them every time one of them kisses him, just because his stupid hair won’t behave itself. God, he’s going to have to start wearing a beanie, or something, until he can get this color thing under control. Annoyingly, his dad was right. He really hadn’t given this much thought, beyond, Adam and Barbara pretty, wanna kiss them. Now he’s got to work out the logistics of how he’s going to actually achieve that goal, without basically, for lack of a better word, outing himself. He doesn’t want to think that something like what happened with Kevin could happen again, but he hadn’t really seen that situation coming, and it had ended about as poorly as a budding romance can, with parental murder. So yeah, he’s not exactly confident he can trust them with this secret. Better to keep it to himself, play his cards close to the chest, not let them all the way in. That’s safest for all of them. Good plan, BJ, he thinks to himself, watching Barbara dust wood shavings out of Adam’s hair, a leftover byproduct of his shop class. No one gets hurt. No one has to know anything. He can keep playing human with his cute new partners for as long as they’ll let him.

Stretching before him, suddenly, he foresees a lifetime, several lifetimes actually, given the span of existence for a demon, lifetimes full of deceit and lies and partners who age without him, and it all makes him very tired, and sad. This is going to be how it is, he realizes. He’s going to pretend and mimic and do his best to fit himself into a template that he wasn’t made for, and he’s presumably going to be doing it forever, maybe until the minute the last human takes their last breath, because playing human is as close as he can get. It's easier to play pretend, throw a glamour on and act along, than to be himself and risk the pain and rejection, or the truth that maybe his worth is tied into what he can do, not who he is. It all leaves him dizzy, this sudden moment of unwanted clarity. He pushes it down, far down at it can go, to somewhere deep in his chest, and tries to come back to this moment, right now, because his boyfriend is looking at him. “You going to stay in that hood all day, shy guy?” Adam smiles, and BJ peels the hood back, and runs a hand through the mop of green mess that passes for his hair, and smiles, like he didn’t just have a mini existential crisis in the middle of a Monday afternoon. “What do you guys do for lunch when you’re not being wooed by an errant library assistant?” Betelgeuse forces an extra bit of pep that he doesn’t feel into his voice, and Barbara brightens. “You can come meet my friends!” She says, and he lets her lead him by the hand, across the quad, a corpse playing pretend at being alive, holding hands with the living.

They find Barbara’s friends at the lunch tables. He’s never sat over here, never really had reason to be over here at all, actually, because each table is always claimed by a friend group, and he’s never felt welcome enough to try and squeeze in with any of them. But he sort of has a group now, he supposes. If three can be a crowd, it can be a group. He does feel eyes on him as he’s directed on where to sit by Barbara, other kids at other tables watching him, maybe confused on how he’s ingratiated himself enough to actually have a place to sit. Barbara arranges where they sit, seemingly very intentionally, with herself between Betelgeuse and Adam, and Allison and Blair on the other side of the table, and they begin eating. The air is a little tense. He picks at his lunch, leftovers Charles packed for him. It smells amazing, but he doesn’t want to scarf it all down, not when he’s feeling watched, the way he is. And he is being watched, very intently so, by Barbara’s friends, who are apparently also Adam’s friends. Everyone but him seems to know so many other people. It’s almost insane, like, how do they keep them all straight? He’s only vaguely aware of which one of these similar white girls is Blair, because he’s spoken to her, at least once. Allison might as well be a balloon with a face painted on it. “So,” Blair puts down her fork. She’s eating a dry salad with little chunks of chicken in it, low carb, low cal. He’d be worried for her health if he gave a shit. “So,” he copies her instinctively, tilting her head the same way she does, holding his hands in front of himself in a mirror of her own movements. Barbara catches what he’s doing, and gives his arm a gentle pinch. “Is this for real?” Blair isn’t asking him, she’s looking between Adam and Barbara, who are both looking a little surprised at the sudden question. “What do you mean?” Adam asks, unsure, and Blair gestures between the three of them. “This whole.. This! When Barbara said she suddenly had two boyfriends, I had to check my calendar, make sure it wasn’t April Fool’s. And then it turns out to be you and..” Her eyes fall back on Betelgeuse. “Him. You, Adam, I get. You and Barbara together, that makes sense. But, like, BJ?” “Sure, if you’re offerin’,” he says, and Blair makes a face. Go on over to Ao3 to read the rest!! There's more waiting for your hungry eyes over there

[a-sketchy-a-day]

Made another dragon Beetlejuice drawing. With the added bonus of Lydia, and a dragon Barbara and Adam!

Read below the cut for an entire AU.

Okay, so it takes place in a universe where dragons exist (...obviously). There are drakes, wolfhound to horse sized wingless dragons that are quite common pets. Then there’s the rider dragons, which can only be owned by members of certain special guilds and orders. And then there’s the monster dragons, vicious, untameable, and told to poses powers.

Lydia is the child of a dragon rider, and thus she had a right to get a dragon of her own. So her mother, Emily, helps her pick out the egg of her future dragon and instructs her how to take care of it. But one day while out flying, Emily's dragon Sunny got struck during a lightning storm, killing them both.

Lydia devoutly continues to take care of the egg, but weeks after it was supposed to hatch, there is still no movement. When they get to the guild to get it checked out they find the hatchling had died just a month into development.

They instantly see it as a bad omen, that first her mother and then her dragon would die. Surely it is too mean that death will follow the child everywhere. Because if this they are seriously considering to banish the grieving girl.

Charles and his new partner Delia come to her defence though, the later insisting that maybe the dragon’s death means that she was never meant to have a common dragon. After all the first riders and some great heroes found their dragons in the wilderness. So with that, Lydia is sent to the forrest, not to return until she finds herself her ‘destined' dragon.

But, having lost her mother, having her father replace her, and with the last connection he had to her gone, Lydia has already lost her will to live. Instead, she has set path for the cliffs of a mountain nearby.

Barely the second day into her journey she meets two drakes, a copper brown one and a teal one, who instantly seem to get attached to her. They accompany her on her travels, hunt for her, make sure she stays warm at night. And honestly, Lydia is glad to have friends on her last few days. She calls the teal, female dragon Barb (because her spines point in the wrong direction), and the male Adem (‘Add ‘em’ because of his extra pair of limbs). While camping out in a cave to hide from another thunderstorm, they hear a threatening rumble. Out of the darkness slowly crawls a monstrous dragon with a fiery red mane and jaw, gleaming green eyes, and twin striped tails. Both Barb and Adem crawl back and curl up in fright, trying to pull Lydia with them, but she simply stands there staring at the beast thinking: "Hu, guess this is how I die than.” It blinks at her a few times, confused that she isn’t running, before making a lunges at her. Still no reaction. He towers over her, paws at the ground around her, snarls and snaps his jaws, but she doesn’t even flinch at the flames from his nostrils, and the deep roar that sends saliva flying at her simply get’s a dry: “Gross…" And as Lydia stares at the brute with a: ‘You gonna kill me yet or what?’ look on her face, it suddenly flops down, mane turning green in a flash, and only one single mantra going through the monster’s head: ‘New best friend, new best friend, new best friend, new best friiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeend!’ And thus the party became four.

At first Lydia tries not to care, but it’s annoying how the giant dragon just keeps following and ‘purposely badly hiding every time they turn around to look’. He doesn’t even seem to mind Lydia’s gloomy mood, and takes every frustrated scream and smack she gives him a delighted grin. But the times she apologises for her outbursts or plays with his mane, he looks downright over the moon. Eventually Lydia reaches the cliffs. She looks down over the edge, causing Adem to nervously takes her dress between his teeth so she won’t fall. She backs up again, making the drake let go, she takes a few steps away…and makes a running leap into the deep. This is it, this is what she came here for. She can hear Adem and Barb’s frightened cries behind her, but they’ll be okay. Dad and Delia will figure it out, maybe they’ll have a kid of their own, and they’ll be non the wiser about what happened to her. And she’ll be okay too. Wherever her mom is, she’ll be there soon too. And then a pair of red claws wrap around her, thunderous wingbeats in her ears. At first Lydia is furious that, whatever she tries, BJ (Big Jerk) won’t let her die. Anytime she jumps, he catches her. Anything deadly she tries to attract he scares away. Venomous plant spotted? Oh, it’s on fire now. But then it sorta becomes a game, and honestly she’s mostly just challenging him now. She tries to deprive herself of sleep, but he just curls his tail around her to keep her still and despite being dirty and smelling weird, his mane is supper soft and warm. Hard to stay awake under those conditions. At one point when they sit down to eat, Lydia hesitates, puts the roasted rabbit back down, and gives BJ a smug look. Next thing she knows she blinks back to consciousness, fat and meat juices smeared across her face and hands, Adem and Barb looking at her with wide, horrified eyes, and BJ giving her an equally smug look back.

One day another rider flies over the spot where they are resting. Lydia stares after them with wistful eyes. Suddenly she is snatched up by the back of her dress and plopped down to grab hold of think green fur. There is a moment of calm while Barb and Adem get plopped down between the larger dragon’s shoulders too. And then they launch into the air. Lydia used to fly with her mom now and then. It never failed to make her laugh, to lift her spirits. Sometimes they’d fly to close over another rider’s head to give them a good scare. Sometimes her mom would take her hands off the leads with a loud ‘Don’t wanna fly anymore’, so Lydia could take over and try it out. Those were some of the few places or times that felt like she belonged. Sure, BJ isn’t Sunny, neither Barb nor Adem is her mom, but for the first time since that fateful storm, she feels a tiny bit closer to home again. So she gently spurs BJ on and pulls his mane, and the curious dragon lets himself be steered right on top over the other rider. They notice the dark shadow appearing over their head, despite the clear skies. They darn near soil themselves when they notice the giant predator hovering over them. Lydia can’t stop laughing at the reaction, and ‘BFFFF forever!' keep echoing progressively louder through BJ’s head. Deciding that maybe continuing to live isn’t too bad after all, Lydia steers BJ back into the direction of her village.

When they return, at first the council is disappointed to see Lydia walk in with two drakes. It doesn’t last long though, as a gargantuan form follows on her heels. Because you know, the monster dragon she brought with her is a Striped Demon. They posses great powers, even to twist the world around them to their wishes. Only the cruelest and strictest of men had ever attempted to tame them. Needless to say, the only people who ever managed to ride one quickly became dark lords. And most of them didn’t live very long. Now, with one of those legendary dark beasts happily doing as she asked, they fear that that dark omen from before is less ‘bad fortune will strike those around her’, and more ’next dark queen’. (Which way it will go depend on whether you’re a ’step on me dark lady’ lesbian, or a cottage-core one.)

[glimmerglanger]

out of his system - jangobi fic

ALRIGHT SO, the prompt for subobi week today is one of my squicks. BUT, I still want to post something and also I have too many ideas. This particular idea is a bit of an au I’ve been plotting for a while (thanks @mocha-bear). I don’t actually have any of the rest of it written! This is set pretty early on in it, though….

Anyway, this is Jangobi (is my first written piece of Jangobi stuff that’s more than a snippet going to be pure spice? Yes, it is.) AU where things went significantly worse for Obi-Wan during/after Bandomeer and he never got back to the Jedi. Technically an AU where things went slightly BETTER for Jango and he ends up free to do what he wants earlier than in canon after Galidraan. So, he’s working as a bounty hunter and has been for a bit. He’s….around 29 in this. 

Technically, if this had a prompt to fill, it would probably be sex work? So, warnings for Obi-Wan being in a brothel (not capable of giving full consent to anything). Not safe for wizards. BJs. Spicy. This is the F+J of subobi week, in that it is eventually going to be a 60k fic, whoops.

~~~~~~~~

Jango knew well enough he had no reason to go back to Trolk VI. As far as shitty planets on the Outer Rim went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Most of the economy seemed generated by the fighting pits or the pleasure houses surrounding them.

Jango had little interest in either of those pursuits. 

Most of the time.

He’d visited pleasure houses before, though mostly because the places seemed to draw his bounties in the same way that a wailing, dying thing drew the attentions of a starving predator. He’d bagged more than one bounty while they were in the middle of….their business. 

His visit to a pleasure house on Trolk VI had not been such a success story. He’d ducked into the building in a rush to avoid the group that had already shot him twice - someday, he’d learn to stop walking into ambushes - and he’d barged into one of the rooms for the same reason.

His plan had been to hide somewhere, or go out the window again. But his pursuers had been close and there’d been someone on the bed already, stirring around in a loose, gossamer gown, and he’d thought, ragged-edged, that the people after him had no idea what he looked like, out of his armor.

His pursuers had apologized, moments later, when they opened the door to find him on the bed, stretched - miming the act of a good, hard fuck - over it’s first occupant, one of his hands over the kid’s mouth, just in case he got any bright ideas about screaming, even as dark spots had swam all across Jango’s vision.

He’d managed to avoid passing out until after the door shut again. 

It had been a shock when he woke up again. Even more of a shock to realize that the whore had bandaged his wounds, neatly, and even applied bacta. He’d been a pretty thing, Jango had registered, but most whores were, and Jango hadn’t had the time to consider it. He’d left, dropping some extra credits on the bed, and never planned to think about Trolk VI again.

And he didn’t, really.

But he did find himself thinking about the whore, his copper-red hair and wide, surprised eyes, and the unusually thick and battered collar around his neck. His thoughts kept spiralling around to the boy - over and over - and distraction wasn’t something he could afford. Not in his line of work. Not in his life.

Obviously, he’d needed to get his fixation out of his system. And so he ended up back on Trolk VI, in the pleasure district. He walked into the house through the front door, sneering at the proprietor behind his mask, half-sure that the woman wouldn’t know who he was talking about - he hadn’t gotten the whore’s name, after all.

But they must not have had many other male humanoids with reddish hair to choose from. She tittered happily enough, told him he’d made a good choice by selecting Ben - evidently the boy’s name - and waved a hand to have him led up the stairs.

The house was well-off. HIgh-end. It didn’t stink of sweat or sex; instead some care seeemd to have been taken to ensure it was all pleasant scents, soft music, dim lights. Jango ignored the droid’s request for a tip when he was delivered to a door he remembered.

He stepped into the room quietly. Nothing had really changed, he noted. A bed predominated the room, covered in soft fabrics. There was a bench along one wall, a chair. Hooks, here and there, on the walls and ceiling. He could imagine a use for each.

And each use was connected to the only other figure in the room - the boy, Ben - sitting on the side of the bed, a container of bacta open by his hip, a gossamer robe slid off of one shoulder, revealing an array of fading marks, skin shiny from the bacta application. 

He blinked over at Jango right away, eyes stunningly blue, his hair a tangle around his jaw - like someone had been playing with it - and his mouth reddened. His drooping robe did almost nothing to hide his shoulders and chest - there were marks there, too - or the traces of a flush over his throat.

Jango looked at him and felt a kick in his gut, almost shocking.

He couldn’t recall, really, the last time he’d felt directed desire.

He’d begun to think he just wouldn’t, ever again.

Ben recovered first, which was a lurching shock, and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing just a little. He asked, his voice all wrong for a brothel in the Outer Rim - Jango heard that accent on his clients from the Core, and nowhere else, “Should I expect armed men to burst in after you, again?”

There was something satisfying to being recognized so quickly, but, then, he was sure he’d made an impression, last time. Jango shook himself, snorting, and said, “Not this time. Disappointed?”

Ben’s mouth quirked, just a little. He wasn’t….acting in quite the way Jango expected from a whore. Certainly there was no fawning about as he dipped his fingers once more into the bacta, spread a line of it across his shoulder, and asked, “Only a little. And you recovered?”

Jango remembered, clearly, blinking his way to consciousness with his head in Ben’s lap, the boy trailing gentle fingers over his brow, murmuring some strange lullaby that had seemed familiar from somewhere and--

He shook the thoughts away, taking a step forward as the boy closed the bacta jar and stood, carrying it across the room. “I’m well enough,” he said, looking at the fading marks across the boy’s back.

There were reddened marks, fading, long and straight. He recognized lashes, when he saw them. There were other imprints, on his shoulders and arms, fingerprints, perhaps, and the shape of a mouth, here and there.

And below those marks there was scar tissue, old and ragged. Uglier than he’d have expected on a pleasure slave. Especially one so lovely as this boy, who had to be worth more undamaged. Taken with the heavy, ugly collar around his neck - something Jango hadn’t seen on any of the brothel’s other….employees - it was leaving him with multiple questions.

He crossed the room while Ben arranged the bacta, apparently unconcerned, even when Jango touched one of the marks, with just one finger. “Better than you,” he added, and the boy looked over his shoulder, robe sliding a little further down his back.

“Apologies,” he said, “sometimes the bacta takes a while to work.”

Jango frowned, shaking himself again. He hadn’t come here to chit-chat with a whore. He’d come here to - to burn away his fascination with this boy, before it distracted him any further. Considering the sight of his glove on Ben’s skin wasn’t helping with that. It didn’t matter that, for whatever reason, he didn’t like the marks.

It had been a long time since he fucked anyone at all. That was all. Years, he thought.

His body had, obviously, had enough of waiting, and his head had fixated on Ben, because he’d been warm and pliant, when Jango stretched over him, because he had a red mouth and clear eyes, and legs a parsec long. He’d fuck the boy, get it out of his system, and move on.

Decided, he took a step back, and snapped, lifting his helmet off, “Do you waste so much time with all your clients?”

“No,” Ben said, agreeably, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’m very adaptable.”

Jango wondered, sudden and dark, just how adaptable he was. He said, voice getting thicker, “Help me with this.”

“Of course.” Ben had long, clever fingers, Jango noted, removing his armor quickly and steadily, setting each piece aside carefully. He was tall, too, all stunningly long legs and with a hint of coltishness still about him, not fully grown into his shoulders. 

It felt...strange, to be out of his armor in front of someone else. But Ben had seen it all, already. He’d seen Jango bleeding out, and had decided, for whatever reason, to patch him up instead of leaving him to die and stealing the armor and the rest of Jango’s credits.

The beskar alone would have been enough to buy out whatever price the boy’s owners wanted for him, unless the boy was something really special. 

It made no kriffing sense that Ben had kept him alive. People didn’t do that, didn’t just - help, for no reason at all. Especially not when it would serve them better to do otherwise. Jango caught Ben’s wrists, when he reached for the closures at Jango’s belt, and said, roughly, “You could have killed me, before.”

Ben looked over at him, down, just a bit. He didn’t slouch, made no effort to make himself look smaller, which--Jango realized he quite liked. “Kill you?” Ben asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why would I kill you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that a prerequisite?” Jango asked, and realized, with another hot lurch in his gut, that he wanted to hear the boy say his name. Maybe scream it, a few times.

Ben shrugged. He said, dry, “It seems a bare minimum to know, before killing someone. Don’t you think?” 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Jango said, and heard the appreciation in his own voice, unplanned, just...blossoming there. Alarming. He was supposed to be here to fuck this boy, to get rid of the thoughts that had plagued him. It was past time he made some progress in that direction. He released Ben’s wrists, handled his belt on his own, and said, “Maybe you should make better use of it.”

“As you wish,” Ben said. He raised an eyebrow at Jango and kept eye contact as he sank down to his knees, lovely and with that wisp of a robe still around him, half-obscuring his body before he hesitated and….shrugged it off, letting it pool around his legs.

He was lovely as Jango remembered; lovelier, perhaps, without Jango’s blood smeared across his skin. Jango bit his tongue, reached out, and fisted a hand in the boy’s hair, Ben still looking up at him, and said, “I expect to be impressed.”

Ben’s mouth curved, sharp, just for a moment as Jango jerked his slacks open with his free hand, just enough to pull his cock out and he didn’t know exactly when he’d gotten so hard. Maybe as soon as he’d stepped into the room.

“I aim to please,” Ben said, and before Jango could make a reply, the boy pulled forward just a bit against the hold in his hair, and licked across the head of Jango’s cock, and--

And it had been a long time since anything touched him but his own hand. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck his fist, for an age. He’d been….not content, really, but willing to just ignore erections until they went away.

He swore, tightening his grip and rocking his hips, sliding his cock into the hot, wet perfection of Ben’s mouth. The boy kept his eyes upturned, staring while Jango watched his cock slide past reddened lips, draw back again all wet and slick. And it was -- perfect.

Jango’s jaw clenched shut, hard, and he slid his other hand into Ben’s hair, too, the waves of it catching at his gloves - he hadn’t gotten as far as removing them - as he held the boy’s head just so, fucking into his mouth.

He could feel Ben’s tongue, rolling against the bottom of his cock, and the boy sucked, noisily, in time with each shallow thrust, loud, his mouth and cheeks getting wet, even before Jango swore and anchored him in place, pushing further.

Ben’s eyes fluttered, when Jango properly fucked into his mouth, into his throat. He felt the boy restrain a choke, watched his eyes get shiny and wet, cheeks getting blotchy with red, the color spreading each time Jango shoved forward, his breath hitching and wet, and still, he kept his eyes open, staring up and--

Jango blinked and jerked his head to the side, swearing viciously when he came, knowing, with a strange, twisting feeling, that he was never going to forget those blue eyes just watching him, the entire time. 

He ground his hips forward and then pulled on Ben’s hair, dragging him back and off.

The boy gasped for breath, audibly gulping at the air, and Jango dared a look back at him, kneeling there on the floor, mouth and jaw wet with spit, mouth brilliant red, breathing so hard his whole body shook with it, one of his hands braced on the ground, apparently for balance, even as he glanced up and asked, his voice wrecked and hoarse, “Impressed?”

“I’m getting there,” Jango rasped back, taking his fingers out of the boy’s hair. He had - at least - another hour of time. He found he very much wanted to use it. Perhaps even extend the arrangement. He’d had a few very good jobs. He could afford an entire night, easily. He exhaled, want curling down his spine, and ordered, “Go on, onto the bed. I want between your legs again. Properly, this time.”

[cauldronofmorning]

Okay so.... I've encountered your tags about "the talking scene between trapper and hawk in dr pierce and dr hyde the stuttering the grabbing the not blinking how another of hawk's coping methods has bitten the dust#trapper being soft parental but annoyed and how he needs to check out while hawkeye needs to save the entire world"... if you have time, Go off! I would love that 2000 word essay and your opinions.

It’s a bit of a mess and would probably get a C- if I handed it in, but! Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde and how it shows the difference between Hawkeye’s and Trapper’s coping methods.

Context! Alan Alda wrote the episode, mental health is important to him (not to psychoanalyze an actor, but he had depression before the show and his mom was schizophrenic) and there’s a quote on how Hawkeye didn’t actually change much in the eleven years, just had his coping methods beaten down.

So throughout season one, Hawkeye and Trapper have mostly been ignoring the trauma of a war. Hawkeye naturally ended a movie with a speech about propaganda (Yankee Doodle Doctor) and Tommy tells them (Sometimes You Hear The Bullet) about a kid who should have been the blonde hero in a war movie actually dying and not hearing a bullet, forcing them to actually quietly think about it. But for the most part, they can distract themselves with booze, pranks and women, and Hawkeye can still draw a straight line between his tenuous sanity pre-war and the place he’s in.

There’s also two important episodes in season two before Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, that make the war more personal for both of them. The first is Radar’s Report, where a scared prisoner contaminates Trapper’s patient by knocking the blood over. Trapper’s sulkier throughout the episode, obsessed with how it could have been okay if it weren’t for that incident, and less indulging of Hawkeye’s girl of the week problem. His patient doesn’t make it, and he makes a beeline to the POW’s tent, maybe would have killed him if Hawkeye hadn’t bought him back to reality. “That’s not what we’re about.”

The second is For The Good Of The Outfit. This one has a village bombed by American military and Hawkeye/Trapper run afoul of previously decent sounding generals trying to shut them up from talking about it, including passive aggressive threats to send them to the front, and specifically to Hawkeye, intercepting letters to his dad. It’s okay by the end of the episode, but he’s still livid when he finds this out.

In comes Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde. The episode starts with Hawkeye already slightly dissociated from a long shift, thinking it hasn’t ended, and Trapper having to gently take him by the arm and guiding him out of the OR, telling him he was taking the chest cases “like he was their only hope”. Hawkeye wanting to save everyone keeps popping up throughout the episode; here, when he’s stumbling into Henry and his ego filtered through deprivation making him think he’s the only one who can do chest cases, the scene I’m getting to, and the end where Trapper and Henry sum him up.

As much as Trapper is “let’s get drunk to deal, okay?” kind of comfort in comparison to BJ who can actually talk about emotions, if not necessarily knowing the best way to deal with them (Hawkeye has a type and it’s repressed blondes), he’s soft with Hawkeye – gentle touches, firmly telling him to go to sleep, indulging that chopper noise is just thunder – until he figures the best way to get his friend to rest is to sedate him behind his back.

The thing with Trapper is that while he might be a bad husband, cheating on his wife with no shame (but he keeps bringing up that Hawkeye is more perverted so that might make it easier for him to deal with, see the couple of times he glares at Hawk for flirting with Henry/a male patient, Divided We Stand, The Trial Of Henry Blake, Check Up, Life With Father, Adam’s Ribs), he’s a good father who ran into a minefield for Kim and tried to go AWOL for Cathy and Becky. That’s not to say he always treats Hawkeye like a child, that would be weird considering how much flirting they do, but when the other man is manic or badly affected, Trapper’s first instinct is to be parental.

After Hawkeye in his doubletalky way admits to Radar he’s compulsive and psychotic (sidenote:  his symptoms of strong emotions, not being able to think clearly and too many spirals to name actually bear that diagnosis out, instead of just using the word when one thinks another is behaving badly), he wanders around the camp like a ghost, making notes about corpsmen with guns and nurses checking patients in post-op.

As Hawkeye often does, whenever he finds something out, or thinks he has in this instance, he has to tell his live-in boyfriend of the season immediately, and if he can’t sleep then neither can anyone else. He sits on Trapper’s bed, extremely close and not blinking, and jostles him awake. Already Trapper’s slightly panicky, as no matter what he says about being the mellow one, any time there’s shouting or loud noise in the swamp, he always wakes up with a start. Even when he sees it’s Hawkeye it takes him a few seconds to process and get back into his role.

Hawkeye’s very sad and very quiet. For the past seven minutes, even though he’s dissociated, exhausted and not doing well, he’s still trying to do his normal thing of turning his anger sideways and being snarky or being a clown bottom for the gaggle of nurses. Going back to one of Trapper’s good qualities is that he’s a decent parent, Hawkeye can regress emotionally into being like a ten year old (incidentally, the age when he had the most trauma pre-Korea, with Billy, his mom dying, guilt over not wanting dad to remarry and at some point losing his virginity), both for funny like in Picture This and for sadness.

So he’s finally noticed that he’s in a war zone and he’s too tired to make jokes about it or distract himself from it. Trapper already sounds frustrated but still listens, telling him to go bed before he drives himself crazy. There’s been a few takes that Trapper would get sick of later Hawkeye, and given how much they really can’t talk to each other that often, even just a mention of Hawkeye’s will when he has to go to the front makes Trapper shut down and Hawkeye cover with a joke, that’s probably true. They’re both messes, but for now Trapper can give Hawkeye someone to lean on.

“If I thought I could stop it just by going to sleep, don’t you think I would try?” Hawkeye does a twitch of the head, still unblinking, and that’s just really asking Trapper to understand and take him seriously. Also the wording, he’s not saying he can stop thinking about it just by going to sleep, or stop feeling anything just by closing his eyes, although both of those are implied. He makes it very clear later on (Letters, Preventive Medicine, Blood Brothers) that he feels like he’s as bad as the war – god and martyr complex combined – and if he can’t fight against/blame everything on that then it’s time for some self loathing.

Trapper does actually pay attention and gives him some advice. Definitely not great advice, but advice nonetheless, to close his eyes when things get unbearable, and to keep checking out when it keeps happening. This can’t work for Hawkeye, who’s had a guilt complex ever since he was a child, but it’s how Trapper copes. The next episode when Kim’s mother turns up for the boy, after a time of being actually open, he goes right to dismissive snark. Plus in season three’s Mad Dogs and Servicemen, another one on how differently Trapper and Hawkeye deal with things, he shrugs that he pretends he’s not there all day along.

Hawkeye’s stuttering a bit at this point. Words are important to him, it’s why you should probably leave him a note even if you’re a man who 1) wants to forget about Korea as soon as he arrives in Boston but won’t 2) wants desperately to believe he’s straight but isn’t 3) cares through physical touch and can’t think of what to say for seventy two hours. Wordplay is important to him too, and he admits to Sidney in the finale that his brain thinks too fast. Obviously exhaustion is going to put his brain and mouth out of sync, and considering how he sounds like he’s going to cry in the mess tent when he can’t even get words out to Frank Burns, it makes him all that more helpless.

“Somebody, and it wasn’t you or me, started this war.” It’s the “whoever the them, we were always us” of it all. It’ll be more important in the third season, and what happens in Welcome To Korea, but Hawkeye has taken it for granted that he and Trapper will stay co-dependent no matter what happens or who they come up against or how their time is running out. Much how he probably didn’t tell Trapper about the abandonment trauma he’s suffered before, Trapper always reassures him to come back soon, or no charge for leaning on him, or it isn’t a Christmas goodbye, and doesn’t want to share real feelings.

Beyond that scene, with Hawkeye dragging himself off to be a hero, assume that everyone who tries to take care of him really just wants to sleep with him, and cry while singing, Trapper tries to sedate him while he’s not looking. He’s tried being parental, he’s tried the repression advice, it’s time to be passive aggressive for Hawkeye’s own good. Or what he thinks is Hawkeye’s own good. It’s not especially great on Trapper’s part, but a similar thing happens reversed in Mail Call, where a drunk Trapper tries to go AWOL and as soon as he’s distracted laughing at Frank, Hawkeye locks his bag away so Trapper won’t be tempted again. Both of them are repressed messes who can’t really talk to each other.

When that sedation attempt ends up in Frank falling over, Trapper goes to Henry to be the worried macho boyfriend. Like with the only comedic dancing allowed and not the time in Officers Only when a genuine offer gets turned down, being protective over Hawkeye where he can hear can only happen when it’s for fun/likely no real danger.

At the end, Trapper and Henry sit by Hawkeye’s bed when he’s finally asleep and talk about him. Kindly, but they know he’s unstable with a hero complex. Like Mulcahy said in season eleven, the camp has a lot of experience with not dealing with reality, and even Trapper says in Iron Guts Kelly that one man’s reality is another man’s fantasy. Nobody has the capability to talk about this yet, and Sidney and Hawkeye only really become friends in O.R. Hawkeye will wake up and he and Trapper will pretend this never happened.

When Adam’s Ribs comes around, and Hawkeye has a manic episode over needing to eat something that isn’t liver or fish, Trapper and Henry are again the ones looking after him, comparing him to their kids and Trapper in the background both snarking over Hawkeye’s slippage in sanity and looking out for him. It’s not as quite high stakes as Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, but they’re still worried about him.

To end this out, Trapper and Hawkeye and mental health is a fun thing to look at. Neither of them are particularly emotionally intelligent yet, Hawkeye just kind of a self absorbed mess and Trapper finding it easier to be a reassuring rock and keep his own struggling to himself, and they keep things from each other while also taking past each other, but they comfort each other with jokes and distractions that only they can understand. The repressed clowns are trying, even if it does all end with a borrowed kiss and only just barely missing each other.