#gag mag

[gag-magazine]

Protecting Your Peace, or Being a Pussy?

By Yellen Art by Raneem Iftekhar

Putting male comedians on a pedestal for so many years of my life was horrid for my mental health. I love their Jester’s privilege. Their pursuit of truth. Their ability to point out the negative realities people don't wish to acknowledge. True catalysts for justice. 

Comedy insidiously slips in revolutionary critique in an extremely palatable manner, due to the very nature of its entertainment. The jokes, these necessary reality checks, hold immense power in reframing thought, twisting taboo into norm. If it’s funny, it’s funny. Audience laughter is visceral. uncontrollable. reflects an acceptance of the underlying principle of the bit. The beginning of a somewhat unconscious questioning—a shift in ingrained ideology, although potentially initially uncomfortable.

I wanted to be like them, but I just grew into a menace, playing my favorite sadistic game whenever possible. This favorite pastime involved going out of my way to make my moral adversaries as uncomfortable as possible, verbalizing the unappetizing elephant in the room. I know what you did last summer. No care for pleasantries: let’s let the dirt rise to the surface. I won’t let this blow over. Cunt. You aren’t hidden. As long as I’m here. I will corner you. Trap you into confession. 

I was always searching for something or someone to trigger me so I can simulate judge and jury, desperately grasping to feel any sort of power or agency in guaranteeing justice. To instigate some revelation about their lacking morality. To catalyze their own self-reflection and potentially inspire real change. You don’t want to let them off hook, allow them to enjoy the party, same as you, living peacefully with what they’ve done. It feels so deeply wrong to settle with your own discomfort as perpetrators go free. Would you let Harvey Weinstein enjoy his meal at the table next to yours? 

But it’s a flawed strategy. On par with cancel culture’s delusion that it actually serves justice. The only one being punished is yourself as you deep dive into a black tar pit. Stuck. bogged down by their darkness. All you are doing is fucking up your nervous system, extending the timeline of your own anger, letting it cramp in your gut. P.S. Comedians are infamously known to be such happy people! Maybe comedy has always been a medium to complain about the things outside our control…to poke fun at our powerlessness. Maybe it’s not this revolutionary instrument of social change you think it is, but merely reaffirms people’s values. You just romanticize being a dick because that’s all you know. 

Protecting your peace isn’t overrated.  Karma will get them. Remind yourself that real change comes from a place of love. You didn’t even make it funny. You just put them in defense mode, clutching their comfort zone and validating their own worth as their humanity is attacked. The opposite of your “intentions.” Self-disillusionment, the process of confronting the violence of your own automatic assumptions and reframing them comes from within…But your anger is righteous and what’s the alternative? Ambivalence? Complacency? It’s a difficult balance.

I’m on a painstaking journey to deconstruct my perfectionism and shift my judgmental lens in the name of self love. I’m typically the biggest victim and the most common target of my seething hatred. In attempting to free my soul from this negativity, I try to remind myself that firstly, it’s ok to fuck up. And secondly, not every moment is a defining moment…But is it, though? Life has this magic essence to it, this circular mirroring of sorts, in which specific microcosms reflect greater patterns. Life is full of fractal reflections between small and large instances: no matter how deep you dig, you arrive on a fraction of the same thing. I usually collect people’s words like trinkets to add to a comprehensive psychological file I reserve in my brain. I’m addicted to retrieving more data to fill in my mental picture. Yes, that data says something. But not everything is a part of a greater pattern. Remember that they are so much more than what you see or hear. You aren’t engaging in critical thought, you are just critical. Keep telling yourself it was always about them and not some grand overcompensation for your own self-hatred. Everything is a mirror, after all. Stop projecting. 

Today it dawned on me how much I’ve really changed. I’ve been making an excruciating effort to be kinder to myself. But in turn, I’ve become a straight up pussy. Now we have arrived at the extremely stupid reason I wrote this piece: because of two petty instances of girls disrespecting me last week. One of them involved some frigid bitch rolling her eyes at me and then ignoring me when I introduced myself. I humbly asked for her name and ignored her cuntiness. The other involved some alt chick cutting me in line. I said under my breath with my head down, “Don’t you hate when people cut?” and the bitch really hit me back with a loud “Ya I fucking hate when people cut” as she cuts. Now, I just said nothing. I’ve never felt like such a narc loser in my entire adult life, even though the concept of a fucking line has to be one of the most basic forms of common curtosy to ever exist. But She won. Hands down. Honestly I can’t even blame her. I have to respect her and I kind of want an enemies to lovers arch for us. 

But anywho, my past self would have paid big money to be awarded any opportunity to deliver some seething comeback her way. But I stood in silence and it’s been haunting me. I can’t believe I’m…chill..now. I stopped subtweeting for the most part on my instagram story because my compulsive desire to put people on blast has gotten me in trouble many a time. I’m growing up, choosing my battles, developing my prefrontal cortex. But I am still riddled with a deep sense of regret over my silence in both these dumb situations. Maybe I should have made a scene. Bowed down to her excellency and profusely apologized for entering her space in medieval english prose. 

God, no one tells you that protecting your peace feels absurdly fucking lame. [redacted]

_________

The original ending to this piece involved me personally naming the bitches that briefly hurt my ego and telling them to go fuck themselves, ironically undermining the healing narrative I championed in this entire article thus far over such petty, insignificant situations cuz its semi-funnyish (at best) commentary on my tendency to revert back to my nasty id instincts no matter how much I try to self-help out of being a chronic hater. But ultimately, the clickbait title of this piece presents a false binary: silence or explicit aggression. But I’ve come to learn that protecting your peace doesn’t make you a pussy; it’s just the opposite.

Let’s take a look at your doomed track record thus far. You allow disrespect to tally up until you reach a breaking point that has almost nothing to do with the straw that breaks the camel's back. Then you continue to publicly pop off on an anonymous adversary on social media, with a shield of comedy and just enough vagueness to avoid communicating directly, promptly and vulnerably. Fighting behind a black screen without even really admitting you’re fighting. Championing plausible deniability to slither out of actually confronting the problem with the person head-on. Calling someone out for some dumb bullshit they probably don’t even remember in a published article where they cannot defend themselves…That’s what being a pussy looks like. Yes, I know: there are people in this world that deserve to be bullied, and yes, it’s a real shame they don’t experience debilitating shame on a daily basis like you do. But ever heard of the saying, “Misery loves company?” You are ohhh, sooo predictable—following the classic “bullied becomes the bully” character arc. So quick to condemn but someone calls you weird once and you crumble. Do you feel less weak now or more than ever? No, no, I’ve got it all wrong? You’re powerful? Extremely secure? Such conviction. Praise be.

[viktorgf]

Summoning u for a boss fight. Mags and Krauser 🏃‍♀️

HAHSJSHDJSJDJS oh MAN brother

mags would be so enamored with krauser in theory cs in her mind, he is the exact kind of man that would throw her around and get so so rough with her and it makes her all. excited SJNFJSND she would make passes at him shamelessly whenever she got the opportunity cs she wants to know what those big strong arms do. she will literally say that to his face. wildly unbecoming, considering she is the DIRECTOR OF HR but who fucking cares they are building BIOWEAPONS. she is gonna do what she wants and she wants to fuck that man!

and it takes abt two well timed, sexually charged comments from mags before he grips her arm and drags her into her office, swipes everything off of her desk, and lifts her on top of it. and because he would be so pussy whipped after that this would be like. a weekly occurrence xoxo

[aster-oak]

had to draw it, will eventually draw martin in scenes wearing this, but for now i'm just taking a break from my essay train

so yeah, here's martin in a gag sailor costume because Peter said he had to

it keeps him lonely

TMA AU where everything is exactly the same, except Martin hast to wear this in season four because Peter said so

[aquamarine-oceanfront]

The Amazing Digital Circus is receiving a manga adaptation in CoroCoro!

Rough translation, from right to left:

Large text on right: "Where is the exit?" Smaller text on right: "The show everyone's talking about, with over 400 million views on YouTube!!" Large text on left: "The world-renowned dark comedy cartoon, fully adapted to comics!"

A few hours ago, the official Japanese TADC Twitter account revealed that a manga adaptation of the series would begin running in the December issue of CoroCoro Ichiban! (to be released on October 21st, 2024). It will also be published simultaneously in the online edition of Weekly CoroCoro Comic - despite the magazine's name, it will still be on a monthly schedule.

So what'll it be like? Well, while every magazine under the CoroCoro brand is generally targeted towards grade schoolers, CoroCoro Ichiban! in particular skews even younger, frequently featuring gag comedies. Furthermore, the author - known mononymously as "Sakura" (咲良) - has experience in that genre, having adapted Nintendo's ARMS into ARMS: Skillful Gag Fight! (ARMS スゴウデギャグファイト！) for the magazine between 2017 and 2018.

However, I'm reasonably confident this adaptation will retain the bleaker edges of the original series. Not only does the above promotional image explicitly call it a "dark comedy" (and further implies it'll be a faithful adaptation by using "完全," translated above as "full"), but this is the page they chose to release as a preview:

Rough translation, again:

(The bit above the logo just means "New series!") [Why is this girl running...?] Gotta hide, gotta hide, gotta hide,

(As a side note: I should mention that the above two images were both taken from the artist's later tweet about the manga, since they were higher quality. They're cropped a little more, but not enough to really infringe on their contents.)

Looking over the QRTs, both Japanese and English responses were equally surprised to learn about this. A couple of Japanese Twitter users were specifically bewildered that it was running in the especially child-focused Ichiban! - here's one as an example:

Very roughly translated:

"A Digital Circus series will run in Weekly CoroCoro Comic!" 👆 Huh?!?! Well, if it's in Weekly CoroCoro, I guess I'll check it out… "Also running in CoroCoro Ichiban! (mag for young children)!" 👆 HUH????!!!!???!!!????!!!!!!!!!?!

Finally, for completeness's sake, here's the last promotional image from the announcement:

[deceptigoon]

so i've been rereading mtmte and during brainstorm's trial there's the background gag of rodimus rearranging the letters on mags's name plaque right. and this is the best he could come up with??

so anyway my bf and i felt compelled to come up with some alternatives which are as follows:

smug rat, rung lust, gaunt murals, lugnut margs, alan gumrust, lung traumas, a glum tuna, anal rug smut, and last but certainly not least, Mr. Gunslut.

[martins-canned-peaches]

TMA but it's formatted like The Office. There's still the same amount of deaths and horrors but they just don't take themselves seriously.

MAG 101:

Nikola: "How are you feeling?"

Jon, gagged and bound: [looks deadpan into the camera]

[lacontroller1991]

Out Cold (Albert Wesker x Reader)

Main Master List || Misc Master List

Warnings: 18+, canon gore/violence, medical jargon, vomit, guns, language

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Haven't written in a while and haven't written for Wesker but damn I had a good idea and I hope it does well! Based off the Walking Dead

__________

The room is freezing by the time you awoke struggling for air, a plastic tube blocking your airway as you pull it out, coughs wracking through your body as your throat burns. Sucking in gulps of air, you manage to gain back autonomy of your body as your heart rate calms down. As you calm down, your eyes trace around the room, dark and cold, as if no one has entered in some time. A vase containing flowers, wilted, rests on the bedside table with a knocked over note.

Piquing your interest, your hand reaches out for the note, bringing it closer for you to read in the dark light.

Get well soon. I miss you.

-Al

The note is short and terse, not like you expected any differently from your captain and lover. What you don’t expect is that the room is dusty and the flowers wilted. Something Albert Wesker would have rectified the second he noticed it. Leaving you to one conclusion, he hasn’t seen you in a while.

The thought of being abandoned by him causes your heart to sink in your chest, but with another look around the room it’s clear no one has been in here in a while. So what happened?

Last thing you remembered was being shot in the chest and falling to the ground while Chris shot the perp. The bullet proof vest did little to block the impact of the bullet as it ripped through you. From there, you can remember flashing lights, Wesker looking down at you with his eyebrows creased in a way that shows his worry, a mask going over your face, and then, nothing. How long has it been?

With a grunt, you manage to rip out the various IVs and catheters that have no use, leaving a mess in its wake. “I need a shower,” as you move to stand up, gravity wins and you fall down, barely breaking the fall with your arms. “Shit.”

The shower is ice cold but it does the trick to get rid of the grime that had accumulated from weeks of bed rest. At least you assume it’s been weeks. Grabbing your bag of clothes from under the bed, a medium size case with a note topples out on top.

I do hope you get this before someone else does.

Trust me and take the medicine.

-Al

Just what is going on? Shaking the confusion from your head, you follow his directions and open the case, a vial and a syringe neatly placed inside with your glock and 3 mags of bullets. 

Inject the green vial into your neck.

It’s simple enough instructions and despite not knowing what it is that you’re injecting into your neck, your trust in Albert outweighs your curiosity of what it is. Inserting the needle into your neck, you shiver as you press the injector, nearly gagging at the feeling of the medicine entering your body. After a minute, a surge of nausea takes over you, causing you to empty the contents of your stomach, clear fluid pooling onto the floor. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes look at the syringe with doubt. “What the hell is that?” Struggling to stand up, a series of rounds of gunfire snaps your attention to the door. You’re not alone. “Shit.” It doesn’t take you long to get dressed before you’re stepping out of the room, glock in one hand and a flashlight in another as you take in the view of the hallway. What was once sterile and clean was now filled with various debris and overturned furniture that accompanies a rotting scent that causes your stomach to do flips. 

The empty halls echo various sounds, including the gunfire and snarls. Gripping your gun a little tighter you round the corner as the gunfire grows closer. Maybe whoever is in the building can help you understand exactly what is going on. 

“Freeze! Don’t move!” A masculine voice calls out from further down the hallway and you can barely make out the glint of his gun, pointed at you. Raising your hands in surrender, a bullet rips past your head and into something behind you where a thud follows. Whipping your head around, your eyes land on a woman, maybe a little older than yourself, but the horror of seeing someone just murdered in cold blood covers over the fact that the woman herself is rotting.

“What the fuck?” The man doesn’t acknowledge you as he rushes past, placing two more bullets in the head of the woman. Satisfied with his work, he turns to you, gun pointed at you. 

“Are you bit?”

“What?”

“Have you been bit? Are you infected?” Infected? Bit?

“What is going on? Infected with what?” His face softens as he lowers his gun, quickly gazing around the area for any more threats. 

“Those things, they’re not people. They’re not entirely alive.” Pausing for you to catch up, he sighs as you try to wrap it around your head. “They’re zombies. Where the hell have you been?”

“Zombies.” Eyes flicker back down to the woman as you take in her appearance, skin practically molted off and eyes glazed over. Whoever she had been was not the person that now lays dead on the floor.

“So, who are you?” 

Your eyes flick back up to him, taking in his appearance. The man before you can’t be no older than 25 with a muscular build and shaggy hair that grazes his eyebrows. His arms are bare, showcasing some cuts that seem fresh while the rest of his body is covered in tactical gear. In one hand lies his gun and in another holds a briefcase. He’s obviously here on a mission, what great luck that you have to find him. “Lieutenant (Y/N) (Y/L/N), S.T.A.R.S,” at the mention of S.T.A.R.S, his eyes light up. 

“Oh boy, I found one of your members. I got to get this case back to her because she’s sick and whatever is in here will help her.” You feel guilty that your heart sinks at the announcement that it’s one of your female companions and not your lover, but at least it narrows who he found down to two. 

—-------

You and Carlos, whose name you found out, make it back to the room where they had holed up in record time, instantly running to Jill’s side. “Jill, it’s (Y/N). You’re going to be ok, Carlos is going to get you cured,” your hand runs over her hair in an attempt to soothe her though you know she probably can’t feel it. 

“All right, here it goes,” Carlos injects the serum into Jill. “This shit better work.” Nothing happens and your heart drops. Had you caused Carlos to be too late? Your thoughts are interrupted as a man bursts through the door, looking worse for wear as he clutches his side. “Jesus Tyrell, what happened?” The man doesn’t make a comment as he grabs the remote from the shelf, turning on the tv.

‘Attention all citizens. The contagion spreading throughout the city has been designated uncontainable. On October 1, Raccoon City will be completely destroyed in a missile strike. All residents capable of rational thought are urged to leave immediately.’ Your blood runs cold. Is this seriously how you are going to go out? A missile strike? Your attention turns back to Jill, pressing a cloth against her head to dry the sweat as the two men continue to talk to each other. 

“Come on Jill, wake your ass up.”

“Shit here they come,” Tyrell begins to sit up but Carlos pushes him back down.

“I got this,” his eyes land on you and Jill. “Do you got her covered?”

“Yes, are you going to need help?” His hair moves with each shake of his head.

“No, make sure she doesn’t die,” he doesn’t comment more on the matter before he’s out the door, pushing various blocks of furniture against the door as a barricade, trapping you, Tyrell and Jill.

—------

Minutes pass as you frantically look between Jill and the door that blocks you from the rapid gunfire and snarls that lay outside. Why did this have to happen to you? Have you really been in a coma for that long? Why didn’t Albert come and get you? 

Your questions go unanswered as Jill groans beside you, blue eyes blinking the haze away as she sits up, rubbing her eyes. “What happened?”

“Jill?” Her head turns toward you in confusion as if she couldn’t believe that you’re next to her.

“(Y/N)? You’re alive?” 

She moves to sit up, grunting in pain while you aid her, a hand firm on her back as you sit next to her. “In the flesh. I just woke up today.” Her eyes widen as if she’s seen a ghost. In denial, she shakes her head, hair bobbing with each movement.

“No, that’s impossible. You were in a coma. How?”

“I don’t know,” you’ve been wondering that since you woke up. Judging by the date you’ve been out for at least 3 months and judging from what Carlos had told you about the outbreak, the hospital has been deserted for two weeks. “What happened to the others?” Her face drops as she looks away, tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes.

“Most of them didn’t make it. The ones that did, I don’t know where they are.” Your heart drops. Albert is dead?

“Wesker?” At the mention of your shared captain her face turns sour as if you had just given her a lemon. 

“That traitor.”

“What?”

“He’s been working for Umbrella this whole time. Everyone has died because of him.”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage while your head spins. What does she mean that he’s responsible for people’s deaths? Albert would never. Sure he is a cold and calculating man, but the man that you love would never. “I don’t believe you.”

She lets out a terse laugh that ridicules your stance. “Oh believe it. He made the virus. He and Birkin make the virus that is killing all of those people. He paid for it though. That monster that he made, it killed him.” That doesn’t make sense, you think to yourself, someone had been in your room and left you that case. The flowers too. If what Jill is saying is correct, then those flowers must have been several months old, not weeks.

Keeping your thoughts to yourself, you think back to the vial that you injected into yourself. How did Albert get the vial of medicine? Why was he asking you to trust him on it? What was in it? How did you not know that he was working for Umbrella? 

“You’re awake!” Carlos’s voice booms into the room disrupting your train of thought as he smiles widely. “Holy shit, it worked! Call the government. Tell them we got the cure.” He aids Jill off the bed while your mind continues to process everything. “Come on, we got to go.”

“I can’t.” Your words halt Jill, Carlos and Tyrell as they look at you like you’ve grown two heads. “I can’t go with you.”

“This whole city is about to be nuked if we don’t get out of here,” Tyrell comments with labored breathing while Jill rushes to your side, looping her arm through yours.

“Look, whatever is holding you back is gone. We need to get out of here.”

“Bu-”

“No but, I just got you back, I am NOT going to lose you again,” she tugs you along through the doors while Carlos keeps on the lookout. Begrudgingly, you follow along, promising yourself that you will find Albert Wesker.

[privctd]

I need a Cal NSFW headcannons please!

OFC POOKIE here you go <3 :)

CALVIN GABRIEL NSFW HEADCANONS

To me Cal would be VERY sadistic in bed he wants you to feel it like REALLY feel it enough to give you pain that man would laugh about it I’m sorry but it’s hot at the same time.

Cal definitely has a ton of porn mags around his room his parents find and give him the whole rant that it isn’t “godly” or whatever but cal does not care after that rant he will grab one and jerk off to it again.

Cal has a knife kink I know a lot of people say he has a gun kink but to me that’s more of a Andre thing I’d like to think cal likes using knifes more I mean this man probably has a whole damn collection and plus he probably has a few “favorite” knives he likes to use specially for you.

When I tell you cal is ANYTHING but gentle in bed…this man is feral he fucks you so hard you won’t be able to walk for DAYS

Cal is PACKING down there definitely I think he’s probably a bit bigger than Andre

Cal would make you suck his dick and literally laugh at you gagging or vomiting a lil bit like he’s crazy I’m sorry

He is a switch but mostly dominant I like to think so a lot of people think he’s a twink but GOD FORBID NO HE IS NAWT

This man will tape videos of himself nutting or whimpering and give them to you as a “gift” or a “sign of love” or some shit

Cal likes dirty talk weather he is giving or receiving he likes to only give praise if he thinks he’s doing a good enough job or you are and when he gives you praise it’s ADDICTIVE the way his voice sounds so soft but mean at the same time while giving you praise is crazy.

He will get boners around you A LOT like a lot a lot

Cal likes to think of you as like his pet his like he owns you and can basically do whatever he pleases with you and I mean if you let him then your feeding into his delusions which is kinda hot turns him on a LOT.

Cal would be the type of guy to be in a public setting and whisper dirty shit into your ear like “you want my dick huh you need it?” Type shit

Cal does NOT use condoms he hates it he feels like it doesn’t feel the same…and if you ask him about it he will side eye you or just flat out ignore you.

I feel like cal likes to make a lot of noises in bed but doesn’t like when you do it just to see you suffer he will smirk down at you as you try not to moan or whimper because you know you’d be in DEEP shit if you ever did

I feel like cal would edge you A LOT he would also hold you down like HARD during sex and if you cry or something it would turn him on more like I said this man is a COMPLETE sadist in bed.

Okay that’s all I got for now I rlly hope they r okay lol 😭🎀

[gag-magazine]

To Lebron James, With Love

By Sada Gill

We used to own a guinea pig. I remember buying her from a Petsmart for my brother’s birthday seven years ago. I remember his insistence on buying a male guinea pig. He didn’t know then that most stores in our area only kept female guinea pigs. Ultimately he didn’t care that it was a girl and still decided to name it after his favorite basketball player, Lebron James. I remember my Amma always calling her name in that high-pitched voice we use when we talk to animals or babies and laughing because she was using that voice to say, Lebron James.

She had these big buggy-looking eyes like that one guinea pig from G-Force. We used to call her kaddoo. It means pumpkin in Hindi. That used to be my nickname growing up too. Her space was in this corner of our house, right by where we kept all our houseplants. She died on September 14, 2022. I remember it was during a massive heatwave in California. 

I didn’t know for ten days. I came back home and didn’t notice her cage was missing. I assumed it, or rather, she would be there. My Amma told me later that night that she passed. Died. I asked what they did with the body. She told me that they didn’t know. The old lady that comes to help around the house had done something with her and hadn’t told them. A more accurate interpretation would be that they hadn’t asked. I felt angry that this lady got to carry out Lebron’s last rites, angrier at the fact that she didn’t have any last rites because who has a funeral for a guinea pig? She was probably tossed in the trash with the rest of her old bedding that needed replacing anyway. 

It felt like she never even really existed in the first place. We placed a new plant where her cage used to be. I felt old. I feel old. Guilty too. The type of guilt where you think that maybe you could’ve done something more. (I’m not even sure what “more” in this context even means) Where all you can think about is how somehow this has to be some form of karmic retribution. It has to be. Even though it’s not. Logically, technically it’s not. Still. Some intrinsic part of you can’t seem to shake off that blame. That you are responsible for this death, for the murder of this being, or a murder of being.

I want to look at Lebron James one more time. I want to look her in the eye. I want to hold her. I was always too scared for some reason. I was scared of her. Of what she could do to me. That she might bite me or that I might squeeze too hard while holding her. But now that she's not here I feel brave. Brave because I know that whatever I was scared of her doing, she can’t do anymore. Now, there are no consequences. Instead, there’s just this empty feeling of what-ifs. What-ifs that no longer matter because she’s dead.

When I look at the corner it’s like I can see the ghost of her eyes looking at me. Telling me that one day that’s going to be me. One day I’ll be shrouded in white cloth, my ashes tossed. I can feel her eyes continue to bore into mine. I’m scared to break eye contact. I can feel her in some weird way asking me in a language that only we two, animal to animal, can understand. “Do you belong here?” I don’t know. I felt dizzy and hot. Her eyes never leave mine until for fear of passing out I have to tear my eyes away from that corner. It’s morphed into this different fear of the new meaning that corner now holds. A reminder that all that bravery is a lie because, at the end of the day, I still can’t bring myself to ask the old lady what she did with the body. Because I, like my family, also don’t want to know and don’t want to have to remember. 

[spatialwave]

Can you do an Angus Tully NSFW alphabet?

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 – 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭.

notes: 18+. fem!reader/college au. 18+ characters. thank you for asking me to do this. <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

angus tully is a darling with aftercare, something that comes naturally to him. he loves to pepper your face with chaste kisses and coo gentle praises in your ear as you cuddle. if you don’t use a condom he’ll make sure to get a towel to clean you up, or you two will sneak to the showers together. 

he’s so fucking kind with you—always making sure you know how loved you are after he’s made ruins of you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves your tits, they’re his favourite thing in the entire world. he’ll touch them any chance he gets and will constantly ask you to wear something low-cut. it makes him so incredibly hard when you don’t wear a bra, his cock twitching in excitement anytime he can see your hard nipples pressing through your shirt. 

his own favourite body part is his cock. he’s well endowed and you were the one to tell him that. angus thought he was very average, but when you dropped your jaw the first time you saw him hard and naked he grew very smug and not-so-humble. his ego was never the same.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

angus cums a lot and he likes to see it on you. he loves cumming on your face with your tongue sticking out, seeing how it decorates you. he thinks you look so pretty when it dribbles down your chin. 

his favourite place to cum is inside you, though. he ruts into you as he finishes, slowly rocking until he pulls back and watches how it drips out of your pussy. he’ll use his fingers to push it back inside of you, fucking you with them until your reach your peak.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

angus likes stealing your panties after you fuck. he'll keep them to jerk off with, sometimes putting them in his mouth to bite them. when you find out he's embarrassed as hell, but when you suggest that he can use them to cover your moans that becomes his new favourite thing.

anytime you get too loud, he'll bundle up your panties and shove them between your lips as a makeshift gag.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

angus tully has little experience—he’s had his first kiss & made out with girls before. nothing serious, especially since graduating from an all-boys school. when he met you he was lacking in recent experience and was still a virgin. though, after reading enough porno mags, he had a general idea of how to please a woman, but he learned the most from you.

he listens to your soft sounds and whimpers when his fingers curl inside you, how your moans choke in your throat when his tongue circles your clit. he’s a perceptive person, you hardly have to show him a thing and by your third time sleeping together he has you writhing on the bedsheets crying out his name. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he loves when you ride him because he has the perfect view of your tits bouncing. he likes holding onto your hips and helping you bounce up and down on his cock. however, he greatly prefers when you grind on him and fucking yourself on him, his eyes staying focused on you as you moan and mewl as you feel him hit deep inside your pussy.

he also loves the hook position because sometimes he needs to control the pace and fuck you like crazy. your thighs pressed against your chest and calves resting over his shoulders, giving him perfect access to thrust into you as deep and hard as you both crave.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

it depends on the situation. if you’re high, he’s always laughing, especially when you two are kissing—he just feels so elated and happy to be with you. effortlessly pleased and madly in love. early in your relationship, he was goofy too, mostly out of inexperience as you two learned each other’s bodies and made mistakes.

he’s mostly serious now, concentrating on how his cock penetrates you just right and making sure you get nothing less than euphoria.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

angus doesn't groom that much, mostly thanks to hippie culture. he will give himself a good trim if you request it. he also has a happy trail that he's very proud of.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

this is something that depends on your 'style' during the act. if the two of you are feeling desperate and needy, there's little romance and a ton of heady passion. if you're more vanilla and gentle, he'll whisper in your ear how much he loves you, how lucky he is, etc.

he's a romantic at heart, so sometimes he prefers to have those gentler moments with you to remind you of his love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he masturbates so much. it started with porno mags, but now all he needs is to picture your tits and he’s hard and ready to go. he jerks off any chance he gets when he’s alone, which is a lot more now that he has his own dorm room.

he loves watching you masturbate too, his eyes fixated on you while your fingers push inside your pussy and circle your clit. he’ll oftentimes stroke himself when watching, licking his lips as you toy with yourself under his gaze.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

teasing, biting, mild exhibitionism, giving praise, edging/orgasm control, watching you beg for his cock.

angus is a kinky man, but like many others, it comes with the more experience he gets. when he learns about edging, you can say goodbye to the times when you were able to cum as freely as you wanted as he fucks you. now he prefers to tease you and watch you beg for him to put his cock back inside your aching pussy.

(he also has a breeding kink that he's embarrassed about.)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his bed, by far. it's private and away from the other college students, the only downside is having to try to be quiet so the r.a. doesn't knock on his door mid-orgasm again.

angus likes the showers, too. they're not co-ed, but that doesn't stop him from sneaking you into the men's washrooms so you two can fuck in one of the shower stalls. to the boys that pass by, they usually try to ignore the muffled moans coming from the stall with two sets of feet visible from where the curtain ends.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

his biggest turn-on is when you're flirty and touchy with him, especially in public. he likes it when you bat your lashes at him and chew on your lip coyly, or when you're walking through campus together and your fingers brush along his hand slowly and softly–making his skin tingle.

when he's extra sensitive, sometimes he'll need to pull you aside somewhere private so you can get on your knees and take care of the problem you created for him. most of the time you two will decide to skip class and head to his dorm.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

he doesn't like being called daddy... for personal reasons.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves when you suck his cock, seeing the way you look up at him with your mouth and throat full of him. his hands in your hair, tugging as he pushes himself deeper and seeing how tears prick your eyes when he cums.

his preference is eating you out. he wasn't as skillful at first as he is now, so expert in his skills that oftentimes he can make you cum in a few minutes with just his tongue and fingers. he loves how you taste, swirling his tongue around your clit and licking you up and down until his mouth and chin are dripping with your juices. he especially loves when you ride his face because he gets the perfect view of your bouncing tits while indulging in your heat.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

angus usually leans more toward fast and rough with his movements, he isn't sure where exactly he gets his energy from, but lord knows he uses it well. he loves seeing how big of a mess you turn into when he's fucking you from behind with quick, hard thrusts–fingers digging into your hips as you cry out his name with your face shoved into the pillows.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

angus loves quickies, especially the ones that could potentially lead to you two being caught. quick fucks in the showers, a janitor's closet, or hidden in the quietest section of the library. you two don't do them often, but when life gets busy around midterms and finals, you two find yourselves needing those bursts of release.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the biggest risk angus takes with you is not using condoms. he loves filling your pussy with his come and watching how it spills out of you and he never wants to change that. when you told him you were on the pill it was like all his wildest fantasies came true.

he also likes to experiment with semi-public sex. you giving him head in the back of a dark movie theatre or going shopping and fucking in a changing room.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go for a looong time because he's learned how to pace himself. there was one time you realized that you'd be fucking for nearly two hours, your bodies were so sore that the next day you both had to skip class because there was no way your legs weren't giving out.

he usually has enough energy to go out at least two rounds, at the very least enough to make sure you still cum after he does.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

angus doesn't own any toys himself, but is curious about them when you mention it. the only toy that you two purchase together is the hitachi magic wand after spotting it in a sex shop. it becomes a staple in your sexual escapades. he loves using it on you, watching how your hips twitch when the vibrations overstimulate you while he fucks you slowly and steadily.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh, how angus loves teasing you. it all started when you two were just friends, he'd notice how his teasing remarks about you would make your cheeks and ears turn red. then, when you two became sexual with each other, he wondered how that would translate into sex.

it worked wonders on him, loving the way you'd blush underneath him when he teases you. "you want my cock so bad, don't you?" he says as he just barely pushes the head of his cock inside of you, smiling when you pout and whine for him to keep going.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he isn't that loud, usually groaning and grunting in your ear with each snap of his hips. his words are breathy and heavy when he talks to you while fucking, his warm breath tickling your ear and neck.

when he cums, though, he'll moan loud enough that you're certain the other students could hear from their dorms. he loves when you're riding on top of him and your hand covers his mouth when he cums, enjoying the bit of dominance you get over him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

if there is one way to get dominance over angus it's to kiss and bite at his neck and ears, it'll leave him melting and begging you to keep going. when you bite and suck at his skin he'll let out the most pitiful, whiny moans and can be convinced to do almost anything.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

angus is a thin and lanky guy, muscle mass isn't his friend and it never will be. you love that about him.

he also has a bigger-than-average dick, that's what you love about him even more. it's around 7.5" and it's decently girthy, but not crazy. the best part about him is that he can actually use it well–lucky you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

angus has a high sex drive and it surprised you. it can even be a little annoying sometimes, especially when you are stressed with homework and he's sitting next to you in the library with his hand trying to find its way into your skirt while hidden under the table. you can't hide the fact that you love the attention and whenever you're in the mood he's ready and waiting patiently.

he always says how he's so lucky to have the hottest girlfriend, so can you blame him for being constantly horny around you?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he's a heavy sleeper. seriously, the dude is like a rock when he falls asleep and he falls asleep fast. one second he'll be cleaning you up with a towel and the next his face is buried into your neck and hair, snoring gently into your ear. it's very cute.

[happysaddca]

So I've been writing a lot for @wyervan's slasher AU... mostly smut... and thus it's been a hot minute since I had something I felt comfortable publishing online (the smut I'm just eh cause I feel like I might have a lot of kids following me but also I have so few followers that it'll probably not even be noticed??).

This is a snippet from after Ellis is in the know about what Sun and Moon do. They've been lowkey pressed into a "bonding activity" (Sun's words). They're not handling it very well.

TW for semi-graphic depiction of murder (I gloss over it mostly tbh it's hard for me to write without agonizing over), alcoholism, and a panic attack on Ellis's end.

Ellis pulls uncomfortably at the mask covering their face. Unlike Sun and Moon, they didn’t wear a costume, opting for simple black on black with a mask and gloves to ensure maximum coverage. They’ve also been left behind at the house while the two go to flush out their victim from where he’d gone off to hide. 

Ellis pokes through the rooms with the sort of idle curiosity wrought from stress and too much time to waste. One door’s locked, but it’s easy to bobby pin their way inside and find an office, the computer currently off. They poke at the mouse with their bat to be sure, but yep, it’s off. Moving on, it’s a small house, two bedrooms, one made up for the kid that’s currently away. 

Nathan, they remember. The room is pretty bare bones, but they don’t remember how long it’s been since the divorce. Maybe this isn’t the marital home and Nathan’s dad is still putting the pieces together? Sun had explained some of the man’s crimes that brought them here. Neglect, mostly. It brought a sour taste to Ellis’s mouth when they opened the master bedroom up and found skin mags on the bed and a pile of beer cans overflowing from the trash can. It smells like sweat and laundry and old cum. They gag as they shut the door, making it to the kitchen as the door slams open. 

The man barrelling through is a sweating, oversized mess, his face white and red in equal measure and his hair slicked to his head from sweat. He’s lost momentum crashing through his door, stumbling over his own shoes as he attempts to close it behind him. Ellis backs to keep the kitchen table between the two of them, noting with more disgust a shelf full of liquor and a bag of trash with more beer cans poking out the top. 

He spots Ellis and lets out a strangled, breathy scream before noticing they only hold a bat. “A-are you with the clowns? You gotta help me; I didn’ do anything!” Ellis notices there’s blood dripping from one hand onto the cheap linoleum floor. He lurches towards Ellis, who lifts their bat in self-defense. 

Splintering wood and shattering glass sprays from behind the man, and Ellis and he both flinch. Moon wrenches his axe back for a second swing, Sun’s voice catcalling through. “Oh, what a naughty brat. Running away when all we want to do is play, play play!” 

“Help me!” The man grabs for Ellis, but he’s jerked back by his collar as Moon shoves his way through the splintered remains of the door. Ellis feels their grip on their bat slip, squeezing it tighter when Moon throws the man against the counter. His head hits the sink, the metal dully thudding as he grunts and slips down. “Please,” he asks, and there’s spit dripping from his mouth flecked with tiny bits of red. 

Moon’s mask swings towards Ellis, who gives a short little nod at the smiling facade. They’re okay, untouched, even though their heart is hammering a million miles a minute against the inside of their ribcage.  They can taste blood in their mouth, but a cursory swipe of the tongue tells them nothing’s broken. 

“Oh Moony, Nova, looks like our friend might finally be ready to play. What do you say?” The playful tone in Sun’s voice is at odds with the static smile of his mask and the knife he’s carrying. As he speaks, he squats next to the man, his bells jingling like mad, using his knife to poke at the man’s cheek. “Oh, nevermind. Moon, you were too rough with the man! He’s all passed out now.” 

“Went for Nova.” Moon squats too, leaning against his axe as he leans forward and pulls the man’s face up, his hair a handle. He lets go of the hair, the white on his hand bright red from blood. “Probably out for a minute.” 

“Let’s get him set up in one of the chairs.” Sun bounces up with one arm, Moon moving more sedately, his axe set aside. “Nova, starlight, can you bring us some rope?” 

“Y-yeah. From the bag, right?” They nearly drop their bat, covertly wiping their hands off on their jeans. It doesn’t do much, the sweat slow to wick away in the rayon blend. 

“Yes sir. Be quick! He’ll be waking up in a minute.” Sun waves them off. 

The bag’s been left in the living room, and Ellis digs through for the rope, ignoring the way their stomach lurches at some of Sun and Moon’s other tools — hedge clippers, pliers. The rope is cheap stuff from the local hardware store, coarse and itchy even through their gloves. They coil it over one arm, noticing a pile of mail. 

Curious, and not ready to step back in the kitchen, they poke through. It’s bills mostly, a letter for the county court, and a familiar logo. A triangle with two A’s. They rip it open, skimming the contents before tossing it aside. 

“Nova!” Sun’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Where are you? Did you get lost?” 

They want to throw up. It’s hard to tell if it’s actually hot in the house or if it’s just the ski mask, but either way, they want to throw up and leave. But they can’t. They look at the rope on their arm, take a deep breath that would fog their glasses had they worn them, and step back into the kitchen. 

Moon’s axe is on the table now, Moon himself back at the door to pull at the remaining wood, enlarging the hole he’d made. Sun’s with the man, his arms crossed, toe tap-tap-tapping away with the little bell swinging wildly off beat. When Ellis reappears, he relaxes, unfolding himself to take the rope. “We were beginning to worry you’d gotten lost Nova dear! Or, goodness forbid, gotten cold feet.” 

“This mask makes everything too warm,” Ellis says dryly, letting Sun take the rope and watching as he ties the man’s wrists together, then to the chair. Legs are next, a complicated looking series of knots ensuring he can’t wiggle free. “Do we have to kill him?” They try not to cringe when both Sun and Moon stare, the ever-smiling masks making their skin crawl. 

“Cold feet indeed,” Sun says with a sigh. He straightens, picking up his knife as he goes. 

Ellis’s gaze flicks to the knife and back again, and they resist the urge to back away. “Not cold feet. Just questioning the validity of this uh, extra-judiciary sentence.” 

“He’s hurt his son,” Sun says with all the patience of a parent on his last cup of coffee.

“Yelling, pulling, neglect,” Moon adds, and it’s impossible not to squirm under his gaze. Ellis nods slowly. It’s hard to argue against something they’re both familiar with. Moon picks up a bottle of liquor, reading the label over before dropping it. The bottle breaks, liquid pooling in the low parts of the floor. “And alcoholism.” 

The smell hits Ellis hard, and they actually step back, squeezing the bat tightly. They want to take of their gloves. “I found something in the mail,” they try to say, but the man wakes up, and the attention is no longer on them. 

“Oh wakey wakey. Did you have a good nap?” Sun circles around, spinning the knife handle in his hand, the point just barely pressing into his finger. Moon approaches from behind, ignoring the flinch from the man as he brushes against him. The flinch intensifies when the axe is dragged back, catching on his shoulder. 

“Please let me go. I’ll give you whatever you want. I won’t call the police, promise. I don’t even know who you are.” 

“They always say that, don’t they Moony?” Sunny asks. 

Ellis can almost feel the eye roll from Moon. “Always. Think they can avoid punishment. Shouldn’t have been naughty.” 

“I found something in the mail,” Ellis tries again, but they’re not heard over Sun’s giggling. Moon’s talking, but they can’t hear properly over the blood rushing in their ears. Maybe their hearing aids are broken. “Guys, I found something.” They can’t even hear themselves. “Guys.” 

Sun slashes, and Ellis flinches back at the spray of blood. Something’s definitely broken. They can’t even hear the scream. But Sun and Moon are getting into things properly, Sun’s blade disappearing and reappearing with red. Ellis watches, something cold twisting deep in their gut. 

“Nova, do you want a turn? There’s plenty of time before our friend — Nova?” Sun turns and finds Ellis frozen in place. “Moony, are they okay?” 

“Please,” the man says weakly, but Sun covers his mouth with a hand. 

“El?” Moon tries, stepping forward. There’s red on his costume now and Ellis remembers how many times they’ve seen his shirt and sleeves stained. How many times they figured it was ketchup stains or maybe from wriggling around in the dirty parts of the arcade. They can’t step back, moving to the side instead. Something crunches under their foot, and they look down. It’s a piece of the broken liquor bottle. 

“I found something,” Ellis says, and they can hear their own voice at last. Sun and Moon do too, the masks cocking in exaggerated curiosity. “A letter from Alcoholics Anonymous. Giving him a sponsor. He’s trying to get better.” 

“Get better?” Sun’s laugh feels cold. “You’ve seen his house, right?” 

“Y-yes. But he’s just divorced, isn’t he? It’s a lot to go through, right?” They do not like Sun and Moon staring at them. They want to take off the masks, see their employers/friends/something else’s faces properly.  Or at least take off their own. It’s so hot, and they can hear themselves breathing. 

“He’s had plenty of time to get better.” Sun air quotes, quick to slap his hand back over the man’s mouth. “Time’s up.” 

Ellis lets out a pent up breath, frustrated. “But, but the courts—” 

“Are trash.” Moon’s voice is cold. He steps forward, lifting his axe to his shoulder. “You know this.” 

Ellis can’t look into his mask’s face, let alone the accompanying eyeholes. They look to the side, spying the liquor shelf again. Their bat feels heavy in their hands. “It’s not too late,” they mumble. 

“It is.” 

“It’s not!” They taste blood again, swinging the bat to the side. Moon flinches away but he’s not the target. The shelf comes crashing down, glass shattering and liquid splashing over their boots. It smells like whiskey and rum and tequila, and Ellis throws up in their mouth. The bile washes away the taste of blood. “It’s not too late. Let him go. Please.” 

Sun just sighs, shoulders dropping as he twirls his blade slowly in one hand. “Nova, friend, it is too late.” 

“But…” 

“He’s seen us. There’s no way he’d not report this to the police.” Sun lets go of the man’s face, the guy immediately pleading for his life, promising money, anonymity, to move away and never return. Sun finishes playing with his knife, holding it and effortlessly slicing the man’s throat. He gurgles, blood foaming up over his lips and bubbling in the new wound. Ellis stares until Moon pulls them away. 

“Sun, going out for air.” 

“You’re leaving me to clean up all on my own?” 

Moon doesn’t reply, his arm heavy around Ellis’s shoulders. When he pulls away to open the door, the ghost of his touch leaves them cold. 

Moon sits with Ellis on the steps, setting the axe down. They stare at it, at the flecks of dark on the otherwise shiny blade, until Moon removes his mask and covers it. He gently pulls the bat free from their death grip, then removes Ellis’s mask, the night air cold after spending so long with their own breath in their face. Ellis squints and wipes at their eyes, unsurprised to find their hand wet. At least it’s from crying and not blood, they think, and they laugh, unable to control themselves. The laugh grows high pitched and manic, and it’s starting to hurt when Moon pulls them close. 

He doesn’t kiss them, and Ellis is grateful because they cannot handle the idea of dealing with that on top of whatever breakdown they’re currently going through. Moon just holds them against his side in the relatively cool night air while Sun is… while Sun is dealing with the body. Ellis shivers and closes their eyes, burying themself against Moon’s side. 

“Think it was too soon for you to join us,” Moon finally says. Ellis lets out a weak giggle that’s quickly stifled behind one hand. “Too much at once?”

“I use a bat. It’s not sharp.” They’re still crying, and it’s still hard to properly articulate why. “He could’ve gotten better.” 

“Did you parents get better?” 

Ellis is quiet at that. They slump into Moon instead, squeezing their eyes shut when he toys with the curve of their ear. 

“You should rest in the car. I’m going to help Sun finish up here.” Moon starts to move, but Ellis nearly falls without the support. Moon holds them up with one hand. “Think you can make it?” 

Ellis looks down the driveway, where the car is hidden behind some trees. “Yeah,” they say, but Moon’s definitely not listening. He stands, gathering their things and pulling Ellis up with him. He helps them walk, even when they finally get their feet under them and could move on their own. They only protest when Moon starts helping them into the car, taking their hearing aids. “Hey, no, I need those.” 

Moon doesn’t reply, merely pocketing them somewhere in his pants. Ellis squints and tries to go for them, but he traps their hands in his, and this time there is a kiss. It’s brief, but it derails Ellis long enough for him to shut the door. They sit in the artificially (is it artificial if their ability to hear is the artificial thing) induced silence. Their mouth tastes rancid, and their gloves are itchy. They rip them off and throw them into the front of the car, dropping their head in their arms to scream. 

[tenjikufag]

Got to thinking, a thunkle-ing if you will; not so a request but me chucking a ball of something at you and getting opinion

So, I've seen lots of fics where the reader is already familiar with the fun times, Laios opposite to them

I LEGITIMATELY would like to think if both were virgins that their first time would more so be, scientific and nerdy LMAO in the best way means

Idk, feel like it'd be a odd thing of, Laios is book based, on how it goes or the "effects", reader more-so through word from other folks (probably same w/Laios but eh), but it turns more into a poke and prod session than anything 'what's this do? Oh cool wowzas' but fun no less

That, or I'm easily swayed into getting all science-y and stuff XD

OOOO I like this idea and I’ve thought about it atleast a handful of times!!

Read under the cut! AMAB anatomy used. Switch!Laios and Reader !! NSFW, MDNI

Virgin Laios is sooooo realistic, far more than him having any experience imo- come on, the man’s social queues are barely there to have friendships outside of falin and the party; definitely not getting anywhere near romantic or intimate until it came to you.

Virgin YOU, oh you guys are fun to write. I adore when I get to write you guys as pent up little freaks.

The two of you being nerds and barely working up to being partners is one thing, intimacy is a whole other ball game! As you mentioned, he would look at it like an “experiment” of sorts. I have no doubt that he’d acquired a couple porn mags/books from browsing the romance section with Marcille- he’s an all around learner but visuals are always nice!

The faint arousal he’d feel reading said smut (all in the name of research) is about as close as he gets to actually touching himself before he met you; someone he would trust enough to experiment with. He’s not stupid, he knows what sex is he’s just never done it before! It’s nerve-wracking and despite how bold and nonchalant this big guy can be, it still burns a blush across his pale skin up to the tips of his ears!

I also imagine that it wouldn’t be full blown sex right off the bat, more so ‘sessions’, periods of ‘study’.

Laios had it on his mind, there’s no doubt. The two of you had discussed it in passive conversations but never really.. delved into it. Both virgins who knew the respected counterpart was in the same playing field.

Imagine it as your typical one on one “study”, typical banter of ideas bouncing around.

Happened to read into mating rituals of different monsters, intently scribing the words of their anatomy into your notebooks.

“I wonder what it feels like..”

It doesn’t take a genius to know how this goes, I’ll let you imagine the scenario and conversation leading up to it.

—

It would start out with mutual masturbation, jerking off infront of eachother and observing every sweet sound that left either of your mouths. Uncut, cut, whatever you had, it didn’t matter or keep the slick sounds from furnishing the room.

Moving on, breaking the barrier of only touching yourselves-

You’d pump each others dicks together, trying to match the pace of the others hand- it wasn’t a race, neither of you lasted long regardless.

FROTTING.

Rubbing your dicks against each other, the friction far more satisfying than a hand could be- unknowingly building your staminas with the desperate ruts against each other.

He was the first to take the plunge into oral, having slyly tasted himself or even you from what dribbled onto his fingers. It was intoxicating, that’s putting it lightly.

Of course, no experience means there was lots of training needed. ‘Research’ as he’d say, trying to learn how to control his gag reflex, trying to keep himself from instinctively biting down just because something was in his mouth. You tasted so good though, he couldn’t help himself so expect teeth dragging across you- whether you’re into it or not, you don’t have a choice early on. And vice-versa of course! Maybe without the infatuation with the taste of him, well.. maybe just not to the degree he experiences..

But when you end up on the giving end, he’s white knuckled and baring down on his shirt to keep himself quiet- expect big loads from this guy. And expect them to come quick.

Now, down to the nitty and gritty. Because that’s what it is.

All the porn and smutty stories could only prepare you so much for the feeling of your ass being metaphorically torn open.

You’re the first to try it out, admitting to having tried to play with your ass in the past but never getting anywhere. It was slow, painfully so. Tears in your eyes and Laios clutching his jaw painfully tight to keep himself from busting with just the head of his dick inside.

When it came to him, obviously he knew what and how to prepare after the fiasco you experienced..(poor you). Came with far more lube and had read about how to ‘open’ himself up to make it easier.

And he adored how it felt.

It was better than feeling full off of his favourite meal.

The two of you lasted far longer when it came to him bottoming- even if it wasn’t that long, it was progress as satisfying to the both of you.

Sessions would continue between each other.

The two of you took each others virginities, and basically all of the other firsts you’d imagine. Now that’s a job well done!

Patience, preparation, and studying rewards those who wait or whatever the saying is.

I hope we are on the same wavelength, if not tell me more about what your thoughts are- I’d loveeee to hear them.

[captainlunaxmen]

All for the Cameras

Chapter 8

Finnick Odair x Fem!reader

Here we go! With this chapter, we officially say goodbye to Chatching Fire, and we will soon enter Mockingjay-part1. I hope you guys will like this, and if you want to be added to the tag list, just tell me♥️♥️♥️

Chapter summary: we're at the Quarter Quell finale.

Chapter warning: Now, Cal is a huge warning himself, Hunger Games cruelty, death, blood.

Tag list.

@guacam011y @justtrying2getby @idontevenknow1359 @alexandra-001 @bambikitten @maggiecc @redh00dsbf @haneybunny @1-800-styles @sisiking99 @merromimo @yourdailymemedelivery @regsg18 @gordorio @bambikitten @gracieeleanorr @shev3nom @honethatty12 @savingprivatecass @erindiggory @martahabla @sterredem @aawdrea @wpdarlingpan @strawberry--fawn @barbarathewanderer @ih8books @a-mysterious-potato @mayonesavegana @celinaiscrying @katherinejess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @abaker74 @syd649 @meikoo @secretsicanthideanymore @p1stachi @laylasshiftingtonight @yourmumstoy @s0urw00lf

I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone😔🥺

Masterlist

Finnick's POV

They managed to find some food. Finnick decided to catch some, more to distract himself that because he actually needed to eat. His stomach was completely closed after what happened.

He eats with the other because he does need his strengths, but doesn't feel like it at all.

Mags was like a mother and seeing her go like that... broke him.

The only thought keeping him going was Y/n, the thought that they could finally have a chance.

Finnick gets distracted from his thoughts when Peeta, opening one of the oysters, found a pearl. Finnick watches him giving it to Katniss, her accepting it. Finnick takes a moment to notice the way Peeta looks at her, the exact way he looks at Y/n, with adoration. Katniss is a little more reserved, of course, but she does feel something too, even though she doesn't realise it yet.

The sweet moment is interrupted by a loud scream.

"That's new." Peeta says standing up, Katniss and Finnick soon do too.

They look ahead, trees moving and breaking, then a big wave appears, it looks secluded to a section of the arena, but still aiming towards them apparently.

Even though the waves breaks at the cornucopia, it still creates waves towards the beach all around it. Thankfully not big enough to make damages.

As they watch the hovercraft flying to get the body of the dead tribute, Katniss grabs an arrow ready to fight.

"Someone's here." She says.

They all get their weapons, ready to defend themselves. They hide, watching who it was.

When Finnick sees Johanna, along Wiress and Beetee he lets out a sigh of relief, hope growing back in him as he walks to her calling her name.

"Whete the hell have you been?" He asks as soon as they're close enough.

"Me? I was looking for you the entire time, asshole!" Johanna shoots back.

Finnick knows she's not actually angry, rather worried, even though she would never admit it.

"So was I." He says, more calmly, "are you all okay?"

Johanna shrugs.

"Well, I got them out. We were a the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe. That's when the rain started." She starts explaining, while Beetee and Wiress got into the water to clean up, "I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood."

"Tick tock" Wiress comes close repeating the same two words.

"Hot, thick blood." Johanna keeps going as if she didn't notice her, "it was coming down. It was choking us. We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind. That's when Blight hit the force field."

"Tick tock, tick tock" Wiress keeps talking as Johanna takes a big breath.

"He wasn't much, but it was from home." She says bitterly.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asks, referring to Wiress.

"She's in shock," Beetee answers, "dehydration isn't helping. Do you have fresh water?"

"We can get some."

As Johanna tries to, forcefully, stop Wiress from talking, Katniss immediately goes to defend her, almost starting a fight if it weren't for Finnick separating them, leading Johanna away.

"I got them out for you!" She screamed before she got dragged away.

"It's okay, it's okay." Finnick tries to calm her.

"Let me go, Finnick!" She insists, "let me go, I'm fine."

He lets her, and goes to sit down on the sand, soon Peeta joins as Katniss was helping Wiress clean up.

"Are you sure you're okay? I know Mags was important to you... and Y/n." Peeta asks.

"Yeah... uh... it was a possibility we didn't want to acknowledge, but... still a possibility." Finnick sighs, sadly.

"I'm really sorry." Peeta gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright."

"Can I ask you something?" Peeta suddenly whispers, so no one would hear and Finnick nods, still looking ahead, "your speech at the interviews... was for Y/n, wasn't it?"

Finnick only nods, so does Peeta understanding.

"What a situation, uh?" Finnick says sarcastically.

"Yeah.." Peeta sadly chuckle, then his attention shifts to Beetee, who was messing with a wire of some sort, "what's that?"

Beetee looks up to them, then back at the wire in his hands.

"Something we can use." He simply says before standing up and walking closed to the water.

Finnick and Peeta shares a confused look before shrugging.

The moment interrupted by the lightning hitting the big tree again, 12 times.

"They have out done themselves this time, uh?" Finnick comments once the lightnings stop.

"Yeah..." Peeta breaths out.

They attention is caught by Katniss walking back to them, a determined look on her face.

"I figured it out." She says.

Y/n's POV

"That's the plan?" I ask Plutarch as we talk in his office.

"Yes." He nods, "are you okay with that?"

"Of course, I am." I confirm, "does Haymitch know?"

"Yes, he does."

"Perfect... do you think they will do as you predict?" I ask, again feeling nervous.

"I am positive, they figured out how the Arena works, it's only a matter of time, we need to be ready." He replies, "I suggest you start packing and be ready."

"Got it." I nod, taking a deep breath, I look at Plutarch, who nods his head to give me courage somehow.

There's suddenly a knock on the door.

"Mr Heavensbee? Miss L/n?" One of the Gamemaker peers inside.

"Yes?"

"There's movement." He says.

"We'll be right there in a minute." Plutarch informs him so he can go back to the controll room.

"We still need to keep up the appearance, I know." I sigh.

"All for the cameras, miss L/n. Always."

We walk back into the room, just in time to see Gloss killing Wiress, I can't help the gasp leaving my mouth, it was so unexpected I couldn't stop it.

Plutarch put a hand on my shoulder for a second to make regain my composure.

We need to keep up the appearances, so I just move to one of the Gamemaker, to take a closer look. Katniss immediately kills him, Cashmere, of course, runs to attack her, thankfully Johanna pushes Katniss away and kills the district 1 tribute.

That means the other part of the Career pack is close.

"Keep the cameras on them, the other side there." I point where Finnick and Peeta stands, just in time to frame Brutus and Finnick fighting, Enobaria manages to wound Finnick before running away, thankfully is nothing bad.

Peeta tries to chase them, but Finnick holds him back, letting Katniss and Johanna go instead.

I look up at Plutarch, him already looking at me. Then he looks up and mouths "for the cameras."

He wants me to suggest something believable, to fool the president.

I start to think something that might be an obstacle, that might slow them down, we can't have the Games end now, we still have things to prepare, but it doesn't have to be something... deadly.

Think.

Think.

Think.

Thi.... okay.

"Make the cornucopia spin." I say, the Gamemaker, of course, looks up at Plutarch for confirmation and when he nods the cornucopia starts to spin on itself, making everyone lose balance.

Johanna helps Katniss stay on, as Finnick, Peeta and Beete do the same.

My heart skips a bit when Katniss falls, instinctively look at Plutarch.

"Okay. That's enough." He orders, "good thinking, miss L/n."

"Thank you, sir." I say, breathing heavily from anxiety, "it will be harder for them to tell time."

"Clever." He nods, and I let out a sigh of relief.

It made some trouble, but not too much... Good.

They quickly reunite, and go back to the beach... but a different section. I try to figure out which one it is.

"Brace yourself." Plutarch whispers so slightly to me as he passes by.

I take a quick look at the map, each section is perfectly labelled and I can quickly spot their position. It's the Jabberjays section.

Shit.

I take a deep breath and just wait to see what's going to happen.

They're counting down who might be left still in the games, now. Thankfully, it seems that Brutus and Enobaria are far from them.

"Activate them." Plutarch orders, I force myself not to look at him, because I know he has to do it. We are still not out of trouble, and at the Capitol, appearance is the most important thing.

So once Prim's voice reaches Katniss, she's immediately on her feet, running towards the sound. The rest of the group tries to keep her from going into the forest, to what they suspect is just a made up sound. Finnick is the fastest and immediately reach Katniss, who just shot a bird, finally realising it's fake, like everything else.

"You okay?" He asks, but Katniss can't even respond because another scream breaks in.

I can't help it this time, my eyes shoot up immediately to Plutarch.

That's my voice, screaming at Finnick for help.

Plutarch looks at me, guilty, he motion for me to just take a deep breath and stay calm as Finnick runs towards the sound with Katniss, this time, to convince him to stop.

"It's not her!" She screams at him to gain his attention. "It's just a Jabberjay. It's not her."

"Well, how do you think they got that sound?" He spits back, "Jabberjays copy."

I just want to scream at him that I'm okay, that's just a decoy... my idea nonetheless...

As Gale's voice adds itself into the mix, Katniss and Finnick run away, but unfortunately my idea has another problem.

They bump into the invisible wall, surrounded by all the mutts screaming at them.

Kantiss is holding her hands to her ears, Peeta screams at her, but of course, the wall around the section is supposed to isolate them even more.

I look at Finnick protecting his ears too, he's muttering something, but I can't understand what he's says, the birds screams are too loud. My throat feels tight, I feel the burn of tears ready to come out in my eyes, my chest hurts.

"Miss L/n?" Plutarch calls me, his voice feels so far right now, but I reluctantly look at him, "would you be so kind and go look into my office for the arena projects? I want to check something."

I can only nod and walk to his office, I know he wanted to give an excuse to be alone and recollect myself.

I close the door behind me, and I just lean against it until I sit down on the floor.

It's all my fault, I can't believe I make them suffer like this. Katniss' screams to somehow cover the noise broke my heart, so did Finnick's face.

I did that.

It's my fault.

I have to do everything in my power to get them out...

Finnick's POV

It's Johanna's voice asking him if he were okay to ground Finnick.

After God knows how long he and Katniss were trapped with the Jabberjays screaming at them, the invisible wall vanished and the other were able to rescue them.

Peeta reassures Katniss, telling her that at the Capitol they will never touch Prim.

"Your fiancé's right." Johanna agrees, "the whole country loves your sister. If they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol." Everyone looks at Johanna, a mixture of surprise and shock for having her reassuring Katniss. But she was not done, "Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we... what if we set you backyard on fire? You know, you can't put everybody in here."

The shock is shared between the other tributes as they listen to her screaming.

"What?" She asks, finally noticing, "they can't hurt me. There's no one left that I love. I'll get you some water." She finally says, seeing no one knows what to say... obviously.

They all go to the beach, Finnick put his trident in the sand and goes to sat in the water.

It always calmed him. He remembers the first night at the Capitol after he was reaped.

He couldn't sleep, he didn't even want to, not knowing what the Capitol actually had in store for him surely wouldn't accommodate a good sleep. He remembers he went into the bathroom, to fill the bathtub and get under the water. Unfortunately the bathtub wasn't big enough. When Y/n knocked on the door, he thought she was there to take him back to his room, instead she sneaked the two of them into the pool. There she tried everything she could to calm him, she got into the water with him and lay there with him, talking.

That's when he realised she was not like the rest.

The others looks at him, as they rest, Johanna brought Katniss some water and now they're talking.

"Why did they use Y/n's screams with him?" Katniss asks.

"Really?" Johanna's taken aback by that question. "Have you... haven't you noticed anything?" She slightly scoffs.

"I'm afraid not." Katniss answers flatly.

"Love sometimes is cruel." Johanna simply says.

Katniss thinks for a moment before understanding her words, and can't help but agree with her.

"I have a plan." Beetee suddenly says and everyone gathers around him listening closely.

"Where do the Careers feel safest? The jungle?" He asks the group.

"Jungle's a nightmare." Johanna speaks up.

"Probably here on the beach." Peeta suggests.

"Then why are they not here?" Beete asks once again.

"Because we are. We claimed it." Johanna answers.

"And if we left, they would come." He guesses.

"Or stay hidden in the tree line." Finnick says.

"Which in just over four hours will be soaked with the water from the 10:00 wave. And what happens at midnight?" He speaks as if he is teaching to a class, and wants them to understand the concept before having to say it himself.

"Lightning strikes that tree." Katniss answers, understanding the concept of the plan.

"Here's what I propose. We leave the beach at dusk. We head to the lightning tree. That should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight we then run this wire from the tree to the water." He explains, pointing to the tree and then the beach, "anyone in the water or on the damp sand will be electrocuted."

"How do we know the wire's not gon a burn up?" Johanna questions.

"Because I invented it." He replies, with a hint of pride. "I assure you, it won't burn up."

The silence falls as everyone thinks about what to do. Johanna and Finnick looks at each other, they both seem to agree to the plan. Katniss looks at Peeta, worried, and still a little suspicious.

"Well, it better than hunting them down." Johanna agrees.

"Yeah, why not?" Katniss agrees too, "if it fails, no harm done anyway, right?"

"All right, I say we try it." Peeta nods.

"So what can we do to help?" Finnick asks, hoping the real plan will work... quickly.

Y/n's POV.

"Keep me alive for the next six hours. That would be extremely helpful." Beete says to the group.

That's our chance.

Plutarch's in his office with the president, so I'm the one directing the Gamemakers.

"Keep it as close as possible to the lovers." I say, "the Capitol loves them. Give them as much as they want."

They of course want the other to win, and if it goes down to them being the last two one of them would surely sacrifice themselves for the other... I pray we get them all out on time.

Peeta tries to convince her, she is the one who should live, he shows her the pendant Effie gave him, opens it and show her the picture of her family.

It breaks me hearing Peeta saying that no one needs him, because it's so far from the truth and he doesn't realise it.

Thankfully, Katniss reassures him she needs him. As they kiss my heart warms, and also hurts as I think of Finnick... maybe when everything is over we could... have our chance.

No. I don't have to keep my hopes up, for no reason.

Plutarch comes out of his office, nods at my direction and then addresses the Gamemakers.

"We're almost at the grand finale." He declares. "How about you go get some rest, miss L/n? You worked a lot today."

"Are you sure, sir? If we're at the finale, you might need all hands on deck, right?" I ask, pretending to be sorry.

"Go have some rest and enjoy the show, you earned it." He nods.

"Thank you, sir." I force an enthusiastic smile and walk to the exit.

As I pass him he whispers to me, "pack what you need. You'll know when it's time to go, so keep an eye on the games."

"Yes, sir."

"When it's time, immediately go to the roof of the training centre." He instructs, I nod and just walk out, to my apartment.

--------------

I put the last item in my backpack, a picture of my brother when we were younger, before we got sent to Snow. I turn the TV on to keep and eye on the games, as Plutarch instructed. Thankfully, I got the program so I can see everything live and change angles.

Apparently the group has to split, Katniss and Johanna are sent to unspool the wire all the way to the beach. Peeta, obviously, tries to offer to go with them, but Beetee says he needs both Finnick and Peeta as protection.

Of course, it generated a little angst in the group, suspects raising, and it ends with them agreeing to part ways until midnight.

I look for any sort of signal within the games, but I can't see anything yet.

I bounce my leg anxiously, as I look at Johanna cutting Katniss' arm, I look closer and realise she's tacking off the tracking device, this let me let out a sigh of relief. I try to find Finnick with the other cameras, only to see him looking for Johanna. He probably heard the Careers and went searching.

But I need to force myself to look for Katniss instead, Finnick knows about the plan, he knows what to do, Katniss doesn't so if I have to look for a sign, she's the one I need to follow. She's going back at the tree, looking for Peeta, but once she gets there, she only finds Beetee. I gasp, looking at a shaking Beetee lying down. Then her eyes fall to a made-up spear, the wire wrapped around the tip.

The sound of the cannon distracts her, screaming for Peeta she stands up, but when Finnick shows up, my heart stops as I see her taking an arrow and pointing it at Finnick.

"Please..." I whisper.

The door opening only increases my anxiety, and I quickly grab the emergency gun I took from my small voult.

My eyes drift between the hallway and the TV.

"Hello, my sweetness." Cal appears in front of me, a creepy grin on his face.

"Cal? What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Missed you." He simply answers, stepping closer, but I take a step back. He gives me a surprised and irritated look.

I look at the TV, in time to hear Finnick saying something to Katniss.

"Remember who the real enemy is." He said.

Cal looks at the TV, then step closer again and I take another step back, the gun still behind my back.

"Turn it off, sweetheart." He orders.

My eyes are, instead, glued to the screen. Katniss takes the spear, unwraps the wire only to wrap ot again around her arrow.

"Sweetheart." He calls again.

Finnick tries to get Katniss to get away from the tree, but right before the lightning strikes, she fires the arrow towards the sky and the screen turns black.

"Shit." I mutter.

"What happened?" Cal asks, alarm clear in his tone.

"I have to go." I say, rushing past him, careful to keep the gun somwhow hidden.

"Y/n!" I hear him scream my name as I near the door.

I open the door, but I find Peacekeepers in front of me.

"Yes?" I ask, as flatly and emotionless as I can.

"You are to come with us." One of them informs me.

"Where?"

"You're under arrest." Another says.

"What?" I scoff.

"What's going on?" Cal appears beside me, I hold the gun under the backpack harder.

"She's under arrest, she's suspected to be part of a rebellious group, a group Plutarch Heavensbee is part of." They explain.

"That's ridiculous." Cal laughs.

"I'm afraid it's true, sir." The peacekeeper replies.

I need to get out, I need to get to that roof.

I push past them, taking a little advantage of their talking. I arrive at the elevator, as I wait the doors to open I hear quick footsteps nearing. I point my gun at the Peacekeepers, firing twice, I manage to slow them down just in time for the doors to open and let me in, and I fire three more before the doors close again. I only injure some of them.

I didn't see Cal, he probably froze because of the news.

I decide to exit at another floor, I'm sure there would be more peacekeepers down, so then I'll go for the backdoor.

I get to the 4th floor, and carefully step out, analysing my surroundings as I walk to the stairs. I'm not so sure it's the best choice, but it's the only one I got. I try to be fast, but careful at the same time, the last thing I want is for them to get me.

Steady steps, controlled breathing, gun at hand, I move down the stairs.

"In here!" I hear someone scream and I just have to rush down now.

I run downstairs, jumping a few step in the process until I'm in front of the door.

I don't think, I need to get away from the ones on the stairs...

So I open the door.

Finnick's POV

Finnick sits up straight, holding his aching head, breathing heavily from exhaustion.

"Good, we started to think you were dead." Haymitch's voice makes Finnick raise his head to look at him.

"I'm... okay... I think." He says, he looks at his body, noticing some bandages, especially on his arm. They thankfully took off the tracking device.

"Yeah, the device is off, no need to worry about... that." Haymitch says, there's tension in his voice, resignation too, anger.

"What exactly happened?" Finnick asks, confused still.

"Katniss fired that arrow to the force field... that obviously broke, the screens, the cameras were down, this gave us the time to come and get you." Haymitch explains.

"Okay..." Finnick nods, he senses something wrong though.

"Come, let's talk." Haymitch nudges him to get up and follow him.

They arrive to a room with a big table, and screens taking their position on the walls.

Plutarch's there to greet him, but he's not happy, he's not satisfied.

Finnick hopes to see Y/n soon, he needs a friendly face to calm down.

"Mr. Odair... glad to see you're okay." He then says.

"Well, I'm alive... that's something." Finnick replies, forcing a small laugh out, "what about the others?"

He sees Plutarch and Haymitch sharing a look, then they both sigh deeply.

"We manage to get the Mockingjay out of there, which was the main mission." Plutarch starts, but doesn't continue.

"The others?" Finnick pressures.

"We managed to also get Beetee out." He answers.

"Johanna and Peeta?" Finnick's now scared.

"The Capitol has them." Plutarch simply answers.

Finnick pales, they might as well be dead, who knows what the Capitol will do to them.

"And..." Haymitch walks a little closer to Finnick, eyes down, guilty and angry.

"What? What is it?" Finnick snaps, frustrated.

Haymitch looks him dead in the eyes, so he can perfectly see the fury in his stare.

"They got Y/n too."

[wintergreenoreo]

When i tell yall I strive to be on the same level of hater as K-Mag I mean like this:

Like why did he gag tf out of Fernando like this? 💀

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair alphabet fluff

d - dates

finnick odair prefers modest and simple dates. 

one of finnick’s favorite dates is when he invites you over for dinner at his place. he puts on an emerald green apron that makes his eyes pop and begins preparing dinner. as he focuses completely on cooking, a slight frown forms on his face. he smooths it away and rubs his brows once he realizes his unconscious expression. it’s a miracle he hasn’t accidentally cut himself, as his mind wanders and he imagines the pretty outfit you will be wearing that night while he chops the vegetables.

saying finnick always has everything under control might be a bit of a stretch. after years of being together, finnick has perfected the art of dinner dates. however, there have been several mishaps along the way. once, time flew by, and by the time you knocked on his door all dressed up and excited to see him, he was still in his apron and his lazy-day shorts, having not yet showered. on another occasion, he managed to burn the steak he had spent hours preparing and had to beg mags to please bring some of her delicious leftovers. unfortunately, you arrived at finnick’s place just as mags did. and better yet, there was the time he completely misunderstood a recipe. the cookbook he borrowed from mags was so old, and the words were so blurry he accidentally used vinegar instead of vanilla. the look of mortification on his face when you nearly gagged after the first time is something you’ll never forget.

his heart leaps at the sight of you standing at his doorstep in a pretty sundress. as a true gentleman, he doesn’t waste a minute before inviting you in, giving you a quick yet adoring kiss before guiding you to the kitchen. there, he presents the warm, delectable meal that would be delighting your taste buds that night. the endless conversations flow and drive the night as his hand caresses yours, his gaze never leaving yours. he considers the night a success when he hears your delighted hums after taking your first bite. after chatting the night away, he lends you some of his clothes and cuddles you to sleep.

nonetheless, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pamper you. finnick loves to take you out as well. he takes you to cozy seaside restaurants, where he’s on friendly terms with the owners and can ask for a table with the nicest views. the breathtaking beach and his tender sea-green eyes are two sights you will never grow tired of.

finnick never misses a chance to take you to the annual district four fair. he watches with a warm smile as little kids run around, laughing and shouting with joy at the fun, and maybe tricked, fair games. he also loves picnics with you. his eyes crinkle with pure happiness when he sees you carrying the picnic basket. in the days leading up to your picnic date, he goes to the market to pick out little snacks and fruits to surprise you with. however, his favorite dates are when you both get together at your place to prepare the snacks and meals for your picnic in the park. 

finnick has never sneaked you into the capitol for a date at its fancy restaurants or exotic museums. the capitol is a part of the world he prays you’ll never have to find yourself in, and he does everything in his power for them to never know of the existence of you.

[ronearoundblindly]

Pirate & Pin Cushion (3)

Jake Jensen x gn! ops!Reader

Painful...But In A Good Way (see previous or JJ Masterlist)

The last thing you remember is the awkward kiss Jake planted on you during a screaming match. Now, awake and healed, your friend and teammate is acting more awkward than usual around you.

Warnings for foul language, *super skimmed over action,* canon-level betrayal (Roque), completely vague mentions of injuries, suspicions, doubts, misunderstandings,--GO FIGURE--an argument, and I just wanted this done honestly. Not that I don't love them, but I need a win in the COMPLETED department. WC ~1.5k

You’re a Loser through and through now.

Months have gone by since you were stabbed and unceremoniously, sorta-kinda-maybe-not kissed by Jake Jensen. You woke up six days later with Pooch by your side, disappointed it wasn’t your Banter Bro.

The last thing you remember is turning away from Jake to hide your face. After that, nothing. You suppose he feels awkward about it. Maybe he regrets it, even if the ‘kiss’ was just part of a gag to him.

The most frustrating part is everything is exactly the same. Jake keeps you at arm’s length, a holding pattern to get no closer as teammates but no farther as friends.

Is this…are you in the friend zone???

It blows.

You’d still prefer this over being a pariah, so on you quip from interaction to interaction.

For all Jake’s hype about loving Halloween, he shuts down when you ask him what costume you should choose. Then he goes home to his sister and niece for the holiday.

...Okay…

You console yourself knowing this is for the best. You’d promised yourself no attachments, and nature clearly pushes for you to keep that promise.

You’ve almost—almost—resigned yourself to actual pin-cushion-status, jabbed repeatedly by his indifference. You are PC: perpetually crushing on Jake Jensen. It sucks.

You can be professional though. You can keep up with the jokes and take the hits to your heart and body that come with the job.

Until you can’t.

Los Angeles. The port. The shitshow.

While scrambling to get out of the line of fire in a showdown gone wrong, Jake cuts his leg vaulting over a concrete barrier, and you get him to a nook between shipping crates.

You squat down to change the mag on your MP7 and suddenly hear Roque’s voice behind you. He’s not on the comms.

“Should’ve told ‘em, Jensen."

The look on Jake’s face is shocked and bitter.

Roque clicks his tongue. "At least then they’d know…”

Before you can so much as turn to look, Jake’s raised his own weapon, firing right over your shoulder and within inches of your ear.

The pain is sharp and hot, sending you stumbling into the warped metal wall of the nearest container.

Jake wraps a thick arm around your waist and yanks you away.

You catch sight of Roque dead on the asphalt.

It’s complete chaos, pure survival mode for the next twenty minutes, deaf and deftly tying a bandage around Jake’s leg in an open, empty crate while he’s on comms and frantically hand-signaling you the plan.

But you make it. Everyone but Roque makes it.

Eventually, when the ringing subsides in your non-ruptured ear, Clay lays outRoque betrayed the team. Aisha teaches you a way to cup your occipital and tap to reduce the tinnitis. Pooch leaves to see the birth of his first child.

You’re left to ponder if Jake is a traitor, too.

Did he kill Roque to keep his own cover? Was he supposed to recruit you into his and Roque’s plan? Is that what he ‘should have told you’ so Roque wouldn’t need to kill you?

The possibilities haunt you. Is this why he’s kept you distant for months? Was Jake worried you’d catch on?

You blame your stupid crush for stopping you from telling Cougar your concerns. You trust Jake—or you want to trust him, so badly—so you confront him alone.

Dinner. At your place. Away from the team so he can feel safe to admit it. Away from the team so you can pretend your forgiveness isn’t already secured. You’ll deal with the consequences once you know the truth.

Jake seems an odd mix of totally psyched and forcefully reserved when you invite him and a nervous wreck when he arrives at your door.

It’s just pizza. You were too distracted to do more.

He doesn’t pick up his slice because you don’t either, running your hands up and down your thighs compulsively, then quietly asking, “about what Roque said…”

Jake leans back in his chair, leg bouncing frantically, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, eyes on the floor.

“Was he…were you his partner in that? Were you suppose to take me out, too?

Jake’s head snaps up, his mouth askew and brow pinched. “WHAT?”

“Just tell me the truth. I swear, we can work it out with the rest—“

“Is this what—what the fuck—“ he shoves the chair back and steps away “—that’s the reason I’m here right now? I thought you were finally gonna say it!”

Jake rips his glasses off his face and harshly runs his fingers through his frosted tips.

“Say…what? What am I supposed to say? I’m not the one Roque had a damn secret with.”

He’s visibly upset but with bugged-out eyes like he has no idea what to do.

“Well, I’m not a fucking traitor,” he mumbles.

Jake replaces his glasses and takes his phone from the pocket of his low-slung jeans, hitting a few buttons and tossing it onto the table. It slides until it knocks your plate.

His own recorded laugh cuts off quickly. “Okay, PC, what were you saying about Halloween? One more time,” and then comes another slow voice, “I should have told you before I died.

“I love you.”

Your whole body freezes, brain turning the words over and over until it occurs to you…that is your voice.

“I didn’t say that.” Your knee-jerk reaction comes swiftly. “I don’t remember that.”

Jake snorts without humor. “Got that part.”

You’re too stunned to speak. You can’t even imagine when you would have…oh god.

Jake rushes to fill the silence as you die inside, again, maybe more realistically because what.

“Did you at least think I was a badass, like, ya know, a sexy traitor or whatever? Or…were you gonna wrestle me to the ground after I ate a whole pie?”

You keep sitting with your mouth agape.

“You didn’t poison the pizza, did you? Right? Say 'no.' That’s overkill, or just, kill—were gonna kill me?!”

“I’D KNOWN YOU FOR TWO WEEKS,” you explode, bolting out of your own chair.

“Yeah,” Jake squeaks, “I know.”

“Two weeks, and then you taped me saying ‘I love you?’”

“But, like—“ his usually deep timbre pitches super high “…did you?”

“Why would you just sit on that, Jake?!”

He shrugs. “You weren’t exactly sober.”

Too much, too many feelings, all at once. You try to get away, to make a break for the bathroom, but Jake grabs your wrist and swings your momentum to the wall.

Your back hits with a soft thud, pinned in place by Jake’s chest. He’s not breathing heavily, but you are, pushing you against him repeatedly.

That just makes it harder.

Yes, you said it (you guess), and yes, you meant it. Jake, however, hasn’t said word one about if he feels some sort of way for you. Your brain can’t intuit his romantic inclinations two minutes after accusing him of treachery.

He’s…there, not moving, not speaking, lips slightly parted while he stares at you.

You clear your throat.

“You’re…you’re touching me,” you say softly.

Jake doesn’t skip a beat, gently tightening his hold on your arms. “That’s what I do, PC. Finger keyboards.”

You gag as he quickly shakes his head.

“What the fuck?”

“Sounds sooooo bad," Jake moans. "I’m so sorry.” He let’s go of you, steps back, and slaps his hands in the air frantically. “Wait, okay? That was not the joke. I can do it.”

“You’re sick, man.”

Jake rubs at his temples, muttering something about keys, computers, and Halloween. “Hold on...so dumb. This is why I was trying to record it! It’s your joke. You were laying on the bed and--”

“I would never say you fin—“

“He was standing right there,” Jake bursts, scaring you to silence. “Roque. When you said that into the phone, I mean, he was standing at the door and he heard.”

Jensen sighs. Defeated and deflated, he rests his hands on his hips, inhaling sharply.

“So at the port when… He aimed a gun at you and I just—“ he makes a finger gun to point over your shoulder, adding a soft pow sound-effect “—Roque was saying I should have told you before he tried to kill you.”

“About the recording?”

“No.” Jake rocks on his heels.

“About the joke?” Your voice is so small.

His stupid, beautiful blue eyes lift to meet yours.

“No, pin cushion, not about the joke.”

There's a horridly long pause of nothingness.

"Fuck it."

Jake lunges forward with startling intensity, fingers lace behind your head to draw you to him.

You don’t turn away this time.

His lips are soft yet determined, slowly pulsing to transform one kiss into dozens, and he adjusts everything—his height, his stance, his proximity to get even more of you in a single embrace.

“I love you,” Jake whispers, shifting to tilt you left while he goes right. “I should have told you ‘I love you,’ too.”

You promised yourself no attachments, but who are you kidding? You're such a loser, and you found your match.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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