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slttygeto · 2 days ago

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༉‧₊˚. episode 08: lost in the fire.

preview: " . . . Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

“I…” you cannot put into words how you feel, it feels as though you had swallowed your tongue and any smart retort you had prepared is thrown out of the window. Shuji notices the change in your expression, how you went from being incredibly affected by his words to nothing all of a sudden. There’s an emptiness behind your eyes as you nod at him. “You’re right.”

And then you were gone. ."

word count: 5,3k

content warning: nsfw warning! heavy smut, choking, biting, n!pple sucking, unprotected s/x, not enough foreplay, jealousy.

༉‧₊˚. note: happy new years :) starting 2025 with a new chapter! thank you to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader and helping point out mistakes and things that needed serious editing! i am still on a hiatus, but enjoy reading. thank you!

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

➜ MASTERLIST

Hanma openly admits his vocabulary isn’t exactly expansive, chalking it up to his teenage self choosing cigarettes over books, biker gangs over libraries and nasty fights over going to school. Only that he knows a couple of words, they’re still insufficient when he is facing this hurricane of emotions and fails to locate the heart of it. He can’t pull the plug on something that’s blurry, so he sits in his car and looks out of his window. The vehicle trembles in sync with the rhythm of his restless foot.

A tattooed hand goes up to his face, and he slides down his blouse cuff to stare at the watch adorning his wrist; 10:32PM. You had to be awake, right?

One would question why he couldn’t simply send you a message, and the truth is far more complicated than that suggestion. He can’t message you when he was the one who told you he doesn’t fuck you on your period. You were offended by his tone more than what he was implying, and told him and he quotes ‘to go fuck himself and never come back again’.

Now, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you had a petty argument, the earliest one Hanma can remember was of him saying he didn’t want to eat your homemade food because he thought soup was boring, and you had glared at him the whole night until he apologized with his head between your thighs. Or when you tried to insinuate that he was so much softer than you had thought, the night ended with tears streaming down your face as you gagged and choked on his cock.

The two of you didn’t know what communication was, sex seemed to be the solution to everything. Well, except for this time.

You were understandably hormonal when you texted him, asking if he could drop by and hang out with you for a couple of hours at the beginning of November. And him being an asshole, he made some poor joke about how ‘he doesn’t fuck women on their periods because they’ll get attached’ and the rest is history.

Hanma doesn’t think he fucked up that badly, but that wouldn’t explain the fifth cigarette he throws out of his car window as he glares daggers at your balcony door. You can’t keep ignoring him forever, it’s been ten days.

He mutters a sharp “fuck” under his breath as he swings the car door open, stepping out and locking it with a press of his key fob. His strides are long and confident as he reaches into the pocket of his suit pants for another cigarette. Shielding the flame with his hand, he lights it, the glow briefly illuminating his face before he tucks the cigarette between his index and middle finger. He ascends the stairs, smoke curling in his wake as he eyes the apartment doors one by one. Ironically, the one thing he had memorized beside the feeling of your hallway, was the smell of homemade food that emerged from beneath your doorway, a scent which was forever engraved at the forefront of his mind.

A familiar wooden door greets Hanma as he steps into the dimly lit hallway, and he braces himself for how many times he is going to knock to get you to open the door for him. The memory of you whisper-yelling at him to just get in flashes before his eyes and an amused smirk finds its way up his lips, but it’s immediately wiped off when the door suddenly swings open. Surprised, he takes a step back with furrowed eyebrows, hand reaching towards his gun holster out of instinct.

Then he hears it, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles.

You step out of your apartment with your back facing Hanma, allowing him to scan your outfit for a brief moment. It was cold outside, so you were wearing an oversized, fluffy and warm jacket on top of what he believes to be a short dress, and the black stockings you had chosen for the night bring more attention to your legs. To match the aesthetic of the outfit, you chose to wear your knee high, black leather high heeled boots, adding a couple centimeters to your height. And to finish off the look, you had styled your hair in a way that Hanma could only describe as intoxicating. The perfume you were wearing was dizzying, and it only worsens when you turn around and Hanma sees you with a full face of makeup. The right amount of glitter, the sharp eyeliner, the mascara giving your face that doe-eyed look and finally, that lip combo.

Where the hell were you headed to?

The good thing about working in corporate jobs was the amount of birthday celebrations to look out to. You had at least two birthdays each month, and November was no exception. But to ensure that not every winter birthday is celebrated inside the company, a co-worker took it upon themselves to invite everyone to a club, and who were you to turn down the offer?

You hated being holed up in your apartment for too long, it made you feel claustrophobic and anxious, and you were getting sick of your balcony and the same boring view. The moment you step out, you get a whiff of cigarette smell and instantly, you realize who was behind you. Your movements are slow and careful as you lock your door, fix the scarf that’s wrapped around your neck to keep you warm then–you see him.

Hanma doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows twitch when you lock eyes with him, he can’t deny that the slight purse to your lips makes the coil in his stomach tighten, then your frown deepens.

“Smoking’s not allowed in the hallway,” you point out towards the cigarette bud hanging between his fingers.

“Where are you going?” he completely dismisses your statement, eyes scanning your outfit from head to toe for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows exactly what hides beneath those layers of clothing, he’s touched and felt and groped it so many times already–then why does it bother him that you’re dressed so prettily for an occasion?

You’re already fed up with him, your high heels clicking against the tiles as you walk past him and Hanma almost groans when he gets a whiff of your perfume. Fuck, why did he have to be so stupid?

“Whatever, don’t stay here for too long or else they’ll kick you out.” You announce as you call for the elevator, pressing the button as you put your keys in your handbag.

The tall man is quickly standing behind you. He knows why you’re ignoring him, but he doesn’t think it entirely justifies not answering him. “Did you not hear me?”

You scoff. “You’re saying that?”

“It’s different, I’m asking where you’re going–”

“And now I’m asking you to mind your own business?” you hear a ding and step onto the elevator, Hanma right behind you. “I’m a grown ass woman.”

“Never seen your grown ass outside at night.” How blunt.

“Oh right, because in the last two months when you’ve known me and rarely ever visited may I add, you’ve never seen me go outside after 8PM?”

You were bitter, that’s understandable, but that doesn’t explain completely avoiding his question, does it? He was only asking about your whereabouts so that he knows where to expect to see you!

And perhaps even follow you there.

Hanma bites his tongue at your words. He would never admit that you were right, or that he messed up by completely ignoring your phone calls and messages because you had told him that you were on your period. However, everyone makes mistakes and it’s what makes us human…

…or however that saying goes.

The elevator starts to go down, his golden eyes alternate between scanning the number shown in bold colors indicating the floor number and the screen of your phone. You were sending a text in a group chat, he could see the name of it–something about your company, and next to it was the word ‘birthday party!’. He’s thankful that he’s being sneaky enough to be able to look at what you were typing, however that doesn’t last when you finally notice that he has grown a little too quiet. You hide your phone in your chest.

“Can you not?” you hiss, voice laced with venom as you shoot him a glare over your shoulder.

“A colleague’s birthday?”

“What are you, twelve?” you furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him fully. Even with high heels, you don’t reach his full height and you hate it. You hate that you are looking up at him, at his handsome face which you didn’t see for a full week, and you absolutely despise the way he is staring at you.

His eyes were devouring you, forcing you to think of anything but how you’ve made them roll to the back of his head countless times. You refuse to stare at his bulging arms, or how his hair was slightly disheveled from running a hand through it. Was he frustrated by his own actions? You hope he was, you hope he fisted his cock pathetically to the thought of you, that his whines were so loud it echoes in his empty apartment. You pray that a mission interrupted his alone time, and he had to finish off some guy he didn’t like with painful blue balls.

And you fervently and desperately hope that he cannot read your true thoughts.

“Add sixteen years to that,” he replies while bringing the cigarette to his lips, taking a whiff from the stick. He pulls his hand away, smirking when he notices the slight shift in your expression and it worsens when he blows smoke on your face.

“Stop that! I don’t want to smell like cigarettes when I get in the car!”

“Oh?” he tilts his head to the side, golden eyes locked with yours as he searches for another clue. “So you need a car to get there?”

“I would be crazy if I walked outside dressed like this.” you ignore his intense stare, masking your nervousness with annoyance as you pull out your phone again.

“Who’s driving you there?”

“None of your damn business.”

“An uber.” The elevator finally dings and you hurriedly step out of the cubicle, trying to get away from him as far as possible.

“Oh! We got ourselves a detective here!” you exclaim jokingly, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles echoing in the empty hallway. “You should work for the FBI, has anyone ever told you that?”

Hanma ignores your comments, his strides long and purposeful as he walks right behind you. “You keep clutching your purse, it’s open so you can make sure that your credit card is there and your forgetful ass didn’t actually miss anything. You’ll stop getting anxious when you get into the car and pay the driver–”

“Stop that!” You finally turn around to stare at him, and the tall man has to stop himself from scooping you into his arms and fucking you against the nearest wall. You puff out your chest like a balloon ready to burst, a fragile show of dominance and anger, but you were clearly fed up and you couldn’t handle hearing his voice anymore.

“You think you can read me easily, you think using your little criminal tricks on me will get you off the hook, it doesn’t.” you get even closer to the man, a manicured finger poking at his chest with each syllable rolling off your tongue. “You think you’re the only one who can read me? Well, I’ll tell you what’s in front of me right now.”

Hanma remains unnervingly quiet, so you continue.

"I see a man who couldn’t keep his word if his life depended on it. Someone who drowns his guilt in cigarette smoke because facing it is too much to bear. A man so shaken by the idea of me living my life without catering to him that he’ll go as far as to ruin it for me, hoping to force a reaction out of me. Well, guess what? You won’t. So enjoy your misery and your frustration, because tonight? You won’t be getting anything from me"

The only sounds breaking the stillness of the moment were the occasional hum of passing cars outside the building, their distant echoes a sharp contrast to the suffocating quiet of the hallway. The air around you felt heavy as you struggled to catch your breath, your face was in flames. Your gaze flickered wildly over Shuji’s expression, desperate to find even the slightest crack, some hint that your words had gotten to him, that they had landed where they intended to.

But all you were met with was silence, dragging on until a scoff cut through the air and you felt your chest tightening.

Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

And then you were gone.

He doesn’t try to follow you, the sound of your high heels clicking against the concrete becomes a distant sound the farther you walk away and he stands near the entrance of the building with his hands buried in his pockets.

It was time to work.

—

“Where were you? We were looking for you!”

“Sorry! My cat threw up on the carpet and I had to clean it real quick,” you say with a wave of hands, looking around the crowded area with bright eyes. “Seems like the birthday girl is having fun!”

You see a flash of red hair on the dance floor, and chuckle when you notice the way she seemed to effortlessly become the center of attention. People were cheering her on, clapping and asking the DJ to change the song just to match her energy. Meanwhile, you decide to take off your coat and place it on the chair that a coworker had reserved for you.

You weren’t the type to go clubbing, years of being constantly guarded by your brothers had left you tense and uneasy under the flashing lights, but you envied those who did it so effortlessly. They wouldn’t look as awkward as you do.

That is until you feel a pair of eyes following your every move, and you are forced to look at them.

It was a coworker, someone you had grown comfortable around because of his kind gestures. He would offer to help you carry papers around even if you were going to take the elevator, and when you ran out of water or your favorite drink in the fridge, he would be the first to request a restock for you. He was a gentleman, one that didn’t know how to hide his attraction towards you.

And you didn’t seem to mind it, a woman could appreciate being treated nicely once in a while.

“Not going to join them?” He gestures towards the rest of your colleagues who seemed to be enjoying their time on the dance floor. You chuckle as you shake your head, leaning back in your seat.

“Dancing is not my thing,”

The man, whose name is Tomoya, takes this as an open invitation to sit across from you. He puts his elbows on the table as he leans forward, clearly invested in the conversation.

“Why? It’s just moving your body to the beat.”

You press your lips as you hum, leaning towards the brown haired man as you respond.“Hmmm, I’m not sure if I like that.”

“How about this, if I can change your mind, you–” he pauses as he points his finger at you, eyes glimmering with mischief. “--go on a date with me.”

You scoff, raising an eyebrow at him. “A date?”

“Yup.”

How do you explain this to a man you hardly speak to at work? How do you tell him that your life is already entangled with someone else–someone too deeply involved in your world to simply cut loose? The idea of going on a date with Tomoya doesn’t seem so bad, but the thought of facing Hanma, of telling him about the possibility that you want to end whatever it is you have, makes you hold your head in your hands.

“We’ll see.”

You’ll deal with it later.

The rhythm of the music reverberates through the air as you find yourself on the dance floor with your colleague, Tomoya, who seems to be enjoying himself far more than you. The bass is heavy, the lights flicker like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you can almost forget your reservations. His encouragement draws a timid smile from you, and despite your clumsy attempts to follow his lead, you eventually surrender to the music. The tension in your shoulders eases as your movements become less forced, and soon enough, you find yourself laughing and moving your body to the beat.

You walk through the crowd to greet the birthday girl, your grin bright and contagious as you ask if she’s having fun. Before long, Tomoya succeeds to reclaim your attention. His lips move, but it’s hard to hear anything with the loud music.

“What?” you call out, cupping your ear for emphasis.

With a smile, he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I said, you look beautiful.”

Goosebumps rise on your skin at his words, and your face heats up. Your laughter quiets down as you shyly glance away, scanning the room for an escape from his intense gaze. That’s when you see him. A familiar figure near the bar freezes you in place. Your chest tightens, the world blurring as you focus on the tall man leaning casually against the counter.

“Are you okay?” Tomoya’s voice snaps you back, but your response is dismissive.

“Yeah, yeah,” you pat his shoulder with a forced smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Your steps quicken as you drag your feet through the crowd, each stride bringing more dread. Please don’t be him. Please. But as you approach him, there’s no denying it. That sharp grin, the cigarette dangling between his fingers–it’s him. Your hand finds his shoulder before you can stop yourself, and when he turns, you’re met with those golden eyes that seem to silently mock your surprise.

“Well, what a coincidence, doll,” Hanma drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you need something?”

“Excuse me,” you snap, your hand gripping his forearm as you pull him to his feet. “We need to talk.”

“Oh absolutely,” he smirks, letting you drag him past the sea of curious eyes. He seems far too entertained for your liking, his laughter barely contained as you shove open the door to the women’s bathroom.

The startled gasps and shrieks from the women inside only add to the dread you were feeling. You glance around apologetically, muttering a quick, “Sorry,” as they scurry out, a few of them shooting you knowing looks.

“Relationship emergency?” one asks before disappearing out the door.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, locking the door behind you.

“Are you insane?” you whirl around, glaring at Hanma as he leans casually against the sinks, an infuriating smirk painted across his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Why? Did I ruin your little moment out there?” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes your throat tighten and your mouth go dry. “Mad that I stopped you from almost fucking him?”

“Don’t you even start–”

“Or what?” His voice drops, low and dangerous, as he pushes off the sink and begins to close the distance between the two of you. The confidence in his stride makes your knees feel like jelly, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way he towers over you so easily. “Tell me, doll, is this why you didn’t want to tell me where you were going tonight? Were you afraid I’d show up and fuck up your little date with that fucker?”

“Don’t call him that,” you retort, though your voice wavers under his suffocating stare.

His eyebrows raise, mock surprise etched across his face. “Oh? Defending him now, are we?”

“I’m not defending him!” you argue, though the crack in your voice betrays you. Shit, you were a nervous mess. “He didn’t do anything to deserve your anger.”

Hanma chuckles, low and menacing. “Anger? Oh, doll, I’m not angry. Not with him, anyway.” His steps falter when he’s inches away from you, his body caging you against the door. “Because we both know he doesn’t mean shit to you, right?”

Your silence speaks louder than words, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs. “It’d crush him, wouldn’t it? If he knew why you’re so hesitant to go on a date with him.”

“I never said–” Your breath catches as his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face upward.

“So you do want to go on a date with him?” His golden eyes burn into yours, searching for something, though his grin never falters.

You gulp, your voice barely above a whisper. “...maybe.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, and you can’t stop the way your lips part instinctively. “You’re a liar,” he coos, his tone dripping with mock pity.

“Am not–”

A gasp is ripped from your body when you feel his knee push past your thigh, landing perfectly on your clothed cunt as he presses you further against the wall.

“Let’s try again,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear. “Do you want to go on a date with him?”

Your lips tremble as you throw your head back, and Shuji’s hand lands perfectly on your throat. He feels a piece of jewelry there, but he ignores it as he squeezes your neck gently, drawing a quiet moan out of you.

“I…” you start, unable to keep your eyes open as you feel your body burn up. The effect he had on you, the way it felt effortless to make a mess of you felt unfair. You gulp as you try to morph the lust in your gaze into anger. “I do.”

A pair of lips crash against yours almost immediately, and Hanma quickly catches as your knees give out on you at the impact. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss this–his lips, how roughly he handled your body whilst making sure that nothing hurt you, because you craved it more than anything else. So you kiss him, fervently moving your lips against his as your hands claw at his shoulders and back. You felt like a flower starved of sunlight, withering in the absence of warmth and connection.

Hanma couldn’t offer either, but his touch was enough to fill the void.

He pats your butt and you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist before sitting you on the sink. The marble is cold, sending a sharp chill against your skin but it quickly fades away when Hanma’s lips travel down your neck, then your exposed chest where your perfume hits his nostrils the hardest.

The tall man stands there, inhaling deeply as your scent washes over his senses, his eyes closing as he surrenders to its intoxicating pull. He notices the necklace, how it seems to be stuck to your skin even if it doesn’t match your attire and something coils in his stomach.

Without second thought, he sinks his teeth on the skin of your boob, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as your hand finds his hair.

“Not there–” You try to reason with him, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he sinks his teeth into a different spot, watching as you throw your head back, your back arching in response, a wave of pleasure taking over.

If he could, he would tear that piece of jewelry from your body.

“Shuji,” the sound of his name slipping from your lips is a melodic drawl, intoxicating him like no drug ever could. An animalistic growl rumbles from the back of his throat as he pulls down the top of your dress, revealing your boobs. The cold air makes goosebumps rise on your skin, and your nipples instantly harden under the attention given to them.

He fervently licks and sucks on the buds, shoving his hands under your dress. You are lost in the pleasure, fingers digging in his scalp as he gently bites on your left nipple, his hand groping the other breast.

Then you hear a tearing sound, followed by a sudden chill, making you shiver as the coldness creeps in.

“Oh my god!” you scream in horror, instinctively trying to close your legs as you eye the ripped stockings. “Those were expensive you fucking asshole!”

“Fuck that,” your heart stills when you see him lean down, biting your inner thighs and salivating at the sight of your black thong. “I’ve got money.”

“Y-You’re not buying me a-anyth–ah!” you try to cover your mouth when you feel his head get shoved between your thighs, a wet tongue pressing against the fabric of your thong. And then, you hear a dark chuckle.

“You smell so fucking good. Did all that fighting turn you on?” he pulls away, his fingers playing with the straps of your thong. “Or did you fuck around hoping that I’d fuck the attitude out of ya?”

Stubborn yet looking for a good fuck, you respond breathlessly.“No.”

“No?” he tilts his head, a mocking expression on his face as he purses his lips. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?”

He sees you look down at your own lap, and bursts out laughing as he finally removes the fabric off of your body. “Ah, you’re so fucking adorable,” he moves away from the sink and starts to unbuckle his belt. You sit up on the sink to admire him as he frees his hardened cock, stroking it a couple of times before standing between your thighs. He notices your starstruck gaze, and a low chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, as if amused by the effect he has on you.

“Cockdrunk already?”

“Shut up.” You pull him in for a kiss, your hand traveling down to line up his tip with your entrance. He parts his lips, but then you feel him smile against your mouth. You open your eyes to meet his gaze.

He watches with an amused grin as your jaw goes slack the moment he pushes himself inside, but it quickly fades away when the wetness of your pussy washes over his senses and he has to take a moment to ground himself.

He can’t cum too quickly, that would be pathetic.

Hanma doesn’t take long before starting to fuck you, slow and calculated thrusts quickly turn into hurried and sloppy ones when your pussy clamps down on him with each kiss he presses to your pulse. He feels his self control slipping through the cracks of his mind, and when he finally looks at your face again, he is reminded of why the two of you were fucking in the women’s bathroom.

With a clenched jaw and flared nostrils, his hand travels to the back of your head and he yanks it back.

“Thought we had an agreement doll,” he hisses through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grips your hair. “I thought you knew that you couldn’t pull shit like that with me. But I bet you like it, huh? You love testing my limits–ah fuck!” you clamp down on him again when he hits that one spot that makes your eyes roll, the added friction of his crotch against your clit sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, the burning in your scalp mixing with pleasure.

Hanma leans forward, pressing his lips against your cheek as he growls. “Answer me.”

Tears well in your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him. He was everywhere–inside of you, touching you–and now it felt as though he was trying to invade your very thoughts. “Fuck, fuck Shuji please don’t stop, please–”

He continues to fuck you at the same angle, licking his fingers to rub your clit in messy circles.“You like getting on my nerves, don’t ya? Makes it more fun for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Oh!” You gasp at the stimulation, eyes widening as you try to look down at where the two of you meet. “Oh, right there!”

“I asked you a fucking question.”He spits out venomously, his grip tightening around your head, forcing your forehead to press against his as he holds you in place.

“Yes!” You cry out, not caring about how fucked out you must look. “Yes, yes I do! I love it, oh my god please don’t stop fucking me, please–”

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought–come on baby girl, get filthy with me.” Hanma grins triumphantly, but the pleasure starts to wash over him. “Make a mess on me, pretty girl. Use my cock, you know how to do that.”

He leans back, watching as you pathetically try to move your hips back and forth. After a few failed attempts, you break down in front of him.

“I c-can’t, I can’t!” You sob, your hips trembling and shaky. Hanma’s gaze locks onto yours, his dark eyes fixated on the tears streaming down your cheeks–the sight of you so fragile beneath him is enough to send him over the edge. “Please, please fuck me Shuji.”

“Fuck–” His hand wraps around your throat, fingers grazing your necklace as he captures it in the same motion, and then his hips find that same delicious pace. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing in the same dizzying motion that made you the loudest earlier, but instead he hears nothing.

You suddenly fall quiet as your body arches away from him and Hanma watches in awe as your hand shakily grips his forearm. The bathroom is filled with wet sounds of skin to skin, and then he feels something wet on his pants and a loud gasp painfully rips from the back of your throat.

“Oh shit!” His proud laughter dies down on his tongue as your pussy clenches on him, burying his face in your chest. He reaches his own orgasm after a couple of strokes, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own noises.

The two of you sit there in silence, with mostly you trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. You had never cum that hard before, not with a man at least, and your face burns with the realization that you squirted on him.

“Oh no, how am I going to clean that?” you don’t even notice that Shuji’s pants are soiled as well, his cock still nestled in your pussy.

“I don't pay cleaners so I can grab a mop myself.”

“What?” you furrow your eyebrows as you stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Did I not tell ya?”

“Huh?”

His voice dips lower as his grin stretches wider, “I own this club, doll.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

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loves-alibi · 2 days ago

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mdni

retired!soap is a horn dog

(this was meant to be like one paragraph but whoops)

Johnny’s going deaf. Gone deaf, really. Too many years of gunfire, explosives, and John Price screaming in his ear finally took its toll. You notice before Johnny does. The TV volume is turned up a little higher than you’re comfortable with. Johnny doesn’t hear when there’s a knock on the door. It’s harmless at first, but quickly starts getting in the way.

Going out becomes almost impossible. In group settings, Johnny goes quiet— unable to make out what’s happening among all the crosstalk. On your dinner dates, his side of the conversation is almost entirely ‘what?’s.

After catching him watching your lips when speaking (and not in a horny way), you decide to bring it up. Johnny gets defensive. He gets angry. It’s a blow to his pride, his masculinity. The thought that he’s losing something and can do nothing about it tears him apart. He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in the way he starts keeping the volume low and has his ears strained extra hard all day long. He’s trying to hide hiss struggle like it’s something to be ashamed of.

You bring up hearing aids and Johnny scoffs. Bonnie, don’t be ridiculous. You try bringing it up again and again, but it always ends the same.

You’re getting desperate. It’s hard seeing Johnny struggle (due to his own stubbornness, no less). Until you strike gold.

Johnny is a crafty man. When the kitchen sink starts giving you trouble, he comes to the rescue. You stumble upon him on the kitchen floor, shirtless, sweaty, and yours for the taking.

“Oh, Johnny,” you coo instinctively, “I need you.”

Except, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge the words that are ordinarily enough to send him into a horny craze. So you try again.

“Baby, I need you.”

Nothing.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Nada.

Your jaw is practically on the ground when he finally notices you, greeting you with a soft ‘didn’t see you there’ then continuing his work.

Oh Johnny, seeing isn’t the problem.

You start taking count. Every time Johnny misses one of your propositions, you mark it down on a sticky note on your fridge.

Baby, I’m wet.

Tally.

I need you to take care of me.

Tally.

Bend me over this couch right now.

Tally.

The sticky note reaches 48 tallies when Johnny finally asks, “What are we counting?”

“Oh that?” You muse, “It’s all the times you didn’t hear me ask for sex.”

Now that, Johnny hears. He whips his head to you so fast it cracks.

“No,” he whimpers.

“Yes.”

Johnny’s fishing his phone out in an instant, pressing it to his ear frantically.

“Johnny, what are—“

“Quiet, Bonnie,” he snaps, “I’m calling the doctor about those hearing aids.”

#johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #why am i in my soap era #cod fanfic

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hannieehaee · 2 hours ago

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TRAINING SEASON

18+ / mdi

summary: unfortunately for vernon, all his friends were gym bros, leading to constant harassment for him to join the lifestyle. after weeks of twelve men constantly bugging at him to accompany them, all it takes is one girl for vernon to finally give in.

content: strangers2friends2lovers!vernon, fitness!reader, vernon's kind of a loser here, reader is friends with the other 12, vernon's not into fitness, downbad!vernon, reader is implied to be into fitness but her body's not really described in any specific way, afab reader, smut, semi-public sex, handjob, kind of sub!vernon, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 9.3k

a/n: not really sure why i keep writing vernon like a loser with no game lol im sure in real life he's got a ton of game lets just pretend he doesnt<3

masterlist

"C'mon, Nonnie. Come with us. Just this once."

"You don't even have to work out, we just want-"

"No, if I have to work out, he has to work out. You guys have been dragging me with you to engage in your masochist tendencies for weeks. He deserves the same treatment."

Vernon simply groaned at all the noise, uncaring of what Seungkwan, Mingyu and Jeonghan were saying, respectively. Instead, he opted to cover his face with a pillow, attempting to muffle all the noise his friends were making so early in the morning.

Then suddenly, the comfort of his blanket left him, followed by his pillow being pulled from his hold and used to deliver a swift smack against his head before being whisked away and landing on the opposite side of the room.

One more, he groaned, but this time louder. His eyes opened to find the culprit standing above him, squinting due to the sudden surge of sunlight into his vision at having opened his eyes.

"Dude, stop being a lazy piece of shit and come with us," nagged Joshua.

God, how many of them were in his apartment? It was supposed to be just him and Seungkwan who lived here, where did the rest come from?

"What time is it?" he finally grumbled out, sitting up. It's not like he had any options anyway.

"It's 9:16 in the morning," informed him Wonwoo from outside his bedroom. God, was he here too?

"Why are all of you in my apartment? Seungkwan, we agreed that-"

"We all have keys, you idiot. Now get up. We're going to the gym," this time it was Chan.

"Do all twelve of you go to the same gym at the same time? God, they must hate you."

Vernon finally sat up against his headboard, head counting a total of five of his friends currently in his room, assuming the rest to be either in his kitchen or living room.

God damn you, Boo Seungkwan.

"We're pretty well liked, actually."

A few of the members nodded along to Mingyu's rebuttal.

Yeah, that made sense. Twelve muscly and more than objectively attractive men were likely magnets for clientele over at the gym.

All the more reason to not join them.

All his friends were fitness addicts (sans Jeonghan, maybe). Simply gym bros who had developed what Vernon liked to call an unhealthy habit to exercise — despite how ironic that statement sounded. Vernon, on the other hand, had never been one to put too much emphasis on fitness. He liked his build as it was; some slightly toned muscle and a slim frame. He never really saw any need to bulk up like most of his friends, so he never gained an interest for it.

Yet his friends had tried to convince him to join them, time and time again.

Jeonghan had been the one other friend they had to convince to join them. Other than Vernon, Jeonghan was the only other member of their large friend group who had a proclivity against the gym. But his love for spending time with his friends had won him over, making him tag along just for the mere purpose of not feeling FOMO.

Now, Vernon did not have that issue. He didn't mind missing out on hang outs. He was a pretty lowkey, chill guy. Staying at home unless it was vital for him to leave, now that was more up his alley.

Except now he had twelve men nagging at him to get up, put on some basketball shorts and a flimsy tank top and join them at their gym. It had been a few weeks of this insistence, leading to this moment — all his friends breaking into his and Seungkwan's apartment in order to drag him out.

And the sad thing was that it worked. Apparently it took twenty-three consecutive days of bugging at Vernon to convince him of doing something he didn't want to do for him to budge. He hoped this didn't become some sort of pattern.

Vernon felt out of place.

All his friends had arrived in extremely casual fashion, immediately comfortable in the familiar environment and dispersing themselves in their respective smaller groups.

Meanwhile, even after half an hour of being there, Vernon felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

The agreement they'd settled on was that Vernon would try out the gym. If he didn't like it, — more like, if he truly despised it, in Seungcheol's words — they all agreed to leave him alone (other than Jeonghan, who insisted he'd move into his closet and haunt him until he came back).

So, really all Vernon had to do was hang out for an hour or two and then let his friends down easy.

It should've been easy enough considering how out of place he felt surrounded by other unfamiliar gym bros in their natural habitat.

"Dude, at least try not to look like you have no idea what a gym is."

His thoughts were interrupted by Mingyu who suddenly materialized next to him.

"Huh?"

"You've been standing here staring into the distance for five minutes. Here, just follow me. I just finished my cardio You can do arms with me and Seok today."

The statement felt like a threat. Looking at Mingyu, at his muscles, was enough to tire Vernon out. Was he supposed to keep up with that?

Still, Vernon shrugged to himself and followed after Mingyu. Something which he regretted soon after realizing it'd take an entire flight of stairs to get to what he presumed to be the area of the gym where they usually did arms. There, he found Seokmin and Chan, seemingly already in the middle of some set of some workout while Jeonghan sat on a bench press with a coffee in hand.

"You're actually gonna work out? I thought you'd just go to the spa room," commented Jeonghan upon spotting him approaching.

"There's a spa here? Sick."

"And you can use it after a few sets with me. Follow me, let's go figure out how much you can lift," once again, Vernon began to trail after Mingyu towards the stack of dumbbells on a mirrored wall nearby.

"Oh, Y/N was looking for you earlier, by the way," Seokmin stopped Mingyu before he could walk away.

"Y/N? What for?"

"Your bet, you idiot. She said she can bench press 80 pounds now. You owe her $50," interjected Chan, setting down the two dumbbells he'd been holding.

"Nah, no way," Mingyu crossed his arms, "Where's she at?"

"Are we going to get the weights or-"

"Hold on, 'Sol," Gyu interrupted him, "I have something to settle."

"She just went to fill up her water. She should be back soon," added Seokmin.

"Who's Y/N?", Vernon asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?", snickered Jeonghan.

"What does that even me-"

"Chan, just hand me those weights. Vernon should be able to lift those," Mingyu reached over to Chan, grabbing the dumbbells he'd been using with an ease that made it seem like they were weightless.

But this theory proved to be wrong the moment Mingyu attempted to hand them over to an unsuspecting Vernon. Embarrassingly enough, the most predictable thing happened.

But what was most embarrassing was the timing. Suddenly the main character of the conversation showed up, just as Vernon's hands failed to hold onto the heavy weights, dropping them at his feet and barely missing a hospital visit by a few inches. His hands had stupidly attempted to catch them mid flight, but it only resulted in him almost falling over, body now bent down as he caught himself before falling.

That's when he saw an unfamiliar pair of converse standing in front of him.

"Hey- oh, shit!" were the first words he heard from you just as he created the biggest clanking sound resonating through the entire floor.

Looking up with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment on his face, he found you standing right in front of him. Like his own, your expression showed surprise, though he also found amusement in it. In any other situation, he may have laughed along with you (and the rest of his friends who he heard cackling from behind him), but this instance was different.

Because Vernon hadn't expected for a girl his friends had merely mentioned in passing to look like you. Makeup-less and in some worn band shirt with some tiny spandex underneath, you had Vernon's mouth catching flies.

Vernon didn't have a type. Was never one to care for appearances too much. But he suddenly found himself gulping at the sight in front of him. Your eyes stated down at him with some sort of wonder, and he felt a sickly feeling in him that told him he wanted them on him at all times from then on — even if it was due to something embarrassing he'd done.

An incredibly out of character thought for Vernon to have, but here he was.

Instead of picking up the dumbbells he'd stupidly dropped and introducing himself as he usually would've done, his brain malfunctioned along with his body. Losing balance as he straightened himself up, he stammered out what he believed to be a greeting (though he wasn't too sure; he was too distracted by you) while Mingyu offered him support to properly stand.

"Hi?", you responded, "Sorry, was that my fault?", you turned to the other members with slight concern.

A soft slapping sound resounded as Mingyu patted Vernon on the back, chuckling over at your concerned expression.

"Nah, you're fine. Vernon's hand-eye coordination just isn't that good."

"Dude, you handed me like a hundred pounds with no warning!", Vernon recoiled from his touch, attempting to save some of his dignity.

"That was just forty on each dumbbell actually," corrected Chan.

Vernon groaned internally.

Thank you, Chan. Make him look like even more of a wimp than he already did.

"Uh, anyways. Hi, I'm Vernon," he extended his hand out dumbly.

"Oh, you're Vernon?," your hand squeezed his own (a feeling which Vernon would have to get back to later), "I've been looking forward to meeting you," you smiled before letting go.

"Uh, what?"

He was really killing it today.

"What Hansolie here means to say is, it's nice to meet you too," Mingyu interjected, "Now, onto more important matters - I want evidence," he said in reference to the previous subject.

"Not even a 'hello'? Not even gonna let me get to know your friend?", you looked over at him with a grin that Vernon was too flustered to return.

Before he could even consider interjecting, Mingyu grabbed onto your wrist, pulling you over to the bench press Jeonghan had been sitting on to demonstrate the skill Seokmin had declared you'd been looking to show off to Mingyu. Jeonghan got up as soon as you approached, giving you a grin that told Vernon you were familiar with each other before walking over to where Vernon was standing. He seemed to always keep some distance between himself and any actual exercise. Respectable.

Without even needing to be asked, Seokmin and Chan stood nearby, ready to spot you in case it were necessary while Mingyu helped you load the weights onto the bar.

"So. She's cute, huh?", Jeonghan leaned over to Vernon's side, voice low to ensure the others didn't hear.

"Huh?"

"Y/N. She's really pretty, isn't she?"

"Dude, shut up."

The elder simply snickered, going back to slurping at the basically empty cup of iced coffee he'd been nursing this entire time.

Vernon continued watching you, spacing out from any commentary the other boys had been giving you as you began a set, instead solely focused on you.

As you laid on the bench, your shirt rode up, exposing the tiniest spandex shorts that dug into the muscle hidden under them. Your back arched in order to lift the weighted bar, giving him perfect sight of your silhouette despite the baggy shirt you had on.

God, your body was sculpted ridiculously. Your body was toned, which showed through perfectly from the position you were currently in. The sweat dampening your clothes didn't help matters either.

Vernon wasn't one to thirst on a random Tuesday afternoon, yet here he was, eyes glued to you as if he hadn't just met you. He might've felt more guilty, but both you and his friends were too distracted to notice him, so he let himself indulge this one time.

But then Jeonghan interrupted again.

"Are you sure you don't think she's pretty?", he snickered.

"Fuck, fine! Yes, she's obviously very pretty. What do you want?", he took his eyes away from you to face the manifestation of annoying standing next to him, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Nothing. I was just wondering," he shrugged, lying through his teeth.

Meanwhile, two of his other friends were cheering you on while Mingyu half-heartedly attempted at trash talking you into failing. Even as you carried what to Vernon was incomprehensible weight, you cursed out at Mingyu, something which Vernon appreciated.

Fuck. You were cool.

You were pretty, clearly very confident, strong, got along with his friends, and just incredibly cool. And Vernon had only known you for like ten minutes.

Was this a crush? Did he have a crush on a girl he'd just met?

He was 26. Crushes were so high school, what the hell was happening to him?

"Dude, are you blushing?"

"Han, I swear to god-"

"Oh my god, you are!", the way his eyes lit up at the realization was like it was christmas morning to him. Jeonghan had a strange fascination with mischief Vernon never really understood.

"Who's blushing?"

And suddenly there was another presence next to him, coming to a halt to watch you on what was now your second set of bench presses.

"Nonnie's in love," Jeonghan snickered.

"Shit, with who? Wait, don't tell me," Hoshi stopped for a second to ponder before shaking his head as he gave up, "Never mind. Tell me."

Vernon shook his head. He was friends with idiots.

"Y/N!"

"Dude, not so loud!", Vernon's eyes widened, face only going back to its natural poker face when he noticed you were still being entertained by his three loud friends.

"Dude, wait, that makes sense. They'd make the perfect couple," Hoshi gasped at the revelation., "They're both movie freaks and couch potatoes. But Y/N's way cooler than Vernon," he added.

Jeonghan nodded along in agreement.

You were into movies? You didn't give him the vibe of a couch potato, though. I mean, you were lying there, immense weight on your hands as you challenged the biggest gym buff he knew.

Vernon was about to question them on this assessment. They'd clearly thought about this before, which he wasn't sure whether it was good news for his newfound crush or not. But before he could at least complain at the slight thrown at him, he heard cheering from the spot where he'd been watching you, finally turning back to face you.

"Dude, three sets of eighty pounds with your frame? You're crazy. You might actually be stronger than Mingyu," Seokmin praised you as he offered up a high-five.

"I can do 200 pounds-"

"But you're a tree. It doesn't count," Chan disregarded him, instead choosing to join Seokmin in dapping you up.

Vernon hadn't noticed as he watched you, but Hoshi and Jeonghan had also joined in, leaving him alone in watching you from a small distance away. He went back to feeling kind of out of place.

But he liked seeing his friends with you. It was odd. He'd met many of his friends' friends, but he always felt entirely indifferent about them.

You were different. Vernon felt himself smiling as he watched you snatch the $50 from Mingyu's hand and turn to Hoshi and Jeonghan with a triumphant smile on your face.

And then you looked past them, spotting him and walking the few steps over to him.

"So, gonna congratulate me, new guy?"

He scoffed in amusement.

"I'm new?"

"Here? Clearly. I have seniority at this gym. Now, be a gentleman and congratulate me on robbing your friend of $50."

Vernon couldn't help but return your satisfied smile. You were fun.

"Congrats. Well deserved," he chose to say. He needed to remain nonchalant after his earlier embarrassment.

"Now, c'mon. I'm buying everyone something from the snack bar to celebrate Gyu's defeat," you turned back to head over to the guys, Vernon now following along.

"Fifty's probably not gonna be enough for six people-", someone spoke, Vernon wasn't sure who, too focused on walking by your side.

"It's fine. Gyu'll pay the difference," you shrugged.

"Hey!"

Were you into him? Were you into Mingyu?

You'd been pretty friendly with all his friends that day, but it was impossible not to notice the special attention you paid to Mingyu. But then again, who didn't have a soft spot for Mingyu?

There was no indication you liked him, or that he'd even left some sort of impression on you. If anything, you probably remembered him as the idiot who almost took out both your and his foot. Or maybe as the dumbass who couldn't lift the measly forty-pound dumbbells Chan had been carrying with ease.

Meanwhile, you'd looked for Mingyu, looking far too happy to tease him and take his money.

Maybe Vernon was behind on the current dating world, but the two of you gave him more-than-friends vibes.

But then again, Mingyu held a flirtationship with literally everyone who came into his vicinity. Hell, he was pretty sure he'd at some point flirted with him without realizing it. Except this was an instance in which Vernon needed to be sure before he made a move. Not that he was too scared to do it or anything ...

Sadly for Vernon, he had been too much of a wuss to ask Mingyu about you directly, so he went for someone who he hoped wouldn't tease him.

"So, uhm, do you know Y/N?"

God, he sounded so needy. He was usually smoother than this. He had game. Right?

He'd decided that Joshua his safest bet. He was the only one out of all the guys who could maybe be normal about his curiosity about you.

Joshua could only chuckle at him. His eyes were too focused on scooping at the remnants of the fro-yo Vernon had bought him under the pretense of just hanging out. Casual.

"So you've met. You like her, huh?"

"Dude, what is this? Why does everyone keep asking me that? We've met once," Vernon frowned.

Was he that easy to read?

Joshua shrugged, "She seems like your type. She's single too."

"She is?"

"So you are interested," Joshua grinned.

He groaned. Did all his friends have to be such instigators? Men were the nosier gender, he was sure.

"Listen-"

"It's fine, 'Sol. I don't judge you. She's very pretty. Fun too."

"You talked to Jeonghan, didn't you?"

"Yeah. He told me you almost broke your foot in front of her and proceeded to fuck her with your eyes for like ten minutes straight. Not your finest moment."

Maybe Vernon's memory was failing him, but he was pretty sure those weren't the actual events that happened. Sure, he'd made the entire situation way more embarrassing in his head, but it hadn't been that bad. Right?

"I did not eye-fuck her," he rebutted, "I checked her out. I don't think she really noticed, though."

"Is that good? Wouldn't you rather just ask her out?"

"Uh, am I even her type?", Vernon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he reclined back on his chair, "She seemed to be kind of into Mingyu."

"Dude."

"Listen, it's just-"

"Mingyu just has that effect on people. They don't like each other. Not like that. They're just friends," clarified Joshua, "We all met when we started going to this gym last May. She just became closest to Gyu and Kyeom cause they practically live there."

"So they've never ..."

"No, man, I swear. You can ask Gyu. Or better yet, ask her out,."

"It's not that easy!", Vernon grumbled, hand crumbling the fro-yo container in his hand.

"Why not? You've never had trouble with girls. That's Channie. He's a mess," Josh chuckled.

There was just something about you. Vernon had never become this infatuated with someone. It was kind of embarrassing.

"She just ... She makes me nervous for some reason," Vernon admitted, "She's friends with all my best friends and I never even knew about her. She's funny and cool and confident, and-"

"And she's hot," finished Joshua for him.

"She's so fucking hot, man," Vernon groaned as Joshua chuckled.

"So, what, do you think she's out of your league or something?"

"Maybe? You tell me. I need an objective opinion," Vernon said with more seriousness than intended.

Joshua pretended to mull over it, hand scratching at chin as he started up to contemplate it up until Vernon groaned at him to stop.

"Dude, you're such an idiot. I'm not answering that. Just ask her out!"

All Joshua received in response was a muffled groan as Vernon let himself fall back on his chair. The dramatics felt necessary to him at that moment.

"So, are you going to keep going to the gym?", Joshua laughed at his friend.

"I'm a man on a mission."

"Lost?"

"Fuck! Wh- Oh, shit, hi. Sorry, you scared me," Vernon's hand clutched at his chest in surprise, ears slightly red in embarrassment.

Did he really have to embarrass himself every time he saw you?

"Sorry I keep catching you off guard," you chuckled, "You just looked kind of lost. You've been staring into space for the past three minutes."

"Oh, uh, right. It's only my second time here. I'm not sure where all the guys went," he mumbled.

Now facing you, he tried to take quick note of your appearance. You'd come from the opposite direction as him, meaning you'd likely only gotten here just now. That explained the lack of sweat and your pristine hair, as opposed to last time. It made him wonder what you looked like on a regular basis, outside of the context of the gym.

"Right. Well, they usually go to the basketball court on Sundays, so most of them are probably there now. I hate playing sports with Han and Boo, so I usually just avoid them," you explained.

You seemed to have a great hold on his friends' gym lifestyle.

"We could go look for them," you began, "Or we could hang out on our own."

You smiled at him expectantly. It was a cute and innocent smile, as if you'd been hoping for an opportunity to get him alone.

"Do you, uh, do you mean in the gym?"

You nodded, "C'mon. I'm sure none of the guys actually showed you around, did they?", he shook his head, "Men suck. I'll give you a tour, y'know since you're new," you extended your hand out to him, eyes expectant.

With no time (nor dignity) to wipe his hand of any possible sweat, he grabbed onto your own, gulping at your hold.

This was moving faster than he thought. But then again, you probably just felt comfortable around him due to his association with the rest of your friends. It must be that.

Once you made it out of the general area of the gym, you let go of his hand, now opting for walking side by side instead. The place was quite spacious, so it gave more than enough room for the two of you to take your time walking without getting into anyone's ways. Not that Vernon wanted to extend his time with you as much as possible or anything.

"So, how come you've never been here before?", you suddenly asked whilst showing him what you'd donned as the 'poser gym buff' part of the gym. It looked like it, considering it was filled with shirtless muscular men, all ignoring the blatant 'No Nudity Allowed' sign you'd just walked by.

"Uh, before I answer that - How much did the guys tell you about me?"

You chuckled, "Just, stuff. I'd rather hear it from you, though."

Then you smiled at him again. As if you had no idea it messed with his brain chemistry.

"Just, uhm, not really a gym guy like the other guys. Not sporty, like at all. Always got hit by balls in P.E. Kwan drags me to street basketball matches sometimes, but I always end up embarrassing myself. Oh, and I can't really lift, as you probably noticed the other day," he found himself rambling. Very unusual of him.

"Hmm. Yeah, I can see why you don't come to the gym with the rest of them," you laughed, "But I think you should. You bring a nice balance to whatever's going on with the rest."

"Well, uh, I could be persuaded," he made his attempt at flirting, internally cursing at himself while also praying that it didn't fall flat and force him to never show his face in front of you again.

"Oh, really? I think I could help with that," your tone turned a little softer as you gave him a suggestive smile, "Wanna go check out the pool with me? It's usually empty this time of day."

"Oh, uh, yes! I- uh, yeah," he mumbled his way through, gulping when you took his hand again and led him out of the room.

That's when Vernon's mind started going a mile a minute, but instead of freaking out, he let himself be taken away by you.

So, maybe taking you up on your offer to use the pool hadn't been the best idea.

Everything was fine. Really. The pool area was pretty clean and the water felt nice. The temperature was just perfect, allowing for anyone who wanted a quick dip to enjoy themselves without risking frostbite like at the local community pool.

Only issue was you.

According to all prior experience, you had proven to be nothing but a health concern for Vernon since meeting you only a few days ago.

Despite the lukewarm water, Vernon was burning up.

Who thought it'd be a good idea to go to the pool, alone, with his crush as she paraded herself around in a sad excuse for a bikini? Was this even allowed? He was seeing too much skin. Which wasn't an issue for Vernon! He'd never call himself a prude, but ... In this one instance, he wished for some of puritanical rule to prevent him from having to see you swim laps in a bikini that left very little to his imagination.

Except, of course, the material in front of him did give him a lot of room for some very imaginative thoughts.

Vernon had no option but to dip his feet in the pool, sitting at the edge with a towel on his lap in order to cover what he was sure was a small chub growing under his trousers. Meanwhile, he watched you swim for a good ten minutes, dreading the moment you stopped and approached him again.

"Are you really not going to swim with me?", you called from afar, having reached the other side of the pool, "The water's so nice and there's no one here."

"Uhm, nope, I hate getting wet. I'll just watch you," he slapped himself mentally as soon as he said it.

"Well, I wanna get to know you," you told him as you exited the pool, killing Vernon with every step you took in his direction up until you sat next to him. Your legs were practically touching.

"Hi," you smiled at him.

There was an air of confidence you carried every time you spoke to him. He was half sure you were fully aware of his crush and were simply banking on it.

"Hi," he said back, unknowing of where to settle his eyes.

You likely caught onto this, giggling under your breath.

"Vernon."

"Yeah?", he looked to you. He deliberately avoided looking at any of your bare skin, staring directly into your eyes with widened eyes.

"You can look at me, you know. I want you to."

"Oh, uh, I- I didn't want to be rude or anyth- Wait, what?"

You giggled again, "You're funny. Are you this much of a mess with everyone else, or am I getting special treatment?"

"Special treatment for sure."

Again, you laughed. Good. At least he wasn't fucking this up.

"You know, the guys told me you were this ... very stoic and chill type of guy. I was wondering if I'd get to see that guy if I got you alone. But you're even worse without the guys around to hackle you," you accused jokingly.

"So you're doing this on purpose?"

He turned his body to face you more, allowing for your knees to actually knock together this time. The dampness of your skin graced his leg, but it was your bare touch that made him shiver. Still, he felt like less of a loser now. He had somewhat of a handle on the conversation this time around.

"Depending what you mean by 'this.'"

"The bikini? Getting me alone? Sitting this close to me knowing I have to override my brain in order to not look anywhere past your eyes?"

Okay, he was flirting now, apparently. Unexpected, but he welcomed it. His mouth was going faster than his brain. But the slight shift in your expression told him it was a welcomed development.

"Yes," you bit back a smile as you confirmed it, "I wanted to see whether the feeling was mutual or if you were just socially incompetent. No offense."

"None taken. And, uh, what's your verdict?"

"I think it'd be more fun if you tell me," you challenged.

Either he was crazy or you were gradually leaning closer to him. Or maybe it was him. Both? Either way, the proximity increased.

"I do like you. It's painfully obvious and probably worrying how much since we've only met once, but I even went asking my friends about you," he found himself admitting.

"Really? That's funny, because I was asking Mingyu about you," you revealed.

So you didn't like Mingyu. Noted.

"Oh? I, uh, what'd he say?"

You hummed, scooting over and shamelessly laying one of your legs atop his, body leaning completely towards his own. The distance between you was practically nonexistent now, with your eyes even zeroing in on his lips as you spoke.

"He told me you can be shy sometimes. That I should help you out a little."

"A-and, are you? Going to help me out, I mean," he could hear his own gulp.

"Nope," you popped the 'p,' "I want you to take what you want."

"That's ... You're kind of mean," he chuckled breathlessly.

You chuckled back, but you were clearly frustrated by how much he was dragging it.

Without having to move, his arm wrapped around you, courtesy of you literally taking it and placing it on your hip. He was obedient, so he followed along. Next, your hand placed itself on his cheek, tilting his head down and abolishing any sort of distance left. Your lips were practically touching now.

"Vernon, just do it. I want you to. I really want you to."

And so he kissed you.

Immediately, you deepened it, taking control of it all.

All you wanted was for him to take the first step, which in reality he didn't. You held all the power, which you knew. Still, he enjoyed this. He liked that you knew the effect you had on him and that you knew what to do with it.

Plus, he'd be an idiot to complain about your sticking your tongue in his mouth.

Like any thinking, breathing man, he continued to kiss you, not bothering to stifle any groans he left against your lips. He completely disregarded the fact that you were in a public space, that anyone could walk in at any moment — maybe even one of his friends. But it was hard to care when your fingers tangled through the tresses of his hair and sucked at his tongue.

The kiss only stopped when you harshly pulled at his hair, physically removing his face from your own. He mumbled out a few complaints as you did, but eventually woke up from his trance and cleared his throat as you pulled away.

"It's almost 1 o'clock," you said, but all he paid attention to were your swollen lips, "There's a swimming class at one," you began getting up, towering over Vernon as you dried yourself up, "So unless you want to get a fine for fondling in private property, we should go."

You held out your hand for him to stand up, surprising Vernon when your stance didn't falter when helping lift up his weight. That's when he was reminded about your affinity for weight lifting. Hot.

The fleeting thought of you manhandling him crossed through his mind, but he shook it away not wanting to risk a boner at the gym.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Maybe. But it's more fun like this, isn't it?", you giggled as you walked away.

Vernon shook his head to himself as he watched you — very focused on the show you gave him as you walked away.

Vernon continued to see you on an almost daily basis after that — or at least every day in which he got dragged to the gym. Except maybe not in the way that he had hoped.

After that time in which you led him to the privacy of the empty pool patio, the two of you did not spend any time alone. Every single time he saw you was exclusively at the gym, with all the other guys in your immediate vicinity. He didn't even get the chance to speak to you, mostly unable to due to your attention being shared between thirteen men seemingly starved for attention (with him being the biggest culprit).

Like a dumbass, he didn't ask for your number at any time. His shyness around you had mostly left him, but he was still an awkward idiot when it came to taking further steps towards you.

And it wasn't as if you'd stopped provoking him. If anything, your efforts had doubled. Your gym outfits went from baggy shirts and spandex to tiny little sets that showed off as much skin as possible — he had even confirmed with Seungkwan that this was a brand new development in your wardrobe. You were insistent in eyeing him down any time it was his turn to do some sets. You'd bite your lip and stare at him as if you wanted to jump him on the spot. It was safe to say that this messed with his performance (not that he had good form in the first place).

A week of this went by, making him slowly lose his mind. All of his friends became privy to his frustrations, but he was mostly met with mockery. Some told him he was an idiot, that he should just grow some balls and ask you to come over to his apartment. Others simply laughed at how weak he was under your attention.

On the eighth day of this hell, he finally decided to do something about it. If you wanted to play with his sanity, then he'd feed right into it. He didn't care to look like a wimp or like he was down bad for you — he was both of those things, and proud.

Mondays were the day in which the guys went to the gym at night rather than during the day. Something about a lower influx of people at that specific time. And you, you had a tendency of attending the gym at the same time as them most of the time, which meant you were also present.

It was almost closing time by the time the guys were done working out that day. Vernon had to endure three hours due to their insistence that they 'might as well stay til closing.'

As they began to pack up, of course Mingyu managed to hold up the part-timers who were about to close, wondering if it'd be fine to stay an extra ten minutes so a few of his friends could catch the showers they desperately needed. Being Mingyu, of course the part-timers didn't stand a chance to his charms.

Vernon decided to take this as an opportunity to find you alone. The guys (who loved to hog your attention, apparently) would finally be out of his way while he sought you out. It was the perfect chance to at least ask you for your number. Before you left the guys and headed over to the girls' locker rooms, you made sure to eye Vernon far too suggestively for him to misunderstand your intentions. Or at least he hoped so.

For once, Vernon was thankful for Mingyu's habit to befriend every person in his vicinity, as his yapping allowed Vernon to sneak into the women's locker rooms to find you there. It was also thanks to him that he'd be able to you alone rather than accidentally bump into some other gym-goer. He made a mental note to thank him later before beginning his search for you.

This search didn't last long. It was clear to Vernon as soon as he crossed the threshold to the showers in the girl's locker room that you'd been expecting him.

In nothing but a towel, you stood next to a running shower, lower lip trapped under your teeth as you eyed him down. No words to be exchanged. All you had to do was extend your hand out to him for him to finally unfreeze and do something.

Immediately, you dropped your towel and dragged him into the shower, pulling him in so that he'd have you pinned up against the dampened wall. His gym clothes got soaked, but he figured it was worth the temporary inconvenience. Especially when your hands began pawing at him to get undressed within seconds of kissing him.

Just like last time, Vernon lost all sense of time and space in the kiss. His hands were way less awkward than he was, confident in their touching of your body. The wetness of the running water only added to it all, allowing Vernon's hands to easily slide across every curve.

"You took too long to make a move," you huffed into his lips.

Your hands expressed frustration. They glided through his dampening hair, pulling it in order to get his mouth to open for access for your tongue. It was clear to him you had a tendency to take what you wanted, and he was ready to be completely consumed by you.

"I told you," he mumbled, "you make me act like an idiot."

That pulled a chuckle from you as your lips traveled down the wet skin of his neck. Teeth pulled lightly at the skin there, surely leaving reddened marks behind their wake. Every bite and suckle was met by a squeeze of your hips, courtesy of Vernon's needy hands.

"So I'm not being too forward? This is fine?", you pulled away for half a second before Vernon grumbled as he reconnected your lips. You chuckled at his neediness.

"Please be as forward as humanly possible. It's hot."

The two of you continued kissing. Had it not been for the echoing of the water hitting the floor, Vernon was sure the obscene sound of your kissing would've made him blush. It wasn't like him to play tonsil tennis in public like this, but you made his common sense leave his body.

Then you made things all the worse for him.

Pulling away, you eyed him before wrapping your hand around him. Vernon made the mistake of looking down, finding your hand slowly working him, pace so slow it was surely meant to tease. He groaned as he looked back up, eyes becoming stuck at your bare tits for the first time since you'd dropped your towel for him.

"You're so fucking hot," he groaned almost pained.

"Yeah? You too, baby," you grinned as you sped up your hand.

Baby? Was he baby now? Fuck.

"I- fuck, this won't be fun if you keep going," he winced despite the increasing pleasure. This only encouraged you to make things even worse for him, though. Your lips attached to his neck again, dick now being grasped with both hands as one worked him and the other tended to his balls.

"I'm having fun," a breath was felt against his skin as you chuckled between kisses to his chest, "I want you to cum right here," you laid one last kiss before moving to his ear, licking and pulling at the lobe, "If you're good, you'll get me on my knees after."

Vernon almost lost it then. He didn't care what you'd ask of him. He needed this. At no other point in his life had he ever needed something as much as he needed to obey your every whim.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck as his hands continued to fondle at you. They took turns between your ass and your breasts, losing any decorum they had left. This was the only pleasure he could give you while you jerked him off, but you loved it. Your pretty sighs against his ear told him that you were getting off on the effect you had on him. His lack of control as he felt you up to his heart's contentment had you reeling. It was sickening how much he enjoyed that knowledge.

"'m gonna cum, fuck. Shit, I need- oh, fuck," he babbled. You squeezed and twisted and played at his cock in ways that had nonsensical words leaving his lips. No further coherent cries left him whilst you had your fun with him.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me," you continued to instigate.

As per usual, he was yours to toy with. His body followed your instructions before he could even process your words. The cum splattered on your stomach before trailing down and going down the drain, washed away by the wasted water.

Again, you kissed him, this time without the separation of your hand on his dick standing between you. His arms held onto you tighter than before as he pulled you as close as possible. Sensitivity sparked on his dick when you began absentmindedly grinding against him. Despite the water surrounding you, he was sure it was your own wetness that he felt as you humped him.

When he let his hand explore between your legs, he had to bite back a groan. You were incredibly soaked, instantly dampening his fingers with your nectar.

Your sigh of pleasure against his lips told him all he needed to know as he felt between your legs. A tiny nod from you was confirmation that you wanted him, so his fingers entered you. But not before teasing at your folds with a hard knuckle, up until you bit his lip and grumbled at him.

"Shit, you're tight."

"I'll be tighter when you fuck me," you moaned.

"I, fuck, yeah? You'll let me fuck you, baby?", he breathed out, beginning to scissor his fingers in and out of you, curling where he knew would have you keening for him.

You gasped out a moan, hands digging into his chest in a worthless attempt to both pull and push him away. Head thrown back, Vernon took advantage to scrape his teeth on the skin there, sucking lightly at the points that had you shuddering. His read on your body was immediate. It gave him a surge of confidence to note every little reaction you had to him. Every moan and every gasp was taken in by him, stored in his hippocampus for future use.

"Oh, fuck, right there, shit, Vernon," you whimpered.

Long fingers, pointed and curled in a come-hither motion began repeating their movements. Touching that spongy part of you, Vernon continued to pull cries out of you, uncaring that anyone could walk by and hear you despite the running shower. The water was beginning to run cold, but your orgasm mattered more to Vernon.

"'m gonna cum, Nonnie," you warned, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

"Cum, shit. Wanna fuck you so bad."

You tightened at that, causing his hardening length to twitch at the thought of you wanting him as much as he did you — though that was impossible to him.

When your orgasm found you, Vernon knew he was in out of his depth. Your back curled as his free hand held you up against him, causing your chest to dig into his own. Head thrown back and fingers digging into his biceps, you were a sight he would never forget. A low groan of his own mixed with your breathy whines at the mere view of your pleasure overtaking you in such a way — and because of him!

His fingers continued to play at your middle throughout your orgasm, refusing to stop toying at your swollen clit until you whined at him to stop with a halfhearted grumble.

He chuckled at the sight. Somehow you managed to look adorable to him right after what had just happened between you.

Just when he thought you'd stop to at least take a breather, you cupped his face and pulled him in for another kiss. His fingers were still dripping with you, hand simply flying between your bodies to ensure he didn't get your own substances on you. But shocking him once again, you pulled away, grabbing onto his hand and slipping his fingers in your mouth.

Eyeing him down as you sucked at his fingers, his mouth shot open, letting out a silent groan at the sight — Depraved. That's the only way Vernon could describe himself at that moment as he watched your eyes roll back as you sucked at his digits in your mouth.

"I wanna suck your dick," you deadpanned as soon as you pulled his fingers out of your mouth.

All he could do was choke on his own spit, full well knowing that his dick twitched against his stomach, gracing your own due to the proximity between you.

"I, you don't have to-"

"But I want to. Do you not?"

Your head tilted and your eyebrows furrowed as if you were confused by his hesitation. He was confused too.

As much as he wanted to take you up on your offer, — and very enthusiastically so — he knew there was no way he could last more than one more orgasm (and that was saying a lot).

And despite the thought of you on your knees, mouth wrapped around him as you eyed him in that way you knew made him feel faint making him almost lose his mind, what he wanted most at that moment (or ever, he was pretty sure) was to be inside you.

The thirst he felt for you at that moment was unmatched. It was a sickly feeling considering he'd only known you for a bit over a week, yet your effect on him had been immediate — That, and the fact that you were standing in front of him, completely nude and dripping wet (everywhere), eyeing him like you wanted to devour him until there was no man left in him.

"I wanna fuck you," his voice broke as he said it, a testament to how needy he felt in that moment.

"Yeah?"

There was that pleased, teasing smile on your lips again. And then a hand wrapped around him again, but this time directing him towards your center, holding him hostage as his tip graced at your mound.

"Like this? Want me against the wall? While the guys wait for me to finish 'showering'?", you were challenging him, he knew it.

He took the bait.

For the nth time, your lips connected in a heavy kiss. It was dubious whose spit made its way to his chin, but that was the last thing he had in his mind.

Grabbing onto your toned thigh, he lifted it to wrap around his waist, pushing himself up against you even closer, ridding you of even the smallest inch of distance. Meanwhile, your hand led his cock to your entrance, teasing yourself (and him) by running it up and down your slit, stopping to circle his tip on your clit.

Vernon's forehead fell against yours with a groan at the feeling of your warmth, a whimper leaving him when you took that chance to lick into his mouth, beginning to push him inside, but only the tip.

"F-fuck, please," he pleaded against your lips.

"Begging now?", you chuckled.

"I'll beg every time if it means you'll let me fuck you."

And he meant it more than he realized. Whimpers left his mouth as soon as you began leading him in, legs shaking and a sigh of relief leaving his lips at finally being inside you.

You were so tight, so hot, so fucking wet. He could feel his eyes itching to roll back all the way to his brain at how perfect you felt. Grabby fingers held onto your damp skin, uncaring that the water hitting his back was now cold and only proved as an obstacle to fucking you. Any surrounding circumstances were locked up in the back burner. His brain was just a constant repetition of yesyesyesyes as he willed himself not to cum within the first minute.

"Fuck, you feel so fucking good ..." he groaned out.

"I'll feel even better when you move," you huffed out a breath.

"Just one second, baby. You feel so good, I'm sorry."

Readjusting his hands on your hips, he brought you closer, raising the leg you had wrapped around him a bit and leaning you upwards. From this angle, he began to move, starting off slow to test the waters. And god, did that reward him.

The prettiest sigh he'd ever heard left your lips, accompanied by subsequent gasps of pleasure. Sharp nails dug into his back, petulant in their attempt to pull him closer, but the took it like a champ.

"Nonnie, fuck! R-right there!", you cried out.

And then he was gone.

He was no longer himself. No longer caring to extend his orgasm and only worried about hitting that spot. The spot that had your back arching and your chest pressing onto his. That same spot that morphed your face in a way that Vernon knew he'd remember for endless nights after this.

Continuing to piston desperately into you. Strength he didn't know he had suddenly took over as he manhandled your body as he wished. Every thrust was accompanied by your own attempts at pushing back against him, leading to a depraved harmony of slapping skin and gasps of pleasure.

"Didn't, shit, didn't think you were this strong," you hiccuped out.

"That's what good pussy does to a man," he joked, but deep down probably meant it.

You tried to laugh, but the sound was interrupted by another moan, head throwing itself back and resting against the shower wall. You tightened yourself around him then, groaning something out to him about not making you laugh. He couldn't really process it when you were suctioning him in so deliciously.

Soon enough, he felt his high approaching, making him panic and accelerate the speed of his thrusts. His mind was going a mile a minute as he attempted to take you down with him, mumbling out expletives into your skin, huffing and groaning at the way you internmently tightened around him.

"Need you to cum with me, okay? Please, it'll be so fucking embarrassing if you don't."

You chuckled between gasps, pulling him in for a kiss, "I'm there, just, fuck, keep doing that."

He was far too gone, lips barely able to kiss back in the midst of his orgasm taking over. He couldn't do this. Couldn't handle how good it all felt. Couldn't deal with your tongue in his mouth or your nails digging into his skin, much less with the sudden strangulation your cunt performed on his cock as your own orgasm arrived. And then your high pitched moans came into the picture, making him truly lose his mind.

"It's so good, oh god, so fucking good. You feel so- fuck, shit, so tight, baby," he babbled against your lips.

"So good, hmm? Fucking me so good, Non," you moaned back.

Vernon swore he blacked out after that, not knowing what happened as soon as the dramatic influx of pleasure reached him. The aftermath was full of dizziness and a feeling of fulfillment Vernon had never experienced before. It was like waking up from an amazing nap, except this time he was still plunged deeply into the prettiest girl he'd ever seen as she pressed lazy kisses to his chest.

"Are you alive?", you asked when you reached his lips, pecking them once, twice, thrice before he tried deepening it, only to find you pulling away with a giggle.

"Maybe not. I'd be fine if I wasn't. That would've been a great way to go."

"You're funny after sex," you noted.

"It's a little easier when I'm already inside you. It's less nerve-wracking that way."

"Yeah? So are you gonna go back to stuttering through every sentence once you pull out?", you tightened yourself around him to somehow prove your point, making him wince.

"Nope. Staying here. I'll even risk hypothermia with this cold ass water," that earned him another laugh and even a kiss.

"Okay, Romeo. Mingyu can only hold off the part-timers for so long, c'mon," you pressed your hands on his chest, making him groan but follow along to your instruction as per usual. — maybe this was something to look into. Later.

"I was not expecting that from you," you breathed out a laugh once you were dressed, exiting the dressing room hand-in-hand.

You were kidding. Maybe.

"I told you I'm not as socially awkward as I seem. I'm just an idiot around you," he chuckled. His hand swung back and forth with yours jovially.

He was very happy right now. Sue him.

"Well, a very skilled idiot, then."

He laughed along with you as you approached the main lobby, finding two familiar men leaning against a wall. It was clear in their demeanor that they'd been waiting a while, with Mingyu sighing in frustration when he spotted you.

"Half an hour? What could you have been doing in there for half an hour?", whined Seokmin.

"Well-"

"Don't. Rhetorical question," interrupted Mingyu.

The two of you snickered, walking past them and towards the exit. Both boys exchanged a look as they followed slightly behind you.

"Hold on. No 'thank you'?", Mingyu interrupted again.

Mingyu stopped you from walking away, grabbing onto your arm so you'd turn around and subsequently causing your hand to disconnect from Vernon's

You sighed in exaggerated annoyance, "Fine. Thank you, Gyu. I guess I owe you one."

"Wait, what?", Vernon looked quizzically at you both.

Mingyu grinned stupidly at both of you, with an equally idiotic Seokmin standing next to him with a mirrored expression.

"She asked us if we could stall so she'd get you alone," Mingyu started.

"I was just going to pull the fire alarm, but Gyu figured that probably wouldn't work," Seokmin continued, "and now Gyu scored a date with the receptionist, so all wins here, I guess."

Vernon turned to you, both scandalized and amused, "You-"

"Hey, I told you. You were taking too long. A girl has needs," you shrugged, grabbing onto his hand again and beginning to walk away as if it was nothing.

Vernon could've argued back. But following you seemed like the more obvious response.

Maybe he'd been a total loser throughout all this, but he scored the girl in the end. All was good.

Except now he'd probably have to go to the gym every other day.

to read short 1.7k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my svt monthly tier on patreon!

content: established relationship, afab reader, smut, morning sex, dry humping, tit worship, sorta switch!vernon, etc.

wc: 332 (teaser); 1789 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"God, no, I can't go again," Vernon grumbled, face planted on his pillow.

The man was practically passed out, unmoving as he stayed cuddled into his blankets. The only movements out of him were the occasional squeezing of his arms around the polar bear plush you'd gotten him a few weeks back.

Vernon was more than content staying like this for the rest of the day. Only thing that would've made it all even better would be if you hadn't insisted on getting up and away from his arms.

Unfortunately for him, you were strong enough to flip him over.

Usually, this would be something he enjoyed. Something he keened over, even. But the context was different.

This time you weren't flipping him over to straddle him and make him lose his mind. No, this time was so you could continue to insist at him to get up, but now forcing him to look you in the eye as you did so.

"Vernon, we agreed on this," you pouted at him.

You were too far for his liking. While he laid on bed, body completely stretched out and occupying way too much space, you were propped up on your knees on the same bed, except not close enough for him to pull you into him. This was strategic, he guessed.

"It's been three months. How much longer do I have to keep going to the gym?"

"It's kind of a lifetime type of thing."

He groaned.

"If I show up without you you're just gonna get twelve men barging in here in an hour," you reasoned, crawling closer to him.

"Is there any way I can convince you to not make me go?"

"Is there any way I can convince you to go?", you rebutted, eyes flirty.

Vernon knew this move.

"You know you can convince me. You're very well aware of all the ways in which you can convince me. It's kind of mean of you to threaten me like this."

...

find the 18+ continuation on patreon!

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fitzjamesbulletwound · 19 hours ago

Text

if you ever wanted to hear my every thought on fitzier you're in luck because here it is! this is extremely long so it's going under the cut and if you read it all, i love you

fitzier- shame, performance, and the freeing ordeal of being known

oh man okay here we go everyone, if this sucks or is too stupid or too anything feel free to kill me

essentially what i want to try to convey here is that the reason crozier and fitzjames go from enemies to friends to lovers is because they both see each other and see themselves in each other in a way that frightens and compels them, hence the early enmity with a tinge of familiarity and desperation to connect thrown in. with the inevitable evolution of their relationship i really think it becomes about learning to be vulnerable with one another, to give each other space to be who they need to be, both to each other and their subordinates, and finally coming to a point where fitzjames, the most performative insecure character in the story (to me), bares his entire soul to crozier, whose own character development allows him to give james the gift of acceptance and compassion in that moment. i’m not going to go episode by episode like i did with my joplittle post but this is more or less in chronological order with maybe a few exceptions idk i get possessed when i write this stuff

the first scene we’ve got to look at is of course the dinner scene. james is absolutely showboating like no other in this scene but in his body language you can see he isn’t confident at all- fidgeting, gesturing, exaggerating, the voice he tends to put on in early episodes prevalent. but when crozier interrupts him you can see for a split second that james was actually excited to get attention from him until he realizes what he’s saying. in the early episodes james craves crozier’s attention and approval so badly because he knows that crozier doesn’t bullshit and he sees things for what they are and isn’t afraid to voice that either and despite the fact that this sometimes makes james uncomfortable as it is not in line with victorian ideals of emotional expression and masculinity, i think james, given the kind of man he is at the start of the story, craves the recognition of a man who he knows would see everything in him. early early early foreshadowing and story weaving for the cairn scene where he realizes “he can tell this man anything. it is possible”

what i also find fascinating about early james and francis is that they still refer to one another in a very familiar way despite the fact that they openly dislike each other- it’s always first name basis even when they’re arguing. also interesting to note that crozier in the beginning will often call him “fitzjames” in front of others when he’s discussing him when he’s not in the room, but later on he makes sure to always use his proper title when he’s talking about him in front of the men- showing james respect even when he dislikes him. i think he doesn’t understand at the time that james’s familiarity with him is an attempt at respect as well (the whole ‘don’t ever call me francis again’ scene). it might be a stretch but i do get the sense that from the very beginning they both tried at being friendly, even just for the sake of maintaining order in command.

when francis says “here technology still bends the knee to luck james” in ep 1 he says it with almost a mentor-like cadence. like yeah they’re both being a little bitchy here but god knows franklin wasn’t giving fitzjames any real or pertinent advice about surviving and navigating the fucking arctic so i find it interesting that crozier almost gently reminds him that yeah they’re making decent progress but that it would be foolish to let their guard down

one of my favorite early fitzier scenes is after dinner when crozier, franklin, and fitzjames are all on deck and fitzjames like sidles up to crozier and looks him up and down and just goes “goodnight francis” with that smirk on his face- he was trying so hard to flirt with him while also being an insufferable bitch with “try to shake the brown study”. but also james lingers so long waiting for francis to say something to him and then shakes his head and walks away to go bitch to franklin about him- i think he is truly hurt in this instance along with being angry and annoyed. and i love that complication because on one hand, i do think that fitzjames thinks that crozier owes him friendship or at the very least recognition because of who james believes himself to be, or at least who he’s trying to be- like he DOES probably see crozier as being beneath him as an irishman but i do think he genuinely wants his friendship and approval as well, for self serving reasons but not entirely. it’s about fitzjames and his desire to be seen by everyone around him in a certain light but also about his desire to be seen specifically by crozier because of who crozier is and how he acts in contrast to everyone else around them

next on the agenda is “dramatic opening shot”... fitzjames girl you are the most dramatic man in the fucking room. the projection is crazy. what this scene reveals most importantly i think is that another thing about francis that james is secretly very envious of is his ability to openly disagree with franklin. there are so many moments later on where you can see that james doesn’t fully believe in what franklin is saying or commanding (the way he looks at him when they realize they are trapped in the pack, the ways he looks at him when he tells fitzjames to escort silna off of erebus right after her father has died) and i think that he envies francis’s ability to challenge franklin and not care what the consequences are. anyway the staredown during this scene is crazy, the tension??

moving on… beginning of ep 1 crozier says “not if fitzjames is with us” in reference to jop saying dinner will be over before he knows it, and at the beginning of ep 2 fitzjames says “do you think francis will honor us with his presence today”- for two people who allegedly hate each other they sure do think about each other and find reasons to bring each other up in conversation a lot!

ahh the scene with silna’s father- fitzjames is so interesting to me in this scene and really illustrates one of my favorite things about him in the earlier episodes which is that when he goes silent his face journeys are amazing and really convey his true feelings that he won’t say out loud for various reasons. he watches crozier so much in this scene and looks to him for understanding and guidance which is also interesting because i do think that in this scene he’s watching silna, a woman who he probably sees as subhuman and alien, reacting with such grief and tenderness to her father’s death and probably thinking of his relationship with his own father. i know a lot of people speculate that he was just feeling empathy for her there and i do think that’s part of it but i think that to show that in his mind would be to out himself as being “not fully english”. i think i make this point later on in the story too but fitzjames really does that classic white supremacist thing of distancing yourself from “otherness” in order to align yourself with imperialist beliefs and status- he does it with silna and he does it with crozier. sorry this is also turning into my fitzjames character study lol.

the scene where crozier walks out after his big blow up with franklin… i get that james really didn’t have any place to try to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping but i find it so interesting that he decides to turn to face francis and look him directly in the eye. from what we can see of his expression i personally think there was at least a small amount of sympathy there. another attempt to extend friendship and familiarity while actively participating in crozier’s humiliation… god i hate him lol. and the face that james is making when francis first walks out before he turns around is contemplative, not like smug or triumphant or anything like we might expect given how much he seems to dislike crozier at this point. and francis looking back at him… there’s no anger there, just sadness and humiliation and it sucks. i would truly do anything to be able to see james’s face there, in the script it says that crozier can tell how much james heard from the look on his face which like??? could mean so much.

okay the face journey when francis walks into the erebus wardroom after sir john dies… his eyes stay on fitzjames who’s obviously extremely distraught and i wonder if crozier has ever seen fitzjames show genuine emotion up until this point? crozier then looks to blanky, who also looks to fitzjames almost as if to say “look at him, attend to him” and the sorrow and vulnerability on francis’s face when he looks again to james who is of course also showing a vulnerability we haven’t seen from him before. i love the note in the script that fitzjames isn’t used to being this candid or vulnerable in front of a man he doesn’t respect but he does it anyway. and i don’t think he knows how much sympathy crozier does have for him despite how callous he may come across when he says to send out the rescue parties. they both just fail so spectacularly at communication and expression early on, it’s crazy to see

when francis begins reading from the eulogy and stumbles over his words fitzjames gives him a very sharp look… i think he clocks his alcoholism starting to really affect him right away but may also be looking to see if the stumble is due to emotion or the alcohol. ugh and the look he gives him at the end too… it’s so piercing and there’s an anger to it as well. almost a “please prove me wrong but i don’t believe at this point that you will”. because for better or worse now they are linked, intertwined, married and they have to find a way to make it work.

ohhhh the fitzier dinner scene my beloved… “as i climbed the ridge” is such a parallel to james’s chinese sniper story scene!! AND this time it’s fitzjames who derisively interrupts crozier. The parallels, the callbacks… the look he gives fitzjames is crazy when fitzjames says “you should curb that for now” but what i find the most interesting about this scene is that the script makes a point to say that fitzjames was being sincere when he said that to crozier- there is care and concern there underneath the frustration and anger. and then it’s also wild that in that moment, fitzjames clearly reminds crozier of sophia. the way the narrative almost shifts to replace crozier’s love interest (sophia) with his burgeoning relationship with fitzjames is soooooo. i just love this scene because they are both trying so hard to be vulnerable and open with one another but they are both failing so spectacularly just like in the scene after sir john dies. they don’t have the respect and rapport between them yet to back up what they desperately want from each other- a connection. a camaraderie. leadership and capability. fitzjames tries to be sincere in his concern for francis but it is overshadowed by his frustration and anger towards what he views to be a sour outlook from crozier, and crozier attempts to be vulnerable with james by sharing about sophia only to be met with the knowledge that franklin has humiliated him yet again by discussing that topic with other people aboard the ship. and i think fitzjames does truly pity francis in that moment but it also frustrates him that that is the reason he’s here, for love, not for a yearning for adventure or glory- which i would venture to say is why fitzjames is there. fitzjames went on the expedition to prove his worth and francis went for love and they both ended up finding exactly those things from one another i’m dead.

oh and also why the fuck does fitzjames arch his slutty back against the wall when francis walks out of the room like that one scene in hannibal y’all know what i’m talking about. okay and i forgot about the way fitzjames jabs his finger at francis all up in his personal space which is just so unlike him. it is also worth noting that francis doesn’t get angry at this- he actually stills for a second and then continues to tell james what he was going to tell him. again there’s that strange familiarity they have despite the fact that they hate each other at this point. and that’s to say nothing of how they’re sitting in the first place which is so close to each other idk it just seems a little crazy to me?

i also find it so so interesting how james chooses to be honest with francis once he accidentally reveals that franklin discussed the whole sophia thing with him- he could’ve deflected and said like “oh yeah he mentioned it in passing’ or something like that but he chose to tell francis the truth of the conversation! francis really brings out an honest and candid side to james that we don’t see him put on for anyone else and i think it’s because deep down he knows that no matter how shitty, francis is always going to respect being told the truth vs. all of the obfuscating language that is so typical of the time. i think this is also why in the next episode francis insists that everyone leaves after he punches fitzjames and fitzjames is very resigned to it as well- they both know that it’s going to be ugly but they both want to hash out the truth of the situation for better or worse- like yeah they are at each other’s throats and they want the catharsis of screaming at each other because they’re so mad at each other here but i also think they crave honesty and candidness in their interactions- james because he feels like a fake and francis because it’s his nature- but both because it’s what they want from each other. and back to the dinner scene- just another look of genuine hurt from fitzjames when crozier says “keep your pity” plus the whole reason crozier even says that- i don’t think he expects pity from anyone at this point and doesn’t know how to respond to it.

in the scene where fitzjames says they should question silna about the creature crozier makes a point to say he agrees with him- he does this a couple of different times throughout the show and i think it’s a very small but important detail about how even when they aren’t on the best terms he makes sure to show james respect in front of the officers. and like yeah they end up yelling at each other here but i think that’s more james’s grief showing (again he shows emotion in front of/because of francis) and francis’s stress showing as well- that “we’re all exhausted” is very aimed at james but also an attempt to explain his own state of mind. they’re trying!!!!

the lashing scene- i don’t think we’ve ever seen fitzjames actually afraid of crozier but he definitely is here. he’s clenching his hands so hard throughout the whole scene and he keeps glancing at crozier as he allows the lashing to go on and even nervously gulps at one point. i think this along with crozier’s worsening addiction is a huge catalyst for where we find them and their dynamic in ep 5.

and speaking of which- at the beginning of the episode you can really see how their communication has just completely broken down. edward is basically bridging the gap between them and the resentment is growing. i know that the alcoholism is part of it, we can only assume that fitzjames started to keep his distance once he could tell it was getting bad, but i also think a lot of this is fall out from the lashing and how it affected the way fitzjames felt about crozier as stated earlier. and another aspect of the widening gap between fitzjames and crozier is how erebus is the very picture of order while terror is literally and figuratively falling apart

the fact that fitzjames told collins to watch out for crozier running out of alcohol on terror is further evidence that fitzjames was around a bit to witness crozier’s alcoholism getting really bad and isolated himself after that. he’s angry but he knows it was coming

ugh man the fight scene- the fact that james came himself, alone, to terror to talk to francis as a friend (straight from his own mouth in the script of their argument) about the alcohol issue. even though james is furious and stressed and shouldering the whole expedition, he still attempts to care for francis, it just ends up blowing up in his face and that’s when he lashes out. the way he says “francis” at first before crozier freaks out on him is in such a sincere and gentle tone and just the fucking genuine hurt in his face and his tone of voice when francis tells him to never call him by his first name again. fitzjames cared when francis was at his fucking lowest but still held him responsible and that’s love baby.

the body language is crazy when they’re yelling at each other or i guess when fitzjames is reading francis lol- and the way crozier can’t take his eyes off fitzjames when he’s telling everyone to get out. he’s so ready for this fucking throw down because both of them have been holding this in for so long. crozier is amped up but fitzjames is resigned to finally getting it all out in the open. he wants it to happen and he knows it needs to. even after getting punched in the mouth by him (i don’t think it’s any accident that fitzjames literally bears a scar from that punch and that it comes back open when he’s dying of scurvy) fitzjames still calmly tells everyone yes get out and says what he needs to say. i love the transcript of their argument because it’s so brutal but it really illustrates a kind of fucked up intimacy that we aren’t 100% privy to between them. crozier knows exactly what to say to james to hurt him- telling him he doesn’t have friends, he has admirers and that james has always been mad that he isn’t one, that james is a coward despite the fact that james is facing this down no matter what it takes in order to literally save crozier’s life; and james knows that all he can do is soldier through and lay the truth of what is happening on francis in a way no one else has dared to except for silna minutes before. james really goes out of his comfort zone- being honest and sincere and vulnerable for the sake of the expedition but also for francis. and i’m reading this back and wondering if i’m being too generous to james here but tbh he had every right to be this angry at francis at this point in the story!

ha fitzjames walks into the “i need to dry out meeting” looking all submissive and contrite… but for real his face is so open and entreating in this scene. he’s still annoyed but he wants so badly for things to go right. and you can see in francis’s expression that he is so ashamed to have to ask him

mmm and part of fitzjames coming to love and respect crozier is seeing jopson’s devotion to him in this scene… he’s never seen crozier be admired the way franklin was and i think this is a whole new way for him to see him. and just in general here i think that james “reshuffles everything he thought about the man” and he admires crozier for the way he put his humility and vulnerability in front of him finally and admitted to his wrongs, something i also don’t think franklin would ever do and didn’t ever do, to his and the entire crew’s demise. fitzjames followed franklin and looked up to him in the pursuit of his own vanity and the narrative he tells himself to cover the shame, but he learns to respect and love francis because he watches his evolution as a captain and as a man without any of the obfuscating that he’s used to from authority figures. he watches francis claw his way out of his own shame, the shame that drives him forward and i wonder what kind of ideas that gave fitzjames and how it influenced his own decision to share everything about his past with francis later

what i love about the opening scene of ep 6 is that we see how fitzjames’s leadership has been influenced by franklin and francis but specifically how he is acting more like francis- he does do a little bit of the whole “how dare you bring up anything unpleasant” thing when he yells at jirv for mentioning the number of men and when he does the whole “oh it’s just winter, we’ll feel better with the first sunrise, encourage the men with that” thing but it’s interesting because although we’re hearing echoes of franklin here, fitzjames is still trying to be more honest and open to feedback than franklin was. he doesn’t exactly take jirv’s advice on rationing but he does ration a bit. he is doing the whole toxic positivity thing with his “use that to encourage the men” line but he is also recognizing how hard everything has been for everyone and using an actual tangible event to lift spirits rather than referring to meaningless bullshit about god and country. and the simple fact that he seeks blanky’s advice and knowledge is more than sir john would ever have done in a scenario like this. he understands from blanky’s story about ross that he himself hasn’t been doing enough to combat the horror of their situation for the men, he understands that he must do more. even the way he asks ‘what do you mean’ when blanky says ross had no sympathy for the ill. to not care for the ill is an alien concept to him. tt’s so interesting because fitzjames occupies a space not dissimilar to francis’s- he has access and power in the hierarchy of the discovery service but, within his own mind, he is still an outsider. crozier on the other hand is a visible and tangible outsider due to his birth and his nationality. everyone can see it and i think that’s also part of why fitzjames is so antagonistic towards francis in the beginning- the projection goes crazy and in the true spirit of colonialism and white supremacy, james believes that if he can make himself as far apart from someone like francis as possible and align himself with men like franklin and barrow despite sharing way more similarities with francis than he does with them, he can succeed in upholding himself as the vision of victorian masculinity and social worthiness that he so desperately tries to emulate- this is what i was thinking about during the scene with silna’s father where he’s reluctant to fully show his (partial) sympathy to her

the line from the script that kills me is when it says a clock has begun for fitzjames once he discovers the blood in his hair… god it kills me, he knew he was dying for months. for literal months and who knows if he even told anyone but… i do think he had to have told francis at some point. it makes me so sick, it’s literally why the cairn walk scene happens- he knew he was dying, he knew it and one of the last things he wanted before he died was for someone to see him, truly see him flaws and mistakes and vanity and all before he died. and he wanted that person to be francis

gotta include the scene where james tells edward that francis was right about walking out- this is a huge turning point from ep 1

it’s so funny that when crozier and fitzjames see each other at carnival you can tell james is like “oh shit i’m in trouble” but crozier is just slightly amused seeing him like that and even though he finds the carnival strange and sees how reckless it was, he doesn’t chide james or the men about it even though that’s cleary what james is expecting. crozier empathizes with their longing for home and their need to do something happy and uses that momentum to tell the men about walking out and doing his best to reassure them about their chances. the way fitzjames looks up at him and nods along with him- i don’t think we’ve seen fitzjames look at him like that yet up until this point. he is seeing francis for who he can be as a competent captain and we are seeing crozier really step into that role. i also think that francis was relieved that fitzjames saw the urgency in walking out and that he wasn’t going to have to convince him the way he would’ve had to convince franklin. their leadership is finally syncing up here, built on humility (francis admitting he had an addiction and choosing to do something about it, fitzjames admitting how wrong he was about francis and his use of caution and logic) and respect (i do think crozier respected fitzjames for trying to build morale to the best of his ability and i think fitzjames respected francis finally behaving like the captain he needed him to be)

during the fire there’s a small moment where james is frozen- no doubt from ptsd which he deserves- and francis sends him ahead to look for an exit, telling him to go. he fucking loves him!!!!

poor fitzjames.. like yes the ghosts of his colonial past and all that of course which i will never not fully support him being subjected to but damn. and i don’t think he shrugs francis off because it’s francis or because he’s angry with them, he is punishing himself and francis sees that and lets him do what will help ease his own guilt and pain. tt is a moment of understanding between them i believe- fitzjames showing vulnerability in front of a man he now respects while adding another failure to his own personal checklist he keeps against himself (i can only imagine he does anyway). francis’s attempt to show him care and understanding while not undercutting his usefulness is also such an inspired choice for what he knows of fitzjames. you can really see the care starting to sprout between them here. i can only imagine what the rest of the winter was like but i feel like by episode 7, their dynamic has just completely changed, their entire vibe is different. and their love couldn’t have happened until they left the ships so it came at the worst and best time.

and by ep 7 their dynamic has just so completely shifted. even the fact that they are supervising the packing for the walk together and this may be real delusional hours but sending edward ahead to make the first camp instead of one of them going is a little interesting to me. i believe he’s technically the next in line for leadership after fitzjames but like did francis and james want to spend time together? with crozier finally dried out and knowing james’s time is almost up? them finally in a comfortable and friendly place? i love their conversation during the packing scene because fitzjames is voicing a concern to francis who calmly explains his reasoning and when fitzjames continues to press his own doubts they remain civil, familiar, acknowledge one another’s thought processes etc. a scene like this could NEVER have happened in episode 1 or 2. i looooong to know what they were like together during the winter after carnival

you all know i am INSANE about the fitzier hand holding scene, no one can match my freak on this. tt makes my stomach flutter every time i see it. it is my pride and prejudice hand clenching scene. first i want to acknowledge the quote from the script- “at one point, the only thing keeping fitzjames from sliding back into oblivion is crozier’s hand, but half the importance about the act is that fitzjames reached for it.” this KILLS me more than anything else from the script. and honestly at this point in the story i am becoming convinced that james told crozier about the scurvy, they knew the whole fucking time, they knew. they are literally marching to their deaths, against all odds still going, still trying and they are falling in love. the way james gazes up at francis in awe when he sees the offered hand and doesn’t stop looking at francis when he is up on the ridge. crozier doesn’t even turn to look at james, but he does make sure to stop and wait for him and extend the hand that he knows that james needs. Based on honestly even just this alone i am convinced that crozier knew about the scurvy already. there’s no fucking way he didn’t. and then the way james grabs francis’s jacket and holds on while they stare at each other, crozier smiling- it’s so interesting to me because it very much tells of finding an excuse to touch crozier again, as if he was so in awe of the touch that crozier initiated a few minutes before that he needed it again. he was trying to find a way to touch him again in that “this has to be acceptable by victorian standards of emotional and loving expression” way. and crozier accepts it! he smiles, he meets his gaze. there’s triumph there. and don’t think i didn’t fucking notice that the hand that francis keeps is the hand that held fitzjames’s hand and that also held his face when he was dying.

in the scene with morfin, as soon as crozier notices that james is there he makes sure to maneuver over to james so he can place himself between james and the gun despite the fact that he is unarmed and james has his pistol with him. i don’t necessarily doubt that francis would do this earlier in the story but i can say that he does this here as a selfless act of love and protection

and then the jop promotion scene yay the way james looks at francis with admiration and curiosity when he hands him the promotion letter to sign and the way james smiles at him when he reads it but not just because of that- but because of the words francis uses and the way francis is looking at him, saying someone “has earned our respect (looks to james), trust” and fitzjames smiles and nods- it’s not just about agreeing with him about jopson. this is how fitzjames feels about crozier now and the fact that crozier even in this small subtle way acknowledges that he DID need to prove himself to james after his behavior during the winter. their dynamic is just so much different now! at the end when everyone is shaking jopson’s hand, fitzjames gives crozier like… the most insane loving soft look… he looks so so happy. i don’t think we’ve ever seen him look like that before.

and now we are at the cairn walk. i again have to say how during this rewatch i become convinced of the knowledge that crozier has to know that fitzjames is dying. there’s just no way he doesn’t. the conversation they have about it does not convey that james is telling him this for the first time. tt more so implies that they both know but don’t speak of it often and james is updating francis with the vital information, the stages he’s at. what made fitzier happen was them leaving the boats, james dying, crozier getting sober, them both laying it all out on the table in different moments of vulnerability- crozier with his addiction, james with his heritage. the way those scenes parallel each other is actually crazy. james is fucking dying, they are all marching to their deaths and the knowledge that they are doing so is slowly sinking in, and all james wanted before he died was for crozier to see him, all of him. even the parts he was afraid to tell anyone, even himself. and francis isn’t even granting him a mercy, he isn’t sparing his feelings. he truly and genuinely accepts james for who he is, how he came to be a part of the expedition. they have both known from the start that beginnings and heritage don’t matter, it’s the actions that people take that makes them who they are. in different ways they both knew that and i think it’s part of what aligned them eventually. and from the script- james realizes he can say anything to this man. it is possible. crozier gives him the space to do it. and just the way they’re laughing and joking and being light with each other- another thing we never would’ve seen in the earlier episodes. okay focusing on some details now- when crozier says “that’s not how i see you” james literally stumbles as if he can’t believe crozier would say that to him. in the beginning of the scene francis gives james space and privacy when he sees him getting emotional about graham and franklin’s deaths and struggling to remember the date of sir john’s death. they communicate with a single glance there, james asking for a moment and crozier giving it to him. the grief on francis’s face when james tells him his latest symptoms. when crozier initially tries to comfort and encourage james… and james can’t accept it because he hasn’t told him everything yet. he doesn’t know if he can. i don’t want to get personal but that feeling that if you only tell part of your hidden sorrow to someone and they comfort and accept you and show you kindness, that feeling you then get that no no no you don’t know the whole of it and if you did you wouldn’t be showing me this kindness, you wouldn’t love me, you wouldn’t respect me. you wouldn’t see me. i genuinely can’t imagine the relief that fitzjames felt when he told francis it all, he told him everything and all francis gave back was love. also we can finally start to really see the bruise that francis gave fitzjames in ep 5. i love when fitzjames literally and metaphorically closes the gap between them. and francis waits for him until he is by his side again. “are we brothers francis” the tears, the attempt to laugh/smile them away until he sees that crozier is with him in this moment and taking it as seriously as it deserves to be. again the joining of the hands, the one that crozier keeps. they look at each other’s mouths, into each other’s eyes, the way francis dips his head to look at fitzjames when fitzjames ducks his emotionally. it’s insanity

when they get back to camp and listen to hodgson’s story and then go to see jirv’s body, they exchange a lot of glances, specifically around the times that hodgson mentions hickey- they are of one mind on him and on how the situation actually played out. james also watches francis a lot in the scene where they go to see jirv’s body. he looks to him for leadership now and doesn’t become irritated by his anger or his candor. this really persists for the rest of the episode - in the scene where crozier is yelling at edward about supplementing the marines all james has to say is “francis” and then basically talks him down from yelling at edward more, another scene i don’t think could have ever happened between them earlier in the story but james knows how to quell francis now. and this is such an interesting parallel to ep 5 when everyone was taking their shit out on edward; this time fitzjames protects him. but anyway- james and francis are just so in sync in every scene in this episode- they back each other up, communicate through glances, emphasize each other’s words and authority. yay<3

all right you’re all going to have to bear with me on ep 9 because it makes me crazy.

we gotta start with the fucking grief and pain in both of their expressions when they’re taking care of pocock and how this scene itself foreshadows the assisted suicide later

the look of absolute love and faith from fitzjames when crozier is telling them they will keep marching south and the “more than god loves them” scene- this is francis at his most captainly- and james is echoing his hollow vanity stricken words about franklin but really really meaning them about crozier- he says them to no one but himself, there is no performance here and crozier’s words aren’t a false display of empathy and care like franklin’s were for david young and fitzjames sees this.

fitzjame and crozier are hauling in front side by side- it makes a point to mention that in the script too.

when fitzjames falls… ugh. he hauled until he couldn’t anymore, direct call back to when blanky said ross sat atop the sledges- oh and when francis and fitzjames were caring for pocock together vs ross having no sympathy for illness. when james falls he reaches for crozier without even looking at him at first and you can hear crozier saying “it’s all right, it’s all right” when james is saying he can’t stand the heat. dundy and bridgens are lifting fitzjames up too but when he stumbles, when he reveals his wound, when he stumbles again, he is only looking at crozier the whole time. and the look on crozier’s face is one i don’t think we’ve seen from him yet. i noticed too that he’s holding onto fitzjames with his left arm and rubbing his back with the other before he takes the rope off of him.

i want to say about the following scene where james is laid up in the boat that i made a joke once to my friend about when crozier reaches into the boat and how it looks like they’re holding hands- but they actually are, it’s in the script. there’s just something about crozier’s face when he talks to fitzjames in later episodes, there’s such a softening of the edges to him, his expression is less guarded and more attentive and earnest. and the call back to their first scene together with the chinese sniper story…. the fucking fondness in both of their eyes as they laugh together, which was probably james’s last time laughing. when crozier says “there’s time” but that’s the tragedy of this show- there’s never enough time. everything happens too late.

james screaming in pain and crozier running to him and barely letting bridgens finish his sentence before he tells them to camp here also in the script during the officer’s meeting right after, they can hear fitzjames screaming in his tent :( i’m honestly kinda glad they left that out.

and here we are at THE fitzier scene. i could talk for hours about this scene. francis is holding james’s hand, rubbing his shoulder. james looks so young and frail and scared here and he uses some of his last words to tell francis he wanted him to live because he knew he wouldn’t be around to tell him that anymore soon. francis shaking his head when he says it as if to say “not without you”. in the script, when bridgens leaves it says ‘he looks at crozier. he looks at fitzjames. he understands”... and later during james’s funeral when crozier says that he had a service with james, just the two of them, peglar and bridgens exchange a very interesting, knowing look. to choose those two to react that way? idk man. fitzier real. but back to the scene- god okay crozier taps james’s chest twice in question and then just barely audible fitzjames says “please”. ugh the sad smile crozier gives fitzjames before he gives him the drug… then he places his hand, the one that crozier doesn’t lose, so gently and lovingly on james’s face, and even in his current state james looks almost taken aback at the gesture. when crozier tips the drug into his mouth his expression softens. i will never ever in my life forget the way james looks at crozier in that moment, the look of gratitude, love, farewell, of pain, longing, childlike fear. (nobody is doing it like tobias). crozier ever so lightly brushing james’s lips with both of his thumbs before he begins to massage it down and carefully wiping the excess away. they never stop looking at each other. dave k said that the service that crozier mentions happened before fitzjames dies and after crozier gives him the drug.

the last thing i want to say about the james death scene is that i was never that invested in the concept of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but fitzjames asking crozier to eat his body and live really really stuck in my brain- just their entire insane journey that i’ve been sitting here thinking about for months- acquaintances to enemies to allies to friends to lovers for it all to culminate in this final scene of fitzjames begging crozier to eat from his body and begging him to give him the final kiss of death all as crozier never once looks away or lets go of him. fitzjames loved him so much he was willing for crozier to desecrate his corpse if it meant francis would live, even without him next to him but crozier loved him so much that he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t add that act to his already impossibly devoted actions.

and the action of hiding james’s body because crozier doesn’t want tuunbaq to destroy it but then it turns out that someone at the very funeral ends up leading the mutineers to tear fitzjames’s body apart themselves. just like jirv not getting to keep the final gift of the seal meat even in death, crozier couldn’t do james this one last mercy even though he tried desperately to.

and this last part is a bit of a stretch but okay-along with the shirt and the gloves of fitzjames’s that crozier is wearing after his death i think he might be wearing his little neck thing too, so sorry y’all i do not know what it’s called and i’m locked in trying to finish this and i’m not googling it lol. but we see fitzjames wear it a lot throughout the show and francis does sometimes but it’s very much a fitzjames piece so i think it might be his too. and with the funeral scene and the blanky scene, we see the mismatched gloves clearly for the first time but i’m pretty sure the first glimpse is earlier in the episode when they’re hauling before fitzjames collapses. dave k still confirmed they had switched gloves but it really seems that this happened before james died, likely when they left terror camp. i still contend that crozier and fitzjames both knew james was dying and this may have been why they did it.

and on to the last episode and closing thoughts- in the last ep i was really keeping track of the gloves- he loses them at some point and i wanted to see when and it’s between the scene where he talks to hickey and when he’s chained back up in the tent with diggle. i hope he somehow hung on to them.

i will never forget how my stomach dropped out when i saw hickey wearing fitzjames’s boots on my first watch- the fucking sorrow in crozier’s face. he doesn’t understand the meaning just yet but when goodsir is cleaning his wounds and tells him they ate gibson, you can see crozier put it together that that’s why hickey has fitzjames’s boots. his expression turns from shock and grief to rage.

hickey really clocked crozier with the shame comment and you can see how it triggers crozier. this is a great confirmation because it really pervades the story and fitzjames’s story as well. they are both driven by shame, by a need to prove themselves but go about it in completely different ways. fitzjames is all bravado, flowery empty words and boasting to cover his origins, his feelings of inadequacy. he aligns himself with the empire and with those in power and distances himself from anyone he knows will be deemed lesser than in the hierarchy in which he exists and specifically pits himself against someone like crozier in order to bolster his own social standing. crozier on the other hand is hardened to his station, he has no way to hide his nationality or his origins no matter how capable he is and how long he’s been going to sea. crozier feels the shame of things like sophia’s rejection and not having straights that they sail named after him but hides it with his bluntness and his lack of decorum when pointing out the truth of a situation. james has everything crozier wishes he did, but crozier is something that james wishes he could be- just himself, despite his societal ineptitudes and barriers. i believe that this basis and the way it melds and breaks down and comes to a way of understanding between them is why fitzier is so strong, and so real and so visceral, especially at the end. honestly there is so much more i could say but i think i’m going to leave it there and just saw that i hope crozier thinks of james from time to time in his new life. i find it hard to believe he doesn’t.

#the terror #fitzier #james fitzjames #francis crozier #this kind of turned into a bit of a character study on fitzjames as well but hopefully you all just see that as a bonus

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tobbesdiscordkitten · 2 days ago

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Guns N’ Roses Fic: Sugar Daddy

Summary: Axl takes his precious sugar baby on a cruise only to discover that her pompous attitude is ruining the trip. He takes matters into his own hands and punishes her, hoping it’ll demolish the self-entitlement within her.

Characters: Axl Rose and (female) reader.

Pairing(s): Axl Rose/female reader, Axl Rose/reader.

Rating: Explicit, 21+

Word Count: 3,000

Warnings: age gap, smut, (p in v) penetration, excessive use of pet names, clit stimulation, physical altercation: whipping, and cat and mouse game.

A/N: requested by anon. I hope you enjoy the little twist I added into the story! ^.^

The 40 year age gap between you and Axl didn’t define your relationship. Instead, it was the way he pampered you with his wealth by taking you out to extravagant restaurants, and allowing you to spend an enormous amount of money on clothes, jewelry, beauty products, etc. You were his sugar baby and he was your sugar daddy.

If people batted an eye or called it strange, Axl would defend it and say they were just jealous. You were grateful not to be living an ordinary life like an average middle class citizen who worked a 9 to 5 job with a minimal base salary each week. Yet, somehow, that feeling began to dwindle as your daily consumerism increased…

Axl noticed the change in your behavior for a while. He used to see you as the girl who always said “thank you” after gifting you with presents, or honoring your tastebuds with the finest cuisine that melted in your mouth.

Now he viewed you as a spoiled little girl, taking everything he gave you for granted. It disappointed him. But he hoped it was just another hormone imbalance. The old version of you would return someday, at least he anticipated. Younger folks could be quite complicated.

One day Axl surprised you by showing you a booked getaway on a cruise. The two of you would spend a week on the ocean in the best quarters, having unlimited alcoholic beverages, and having 24/7 access to the pool, gym, casino, theatre and other leisures. He thought this would be the perfect opportunity to win back the appreciative spark within you.

Both you and Axl packed your suitcases before heading to the docking site. You’ve never been on a cruise ship before and were amazed at how big they were. It was like looking at a major city except…it was on a ship!

Once inside Axl hauled the luggage to the reserved suite you’d be sleeping in. The space was fairly decent for two people. One King-sized bed occupied the hardwood floor in one room while a kitchen occupied the marbled flooring in another room. You had access to a telephone in case you needed room service, house cleaning, or other emergencies. The room also had a vast walk-in bathroom equipped with two toilets, two sinks, a shower (with a detachable showerhead), and a tub with jacuzzi pumps and neon lights. The room was flawless, according to your standards.

You and Axl spent the first day touring the ship and doing some sightseeing. Then, towards the evening, you watched a live musical performance together at the theatre, ate dinner, and socialized at a bar, drinking one too many piña colada’s. Axl had to carry your drunken body to the room, pepper you with goodnight kisses, and went to bed himself.

The next day was gonna be a similar experience to last night. The only difference was Axl wanted to attend a party on the upper deck.

Reviewing yourself in the mirror, you held up two dresses to hide your naked form, trying to decide which dress you should wear - the silky white one or the velvet black one.

Axl came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while whispering in your ear, “The white dress will look great on you. Wear that one for daddy tonight, yeah?”

“What if I don’t want to?” You teased harshly.

His grip tightened around your waist, causing you to be pressed closer against his chest like a puzzle piece. “Obedience, baby. You’ve been lacking it all week. Don’t make me correct your behavior,” he warned.

You sighed and nodded. The last thing you needed on this trip was Axl losing his temper and breaking the fine China.

Releasing you from his hold, Axl whistled at you, a technique he used to catch your attention. He opened a navy blue jewelry box in front of you, taking out a diamond necklace as it glimmered between his fingers underneath the fluorescent lighting. “Wear this with your outfit.” He encouraged, placing the silver gemstones around your neck. It made your skin sparkle with confidence. “Beautiful.”

You walked past him, looking in the mirror again. “I love it,” you stated.

“Do I get a thank you?” He asked playfully, although a part of him was serious and wanted to hear those exact words leave your lips.

You shrugged off his request and grabbed your purse. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Axl huffed. He was gonna let that one slide…for now. If she did it again, there’d be consequences.

On the upper deck, the party was bustling with excitement. People gathered from different countries to clink glasses and dance all night.

Once you and Axl arrived, you walked over to the bar and ordered a margarita. Next, you stood by the balcony, admiring the view of the dark ocean and life below the deck. The passengers down below reclined on their lawn chairs while others engaged in various pool activities by swimming or going down slides.

You sipped on your beverage and exhaled with satisfaction. This cruise was all about you, just like how everyday was, and you were gonna make the most of it.

Axl watched your aloofness, observing how your body gently swayed from side to side to the beat of the music. He could walk up behind you, like he always did, and ask you to join him on the dance floor. However, considering how spoiled you became, he decided to take a different route and leave you inside your own little bubble.

“Hey, ladies!” Axl hollered. “Lookin’ good tonight.”

Whipping your head around, you saw Axl approaching two Brazilian chicks. Oh, hell no! He wasn’t allowed to flirt with other women, only you! He was the one who was supposed to give you all the attention and all the prizes!

Clenching your jaw, you stomped over to where he was, wrapping your arm around his torso and cuddling up to him. “Daddy, where’d you go?”

The two women chuckled, finding your neediness to be amusing and pathetic. Axl didn’t budge. He purposely ignored you and continued making remarks to the other girls. This pissed you off even further.

“Daddy, we’re supposed to dance,” you whined. “Dance with me, please? Spin me around like your favorite record player.”

“How ‘bout tomorrow night?” He suggested coldly. “When you’re not being greedy?”

His accusation took you aback. “Greedy? I’m not acting greedy. You’re the one who’s acting selfish!”

He turned to glare at you. “Watch your mouth, star shine. I won’t hesitate to shut it up with duct tape.”

“Fuck you, prick!” In the heat of an instant, you splashed your drink in his face, causing the two Brazilian chicks to gasp in shock as his suit was soured with the stench of booze.

Axl took a moment to keep his temper in check and not lash out on the spot. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, turning his attention to the Brazilian women. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us, I gotta teach my girl a lesson.” Grabbing you by the arm, he yanked you out of the area. “I can’t believe you fucking did that!” He roared, his voice booming across the hallway. “I take you on one cruise and this is how I’m thanked?!”

“You were ignoring me!” You shot back.

“Bullshit!” He countered. “All you do is take everything without an ounce of gratitude. I ain’t having it!” He opened the door to the suite and pushed you inside, locking the door.

“Daddy…” you whimpered, fully realizing how awful you’ve been treating him lately. “I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Sit down.” He interrupted, motioning to the bed. You sat down next to him and he clasped your hands in his. “Listen to me very carefully…”

“But-“

“Shh!” His eyes pierced into yours, making you shiver with bewilderment. “You wanna have a nice time on this trip?”

“…Yeah.”

“Then behave yourself. No more acting out and no more taking things, the things I pay for, with my own money,” he stressed, “for granted.” He paused for a few beats, allowing his words to sink in. “Understand?”

You tried to clarify. “I don’t take-“

He released a frustrated sigh through his lips. “If you’re not gonna listen then you’ll be staying in here for the rest of the week.” Standing up from the bed, Axl began walking to the doorway.

“No, daddy!” You squealed, diving onto the floor to grab his ankles, stopping him in his tracks.

“Let go of me,” he demanded.

“No, please! I’ll be a good girl!” You begged as hot tears steamed down your cheeks.

You were acting childish, especially when things didn’t go your way, and he knew it. “Too late. We’ll try again on another cruise.” His patience was wearing thin. He almost regretted taking you on this little getaway in the first place.

You wailed into the floorboards while clutching onto his ankles. “No! No! No!”

Axl wasn’t gonna put up with this any longer. He attempted to move, dragging you along with him across the floor as your wailing grew louder.

After your high pitched screams punctured his ear drums, he swooped you off the floor, and tossed you on the bed. He held your wrists in one hand, while using the other to grab a nearby ribbon lace on the nightstand, and tied your hands together. Axl gripped your diamond necklace, pulling it off your neck. “You’ve been a bad girl.” Lifting up your dress, he smoothed the palm of his hand over one of your asscheeks, creating friction to prepare the tender skin for an intense blow.

“Daddy, don’t…” You sobbed into the pillowcase.

“I wish there were different ways for this stuff, babygirl.” Axl soothed. He’d be lying if he said the punishments didn’t affect him like it did you. In truth, it tore him apart. But a reminder needed to be in order.

Axl raised your necklace and lashed it down onto your bare ass as the diamonds cut into your skin. You screamed into the pillow at the impact. Axl raised your necklace again, whipping your other asscheek. He did the same thing with your hamstrings and decided to repeat the process for good measure.

He straddled your legs to avoid making you kick him and spanked you with the diamonds. Upon striking your hamstring again, the jewels cut deeper into your flesh, causing blood to run down your skin. Axl put the jewelry on the nightstand and quickly got up to retrieve cotton balls and alcohol. He didn’t mean to hit you so hard, he felt guilty.

You laid there, heaving into the pillow as your hamstrings and ass burned.

Axl came back into the room and applied alcohol on a cotton ball, gently pressing it to your skin where a cut was branded onto your skin. “I didn’t mean to take it that far, baby…I hope you learned your lesson and understood why I won’t tolerate such entitlement.” Axl continued to rub the cotton ball over your marks until your skin was cleared of blood. He then untied your hands from the lace.

Unexpectedly, you leaped off the bed, ran to the door, unlocked it and sprinted down the hallway, far away from Axl. He cursed to himself and ran after you just a few meters behind. “Baby, stop! Come back!”

You refused and kept running, going down multiple flights of stairs until you were in the lobby area. Strangers eyed you weirdly as you tried catching your breath while looking around to see where you could hide. The bathrooms? Underneath the front desk? You heard Axl’s voice from above, taking you out of your hiding trance. “Sweetie!”

Turning to the right, you saw a sign on a door that read, Private Love Shack Area. You ran to it and closed yourself in the room. You panted until your heart rate somewhat returned to normal and you felt the tingling of pain on your flesh again.

Glancing around the room, you were shocked to find out it was a miniature sex dungeon filled with numerous sex toys, a love couch, BDSM devices such as floggers, whips, chains, and glass dildos. You never expected the Love Shack Area to look like this. Your brain thought it would resemble a romantic, softcore design. Instead, the room you occupied was obscene and hardcore, perhaps a little too much for your tastes right now.

Before you could think of your next exit plan, Axl came into the room, closing the door shut behind him. You gasped and turned around, backing up until the wall behind you pressed into your back. Words couldn’t escape your lips but your facial features trembled with fear.

Axl sensed this and slowly made his way towards you, his footsteps deliberate and methodical. “Baby,” he cooed. “Come back with me into the room. I’m sorry for making you bleed. That wasn’t my intention,” he tried to explain.

All you could do was whimper and shake your head. You were on the brink of losing your trust in him - the man who cared for you since day one, the man who spoiled you rotten, and coddled you because he cared and loved you so much. Now here you two were trapped under this predicament.

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re crazy…” You whispered, not believing his words.

He chuckled. “Babygirl, you drive me crazy.” Axl stood in front of you, pinching your chin softly so you could look up at him. In his eyes, you didn’t see anger or the rage he had earlier. His eyes were filled with…guilt? And compassion. “But it’s worth it every time.”

“It is…?” You questioned.

“Yes, because we open ourselves up to each other in ways we wouldn’t thought possible.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear while running his fingers over your delicate face. You were his little porcelain China doll.

“I’m so sorry…” you apologized. “For everything.”

Axl pressed his index finger to your lips. “Shh. It’s okay. I knew my babygirl would come around sooner for later.” Lifting you up, Axl wrapped your legs around his waist, rubbing circles over your thighs, and caressing the welts he inflicted on your ass. “Still sore, baby?” He asked.

It hurt when he stroked the marks, but at the same time, it felt comforting. “Yeah…”

Cupping your butt with the palms of his hands, he captured your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss, savoring the way you two smacked each other’s lips. “I’m gonna make it up to you.” Unzipping his pants, he freed his pulsing cock and positioned it near the folds of your pussy. Axl loved how you never donned any underwear whenever you wore dresses. He knew how much you loved getting quick, easy access for unexpected moments like these. Just in case.

Slipping inside of you, you gasped at his length stretching you deliciously. “That’s it,” he praised. Securing your legs around his lower back, Axl began thrusting in and out of you, still keeping his hands on your ass so your welted flesh wouldn’t hit or rub against the wall.

You kissed him again and followed his movements with your own hips. “Fuck…”

Axl increased the pace, pistoling his hips into your cunt as you ricocheted off his body, bouncing up and down against the wall. Wet, sloshing noises filled the room. Axl felt how your cunt squeezed around him, soaking his dick which only turned him on even more.

Clinging to him like a devoted pest, you made out with him, pushing your tongue into his mouth as it tangled with his, tasting him while breathing in his smokey cologne.

Axl increased his pace once again and stepped away from the wall, holding you in his arms. You continued to frantically bounce up and down on his shaft until you felt the band in your core snap, causing your orgasm to erupt out of your crotch.

Axl felt the hot flow of your juices drench his dick as your walls clenched around him. He groaned and shot his semen inside of you, hitting the pleasure spot that drove you insane.

“Augh! Fuck! Sh-shit…”

“You okay, honey?” Axl managed to say in between grunts of pleasure.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay.” You tilted your head back, recovering from the high. “It felt amazing. You felt amazing.”

Axl smiled with appreciation. “Good, good.” He carefully laid you down on the couch, thinking of how it might be more comfortable than the wall, and slipped out of you, making you whine at the loss of contact.

You grabbed his hand and tried to pull him closer. “I need you…”

“I know you do, baby. Daddy’s not going anywhere.” A delighted smirk played across his features once Axl realized the sort of room you two occupied. “Perfect hiding spot,” he mused while picking up a few toys to bring to the couch and use on you. “My baby always knows what location to be in.”

You blushed. “Stawwp. I was expecting something else,” you clarified.

“Something else.” Axl hummed, tapping the glass dildo. “Not this?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean. I didn’t think a cruise ship would have special places like this.”

“Not all of ‘em do. This cruise was just a one in a million chance.”

“You scored your luck with me, huh?” You hinted, excitedly biting your lower lip.

“When don’t I?” He pushed the glass dildo inside your cunt, filling you up once more. Then he reached over and turned on a small vibration stick and pressed it against your clit.

“Fuck, yesss.”

Axl kept the mini vibrator on your clit, rubbing circles over your nub, while using his other hand to pump the glass dildo in and out of you. This went on until you felt another orgasm crash over you, similar to how waves from the ocean crashed against the side of the ship.

He removed the dildo from your cunt and cherished the slick that stained the glass.

You and Axl remained in the room, trying out most of the sex toys all night long. This was, by far, the best cruise ship he ever took you on.

Axl saved your appreciative spark that night. You never acted like an entitled brat around him ever again, only in dreams!

Taglist: @hollywoodroses and @axlsyndrome

Side-note: if anybody wants to be added on my taglist for certain eras/characters, let me know!

#axl rose #axl gnr #guns n roses #guns n’ roses #axl rose x reader #cine writes

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gamerbot-22 · 1 day ago

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Trigun Cuddles

Because I am ill and depressed and I would like my blorbos to hold me about it. (Literally I am in the middle of the worst cold of my fucking LIFE right now but I persist. Somehow.)

Also it’s kinda wild that it’s taken me this long to write anything for Trigun considering it’s taken over my life entirely since I finished watching TriStamp a while back? So here's me trying to rectify that.

TW/CWs: Written with no definitive versions of these characters in mind (except Knives/Nai) but my clearest point of reference is TriStamp, probably overly sappy in places because I’m allowed it as a treat, pretty romantic in tone because I’m Normal, barely proofread.

Likes and Reblogs appreciated, RQs are open, it’s all under the cut! (If anyone sends me a Trigun request I will kiss you on the mouth /p)

I’m experimenting with layouts, too. What do you guys think?

🥀 Vash the Stampede

Please hold him he has been through so much and he deserves it—

Triple S-Tier fucking cuddler. I will not be convinced otherwise, he’s just the perfect shape for it.

He’ll lay down first and let you move him however you want him so you’re comfy first. Partially does this because of his chronic need to people please and partially because he’s slept in so many weird positions over the years that he genuinely doesn’t mind if it means he gets to hold you.

If you ask, though, his favorite position is any one that makes it easy to put his face against your neck. He just wants to be close.

Being a Plant means he’s, by default, very cool to the touch, I think. Vash is a Well Ventilated King like that—

Also if you let him I think he’ll sneak little kisses sometimes. They never last more than a second or two, but this is what happens when you’re in smoochin’ distance!!

He has dreams most nights, so that means a bit of sleep-talking and mumbling, but if you pet his hair he usually calms down, nuzzling in closer and giving you a little squeeze about it.

🍭 Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Another man who desperately needs a cuddle.

I think he takes a bit more convincing than Vash, though. Like Vash’ll drop everything to give you a hug but Nico is, ironically enough, more of a cat about it. You gotta let him come to you, y’know?

But if you do it’s really nice. He wants to be as close as possible, because he cares a lot and he trusts you, but he’s bad at saying it and this is a good way to make up for all the silence.

He’s strong and you can feel it, but he’s careful. He never crushes you, he's just got you tight so you’re up against his chest all night.

Also this man is a radiator. Blankets are not recommended when cuddling with him because you will wake up in a sea of your own sweat—

He can also be a bit of an asshole about his scruff. He knows it’s rough like the rest of him, but he’s less sorry about it than his calloused hands so guess who’s gonna be on the receiving end of some scratchy-ass nuzzles!!!

He doesn’t sleep-talk, but he does snore, so sometimes you gotta roll him over into a new position to spare yourself the sound.

📸 Meryl Stryfe

Augh... Meryl.... Underrated queen...

I feel like cuddling is not that hard of a sell for her, especially since Gunsmoke nights are cold as shit. And it's compounding with Meryl being one of those people with "feel how cold my hands are" circulation.

Probably gonna have to ask people to donate blankets to The Cause, but hey!! You'll be like two caterpillars sharing a cocoon by the end of the night, and isn't that what it's all about?

Also you're probably gonna want to make sure that cocoon is wrapped up tight because Meryl kicks in her sleep. Not hard, I don't think, but you can definitely feel it in any dreams you have--

Thankfully though, she's very quiet. No sleep-talking, no snoring (usually,) just. A Lotta Movement unless you're holding her especially tight.

I think she's very versatile when it comes to cuddling positions, though. Like some nights she wants to be held and then the next night she wants to be the one doing the holding.

And I'm very firmly of the belief that Meryl is the type to pack pjs whenever she goes somewhere. So like, with Vash and Wolfie you're going to have to deal with various states of undress, Meryl has a really cute, soft two-piece set of pjs.

💼 Milly Thompson

That's right!!! She's here too!!! I felt the need to include this sweetheart even though she's probably the main character I know the least about (one day I will finish '98 and Maximum, this I swear--)

Vash and Meryl being Well Ventilated Royalty 🤝 Nico and Milly being Human Shaped Hot Water Bottles--

Unlike Wolfie though, I think Milly is a much more comfortable heat. Like you can still have a light blanket over the two of you and be okay.

Also low-key I think Milly is objectively the best cuddler in this bunch. She came from a family with like a million kids, she's probably very used to sharing a bed while still being comfortable.

Like if you just tell her how you're the most comfortable she has the position down to a science. It's an observed science, but a science nonetheless!!!

If you ask her what she likes, though, the gal just wants to be cradled. She wants to feel precious and protected, damnit!!

Similar to Meryl, I think she has pajamas packed, and hers is this really long, comfy nightgown that feels really nice to hang on to.

🔪 Millions Knives / Nai

No. [Gets up from my desk]

[I am forcibly placed back in front of my computer] Alright, alright! Jesus Christ, look-- I can play in the space, but truly, down to my core, I feel like there is no way in hell Nai would go down for a cuddle on anyone else's terms. Just like. Idk. "Don't cuddle with this knife pervert" or whatever BDG said in that Polygon Mortal Kombat video I love so much.

Vash and Meryl are Well Ventilated. Nai is fucking freezing. Like the only temperature comfortable way to do this is for you to channel the thickest burrito you have ever seen and pray that's enough blankets.

You get. Maybe an arm out of this trade deal. At least at first. He already went out of his way to get you nice blankets, and you want more? In this economy he's trying to run into the ground??? Humans are so selfish! (He is doing all this complaining while hoisting you and your blankets' mass over to his side of whatever horizontal surface you have claimed as a bed--)

Aside from whatever limb he has on you, I just. I don't think he even sleeps. Like it turns more into a Forced Meditation for him where he just lays on his back and stares at the ceiling while you relax/get some z's.

The Weird Space Onesie Stays ON During Sex Cuddles.

Maybe. Maybe. If he likes you enough... You get to spend a cuddle session swaddled up in that spaceman-ass security blanket jacket/hood/whatever-it-is he wears.

#Rosie Writes #Trigun #Trigun Stampede #Vash the Stampede #Nicholas D. Wolfwood #Meryl Stryfe #Milly Thompson #Millions Knives #Nai #Trigun Headcanons #Trigun Fluff #Trigun x Reader #Vash x Reader #Wolfwood x Reader #Meryl x Reader #Milly x Reader #Nai x Reader #Millions Knives x Reader

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magnificentsapcaddy · 3 days ago

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I've had this idea in my head for years for this musical that follows the same group of friends in these little vignettes throughout their lives, set, like, 8 or 10 years apart from one another. And one of the characters is a prototypical bully type, and he's always saying stuff like, "Uh, yeah, that's what your mom said in bed last night!" to the protagonist. Except, as we go through the years, his jokes about fucking the MC's mom sort of turn from "I fucked your mom, shitlips" to "hey, make sure you clean the dishes before going to bed - I don't want to have to wash a plate for your mom's after-sex snack!", which then slowly turns into just like, "Are you coming with Linda and I when we go to the outlet mall this Saturday?". And the whole gag culminates in the final act where they're all their 50's and the protagonist is going through a crisis, and the bully character sings an incredibly sincere, heartfelt, reserved-for-the-Broadway-veteran song called "Surely How Proud Of You Your Mother Would Be". But the song is NOT FUNNY at all, which is the joke of it. I want people to cry in the moment and then step outside and go, "Wait, so he really got married to that guy's mom? What the fuck???"

#theatre #broadway #this is a shitpost

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shizuturnspages · 3 days ago

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okay, consider... yandere childe with a strong s/o. absolutely strong enough to snap him like a twig. i wanted to ask for hcs about what it'd be like bc i feel childe's one of the few who would actually be super into a strong s/o y'know???

Oh, you want Childe—a man who practically lives for the thrill of combat and danger—to fall for someone who could snap his neck like a toothpick? Say less.

Yandere Childe With A Strong S/o

Strength Is His Ultimate Turn-On

❥ The first time Childe saw you in action, it was like love at first bloodbath. Watching you handle yourself in a fight with such raw power left him completely smitten. He was practically swooning, though he’d never admit it outright.

❥ He views your strength as both a challenge and a blessing. He wants to test himself against you, to spar with you, to feel your raw power first-hand. But more than that, he’s obsessed with the idea of having someone so capable at his side.

Overprotective Despite Your Strength

❥ Rationally, Childe knows you don’t need his protection—you could probably take down an entire Fatui squad without breaking a sweat. But that doesn’t stop him from stepping in whenever he thinks you might be in danger.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t keep an eye out for you? Besides, it’s not about whether you can handle it—it’s about whether I let you.”

His Obsession Is Fuelled by Insecurity

❥ As much as Childe admires your strength, it also makes him feel insecure. He’s used to being the strongest in the room, the one others fear or admire. With you, he’s suddenly faced with someone who doesn’t need him in the same way others do.

❥ This insecurity feeds his yandere tendencies, making him more possessive and controlling. He’s constantly trying to prove his worth to you, even if it means eliminating anyone he sees as a threat.

You’re His Weakness, and He Loves It

❥ Childe’s always been drawn to danger, and you’re no exception. The idea that you could destroy him with a single move only makes him love you more. He thrives on the thrill of being with someone who’s not just his equal but possibly his superior.

❥ “You could kill me if you wanted to, couldn’t you? Good thing you don’t. Or maybe you’re just waiting for the right moment, hmm?” He says it with a smirk, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine awe in his voice.

Unapologetically Possessive

❥ Childe’s yandere tendencies shine brightest when he feels like someone else is trying to get close to you. He’s not above “removing” the competition, whether it’s through intimidation, sabotage, or outright violence.

“You’re mine. It’s not up for debate. If anyone tries to take you from me, they’ll regret it—assuming they live long enough to.”

Constantly Testing Boundaries

❥ Childe loves pushing your buttons, whether it’s by teasing you relentlessly, challenging you to spar, or intentionally getting himself into trouble just to see how you’ll react.

❥ He’s always toeing the line between playful and dangerous, but he knows better than to push you too far. After all, he’s not looking to get himself actually broken—just enough to feel the thrill of your strength.

Scenario: A Fight Turned Love Confession

The battlefield was chaos—shouts, clashing weapons, and the unmistakable scent of blood hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how you’d ended up fighting side by side with Childe, but you had to admit, he was a force to be reckoned with.

“Not bad!” he called over his shoulder, slicing through an enemy with a practised ease that bordered on graceful. “But you’re gonna have to try harder if you want to keep up with me!”

You rolled your eyes, dispatching three opponents in quick succession. “I think I’m doing just fine, thanks.”

He laughed, a wild, reckless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Fine? Sweetheart, you’re incredible! It’s almost enough to make me fall for you.”

“Almost?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you wiped the blood from your blade.

“Fine,” he admitted, grinning. “You got me. I’m already head over heels.”

The fight ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the two of you standing amidst the carnage. Childe turned to you, his expression unusually serious. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I wasn’t joking. I meant what I said back there.”

You frowned, confused. “About what?”

“About falling for you.” He stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted—strong, fearless, and absolutely stunning. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Childe…”

“But it’s not just admiration,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper. “It’s more than that. I don’t just want to be near you—I want to be yours. Completely, utterly yours. And I want you to be mine, too.”

There was a possessive edge to his words that should have been unsettling, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the fact that Childe’s intensity was oddly compelling.

“What if I say no?” you asked, half-teasing, half-testing him.

His smile didn’t falter, but there was a glint in his eyes that made your pulse race. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”

It wasn’t a threat—it was a promise. And somehow, you knew that Childe would stop at nothing to keep it.

#fyppage #fypシ #fyp #writers on tumblr #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere #genshin impact headcanons #genshin yandere #yandere genshin impact #childe tartagalia #genshin childe #childe tartaglia ajax #childe genshin impact #tartaglia #childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere childe #genshin impact childe

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scentedpepper · 3 days ago

Text

Guilty Pleasures

AEGON II TARGARYEN X SERVANT!GN READER

Summary: Aegeon II Targaryen seeks out his servant in the most desperately pathetic of times.

Content Warnings: Implicitly explicit sexual speech/themes, drunkeness, established relationships, complicated dynamics, may come off as reminiscent of non-con at some points(?) but was written without intent of such nature, friends (not really) with benefits (also not really), aegon ii targaryen, touch starved (reader and aegon)

Other Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x GN! Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Is this brainrot?

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

"Please, please. "

You're not sure what about this situation perturbes you more.

The situation itself, which contains that of a drunken Prince Aegon clinging onto your red tunic in the midst of a dimly lit corridor as you attempt to carry dirtied dishes over to the others in the kitchen, falling over himself and pleading.

Or the fact that there is, inexplicably, no one around to witness this outrageous display of drunkenness occurring before the very eyes of the prince's subjects—not even the knights you'd passed on your way here, it seems, as the hall leading to the kitchen is practically empty.

There's almost a feeling of being stranded out at sea, out in a thick, harsh, uncaring, overpowering fog as you find yourself drifting aimlessly to and fro in the absence of a guiding beacon, desperate to return home; a sense that those who came down these halls are surely gone, or somewhere else altogether, but the general, indescribable loneliness this leaves one with still persists in clinging onto your skin, and it isn't a pleasant feeling.

You don't want to know how or why you're being required to look at this god-awful display, yet here you are, with the Prince himself, grabbing you and holding you closely.

You can smell his breath.

The Prince Aemond had advised you many times to stay clear of his brothers line of sight when he was like this, stupid with drunkness. It was always the same warning he'd pass quietly to your ear, gesturing from across the throne room, as if you couldn't see the wine become of him yourself.

His breath is a putrid mix of fruity, sweetened wine and rotting meat, the stench alone just about ready to have you empty your stomach right into the corridor—you want to move him off, or away, or something, but in the near darkness, he simply holds onto your clothes and lays against you, pathetically.

As you fidget to find a way to escape his steel vise grip without causing him offense, he clamps a hand to the side of your face, firmly, not a slap but rather a moment of stillness. His gaze snaps up, meeting yours and flashing his glazy, violet eyes.

You slowly come out of your squint, out of your hunch. He has only taken a very short few seconds to simply gaze through the dark at you before making a wet snort noise. A cough follows it.

A repulsive sound.

He giggles then, almost, or moans? It could be an admittance of his intoxication, as he rests his weight into your side, but the way his hands are tightening into a fist in the fabric of your tunic isn't very encouraging.

"My Prince..." You start, but he forbid you from continuing.

"Please. " He says again, swaying, sniffing, slurring. One of his hands gently traces up the material of your sleeve. "Please, Y/N. "

It is not particularly surprising that he calls your name. Despite yourself, you have come to know both princes more than you would have wished yourself to when you first came here, from Dorne. But somehow, hearing the sound of your name fall from his lips in this particular tone isn't as familiar as you'd hoped.

Nonetheless, its an otherwise strangely sober utterance from his mouth, except for the mild stumble over each syllable, and an oddly solemn cadence. You'd think by now there was not a shred of lucidity left in him, judging from his actions and words prior, but there's a certain formality to it that rings all too clear in the hazy atmosphere.

"Please. " He says again, in your silence.

And you're really not even sure what he's pleading for, anymore.

At first, you'd assumed his call had been one akin to assistance; to carry his belongings–or rather him–to his chambers and pull the covers over him, like you always did. But this has transpired into something far more...unfamiliar. And you're not certain that it should even be a possible interaction between the two of you, even if he had become thoroughly entrenched in a state of drunken obliviousness.

And you are not eager to determine the sincerity of his pleas.

"My Prince, you are much too given away. You do not know what you ask of me..." You say, gripping his wrist away from your face and furthering yourself backward as to give him space. "And I do not know what you request so vehemently from me. "

He stumbles forward and you do your best, with the dishes shifting to one arm, to catch him. The food falls from atop the pile and bounces twice and rolls to your feet as the dishes and cutlery clatter to the ground. Displeased sounds pass your lips.

"You need not worry for the plates. " He slurs, unbothered by the loud crash nor the glass crunching under his feet.

It's an awkward position; his arm locked around your neck, pulled up toward him and stumbling as if to drag you along as well. He can hardly support his own weight yet is unwilling to free himself from this strange embrace.

"My Prince. " You utter in exasperation, your arm curled around his waist. In hopes that he will be steady enough to lean on his own feet, you try to let go. But his grip only tightens. "Allow me to help you to your chambers and I can see you go undisturbed. "

"I don't want to walk. " He sniffs, bringing his face closer to yours. With your hand still wrapped around the crook of his elbow, you lean back. It was a routine situation you've found yourself in, but certainly not a pretty image that anyone would hope to stumble across.

As you lean back, so does he and his dead weight pushes you harshly into the wall. "Y/N, please. " He breathes out dramatically.

Perhaps if you remain quiet, he will tire and slip away just as he did the last dozen times.

He tries to rest his cheek on your chest, eyes growing misty and drooping, but unable to find a comfortable perch because of his drunken inclination to muss and disrupt the space he occupied.

Frustrated, you tap him lightly and try to roll out from under his weight.

He doesn't budge.

"My Prince, you burden upon me too heavily with such unseemly behavior..." And there was more you wished to say, but the burning at your cheeks and across the bridge of your nose has stifled your speech.

"I couldn't care. Less. If I tried. " The Prince mutters.

He adjusts his arm around your neck, a drunken repositioning of limbs, and tugs your head closer to his. Your skulls mingle there in the dark, cold air in the most unspeakable manner.

There is no way, no chance in all the heavens above, that your actions have been even a grain of worthy. And despite the temptation you feel for motion against the foolish, insolent, ridden of capacity to think man before you, you know nothing will come of it other than pain to be regretted for the rest of time, probably.

"You must remove yourself from me, My Prince. So that we may return to our respectable places. And not disgrace each other's positions before the palace. "

"Fuck the palace. Fuck my place. " He spits, swaying and throwing his other arm around your neck, pulling himself even closer.

It clicks then, as his body pushes fully against you.

"If you're asking for me to give you relief, My Prince, then there's nothing I can do for you–"

"Y/N. Please. It's getting painful. Please. "

"Is your hand insufficient?"

You swear, if there were light, his skin color would match perfectly with your crimson tunic.

It is such an inappropriate, improper conversation that you would scarcely wish to have. Least of all here. Where anyone could walk by.

"It would...not be the first..." His voice is weak and quiet. You can hardly hear him. "The first time you..." He doesn’t finish, too consumed by his indulgences.

"My Prince. " You reply sharply, though you wished to say so much more. "Your hand is sufficient. This is unspeakable. I have never sought you in such treacherous ways. "

And though you could not see his face, could not read the thoughts that crawled through his foggy, drunk-muddled mind, you could hear his sighs of displeasure. As if he were the one suffering through all this nonsense.

You take his silence as a plea for your goodwill and pry his hands off your neck, leaving him against the wall of the hallway while you crouch to collect the discarded tray and its broken contents.

"If that is all, My Prince, then will you not go to your chambers now?"

He stares up at you in utter defeat. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and uncertain, a stark contrast to the iron-willed royal who had dismissed you without a second glance no less than three moons ago.

He has that look in the irises, those violet pearls, that you recall seeing a handful of times in the other nobles of House Targaryen. A fleeting moment, a window into something far greater and more complex than a single second could reveal. A deeper and darker emotion that stirs within you pity. You believe the color would be similar to what is felt when someone is terribly remorseful, regretting what they said or did in a time that is long past.

"Please do not start crying, My Prince. " You say and the vexation has not left your tone. "You'll have forgotten the conversation within the hour, a tear will do you no good. "

Your tone was harsh, unkind, not quite vicious. But it is curt and strong enough, from a mere servant no less, to strike like a whip to his spirit. He blinks once, and looks away, not a sound leaves his throat as he stiffens, and waits.

And then his lips pull up, he goes rigid, and he sniffs and wipes his nose with the cuff of his blue shirt. And finally, without another word, his eyes well up and the tears burst forth and run down his face like twin waterfalls.

"My Prince. " You whisper. But he's not listening to you. He's red in the face and sobbing uncontrollably. "Stop. Why are you-please stop. "

"I've known it. " He manages out, his voice thick with mucus. "You-dislike me so much. I apologize. " His body is like a loose feather floating in the air and you know that he is soon to make it to the ground if you do not intervene.

It pains you, somewhat, to watch him unravel. It's like observing a bird unable to find its wing. Or the crumbling of a home, a castle that has stood for lifetimes but not strong enough to bear the weight that has piled upon it.

But nevertheless, you are used to such outbursts. Such grand feelings of pity.

You set the tray accompained by shards of glass down on the floor and wipe your hands off with a sigh. Wordlessly you maneuver yourself to the prince's side, scooping him gently with your arms around him and drag him toward the exit.

He whimpers at being jostled, but you suspect it's from surprise rather than true hurt. He doesn't do anything else for a long few seconds until his legs finally unlock and he manages to fumble into a somewhat coherent position beside you.

He is still crying.

"My Prince-" You say, worried, slightly alarmed, as you've heard no noises yet from the people of the palace, but the walls beg to wake them. "Please, I implore you. It would not behoove the both of us if the servants saw you like this. "

He sniffles and sniffles and lets out another trembling sob as his pace lurches a little closer to a stagger rather than a stand. "You didn't even deny it. "

"Deny what, My Prince?"

"That you hate me. "

Your frown deepens.

"My Prince, why would you presume such a thing?"

"You are so cruel. Cold, even. "

"I beg your pardon, My Prince. "

"And I cannot get it out of my head. The idea that..." He trails off and hiccups. You gently guide him away from the banister of the walkway to the stairs, pushing him softly to continue his disheveled wander.

"Shhh, " you say, "keep going, My Prince. "

"Please...can we-please ta–talk. " He stutters out.

You contemplate for a moment as his fingers dig into your arms.

"Yes, My Prince. But your chambers are more befitting this conversation. "

He seems content enough with this, for now, to shut his trap and allow you to escort him down the long, twisting path. You can feel his heart pound through his ribs against your arm. It stirs a deep, familiar, and unnerving feeling in you.

"Almost there, My Prince. "

He mumbles something under his breath, too quickly and too choked-up, to understand. You focus more on the wet sniffle his nose emits afterwards than the actual words that have passed his quivering lips.

As you guide him further in the direction of his chambers, the distance between the both of you stretching even farther, his eyes dim, and his lips curl down, and he releases a long, audible sigh. But there's no tear that follows with it; his sobbing is under control once again, even if just barely.

Thankfully, the chambers aren't as far now, it should take only a few minutes, five at most, to make it there. When you eventually see his door come into view, he stops you abruptly.

You pause momentarily and look back, taking notice of his expression as a troubled frown plagues his normally semi-collected features, giving him a more somber and saggy aura. Something in your chest feels hollowed out as he glares down at the ground, his purple eyes looking incredibly sad.

"Why...Are you forcing me to go in there...? " He mumbles, slightly dazed.

"My Prince, the night is late and all those around have gone to sleep. I am sure you are fatigued by the wine, and that is why your thoughts have become so out of order. "

He allows himself to be dragged closer to the room. You make fleeting eye contact with the knowing knight posed stiffly at Aegons doors before you release him, moving to open the oak yourself.

As he stumbles in, mumbling still under his breath, you turn to walk away but the hand that suddenly comes to snatch at the sleeve of your tunic causes you to take pause.

You glance back towards him, trying to convey a question through your unwavering eyes, but his entire attention is drawn to the floor.

"I am only closing the door, My Prince. " You say simply as the wood slides closed behind you with a loud click.

Silence.

A long silence, followed by a quick gulp, and then, at last. "Don't leave. "

But his eyes are shut, his head cast to the side as he slumps forward, barely managing to stay on his feet, leaning heavily on you for support.

"I won't leave, then. " You say and pat his shoulder sympathetically.

Still silence. Another swallow. "Good. "

"Very well, My Prince. "

You begin pulling him toward the bed; he lets you, swaying and stumbling and rubbing his eyes with his fists. As you maneuver him down onto his comfortable sheets, he lets out a weak giggle.

His eyes flutter open, cheeks rosy red and wet. He blinks twice.

"Goodnight, My Prince, " you say softly.

He is frowning.

You wipe the stray tear tracks off his face, careful not to scratch the delicate, wet skin, before bringing your hand away.

He reaches out and catches the sides of your palm.

His skin is soft and warm and slightly damp. He smiles hesitantly. His eyes slowly come up to meet yours; they're glazed and watery with tears and a deep sense of vulnerability and uncertainty as his lips quiver ever so slightly.

"You hate me, don't you?"

Your eyes close briefly as you sigh. "My Prince, this conversation can wait until you awaken with a clear mind. "

"But you hate me, " he accuses. "How can I let it be...if you hate me?" He grits through his teeth.

You remove your fingers from his, stroking his jaw instead, comfortingly. "I could never hate you, My Prince. " You say it, but it is only pleasantries and both of you know that.

"Please answer me. Please...don't..." His cheeks are wet again, fresh new lines of salty tears streaking down his red face and dripping into his collar. Your thumb catches one, halting its miserable descent.

"I must protest, " you say smoothly. "You will awaken without any recollection, any trace, any hint that I existed. We will both forget this conversation, as so much of our time has been forgotten. And my feelings will return to nothing of note, My Prince. "

"Please don't. " He shakes his head and scrunches his face, pouting. His cheeks flare darker with his pathetic frustration. "You can't...Can't tell me these things and-"

He hiccups.

You lay the hand on his cheek, tenderly, letting his face lean into it.

"Can't it just be that?" You ask him in a whisper.

He's nodding fervently, his legs quivering a little, still in a woozy state of mind; the warmth is radiating off his pale, drunk skin in strong, overwhelming waves and you bask in it while you're able. He hums after a few seconds.

"Y/N, please come closer. Please. " He pleads, quietly, urgently, his entire being seeming almost distraught at the request.

It is so hard, and yet somehow so easy, to deny him the thing he wants the most right now.

"What, my Prince?"

He doesn't speak or move.

"Will you try to kiss me again?" You wonder.

At your words, his breath hitches and he parts his lips. Though, if the flicker of violet within his gaze reveals anything, it is more a case of an impelling reluctance. His eyes dart away, anywhere else in the chamber.

"Would you permit me a kiss?"

You do not answer, and his whole body stiffens, his hand slipping to encircle your wrist. The grip itself is too tight to be truly pleasant, an unhappy emotion he can't quite reign in completely.

You think, to yourself, that it would be no use to try to speak reason to him now, even if you wanted to. It would fall upon his wine-heavy ears and make little sense.

You wrap your free hand against his back, feeling the subtle movement of muscles and the bone of his spine. His hair is soft and frizzy and nearly glossy when the two of you reach an emotional equilibrium with one another. You hold onto him, breathing slowly in tune with him, savoring the rise and fall of his chest under your touch.

Your heart beats in perfect unison with his, echoing his every breath and shiver. He's a heavy weight on your leg where he has apparently found rest, your clothes rustling against his equally silken shirt.

His arm, heavy with sleep and wine, hangs at his side as you quietly push the sleeve of your tunic over his shoulder, pressing your mouth against his forehead.

In moments, the air is silent and there is no sound except the soft breathing of the two of you. You withdraw your lips and look at him with the same, unabashed expression you always carry when he begs like this.

"A kiss for bedtime, if you'd like one. I doubt any more will stir a useful reaction from you. " You comment, amused, as the back of his skull falls against his pillows.

"Please. One more. " He requests weakly, sloppily pulling himself up against your side to meet your daunting gaze. His grip on your wrist eases a bit but it doesn't let go, nor do his eyes and only do they close briefly for a small but content sigh.

"No, I don't think so. You are beyond exhausted and drunken. A proper rest will do you well. I am not your mother, I will not sing you a song and rub your belly. " You laugh at his pout. "Though, you'd probably like that, My Prince. "

"Perhaps, if it's from you. " He stutters out a second too late.

He pushes against your wrist, and it is such a smooth, deliberate movement that you are thoroughly thrown off guard. His eyes flutter half open, a sliver of dark purple and a dash of white. His sclera, despite their usual pinkness, shine somehow brighter in the cold moonlight.

"One more. " He says. "A goodnight kiss. You're not leaving after just this. "

And how could you deny him what he was asking for? He still looked so fragile. So torn, not apart but not together, either.

He was waiting expectantly for your next move.

You press forward and push your lips to his, very gently, sliding your arm free of his grasp so that you can hold his face. His nose is cool and blunt where it presses into your cheek.

And before you can taste the strange mixture of his drink and his supper on your tongue, he pulls back and swoons.

Just before his body collapses back onto the mattress, though, you manage to nudge him with both hands. He goes willingly, letting you rearrange him onto his bed, the beddings around him, and covering him with a blanket or two.

He hums softly, smacking his lips as he gets comfortable, eyes already shut.

"Please close the curtains before you leave, Y/N. I sleep...better in the dark." He sighs out the last few words, exhaling loudly, like a long, relieved breath he'd been holding in for years.

"You ought to rest now, before you sober up and get me whipped. "

"Do not fret. " He whispers. "For you will always have a place at my side. " He lets out a puff of amusement.

"I thought I was cruel. Cold. Not fond of you in the slightest. "

"You had a..mo..men...tary lapse of poor judgment. " He says with a bit of struggle but he gets it out, nonetheless.

"Mmm. Rest now, My Prince. Your whims will be satiated tomorrow. "

He reaches out, an arm trying to cross the expanse between the two of you. An invitation, but you've never taken it, never dare to lie beneath the silk sheets beside him.

You pull away.

He lets his arm drop.

"Aegon. " He mumbles out to you.

It stops you in your tracks. Your expression smoothes. "...What did you say?"

"Aegon. You haven't called me that...long time. " His murmur is barely a coherent sentence.

You stare at him for a moment, a light sigh of resignation escaping you.

"Goodnight, Aegon. "

He watches you stride across the carpet with barely open eyes.

"Goodnight. " His voice goes soft and sweet. The mirth in it is quiet but genuine.

A smile washes away the frown he wears most days, and his eyes snap shut as soon as his head falls completely to the mattress.

Like a light being extinguished.

He'll awake just fine.

As will you.

Your duty to the family awaits, as does his.

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riverashifts · 3 days ago

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Heyyyy could you explain the story of your squid games drs I have ideas but idk

ooh okay!! so i haven't Actually started scripting so it's all in my head but i'll give you the gist of what i've got:

i've mentioned i have multiple squid game drs but they all have the same basic mechanics so i'll describe their differences afterwards

obviously im scripting out the deaths (i'm not looking to see my loved ones and friends die in front of me thank yew!) so instead my dr is set in a "futuristic" type reality where our technology and weapons are very advanced. when a player is eliminated, they are simply "shot" (okay scary but bear with me) with a machine that basically teleports them out of the games. it's not as dramatic as dying Obviously, but the stakes are still up because it's a LOTTTT of money

as for the games, they're different in each dr. my first dr is set in season 1 with the season 1 games (my s/o is jay 🙂‍↕️), my second dr is set in season 2 with the season 2 games (my s/o is myunggi except he's not an asshole lmao) and my third dr is based on the post i made a few days ago - it's set somewhere in north america (idk the specifics yet) and the games are all games ive played in my childhood—i haven't decided what games will be there exactly, but here are the games i've come up with as possibilities:

simon says

musical chairs

floor is lava

dodgeball

four corners

manhunt / tag / marco polo

duck duck goose

capture the flag

hide and seek

hopscotch

what time is it mr wolf

i might not script which ones are in and just see what happens for the fun of it but idk! i haven't decided if i want an s/o in this dr for the dramatics, but since i have one in my other two drs i might just leave it at that

there are also a lot of safety mechanics for each game to make sure no one gets too severely hurt (getting hurt is always a possibility but really when is it not) for ex. the glass bridge (made out of a bit sharp glass somehow???) doesn't not explode at the end + everyone wears a harness while walking across it

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rei-ismyname · 22 hours ago

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Colossus 'cheats' on Kitty Pryde

1985's Secret Wars had a lot going on - it's incredibly dense with wars, politics, infighting and DOOM shenanigans, but Colossus was only thinking about Kitty. Constantly and embarrassingly (especially for a 19 year old dating a 14 year old.) That ended when he met the alien healer Zsaji, falling instantly in love with her despite not speaking the same language. Once that happened he would constantly daydream about her instead.

Apparently Zsaji is DTF, though we don't ever get to hear what she thinks. Johnny Storm had a brief dalliance with her too, though he dumped her just as quickly, calling her a 'chippie.' I had to look this one up, and apparently it's slang for 'sex worker' or 'slut.' Misogynistic bullshit, which makes Piotr furious, though not furious enough to say anything. There's quite a bit of casual body and slut shaming in Secret Wars, all directed at women of course. That's a topic for another day, but I thought I'd flag it here.

Not sure Wolverine's theory holds up if Johnny isn't head over heels. What does he know anyway?

Zsaji and Piotr are either just about to bang or just did when Chuck telepathically contacts Colossus, who tells him to fuck off. He relents upon hearing it's a 'code red' command and promises to return. Unless he sees another attractive woman between now and then of course. Secret Wars does such bizarre shit with the X-Men, but then again Colossus is pretty consistently a fickle yet intense romantic. At least Zsaji is an adult, even if she's barely a character.

Here's how that wraps up btw. Zsaji heals saves the lives of The Wasp and Colossus, gets judged by everyone, hooks up with two fuckboys, then dies without ever getting to be heard. She's never spoken of again, except when Piotr breaks Kitty's heart. 'Romance'

#x comics #secret wars #colossus #x men #charles xavier #Zsaji #Battleworld #johnny storm #marvel #comics #psychic pest

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erisenyo · 1 day ago

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Anon do I ever remember. A follow up to Part 1, here. I recommend viewing the St. Sebastian Sculpture here for the full Vibe lol

NSFW ahead - Zutara, bloodbending, D/s vibes, consensual but not sane or safe, I think we can see where this is going, handwaving anatomy and why Katara would know the latin names for things

The next time it happens, it’s not Katara who puts him on his knees.

She’s already hot with annoyance as she tromps through the forest, irritated to even be chasing after Zuko in the first place when he was just supposed to be foraging, irritated that no one else seems particularly concerned with his whereabouts, irritated that she couldn’t even lose herself in the familiar motions of laundry, the rhythms of pressure and rushing water and pulsing agitation abruptly no longer soothing to sink herself into when all she can seem to think about is—

“Fuck!” A man—broad but lean, clothes rough except for a very fine vest, mismatched swords at his waist, definitely a bandit then—shouts as he and Katara burst into a clearing at the same time.

“Another one?” another man grunts as he steps out of the tree line, eyes assessing as he unloops a coil of rope from his shoulder.

“We don’t have time for this,” a third bandit scowls, a familiar sack in her hand. “Let’s make quick work of this one, too.”

“I’ll show you quick,” Katara growls, staring at the bag she would know backward and forward with how many times she’s mended it, her waterbending surging out as her anger suddenly finds a target.

She rips water from the nearby stream, from the inexplicably soaked clothing all bandits are wearing. She barely touches what’s contained in her waterskin, and it’s only after all three of them are unconscious, her bag back in hand, that Katara considers that ‘another one’ means she wasn’t the first.

Katara hesitates, eyeing the rope still tangled in a lasso in the second bandit’s grip. Her adrenaline is still roiling through her, her bending pulsing water-ice-water-ice as she tries to regain her composure. This bag unquestionably went out with Zuko. She could go back to get the others, Toph’s seismic sense would be helpful.

But she’s been watching Sokka narrate his tracking for years. And Zuko probably just followed the shoreline. She doesn’t need Toph. Besides, what if the bandits wake up and go back for Zuko? What if he’s unconscious, or hurt? Or tied up somewhere, awake and waiting and—

When Katara finds him, he isn’t unconscious. She hears his tight, harsh grunt before she sees him.

But he is undeniably roughed up, already-worn clothing ripped and even more wet than the bandits were, like maybe he got jumped in the stream, which maybe he did if he couldn’t bend his way out of the fight. Maybe he even was unconscious at some point, to end up tied up like that. She doesn’t know how else they would have gotten him on his knees with the broad tree flush against his back like that, the trunk between his shins and rope looped around his waist and the strain of his shoulders and arch of his back saying his hands are tied behind the tree, too.

He probably can’t bend without burning himself, she contemplates as she watches, feeling oddly, clinically abstracted. But he’s clearly trying to change that fact with the way he’s squirming, coming up off his knees as he strains forward, cords of muscle and tendon stark—triceps brachii, her mind helpfully supplies, brachioradialis, extensor carpi radialis longus, and the rotator cuff must be screaming—his body suspended against the rope with effort and face twisted into a furious scowl that spasms as he collapses heavily to his knees again.

“You’re hurt?” Katara doesn’t think as she steps out of the tree line, Zuko’s head jerking up in alarm.

“Katara! There are bandi—”

“I took care of them,” she interrupts, her chi feeling oddly shivery with readiness as she reaches for the flow of the stream, just in case.

Zuko stares, chest heaving. “All of them?” he finally asks, the words hoarser than usual as his gaze hunts between her and the trees.

She dangles the bag in demonstration, like it was easy. “Three? I took care of it.”

Another beat of staring. Then Zuko exhales, sharp and unsteady, and slowly leans back again. Not settling, though, she notes in that distant way. Not with the way his body stays tight and coiled, his chest still fast as if with urgency.

Katara can hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding with adrenaline, the tugging awareness of her own blood.

“You’re hurt?” she asks again, glancing over him for injury. It’s easy enough to look for. His tunic has been ripped through to the collar on one side, falling half off his chest and barely hanging on the other. His pants are in equally rough shape, like someone grabbed fistfuls of them to try to contain him, or maybe to drag him to this tree.

That would have been humiliating for someone to put him on his knees that way, she considers as something not-at-all-abstractly lurches inside her, in her bending.

“Katar—”

“What happened,” she interrupts, coming to a stop standing over him. He likes to be there, she remembers like it’s something she needs to recall. He likes to be put there.

“It’s not—”

“Tell me.”

Zuko cuts his eyes away, panting harshly, swallowing hard. Then he licks his lips—stress response, that voice like Yugoda’s whispers, which can presage fear, fight, or arou—and glances up at her from beneath his lashes, lips pressed together and the air suddenly thick with awareness, thick enough that she can barely breathe it, that she almost feels like she could bend it as a single shiver runs through him before he tightly controls it.

“You’re covered in water, Zuko,” she says low, like it’s an observation, and Zuko makes a tight, thin noise in the back of his throat and tells her.

She imagines it, how it must have unfolded. The three bandits seeing Zuko vulnerable and exposed that way, knee-deep in the river and poking at the reeds. The coordinated rush to take him down. The struggle and strain for mastery, the water suffocating and impeding them all so that it took three of them to pin him down and contain him, apparently.

Her bending slides syrupy and thick through her veins, her chi, with the memory of having done that to him, too. He’d folded at the first press. Gone limp. Gave in to whatever she wanted to do to him. “You fought it.”

Zuko swallows hard and tilts his chin. Defiance, or brazening through the obvious blush of embarrassment. “Yeah.” He likes that, too, and Katara can’t even pretend at having to remember that. Not when the knowledge has had her off-kilter and sharp-tongued with him ever since she realized.

She can see the pulse in the hollow of his neck, like this. And the way his lips part, his eyes dark. He knows that she knows, and neither of them can pretend otherwise, even if she hasn’t wanted to admit it, acknowledge it, look at it in anything other than the thick, sticky dark of night.

Katara wants to wrap her bending into the stream, wants to make it a raging rush to match the feeling inside her, wants to feel the pressure of it rising to match— “You’re injured?” she asks thickly.

Zuko’s eyes immediately cut away. “It’s fine.”

“Where.” He can’t hunch forward over himself or pull his knees up, this time, even if she let him.

“It’s nothing.”

“Where.” Not with the rope around him.

“It doesn’t matt—”

“You think I can’t find out myself?” she snaps, her bending rolling out to cling to the water still in his clothes, pressing, making him feel the pressure of the water on him, all around him.

She breathes hard as he gasps and sags, squeezing until the droplets are on the verge of snapping to ice and her waterbending to something sharp and jagged and tight, squeezing until a familiar whine chokes out of him. Then sucks in air and forces her chi to ebb, waiting with a throbbing kind of adrenaline-anticipation—the adrenaline of the stress response, which can presage—for Zuko to pry his eyes back open.

“Do you think you can?” he rasps, body tight again, and Katara doesn’t need the memory of his tone from to hear the invitation in it now.

She curls her hands into fists, looking at the way his tunic is barely clinging to his shoulder. And looking at the taut way he’s holding himself, watching her sidelong, the shiver of his stomach entirely visible.

Then she grips the water in his tunic again and jerks it to her, sharp. Zuko lets out a ragged noise as the last seams rip from the force, Katara watching the now-dry fabric slithering down to catch on the rope. She reflexively forms the water into a small ball, slowly pressing her bending into that instead, distantly aware as her chi flexes and throbs that she can only build the pressure for so long before it needs release.

“Your back?” she asks, trying to focus on the rhythm of her waterbending and not the sharp-edged pulse calling to her.

Zuko’s shoulders flex like he’s twisting his hands against their bindings, his bare stomach pressing against the rope with the force of his breaths, over and over. “You can’t find out yourself?”

Katara feels heady from the beat of her own pulse. Then she exhales hard and swirls the globe of water into a ribbon over his arms, feeling the smooth slide of water over skin skin skin rope there and slicing it up frozen and serrated through the ropes binding his wrists.

She throws the still pressure-tight water aside as Zuko falls forward with a surprised cry, his weight catching on the rope still around his waist—and the bare line of his back exposed to show bark-scuffed skin and a few bruises, but nothing more than what they’ve all had from training.

Katara flexes thighs, her stomach, feels how strongly she’s braced as she looks down at him half-bent over before her. “I can find out whatever I want.”

Zuko breathes heavily a moment, sagged forward, his scapula shifting as he tests the movement of his shoulders. “Yeah?” he finally says, leaning back against the tree again, still kneeling up as if he has to. It’s not much of a response. But he’s bared to the waist now, no real injuries to be seen, and Katara feels like she’s looking down over the edge of a cliff as he licks his lips again, watching her back, feels like she’s jumping and momentarily weightless above the water as she lets her bending surge out for those droplets of water again and yanks.

The sound of cloth and seams tearing is loud, but not as loud as Zuko. A raw noise chokes in his throat ass his pants flutter down to leave him in just the rope around his waist and a wet, transparent fundoshi that does nothing to hide the shape of him—ateriolar dilation and increased blood flow to the erectile tissue—or the puncture wounds sluggishly bleeding down his thigh.

“Rocks?” Katara says unevenly as the sharp claws of her bloodbending twist through her chi. There was an earthbender in that bunch, nothing compared to sparring with Toph. The punctures are on the front of his thigh like he got hit with projectiles, a few inches below where his—his penis is tangled in the wet fabric, halfway erect and twisted to the side.

It looks uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Zuko says thickly.

She doesn’t think he cares.

“I’m going to need to flush out any debris, before healing.” She barely recognizes her own voice, or the heavy throb of her bending as she forcefully pushes back the hungry tug of bloodbending.

“Yeah,” Zuko says unsteadily, swallowing hard, his bare body betraying the flush working down his chest, the flex of his hips—abductor muscles contracting, she forces herself to note, and—and—and the twitch of his penis. “For healing.”

Katara doesn’t say it back again, isn’t sure she could. She just takes a moment to try to control her own wild pulse, crouching down and separating the strands of water and healing and blood that have never been so tangled before.

Then she flushes the first wound with water. A careful, controlled stream rather than a fast, hard rush. Feeling the pressure as the water slips into him, just a bit, the wounds aren’t that deep really.

Seeing his reflexive jerk against the intrusion and pain, and she can fix her gaze on the first puncture, can assess it and let her bending stream out again, just to be thorough. But it’s impossible not to also see the shove of his hips into it, with the wounds so close to his groin. Impossible not to also note the pull of wet fabric, the further displacement, the cloth tugged even more off-center. Sliding half-off the scrotum, the twisted fabric still pressing the hardening shaft downward but if he squirms enough then maybe it will drag entirely—

“Be still,” Katara warns as she pulls her water abruptly back, breathing far harder than the bending warrants.

Zuko makes a high, tight noise and slumps back, eyes closed, gasping and nodding even as his hips continue to work against the air.

Spinal reflex in response to stimuli, she thinks even as she orders, “Still.”

She doesn’t wait for an invitation this time, knows she already has one as she lashes out with bloodbending this time, seizing veins and arteries and pressing him motionless. Zuko moans, head kicking back, and she can feel the way his hips try to buck and then again when he realizes he can’t. Another of those moans slips out, loud like he’s taking advantage of having his mouth free, or maybe is trying to goad her, but she’s too focused on following the rush of his blood, celiac trunk to internal and external iliac, tibial to femoral, feeling where the blood is slipping out of him but also where it’s flushing the surface of his skin, filling his penis, pathways dilating and pulse throbbing and she can feel the beat in her own veins, too.

Katara jerks her bloodbending back into her own skin and calls up the torrent of her waterbending. She breathes hard from the effort of fighting the hungry tug, gasping at the dizzying feel of that clawing edge along her water, like its trying to sink into that, too. Tui and La, to use both at the same time—to feel him from the inside out as his body does that—her chi throbs, fingertips tingling like maybe if she just tried…

Katara shoves that away. “Like that,” she snaps, apprehension shivering through her. Would she ever be able to get the bloodbending out, if it breached into her water that way? She scowls when Zuko just gasps at her, eyes hazy and mouth slack like he has no idea what she’s saying. “Still.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Zuko rasps after a moment, sucking in air and then bracing himself, basically naked so see the tightening of chest—of pectoralis major and rectus abdominus and—the inguinal ligament taut and flexed--

She flushes the second wound hard and fast and Zuko barely lasts a second before a high noise chokes out of him, his teeth sinking into his lips and his hips rising up and it’s not from the pain, not at all.

Katra pulls the water back. “I can hold you still, or I can clean out the last one.” Her chi lurches with the temptation to try both even though she’s never—even though she can’t, the pathways of chi are so—and if they go tangled, if she couldn’t separate them—

Zuko looks back at her flushed and embarrassed and so openly aroused that it doesn’t feel real. She’s never felt more aware of her own skin and blood than the moment when he nods unsteadily and reaches up above himself to grab onto the tree. To anchor himself, obviously, the motion canting his hips forward as if offering his injured thigh, his dark-flushed glans, the fundoshi fabric slid down to the place where his engorged shaft meets—

“Is that it?” Katara asks when she’s done. Zuko just pants up at her, ragged, flushed. Erection is a reflex response to visual, olfactory, physical, or imaginative stimuli, she wildly remembers Yugoda lecturing. She wonders which this qualifies as, her bloodbending throbbing in answer. “Should I check for more?”

“If you want to be sure,” Zuko says raggedly, re-gripping to the tree, and Katara presses her tongue to the dry roof of her mouth and fills him with her bending.

Bloodbending bursts through her chi, bursts through him, and she clenches her own body against it as Zuko moans and arches like he never even dreamed of fighting it. She sets a hand against the ground to steady herself, staring hypnotized at the way he moves between the restraints and the tree, the way he bucks, the way he shudders even as she freezes parts of him with her bending one by one.

Lips, which she knows he likes, can feel in the leap of his blood. Shoulders back to the tree, so he can’t cover himself, a whimper choking past his frozen tongue. Arching his back until it’s the rope fighting her. Pressing his arms into place, so the rest of him can squirm and betray every bit of his reaction, the tiny jerks of his muscles like he can’t stop himself from trying to feel her grip in his veins.

She leaves his hips for last so that he can feel it, really feel it, when she forces them to freeze just as the reflexive to buck rolls them him. And she can feel that ripple through him, testing muscle and rushing blood and surging pulse, the fruitless strain against her hold that matches the gasping, moaning sounds he makes.

She same wild pulse is in her bending, too, a throbbing rhythm that lurches through her chi, tugs her forward until she’s feeling it in every part of him trying to find more, pushing into every capillary and venule until he’s crying out, muffled, from the sensitivity, and the way he’s looking at her down the spread-out expanse of his body—

Katara shoves to her feet, forces Zuko’s head to tilt to follow her, forces his eyes to stay open, and locks every muscle except the ones he needs to thrust his hips. She releases him when she needs to gasp in her own air, watches him sag between his outstretched arms, locks him again, again, rhythmic, Zuko groaning as he realizes. There’s no way for him to hide like this, knees wide, gripping the tree and still tied so that even if she did release him, he’d be exposed, that scrap of barely-there cloth doing nothing. It barely coverst he curve of his testicle—he cries out as her bloodbending rushes down to feel it drawn up tight—the line of his erection fully free as he rocks against the air, desperate, and the fact that she can do that just by standing, just by making him look up at her—

She steps forward until her boots are just inches from his knees, feeling heady with the way he cranes even more up at her without even needing to be forces, his eyes blown wide. And then the rush as his gaze skips down over her breasts, her stomach, her hands, lower, his mouth parting and his tongue sliding out to lick his lips, and if she leaned him forward like she can feel him straining to do then he’d be pressing his face to—

Katara shoves her healing into him with a gasp. She slices through the last rope with a blade of ice, gouging wood and whirling around ass Zuko cries, suddenly unbalanced without the restraining tension. The suddenly-free trust of his hips is burning into her mind’s eye, blazing over the back of her eyelids as she squeezes them shut and forces the flood of her bending into the clean flow of the stream, letting the current pull it away and trying not to hear the thump of his fists hitting the earth, or the strained grunt he lets out, then another.

“We should head back,” Katara finally says, chest aching with the force of keep her breathing even. “Warn the others. About the bandits.”

A heavy, panting silence, then, “Yeah. Yeah,” he says, ragged and breathless and wanting in a way that she doesn’t want to feel in her blood. She knows without needing to check that he’s still on his knees behind her.

“There’s needle and thread in the bag.” She can’t make herself say why he’d need them. “Don’t take too long.” She strides away before she can let herself think too much about it, or wonder if firebenders can feel the heat in someone’s veins, before notice that she didn’t hear him rise to his feet until she told him too.

#asks and answers #my writing #Zutara #Katara #Zuko #bloodbending #ficlet #Maybe long enough to no longer be a ficlet...

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