#i could go on and on about it but i don’t have enough space here

[mariasont]

clothing optional

a water mishap leaves you in hotch's pajamas and confronting some awkward, fluttery feelings.

pairing: aaron hotchner x intern!reader warnings: age gap, fluffity fluff, mentions of hotch���s clothes being oversized, spencer being a shit, reader being overstimulated as hell by hotch (i get it girl) prompt: here! wc: 0.5k

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are.”

He was. Or maybe not in the auditory sense, but in the molecular sense. You could see it in the shimmering vibration beneath his words and the glimmer of copper-lit eyes you lately lose entire moments looking at, seconds bleeding into eternities.

One glance in the mirror, unfortunately, provides clarity as to his suppressed shit-eating grin. The proportions are laughable, almost abstract. His shirt hangs from your shoulders like it's trying to remember what structure is, and you... you look like a squid caught mid-metamorphosis, limbs lost somewhere under sleeves and pants designed for someone who probably has double your muscle mass. You wouldn’t even consider yourself a small person. You’re not. Aaron Hotchner just seems to take up space in every sense of the word.

“I have better manners than that,” he murmurs, and the subtle rasp in his voice skims across your nerve endings like sandpaper dragged gently across glass. Unexpected friction, oddly delicate.

“You know," you begin, "good manners are... kind of arbitrary. Historically speaking, etiquette was less about kindness or decency and more about control. Upper-class individuals engineering performative social rituals to differentiate themselves from, well, everyone else." You pause. "So... you know. Arbitrary."

Your hands make a vague gesture you hope reads as so there, but it probably just looks like mild jazz hands.

“Guess I’ll have to find new ways to assert my social superiority."

“I mean, you could always fall back on that whole commanding presence that makes people immediately defer to your authority thing you’ve got going.”

You make the executive decision to ignore the increasingly obvious fact that whatever neurological response his authority presence triggers — elevated heart rate, dermal sensitivity, slight auditory lag — is highly specific to you. Which is probably just some sort of... psychological imprinting effect. (Or a crush. Which you cannot examine too close.)

He fixes you with a look you’ve come to label as his patented active refusal to entertain nonsense, though you haven't shared that classification with him. You're ninety percent sure he uses it more on you than anyone else.

“How’s your bag?”

“Better now that it’s away from Spencer,” you say, rolling your eyes, “He got it in his head that he could prove a theory about water displacement using my travel shampoo and a bathtub. I think he tried to recreate Archimedes' moment but with my Pantene and a plastic mug."

He plucks at the T-shirt draped over you — his shirt, which you're still trying not to think about too much, because it smells like him and feels incredibly intimate in of itself.

“Tomorrow we can go into town and get you something less susceptible to Reid’s aquatic experiments. Unless you prefer permanently borrowing my clothes.”

“Tempting offer,” you joke, cheeks flushed with heat (vasodilation, your brain supplies, ever helpful in its commitment to observation). “But, um, if I keep borrowing your clothes, we'll have to start accounting for tensile decay. Cotton's only got so many wash cycles in it. Not that I've... calculated the exact threshold. Yet.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling pleasantly through your stomach.

“Good point,” he says, and then, because apparently, he hasn't done enough damage, adds, “But just so you know, I’m perfectly fine with a few compromised T-shirts if you are.”

Your heart flinches. Or flutters. Violently. Like a firework that went off two seconds too early.

“Well, technically I guess the degradation would depend on washing frequency and detergent alkalinity levels, because pH can break down cotton fibers over time, and if we factor in the mechanical action of the washer drum —”

“Hey.” There's patient amusement laced through his tone. “Do you need a second?”

You press your palms against your cheeks.

“Yeah. I — Yeah, I think that would be good. Thank you.”

He turns, pausing in the doorway.

"I'll tell the team not to jump to conclusions," he says. "But I doubt that'll help."

It's fine. You'll recover. Probably. Someday.

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

[mylovewasbulletproof]

Catalyst pt 2

couple of quick updates: I decided I’m not re-writing part 1 (at least right now) and you all seemed to enjoy it so here we go

If you haven’t read pt 1 it offers some back story but I don’t think you’ll be totally lost if you don’t read it

I have more ideas for this pairing as well as ideas for some robby pairings. let me know if you want more!

warnings: Pittfest, anxiety, panic attacks, soft!jack, canon typical injuries, likely some medical inaccuracies, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suicidal thoughts, mention of throwing up, dissociation, angst, death of a patient, still pining but getting closer for sure

Jack Abbot x R4 amputee reader

——————————————————————

You never liked working day shifts. It felt like you were too noticeable. Working the night shift had always felt comfortable. Like the darkness could hide you away if you need it to.

The only reason you were back at the Pitt was because Dana had asked you to cover for Robby. It was the anniversary of Adamson’s passing and he usually took it off.

“Did you know Dr. Robby was working today?” You asked Jack who had been giving you shift change notes

“No. No idea.” He shrugged before telling you that he would see you later for the next shift change

——————————————————————

One thing about the day shift is that you were never bored. With an average wait time of 3 hours in the waiting room, you were doing your best to treat patients and discharge them as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, not everyone in the waiting room appreciated your effort.

You were checking in on Dana, who thankfully hadn’t been seriously injured by an angry patient, when she got the call.

There was a shooter at Pittfest and we needed to prepare the ER for a mass casualty incident.

Your breath hitched and suddenly you couldn’t hear anything over your heart beat echoing in your ears. A loud clap from Dr. Robby seemed to reset your senses. You hadn’t even realized that Jack was already here.

You were told that you were going to assist both the red zone and triage. Dr. Robby trusted you to make quick decisions about where you were needed most given the current patients coming in. Before patients started arriving, he asked you to start stocking all the trauma bays with the supplies coming out of the mass casualty incident bins.

“Do we have any more ket or roc vials I can put in the last few trauma bays?” You asked Jack, knowing he was coordinating the flow of supplies

“Not currently. I’m waiting on one more bin. There should be some more within the next 2 minutes” Jack replied, checking inventory lists

“Ok, I’ll be back then” you were halfway to exiting the bay when he called your name

“Are you okay? I know-“

“I’m fine. I don’t have any other choice. Right?” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence

“If you need anything, come find me. Okay?” he meets your eyes for a split second, softening his just enough to only be noticeable to you

——————————————————————

Patients came pouring in. At this point, you had lost track of how many patients you’d treated. It seemed like one patient would stabilize, just for another one to crash.

You hadn’t spent long in triage. Just enough time to grab your next patient. On your way out of the ambulance bay you tried not to glare at the reporter trying to shove her way inside.

“Ok, ma’am you can let go now” you say gently, trying to pull her son from her arms

“I want to stay with my son” she says

“He will be very close by. This one’s red, I’ll take it” you say before pushing off with the gurney

“How can I help?” Mohan meets you at the double doors

“I need hemostatic dressings, a chest tube, probably O neg, at least a bag. It’s a penetrating chest wound left side” you instruct, looking for a space to stop your patient and begin working

“I don’t have a pulse” Mohan calls

“God damn it” you position yourself on top of the gurney, beginning compressions

“Mohan, I need you to use an IO drill to go into the bone marrow and start the transfusion” you instruct, pausing to get a pulse check

Mohan follows your instructions. Handing off the blood bag to Princess to hold

“I’m gonna have to put in a chest tube and try auto-transfusing. He’s just losing too much”

Jack couldn’t help but let his eyes flick up from his own patient to look up at you. He wasn’t sure what injuries your patient had but regardless it didn’t make sense to try and auto-transfuse without a pulse. It didn’t make sense why you hadn’t called it yet. He passed his patient off to Walsh before crossing over to where you were working.

“Penetrating chest wound. Gone through 2 hemostatic dressings. Transfused 1 bag of O neg, just started auto-transfusing” you call, sensing his presence behind you

“How much are you looking to auto-transfuse?” He asks softly, glancing between you and your patient

“Not sure. 1200 maybe?” you pause again, looking for a pulse, before quickly resuming

“Then what?” He asks, trying to get you to think through the process and realize that you needed to call time of death

“I don’t know Dr. Abbot. Why don’t you tell me?” you huffed, not understanding why he was choosing now to watch you work

Jack looked a little bit closer at the patient. It was then that he realized that this injury mirrored your brothers’. The patient was a similar age. He took a deep breath before offering his advice:

“If he was my patient, I’d have called it. Look at that wound Y/N. In the field he would’ve been pronounced.”

“He had a pulse when he came in. If I can just get his volume back up” You rush out

“You’d need several bags of blood that we just don’t have. If he was our only patient, maybe. But even then chances would be slim” he sighs, a sinking feeling brewing in his chest

You did one more round and one more check for a pulse with the Doppler before pushing back and calling time of death. Jack watched as you definitely jumped down from the patient harder than necessary. Scribbling furiously on the card attached to your patient. He didn’t even have a chance to speak before you were rushing off and he was being pulled for a different patient.

——————————————————————

Eventually, the ambulances and vehicles began to slow. The red and pink zones had been cleared. It was mostly patients in the yellow zone waiting to be scheduled for surgery or moved upstairs. You had been moving on auto pilot since you had called time of death. But as people around you started to slow down, you realized that you needed to go notify the boy’s family.

They teach you in med school that grief can express itself in many different ways. Some people cry, some people scream, others stare at the wall in shock, and some get angry.

You knew all of that and thought you had prepared yourself well enough. This wasn’t the first patient you had lost. You had done this before and watched both Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot do them as well.

You knocked on the closed door of the family room. You took one big deep breath before entering the room.

“Thank you for your patience. My name is Dr. L/N and I worked on your son when he came in this evening”

“Yes, please, tell us about our son, Henry” his mother trembled, waiting anxiously for your reply

“Henry came in with very serious injuries. The bullet entered the left side of his chest, through his lung, before stopping several inches from his spine. He lost his pulse very quickly after arriving. The blood loss was too severe. I am so sorry for your loss” you finished, before bracing yourself

Immediately his father began throwing insults and casting blame. He had said you didn’t try hard enough and that you should’ve been able to save him, along with several expletives describing you. His mother just repeated no over and over again, covering her ears and rocking back and forth.

You restated how sorry you were for their loss before excusing yourself from their room. The hallway passed by in a blur, you had one place you were headed for. Only stopping long enough to empty your stomach into a trash can nearby.

——————————————————————

Jack had listened as Dr. Robby did his debrief. Subtly scanning the room, he realized you weren’t there. He knew it would look bad if he left in the middle of Michael’s debrief but he was itching to go find you. But he also knew you weren’t okay after calling that time of death. Things had moved so quickly afterwards that he hadn’t had a chance to find you and talk through it.

He waited until Michael was done, making sure to confirm that he was up for a beer in the park before setting off towards the elevators.

As he pushed open the door to the roof, it didn’t take long for his eyes to find your pacing figure. He could tell your eyes were red and puffy and you were limping. There was something bothering you about your prosthetic but you just kept walking back and forth.

You were re-running every second of that code in your head — trying and failing to convince yourself that. The pain in your leg was background noise to the chaos unfolding in your head. The only thing you could feel was the sting of the wind against your soaked cheeks and the suffocating weight on your chest.

Jack couldn’t stand to watch you walk back and forth for much longer. He slowly approached, trying to make some noise to avoid scaring you. But you were clearly somewhere else, not registering your surroundings. It scared Jack, seeing you so dissociated and so close to the edge of that roof. He was starting to understand Michael’s concern when the roles were reversed.

He had made one last attempt to get your attention before deciding that he needed to step in front of you. Hopefully it would disrupt the cycle you were stuck in and begin to ground you. He moved just slightly into your path, hands out to steady you. You bumped into his chest which caused you to look up at him. His relief didn’t last long when he realized it was like you were looking through him. He’d seen that thousand yard stare before , in comrades on the battlefield, in himself after a particularly bad nightmare. He lightly grabbed both sides of your face, just enough pressure to pull you back to the present.

Your breath caught slightly, like it got stuck in your throat. Your eyes seemed to clear, just slightly before your breathing picked up and you began mumbling. It took him several seconds to realize what you were saying

“It’s my fault. I couldn’t save him. I’m so sorry”

“Hey Y/N, I need you to focus on me. Big deep breaths” he urged, he could practically see your carotid pulse moving in your neck

You stopped speaking but continued to shake your head. Your knees buckled soon after, causing him to move one of his hands to your waist to steady you.

“Ok honey. Let’s sit down. Okay?” He tapped his fingers against the side of your waist before guiding the both of you into a seated position. He moved so you were sitting chest to chest, leaving enough space for your legs to stretch out behind him. He took both your hands, pressing one to his chest, directly over his heart and the other he began to squeeze gently.

“Come on. Match my breathing. I don’t want you passing out on me” he pushed, watching as you began to try and slow your breathing

“Good girl. That’s it. Keep going. You’re doing so good” he felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders as your pulse and breathing began to even out

The two of you sat like that for several more minutes. Trying to center yourselves.

“Jack?” your voice cracked, dragging your eyes from their spot on the floor to meet his

“Yes honey. I’m right here. Talk to me” his face had softened in ways you had never seen before — the creases by his eyes smoothed, his mouth didn’t seem permanently stuck in a scowl

“He looked just like him. And I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save either of them” your voice trailed off as you curled into yourself

“I know. But there was no saving that boy tonight and you have no blame in what happened to your brother, you know that” he murmured, reaching up to your cheek to catch a stray tear

“I just don’t understand why I keep being spared as the people around me die. Why did I become a doctor if I can’t save people?” you sniffled

“You worked on 27 different patients today. 26 of them are on their way to recovery because of you. You’ll always remember the ones you couldn’t save but I refuse to let you convince yourself that you’re a bad doctor. That’s basically an insult towards me. I trained you” the corners of his mouth twitched up, hoping that it would help lighten your mood

You yawned before realizing that you were still sitting in Jack’s lap. You scrambled off, opting to sit down next to him. He still hasn’t let go of your hand, as if he’s worried you’ll float away if he does. You hesitate for a moment, before leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder

“Michael has two beers with our names on it if you want to go join the crew or I can just take you home” he looked down at you, offering you the options

“I need at least one beer before I go home or I won’t be able to sleep tonight” you groan, slowly pushing yourself back into a standing position

You offer Jack your hand again, helping him stand up

“Will you let me look at your leg while you drink?” He asks, gently tapping his prosthetic against yours

“How did you-“ you pause before deciding against finishing your question “If you want. I guess. I think it’s just inflamed. I didn’t expect to be here this long so I didn’t wear the right sleeve”

He hums in acknowledgment, pulling you towards the door, “I want to check it for cellulitis, just to be safe”

“You act like I’m not a doctor myself” you huff, pulling yourself a bit closer to him, shivering as the wind blew

“It’s actually because I know you’re a doctor that I know you’re not going to pay attention to it unless it gets bad. It’s okay to let people take care of you”

“That’s rich coming from the self care king himself. I’ll let you take care of me as soon as you let me take care of you” you retort, and for once Jack didn’t have some witty reply ready. He would let you take care of him. But neither of you were ready to admit that.

The staff that worked in the Pitt that night would be undeniably changed for the rest of their lives. What happened that night was horrific but it also made you so incredibly grateful for your found family.

————————————————————————

thank you for all the love on the last part!

[naffeclipse]

S'mores

Reader x Cryptid!Monty

Commission Info

This was requested by @catbeastaisha who was so darling and wanted some more Cryptid Monty from my fic! There's nothing like enjoying some marshmallows and discussions of how cryptids function while out in the marsh, and you get to do so while spending a night camping out under the stars! And you feel completely safe in the dark.

———

You’ve never found yourself out in the marshland so often after dark, but this night was a long time coming. At least, Monty has been asking you again and again to venture out into the swamp to spend a night with him. He could only have nefarious purposes or so you teased him, but he grew quite insistent that he wanted to spend such quality time with you. 

The truth is that you only declined the first few times because you had late baseball games. Not that Monty minds watching you play. You’re not certain how the cryptid watches you during one of the late night, bright light tournaments that leave you drenched in sweat in a dirty jersey from sliding into homebase. But, the back of your neck prickles with the awareness of eyes upon you. A few of your teammates will shudder despite the hot night and throw wayward glances to the fence way out in the outfield, but return to the game, no less on edge from seeing nothing out in the darkness.

You smile to yourself, hand in glove, knowing that you’ve got someone cheering you on.

When you linger in the parking lot long after the lights have been shut off and everyone has gone home, he’ll detach from the darkness, hulking and outlined in starlight, to gather you in a huge hug and spin you once. He’s dynamic, roaring about your plays and then tearing apart any calls the ref made on times you got out. Nothing makes you grin more.

And, especially after a terrible game, when you’re half ready to smash a helmet with the nearest baseball bat, he’ll take your hands and let you squeeze his rugged, scaly palms until you don’t feel like biting clear through a barb-wire fence, and tell you that your anger is good and what happened wasn’t right, but it’s okay now. You can be mad all you like. 

Somehow, that always takes the ferocity out of you. You’ll stop grinding your teeth and seeing red, and you’ll let Monty take you somewhere, anywhere to help you calm down. 

A claw, dark and sharpened to a skewer tip, touches the brim of your baseball hat. You lift your eyes from memory, and smile at the red eyes studying you with a mild concern. 

“Almost lost you there,” he rumbles in a crocodilian hiss. “Where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” you chuckle, reaching up to take his hand from your hat, though you didn’t realize how much you’ve spaced out. “Sorry, I was just thinking about baseball. And that hot dog.”

You still have the roasting stick in hand, but you’ve dutifully cleaned the end and prepared it for the real pièce de résistance for tonight. 

S’mores.

The campfire crackles quietly, burning a bit lower but hot with red embers sitting in the pit. It’s taken you a while to find a decent camping site where there would be fewer people and less chances of Monty terrifying some unsuspecting people coming out to enjoy nature as you are doing now. Your sleeping bag is set out and ready to go, alongside a cooler and bag of necessities. Monty’s vessel, a shattered, broken beyond repair animatronic bearing a resembling an alligator in mascort form, is propped against a far cypress. 

You roasted your dinner and piled a hotdog bun high with condiments for Monty to see. He’s wanted to share a meal with you for some time, and this seems appropriate enough considered that his diet consists of what he calls rule breakers. 

“I don’t know how you humans eat those things,” he shakes his long mouth. “There’s no crunch. There’s nothing to crack open with your teeth!” 

It’s comical to have him sit beside you on a log that he pulled out of the swarm, scattering a few frogs from their perch while you nestle in a camping chair. He’s massive. Even with his shoulders hunched slightly to lean closer to you, he towers in the orange flames of the campfire. He watched closer as you explained how you like to turn the roasting stick slower to evenly cook the hot dog. You refuse to eat it until it’s sizzling and split from the heat. 

“They’re good! Just as good as your rule breakers, I’d say,” you counter, half grinning at the dark humor of it all. You just do your best to not think about it too much, lest fear start eating away at you.

He snorts. “Not even close.”

You leave it be and bend down to search the near darkness. His tail wags slightly behind him, the thick, musculature of his tail covered in thick, green scales sweeping behind you when you pull out a bag of jumbo sized marshmallows. You cheered under your breath when you found these in the grocery store. 

“You shouldn’t have, shug.” His wide mouth opens, teeth gleaming under flickers of flame.

All of your concentration goes to spearing the jumbo marshmallow onto the end of the roasting stick. Carefully, you snatch up graham crackers and chocolate bars from the small tote underneath your chair, and you prepare the pieces before you flash a grin and set the marshmallow carefully above the embers. There will be no treats catching fire tonight.

“Just wait until you try it.” You don’t even take your eyes off of the end of the roasting stick. “You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

He chuckles, a deep, crocodilian like hiss underneath the burly sound, and he tips his head. “You know kids love s’mores? Can’t get enough of them. They might like trying to cook them more than actually eating them, and there’s a fair bit more of burned ones than edible ones, but I’d scarf those down too. That would dry up any tears.”

You warm with the image of Monty reassuring a child their burnt marshmallow is still good by tossing it into his mouth, and the shiny gleam of a child’s eyes as they stop crying to watch in awe. Your gaze remains on the white edges of the marshmallow, on guard for scorches or the beginning of a golden outside.

“Do you usually watch over kids camping?”

“Sometimes,” he rumbles, and his tone deepens into a primordial growl. “The marsh draws a lot of people in it. Some good. Some bad. The rule breakers think they can hide under moss and blackgum trees, but they can’t hide from me.”

Risking a glance away from your masterpiece, you watch the cryptid beside you for a moment. His eyes gaze deep into the fire, and his claws curl slightly before he shifts, and places his hand tenderly on your knee. He squeezes once, releasing whatever was steaming up within him.

You look back to the marshmallow, and pull it slightly up from where your lax grip was lowering it too close to the hot coals. Thankfully, no burn edges appear when you twirl it around once for inspection. 

“Good,” you say. “I’m glad there’s someone like you out there making those kinds of people scared.”

His grin spreads wide in your peripheral vision. His hand remains on your leg, waiting for the dessert you promised him. The marshmallow begins to puff up, roasted tenderly as a golden edge begins to bubble on its edges. 

“There we go,” you mutter, baring your teeth in concentration as you bring the roasting stick close and place the gigantic marshmallow onto the graham crackers and chocolate bar. Immediately, the chocolate begins melting. Carefully to not get any gooey marshmallow on your fingers, you press the other graham cracker on top and present Monty with your most tasty creation.

“How’s that for a s’more?”

He doesn’t wait before snatching it deftly between two claws. You sit back and watch him stuff it into his long jaws. It would be comical to watch an alligator-like beast of the swamp chew on the delicacy were it not for the red gleam of his teeth flashing viciously between each chomps. Crumbs fall from his jowls. Marshmallow sticks to his scales. Chocolate stains a long, dark tongue before Monty turns to you, eyes feverish.

“Oh, I ain’t letting you go, junebug.”

Your mouth split into a grin.

“I told you it was good.”

You pull out the marshmallow bag again and before Monty steals it from you, you nab a marshmallow for yourself. The white fluff skewers easily on the end of the roasting stick and you hold it once more above the embers.

Your mind wanders slowly to what will come next, and you fight a slight blush as you ask, “Do you sleep?”

“Me? Sure.” He takes another marshmallow, fresh from the bag, and you’re not entirely certain that he didn’t just swallow it whole. “It’s not quite the same, but we can get some shut eye.”

“For how long?” You glance at your sleeping bag. Returning to the fire, you swear under your breath as your marshmallow receives a scorched and ashy side from brushing against the side of the fire pit. 

“Not as long as you humans,” he chortles, thick and booming. “Why? What’s got you worried, shug?”

“I sleep like a rock,” you frown. “Won’t you get bored?”

He throws his head back and laughs a roaring thing. You glare, a red flare setting in your chest before he shakes his head vigorously, and touches your arm once. You try to turn away from him and slip out from his grasp, not seeing what’s so funny, but he firmly and gently stops you from going anyway.

“I ain’t laughing at you,” he bites back another chuckle, “I’m just amazed that you don’t think this will be a great night for me. Being with you is always exciting. Besides, I want to hear what you’ve got to say in your sleep.”

You stop, and stare at the fire in hope that the flames will excuse the pink brushing against your cheek bones.

“I don’t talk in my sleep.” You arch an eyebrow in challenge.

“We’ll see,” he smugly replies.

You huff indignantly before Monty points out that your marshmallow is on fire.

[cutielogue]

jealous big bro kuroo x reader smut? :3

⤷ i looooved this request :3 i def wanna do more of big bro kuroo !! and also ; sorry, i know this wasn’t exactly focusing much on the jealousy :( i might make a part 2 where it shows moooreee <3

jealous! big bro kuroo ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

cw ; incest ! ! , smut , spanking , fingering , dirty talk , a bit of degradation , dacryphilia (crying kink) , dubcon , a bit of manipulation (?) , timeskip! kuroo obvi , lmk if there’s more !

wc ; 750

masterlist.

“oh? what’s this? a crush?” kuroo muses, his head cocked to one side as you shyly explain to your big brother that you’ve now got a crush. how cute— your brother’s eyes narrow, lips curved into a dangerous grin.

“well, yes..” you trail off, cheeks feeling a little warmer under your brother’s sharp and focused gaze. kuroo always stares at you like that— like he’s hanging onto every word you say. maybe he is, or maybe he just wants you to think that.

“so, why’re you telling me this?” your brother asks, raising a teasing eyebrow at you. though, if you look close enough— you can tell there’s something darker lying beneath the surface of his cheery mood.

“i was just, i don’t know…” you let out a sigh, hands fidgeting with the hem of your pyjama shorts. by now, they are far too short and honestly a little tight— but big bro kuroo bought them for you. they have sentimental value, y’know? “i just wanted to tell you.” you say, lips curving into a shy smile.

“just wanted to tell me, huh?” kuroo drawls, shifting slightly in his bed. your big brother knows you well, so he can tell that there’s something you’re not telling him. kuroo pats the space beside him, his gaze darkening just the slightest. “come here, little sister.” your big brother coos— and you can’t deny him, not with that charmingly gentle tone he puts on.

you should have known better.

because now, he’s got you sat on his lap, his slender fingers gently rubbing over the fabric of your shorts, lightly massaging your pussy in a way that just feels so good.

“don’t worry, i’ll help you.” he murmurs, eyes trained on your facial expressions. though, he barely cares— not when all he’s thinking about is the fact you want someone else to have you like this.

that will never, ever happen. not as long as you’re his little sister— but he’ll play along for a bit longer.

“your big brother will teach you.” kuroo whispers, leaning closer to your ear. he easily tugs your shorts down, followed by those panties of yours. so simple, yet so… you. “this is how to do it, yeah? how to be a good girlfriend for this crush of yours.”

soon enough, he’s slipping his fingers past your folds and into your pussy, ignoring the little whines that escape your lips.

“but, big brother.. is this really okay?” you mumble into his shoulder, biting at your lower lip when you feel his fingers inside of you. it feels good.

“of course it is.” kuroo reassures you, his free hand lifting to pat the back of your head. “i’m helping you, remember?” he adds, slowly beginning to move those slim fingers of his in and out of your pussy. by now, you’re as wet as the ocean. you really can’t help it— this is all so new, and it feels so good. “or has this stupid, puny brain of yours forgotten?” your brother snaps, moving his hand away from your head to lightly spank your ass.

“h—huh?” you manage, eyebrows furrowing. you can barely respond before your big brother lands another— much more firmer— spank on your ass, his fingers quickening their pace.

“you’re too busy thinking of that crush of yours, huh?” your big brother kuroo practically spits, eyes narrowing down at you. “do you think he could do this to you? huh?” he presses on, watching the way your lip quivers. you’re close, he’s assuming. “will he make you cum like i’m going to?” kuroo hums, leaning down.

“i— i dunno,” you sniffle, tears beginning to well in your eyes. and your big brother has never been so turned on in his life. you can feel his cock harden against your thigh, twitching slightly in his pants as tears start to roll down your cheeks. “i.. hope so.” you choke out, cut off by a moan as big bro kuroo curls his fingers inside of you.

you immediately cum, tears spilling as sniffles and sobs leave your lips. big brother kuroo just leans down, kissing your tears away with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“he might.” kuroo mutters, his fingers never once slowing down as he helps you through your orgasm. “but remember one thing, nickname.” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, before moving to your ear. “you will always be my little sister.”

[isles-of-man]

Oscar’s eyes crinkled with amusement at her question, a lightness returning to his tone. “Start wherever you like,” he said, gesturing casually toward the folded pages. “If you want the full picture, start at the beginning. But those folded pages are like the quick-start guide—useful without all the fluff. I’ll admit, I do revisit the book now and then. Not out of obligation, but more because some things still catch me by surprise.” He smiled, knowing that wasn’t exactly common for a man his age and station. “And hey, if you can laugh through the awkward parts, you’re already ahead.”

He raised an eyebrow when she asked if he considered himself an expert, the hint of a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, voice low and steady. “But I’ve learned enough to know what actually matters—and what’s just pomp and nonsense.” There was no boast in it, just a quiet confidence born from experience and hard lessons. “That said, I’m more than happy to be your guide if you want.” His gaze held hers steadily. “I’m not here to impress you, just to be honest.”

When Eleanor mentioned the dozen questions she expected to have, Oscar nodded knowingly. “I’m ready,” he said simply. “Ask away, no matter how simple or complicated.” He glanced at the book on the nightstand, then back at her. “It does look innocent, but you’d be surprised what’s tucked between those covers. Some of it’s practical, some of it... well, let’s just say it’s not exactly bedtime reading.”

When she opened the book and jumped back in surprise, Oscar’s eyes followed her reaction with a mix of amusement and sympathy. “Ah, yes,” he said, taking the book gently when she handed it over. “The ropes page. Definitely not the most comforting first look.” He flicked through a few pages, then looked up at her. “Don’t worry, it’s more about trust and patience than anything scary. We can take it slow, and I promise I’ll explain everything before it happens. No surprises.”

He shifted closer, closing the small gap between them without pushing. “If you want, we can go through the whole book together. I think it’d be better that way—less slamming, more understanding.” His tone was warm, steady, and encouraging, offering a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ll have questions I haven’t even thought of yet.”

Her confusion at his comment about chapter three made him chuckle softly as he returned to the book. “Fair enough,” he said, voice light but patient. “Foreplay is just a fancy word for what happens before the main part—things that help ease into it. It’s not theatrical, just... necessary.”

Oscar leaned in slowly, his breath warm against the side of Eleanor’s face, close enough that she could feel it but not quite touching her skin. His voice dropped to a soft murmur, teasing yet careful. “That’s the art of it—knowing just how close to be, without crossing a line.”

His fingers lingered lightly at the back of her neck, then, just as she might have expected him to lean further, he pulled back gently, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. “Not trying to seduce you… just showing you what I mean.” His eyes held hers, both playful and respectful, giving her space to decide what came next.

"Should I start at the folded pages then? Or read through the book simply from start to end?" Part of her wondered when was the last time he picked up the book himself, had he looked at it right before their wedding? If she had a book like that, she certainly would. Clearly it sounded like a book he has looked back at more than once if he was folding pages with knowledge of how certain things listed were. She did not acknowledge it, but just listening him mentioning he's marked out pages that in particular were 'useful' did stir something within her. "I'll do my best to laugh then." Though she's not entirely sure yet how she is going to react to this unknown.

"Really?" She said surprised to hear him mention how men reacted to the book. "So you would call yourself an expert then?" Eleanor was not even attempting to be teasing, it was something she genuinely assumed based on his confidence in the subject.

"I'm sure a paragraph in, I will have a dozen questions, rest assured." Eleanor simply commented before spotting the curious book on her night stand. Title aside, it seemed innocent. She would not have caught it within a library, so maybe there had been a book or two like this in her home.

She did give him a confused look at his attempt to explain something about chapter three, it clearly did not click for her what he was trying to say. "Oscar, I feel we have well established I have not done anything before last night. That we also have established that I close to no terms, you cannot say something like foreplay and expect me to understand what you mean. That sounds like a theatrical term to me." Many questions were destined to be asked this evening.

Without much thought, she had the idea to simply open the book on a random page just so she could have a preview of what was to come. She may have managed to look at it for a full second before slamming the book closed. "Oh my goodness!" Eleanor had jumped in her seat and her face instantly turned red. It took her a good moment to even form the thoughts she had of what she saw. "It was that thing you mentioned earlier, about the ropes?" Definitely not the best of pages for a newly experienced woman to land on. "Here." She handed him the book before moving herself closer to him, there was still a gap of space between them, but much smaller. "I think I need an expert to flip these pages or else I am going to be slamming that book this entire evening."

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 16

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.3k+

Note: fucking hell YN is a bit melodramatic hey?? damn crazy. someone should do something about it.

xxx

The flat is nearly done. Well, nearly is the operative word. You can’t exactly turn a blank canvas into a masterpiece in just one week — not when you’re battling a mountain of flatpack boxes and wrestling with furniture that arrives with more screws than instructions. But I gave it a red-hot go. The sofa’s in place (mostly assembled), the kitchen’s unpacked enough to cook something edible, and the bed actually holds me without collapsing. The boxes are mostly unpacked, though there are still a few corners that feel bare — empty enough to remind me this place is still a work in progress. But honestly? I kind of like that. It gives the space room to breathe. Room to grow.

Speaking of growing, I’m currently drowning in cardboard. The sheer volume of it could probably form its own ecosystem. It’s all shoved into my bedroom right now, stacked like the starter pack of a hoarder’s anonymous meeting. It’s chaos, but it’s my chaos, and I’m strangely proud of it.

Despite the mess, the fridge is stocked with fresh food — no more sad instant noodles for me. And tucked in the corner is a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a moment just like this. Tonight, that moment finally arrives.

I’m hosting a goddamn housewarming.

A bunch of my friends from The Van are coming over. Here. To my new flat. The place I’ve poured sweat, frustration, and a hell of a lot of laughter into. It feels like a milestone, even if the space isn’t quite finished. Because this — this is my fresh start. And tonight, I get to celebrate that with the people who know me best.

The nerves buzz beneath my skin — the kind that comes from knowing I’m about to open the door to more than just a flat. I’m opening up a part of my life that’s still a little raw, a little uncertain. But mostly, it’s mine.

And god, I’m ready for it.

Will’s been on my mind a lot lately. The space between us feels bigger than this whole flat, and I’m still trying to figure out how to bridge it. But tonight, I’ve thrown myself into every little detail—the perfect candle, the best tablecloth, making sure everything’s just right.

I want him to meet my people, to see this side of me, to taste my cooking—not just grab a quick bite on the run. It feels like a chance to remind him what we could have, if only that distance would close.

He said he probably wouldn’t make it for dinner, caught up with some deadline, but that he’d come by afterward. Knowing Will, I’m still holding out hope for a surprise.

Ruth shows up early, as she always does. I think she likes the idea of getting her hands into something, and she’s always ready to help. So we’re tackling the dinner together. Best friend type shit.

It’s a simple menu — pasta, salad, garlic bread. The basics, can't fuck it up, but Ruth’s made sure we’re not cutting any corners. There’s fresh basil for the pasta sauce, real garlic, not the stuff from a tube, and a block of parmesan for grating. No pre-grated cheese. We’re going for it.

“Okay, we’ve got the pasta and the bread covered,” Ruth says, setting down the garlic butter with a satisfied look. “But have you seen any tongs around here? I don’t see any.”

I blink at her, then look down at the kitchen drawers. “Tongs? Damn I haven't bought tongs yet have I?”

Ruth gives me a deadpan look. “You’re making garlic bread. How are you going to get it out of the oven without tongs?”

I roll my eyes, but she’s right. I’ve clearly missed some basic kitchen essentials in my shopping spree. “Fuck. Tongs,” I mutter. “Let me guess — I didn't buy cling wrap either, right?”

Ruth grins and hands me the fresh basil while pulling out a cutting board. At least I remembered that. She starts to look in my drawers, telling me all the things I've missed. Classic.

“You still need cling wrap, tongs, maybe a ladle... You know, the essentials. The adult things.” She pauses. “And I see you’re still rocking mismatched mugs. Gotta work on that.”

“Right,” I say, glancing at the array of mismatched mugs stacked in a corner. I haven’t quite gotten around to replacing the ugly ones. “Thanks for pointing that out.” I grin at her.

Ruth shrugs and pours some wine into a glass for both of us. “Hey, it’s part of the charm. You’ll get there eventually.”

She heads off to the living room to look at my makeshift bookshelves. I honestly had no idea I owned that many books. I had a box my mum parcelled over to me a few months ago and just never opened it. 

I scramble to put together a shopping list. I grab my phone and make a note: Tongs. Cling wrap. Ladle. Proper mugs.

By the time Ruth’s back in the kitchen, I’m just about to check the oven. She grins, holding up the wine bottle. “You ready for your first official dinner party in this place?”

I laugh, and the nervous energy I’ve been carrying all week suddenly feels a bit more manageable. “Sure. Just don’t judge me when it’s basically a glorified pasta night.”

Ruth shakes her head, clearly amused. “It’s going to be amazing. Don’t stress.”

As the others start trickling in, I’m already half-drunk off the wine, and the kitchen smells like garlic bread and fresh pasta sauce. I’m more than ready for the evening.

I want this — the warmth, the laughter, the feeling that everything is starting to slot into place. The place is starting to feel like a home.

First in is Matt, looking slightly more cheerful than usual. Then Naomi, Sam, and of course, Leon. The last one to walk through the door is Oscar, with his tattooed sleeves and that unreadable smile that always makes me a little nervous. I've learnt his name since the night out. He’s holding a six-pack of beers, a piece of the puzzle I hadn’t even realized I needed.

Even though the flat’s buzzing with activity, I can’t stop glancing at my phone, hoping for a message from Will. He said he’d come by, but so far, nothing. I try to shake off the nerves, but it’s there, just under the surface.

I give Ruth a quick look, and she grins back at me like this is the moment. I’m pulling it off.

“You made it, weirdo,” I say to Leon as I hand him a drink. He grins back, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he says with a wink.

“Perfect. You’re just in time for the pasta," I say. "Let me know if it's too burnt. And if you need tongs or ladles, don’t hesitate to ask.”

There’s a round of laughter. The good kind. The kind where you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not. Everyone settles in, the energy rising to meet the occasion, and it feels like the beginning of something — like this could be a regular thing.

Matt immediately makes himself comfortable at the kitchen island, I tell him he should complement my brand new stools and he does. Sam and Naomi are on the couch, Oscar’s standing by the window looking out, his beer in hand, but still very much a part of the group.

I lean over to Ruth, still plating food, and whisper, “This is good. This is really good.”

“See?” she grins, nudging me with her shoulder. “You’re doing fine. You just needed a bit of support, that’s all.”

And just like that, the tension I’ve been carrying all week starts to slip away. Even if things with Will feel like they’re shifting in some unsaid way, even if George is still somewhere in the back of my mind, right now, I’m here. Right here. In my new flat, with my new friends, and the room is full of laughter and light and the smell of pasta sauce.

It’s not perfect, but for the first time in a while, it doesn’t have to be.

xxx

The night goes on with too many drinks, too much pasta, and a whole lot of laughter. Ruth ends up taking over the playlist, making us listen to all kinds of weird indie songs I’ve never heard of. The vibe is relaxed, comfortable — almost like this is something we’ve all been doing for years.

The conversation flows in waves, picking up new threads as we all bounce between topics. But I can’t shake the quiet tug in the back of my mind. Will hasn’t texted in a while, and every time someone mentions “plans for the weekend,” I catch myself glancing at my phone, wondering if he’s about to text me something — anything.

He said he’d swing by. I remember him saying it so casually, like he had a hundred other things to do, like he wasn’t as excited as I was to finally introduce him to this weird, wonderful group of people. He said probably after dinner.

But now is after. Well past the time he was supposed to show up, and still no sign of him.

The flat feels warm, filled with laughter and the clink of glasses. The food’s been devoured, and we’re well into the inevitable post-dinner chaos — too many empty wine bottles on the table, a bunch of half-finished drinks, and everyone drifting into different conversations.

Oscar, fiddling with the tablecloth, turns to me. His voice drops low, quiet but deliberate. “You enjoying it here?” he asks, eyes steady and kind.

His question hangs in the air longer than expected, heavier than the easy chatter around us. There’s something about the way he says it — like a small thing, but with enough weight to make me feel seen. I try not to overthink it.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a slow sip of wine to steady my hands. “It’s good. I’m finally getting settled.”

Naomi catches my eye and grins, always the one to break any tension. “You live alone! How fantastically adult of you!” She laughs, then leans forward, raising her glass like she’s about to make a toast. “So, surely you’re hosting pre’s all the time now?”

I laugh too, grateful for the distraction. Hosting parties still feels a little out of reach — like I’m playing a part rather than living it. “How fantastically adult of me!” I echo, but my words feel hollow, fading too fast. I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Yeah, I guess. I’m still figuring out how to organise the kitchen without tripping over pots and pans.”

Naomi’s grin widens, clearly enjoying the tease. “I bet you could totally host though. You’ve got the place, the vibe… And I’m sure Will would help with all the heavy lifting.”

I force a laugh, trying to hide the flutter of nerves that hits my chest. “Alright, alright, you guys are all obsessed with Will now,” I say, but there’s an edge to my voice I can’t quite mask. “Seriously though, I’ve only been here a week. Let’s not get carried away with the hosting talk.”

Oscar’s quiet gaze meets mine again, and his voice softens, almost thoughtful. “You enjoying it though? Living on your own, I mean?”

I hesitate, the question suddenly too big for the easy smile I want to give. “Yeah… it’s weird. But good weird, you know?” I try for lightness, but there’s a flicker of doubt I can’t shake.

He nods slowly, eyes warm. “It’s a big change. But it suits you, I think.”

His words hit in a way I didn’t expect — simple, but somehow more real than anything else said tonight. My heart skips.

Before I can say more, Ruth leans in with that spark in her eyes I’ve come to trust. “So, when can we meet Will, huh?”

I blink, caught off guard, but the smile still breaks across my face. “Oh, he should be coming soon!” I say—maybe a bit too eager—but it doesn’t matter. I’m excited, though now there’s a knot of worry twisting in my stomach.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a subtle softness in his expression, like he’s watching a story unfold but isn’t sure where it’s going yet.

Naomi grins at me, all bright eyes and enthusiasm. “Well, we’re all excited to meet him!”

For the first time in a while, it feels like everything’s just right. I’m still figuring things out, but right now — in this warm, noisy, wine-soaked chaos of friends and laughter — it feels good.

Now, if only Will would show up.

xxx

He didn’t show. No text, no call, no nothing.

This is the casual bit, I suppose. He doesn’t want to meet my friends. Doesn’t need to. Not really. It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s all fine.

But even as I say that, it feels less fine than I want it to. It’s the way the night should’ve ended — with Will here, laughing, a glass of wine in hand, mixing into the chaos of the crew that’s been my lifeline since moving here. Instead, it ends with a quiet empty spot in the corner, where he should have been.

Everyone filters out slowly, footsteps soft on the floor as they gather their things. We’re doing that thing where we’ve all hugged and said goodbye, but somehow there’s still more to say before the night truly ends.

“See you Tuesday!” Naomi calls out cheerfully, her voice still light, but somehow, too loud against the silence that’s filling the flat.

I’m wiping down the last of my counter when Leon, already halfway to the door, tosses me a comment over his shoulder. “I’ve got an old bookshelf I’ve been thinking of selling,” he says casually, pausing in the doorway. “If you’re looking for one, let me know. It’s not much, but it’ll hold some books.”

I’m surprised, but it’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been hunting for. “Oh, yeah, definitely,” I say, smiling a little. “I could always use another shelf. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

He grins, gives me a quick salute, and heads out. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me standing there for a second, processing how it feels like everyone is offering something these days. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m still settling in, or maybe it’s just them — these people who don’t mind extending little bits of themselves. Maybe it’s not so bad, this whole "being part of something" idea.

Oscar, standing near the door, finishes gathering his coat and keys, then turns to me with a calm smile. “By the way,” he says, his tone always steady, “I've got a social netball game next week. We're down a player. You should come along. Text me if you’re interested.”

I blink for a second, caught off guard by how casually he says it. Netball? Me? My heart races slightly at the idea of joining something new, but at the same time, the idea of being included, of having another regular to show up to, feels oddly comforting.

I laugh softly, shrugging. “Yeah, alright. I’ll text you.”

He nods. “Good. It’ll be fun. Everyone’s a bit rubbish, but we make it work.” His tone softens as he walks out. "And if you need any help with the flat, don’t hesitate, yeah? That’s what we’re here for.”

“Thanks, Oscar!,” I reply cheerily, watching him disappear out the door.

It’s strange, how suddenly, these people I barely knew a couple of months ago have started to feel like… home. Not that everything’s perfect, or figured out, but the little things, the offers, the casual kindness — they build something I can’t ignore.

They're so good at the casual kindness that none of them mention it. Not the fact that Will didn’t show, not the fact that they didn’t meet the guy I’ve been talking about for the past two months. It’s like the whole thing doesn’t even exist. The same casual tone is there when they leave, like it’s just another night of drinking and laughing. Not even a passing mention of him.

I stand by the door, waving them off, giving them the usual goodbyes, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m already retreating inside my head, processing the quiet absence of the night. And even though they’re gone, the quiet lingers. It settles in the corners of my flat, heavy in the air.

I start getting ready for bed, moving through the motions like I’ve done a thousand times before. But tonight, the evening feels heavier, somehow. The fun, the warmth of it all, has melted into something… off. The laughter still echoes in my ears, but it’s already fading.

Seeing everyone was nice. It warmed me up a bit. But Will’s no-show weighs on my shoulders, pulling everything back into question.

He’s been so weird. That’s the thing, right? He’s been so weird lately. Pulling back physically. Not calling, not texting the way he used to. The conversations have been shorter, the energy a little colder. It’s like there’s a wall I can’t get past.

What is it with everyone being weird? First George and now Will?

And maybe that's it. Maybe I’m the one who’s being weird. Maybe I'm the one overthinking it all. Or maybe Will really has just decided I’m not worth it anymore. Whatever it is, I can't shake the feeling that something’s off, and I don't know how to fix it.

And I’m being paranoid, I'm sure of it. I’m reading too much into it. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if he’s already decided I’m not worth it. Maybe he’s figured out that I’m not the kind of person you want to stick around for. Maybe I am just a distraction, a filler until something better comes along. I climb into bed, pulling the covers over me, but it feels too empty. It's become a rare thing to not sleep next to him. Or it became a rare thing, it's been more common again this last week.

I can still feel the weight of the night, the quiet hum of unspoken things between Will and me, filling up the space. I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to get lost in my own thoughts.

But no matter how many times I tell myself that it’s fine, that maybe it’s probably nothing... it’s hard to believe.

I want to be angry at him. I really do. But the thing is, I can’t summon it anymore. That’s the part that kills me. We’ve already done our time of angry, and now… now I’m just left with this thick, suffocating sadness.

I told him. I told him that night, the first time we crossed that line, that I wasn’t ready for anything serious. And he said he wasn’t either. No big deal. It was supposed to be a fun thing, right? Nothing to complicate. But this — this silence, this absence — it doesn’t feel fun anymore.

He helped me move. He helped me move for Christ’s sake. He even roleplayed coming home with me in the IKEA showroom, like we were already living that life. How was I supposed to brush that off like it was some weird joke?

And then there’s Monaco. Monaco. That brand trip invitation had my stomach doing flip-flops. Why would he invite me if he wasn’t looking for something? He even knows I can’t just drop everything and take a week off work, especially after the move. So why make it feel like it was an option?

I cling to the hope that he’s just letting me down gently. That he’s realised we’re not going to work out long term, and he’s sparing me the awkwardness of some big breakup speech. Maybe he’s just trying to soften the blow, make it easier, to not put me in a situation where I feel like I have to argue or beg him to stay.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

Shift in bed, feeling the silence in the room press against me. I try to shake it off, tell myself it’s fine, that I’ll just talk to him when I see him next. It’s all I can do — try to bury the disappointment and hope it doesn’t bubble up when I finally see his face again. But I know, deep down, this isn’t going to go away until I confront it.

What hurts the most isn’t the waiting. It’s the not knowing. Because the truth is, if I knew where we stood, even if it was bad, even if it was over, I could deal with it. But instead, I’m just here, with all this space between us, with nothing but his absence to fill it.

And that? That’s the part I can't fix.

xxx

Its been a week.

Will hasn’t spoken to me all week.

It feels like a punch in the gut, but I can’t help the feeling that something’s shifted. The longest we’ve gone without talking since we met, and there’s nothing — no text, no call, no plans to meet up.

When we met — that stupid party I didn’t even want to go to — he texted me that same night. And then we just… didn’t stop.

It started as relentless. Snarky. Annoying. Like we were both trying to win something, though I’m still not sure what. For weeks — no, months — it was constant. A daily back-and-forth of sarcasm, one-liners, and deeply unnecessary hot takes. The kind of energy that should’ve fizzled out fast. But it didn’t.

It softened, eventually. Less sharp edges, more… rhythm. But it never really stopped. The most we’ve ever gone without messaging was about 25 hours — and even that was because he was on a plane and I was half-dead with a cold.

And now?

After he invited me on a holiday.

After he helped me move flat, kissed me like I was worth living for, learned my pizza order, and figured out exactly what makes me tick?

Now, it’s quiet.

And I don’t know what to do with the silence.

Fucking hell, even a “u up?” text would satisfy this craving I’ve got for him right now. As ridiculous as it sounds, the idea of him texting me — even just to say something stupid or half-hearted — would be enough to quiet the pit of frustration that’s been growing in my stomach all week. Goddamn, I’d even take a “I hate you” as a response to my question of "Where have you gone?".

At least then I’d know.'

At least I wouldn’t be left here wondering. Wondering if I messed something up or if it was him or if I’m just being too sensitive. It’d hurt, sure, but the silence? That’s worse. The quiet stretches out longer and longer, and with it, all my stupid, paranoid thoughts start creeping in. Maybe I said something wrong. Maybe I took the wrong step. Maybe I’m just too much, and that’s why he hasn’t even bothered to reach out.

But no, I don’t even get that. I get nothing. The space between us is thick with unanswered questions.

If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure why I care this much. It’s just a thing, right? Just a guy. We weren’t anything serious. I said it myself: I wasn’t ready for anything serious. But that doesn’t stop the feeling. The one that twists in my chest every time I check my phone and see it’s still empty.

I try to shake it off. I mean, it’s not like I need him to validate me, right? I’m fine. I’ve got my own life now.

But it’s funny how much a single text can feel like it could break the tension in my chest. Even if it’s not the answer I want, it would be something.

Instead, I’m left with the silence, which, honestly, might just be worse than any shitty message he could send.

Still, I keep telling myself it's fine, that he’s probably busy. It’s just a bit of space. Just a bit of time to breathe. But the truth is, I’ve spent the entire week in this weird limbo, where I’m pretending I don’t care, pretending I’m fine. But I’m not.

Still, I try to keep myself busy. I’ve got my new flat, right? It’s not just empty space, it’s mine. And the more I sink into it, the more it starts to feel like a home.

The new flat vibe is pretty damn good, I’ll admit. It’s like the universe is handing me a chance to do something with my life, to build it the way I want to. No more shared walls, no more roommates, no more worrying about someone else’s mess. This is my space. It feels cool, like I’m finally grown up. Like I’m not just floating through life anymore, I’m steering the ship. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I’m crouched on the floor, rearranging bookshelves for the fifth time.

Should I arrange them in order of colour or by authors surname?

I’ve thrown myself into interior design, and honestly, it’s a little embarrassing how into it I’ve gotten. I’m that person now — scrolling through Pinterest boards and flipping through magazines like I’ve got my life together. Who even buys magazines anymore? Me, apparently. Maybe it’s the thrill of having a blank canvas, or maybe it’s just me convincing myself I’m doing something productive while I wait for Will to acknowledge me again.

It’s not just the flat. Somehow, I’ve picked up three new hobbies in the last week. Because of course I have. Why not? I’ve got the space for them now, and apparently the energy too. I’ve started baking — simple stuff, like cookies, but it feels like a tiny victory each time the oven beeps. Then there’s painting. Like, actual painting, with brushes and canvas. It’s therapeutic in a way I didn’t expect. And, just to really round it out, I’ve joined an online book club. Because I have a ton of time to read now, right?

I think I’m doing all of this because I’m trying to fill the space, to prove I’m okay. That I can do this alone, that I can be enough. Because right now, all this newness is really just a distraction from the quiet. The kind of quiet that grows when the person you’ve been waiting for stops showing up.

But at least I’ve got these things, right? New hobbies, a new flat. It’s like I’m learning how to be by surrounding myself with things that fill the silence. I’ve got three types of flour in the pantry, a canvas that’s half-painted in the corner, and a Pinterest board that’s at least 50% living room inspiration. At least it’s something.

I just wish I could shake the feeling that it’s all a little... empty.

Like no matter how many hobbies I pick up or how many magazines I flick through, I’m still just waiting. For Will to text, for him to show up, for him to decide whether or not he wants to be in my life.

Maybe I just want to feel like I’m worth something. Worth his attention. Because right now, all this newness in my life — the flat, the hobbies, the Pinterest boards and the cake experiments — it’s just stuff. It’s all just stuff I’m using to fill up the quiet, to fill up the space where Will’s presence should be.

And then there’s work. God, work. It's is just awful. It’s like every day I’m dragging myself through quicksand, and the more I think about it, the more I want to scream. I moved across the world for this job, and right now, I can’t even remember why I thought that was a good idea. I was so excited back then — new city, new job, new life — but now? Now it’s just a slog.

The people at work are fine, the work itself is fine, but everything just feels so... meh. I felt Will pulling away all last week — the messages slowing, the distance growing in the silences between us. And I just let him, I guess. It’s like he’d already checked out, and I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in.

It’s like I’ve slipped into autopilot. I go in, work on my silly little programs, then come home to stare at the same four walls of my flat, wondering if I’m just wasting time.

The real kicker is when I think back to last week — that week with Will, building furniture, figuring out the best spot for the couch — it makes coming back here feel that much harder. How was it so easy with him? We were in sync. We didn’t have to try; just living together for a few days felt... right.

But now? Now it feels like that was a different life, a different version of me. One who wasn’t dragging herself through a job she feels nothing for. One who had the energy to care about something deeper than painting.

I want that feeling back. That rhythm. But every time I sit at my desk or stare at my inbox, the thought won’t leave me: Why did I come here? And more importantly — where is he?

Work was supposed to be the thing that would make it all worth it — the move, the change, the upheaval. But instead, it’s just another reason to feel stuck.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s easier to blame the job than to admit that maybe I’m just goddamn lonely. It always comes back to that doesn’t it?

Every. Fucking. Time.

I'm sick of going on about it.

I felt so cool when I got this job. So proud of myself. Like I was finally getting what I deserved. A real, grown-up job in a new city. In London, It was the dream, right? I had this whole story about how I’d made it.

They headhunted me. Me! Some young woman from halfway across the world, with no more than a decent CV and a wild idea that maybe, just maybe, I could do this. The company paid for my flights, gave me a sizable bonus — which, honestly, I only just used to furnish my flat. I always thought that money was the start of something big. I was going to fill my new space with things that meant something, that screamed me.

We can ignore the part where it took me eight months to find a flat.

But I don’t talk about it much. I kept it to myself, like a little secret that I didn’t want to admit, even to myself. This whole “new life” thing, I mean. It sounded so easy, so clean when I first thought about it. Move abroad, get a job, settle in. And yet, here I am, restyling my bookshelf again, and trying to piece together what was supposed to be this amazing new chapter.

And George! I couldn’t believe I got to live in the same city as George again. The mate who was there when everything felt like it was falling apart, the one who somehow kept me grounded and floating at the same time. After all this time apart, suddenly, we were both here, sharing the same streets, the same city.

And Look how that turned out.

Okay, I’m being overly cynical now. I say that about George, but it’s better now. At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect — how to slip back into the old rhythm. But after the move out conversation, in the garage, everything felt lighter with him. And then he  sent me a meme out of the blue, and I felt this weird little buzz in my chest. Like we were gonna pick up right where we left off, no awkwardness, just that familiar ease. It felt good.

It is good.

He seems less intense now, less… complicated. Or maybe I’ve just learned to roll with his quirks. Either way, we’re back to sending each other memes and laughing over all the dumb stuff we used to get up to. It feels easy again, and that’s a fucking relief.

And we’ve got that dinner I promised him coming up! After all this time, it’s finally happening. Don't ask why it took two weeks, I’m honestly just excited to catch up, to hang out with him like we used to. No pressure, no weirdness. Just two friends who’ve found their way back to each other. I say that. I still lived with him when it was weird. We didn’t exactly leave each other. But honestly, I can’t stop smiling just thinking about it. Feels like the good old days.

I drag my fingers through my hair and try to focus on that instead of the Will situation. And it works. Mostly.

My head’s too full of questions about Will, too full of the aching uncertainty of what’s really going on with us. I could blame work for all of this, but that wouldn’t make anything easier. It pulses on the back of my brain light a headache that no amount of paracetamol can cure

It buzzes beneath the noise of everything else, stubborn and unwelcome, refusing to let me forget.

xxx

Dinner with George is... easy. Comfortable. I can’t remember the last time I was this relaxed with him. We’re at a nice Italian place near his flat. It's nothing fancy, just cozy. The kind of place where you feel like you’re in the middle of a casual night out, not some rom-com scene.

It’s weird, seeing George not at the flat. He’s always been just... there, popping in and out without any big plans. The whole time we've known each other it's been like that, even living across the UK we used to just, pop in. But now, we have to plan to see each other, carve out time like it’s something that needs scheduling. We’re grown-ups now, I guess. It feels different.

I tell him that, how strange it feels to have to make plans, to check calendars, to figure out when we can actually hang out. It’s all a bit too real. Like, we’ve entered that stage of adulthood where everything is a bit more... intentional.

He shrugs, almost like he’s not bothered by it, but there’s something in his smile that makes me think maybe he gets it. “I’ll give you your key back,” he says, his voice light. “It’s all good to just drop by whenever, yeah?”

It should feel like a relief, and in a way, it is — a reminder that some things don’t have to change. That maybe we can still be friends, like we always have been. No pressure, no awkwardness, just that easy, familiar connection.

I try not to dwell on how different it feels now. The crush is long gone... mostly. There’s a comfort in knowing we’re still friends, even if it feels different now. Even if it feels more like a chapter that’s winding down than one that’s still building. But we’re still here, still part of each other’s lives, just in a new way. And honestly? That’s something worth holding onto.

We’re talking about everything and nothing now, the move, Arthur's new gross habits, Monaco. The whole trip is sounds a bit surreal.

I still think about Will's invite, and I’m still not sure why. I can't go, obviously—work, timing, all that—but it’s the kind of thing I’m sure would been fun if I could go. I tell George this, all casually, just another thing in passing.

So then he asks, “How are things with Will?” The question hangs there for a second, like it’s some innocent check-in, but I can already hear the curiosity in his voice.

I shrug, taking a bite of my pasta before I answer. “Yeah, not really happening anymore. I told you it wasn’t serious,” I say it like it’s no big deal, because, honestly, it’s not. It’s just another thing that didn’t work out. Another almost.

I'm fucking lying to myself, obviously.

I’m sure he can see it on my face. Maybe he can’t, though. Maybe I’m better at hiding it than I think. Either way, I push the thought aside, pretending that I’m not bothered. But it lingers, heavy, as I stab at the pasta with my fork.

George’s expression softens. He leans back and nods slowly. “That’s shit, you know? Even when you don’t expect it to go anywhere, it still hurts when someone pulls away.”

There’s a pause as if he’s weighing his words carefully. “I guess sometimes people don’t always know how to handle things. Or maybe they just don’t know what they want.”

He gives a small, understanding smile, the kind that says he’s been there before, even if the words aren’t perfect. “But hey, you’re not alone in this. And you deserve someone who’s all in — not half here, not half gone.”

I manage a weak laugh. “Yeah, well, it was never gonna be serious anyway.”

But honestly? I thought we were getting somewhere—felt like maybe this time it was real. Guess I was just fooling myself.

George nods, taking a slow sip of wine, eyes still watching me like he actually cares. “Yeah. But sometimes the ‘never serious’ things still sting.”

And just like that, it feels a little easier—not because the situation’s changed, but because someone seems to get it. Even if it’s just George, being George.

The rest of the dinner is just... normal. The kind of night where I’m not thinking about the past, or the future, or anything that’s been hanging over my head. It feels so good to have him back, in this easy, uncomplicated way. We talk about the usual stuff, laugh at the same jokes, and for once, it feels like things are just right. For now, I’m okay with that.

That's me lying to myself again.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[malsmind]

▸005 ⋅˚₊‧ Leanin’ ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

⚠︎ ∿ angst ∿ toxic relationship ∿ cheating ∿ implications of having suicidal thoughts ∿ heavy use of drugs ∿

၊၊||၊ Come Over When You're Sober, Pt. 2 ⌗ 5

𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 @delilahsturniolo

you didn’t mean to love him. not really. you were just there. always there. through the worst nights and the barely-better mornings. you weren’t supposed to care.

but you did.

you cared so much it made your chest ache when he wouldn’t text back, when he disappeared for days at a time, when he showed up at your door with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands and a half-empty bottle tucked into his jacket.

“i’m fine,” he’d mumble.

you never believed it. he knew you didn’t. but it was easier than telling you the truth. easier than admitting he couldn’t go a day without numbing it all—without leaning too hard into the pills, the late-night highs that kept him from crumbling completely.

chris was beautiful in the way that broken things sometimes are. like a glass ornament falling in slow motion. you could see the cracks. you still tried to catch him. he’d call you at 3 a.m. voice soft, slurred.

“you up?”

you always were.

you’d open the door and he’d walk in without a word, collapsing into your bed, your arms, your silence. he didn’t talk much, not when he was like this. he just needed to feel something.

needed you.

and god, you let him. every time. because no one ever needed you like he did. and no one ever made you feel like this. you’d lie there, his head on your chest, his breath slow, skin warm. his fingers tracing shapes on your stomach, lazy and featherlight. sometimes he’d whisper things.

“you make it quiet.”

“can’t feel shit unless i’m here.”

“please don’t leave me.”

you never did.

even when he broke your heart over and over again. even when he said he’d come back and didn’t. even when you found his lighter in someone else’s apartment.

you stayed.

because when he looked at you, really looked at you—he wasn’t just the boy drowning in his own demons. he was chris. he was yours. and some nights, it felt like maybe he could crawl out of it. like maybe if you held him tight enough, kissed him deep enough, touched him soft enough—you could pull him back.

you could save him. but the truth was, he never wanted saving. he just wanted to forget. and you were the closest thing to a high that didn’t come from a drug.

something that numbed the pain without killing him. not right away, anyway. he was struggling with it more lately.

you noticed.

his pupils all wrong. his voice dragging, body heavy. he still kissed you like he meant it.

still whispered “you’re all i got” into your hair.

but it was different now. like the space between you was filling with smoke. harder to breathe. harder to reach.

you asked him once, “how long can you keep this up?”

he just shrugged. eyes unfocused, mouth twisted.

“long as i need to.”

and you hated him for that. for being so fucking nonchalant about breaking himself. for making you watch. but you loved him anyway. and maybe that made you just as broken. one night, he came over high out of his mind. barely walking straight. he crashed into your bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy. you sat next to him, hands clenched in your lap.

“chris,” you said softly.

“this is gonna kill you.”

he didn’t answer. just reached for your hand. pulled it to his lips. kissed your knuckles. then, a whisper.

“then you’ll remember me like this.”

you blinked back tears. he smiled, slow and sad.

“don’t cry, ma,” he breathed.

“this is just how it is.”

and maybe he was right. maybe he wasn’t made for forever. but that night, you curled up beside him anyway. let him tangle his body with yours. felt his heartbeat slow and unsteady against your spine. and in that dark, drug-hushed silence, you whispered it—

“i love you.”

he didn’t answer. but his grip on your waist tightened. and that was enough.

for now.

[dolliedyhard]

I’ve changed many things about my Jeff over the months so it’s time 4 an update! A lot of this is copy & pasted from the old hc’s but ofc there r many new ones as well. I also made the og hc’s post private. Other than reposts u can’t access it. If i come up wit moar ideaz, I might make a part 2 or edit dis post.

To find moar information about mah Jeff, read my creepypasta AU under his section. I left some info out from here bc itz just repeating what waz said there. The doc will also expand on certain headcanons + give them moar context. So if ya interested in dat, read mah doc.

HERE HE IS! (๑>◡<๑) This is liek my “official” design 4 him. I rlly didn’t like the last ver OMGG.

♥︎Attributes♥︎

He loves keeping his hair long. He’ll never CONSIDER cutting it short. His hair is one of his favorite parts of himself.

He for certain wants his hair to be down to his waist one day

Hair type is 1c

Jeff’s hair is naturally brown. When the “incident” happened the fire made his hair temporarily black. (Ik that’s not how real logic works but cmon let me have fun >:c)

After a few months his hair went back to brown

Now he dyes his hair black bc he prefers it that way.

He smells like incense and ash

His veins are most visible in his forearms and hands

Still no voice claim :/ but if i find one I’ll update

He has dark circles under his eye from staying up for days at end

He got some sharp ass canine teeth. In my AU he got bit by a vampire. He didn’t get turned into one bc the transformation was stopped right after his vamp fang came in. #ISupportVampireJeffTheKiller!!!!1!!11!!!! X3

Warm to the touch. Doesn’t matter what season it is, his body manages to retain a significant amount of body heat.

His skin is literally ghost white. This due to bleach, lack of sunlight, and frequent blood loss.

♥︎Personality♥︎

When meeting him for the first time he comes off as an asshole.

He insults everyone and it’s hard to hell if he’s joking or not.

And if he’s really pissed he’ll get REAL creative with the insults.

Swears like a sailor

Jeff loves stroking his ego, it’s so obnoxious but he could care less.

Lowkey thinks he better than everyone

LAWD he’s handsome and he knows it

Doesn’t care about ur personal space

Will creep up on u to whisper shit in ur ear to scare you. And other stuff like that.

Gives people the nastiest stares of all time. And I dare u too say something to him about it, he’ll square TF UP.

Says some really offensive shit but he doesn’t care if you get upset because of it.

And he’ll say it loud and proud no matter how much of a dumbass he looks like saying it.

Jeff’s one of the most defiant proxies in the mansion

He listens to NO ONE and hates more than anything to be bossed around.

Though he partially listens to Slenderman, yk, bc he has to so he can live in the mansion. Masky too bc he’s Slenderman’s right hand man.

For Jeff it’s more about if you guys get along and have a good time together than having the same interests.

♥︎Interests♥︎

Wannabe lead guitarist

He’s not good enough to be the lead but his ego says otherwise.

He owns a sick ass guitar tho

Started out being emo in his early teens, now he’s more of a metal head.

(I don’t know much about nu-metal or any metal at ALL so I can’t rlly say who his favs are. SORRY IM AN EMO FUCK AT HEART OKAY???)

Listens to goth music occasionally too

Loves going to concerts no matter who’s performing

If you happen to bring up a band he’s seen live before he will 100% without fail say “I saw them live at _!” And will proceed to info dump about what went down.

Even worse if they were in their prime when he went.

Fashion wise he dresses alternative but it’s nothing fancy.

A band tee + hoodie or jacket, jeans, shoes (cons, or boots), for accessories belt and some spikes bracelets. That’s about it :v

Paints his nails black on special occasions

Likes to collect weird stuff

His biggest collection is of knifes

Some of them are ornamental and some he actually uses to kill

He gets the money to fuel his collection off the dead bodies of his victims

Also has a strange fascination with history

Specifically historical torture methods & atrocities

Sometimes he uses the same torture methods he learned about on his victims.

HUGE HORROR NERD

He collects dvds of slasher & horror movies

And of course you can’t forget about the vintage TV to play them on!

He’s not a fan of snuff films or gore videos

Killing🔪

To Jeff killing is something he does for 3 things. Survival, satisfaction, and emotional regulation.

Once he’s got you in his grasp you won’t make it out alive.

Jeff commits the worst murders when he’s having a IED or BPD episode.

He’s not a kidnapper type serial killer

He likes to get the job done by the end of the day at the longest

He loves the taste of blood and often licks it off his knife (ZOMG VAMP TENDENCIES!?!?!?!?!?!)

He thinks he can train himself to be able to taste the differences between blood types.

He just likes inflicting pain on complete strangers, it’s thrilling to him.

And it’s usually not a stab and go kill, when he first started out that’s how it was bc it was more for survival.

Now Jeff has the taste for blood. And he’s got some horrifyingly creative ways to extract it.

Nowadays you’ll be lucky if it’s a stab and go. His goal is to make sure u feel the agony, every. second. of. it.

He would never consider hurting someone close to him, that would severely fuck with him.

Since the murder of his family he has no one. So he cherishes the few people close to him a lot more than he used to.

He’s never had any regrets about any of the many murders he has committed.

The one and only time he’s ever felt bad about inflicting violence on someone is his older brother Liu.

xxx Vices xxx

Jeff is a regular smoker (hence why he smells like ash)

He’s able to blow different shapes out of smoke

Prefers cigarettes over anything else

Hates vapes tho, he think they make you look like a massive pussy.

He’ll flat out refuse to fw you if you whip out your fruity-tuti flavored e-stick when yall go on a smoke break.

Jeff’s not a big drinker

Drinking just ups his already high sex drive to the max and he acts like a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Then after all that his hangover is fucking hell.

At the most he’ll get a bit tipsy cause the boost in arousal makes sex tenfold better.

Jeff has done hard drugs b4, Ben was the one who introduced it 2 him.

Jeff started doing drugs at 15

Jeff & Ben did heroin and cocanie together

♥︎A/N: Btw in my au Jeff had a much shitter life than the og Jeffery Woods so all of this with context makes sense.

Jeff doesn’t s/h anymore but did it heavily in his teens before he went crazy.

His life was genuinely a miserable hellscape that was picking at his sanity and at every turn it only got worse.

His mother and father didn’t care about him at all. The only person that actually cared and loved Jeff was Liu. But Liu rarely showed any affection towards Jeff so it didn’t really matter how Liu felt about him.

No one knew what Jeff was doing to himself up until he ended up in the hospital with the gashes on his cheeks.

[rawrkittenpurr]

we're going through a heatwave and i couldn't stop thinking about that towel video, so.

“What the fuck was that?” Gabi demands, following Nico into his driver's room. “Out there.”

“I heard that they were celebrating your points, didn’t wanna miss it,” Nico shrugs.

“So you showed up in your towel? It could have slipped!”

“You have way too little faith in my towel tying skills. Besides, we’re in Austria. People go to the sauna naked with their colleagues all the time here.”

“But you’re not Austrian, you’re German. I’ve been taught that’s an important distinction.”

“Yeah, I am German, which means I’m not so prudish about being naked. Ever heard of Freikörperkultur, baby? Don’t you Brazilians have nudist beaches too? Or is that just so you can look at hot Brazilian girls topless?”

“What about the team, then?” Gabi responds, decidedly not thinking about which Brazilian women Nico finds hot. “They aren’t Austrian or German or Brazilian. They shouldn’t have to accidentally see your penis.”

“Eh, they’ve seen enough of Valtteri’s ass to be desensitized.”

“I see, you have an explanation for everything!” Gabi is becoming more and more agitated. 

“Yeah, it’s not so fun when you’re the one being talked back to, is it? Actually, I also know why you’re so mad. I think you’re jealous.”

Something snaps in Gabi at that, a last restraint tethering him to some semblance of normality. 

“Yeah, you know everything? So what if I am?” He’s all up in Nico’s personal space now, any traces of his shyness from earlier gone without an audience. He sees Nico’s eyes zeroing in on him, focused and burning. Gabi reaches down to feel the outline of Nico’s dick through the towel, hardening quickly. Annoyingly, the towel is still in place, he might have to concede his point there, but he uses this to his advantage, reaching through the folds for Nico’s cock and giving it a few experimental tugs before uncovering it, by now fully hard. 

“What if I don’t want everyone to see you like this?” He collects saliva in his mouth then bends his head down and opens his mouth, letting it drip down on Nico’s cock. Nico is speechless now, watching Gabi work his spit over his dick. 

“I know you’re a whore, old man, but maybe it’s time for me to do something about it.” Gabi pumps his fist tight and fast, letting his thumb swipe across the sensitive head every now and again, keeping his eyes on Nico’s face. Just as he’s starting to groan and twitch, Gabi’s phone goes off and he lets go instantly. 

“Ah, must be the 10 minute reminder. We have to go do press. I’ll take a shower. You, put on some clothes,” Gabi orders. “And don’t you dare think about touching that,” he adds, nodding at Nico’s dick, before storming out the door, leaving him breathless. 

[jester-nonconforming]

at first i was like “oh, i wish the short showed Blitz and Loona interacting more,” but the more i think about it, the more i feel like them *not* interacting informs us about their relationship. they had all this time while Mr. Wrigglers was saying goodbye to everyone, but Loona is on her phone and Blitz is just sitting around bored. Blitz really *wants* to hang out with her, and he spends a lot of his daily life around her, but he seemingly still has no idea how to actually *engage*.

and this is a problem in all of Blitz’s relationships—he doesn’t feel secure enough to just ask people to spend time with him, so he either makes everything sexual (which he obviously wouldn’t do with Loona) or he focuses on what he can give them (money for their jobs, driving them places, cooking them food, protecting them from harm, etc). he’s gotten better about focusing less on sex as he becomes a bit more secure in his friendships w/ Stolas, M&M, and Fizz, but he still really relies on that other coping mechanism of “here let me do these things for you and in return you won’t leave when i talk about horses for an hour”.

so in a case like this, where he IS just trying to reach out to Loona (which is a lot more vulnerable for him than i think he’d admit) and the plans change in any way, he falters. he’s completely stuck on his original idea for the day and he can’t get out of that mindset enough to listen to what she wants here.

it’s not that i think he doesn’t notice other people’s interests or wants or needs—he definitely does, at least when he’s not clouded by jealousy or other emotions—i think he just does not know how to have a conversation that isn’t focused on himself. and i don’t mean that in an asshole way, i mean it in a “ADHD kid who never learned how to communicate” way. that’s why his relationship with Moxxie works in some ways, because Moxxie and Blitz are both people who will just talk about their interests without prompting (and yes this is a very neurodivergent type of friendship lol). and with Millie he can talk about their shared interests, or just play games, because him and Millie are both more physical people. and with Stolas, Blitz can be the center of attention and Stolas *prefers* it that way. but with Loona being closed off, he just doesn’t really know how to reach her?

he also tends to be really invasive with his friends (again, he’s getting better at it, but still), but he really tries to give her privacy. at least, we’ve never seen him go into her room or ask what she’s doing on her phone. which is a VERY good thing that probably allows her to feel way more comfortable around him. but it doesn’t give him a lot to work with, and i don’t think he realizes that he could just ask her questions about her interests, or would even know where to start (honestly, idk if i would either, that’s a hard thing to do when someone isn’t giving you much to work with).

and all this doesn’t mean Blitz and Loona’s relationship is “bad” or that they don’t love each other. in fact, I think Loona being comfortable with just existing in the same space as Blitz, rolling her eyes at his antics, finding him kind of annoying and embarrassing but trusting that he’ll always be there and relying on him—that’s all pretty typical “teenager with her father” behavior, and despite being an adult, Loona is still working through a lot of teenage experiences. she might have seen Mr. Wrigglers as an idealized dream father figure, but even he couldn’t live up to that standard in the end. her relationship with Blitz reminds me a lot more of how i was with my parents when i was younger, tbh.

but for all the criticism people tend to give to Stolas and Via’s relationship… there’s actually a decent amount of evidence that, when Via isn’t mad at him, those two are better at just hanging out with each other? Stolas obviously misses the mark sometimes as she gets older, but every picture of them from the past shows them both grinning and clearly actively engaging with each other. he focuses on interests they have in common (like telling her about space, or giving her a guitar to further her interest in music), and Via is a lot more receptive to that (which i’m sure is partially because she grew up around those things).

i’m curious to see if Stolas being more quiet and patient will allow Loona to open up more. the short makes it clear she *wants* to open up at this point, and that’s definitely because of the time and effort Blitz has put in over the past 5 years. but after being unsafe for so long and then closed off for even longer, i don’t think she knows *how* to open up, or when is appropriate (because showing your demon form to a random human was a pretty impulsive and unwise decision. again, a rather teenage one). i think it would be cool to see how as much as Blitz can teach Stolas about reaching out to Via, Stolas might be able to teach Blitz some things about connecting with Loona as well.

[phoenixyfriend]

Silks Hiding Beskar Steel

Satine Kryze did not grow up knowing she has the Force. She knows now. (And 'now' is too late to save quite a few people.)

Read on AO3

Heyoooo I brainstormed this on tumblr years ago, and finally got around to writing it.

Things I included:

Satine has the Force (AU)

Jaster and the Duke were a thing (AU), also here, and here.

Satine spent time with a covert during YotR (hc)

Tarre's haunting the saber (fanon) and approves of Satine the most of current contenders (AU)

She wore more traditional armor during YOTR but has so much ptsd attached to it that she swaps out for battleweave silks (Mandalorian space Kevlar) as soon as she can and refuses to turn back without good reason (hc) I held a poll once, too

This isn't a headcanon but Bo's age makes NO sense

Also, "distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not some farcical [...] ceremony!"

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

It is three months, two weeks, and one day into her time with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn that Satine tells them, I have a bad feeling, and immediately dodges a blaster shot coming from behind her.

Satine has, since her early childhood, always been aware of things that try to kill her. Preternaturally aware, some might say.

It’s paranoia, plain and simple. Learned hyperawareness. People love to try to kill her.

The people in her life had shrugged and said, well, we all learn to trust our instincts. You probably heard something subconsciously or noticed a shadow move without realizing. Try to stay sane about it.

After they escape, Qui-Gon Jinn pulls out a notebook—the pad broke ages ago—and draws a few things on the other side of the fire. She doesn’t pay much attention. She is too busy gathering the dryest kindling and wood she can find for the fire as Obi-Wan hunts for their dinner.

(Is Bo-Katan alright? She’s far away, hidden in the core with their mother’s sister, but perhaps that’s not safe enough.)

(Satine worries.)

Jinn sits her down with an odd look on his face after they eat. He holds the notebook in front of him. He says, I want to check something. Can you try to guess what object I’m looking at in this notebook?

It’s odd, but whatever. She figures he’s trying to test how well she can pay attention, pick up on things when she’s otherwise engaged, that sort of thing. So she watches his face, tries to remember what was on the page, but nothing. She doesn’t remember a single thing that was on that page. She wasn’t trying to get a look, so she’s not sure she ever got more than a glance.

She throws out a few wild, random guesses. Qui-Gon nods along, and Obi-Wan gets a weird expression, and when they’re done…

Qui-Gon says, “hm.”

“What?” she asks.

“I want to check something the next time we encounter medical treatment,” Qui-Gon says. “Did you know you might be Force Sensitive?”

What.

--

Children from Mandalore rarely, if ever, go to the Jedi. They don’t even really get tested for that, aside from a handful of clans. Maybe it came up when Satine was a baby and too young to remember, but she did not know.

(There are children from Mandalorian space that go, sometimes, but not Mandalorians themselves. It’s a complicated subject.)

She lets the meddroid test her for it when they next see one.

“Mildly so,” Jinn tells her, looking over the results. “Bottom quartile of what we find among Jedi, but still enough that you would have been accepted had your family decided to give you to us. I don’t suppose you ever received any training?”

“I didn’t even know I had this,” she protests. Did Bo? Is it a family trait? Is it more common among siblings?

Her answer comes from Obi-Wan. He shrugs, and says, “that doesn’t mean you weren’t trained. Your parents could have kept it secret from you. It happens.”

Satine wants to protest that they wouldn’t, but she’s honestly not that sure. She understands operational security now, but she wouldn’t have when she was a child. She knows better than to do secret things without scanning each and every corner of a room for hidden cameras… but wouldn’t have been good enough to find everything just a few years earlier.

Most of Mandalore wouldn’t care. But there are pockets, often violent ones, that would have opinions.

Her mother died before she was old enough to be safely told. Her father…

Perhaps he thought she would need his full attention and several days to know. A vacation.

They haven’t had one of those since Jango died.

Well. ‘Died.’

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “I want to say they would have told me. But… I don’t know.”

Master Jinn nods. “Alright then. We can work on a few things when we have time that could help to keep you safe. Your instincts are already quite well-trained for short-term prescience, as with dodging the blaster bolts. We’ll see what else you show a talent for.”

“Okay,” Satine says, because she doesn’t know what else she could say. “That will likely be useful.”

(Continue on AO3)

[syrupfog]

If Trafalgar Law is confident of one thing, it’s that Luffy saved his life.

If Trafalgar Law is confident of anything else, it’s that he loves Luffy more than he’d ever willingly admit.

And if Trafalgar Law is a bit uncertain about anything else, well…

Can you blame him?

The fact that they’ve been dating for three years doesn’t change the fact that Law is a little surprised every morning to find that he is, actually and for real, STILL dating the king of the pirates. It’s absurd. It feels like a fantasy.

He often chalks this up to the fact that, with each of them having their own crews and ships, they don’t get to spend THAT much time with one another. Not enough for Luffy to get tired of him, at any rate. It’s a blessing in disguise.

Still, even with that thought rattling around in the back of his head, Law would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about proposing. Dreamed about marriage. Fantasised about an old fashioned Flevian ceremony.

At least, he does right up until he gets a harsh wake up call.

“So, who’s going to be the one to propose?”

Law stops in his tracks, his hand hovering over the door handle to enter the lounge in the base of the ship. He recognizes Usopp’s voice beyond the door, and he knows who else is down there.

“Propose?” Luffy asks, sounding nonplussed.

“Yeah,” Usopp says. “You’ve been dating three years now, haven’t you? Aren’t you gonna put a ring on it?”

There’s a pregnant silence. Law should announce himself, or leave. He shouldn’t stand frozen like this.

And then Luffy scoffs. “I’m not gonna MARRY Traffy,” he says.

And that, well. That hurts. A lot.

“You’re—“ Usopp stutters. “You’re not?”

“Of course not,” Luffy says, like this is an obvious thing. Like he’s not shattering Law’s heart. “Why would I MARRY him?”

“Uh,” says Usopp, sounding very much out of his depth.

“Well. You love him, right?”

There’s another pregnant silence. Law can picture Luffy’s thinking face; the one he makes when things don’t add up.

“Not like THAT,” he says, eventually.

Law backs up. There’s a rushing in his ears; he doesn’t think he could listen to more.

After ascending to the brig, he turns and flees toward his bunk— the one he uses when he’s on this ship for more than a night. His crew are off in the Tang for a week in pursuit of a golden sea beast. Law’s stuck here in the open ocean without them.

Granted, Law’s bunk is Luffy’s bunk. And that’s usually exactly what he wants. But as he crawls under the covers and tries to block out the light as if he can convince himself this is a dream, the scent of Luffy that pervades the space is suffocating.

It’s. It’s fine, though. Law scrubs at his eyes and forces himself to think rationally. Luffy doesn’t want to marry him. That’s fine. He still seems willing to date him. That’s good. Nothing about them needs to change. Nothing about them is different than it was this morning.

(Except it is, it IS, because Luffy doesn’t WANT him like that, doesn’t want him in the way Law wants LUFFY, and Law has always suspected this but to hear it said is a different sort of pain).

(And Law had grown too comfortable in his happiness).

Luffy doesn’t come looking for him until well after Law has descended into a paralysing spiral of loathing. The kind he hasn’t done in years, not since that defeat at the hands of BlackBeard.

Luffy climbs on top of him in the bunk, feet and elbows finding his more delicate organs with precision.

“Traffy,” Luffy says. “Do you have a stomachache? Did you eat that weird bird Zoro caught yesterday that Jinbei said could cause shee-jures?”

Law grunts as he gets another elbow to his solar plexus. “No,” he says, physically grappling Luffy into stillness next to him. “I’m just tired, Lu-ya.”

“Oh,” says Luffy. Then, “Why? Did you have nightmares without me noticing? I usually notice.”

And he DOES, is the thing. He always notices. And he helps. And he’s kind about it. And Law wanted to MARRY him, wanted to be able to hold that promise of staying by his side. Wanted this comfort forever.

What a fool.

“Yeah,” Law says. “Nightmares. Sorry Lu-ya, you slept like the dead last night.”

“Oh,” says Luffy. Then, “Huh.” Then, “Well you should sleep again and I’ll be here so you don’t have nightmares this time.”

This is a hellish thing to offer, because Law knows Luffy will immediately get bored and start messing with things. “It’s fine,” Law says. “You were going to do that fishing competition with Brook today, weren’t you? Go do that, I’ll just sleep some more while you do.”

It’s distressingly easy to distract him sometimes.

“Oh yeah!” Luffy says, jumping up. “I was gonna catch a whale shark!”

Law makes a shoo-ing motion with his hand. “Go on,” he says. “Kick his ass.”

Luffy laughs. “No nightmares this time, okay!” He shouts as he runs out.

Law doesn’t promise him, but he does smile a little as he watches Luffy go.

He loves him.

He just has to come to terms with the fact that Luffy doesn’t love him back the same way.

Law is with the Sunny another six days.

He does not, in this time, come to terms with this knowledge.

No, one could say he instead just gets increasingly more miserable.

It’s very obvious. Everyone notices. Even Luffy.

Law starts snapping at them (more than usual). He avoids one-on-one time with Luffy. He hides in Franky’s workshop and Robin’s library (not Nami’s map room, she’s too pushy when she’s nosy).

He gets sadder. Every time he sees Luffy again, he gets progressively more despondent.

Until, the day they’re supposed to meet up with his crew, Nami gets a call on the transponder snail.

“Traffy!” she calls, walking into the galley during breakfast. “Your crew called. They were sent off course yesterday from a nasty storm so it sounds like they’re three days out”

“Shit,” says Law.

“Aww thats okay, you’ve barely spent any time with me!” Luffy says through a mouthful of pancakes. “This just means we can have more time together!”

And Law, snappish and miserable by now, says, “You don’t WANT that!”

Luffy blinks. “Yes i do,” he says.

Law, realising what he’s said, composes himself. “Sorry, you’re right.” His fork is in a death grip in his hand. “Of course you do. Yes. Thank you, Nami.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “No problem…”

Luffy ALSO narrows his eyes at him. “You’re being weird,” he says.

“I’m a grumpy person,” Law snaps. “I’m always like this, thanks for noticing.”

Luffy frowns. “No you’re not,” he says. There’s a hush falling across the table. Everyone is here except Chopper. “You’re always grumpy but it’s usually a happy grumpy. Why aren’t you happy grumpy?”

“Happy grumpy isn’t a thing,” Law says. “Eat your pancakes.”

“NO,” shouts Luffy, eliciting quiet gasps around the table. “You’re going to tell me what’s wrong!”

“Or WHAT?” Law asks, pushing his plate away.

The feeling of security, of always having Luffy’s love to come home to, is gone. He suddenly feels unsure of the outcome of any fight. If Luffy doesn’t want to marry him, does he even want to stay with him? How hard would it be to push Luffy past his breaking point?

“Or—“ Luffy pauses, eyebrows knitted together, his laser-sharp gaze locked on Law’s face. Law HATES when he does this, when it feels like he’s being stripped bare, like Luffy can see every part of him. All the vile, disgusting parts.

The parts that, this time around, are so full to BURSTING with love for Luffy. Adoration. Admiration. Desire. Homesickness when they’re apart. He feels so sure that Luffy can see it all, can see how pathetically in love Law is, how much more love Law has to give than Luffy does.

Law suddenly wants to cry.

Luffy doesn’t finish his threat. He stands up, silently, and reaches over, grabbing the collar of Law’s shirt in his fist and hauling him out of the room.

Everyone else watches them go in abject awkward silence.

Law lets himself get pulled across the ship, dragging his feet until they end up down in the lounge where this all started. Luffy forces him to sit on the sofa and then sits HIMSELF firmly in Law’s lap.

He grabs Law’s cheeks in both (syrup-sticky) hands.

“NOW you tell me what’s wrong,” he says.

“No,” says Law, his face slightly squished. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to deal with it all.

“I’m going to— punch you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Luffy says.

“Fine,” says Law. That sounds good, actually.

And Luffy does, too. It would have had more effect if he weren’t also sitting in Law’s lap; all he managed to do is get the both of them sprawled across the sofa, Law gasping for breath after an impressively hard punch to the sternum.

“NOW tell me,” says Luffy.

“Punch me again,” says Law.

“No!”

“Why NOT?”

“Because that’s not the kind of love you get!”

Law blinks back tears. Luffy’s looming over him, looking more upset than Law thinks he has a right to.

“Then why’d you do it the first time?” Law asks, exasperated.

“Because you told me to,” Luffy says. “And I want you to have what you want.”

Law groans, throwing his head back. “Well I don’t get to HAVE what I want,” he says. “So just forget it.”

Luffy scrunches his nose. “So you WANT something.”

“We all want something, Lu-ya.”

“I don’t,” says Luffy. “I have everything I wanted.” He plants his palms firmly on Law’s chest. “But YOU want something. And I’m going to help you get it.”

“No you’re not,” Law says. The fight is going out of him. The adrenaline of the punch is leaving and he’s tired.

“Yes I am, just tell me what it is,” Luffy says. “I’m the king of the pirates, I can do it!”

“You CANT because what I want is something you DONT want,” Law snaps. “And so it won’t work! That’s fine! Forget it!”

Luffy growls. “Shut up! Just tell me what it is!”

“Fine!” Law shouts. “I want to fucking MARRY you, okay? And you don’t want me like that, so it’s FINE! You see? You can’t help me! Just forget I said it and move on!”

Law looks pointedly away, tears gathering in his eyes. He assumes this is the end of their relationship.

That was the whole point of NOT telling him, but of course Law has never been good at that.

He waits, staring resolutely at a corner of the fish tank, until Luffy says, “but that’s stupid.”

“What?” asks Law. “No it’s not!”

"Yeah it is!” Luffy says. “People don’t get married because they’re in love! Only people who hate each other get married!”

This is possibly the most insane thing Luffy has ever said.

Law, cheeks wet, turns and looks at him. “Wh—“ he squints. “WHAT?”

Luffy rolls his eyes. “Duh,” he says. “Like Pudding and Sanji. They hated each other. Or Sabo— his parents tried to make him get married to some ugly girl who didn’t want him to hang out with us. People don’t get married unless they hate each other.”

“Lu-ya,” Law says slowly. “My parents were married.”

Luffy makes a face. “So they hated each other too.”

Law remembers the dancing in the kitchen and sharing bites of chocolate cake. He remembers the look his dad would give his mom when she fell asleep on the sofa.

“No,” he says. “They loved each other. So much.”

Law pauses. He thinks. “You’re not thinking of marriage,” he says slowly. “You’re thinking of ARRANGED marriages.”

“Uh yeah, they’re all arranged, Traffy. How else would you even get one?”

“One of us would… ask the other,” Law says slowly. “Because HAPPY marriages happen when both people WANT to be married. Like— Bege and Chiffon. They’re married.”

“Who?” Luffy asks.

Yeah, that tracks.

“Like—“ Law wracks his brain. “Oden and Toki.”

Luffy gives him a blank look.

“Like MY PARENTS,” Law snaps.

Luffy blinks. “Oh,” he says.

‘He’s getting it,’ Law thinks.

“So happy marriages are a FLEVANCE thing,” Luffy says.

Law is impressed Luffy remembered the name Flevance.

“Yes,” he says. “They’re a Flevance thing.”

“Okay,” Luffy says with a nod. “We can get Flevance married, then.”

Law stares at him. “We… can?” He asks.

“Yeah,” says Luffy. “That’s your dream, isn’t it? As long as we don’t get REGULAR married. Cause we don’t hate each other.”

“…Right,” says Law.

This is not the kind of proposal Law was expecting.

But. Really. What kind of proposal WOULD he have expected? From Luffy?

“Hey Lu-ya,” Law says. “Will you Flevance Marry me?”

“Duh,” says Luffy. “I just said that.” He pauses. “Does this mean we can have a feast?”

“Yes,” says Law. “But kiss me first, before you go tell Sanji.”

(This is a trick he has learned over the years— that Luffy IS about to run off and this IS law’s last chance for a while).

(It only has a fifty percent success rate).

Luffy leans down and gives Law the most god-awful kiss that’s part peck-on-the-lips part deep-throat-rubber-tongue. He loves kissing like this. Law hates it. But he does love Luffy.

And Luffy’s going to Flevance-marry him. So he’ll put up with the godawful kissing.

Then Luffy’s weight disappears from his chest as he takes off running out of the room. “Sanji!!” he yells as he goes. “You gotta make a cake!! I’m gonna get Flevance married!!!”

Law lays on the sofa in a daze.

He’s gonna get Flevance married too.

[acepetronia]

Okay this blurb was inspired by this and this. @angronius and @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond i love watching you two scrap and fight on this site LMFAO. @heretical-cogitations i know you love to see the mournival too.

No warnings apply, just tomfoolery. Please contact me for any mistakes I made, I will edit them out.

———

Garviel had tucked himself at the further end of the mess hall, close to his 10th Company brothers, reading a book that Sindermann had recommended when he came to see him. His food was sitting on its tray, his bowl of cold porridge barely halfway and his nutri-bar half-eaten and left forgotten. He tuned out the loud commotions and conversations happening around him, occasionally replying to Nero Vipus’ questions beside him. The mess hall was always lively during dining hours, fellow battle brothers shared stories over meals, mostly exaggerated to get each other excited.

Garviel turned the page he was reading, engrossed over a detailed passage. Boisterous cheers and laughter overshadowed the footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Still reading that book Garviel?”

He was abruptly pulled from the passage he was following. He turned to see one of his men make space for Aximand to sit beside him on his right. He placed his plate of mash next to his tray and began to eat.

“I wanted to take my time to enjoy it.” Garviel took a spoonful of porridge to his mouth before resuming the passage.

Aximand couldn’t help but smirk as he shook his head. The table he sat at garnered looks from all around them seeing the two Mournival lords converse with one another. They both ate in silence, with Aximand occasionally striking up to chat with Garviel, trying to get him to put his book down.

As the attention towards them dwindled, Tarik and Ezekyle passed by their table, coming back from the training cages. Tarik wielded a combat knife in his hand, tossing it playfully in the air with expertise. He had been showing off to the neophytes that had arrived for their orientation on how to navigate the training area, making them late for lunch. They had been on their way to the main table when they spotted Garviel and Aximand sitting next to each other at the further end of the mess hall. With the loud volume helping to disguise their approach, they peered over Garviel’s shoulder to see him reading.

“What have you got here?” Ezekyle wedges himself between Nero and Garviel, putting a hand over the table to lean over and take a glance over the pages. “Chronicles of Ursh? Really?” He laughs.

As the Mournival began to garner attention yet again, Garviel pulls the book’s ribbon to mark the page and closes it with a thud. “You haven’t found enough enjoyment of the battles we wage already Garviel? What’s so riveting reading about wars in bygone eras?”

“I just find it fascinating, is all.” He returns to finishing his cold porridge when Tarik chimes in.

“I bet it’s not as fascinating as this!” He twirls the knife in his hand and stabs it down on the table with a flourish, causing astartes to holler and whistle in excitement. Garviel could only roll his eyes playfully. “I need a volunteer for this game, who wants to have a go?”

With almost half of the mess hall watching, many clamoured to get Tarik’s attention to be his volunteer. Garviel considered just leaving before he started to rile up the room even more, but he made a mistake of leaving his hand on the table.

“Tarik, I think I heard Garvi say yes,” Before he knew it, Ezekyle had locked an arm around his neck and pin his arm down on the table. “he’ll gladly volunteer.”

Astartes hollered and laugh as Garviel tried to escape Ezekyle’s hold on him, but he was trapped against a solid wall of muscle that used his strength to pin him down. His tray pushed aside haphazardly as Tarik placed his own hand above his. “Tarik, stop-”

“Let them get it out of their system Garvi.” Aximand advised him. He had fully pushed himself aside as Tarik invaded his side of the table.

“Don’t worry Garvi, you’re in good hands,” Tarik pulls out the knife from the table and places the tip next to his hand, about to start.

“It won’t be such a bad thing if he missed,” Ezekyle’s voice rumbled beside his ear. “‘cause then you and Nero would have matching bionics.”

Garviel could barely hear Nero laughing beside him over Ezekyle’s laughter. His hearts were racing and he tried to focus on something else that wasn’t the blade right next to his hand. He could smell and taste the sweat on Ezekyle’s arm, and he feels himself go rigid as Tarik started the game with a singsong Cthonian chant.

He started off slow, tapping the tip of the blade in between their fingers, inviting astartes to sing along with him as he picked up the pace. Tarik stabs the spaces between Garviel’s fingers in quick succession, never missing a beat in his tune. He does the pattern over and over again with such speed that Garviel held his breath. Upon reaching his pinky finger, Tarik ends the sequence with a nice flourish of his blade and took his hand off Garviel’s. Their brothers around them cheered for Second Captain’s amazing display of precision and dexterity

Thinking it was over, Garviel relaxes in Ezekyle’s hold. As he was about to curl his fingers from their stretched positions, Tarik suddenly pins his wrist down and stabs the knife near the base of his index and middle finger.

Startled, Garviel yelps and jumps in Ezekyle’s hold, causing everyone to laugh. The hold around his neck and arm goes slack as Ezekyle couldn’t stop laughing at his reaction, eventually pulling himself away. Garviel was left feeling the lingering warmth on his back and his hair tousled from being held down.

Tarik pulls the knife from the table and gives a bow to the crowd, giving their round of applause. He gestures over to Garviel for them to cheer on as well. The Tenth Captain tried to hide his embarrassment by combing through his hair with his still-intact fingers.

“Thanks Garvi,” Tarik gives him a pat on the shoulder as he leant down on his ear to whisper something to him. “I owe you one.” He leaves the table with Ezekyle in tow, still chuckling as he shook his head.

Garviel had lost his appetite. He didn’t realize how hot he had gotten during that entire event. Aximand had gone back to his spot next to Garviel, finishing his meal with a smile on his face. “He got you good back there.”

“I wish he hadn’t done that.” Garviel sighs. Aximand chuckles in response. Nero had slipped back to his spot beside him and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“It’s a shame he hadn’t slipped up and missed, we could’ve gotten matching hands.” Nero prodded teasingly, making Garviel groan.

“Enough already…” He shrugs him off gently, picking up his tray and book to leave. He couldn’t help but let a smirk creep up on his lips as he motioned for his friend to follow him out the mess hall.

[razorblade180-heated]

Trapped ch2

[smut! Look away!]

Whoever said lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice is in fact a liar. Blake Belladonna found herself opening her eyes from her old Beacon bed once again. She was unclear how long it has been since her first appearance in this pseudo familiar world, but memories came flooding back.

“Oh, this again.” She was quick on the uptake. Not only was she back in her pajamas, but felt strangely more comfortable than the last time. Whatever happened last time didn’t cause any problems after her and Jaune left. That was a plus in her book.

Speaking of Jaune, Blake looked around to see if the boy had returned like she did. She found no knight waiting this time. Instead, a reaper sat on her bed in pajamas while double fisting two sandwiches.

“Ruby?” Blake blinked twice, genuinely surprised to see her leader.

“Hey, sleepy head…” Ruby said slowly, dragging out each word. “So uh, this place is weird. Kinda reminds me of Jinn.”

“Oh yeah. Never really thought of that. How long have you been hanging around?”

“Not long. Maybe five minutes. Tried to wake you but it wasn’t happening. Now I’m eating.”

Blake could see the girl’s hands trembling from where she sat. “Were you freaking out in those five minutes?”

“That may have happened.” She inhaled the sandwich in her left hand. “There’s an interesting sign on the door.”

Blake turned her head and once again read it aloud. “Requirements unfulfilled. Achieve Ruby’s satisfaction and calmness.” How interesting. The objective had nothing to do with Blake specifically this time.

“Weird sign, right?” Ruby chuckled awkwardly. “Hehe, it's almost like this place is like those spaces found in naughty manga.”

“That’s exactly what this is.”

Blake watched her leader go nonverbal as her nostrils flared from a deep breath. Ruby slowly inhaled the second sandwich. It was clear to Blake the girl was stress eating from refusing what she knew to be the truth.

“Cool.” Ruby finally said after a couple minutes. “Why not? The rest of my life should make this feel normal.”

“So I can see you still need a second.”

“How are you so calm about this!?” Ruby blurted out. “I get you’re cool, but this cool!?”

“It’s my second time here.”

“You’re what!!? Who was here last time!?”

“I…don’t think that’s my business to tell.” No need to make the rabbit hole deeper than it was getting. “From what I can tell, you lose your memories after leaving, but gain it all back if you return. You definitely would’ve known about this place otherwise.”

“Because I would’ve remembered, or because you would’ve told me?”

“Yes and probably. I don’t see it staying a secret.” Jaune definitely would’ve acted off and frankly, Blake knew she wouldn’t be better. “And before you ask, there’s no other way out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ruby jumped down to the floor.” I was kicking and yanking the door like a psycho. You’re a very heavy sleeper.”

“Or the room thought you should get that all out of your system in private? I wouldn’t be surprised. What kind of sandwich were those?”

“I don’t know. A mix of beef and turkey I think? The cheese was definitely cheddar.”

“I didn’t eat one last time but I definitely smelled tuna before.”

“So what? We want for nothing here? Ya know, except for escaping?” Ruby tapped her foot anxiously.

Blake was starting to sense a pattern. “First Jaune, and now Ruby. It could’ve been any combination of our group, but I’m here again for another first time experience. If this room considers who’s in it, am I the best choice to help them get used to this?”

Thinking about it, Blake couldn’t see anyone else taking this well enough while handling two of the most anxious people in the group. Anyone else might come off too strong or out of their depth.

“Ruby, it’s okay. We’re gonna get through this. I promise. Take a breath, then take a seat right next to me.

The silver eyed warrior does exactly that. After a slow and measured breath that raises her shoulder, Ruby exhales like a deflating balloon before taking a seat to Blake’s right.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. You’re nervous. I take it Yang’s never really talked to you about this stuff, has she?”

“Nope. Not that she wouldn’t. It uhh, always felt embarrassing for me. I’ve read some intriguing books.” Ruby blushed deeply. “I’ve even done some self exploration whenever I could find the time. Not as much as I would’ve liked though.”

“Yeah, finding privacy isn’t the easiest. You could’ve told me. I will cover for you.”

“R-Really?”

Blake smiled and gave a nod. “Of course! Everyone needs to take the edge off from time to time. Trust me, you wouldn’t be the only one. So, I take it you like girls if I’m here?”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised to see you.”

“Oh?” Blake’s head tilted.

“Not that you aren’t beautiful or anything! You definitely are! I actually really don’t care, all things considered. It’s more about a vibe for me. If that makes any sort of sense.”

“Hahaha! Ruby, that makes total sense.” Blake wished they were having this conversation outside of this place. “You have yourself figured out more than you know. That’s good.”

“Ya think so?” Hearing that took a little weight off Ruby's shoulders. “Thanks. It never stressed me out but I definitely haven’t put in the time to sort it all out. Maybe that’s why I’m so anxious? Feels like I'm going in the deep end.”

Her hands were still fidgeting. The warm and soft feeling of Blake’s hand rested on top of her knuckles, gently rubbing them for comfort.

“Don’t worry. We aren’t going as deep as you might fear. Can you get fully on the bed for me?”

Ruby nodded, scooting backwards until her legs and feet were completely on the mattress. Blake moved behind her and put one leg on each side of the girl’s body. Both arms hugged Ruby’s waist while Blake rested her chin on Ruby’s shoulder. Findings cautiously pulled up the cute night shirt on the reaper to feel her stomach directly, earning a jolt.

“Ticklish?” Blake whispered.

“A little.” Ruby squeaked. She turned her head to see her teammate looking calm and caringly into her eyes. “Can I…kiss you?” Why was her heart racing already!?

Blake leaned in and pressed her lips against Ruby’s. A certain tension must’ve subsided, because Ruby’s body trembled a little less than before. The leader had the courage to kiss Blake back. The Faunus kept her own intensity well within reason. Ruby was always an ambitious person, much like Jaune. The difference being Ruby often did find herself in the deeper end of things before realizing. It was what made her the leader after all. Her boldness was always inspiring and a guiding light, but it had its drawbacks. Not this time. Not if Blake could help it.

She pressed her tongue lightly against Ruby’s lips, seeking an initiation inside. Ruby welcomed it by opening her mouth more and greeting it with her own. She didn’t try to take the lead and instead mimicked the way Blake traced the tip of her tongue, sliding it side to side as if to inspect the area. Ruby found it interesting; pleasant even. Her body sunk more into Blake’s embrace and once again she found the courage to kiss deeper.

“Mmmm.” She moaned softly, happy when Blake matched the same effort. Like smacking happens each time their lips briefly separated before reuniting. Kissing must’ve been a spell. Ruby found herself in a light trance, slipping more and more into the state of mind. A warmth trailed up her ribs and cuffed her left breast. One squeeze was all it took to make the girl quiver and take a breath. “Aaa~”

Blake’s eyes widened. Ruby’s face was so flushed already. A pretty strong reaction from the start. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “My… nipples are really sensitive. They’ve always kinda been that way.”

Understatement of the century. Blake watched Ruby fidget, going as far to rub her thighs together after another gentle squeeze. “How have you survived wearing bras? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Sports bras.” Ruby sighed with pleasure. “The fabric isn’t so bad. Depending on the corset, I can get away with no bra or just use pasties.”

“Huh, the more you know.” Blake placed two of her fingers between Ruby’s nipples and closed them gently. Blake was rewarded with another moan and the sight of Ruby’s back arching slowly.

“Blake~” Ruby whimpered, her hands reaching up to hold the girl behind her.

Now Blake couldn’t help but blush. She wasn’t expecting such strong reactions. Her hands gave Ruby a quick break as they left to pull up the girl’s shirt. Ruby’s boobs weren’t only soft, but perfect for her body. Looks like she is somewhere in the C range. The nipples that caused so much pleasure were pale pink in color. Not to mention stiff as of now. Blake traced Ruby’s areolas to see the response. More whimpers dribbled out from quivering lips as Ruby did her best to keep still.

“You said you’ve done some self exploring before?”

“Y-Yes.” Even talking was challenging. “This didn’t feel as crazy with my own hands though.”

“Is that right? So, you’ve never had an orgasm from doing this?” Blake’s question was meant with loud silence and red ears. All the confirmation she needed. Without a second thought, she held Ruby’s boobs fully in her hands to massage. The reaction was immediate.

The red haired girl acted like someone quickly tased her. Fingers left an impression against her skin as they pressed and separated her chest. Her legs clenched again as Blake lightly pinched both nipples. Not only that, but her mouth became infatuated with the crook of Ruby’s neck.

“Blake!” Ruby whined. The feeling of a wet and meticulous tongue running across her skin made her swoon. Blake wasn’t afraid to add a little pressure either with small bites as her nails dared to flick her nipples. “Ghaah!”

She didn’t let out. Blake kept this pace and watched Ruby melt. Each flick brought a yelp while a squeeze caused restless fidgeting. The hold Ruby had around her neck grew tighter with each passing second as Blake left marks on the girl’s pale neck. The idea came to pull on Ruby’s nipples just enough for them to bounce when Blake let go. Again and again, she pulled, watching the poor girl’s toes curl up. Blake whispered in her ears again.

“Are you close~” Blake teased.

“Y-Yes.” Ruby had never felt this hot before. “I’m really close, Blake.”

“Close to what?”

“Cumming.” Even the word brought its own pleasure. “I’m gonna cum.” Her voice was cracking again.

Blake kissed Ruby’s ear. “That’s good. I wanna see that. Let it aaallll out.”

She twisted Ruby’s nipples suddenly. The reaper’s nails dug into Blake’s clothes while her body became stunned with pleasure. Ruby could feel something in her squeeze tightly like never before, trapping her legs together and actively ruining her cotton panties. How long has she been trembling? Better yet, when would it stop? Ruby’s head couldn’t find these answers. She only knew that eventually her voice came back in the form of heavy breathing as her body rested against Blake who gently rubbed one of Ruby’s cheeks.

“Good job. You did wonderfully.”

The praise felt good, but it was third compared to the tingling between her thighs and buzzing sensation from her nipples. Ruby bit her lip. “Are we done?” She asked hesitantly.

Her body was probably laid down on Blake’s bed while the girl in question stood up to reach under her bed and pull out a box. Ruby’s eyes turned to the size of dinner plates as she saw various dildos. Some blue, others pink. One looked rather smooth and generic while another had deep grooves in a spiraling shape.

“Has that always been there?”

“I took a gamble. Looks like this place knew what I was hiding. Plus a few extra. I told you we all need to take the edge off. Don’t worry though. I meant it when I say we aren’t diving off the deep end”

Blake found what she was looking for. A small dark purple toy no longer than her own hand, and some lube for it.

“What’s that do?” Ruby asked, gaining an immediate answer when Black pressed the button of the base. The entire thing let out a low buzz as it vibrated. “Oh…”

“It’s on the lowest setting. No different than one of those cheap massage devices for shoulders. Now then, are you up for trying this? It’s okay to say no.”

A real funny thing to say while already holding a vibrating toy. She could tell Blake was being genuine though. She didn’t even seem like she wanted to use it personally.

“We’ve gone this far. I trust you. Plus… I am still pretty in the mood.” Ruby blushed.

With that said, Blake returned to bed. Only now she was at the end of it. Ruby watched bashfully as her friend removed her robe before focusing on Ruby’s pants. Her hips raised to help Blake, who had no problems removing them and slipping up pink, damp underwear. Ruby chose to ignore the smirk on Blake’s face.

“Gotta admit, I’m jealous. Wish my nipples were that sensitive.”

“I promise you don’t.” Ruby deadpanned. She watched as Blake lathered up the toy in lube. “Umm, please don’t go too deep. I’ve never actually…”

“I promise.” Blake finished. “Wasn’t planning on it. Okay, I need you to spread your legs for me; also bend your right knee.”

Despite her embarrassment, Ruby silently did what was asked of her, revealing herself completely. Flushed pink lips leaked of Ruby’s arousal. Blake also spotted just how swollen the girl’s clit had become. Her body was more than ready. A small patch or red hair rested on top of her mound. Looks like Ruby actually kept herself well groomed. Blake just noticed there wasn’t even hair on Ruby’s legs. Maybe it was genetics? As someone with a hairy father, Blake really hoped it wasn’t Ruby’s genetics. Sensitive nipples and less shaving would be so unfair.

“Umm, you’re staring a lot.” Ruby chirped.

“Hmm? Oh, my bad.” Blake smiled sheepishly. She refocused her attention.

Ruby couldn’t see Blake’s movements perfectly, but she could watch a hand move closer. Vibrations on the bed grew closer and closer until the toy pressed against her slit. Another gasp faintly left Ruby’s lips. Slowly, the toy slid up and along her, barely touching her clit but making its presence known before hanging around the entrance of her body. No more than an inch was put in to let Ruby feel its power; the constant movement that alerted her senses and caused her eyes to flicker. The focus on Blake’s face was captivating. Their eyes locked as Blake laid down with her head between Ruby’s thighs. Not a word was spoken. Blake’s left arm snuck under Ruby’s bent knee before her hand held a hip for leverage. That same tongue that asked for an invitation and caused a red mark on Ruby’s neck, now took the pleasure in exploring another new area as Blake kissed another pair of lips.

Ruby’s jaw went slack. Only gasps flew out as she felt her clit become captured in bliss. The toy pushed in a little again before leaving, maintaining its position right at the entrance as it drew out more desire for Blake to taste. Fingers held onto the sheets for dear life. Ruby couldn’t look away from the alluring sight of Blake’s eyes staring back as she dined. The pleasure would’ve made Ruby’s hips pull away, but they are trapped in place now, leaving Ruby to endure every tongue lash of the girl who made sure to slurp up every drop.

“Bl-ake. This is…wow.” Her chest was rising high and falling low.

She felt her clit get sucked harder, making her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Ruby had to close her eyes for her own sanity, but that made the experience feel so much more intense. Where would Blake strike next? Ruby was always wrong, and she was happy about it every time “Aaa~ Aaaaagnh!”

Blake knew she could hold this position well past Ruby’s breaking point, but that wouldn’t be fun. The toy was nice and she genuinely believed Ruby could handle an extra inch; yet that didn’t interest Blake much. What did draw her in was Ruby herself. The taste her leader had might as well be nectar. Not only was there a subtle sweetness thanks to her natural scent, but also a creaminess that coated Blake’s tongue and felt right when it went down her throat. A little self indulgence is fine, right? Ruby didn’t seem to mind going with the flow.

Succumbing to her own ideas, Blake pulled the dildo out of Ruby. Now that her right hand gained its freedom again, it mimicked the left in bending Ruby’s left leg before slipping under the girl’s knee and grabbing her waist.

Ruby couldn’t form a thought quick enough as she felt her waist get lifted off the bed slightly. The vibrations she had been powering through was replaced by the ravenous tongue she was quickly becoming fond of. It dared to borrow deeper than the toy and be twice as unruly.

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Yeah, Ruby didn’t mind at all. Blake happily indulged in the stronger, more addictive taste. She didn’t care at all how tightly the walls around her squeezed. She wasn’t giving up this flavor until it was spilling out. Dripping down her chin wasn’t enough.

“So much for impulse control.” Blake chastised herself. Not enough to feel bad about it though. She turned her gaze upward to check on Ruby. Poor girl was redder than her favorite cloak and had her eyes shut tightly. One hand remained an anchor of stability by clutching the sheets while the other gave into stimulation by playing with her left tit. “Hehehe~”

Blake let her mind wander off. No Bneed to change positions anymore. She wanted Ruby cumming just like this; deep in the throes of pleasure and excitement. It wasn’t gonna take long at all.

Ruby panted as if she was Ty on the final stretch of a marathon. The pressure underneath her navel grew more intensely while inside became so hot she could feel the warmth spread. It was impossible not to know exactly where Blake’s tongue was. Its motions became frustratingly slow and more dramatic. It pushed up on the roof before dragging itself in a dreadfully long circle around its surroundings. Tears began welling up in Ruby’s eyes as the tip returned to the starting point, pushing up again as it took its time curling its way out; maintaining the pressure all the way until it found a nice, evil little spot where it could disturb her clit from the inside. Just like that, Ruby found and lost her voice all at once.

“BLAKE!!” She howled. The tongue finally left, flicking her clit abruptly on the way out.

The older woman watched Ruby’s spoiled flower convulse, its nectar squirting out onto the sheets and Blake’s body while the girl shook like she was possessed. She couldn’t hide her personal satisfaction in watching her work bear fruit. It might be vain to think, but in her opinion, she couldn’t think of a time Ruby looked prettier than right now. Blake got on all fours right over Ruby and gently kissed her flushed face all over while she went through the waves of the orgasm. Ruby tried to hide her face but it was no use.

“You okay?” Blake hummed

“Th- ungh.” She stammered repeatedly. “I- that was….crazy. Really crazy.” Ruby finally said after finding her voice again. Her body was still trembling uncontrollably.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you're freezing.”

“Shut uuuup!” Ruby groaned, attempting to hide a smile from Blake’s smug face. “I didn’t know orgasms could get that intense!”

“I did give you plenty of foreplay. Not to mention you were sensitive already. Let’s not forget, lots of new experiences for you today.”

“Trying to downplay your achievements now?”

“Nope. Giving you notes is all.” Blake was riding a wonderful high right now. Something about giving that kind of pleasure was deeply gratifying.

“It’s not like I’m taking that advice out of here. Although- wait, nah. I don’t wanna think about what could happen if I show up here again!”

Neither said it, but the likelihood of returning felt very real. Blake wasn’t going to worry about that right now though. She turned her attention to the exit. Blake would be lying if she said she wasn’t expecting a bright green light. To her surprise, once again, it was only half green!

“What the-” Her head turned back to her still recovering leader. Flushed skin, damp thighs, and ruined sheets. How was this not calm and satisfied!? The requirements said nothing about her personality, so what was going on!?

“Ruby? Would you say you’re pretty calm and satisfied right about now?”

“I am pretty sure I have experienced three moments of immense clarity here, yes.”

“Well I need you to keep that clarity as I tell you the door isn’t unlocked.”

“Why would it be?” Ruby said lazily. “You have had a single orgasm this entire time.”

“I know, but the requirements didn’t say anything about me.”

Finding the willpower, Ruby sat up and looked her dumbfounded friend in the face. “Blake, I like to think we know each other incredibly well.”

“I…do too?” Blake said. She could feel the judgment coming from Ruby.

“Okay, so do I look like the type of person who would walk out of here without you feeling good?”

In hindsight, this was Blake’s fault. She had forgotten who she was dealing with. Deep end or not, Ruby was always going to try her best in all aspects. Blake was almost speechless.

“The love of your life is gonna be one lucky person.” Blake said with utter amazement.

“Huh? Not exactly the response I was expecting. Thank you though!” Ruby grinned. “Soooo, I’ll follow your lead. What are you up for?”

“Frankly I didn’t think this far in advance.” Blake admitted. As willing as Ruby was, it was easy to see the exhaustion her body had. No way her legs were moving any time soon. “Lay down. I have an idea.”

“Roger that!” Ruby flopped back down on the pillow.

“Hehe, we can take a break.”

“Nah, I’m good. I really can’t believe you didn’t want a turn. You even took off your clothes.”

“It’s not like I didn't. It just wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. I opened my eyes to you freaking out. I know my priorities.” She slipped off her underwear.

“Okay, fair enough.” Ruby had mildly forgotten about her stress eating earlier. “I’m better now! This has been fun. I might not be as good as you but I’d like to try and-”

Her view of the bed above them became blocked by toned abs and boobs that might as well be mountains from this perspective. Blake’s knees rested on each side of Ruby’s head, and if the reaper dared to let her eyes drift down, she’d be faced with lush pink lips surrounded by short silky black hair. Slender fingers ran through Ruby’s hair, tugging gently to pull her head back to see Blake staring down at her. To say Blake looked gorgeous from this angle would be an understatement. Ruby was in awe.

“I don’t think it’s said enough how pretty you are.” Ruby said, blushing wildly again.

Blake let out a soft giggle. Honestly, sometimes Ruby was so adorable without even trying. “Thanks. Now then, tap my leg three times if you need air. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Her words drifted. Ruby already brought her hands up to hold Blake’s hips, eagerly pulling the woman down until she properly sat down.

Blake’s cat ears twitched. She didn’t expect Ruby to immediately get work. Her tongue was ambitious yet careful. Blake felt it trace the outline of her folds before slithering down the middle. She used her grip on Ruby’s hair to hold both of them steady as Blake began to ride her leader’s face properly to help. Blake was making sure to be extra careful but Ruby seemed to have other plans. Cat ears twitched again thanks to Ruby pulling Blake’s body further down, really allowing Ruby’s tongue to bury itself.

Even Blake couldn’t help but sigh blissfully. She could tell the girl was trying to imitate a few moves. Ruby wasn’t half bad. Blake continued rocking her hips.

“I can’t help but feel like you’re trying to get a little revenge on me.” Blake teased. Her body was slowly but surely getting into it. “Go counter clockwise. I like that.”

Ruby did as she was told, switching directions and paying close attention to how the walls around her flinched. There were brief moments Blake’s grip on her hair tightened, or thighs tensed. Ruby recalled silly little tips about spelling letters with your tongue could help find weak spots. Might as well give it a shot. A pity victory from Blake was out of the question.

“A, B, C, D, E, F, G-”

“Nngh~” Blake hunched forward.

“And we have a winner!” Ruby repeats the letter slowly, feeling Blake’s body respond with a stronger taste to drink. She wasn’t kidding about going counter clockwise. Ruby reaffirmed her grip on Blake’s hips. Good thing too. Blake started being active in her riding. “Looks like she likes it. That’s a relief.”

Blake braced herself with her right hand pressing against the wall as she leaned forward to ride faster. Fingers dragged down her hips and moved to hold her ass tightly. This was so much better than that toy she grabbed earlier. With the way Ruby’s tongue nearly slips out before sliding back in with each arch of Blake’s back, Blake might as well have been riding a dick. She allowed herself to shut her eyes and just enjoy the feeling of getting eaten so eagerly. Ruby wasn’t tapping out, so Blake wasn’t going to think twice about this ride.

“You’re doing such a good job.” She panted, grinding Ruby’s tongue in a specific spot until the girl actively played with it. “Uunngh, yeah. Right there, Ruby~”

It was so strange hearing her name with such desire. Ruby never thought too hard about her future love life, but between this and Blake’s comment earlier, it was hard not to think about it! There were a few people that came to mind, and the idea that they might moan her name like this was a danger to her own heart.

“Maybe I do want to come back here?”

Her internal conflict continued, but it never distracted her enough to leave Blake unsatisfied. Probably because she was doing part of the work by moving her own hips. Ruby wasn’t sure how long she’s been underneath Blake, but she really didn’t care. She found time to breathe through her nose each time she licked upwards, and the weight on her felt calming. The taste of the Belladonna freedom fighter was rather subtle and not that different from filtered water going down Ruby’s throat. In truth, if Blake wanted to sit here for a while, Ruby couldn’t find a reason to complain yet. Her tongue might get tired, but that’s a pretty fair trade off for this stunning view.

“Ruby, just a little longer. Okay?” Blake’s heads up was responded with hands pulling her down again. “Haha, oh you’re so cute~”

The sultriness in Blake’s voice might as well be honey for the ears. Ruby continued using her winning strategy. Each G that was carved with her tongue brought Blake’s ass sitting with a little more pressure after every buck of her hips until it remained planted, now squirming side to side. A twinge of pain came from Ruby’s scalp as Blake’s grip on her hair started matching the intensity of her walls, but it was okay. Ruby focused on her friend’s pleasure all the way until thighs squished the sides of her head and her mouth finally had Blake dripping down the corners of it.

“Fuck! Ruby~” Blake gasped, feeling her orgasm take her at least. “Ruby!!!!”

Yeah, she would definitely be interested in hearing her name like this a few more times. Ruby watched Blake’s climax closely. Her stomach was tensing up a lot along with her triceps. She didn’t look nearly as wrecked as when Ruby felt her own orgasm. As expected, and probably for the best. While it would be awesome to be a natural at this, Ruby feared her head would be in jeopardy if she pulled off that miracle. Blake still had the strength to remove herself, giving Ruby back the ability to breathe normally. Never has fresh air felt so good yet so disappointing. She didn’t even realize how heavy her own breathing was at first. Ruby looked over to see Blake’s flushed, glowing face as she let her body recover.

“S-So…a passing grade?” Ruby asked genuinely. Blake only rolled her eyes and smiled before bending down and giving a kiss that wasn’t shy at all about getting a taste of itself. As if Ruby didn’t have more reasons to blush.

Blake sat back up, poking the girl in the forehead. “Solid B+ with an A for effort.”

“Hell yeah. Honor Roll.” Ruby let her body go limp in satisfaction.

“Haha! Ruby, never change.” Blake looked over to see a fully green sign, then joined Ruby in laying down. “Final lesson, after care. I have a feeling you’ll be great at it.”

Ruby didn’t even get to ask what Blake meant before an arm was placed over her body to pull her in to cuddle. Ruby grinned at the resting face on her shoulder before closing her own eyes. Blake was absolutely correct. She was a pro at this part! Tried and true!

[spuzz]

Lots of thoughts I will run down later but the Nicky and Joe stuff is an immediate forefront so:

I feel like a lot of people are going to be like SEE? I was right in my [extreme characterization] of [nicky and/or joe] re their argument over Booker.

But I think ultimately they’re both correct! And they’re both in character in nice rounded ways. Joe WAS angry and was furious and as Nicky points out WAS arguing for his head. That’s not something that was from thin air, it’s presented in the first film. Then he cooled off, missed him, and started being concerned for his brother and reaching out. Nicky WAS willing to be lenient WAS presenting a lesser sentence but when it was decided he STUCK to what he agreed. I feel like it’s an argument of Nicky saying, this is what I said I’d do and I can’t go back on that, he did a wrong and he needs to repent and be punished. Joe saying, yes we agreed but we punished him enough let’s change it.

Which seems totally in line with who they are and how they approach wrongs and even a bit of their own past. That Nicky would find the principle of it important and be able to move forward with the idea of this is the right thing for the family even if I don’t necessarily agree and it’s painful, it’s punishment. Joe being willing to act in anger but then forgive and want to have all of his family together even if it’s not perfect, it’s what is best for us emotionally and for Booker.

I feel like you could easily see this philosophical debate being argued by them for centuries over any number of conflicts.

And I love that they addressed the idea of “space” from someone you’ve been with for a thousand years. Not only does that make sense just because hey sometimes we do HAVE to be alone just to have our thoughts and reflect and need to be one person instead of always two, you also show the hurt and pain of that when you are still after a thousand years desperately in love! I think this rounds out their relationship without doing actual damage to it. Even in the comics they had conflict and arguments and debate! They’re still people. But their love for each other is deep and as it’s so beautifully put, immortal. Even if they disagree they’ll figure it out.

I think it’s one of the more consistent things they did from 1 to 2 and I liked it. I wish it were even more fleshed out but what we got was more than I expected. It makes their partnership even MORE and expands it in a way I liked without like I said doing damage to it.

Other stuff: I loved how much joy Luca and Marwan put into their scenes outside of this. There was a lot of like…giggly energy and a sense that Joe and Nicky have so much life in them that a lot of the other characters sometimes struggle to show. When they’re with the family it seems like there’s a lot of laughing and storytelling that is driven by Joe and Nicky. They present such a lively couple, people who still find love and energy in the world after a thousand years and it reflects onto others.

I loved that they clearly like to fight together. We saw that a bit in 1 and off screen certainly in the van scene they clearly enjoyed knocking everyone and then bantering about it afterwards. They have such skill and coordination with each other and the sense I get is like…a lot of foreplay with the fighting TBH. It’s definitely fun when they want it to be. It brought to mind Joe being smirky and excited for the first mission in 1. He was hyped up.

It was fun to get to see Nicky have more emotion and get to see Luca show off a bit. He’s such an amazing actor he doesn’t get to do much to flesh Nicky out in the first one. Here they let him do a bit more, not a lot, but a bit more to show him off. He plays giddy and silly, action boy, betrayed, remorseful, loving, etc. I feel like Nicky is an even more real person in this and that is so exciting to me.

More later…

[dragonnarrative-writes]

It’s been a very interesting couple of weeks, to say the least, so I wanted to take a minute to talk about

PROPAGANDA

You are not immune to propaganda. [Insert Garfield Meme Here]

I know you know. And that’s why I’m writing this. You know that you’re not immune to propaganda, and you’re going to “fall for it” anyways. And I say “fall for it,” in quotes, because it’s not a matter of mental fortitude. It’s because we’re human. Propaganda isn’t just about what Capital-T They want you to believe, it’s also about what you believe. And it’s about what you don’t know that you believe.

The definition of propaganda (from Merriam-Webster) is threefold. First, it is “a congregation of the Roman curia having jurisdiction over missionary territories and related institutions. Second, it is “the spreading of ideas, information, or rumor for the purpose of helping or injuring an institution, a cause, or a person.” And third, it is defined as “ideas, facts, or allegations spread deliberately to further one's cause or to damage an opposing cause; also : a public action having such an effect.”

Of these three, which is the most important right now?

If you answered that question with any of the three definitions, guess what? You just engaged with propaganda! The idea that one of them is the “most important” is just that, an idea. It’s not objective fact, because an argument could be made for any of them.

From the way I worded that question, a person could reasonably believe that I believe that one of those definitions isn’t as important as the others. You could also reasonably believe that I see myself as an authority on the subject, since I’ve asked the question (and I’m writing an entire essay! Surely I must know something!). Hopefully, you’re reading this with a grain of salt, since it’s a tumblr post, and you don’t really know that much about me in the grand scheme of things. But you’ve also given the post enough time and energy to click a read more (placed after the question but before the answer, no less!) and read up to this point, so a part of you has decided this is worth your time.

Look at all of those things you might believe! And I’m counting on all of those assumptions to help me make my point and support my cause - making you aware of what propaganda really is, and inviting you to challenge how it’s made you think.

Only one of those definitions, the first one, has an association with a set political agenda. That’s important to know, because propaganda isn’t Telling People What To Believe. It’s not only the things you think of as blatantly untrue. Yes, it can be used to reinforce negative stereotypes and prop up imperialist goals. But it’s not (just) a Comically Evil Government plastering wanted posters on the wall to demonize a hero. It’s more than blatantly anti-black rhetoric. It goes beyond islamophobic dog-whistles and pro-war twitter posts.

It’s the expert on a podcast persuading you to think about their field in ways you never had before. It’s TED talks and their calls to action. It’s comedians inviting you to laugh at people who are different or people who are just like you. It’s music that pushes you to challenge the status quo. It's children's media "punishing" "bad" people. It’s fanfiction that invites you to ignore the world for just a little bit. It’s about how you think. It’s about how ideas spread from community to community and person to person. It’s about who you trust and why, and it’s about how you trust them.

Humans are social creatures. We connect with and rely on other people, and we form groups based on our values, interests, and beliefs. We have to trust each other to build a sense of safety and security. And that means that, as we move through the world, we build our beliefs based on our own understanding in connection with the views of the people around us. Propaganda lives in this space, because no idea is formed in a vacuum. And right now, we have to remind ourselves that the communities we love can be fallible and imperfect, and that’s okay.

(Resist perfectionism!)

There are a lot of ways to build trust with each other that is based in positively assessing our values and checking our sources. Communities thrive by assuming positive regard while holding ourselves and each other accountable at the same time. I can write another essay about that, some time, if anyone is interested. But the real reason I’m writing this comes from this post, specifically this part:

“…the point of a lot of propaganda is not actually to convince you of anything, but to bore you into submission by basically filling up your brain to the point where nothing else can take up that space."

Even now - especially now - we have to be aware of what we see and experience as Inevitable.

I was watching my boyfriend play Mass Effect: Andromeda the other day, and I remember saying out loud, “To find the objective, you always have to find enemies to kill.” And I had to pause. Because yeah, in a lot of games right now, you do tend to find the objective behind enemies you have to kill. But just because that’s the current way that Triple-A devs make video games doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be. But it’s what I expect as a player, and if I was a game developer, it might be what I expect to make. But there are also so many games based on not fighting.

Cycles are, partially, about what we believe to be certain, normal, and unchanging. And since the United States has been waging wars of various temperatures and forms for basically it’s entire existence, a lot of us see this upcoming and current cycle of violence as inescapable. Unchangeable. Hopeless. In the face of the great machine of of capitalism, war profiteering, and white-supremacy, it’s easy to feel like nothing we do matters.

THAT’S THE PROPAGANDA TALKING.

The only way for us to have a better world is to imagine it, to believe in it. We have to see ourselves, each other, and our various communities as capable of being better. We have to see ourselves as worthy of trying to be better, even without being perfect. We have to be kind to the people who approach us with kindness, and kind enough to ourselves not to engage with people who don’t give us the same energy. We have to see ourselves as brave enough to stand up for what’s right, even when we’re not sure that we ever will be. Your voice is important, but for it to make the difference you want it to, you have to believe and act like it matters.

I can’t tell you how. But a good place to start is asking yourself “why not me?”

As a fanfiction writer and tumblrite, I feel so nervous writing this. Who the fuck am I? Why would anyone listen to me? But then again, why not me? I’m posting this in the hopes that a single person will read it and realize that there’s an assumption in their life that they can challenge. If a single person reads this and thinks “Maybe things aren’t as hopeless as I’ve been led to believe,” then what I have to say is significant. I don’t have to write the most comprehensive and perfect analysis in the world. I just have to believe it enough to write it.