#i just feel there's something lacking and i felt the exact same way through the entire 11th doctor era

[rapidhighway]

hey i might be controversial but im not really feeling the 12th doctor so far

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

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[halfwayhearted]

Will You Cry? — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: Ever since JJ’s confession, it feels like your relationship with Spencer is crumbling to pieces right before your eyes. You’ve had enough.

Word Count: 920+

Disclaimer/s — ANGST (hiphip!), no fluff/comfort ending, no use of Y/N, I think that’s it! 🎀

A/N: Soooooo, haha… Lmk.

‘I’ve always loved you’.

Those were Jennifer Jareau’s exact words to your boyfriend of two years. You weren’t angry; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She had to give the UnSub what he wanted, to be impressed. And she did exactly that.

You weren’t mad at her at all. Nor him.

Well, you weren't mad at him then. Now, it was a whole different story.

The pieces of your relationship were shattering, bit by bit, right in front of you. The worst part was, you felt completely and utterly helpless. You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But, he just kept on acting the same way.

Distant.

Once it hit exactly two months, you realized you faced one thought and one thought only.

If you decide to let go, how will he feel?

Will he reassure you, claiming it’s just a… a rough patch, finally realizing just how deeply his lack of understanding and communication has quite literally affected you? Or, will he keep doing what he’s been doing, shrugging and brushing you off like you’re nothing but a stranger he happens to pass by almost every single day?

You’d find out one way or another.

Oh. You’ll actually find out right now! How fun.

As soon as you hear the front door unlock and creak open, you rise to your feet, casting a wary glance towards him. You nervously wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.

He had spent yet another few hours at the BAU, even though he didn’t have to. That was also one of the reasons you so badly needed to talk to him. He never stayed this late before, but ever since everything went down, he started to. Leaving you to drive home alone, wondering if this was the slow, painful end of something special.

“Hey,” you begin, “You’re home late. Again.”

He merely hummed, a distant sound, as he took off his leather messenger bag, hung it on the hook with a weary sigh, and slipped off his shoes.

How could you even bring this up? Just—you didn’t know, take a deep breath and go for it? “Do you think we could maybe… talk?”

Slowly, Spencer flicked his gaze to meet yours. He mutters your name under his breath before replying, “I’m tired. Can this wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“No,” you blurted, internally face-palming. “It won’t take long, I don’t think.”

Inhaling sharply, your boyfriend nods and begins to take off his tie, his eyes never leaving you as you figure out how to start.

“About JJ’s confession,” you begin, mentally cursing yourself when you see him stiffen almost immediately. It’s already out. So, just stick with it. “Did it mean something to you?”

Silence. Deafening silence. The only sound is the subtle hum of the air conditioning. You vividly remember you and Spencer on the couch, his head on your lap as he read a book you both wanted to read together. He’d pause whenever the air conditioning kicked on, making you let out a small huff of laughter. It feels like it was just yesterday. But, in reality, it was four months ago.

You felt your patience thinning, “Spencer—”

“What do you want me to say?” He quips, lifting his arms in frustration. His words cut through the air, earning a bitter scoff in return.

You kept your composure. “Answer the question.”

“Why does it matter?”

Why does it matter? You could’ve burst out laughing right then and there, but you held it in.

“It matters because I need to know if everything I’ve been doing these past two months have been for nothing!” You snapped, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I tried to make this work, it’s like you’ve given up on us or something.”

All you get in return is silence, so you continue. “You don’t talk to me as much as you used to. Not about your day, what you’ve read, how you’ve been—nothing! It’s always ‘I’m tired, talk later,’ or you vanish into your office for hours and hours on end. We don’t even do the things we used to. Haven’t you realized? I—I don’t even know what to say to you anymore, Spencer. No weekly dates, no quality time spent. I didn’t mind because as long as you were here, I was fine. But now? Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve tried to get at least a little communication from you, but you’ve given me nothing. I’m tired, okay? So, please, talk to me.”

…

He blinks. Once, twice, three times. Nothing.

Of course.

A humorless laugh bubbles up and escapes your lips. The tears you fought so hard to hold back now stream uncontrollably down your cheeks. You brush past him and reach for your sweater. Just then, you feel the desperate brush of his fingers against your elbow, but you pull back and slip the fabric on with a trembling resolve.

You hear him say your name. You don’t answer as you grab your bag. He says it again, this time much louder. Still, you don’t respond as you grab your keys. Once you stand in front of the door, you turn to face him. “If you can’t come to terms with your feelings just yet, I understand. But I’m done putting myself through that—the waiting. I won’t put up with that anymore. Not right now.”

He says nothing.

Spencer Reid is silent.

You catch the softening in his expression, but you turn away sharply, refusing to let yourself crumble under the weight of his gaze.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” And with that, you leave.

You were done.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[mvltisstuff]

go home - e.b

summary: why does she feel so lonely but constantly surrounded by people?

angst, fluff, tw for suicidal thoughts, depression, not having any idea why you feel such a way

a/n: hi all <3 i wanted to write this as a way to express my feelings recently, and also as a way to let people know they aren’t alone. please, please stay. text 988, please. someone out there loves you. the river may twist and turn, but it will always meet the sea. i’m sorry if this is a bit messy, but it’s something i wanted to express as i can recognize y/n.

——————————————————————————

the second the alarm went off on her phone, y/n felt the equivalent to a million bees stinging her head. every single day was the exact same thing.

hit snooze.

sleep five more minutes.

wait until work ends.

the bed was freezing cold despite the man beside her. obviously, she felt a love for him that goes for light years, but why did it feel like a chore to show it?

buck and y/n had been together for years. they’ve taken their time with one another, slowly and precariously loving on the other. buck needed y/n like he needed oxygen. he knew her. he knew her like the clouds know the blue sky. he knew her like a flame knows gasoline. he knew her like his heart knows to beat.

he rolled over, hearing her alarm and feeling her body adjust to turn it off. he flung his arm around her upper body, pulling her tightly into him.

“i’m so tired.” she whispers, her morning voice peering through.

“i know,” he takes it as a joke, a temporary feeling of wanting to doze off again. “day off tomorrow, though.”

she didn’t think buck knew what she meant by tired.

she meant exhausted. she meant feeling like a car low on gas, but there’s no station around. she meant feeling like a ghoul had grabbed onto her head, squeezing tightly at all moments. she meant the sinking feeling in her chest that wouldn’t vanish.

finally, buck dragged his girl out of the bed and took her to work. he loved working with her, getting to keep an eye on her at all times. he knows that she’s safe when she’s with him.

y/n loved working with buck. she worked with all of her friends, and had the most rewarding career out there, as well as the hardest.

the losses on the job feel like a string being cut off the guitar. the losses feel like someone came in and plucked away more of the good in the world. there’s no avoiding the losses as a firefighter, but y/n doesn’t understand why she feels absolutely nothing.

she feels like a villain, just wanting to go home and forget about the entire day and the people she saved. she feels selfish and entitled, but she doesn’t have the energy to care, nor to fix the way she’s feeling.

therapy never worked for her, and she doesn’t have the schedule right now, anyway. she didn’t need therapy, at least she doesn’t think so?

not until the morning after her thoughts eat away at her about vanishing. y/n doesn’t want to die, she just wants everything to stop.

she feels like love is never coming for her, even though it’s right in front of her face, screaming at her to pay attention to it. she feels a lack of success and uselessness. there’s always someone better.

buck, as well as the rest of the 118 family, started noticing the symptoms. the classic ones, but also the more hidden ones. buck knew her, how could he not notice?

•

y/n came home from work, finally ready for her day off. she was looking forward to it all week, just thinking about the warm clothes she could slap on and the sleep she could fall into.

she was asleep when buck got home. he nudged it off as being tired, seeing how hard she works first hand. the next day, on her day off, she woke up past noon, took a nap, and was back asleep by 10. buck felt like she moved across the country by the time the next weeks followed.

he felt like he was in a war with himself and y/n’s sleep. he was pushing it away but it was still consistent. she didn’t want to go out for date night, or babysit jee. if he stayed at work longer, he’d come home to her asleep in their bed.

even when she was awake, buck had to ask himself,

did he know her?

•

when bobby cooks, you may as well clear your diet for the rest of the day. one plate was not an option, you’d be crawling back to the pot like it contained gold.

however, just one bite of food recently can make y/n feel like she’s gonna throw up. bobby makes her favorite dishes, but y/n had a distance from it.

they sat at the table, a calm break from the storms outside that were just a call away. y/n sat down first. she’d usually wait for buck to get his plate, but he didn’t mind.

“only one plate, y/n? never seen that before,” chim chimed in.

deep down, somewhere in her, y/n wanted to laugh. she had a voice clawing up in her to just crack a smile. alas, her brain suppressed it again.

“what, im not allowed to not stuff myself ‘til i faint?”

silence. forks stopped scratching against the plate. chewing stopped, even the slightest breath noises slowed. they’d never seen her eyes roll so far to the back of her head without a grin creeping after it.

“uh oh,” eddie adds. “someone’s not happy.”

god, she wanted to scream.

•

the profoundness of the loneliness in her body just dragged her down. it felt like a different foot every day that was going to lead to six. she yearned for people, but it was all she has.

she’s felt this way for far too long, and it’s getting old. she hates it. y/n wants the monster inside of her to be murdered. she can’t fill the deep void inside of her, but she wants it so bad. the depression, meanwhile also trying to diminish her, sapped her whole body and mind. it was a poison that y/n doubted would ever escape. the monster in her was here to stay. it grew stronger the more isolated she got, gaining control that would scare her to death. it was impossible to escape his suffocating grip around her and she didn’t have the courage to fight back on it.

y/n didn’t want to die, but she would let the monster take her away.

weeks passed, and nothing had changed. y/n and buck were two souls combined. he could feel everything happening to her like it was happening to him.

it was two a.m and y/n drove through a whole tank of gas. she went over city lines after telling buck she was going to run errands. errands gone a little long lost in thought. she sped down highways, thinking of swerving off. in certain moments, she would let her hands drift off the wheel and let it guide her.

a mix of fear and disbelief rushed through her veins as the black car sped up to her. y/n going fast wasn’t an invite for him to join. it pissed her off, bad. some random asshole just ruining her peace, which seemed like it always happened to her.

it wasn’t until her front bumper came in contact with the dodge’s rear that her mind had to snap back into itself.

buck waited up for her, regardless. he knew she would come home. y/n would never drop a love as special as that, no matter the fog in her head.

he heard the front door twist and unlock, the door creaking open. he stayed on the couch, waiting to see what she would do. he almost just ignored it, knowing she would just go to bed. but, maybe he didn’t know her.

y/n stood in her sweatpants and her 118 zip up, staring at buck with her hair thrown into a ponytail. “hi.”

“hey, beautiful,” buck replies, gently and his words graze her like a feather. but, the look on her face is nearly unfamiliar. it’s a whole new look of awakening. she looks more alive than he’s seen her in weeks. in contrast, the look on buck’s face contains pure alarm.

her chest rises and falls rapidly, like she’s trying to take in every breath she can. shes never felt this close to the end of her life before. a new fear was unlocked, a phobia of herself.

“i think, um,” she stares at the hardwood floor. buck walks up closer to her, his hands connecting with her forearms to steady her. “i think i need some help.”

“i know, baby,” he starts, rubbing her soft sweatshirt with his hands to warm her skin. “and im gonna help you. we’re gonna help you.”

“i don’t want to die anymore.” buck’s heart sinks into his toes hearing her say that. the woman in front of him, the one who his world revolves around, the one who may as well have her name carved into his back, was telling him she almost gave up.

he couldn’t help but well tears in his eyes, but he fought them back. he allowed her body to slump against his, as they stood in the dim walkway of their apartment.

to love someone is to fight their monsters.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY FOUR

in which you and eddie win the bet.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7k+

→ a/n: oh, holy fuck. holy fucking shit. i have no words, because i know it's not really over yet (we still have an epilogue, friends! don't forget that!) but... i did it. i finished another fic. that's just... insane?

thank you to everyone who has been so very kind and supportive of this fic. i owe you all the world. i'm sure i'll either make a sappy post between now and thursday, or i'll get extra sappy in the a/n on the epilogue, but for now - please know you have all my love. <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

24:00 ─────────────── ㅇ 24:00

DINGUS: hey, i facetimed them for last hour’s proof. had to work out when they wanted me to head over and pick her up. 

BIRDIE: both still alive? both still well? 

DINGUS: so it seemed. 

ARGYLE  😎: what a relief! I knew they had it in them

JOHNNY BOY: They still have to last one more hour. 

NANCE: They’ll last the hour. Have a little faith, babe. 

JOHNNY BOY: Still don’t like the fact we’ve just started calling them instead of requesting the photo proof. I mean, how do we not know they’re lying? Did you talk to both of them when YOU called, Nance? 

NANCE: Yes, I told you guys that.

NANCE: Besides, you guys already know that Eddie hates having his picture taken. We’re lucky we ever got picture proof to begin with.

DINGUS: also i JUST facetimed them??? physically saw them?? your lack of trust in me and nance kind of hurts jon

BIRDIE: @NANCE hey can you call ME babe next? 

HOUR TWENTY FOUR – 4:00 PM

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

Steve. 

You wait for Eddie’s arm to leave you, for him to put space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. He keeps you pressed flush to his side as if the sudden arrival of a friend doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he even casually greets first. 

He’s making no move to get up off the floor. 

Just a little bit longer. Let me sit here and live in this moment a little bit longer.

“Munson,” Steve nods to Eddie before setting his sights on you, “Doll. Nice to see you, kind of glad I’m not having to fish you out of the canals.” 

You feel it — Eddie’s arm tenses behind you ever so slightly at Steve’s nickname. Clearly, it’s still a sore spot for him to work through. 

“I was feeling generous,” Eddie shrugs as if he hadn’t just revealed a flash of jealousy to you. You’re not even sure if he knows that you felt it. But it was there, in the slightest tightening of his grip and the flexing of his bicep behind your shoulder.

“Generous? I think you were feeling friendly,” Steve waves his hand between the two of you, as if he thought he was pointing out the obvious. 

If he thought this was close, he’d faint at the imagery of you on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s face between your legs as he begged for you to let him touch you. 

Just as you had noticed Eddie’s jealousy, he notices the way you suddenly heat up, shifting in your seat ever so slightly. That pull on the corner of his lips tells you all you need to know. You kind of hate how easily the two of you can finally read each other. You kind of love the way he’s looking at you as if he’s thinking the exact same thing. 

“Do I get my free punch now?” you finally speak up, tone flat as you muster a glare in Steve’s direction. You’re forgoing all polite and pretend oblivion. 

Every single one of you here knows what happened. The bare bones of it, at least.

Eddie looks at you curiously, “Excuse me?” 

Steve only grins, holding out his arms as if welcoming you, “Take your best shot.” 

You stand quickly, and Steve even flinches. He clearly had thought it was all a bit, but you were deathly serious. After the night you’d had, you wanted to punch something, anything. 

“Hold on,” Eddie fumbles to follow you as you stand in front of Steve, your eyebrow cocked as you pause, “Hold on, why are you punching Harrington?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘She’d never go for me, why would she go for you?’” you remind him, and fully expect for hurt to flash across his face. Instead, merriment continues to tug on his lips, “That ring a bell?”

“It might,” Eddie drawls, slowing down his movement to stand more casually, no longer in a rush to break up the fight. His eyes flash with something, with some sort of affection as your hand curls into a fist threateningly and you continue to glare daggers at Steve, “‘S cute to see you defending my honor, sweetheart.” 

Your knees almost physically wobble. The nickname that once struck such anger and irritation in you has become your favorite thing, something that can so easily elicit such a physical reaction. Any taunting has dissipated from his tone when he falls from his tongue now. Adoration takes its place.

Steve looks between you two for a second before his face twists up, “God, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.” 

“Never really hated each other,” Eddie corrects Steve, but his eyes never leave yours. 

“Right, must have slipped my mind.”

One of the questions that had been torturing you has now been answered — Eddie would, in fact, be acting differently around your friends. It’s almost enough that you feel no need to punch Steve.

Almost.

“Where do you want it?” you tear your gaze from Eddie, looking back to Steve now expectantly, “Cheek? Nose? Chin? Jaw?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “My God, have you just been dreaming of this moment for the last hour?”

“I have.” 

Eddie leans back against the wall, still watching and still smirking as he crosses his arms. 

“I know Eddie’s your boyfriend now but-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct him quickly, but something inside of you twists at saying that.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. You two had just agreed you’d need time apart before even thinking of exploring what this new chapter will bring you two. So why does it feel so wrong? Why do you suddenly feel like a pathetic teenager, desperate to bestow some cheesy title upon her crush? 

Eddie nods when you suddenly look at him, as if he can read your mind, “I’m not her boyfriend. Just… her scary dog.”

Scary dog privilege. And God, does that moment feel light years in the past now. Years ago rather than hours ago. His promise to protect you suddenly rings truer now. If you ever did find yourself in trouble, you knew he’d answer your call. You knew now why his protection only extended to you. You finally, finally understood.

“Scary dog?” Steve squints at Eddie, and his judgmental demeanor has fully returned, “What the fuck does that even mea-“

He doesn’t get to finish the sardonic sentiment. The slap of your palm interrupts him.

“Ow!” he yelps out, head snapping from the force of the hit and hands already coming up defensively. 

Eddie pushes off the wall the moment Steve’s hands are up in the air, “Lay a hand on her in retaliation, Harrington, and I’m breaking your arm.” 

All the joking, cocky demeanor has faded. Like he had said — scary dog privilege. It applies to more than just pricks at the bar.

“I’m not,” Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red imprint now singing his cheek, “Jesus Christ, I said a punch.” 

You fight a smile, “I don’t know how to throw a punch.”

“I can teach you,” Eddie pipes up, now standing beside you, hovering in your orbit. 

“Don’t-“ Steve puts out a warning finger, “-encourage her. I only said you could punch me because I knew you couldn’t throw a punch!” he continues to cradle his face, now pouting at you, “Do you feel better now?” 

You only answer with a triumphant smile. Because your palm is stinging, and you know violence isn’t the answer, but yeah. You do feel a little bit better. 

“I don’t,” Eddie hums. He only has to take one step forward for Steve to back up, throwing out defensive eyes as he narrows his eyes, “Think I deserve to get a slap in, too, Stevie.” 

“Fuck that,” Steve spits, eyes wide with genuine fear that makes you want to giggle, “You do know how to throw a punch. If I’m letting you get a free one in, I deserve twenty four hours notice.” 

“Then consider this your notice.” 

Is this what I had always been missing out on? 

You always knew Eddie was playful with everyone, had witnessed how he joked with friends, but you’d never been included. The thought that this was the new normal makes your heart nearly burst. To be on Eddie’s side finally, to be in his good graces properly, makes you feel as if you belong more than any private movie night with Steve or impromptu dinner date with Robin. More than any night out with Nancy. More than any smoke session with Argyle, and more than any literature debate with Jonathan.

It’s as if Eddie was the missing link. You never felt you belonged, because you’d always ached for your rightful spot at his side, not just amongst the group.

The three of you stand in a makeshift circle and every single one of you smiles. Even Steve, through his slipping pout and swollen cheek, is grinning. 

Suddenly, it’s not quite as heavy as it once felt.

Everything has changed. Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

“I’d pay to see that,” you comment, taking a daring step to bump shoulders with Eddie. His eyes meet yours, his dimples come to life, and suddenly — you’re home, “Think I can get a front row seat to you beating Steve’s ass?” 

Steve starts to protest but Eddie only nods eagerly, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“I am once again reminding you two that I liked your screaming matches more than whatever this,” his hand flails, motioning to the way you two are standing closer to one another than you are him, “whole teaming-up-against-me bit is.”

“We’re not dating,” you’re reiterating as Eddie laughs out, “Stop being a crybaby.” 

You look at one another again. Another foot in the door of your newfound home, another look into your new place to rest your head. It’s as if you’re just now realizing you’ve spent the entire year missing Eddie, even as he was right there in front of you. 

“Well, God save us all when you two are finally dating,” Steve mumbles with a shake of his head.

“If-“ Eddie starts to correct, but you stop him.

It’s not an if when it comes to you two dating, you decide. It’s a when.

“I’ll send a gift basket when the day comes,” you snark. The look that Eddie sends you could heal every wound ever left behind, right then and there. 

You’re home. When Eddie throws his arm around your shoulders and Steve rolls his eyes at you two (affectionately, even if he’d deny it), you know you’re home.

—

But then, you actually do have to go home. 

You try to put it off. The three of you occupy Eddie’s living room for a while, Steve complaining about the way Robin woke him up endlessly throughout the night and how he never did finish that assignment due in his English Literature class. It reminds you that life will continue on; you have to go back to work and school, deal with daily annoyances that should seem bigger than all that’s happened with Eddie tonight, but they don’t. They all seem minuscule now, really. 

“Do we still have to send photo proof?” Eddie asks once Steve’s tirade has waned. You’re sat between the two boys, Steve’s body turned almost completely to face the two of you while you and Eddie slowly sink back into the cushions. 

You’re sure if Steve knew the activities that had taken place on this couch, he would not be sitting so comfortably. If at all.

Steve sighs at the mention of the bet, “You probably should. Jonathan’s been antsy about it the entire time. Me and Nance tried to cover for you guys, lying about calling and stuff but-“

“Why would you lie?” you inquire, uncurling a bit from your overly comfortable position to stop from falling asleep and actually participate in the conversation. 

“Because, unlike the other idiots,” Steve gives a pointed look at you and then Eddie, “We had a hunch about what was going on here. And it’s about time, by the way.” 

You think over his words for a second before you look at Eddie with sudden embarrassment, “Have you- Oh my God, have you been telling Nancy what we’ve been doing?” 

“What?” Eddie sits up straighter, looking just as panicked, “No. No, absolutely not, I-“

“What have you guys been doing?”

Both of you ignore Steve as Eddie continues on.

“-just spoke to her on the phone once or twice. But I didn’t give her any details. Have you been telling Steve what we did?” 

Steve, still being ignored, repeats himself, “What have you guys been doing?” 

“Absolutely not,” you scrunch your nose at the thought of being that honest with Steve. You loved him, truly, but not enough to tell him about those kinds of things, “I’d rather sleep in the canals than tell him.” 

“What have you guys been doing?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, and he mockingly stabs himself, “Ouch, sweetheart.”

“Not like that,” you backtrack, but more casually as the worry of Steve and Nancy knowing the truth, “I just meant-“

Eddie interrupts with a hand on your knee and a smile on his face, “I know what you meant. I’m just fucking with you. I feel the same way with Nance.” 

“Guys?” Steve grows further impatient, “I- What the fuck did you guys do? Oh my God, is it even safe to sit on this fucking couch right now?” 

“You don’t wanna know,” you say.

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says. 

It earns him a slap on his stomach as he leans over in laughter at the way Steve launches out of his seat.

“You guys- No. No fucking way,” Steve brushes at the back of his jeans, as if they’re contaminated, “Nope. No way. You’re just fucking with me, Munson.” 

“Am I?” 

Another slap lands on Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs harder. 

“Steve,” you turn to your friend, trying to smile sweetly, “Sit back down.” 

“No.”

“You just said you don’t believe-“ 

“We should get going,” Steve insists through his blush, “You two should take your final picture and we should get going.” 

Eddie finally stops chuckling, leaning back up and against the armrest, his ankle cross in front of your shins as he stretches his legs out and sighs, “God, you should see your face right now, Harrington.” 

Steve’s scowl deepens, “It’s not funny. Take the fucking photo so we can go.” 

You make no move to dig out your phone, because you know. You know once you take this photo, you’ll be leaving, and this will all be over. Once you step foot back into that hallway, time apart begins. Learning how to navigate this new unknown with Eddie begins. It terrifies you, it saddens you, it exhausts you. You hadn’t been prepared for this part of the night.

Even before the confessions, you hadn’t given much thought to the ending of the twenty four hours. You’d assumed it would end in bloodshed and a larger than life fight, probably before the clock even ran out. You’d never assumed it could end in laughing, inside jokes between you and Eddie, in something not only bitter but also sweet. 

“Phone, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers as he leans forward and holds out his hand with the palm up, “Before we traumatize the poor guy any further.” 

“I will wait in the car, I swear to God-“ Steve starts to protest as you finally dig your phone out of your pocket. 

You’re looking down, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze in fear of him picking up on your faint sadness, as you mumble, “Get your panties out of their twist, Steve. Jesus.” 

Eddie snorts at that, right as you pass your phone over. 

Steve doesn’t comment when you willingly tell Eddie the code to unlock your phone, or the way you let him hold it rather than you. He doesn’t comment on the arm that Eddie seems to constantly keep around you now. 

He’s doing it while he can. Cherishing being able to hold you at any capacity before you leave and the distance begins. The time apart you two agreed upon won’t be for forever, but it still kills a buried part of him that had just begun to sprout roots again. A thing made of hope that he planned to tend to this time around. 

“So, how do we wanna do this?” he asks in a strained tone, as if asking that question and throttling you two closer to the finish line physically pains him.

You hope it pains him, selfishly, because it pains you. “No idea.”

“We’ve gotta make it a good one.”

“We do.” 

Eddie suddenly lights up with an idea as his thumb sweeps across your screen, opening your photos’ app and scrolling up to the first picture you two had taken at the beginning of this night. 

“Up for a trip down nostalgia road?” he teases, wiggling his brows as he holds the phone up for you to get a clearer view of the picture.

Eddie, flipping off the camera and scowling. You, hardly smiling with a pathetic thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding slowly. 

It’s unspoken, what happens next. The camera app is opened and Eddie returns your phone to your grasp. The two of you resituate to mimic the photo as closely as possible while Steve fiddles with some of the items on Eddie’s entertainment center. 

You stretch out your arm, put your thumb up into view, blink away any tears burning the back of your eyes. Eddie’s hand has taken position as well. 

You snap the photo before you can think too hard on it. 

“Think that’ll be the winner?” Eddie curiously asks as you immediately bring the phone close to your face, swiping to view the snapshot just taken. And when you do, with the refreshed memory of that first photo, your heart physically aches. 

Almost an identical image. At a quick glance, it’s the same Eddie and the same you from the first one. But the similarities fade the moment you look closer. Eddie isn’t scowling, not genuinely – those damn dimples are even making an appearance as his eyes were squinted up in a valiant effort to fight off the smile he wears now. And your smile, your smile, is no longer half-assed. It’s something real, something full, something even a bit sad. The same face you wear when saying goodbye to an old friend and trying to hold back any tears until their train has long since left the station. You can almost physically see your vines in this photo wrapping around the two of you, clinging so desperately to avoid any separation. Time apart. You’re regretting suggesting that now. 

It’s a cute photo. A photo of two friends, if you could call yourself and Eddie that now. 

“All done?” Steve interrupts the moment, both of you and Eddie only staring at the photo. You take a peak at him out of your peripherals, and you can see it written plainly on his face – he’s feeling all the same emotions as you. Something sad, something nostalgic, something reluctant. “Not to rush the process but… I may or may not have a hot date tonight to get ready for.” 

Eddie tears his gaze from the photo, “A hot date?”

“A hot date,” Steve nods, a boyish grin gracing his lips, “And I’m picking her up in… t-minus…” he pauses, checking his watch, “Three hours.” 

“Smart move. Charm her before I rearrange your face and all.” 

Steve throws his head back in a groan, “You two won’t be letting that go any time soon, will you?” 

“Nope,” you chime in as you swipe to open up the groupchat, not offering Steve a single glance until you’ve sent off the final addition of photo proof to the rest of your friends. You consider adding some sort of sarcastic comment, some well earned bragging and a boisterous told you so, but you don’t. 

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won. Leaving this apartment, this battleground, with all the new bruises and healed wounds you’ve acquired over the span of the twenty four hours doesn’t taste like victory. Really, it tastes like… nothing. 

There’s no victory, no solid ending for you to cling to. It’s simply ending and there’s still thousands of words you have to say to Eddie. You need more time, another twenty four hours, to fill with every single thing you never told him. More casual confessions of honesty, more hours wasted in his bed, more insignificant bickering to partake in. It’s all on your tongue and desperate for attention, and yet, you know you can’t succumb to it. 

You have to go. It’s the last thing you want to do, but you have to. 

Steve checks his phone when it buzzes with the notification of your message you sent and opens his mouth, no doubt about to comment on your lack of words with the message, but you’re already standing. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. You need to get it over with, get out of this apartment before you decide you’d rather sink right into these couch cushions and decay just to ensure you never have to really leave. 

Eddie’s quick to follow. 

“Let’s go,” you say to Steve, grabbing up your bag, not looking at Eddie at the risk of losing all composure. 

Neither boy fights you, following you right up to the front door. Steve leads, opening it back up as reality slams you in the chest. As if there’s an invisible barrier here, and you know that in crossing it, you’ll be leaving a piece of yourself behind in apartment 2C. 

Leaving now is not leaving forever. 

But it sure does feel like it. 

Steve awkwardly looks over your shoulder at Eddie, some silent communication you only see his half of as he shrugs and does a timid wave, turning to leave. 

One foot hangs midair, your toes beginning to push through that barrier, when Eddie grabs you. 

“Hey,” he breathes as he wraps his fingers around your bicep, forcing you to turn to face him. You let him, your body moving to his accord but your eyes still not meeting his, “You good?” 

You take a deep breath in through your nose, “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m great. I’m… I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive?”

“Will you look at me, then?” 

Reluctantly, so very reluctantly, your eyes meet his. Big, brown doe eyes. This close to them, you can see the way they shine to match yours. You both probably look insane to Steve right now, but you don’t care. Between the sleep deprivation and all the emotions you’ve had to experience over the last day, the tears are well earned.

You almost reach out and kiss him. You almost press up onto your toes and put your lips on his, almost pour every emotion you’re feeling in the moment into a far from innocent peck. 

But you don’t.

“We did it,” you croak blandly, “We won the bet.” 

As if the Universe is screaming in agreement, you can hear a chime in the distance signifying the hour. Probably the church you recall passing in the middle of the night when the two of you had ventured off to the parking garage. It almost feels as if it’s mocking you. 

“We did it,” he echoes as his grip on your bicep loosens. You expect him to let it fall back to his side, nearly begging out loud for him to retract his touch from you so you don’t do something stupid like stay.

You swallow down thick emotions, just like molasses, “I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Time. You two needed time apart. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, as he does the one thing you had somehow hoped he wouldn’t yet yearned for ardently – the hand that had wrapped around your arm now cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin so softly, you nearly melt in his doorway, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” 

It doesn’t taste like victory, yet it doesn’t taste quite like loss. It’s bittersweet. 

You still don’t kiss him. And he doesn’t kiss you, even as his touch against your cheek lingers so heavily before he pulls away. 

You cross the barrier and find you were right. You feel that piece of you tear off and flutter to the ground, and you begin to wonder when you’ll have the chance to come back and reclaim not just it, but Eddie.

—

Steve didn’t speak much on the drive back to your dorm, and you’re sort of grateful. 

If you were a good friend, you’d ask more about his date. You’d get him giddy as he spills the details about this girl and his plans for the night, chastise and tease him all in good fun. You’d be smiling and making plans for coffee tomorrow morning so he could tell you all about how the date went. 

But you’re not a good friend.

You sit in your silence the entire drive, and you pick at your nails, and you selfishly stay focused on Eddie. On all of your own qualms and all your own issues, worrying about what comes next and already feeling your chest tighten the moment you start to think about when see you around will come.

The two of you never discussed that, did you? There was no discussion of just how much time was needed apart. 

Steve shifts the car into park in the west lot, right outside your building, “Alright, stop making your cuticles bleed for two seconds and tell me what’s wrong.” 

Your hands pause exactly as he requests, caught red-handed. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Something’s obviously wrong. I told you to go get him – and yet, he’s still not your boyfriend.” 

“It’s complicated,” your voice finally breaks. There’s no tears this time, just confusion and desperation clawing at your throat. 

Because, was it complicated? Was it really?

The last year was what had been complicated. All the pretending and the fights and the tension. All the false beliefs and all the lies overlapping with one another. That was complicated. But this? The feelings you harbored and finally acknowledged for the boy you just left behind? 

That wasn’t really complicated. 

And Steve knows this, you can hear it in his sigh, “I think that’s the issue.” 

“What?” you turn your head towards him, scrunch your brows, even your breathing and try to shoo away the image of Eddie’s wet eyes. 

You wish you would have kissed him. 

“Look, i just think you two keep making things complicated when they should be simple-” 

You didn’t want to hear it. Childish as it might be, you do not want to have to hear this speech. Because you know Steve’s right.

“I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Wait-”

You don’t wait. You slam the door in his face once you’ve got your footing outside of his car, truly earning your title of bad friend.

Awful. You weren’t just a bad friend, you were an awful friend. 

And yet you can’t think on it, leaving it be until you had the time to properly dwell on how you’d apologize later. All you care about now is getting inside your dorm, moping and being miserable on your own. Your strides are longer and faster than they were even when you’d backtracked to Eddie’s apartment, determined to get behind closed doors and to properly mourn all that had been gained and all that had been lost in the last twenty four hours. 

Twenty four hours ago, you were reluctant to even step foot in Eddie’s apartment. And now, it’s the only place you really want to be. 

Luck refuses to be on your side as you slam into your dorm room, sweaty and tired and just fucking emotional, only to find your roommate there. There will be no dramatic crying, no cinematic scene with your back pressed to the door as you fight back sobs, it seems. 

“You look rough,” is all she notes, sparing you a second glance before she returns to whatever she was tasking on at her desk. Her makeup, you think.

Good. Maybe she’ll be heading out, leaving you to suffer alone like you wanted. 

“Yeah,” is all you can answer her as the door clicks shut behind you. 

Rough’s a good way to put it. 

“Think you’ll be here tonight?” she asks, still distracted, “Troy and I are hanging out today – he spent the night here last night, by the way – and if you’re gone again, I was thinking about inviting him back over. Only if you’re cool with it, or already have plans, though. Our RA has this final and I didn’t even have to sneak him in last night-”

She continues on her rambles, never looking your way as you drop your bag onto your bed, and quickly lift yourself to lay right next to it. 

Normal. You were having to go back to fucking normal. Your worries were no longer revolving around Eddie or making it through the next hour, no longer preoccupied with keeping your friends up to date in order to ensure a payout of five hundred dollars – now, you just had to worry about boys named Troy and possible room checks by your RA. Finals to be taken, essays to be finished, shifts to be covered at the diner so you’d have enough cash to go out with your friends next weekend. 

You should be relieved. But it all just feels impossibly heavy. 

Your roommate catches on quickly, and when you only reply to let her know you’ll be here tonight, she stops talking. She focuses on finishing her makeup and gathering her things, hardly even offering you a goodbye as you shift to curl up more comfortably in the center of your mattress. 

You should also know better than what you decide to do next. You can’t help it, though, as you tug your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. You don’t listen to the voice inside your head that screams stop as you click on your photos’ app. Ignore the animal inside that whines as you scroll, and you click on the very first photo of you and Eddie. 

It’s painful, but you have nothing better to do in your solitude. You don’t linger on the first photo too long, still being fresh in your mind, before quickly swiping along. 

The set of matching photos you and Eddie took of one another, black and white socks covering touching toes visible in each one. You nearly laugh at the Darth Vader figurine both of you took turns holding. You nearly cry when you realize you were, in fact, smiling in your photo. A small one, a forced one, but there nonetheless. 

The selfie from the bar, your amaretto sour and Eddie’s whiskey & coke lifted towards the camera. The way both of you had tried to look annoyed, over exaggerated and furrowed brows paired with pouting lips. Your thumb swipes subconsciously over the photo for a second too long, and you’re startled when you realized it was a live photo. The moment after the photo was taken, Eddie’s eyes had moved to look at you. And in that live photo, you watched every ounce of annoyance evaporate. Leaving behind something you recognized now. Leaving behind eyes sparkling with a brief glimpse of adoration. 

There’s something else you better recognize now in the next photo. The picture you’d taken when Eddie had locked himself into his room, only opening up long enough to insist you took the photo, the one that guaranteed you your money. You had been right – there was a flood of regret on his face. You hadn’t imagined it. But you had also been wrong; he was never looking at your own rotted vines and mourning them; he was looking at his own, tethered and shredded, regretting that he had ever taken an axe to them. You don’t press down to see this live photo. You don’t want to witness that door slamming in your face again. 

The two photos taken in his bed. The one in which both your faces are scrunched from the flash, in which you can see the physical wall between you two.  And the one in the dark, where you both wear tired smiles, unaware of the night to come.

The photo on the bike, a helmet mostly covering your blushing cheeks, but not Eddie’s. 

The photo from the parking garage, meant just for you two. 

The photos from Betty’s. You don’t linger on the one of you; you do linger on the one of him. 

Each swipe only makes your heart ache more viciously, painful and sharp reminders of the night you had had. You don’t have to press down on another single photo to witness the live outplay of it – each memory is running through your mind in real time as you retrace your steps of the night. Twenty four hours, twenty four steps. With each photo, you watch yourself grow more relaxed, watch smiles come easier without your awareness and finally pinpoint all the care Eddie had been looking at you with the entire time. 

You notice the lack of photos from the last few hours. You nearly scorn yourself for it, but there had been no time. There was no time for memories frozen in time amongst all that hard honesty and those sacrilegious revelations.

Except there was one more moment in time frozen for you. You’re quick to exit the photo app finally, leaving behind that picture of Eddie with full cheeks only to open up your text messages.

Your text thread with him. Filled to the brim with bad pastry jokes and underlying need. You remember that urgent want to comfort him, to remind him he was enough. To erase all the hurt and all the old scars caused by a life from before your time with him you still hadn’t become fully privy to. 

You’re still rereading the last message, bet you wouldn’t say that to my face, when suddenly a new message appears. 

EDDIE: Make it home okay? 

Space and time. They are the last things you want, that you need from him right now. 

YOU: yep. my roommate just left. 

EDDIE: Is your dorm bed as comfortable as you remember? 

YOU: like sleeping on a cloud. 

You wish you were still in his bed. You wish you were back at the beginning, with him rather than all alone. 

EDDIE: Oh shit, you’re trying to sleep? Sorry

EDDIE: I’ll stop bothering you and leave you to it. Sweet dreams. 

No, you nearly scream at your phone screen, come back and bother me. Bother me for the rest of my days for all I care. 

You’d never sleep another wink if it meant having him. You remember what you told him about starting over, starting fresh. And maybe taking a much needed nap would offer that. Maybe sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time would be the smart choice, letting you awake with a clearer mind and better intentions.

But you don’t want that. The animal inside still clings to all that has happened. 

Something about that makes you brave.

YOU: i never said that, and you’re not bothering me.

EDDIE: Didn’t you say you wanted a nap earlier?

YOU: that was earlier. i’m wide awake now. 

An internal battle continues to take place. Your mind whispers liar, knowing damn well that if you put down the phone and turned your cheek to bury into your pillow, you’d be out like a light within seconds. 

EDDIE: Ah. I see. 

You fiddle with your thumbs for a second, stomach churning as you try to come up with a response to keep the conversation going. Technically, when you had said the two of you needed time apart after all that had happened, it should have meant interactions like this as well. Texting each other was not offering each other space.

But he’d started it. That was on him.

YOU: do you remember what i said about space? and starting over? 

EDDIE: I do. I’m not very good with giving you space, it seems. 

YOU: well, considering you’re on the other side of town, i’d say we’ve got the physical sense of space down. 

There’s a pause in his replies that causes you to sit up. A falter. You curse him for not having a smartphone as well, for not having the privilege of being notified whether he was just taking his time typing or if he had put the phone down. You really hoped it was the former, practically wished upon every star that that was what was happening. You hoped he was glued to his phone as you were yours. 

Maybe he still had that photo he’d taken a few hours ago, the one you swore you’d heard him take as you dozed off. Maybe he was still staring at it like you had done with all of your photos. 

EDDIE: About that…

You stare at the message, the hidden meaning behind it completely lost on you. 

YOU: About what? 

EDDIE: I’m not home right now. 

Your heart clenches. 

YOU: You’re not?

EDDIE: I’m not. 

YOU: Eddie, where the hell are you right now?

Your mind reels with all the possible choices. He could be at the bar, at the parking garage, at Nancy’s place. He could be anywhere. 

But then he only sends a picture in response, and you know where he is. 

You nearly topple into three other students from how you sprint down the hallway. You don’t even grab your key to your dorm room, skipping the elevators and nearly throwing yourself down the few flights of stairs in haste. You don’t care how your lungs cry out, you don’t care how your thighs burn, you don’t care how your shoulder aches from how roughly you slam open that front door of the building. You don’t care about the strange looks you get on your way out. You don’t care about the odd angle you twisted your ankle in on that last step. 

The only thing you care about is the boy standing there, helmet off and balanced on the seat of his parked motorcycle that he leans on, arms crossed as his eyes light up at the erratic sight of you. 

You don’t even check for any traffic in the parking lot as you make your way to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he calls out once you’re close enough to hear him, “I know we said give it time and shit, but you left, and I just-” 

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

When you make it to Eddie, you’re in no business to carry anymore regret with you. This time, you don’t just yearn to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to pour out all those emotions you were feeling across tongues. 

You do it. You kiss him, uncaring for all the stares of fellow students. He nearly falls backwards into his bike from the force of you colliding against him, but he’s quick to catch himself as his hands find your waist. 

“You-” you pull back, gasping a bit to start to scold him before his lips follow and interrupt you, “Fucking-” Push and pull. You retreat, and he follows, “Idiot.” 

His hands squeeze around you, tugging you a stumbling step closer so that your chests are flushed against one another.

“I am,” he mumbles against your lip, the tip of his nose grazing over your cheek as he refuses to let anymore distance be put between the two of you, “I am a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

His hands cradle your face and he kisses you this time, reaffirming that he felt everything you had. All those words you hadn’t said, all his own admissions he’d withheld, spill between clashing teeth and eager lips. He takes your breath away, shamelessly, greedily. And you let him. You offer all the air that’s left in your lungs up to him on a silver platter. 

When the two of you finally pull apart, eyes opening wide and foreheads pressing tightly to one another, he’s grinning like a fool. 

“So, I had a better idea than time apart,” he murmurs, “What if we just… start over?” 

“Start over?” you question wearily. 

He nods, “Yeah. Just… Just pretend this last year and all our bullshit didn’t happen. Start fresh. Let me not be a massive dick this time.” 

His hands drop from your face as he takes a step back, taking you in fully. You want to shy under his gaze, but instead you can only melt. His fondness is a warmth like no other, capturing you by the crown of your head and pouring down over you in waves. 

“Okay,” you finally agree, feeling your own cheeks spread and ache in a lovesick smile. Coming home, that’s what this felt like. “Okay, we can start over.” 

“Great,” the homecoming warmth only spreads as he straightens up his posture. A very serious look overcomes his face, laced with determination for a brief second until he relaxes it into a friendly smile, doleful eyes meeting yours as every single flower he had ever planted in your chest blooms like a spring morning. He sticks his hand out, nearly making you snort, “Hi, I’m Eddie.” 

You can’t help it. His front door is open, a warm glow within welcoming you. 

You ignore his hand entirely as you impulsively reach up and interlock your fingers at the nape of his neck, tugging him into you for another kiss. 

He pulls back far too soon for your liking, but his hands have also found their spot against the small of your back, “Do you greet all the new strangers you meet like this?” 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” 

He pulls you back in for a chaste peck, and it tastes like home. 

“I like you,” you whisper into the limited space between the two of you, “I mean it. I like you so fucking much, Edward Munson.” 

He grins, cracking your chest wide open with hope, “The feeling’s mutual.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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[mysticallystilinski]

hey hey love! it would be super cool if you wanted to bless us mere peasants with some angsty stiles? i was thinking like you guys get in a fight and after it's over he like.... desperately needs to make up for it. i love you doll!!!!

MAKE UP OR BREAK UP

a stiles stilinski x fem!reader fic

— ౨ৎ masterlist

synopsis - problems are consistent throughout your relationship with stiles. what happens when you hit your breaking point.. and he wants to make it up to you?

CW ! 18 + SMUT ( fingering, oral intercourse [f!recieving], slightly toxic stiles, completely out of character lydia )

lav speaks.. hii lovey! i hope you enjoy this, i really wish i wrote more angst but i’m hoping to make a part 2 soon ;)

lydia.

it has always been stiles pining over lydia, until of course you showed up in the picture. you knew about stiles obsession, and how it stopped after you two got together. learning that lydia had feelings for him had bothered you since the beginning, but what could you do about it.

the touching, the flirting, but most importantly the looks. it was never stiles, always lydia. since you and stiles were more of a lowkey couple, she hadn’t known much about your relationship. only thinking it was a fling, that it would never last, she wanted to shoot her shot.

after a lacrosse game, you headed over to stiles, but lydia beat you there. placing her hand on his arm, she was gazing up at him with a seductive look. you heard the whispers of congratulation, and the way she praised your boyfriend.

it angered something in you.

slowly approaching them on the field, stiles noticed you right away. he turned away from lydia, and walked the distance to close the gap between you guys. he placed his helmet, and stick on the turf in a quick movement. a light smile brushed his face, then quickly was removed when seeing your expression.

“baby, what’s wrong?”, stiles spoke softly, placing his sweaty palm upon your cheek. you shunned your head away, practically giving him the silent treatment. your relationship was healthy, except for the way stiles dealt with lydia; or the lack of how he pushed her away.

tears welled up in your eyes, “stiles, i just can’t do this anymore.” as soon as you spoke those words, droplets fell onto your head. it started to rain, and everyone else started to leave. you wanted to stay, wanted to get an explanation, an answer.

the rain came down as fast as it possibly could, mixing the tears and precipitation together down your cheeks. stiles was in awe; not knowing what to possibly say to that. he took a step forward, you took one back.

“is this about lydia?”, he questioned. “of course it’s about lydia”, you scoffed in response. his response was out of the ordinary, “i don’t get why you have such a problem with it. lydia and i have been friends for years.”

“sti — you know it’s not like that. it’s the way she looks at you, the way she flirts with you.”

he practically laughed right at you, “you’re kidding right? she doesn’t like me like that.” you laughed back at him, not understanding his point of view. “stiles, she obviously does, how can you not see it?”.

you were getting soaking wet, the rain was making you way too cold. stiles looked beautiful in it, but you couldn’t focus on that fact when he wouldn’t understand your feelings.

stiles stood there, no response, thinking of something to say. it was like he was in slight shock, but slightly happy about it. feelings that lingered for years just don’t go away once you meet someone new.

“yeah, i’m just gonna head inside if you’re not gonna say anything. i’m tired of you defending her like she’s your girlfriend. reality check, i’m your girlfriend, not her stiles.”

you take a step away from stiles, making your way across the field. you felt his presence stay in the exact same place without having to even look back. you headed through the rain, no jacket, no boyfriend with you, and going into the dimly lit school.

heading to the locker room, you went to stiles locker to grab your spare jacket. you couldn’t handle the rain anymore as it was beating down too hard, and you didn’t have a ride home. the least you should have is your jacket.

nobody else was in the large locker room, completely vacant but yourself. when you heard the door open, you immediately knew it was stiles. “y/n, are you in here?”, he asked. your breathing fell silent as you saw him round the corner, and his face slightly contort as he saw you by his locker.

“why are you at my locker?”, he asked in a semi-harsh tone. “oh don’t you worry sti — i’m grabbing my jacket to walk home.” stiles face went from a type of anger, to compassion. “what do you mean walking home? i thought i’m taking you home.”

you laughed, turning to face stiles, gym shoes squeaking from your position. “really, you think i’m grabbing a ride with you? i’m okay. go take lydia home”, you giggled. within a snap, stiles headed from the other side of the room towards you, and placed his wet lips onto yours.

you gasped in surprise, not expecting stiles to kiss you. he reluctantly pulled back, “what don’t you get? i want you, not lydia.” stiles hand caressed your cheek, pulling your chin up to face his eyes.

the silence in the room was deadly, but so was the lust. you felt yourself ache for him, especially after he confessed to only wanting you. it wasn’t unlike stiles to profess his love, but each time it got you more turned on. he turned your head to the side forcefully, and proceeded to place kisses on the surrounding area.

between each kiss he groaned, “let me make it up to you baby, let me prove it to you.” quickly nodding, stiles took that as a sign to make hickies down your neckline. sucking, and slightly biting down, he caused you to moan out in pleasure.

you felt his smirk through his lips on your skin. each kiss on your body was passionate, and filled with a sort of energy. stiles motioned for you to life up your arms, as you did he lifted your shirt above your head. giggling, you went in to kiss stiles, but he pushed you back against the locker once again.

“baby — i said let me make it up to you. i want to make you feel good.”

you practically came in your pants from his tone and mix of words. you tugged at the hem of his jersey, slowly pulling it off to show his glistening wet body. running your fingers across his torso, he smirked at your expression. he tugged off his own lacrosse shorts, only to be left in his tight boxers. a visible imprint was seen, completely covered but revealing to the imagination.

in response, you grabbed the waistband of your shorts, and slowly pulled them down in a seductive way. you heard stiles whine at your action, proving his loyalty to you. bra and panties, that’s all you were left in.

“let me just remove this, and take this to the shower”, stiles smirked while taking off your bra and panties, plus pointing from himself to you. “sti –”, you protested as his boxers weren’t pulled down yet. he took that as a sign to remove them, discarding them with the rest of the clothes on the bench.

without waiting for him, you headed to the private part of the showers. turning on the water, you placed it on a hot setting, just enough for the locker room to get steamy. stiles made his way towards you, eyeing you up and down as he did. “mm’ you look so good”, he groaned, lacing his fingers in the back of your hair and pulling you closer.

interlocking lips, stiles was rough. he wanted to fuck you to prove his loyalty, and especially his attraction. his tongue made his way into your mouth, just as his hand made it’s way to cup your ass. you gasped, giving him easy access to your mouth.

he kneaded his fingers into your soft skin, placing rubs up and down your back. without ever staying apart, stiles led you to the bench in the shower. he sat you down, and went down onto his knees. just him in that position made you even more wet. he was all ready just for you.

“i’m gonna show you how much i need you baby”, he spoke in a hush. before you could reply, he spread your legs apart and slowly licked a stripe up your folds. a shiver was occurring in you as he began to suck slowly on your clit.

immediately, your fingers locked in his hair. pulling and tugging as hard as you wanted made him whimper into the depths of the act. the vibrations caused your legs to begin to shake. “sti – this feels so good.”

without a verbal response, stiles moaned. you knew he enjoyed it just as much; if not more than you did. he was vocal to say the least, lapping and sucking at your soaking cunt. with each movement, bliss fell into your lap.

the stimulation was always too much with him, his tongue worked too many wonders. without an ask, he placed a single digit into you, slowly pulsing it in and out.

a gasp left your wet lips, not expecting him to go even further than he already had. that urged him to placed another finger into your heat, making a sloppy sound fueling him to the max. 2 of his fingers, deep inside you, filling you to the brim was enough for tears to stain your cheeks once again.

the mixture of him sucking, plus the deep penetration was magic. “i can’t take it anymore, i’m gonna come”, you spilled in a whine. stiles sped up his motions, causing your body to tense. your chest began to rise, and fall in a timely manner. his doe eyes looked up at you, causing the pit in your stomach to finally break.

juices spilt out of you quickly into his mouth, and all over the surrounding parts of his face. he lapped up your release to the best of his ability, trying not to leave any to waste. “you did so good princess”, stiles smirked, slowly licking the juices off his lips.

your legs closed from habit, but stiles opened them once again. “aha’ i’m not done yet”, he whispered getting closer to your face. “stiles, i don’t think i can take anymore.” the harsh reality hit you.

“well, i’m not done making it up to you just yet.”

— ᡣ��� LAV

[primrosebow]

Idea I had

_--> Vox x reader //

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, vox is a warning of his own right

This is so goofy ya'll.......

//

//

He watches you through the cameras, he sees your every movement: every yawn from absolutely mind-numbingly boring paperwork, every sip of whatever drink you got to try and keep yourself awake, every flick you give to a page to try and make sense of the words after they start to scramble toguether in your mind... he.. felt a familiar pride rise in him as he noticed you do that last one in particular.

Vox... tries to be confident. Were it not annoying, you'd probably commend his commitment to "the bit" (that "bit" being his dominant act). His cold and controlled demeanor carefully stringed toguether by him holds up as well as a sugar cube in tea when he tries to still somehow hold it up even when you are mixed into the situation.

He had been observing you for quite the substantial ammount of time. In your bedroom. In your house. Through your electronics, your every move was permanently etched into his mind so he could look back at it during those times where the strain in his pants got far too uncomfortable to bare- he's getting sidetracked- (probably because that is the exact situation he is in right now) what brought him pride was the way you'd watch his shows with rapt attention, the way you'd talk of him so fondly to your friends, the way he was taking sleep away from you because of how in love you are with him! (Yes, his delusions do run that deep. Whatever it takes not to crush that fragile ego he has, I suppose.) Because you were anxious to be around him because you were flustered, of course, (because he is the equivalent of a ticking bomb except you never know when it's going to explode. But, whatever helps him sleep at night) and it definetly gets to you when you're trying to sleep, and THAT'S why you're so tired (the unshakable feeling of being watched at night doesn't exactly allow for much sleeping.).

And he calls you up to his office, having planned out everything down to his tone of voice. Down to the precise words he would say. His woven persona built with love for what he thinks is what you find attractive laid in front of you as you look at him mildly shocked, but weirdly unimpressed. While of course Vox would do something like this, there is also the "what the hell? What has gotten into him?" Aspect that can't seem to answer itself in your head.

Your silence and furrowed brows as you look at him don't inspire the same confidence he started with. The words that came from you next weren't the kindest, but they made the fuzzy feeling in his brain grow further. Your expression that went from mild surprise to a sly, malicious smile had him reeling- this- isn't going as planned-

"W-Well! Do something about it!" He exclaims after some moments of bickering between the two of you. His voice is slightly glitched out and his screen shows an occasional error message, but, despite that shameful display of vulnerability and lack of control over his emotions, you quickly grabbed onto his thigh and slowly brought it further up so you could get into a more comfortable position yourself. Your willingness to do this made the screaming voices of self deprication get quickly replaced by his unchecked ego. He felt like the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

You look at him again as you reach out to touch where he needed it most- and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. It made his entire body jolt as he finally got the reward he's been desiring for ages-

But he can't ever let things just be good the way they are without interfering in it unnecessarily. His resolve was breaking but he couldn't even tell, his screen brightened noticeably as even more glitches were escaping onto it along with a vague noise like building pressure in a lightbulb that was very hard to ignore. It was in the middle of that where he decided that this was a perfectly good moment to establish his dominance (which he hadn't noticed he was barely grasping at) and degrade you.

"You slu-" his voice is suddently cut off by a seeming "system default" one which overcame your senses with the message "[Error 404: "dominance" not found]"

You wanted to laugh-

This is just too perfect.

Your grin widens as he stumbles over an attempt to make up an excuse for what you just witnessed- though he is quickly cut off by you sliding your finger over the leaking tip of his dick.

Your turn.

// //

//

Goofy recreation of the last scene WHWHEHEHE

I had so much fun with this.

//

@bigfatbimbo as you accepted being tagged in my every post... and because it's vox

I had a blast with this. Not proof read. Not proof anything I'm just word vomiting. It is nearly 4am

[extrahorribledynne]

Theres a lot of layers of general tragedy to bill amd fords relationship. Theres the obvious one a lof of people have remarked upon in aus and fix it fics- you know ford would have helped bill if bill had just told the truth. Ford clearly thought a lot of him and definitely would have done anything that was asked of him but admitting any amount of non-omnipotence and weakness was not something bill was willing or even capable of doing. He doesnt even tell ford the truth abouy euclydia, he is like. Dancing somewhere in the vicinity of the truth and THAT immediately triggers a meltdown even daring to imply a level of personal culpability through a lie of omission (that conversation happens not very long before the portal experiment, ford remarks bill has been gone foe an unusually long time following, and when bill does come back he is just on the warpath and everything goes to shit as we all know)

The other that i havent seen touched on is the way in which bill cipher was a character who, formerly at least, desired to be understood. He felt ostracized and alone and in a desperate bid to make others understand him he destroyed his entire universe, leaving him entirely alone and as far as im concerned pretty much ruined his life though the character would definitely not view it in that light. Then he meets this guy who feels the same way. Ford is isolated through a mixture of his own pride and a lack of social skills, hes brilliant and places a great deal of importance on that isolation, but in spite of that he hungers for companionship and, of course, for people to finally understand him. and clearly bill becomes quite taken with him. And yet he is still leading ford along like a lamb to slaughter to do the exact same thing he did that ruined literally everything- the portal would absolutely shatter earths reality in a way similar to euclydia. Yeah he clearly has a lot of very intense feelings about ford but those feelings did NOT stop him from wanting ford to accidentally commit omnicide.

[theemporium]

i saw this friends to lovers prompt that reminded me of nico:

“cuddling for comfort in a Very Platonic manner”

like they’re pretending it’s totally platonic and doesn’t mean anything, no, but also, like, come closer

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It felt like an inside joke whenever you and Nico would insist you were just friends—a joke that everyone except the two of you were in on.

Because you weren’t dating. And you totally didn’t have feelings for each other. And Nico definitely didn’t look at you like you had hung the damn moon. And you definitely didn’t become the personification of the heart eyes emoji the second he was in your vicinity. 

You were just friends—very close friends. And colleagues too. 

There was absolutely and positively nothing remotely romantic going on between you, the Devils’ social media manager, and Nico Hischier.

Not in a million years. 

Except there was, it was just a goddamn tragedy—and painful watch for the team—that neither you nor the captain had the balls to do something about it. Truthfully, it had just never crossed your mind that Nico would even look at you in that way. 

Hockey had been a constant in your life. At every major event in your life, every single milestone, you could remember a hockey game being played in the background. You could remember watching games with your family, you could remember the way your parents cheered when your family’s favourite team won, you could remember the first time you attended a playoff game. 

It had always been a part of your life, and you knew you wanted it to be a part of your future too. 

Your father had been the one to send you the application form. You were fresh out of university, a degree in hand you weren’t totally sure what to do with and a resume that most people turned down due to a lack of experience. When he had sent you the intern application form for the New Jersey Devils, you laughed and joked that it would at least be a good story to tell years down the line. 

You hadn’t expected to actually get the position. 

And you definitely hadn’t expected to befriend the newly appointed captain of the team but the universe worked in funny ways. 

And despite your best attempts to remind yourself these boys were your colleagues—that you were just a part of the social media team, just a part of the bigger Devils team that they bantered with—you found your friendship with Nico bubbling into something akin to a crush. 

You thought you hid it well, but the teasing remarks from Jack said otherwise.

What you failed to realise—or believe when Jack started talking your ear off about acting upon your crush—was that Nico felt the exact same way. 

But even if a small part of you yearned to believe as much, you knew you would never risk your friendship with Nico. Never in a million years. Not even if your friendship was hardly a friendship these days, now something far more. 

“And oh! That looks like a broken stick from Hischier who doesn’t look happy at the final score.” 

You winced as you watched him hit his stick across the goal post, as it snapped in half before he skated towards the tunnel without even a second glance. His head was down, but you could see the frown and furrow in his brows in your head clear enough. 

You knew he would be beating himself up for the loss. You knew he would be blaming himself for the last goal slipping through. But unfortunately for you, you wouldn’t be able to see him until long after the post-game interviews and debriefs were over. 

You didn’t get the chance to actually see the boy until the team found themselves huddled in the bar fifteen minutes from the stadium, each player eager to drink away the memory and pain of their freshest loss in what seemed to be a streak of losses. 

It was almost like your body was pulled towards him the second he stepped into the bar, looking as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. His eyes found yours in an instant and he was moving through the bar before anyone could even greet him. 

It was like an unspoken language shared between you when you saw the look in his eyes, when you opened your arms and let him just fall into your embrace and hide his face in your neck. 

“You played the best you could,” you whispered to him, your fingers threading through his hair before you felt him sink further into you. 

“But it wasn’t enough,” he muttered, and you could hear the self-loathing in his voice. “Nothing seems to be enough these days.”

“You’ll break the streak soon,” you assured him, nothing but confidence in your voice because maybe that was just what he needed to hear. To know that someone still believed in him and the team when he didn’t. 

“I’m just sick of being asked the same question, of being asked what I can do to help the team win,” Nico whispered, a hint of vulnerability and doubt in his voice that he would never let the boys hear. “I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

“You’re not,” you said to him, your voice a little stern as you clung onto him tighter. “Nobody blames you, Nico, except maybe yourself.”

He huffed out a laugh, though it felt a bit self-deprecating and bitter.

“You’re in no mood to drink,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, letting his red-rimmed eyes meet yours. “Do you wanna go?”

He nodded. 

You paused for a moment before continuing. “Do…do you want me to come with?”

“Please,” he whispered softly, his voice cracking a little when he did. 

You gave him a shy smile, and something in his chest eased a little at the sight. “Let’s go then.”

His hand fell down to take yours, intertwining your fingers together without a second thought—almost like it was a bodily instinct more than a choice. He pulled you behind him as he made his way towards the exit, pushing through the crowd and glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were okay. And just before you reached the door, your eyes found Jack’s from across the bar, that knowing look in his eyes. 

But tonight wasn’t the night to test his theory or let your feelings take over, so you pushed them down like you always did and followed Nico out of the bar.

.

[musicalmoritz]

Good Femslash Fics Already Exist

With the whole push for more femslash in fandoms, I’ve never understood the amount of hate I see femslash “fans” direct towards existing creations. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more variety, I do too, but every time someone brings up the fact that femslash fan fictions are already being written someone opens their mouth to say “yeah but those suck.” And then they proceed to read 300+ atrociously mischaracterized mlm fics. They complain abt plotless fluff and then read the exact same pwp scenarios over and over again

And hey, if you don’t want to read femslash that’s totally fine. You don’t have to pretend it interests you. I’m someone who actively looks for femslash and my only problem has been a lack of content in smaller/male-dominated fandoms, the fics themselves are cute af. Ya’ll are missing out on some real masterpieces by labeling all existing femslash fics as “boring,” some of my favorite fics ever are femslash. If an mlm ship invades the tags just filter it out, filter out every mlm pairing in the fandom if you have to. AO3 gives us that option for a reason

I’m not saying we don’t need more variety, but we’re not going to get that by shitting on writers who actively put in the work to make more femslash. When I started writing femslash consistently it was very discouraging because I’d seen soooooo many people online saying they want more femslash fics, yet nobody was reading mine. Then I looked at the stats on other femslash fics and they were the same, really great fics were barely getting any hits or kudos. It kinda sucks knowing that an mlm fic I wrote in 3 hours got more kudos than a wlw fic I spent months on (for pairings of relatively equal popularity). This seems to be the biggest roadblock for people wanting to write femslash, no one supports it. Even tho fandoms claim they would support it, they never do. It’s something I’ve learned to stop caring about but not every writer is gonna push through

This brings me back to a comment I saw about “boring, hair-braidy wlw fics.” That description really stood out to me, and to this day it makes me feel a little self-conscious about my old femslash fics that were “boring” and “hair-braidy.” But then I came across a fic for this one pairing that had actual hair-braiding. It was incredibly well-written and meaningful, exploring how both characters struggled to ask for help but they were able to recognize each other’s dilemmas and help in subtle ways. They did this, of course, by fixing each other’s hair when they both felt helpless to do anything with it. Such a simple way to express a very deep bond. This made me reassess the way people talk about femslash fics, and the way I’d been thinking of them myself. Is fluff really that much of a crime?? Do all cottagecore-type fics really have no substance?? Do femslash fics have to copy exactly what slash fics are doing, or are they allowed to have their own tropes??

My attitude towards the overload of plotless fluff wlw fics is “this is a good starting point.” We need more people writing femslash, more variety in what is written, but that doesn’t mean what we have is bad. I critique wlw fic tropes a lot but I always give the disclaimer that I actually love the fics themselves, I just want to see more of a different thing. And I comment on every femslash fic I read (every fic I read in general but especially femslash), I try to leave something thoughtful to let the writer know I appreciate the effort they put into their work. You’d be surprised how many writers said they were encouraged to update a fic or write more femslash because of a positive comment I left them. Engaging with fics will give you more of a good thing. It has so much more influence than that video you’re about to make talking about how there’s no good femslash fics. When you say things like that it actually discourages people from writing, and makes them feel bad about things they’ve already written. Support femslash writers guys, it’s sexy

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | CHAPTER 4 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

“Further down the hall to the right if you want to find yourself a drink though.” Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Something about the way he leans back onto his hands and sets his mouth into a line, brows rising as his eyelids lower, makes it feel like a test rather than a genuine offer. You consider taking the offer nonetheless, maybe clearing out something nice from whatever alcohol he had to make up for him wasting your time getting dressed up just to stand here feeling like he was playing some game with you without explaining the rules, or the goal.

Two months after you last closed the door on your "situation" with Sukuna, he sends you a message.

Notes: There's a tone shift here, and some development of reader i.e. explicitly stated hobbies.

Warnings: Oral sex (giving and receiving), deep throating, fingering, vaginal sex, manhandling, rough sex, ruined orgasm, creampie

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

You hated how much you’d dreamt of him texting you again. It felt pathetic, dreaming of a text. At least in your other dreams about him you’d suddenly find yourself in the middle of a club, dancing, his hands hot on your body, stirring you up even though in reality you were very much alone under your covers. But just a text would have you waking up with an uneasy churn in your stomach.

Just like the one you have now, but that second of wondering if it was actually happening is overtaken by the excitement that yes, it was. You even do a double take, thinking you might have imagined what was on the notification that had popped up, brightening your screen and presenting you with that little “👹👑” that had last left you giddy two months ago.

Then, you open your phone and actually read the message.

You free right now?

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his usual lack of formality. No hey, no how are you, no long time no see, just asking if you were free. It annoyed you even further that he couldn’t throw a little sugar on his first contact after months. You roll your eyes again as you begin typing your response, trying to stomp down the butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite him being straight to the point as always.

I thought you had to keep clean for 6 months?

When he’d told you that you took it as him saying that, at best, you two wouldn’t see each other until after his next fight, after all the random drug tests were out of the way and he was able to party with you like before. It was either that or what you’d come to accept was the far more likely scenario, which was him forgetting about you in that time, having found a new woman to party with the exact same way he’d found you. Here he was though, 4 months out from his next fight and texting you. Responding within a minute as well, to your shock as your phone lights up again just seconds after you’d locked it.

are you coming not?

You imagine the annoyed sigh that had preceded his message and smile as another one comes immediately. This time, it’s an address.

As you look it up you’re surprised to find it’s not some club, it’s a neighbourhood. A nice one. An area filled with giant gated houses, spanish style architecture with just a splash of McMansion flair, and uncomfortably uniform topiaries. Maybe it was a house party. Maybe it was a party at his house.

Another message comes through.

im free after 2

You’re more confused than before. 2? In the afternoon? You can’t even wrap your head around what kind of pre-gaming Sukuna had in mind to be meeting up so early, but you weren’t exactly going to say no. You never did when it came to him, especially not when you’d gone without as long as you’d gone with.

see you then

When you step out of your Uber you find that the house is just as big as you’d expected. He’d spent enough on your nights out for you to know by now that he had money to burn, but as you make your way up to the door in your heels you can’t help but think about how your own place could fit in the driveway alone.

Once you get to the front door you take a peek through the large accent windows on either side, seeing how spacious the house was just from the little view you could get. Then you ring the doorbell, tucking your small clutch under your arm to tug your dress down your legs a little as you wait for an answer.

The door opens and you’re unsurprised that the person answering is Uraume, though they do seem very surprised to see you.

“Why are you here?”

You’d learned not to take their brusqueness personally during the encounters you’d had with them since the first one. You’d figured that shared trait was why they got along with Sukuna so well.

“Sukuna said to come over after 2.”

Their eyes narrow. “And he asked you to come here?”

Heavy steps approach from the large, brightly lit hall just visible from where you were waiting at the door. Uraume stops, looking back as Sukuna appears. You’re surprised to see him out of his usual clubbing attire, no slacks, no expensive leather shoes, no button up straining over his musculature, not even a flashy chain around his neck or watch somehow large enough to be ostentatious on even his frame. Instead he’s in tight boxer briefs and nothing else, with a towel over his shoulder to catch the drips coming off of his wet hair.

“What’s the problem, Uraume?”

“I didn’t know you were expecting someone.” Any trace of shock or confusion that had been on Uraume’s face isn’t present in their voice as they speak to him, but apparently Sukuna senses it nonetheless.

“Do I need to tell you about every single person I bring into my own home?”

“Of course not.” Uraume steps back and opens the door wider, giving you space to enter. They close the door behind you and turn to Sukuna, giving a deep nod that borders on bowing before leaving towards what you presumed was the kitchen due to the distant sound of an extractor fan.

“Thank you, Uraume.” There’s annoyance there, but it’s a thanks nonetheless.

Sukuna looks you up and down, and somehow his expressionless appraisal is more intimidating despite having dealt with it several times before. You don’t want to hear it, not when you were still trying to figure out what exactly was going on tonight.

He can’t be stopped though, “I can always count on you to get all dressed up for me.”

Then, he’s tilting his head towards the hallway he’d previously emerged from, gesturing for you to follow as he walks off before you can respond, forcing you to catch up with his long stride in your heels. As you walk just behind him you glance into the rooms as you pass, finding them either blindingly bright due to the floor to ceiling windows, or incredibly dark with only the sunlight from the skylights above the hall illuminating them.

You’re half expecting him to take you to some room with a built in bar and all his entourage pre-gaming. Or pre- pre- gaming at this hour, maybe, but when you finish the walk through his halls and reach your destination you find that it’s just his bedroom. To your surprise, this room falls into the category of “blindingly bright” and the high ceilings and cold tile floors would leave it feeling sterile if it weren’t for the things filling it. Dark wood furniture, warm toned bedding, and monstrous looking masks above his bed not dissimilar to the little emoji you had in your phone representing him.

As he disappears into his walk-in closet for a moment you think you know what he’s getting at now, a party before the party, and you’re a little embarrassed at how your body is already responding to the thought of it.

Then… you’re just confused again as he re-emerges fully dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt - attire very much the opposite of what you were in. He says nothing, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at you expectantly.

You swallow thickly, looking at him, “Well…”

Something about standing in front of him while he just stares silently has you suddenly feeling self-conscious about getting dropped off at a rich man’s house in the middle of the day, in tight clothes and makeup meant for dim lighting no less. On your nights out you could fool yourself into thinking you were on equal footing - or at least that there wasn’t such a gulf between the two of you as you blended seamlessly into his entourage. Here though, with just the two of you and no distractions, you feel very small in his big, big house. You feel small in front of him.

“Well?” He parrots you, undoubtedly taunting you with that glint in his eye. Your annoyance at that tone and at how it makes your pussy respond pushes you to finally form your confusion into words.

“So what are we doing then?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid, like he hasn’t been vague as hell like he always was, expecting you to be able to read his moves as he makes them. “Hanging out.”

“Hanging out?”

He raises his brows and tilts his head like it’s obvious, like he shouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“Just me… and you… and Uraume?”

A dismissive hand waves in the air, “Uraume is just finishing my meal prep, then they’re leaving.”

“Are we going out tonight?”

“I’ve got training at 5 tomorrow, and when I’m clean I’m clean.”

You cross your arms, scoffing at your inability to get an actual answer out of the man and getting a little sick of it. When your little display of petulance draws a chuckle from him you click your heel against the tiled floor, hoping it would distract from whatever tell you might have that his laugh alone was already turning you to putty in his hands.

“Further down the hall to the right if you want to find yourself a drink though.”

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Something about the way he leans back onto his hands and sets his mouth into a line, brows rising as his eyelids lower, makes it feel like a test rather than a genuine offer. You consider taking the offer nonetheless, maybe clearing out something nice from whatever alcohol he had to make up for him wasting your time getting dressed up just to stand here feeling like he was playing some game with you without explaining the rules, or the goal.

But… you don’t really feel like drinking if he isn’t. So you slip off your heels, deciding that you weren’t going to be uncomfortable in them at least, toss your small clutch onto his bed, and sit down next to him.

“Meal prep, training at the crack of dawn, not even one little drink… you’re really serious about this whole fighting thing, I guess.”

He looks irritated for a moment, but amused nonetheless. “I have been the reigning champion for 6 years, you know.”

You lean back onto your elbows, crossing your legs and looking up at him, trying your best not to give away that you already knew that.

“And 3 years before that at my last organisation.”

You knew that too, and that he’d been banned from there for fighting dirty. You knew a lot more about him since you’d last seen him, having watched what clips of his fights you could find. He was impressive, worthy of being as cocky as he was, worthy of all the starry eyed reactions he’d get on your nights out.

“That’s cool.” His brow raises and you go on, feeling the need to assure him that you weren’t being sarcastic with him for once, “it’s nice to have something you’re passionate about.”

His expression goes blank, and you’re beginning to realise when he’s indifferent and when he’s trying to look indifferent - that subtle distinction between him peering into you and looking through you.

“What are you passionate about?” You think he might be genuinely interested. “Other than getting fucked up.” You think he’s pretending he isn’t.

“Um…” you have a brief moment of suddenly remembering nothing you’ve ever done or liked just because you’ve been asked, and the smallest twitch of a smile forms at the corners of his lips before he seems to decide to throw you a bone, just this once.

“What are your hobbies?”

Your mind is still drawing a blank, but you’re more able to continue, feeling like talking about what you like feels a little easier than explaining something you were as passionate about as 6 Year Reigning Champion Ryomen ‘The King’ Sukuna was about fighting. “I like reading, playing video games… uh…”

It’s weird having a conversation with him. Not that you hadn’t before, but they were always dripping with innuendo, banter dipped in tension and implication acting to fill the gaps between drinks and drugs and fucking. Conversations containing questions like ’What do you do for work?’ followed up with ‘you don’t have some sugar daddy waiting for you to come pay him a visit tonight, right?’

Now there’s another kind of tension here, one that Sukuna cuts with his usual playful bite, “So you’re a bookworm and a nerd?”

Sitting back up, you open your mouth, ready to lash an equally sharp remark back to him, but he’s stopping you in your tracks with his next words.

“Cute.”

He’s said it before, several times, but it always had that curt tone in it, clearly broadcasting that it was meant as his own special word for you in lieu of calling you a brat. Because that’s always when you’d earned the name, when you were being a brat. This time you don’t feel like there’s anything behind it, and it might just be exactly what it was: Sukuna thinking that you’re cute.

Even considering that that might be the case makes a little bit of warmth blossom in your chest, then lower down when one corner of his mouth lifts just so and it looks like he knows exactly what it’s done to you. That’s his only tell, as he moves on quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his heavy hand on your hip.

“What kind of games?”

Now the blood that had rushed downward makes its way to your face as you shrug, “I dunno…”

“You don’t know what games you play?” His brows raise in a way that telegraphs he’s warning you not to lie to him, the thought of what the punishment might be for such a trespass has your mind racing.

You feel an odd pang of guilt in your chest though, for thinking of what he could do to your body when he seemed to be looking for an actual conversation, but then you’re second guessing even that. So you decide to just take it as what it is, a question, and answer it.

“I like Animal Crossing.”

“The children’s game?”

The bite is back as you roll your eyes at him, “It’s not just for kids.”

He smiles and squeezes lightly at your hip, then pulls you close, so your sides are pressed together and you have to tilt your head up to look at him. It makes you pause, makes you have to tell yourself not to be obvious in the way you cross your legs a little tighter. He doesn’t miss a thing, though.

“Well what’s this Animal Crossing about, then?”

“You’re a villager-“

“Like a peasant?”

“No, like… a little guy. Or girl, or whatever, and you move onto an island with a bunch of animals that live there too.”

His smile widens as his brows raise higher, “And that’s not just a children’s game?”

“It’s not just that, you basically build up a little town, planting trees, building things, decorating the place.” You pause, waiting for another remark from Sukuna, but find he’s just listening, waiting for you to continue. So you do, “You can even do things like fishing or catching bugs, it’s-“

He dips his head down and his lips brush yours, pressing for just a moment before he’s pulling back and speaking low. His nose is still pressed to yours, and hearing his voice at a near-whisper for the first time has your panties wetter than ever. “It sounds surprisingly peaceful.”

“I like a little peace and quiet sometimes.”

“Not when you’re out with me.”

You look into his eyes, and notice what an interesting shade they are, warm and deep and as intense as he was. It makes you realise that you’d never seen them without being overtaken by dilated pupils.

“Well… that’s you.”

The small ’Hm’ he lets out is dipped in something you can’t quite decipher yet, but it doesn’t really matter as his tongue parts your lips, giving you the kiss you’d come to crave. He lays you back, arm still underneath you, and you wrap your arms around him as he scoots you further up his bed bit by bit until your head is resting just below his pillows.

Whether the conversation before was genuine or simply pretence doesn’t matter now as he slips his muscled thigh between your legs, giving you an encouraging hum when you grind on it. Your hands are quick to find their way into his hair, then work their way down his back and up his sides. He feels so familiar yet different as the resumed training has made his body harder than before. When your hands finally make their way down to where his clothed cock rests heavy against your hip, you find a wet patch at the tip to match the one you were undoubtedly leaving on his thigh. His tongue is strong against yours, lips demanding as they lead until you’re moaning into his mouth, ready for him to do more than have you humping at his leg.

Sensing that, he pulls back, moving to lay beside you, hand on your jaw keeping you in place so he can look down at you as he speaks.

“Still scared to suck my cock?”

Here it finally was, that moment when he brings it up when you’re not too worn out to do something about that unstoppable smugness. You push him onto his back. Or, rather, you try to, finding him an unmovable object as your strength means nothing to him. He chuckles, and slides off of the bed to stand next to it.

“Here,” he slides his hands under your arms, pulling you until you’re lying on your stomach, elbows perched on the edge of the bed and peering up at him standing over you, “let me help you out.”

He hooks his thumb in the waistband of both his sweatpants and underwear, tugging them down enough to have his cock out and hanging, too heavy to stand fully on its own despite its hardness. He pumps it a few times, squeezing up slowly until a new bead of precum forms at the tip, and when you open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out to catch it as it drips down, he gives you that wicked smile you know so well.

“You’ll have to get it nice and wet if you expect it to fit in your throat.”

“Obviously.” That was the closest he’d get right now to an admission of you being intimidated by his size, he already wasn’t letting you forget those words that first night you’d met.

He’s right though, so you lean forward and swirl your tongue around the thick head, wrapping your lips around for just a moment before shifting to latch onto the side of his shaft. He holds it steady by the base, watching you intently as you suck and kiss your way down, letting the spit gathered in your mouth cover it as you go, and giving him the smallest hint of what he wanted. As you lick your way back up to the tip you look up at him and he bares his teeth, eyes sparkling as you finally take it in your mouth again and slowly sink down.

Just as the head hits your throat, you pull back, eyes still on his, before going back down slowly. You bob your head up and down like this a few times, coating his cock more and more until spit is dripping down your chin and into the floor below.

Then, he pulls his cock away from your mouth and flips you flat onto your back, this time with your head hanging over the edge. You open wide, tongue out, and grab onto his hips as he wipes the head of his cock across your lips before pushing in. He pauses for a second when he’s about to enter your throat, releasing his grip on his cock now that he’s firmly anchored inside of your mouth, and pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it onto the ground behind him.

You wonder why he’d even put it on in the first place, then you wonder nothing at all as he starts pushing his way into your throat and you have no choice but to put your full focus on the challenge before you. He only goes so far before he’s pulling back until you’re tightening your lips over the head of his cock in a kind of kiss - catching your breath for just a moment before he’s parting them to push his way back in. He repeats this motion, pushing in a bit further each time, until he’s pressing his way all the way in until your nose is nuzzled into his heavy balls.

He stays there, low grown bubbling out from his throat, and your own throat starts to clench around the length inside of it. It’s not long before you’re squeezing at his hips and bringing your knees up. He pulls out then, and you only have a second to sputter and cough before he’s bending down and kissing you hard, tongue feeling much less invasive now that he’s had his monster of a cock in there.

When his lips part from yours, the smile he gives you makes your pussy flutter, “See, I knew you could take it.”

It feels like a compliment as much as it feels like a warning.

Then, he’s standing up, and sliding his cock right back into your mouth and down your throat in one quick thrust. As he fucks into your mouth you find that your throat, and lungs are indeed more accommodating than you had thought. The throbbing soreness of having something so thick so deep isn’t so bad, and you time your breaths perfectly before your air is cut off briefly from the intrusion. Eventually he stays deeper and deeper each time he pulls back until he’s barely leaving your throat before he’s filling it again.

His thrusts are slow and relaxed while he leans down and runs his hands over your body. He gropes at your tits, squeezes at your stomach, then settles a hand over your pussy. He presses firmly, moving his hand side to side as he enjoys the wetness already there.

“Tell me, are you this wet just from a few kisses, or from finally getting a taste of my cock?”

You wait for him to pull back and let you speak, or sputter, or even moan as he continues palming at you pussy. Instead he hooks a thumb into your panties, pulling them to the side and sliding two fingers into you while thrusting harder into your throat.

“Got nothing to say for yourself?”

In lieu of an opportunity to speak, you swallow around his girth, tightening your throat enough to have him hissing through clenched teeth. A laugh follows that has your pussy clenching, and the sudden knowledge that even that had your body needy for him pushes the sound from a chuckle to a pleased growl.

“That’s fine, just let this do the talking.”

He fucks his fingers into you fast, stirring you up so well you lose your focus on breathing when you get the rare opportunity. You feel yourself getting lightheaded, eyes rolling back, grip on Sukuna’s hips loosening, until he suddenly pulls back and returns to those much more shallow thrusts where he’s only barely entering your throat.

You think it’s a merciful break, until you realise he’s pulling his fingers out of you and repositioning himself to hunch down over you on the bed. He slides his arms under your thighs, before hooking his hand back in your panties and settling his face between your legs, cock back to bullying it’s way as deep as it can go in your throat while still letting him keep his mouth on you.

His tongue is big, lathing over your pussy in long firm strokes, dipping inside you just to feel you clench before he pulls it back out and presses the flat of it over your bundle of nerves. When he wraps his lips around it he sucks hard, pulling back with a wet pop and leaving you yelping around his length as the intensity borders on painful. Then, just as quickly as he’d done it, he’s rubbing it better with his tongue, warm and soft and working you towards your orgasm.

He keeps your panties firmly out of the way with his index, sliding his middle and ring finger inside of you to give you something to clench around as sucks and licks your pussy until it’s drooling for him. You can’t even tell whether the wetness dripping down your ass is from you or his mouth as he growls into it, seemingly driven back to that savage state he’d fucked you in once before just by the taste of you. It’s sending you flying to the edge, whole body tensing, not sure if you’re breathing and not sure if you really need to as he fucks your throat, and the final push comes suddenly as you start clenching around his fingers.

All at once, it’s ripped away from you and you’re tightening on nothing. The cold air is jarring as he sits up, mouth and fingers abandoning your pussy, cock vacating your throat, and you outright scream in frustration at having your orgasm ruined. He pulls you up, tossing you back into your earlier position with your head on his pillows before he’s flipping you on your front and pulling you onto your knees.

“Fuck, I was cumming!”

“Too bad,” he lines himself up with your pussy, “I need to fuck you.”

His words ring loudly in your ears and your head spins as you realise this is the first time the two of you will have fucked completely sober, though you hardly felt sober with the way he’d toyed with your pussy like that.

As he presses in, much more slowly than you were anticipating, he groans and throws his head back, hands rubbing over your ass.

“So tight… no one’s fucked you right since me, hm?”

You don’t intend to answer that. It wasn’t any of his business what you did, and didn’t do, in the time he’d left you hanging.

Sukuna won’t be ignored though, ending his slow push forward by shoving the last few inches of his fat cock into you hard and fast enough for a little skin on skin slap to ring out just as you yelp.

“You haven’t been fucked stupid like that again, have you?”

“N-no.” It’s hard to keep your composure when you’re being split open for the first time in months.

He pulls out to the tip, and you brace yourself for another punishing thrust, but instead he’s back to pressing in slowly. He leans down over you, tracing his tongue up your back as he continues fucking you deep, pausing every so often to kiss and nip at your skin until you’re arching your back, rocking back into him.

“There you go,” he squeezes your hips, picking up the speed just a little, “a pussy like this needs to be fucked often, doesn’t it?”

You nod, moaning as your orgasm is already inching closer thanks to his cock dragging deliciously along your walls.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you around then, it would be a shame to waste it.”

He’s stirring you up so well you can only think to agree. Of course you needed his cock, of course it would be a waste, and how gracious of him to sort you out like this. Like his cock was a favour. Like he hadn’t said just minutes ago that he was the one that needed it. Not wanted it, needed it.

Your head is spinning, stomach clenching as he begins to fuck you like he was making up for wasted time. It’s hard enough that you’re unable to stay upright, slumping forward as your arms give out on you. It doesn’t slow Sukuna down in the least, as he pulls you back into his thrusts quickly, fingers pressing into the very spots your body knew his bruises belonged. He leans up and into you, shoving your body forward enough that you throw a hand up to brace yourself from being pushed into the headboard as he leans his full weight onto you, reaching beneath you to swipe at your clit roughly.

He’s shoving you towards that edge again, making you whine and moan for him as you have no choice but to cum fast and cum hard, something he does right along with you as he’s snapping his hips against yours and filling you with wave after wave of hot cum.

You collapse fully beneath him, pussy still twitching every so often with the aftermath of your orgasm, Sukuna acting as a far too heavy weighted blanket on top of you while he gets his breathing under control after an orgasm that seemed to rip through him as hard as it had you. He seems to finally hear your struggle below as he sits up and pulls out, letting you take full breaths now with his weight off of you.

He tugs his sweatpants back up and lies down on his side next to you, pushing your hair out of your face to make sure you were at least conscious before letting out a small huff of a chuckle.

“I thought you had passed out for a second there.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” The bite isn’t really there as your voice cracks and you lick your lips, mouth dry from how you’d been panting so hard.

Another chuckle and he’s rolling you onto your back and pulling you into him, sliding his fingers into your pussy and smirking as he feels your walls still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm. He leaves his fingers settled in there, playing idly in your warmth as you lie there under his smug gaze.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, and deciding he looks content in this silence you just let the moment hang. Then, as your heart steadies and your body stops buzzing with the soft afterglow, you find yourself clear headed for the first time since you’d gotten that text from Sukuna earlier this day.

“Fuck!” You push yourself up onto your elbows, trying to reach for where you’d tossed your small clutch on his bed but being stopped by his heavy arm across your body, fingers hooked securely inside of you.

Once you start to shove at his arm he sighs, sliding his fingers out of you to grab the small leather purse and tossing it onto your stomach. He seems entirely uninterested in whatever you were on about as he settles back down on the bed and slides his fingers back inside of you.

“I completely forgot I had actual plans tonight.” You’re annoyed at yourself for just forgetting everything the second you’d gotten one text from Sukuna.

You’re annoyed at yourself even more for admitting in front of him that you’d bailed on these plans without a word the second he came calling, catching the way his fingers stop stirring inside you for just a moment before they’re back to their lazy movements.

He doesn’t seem interested in teasing you for it at least, letting out a contented sigh as you dig your phone out from where it was squeezed into your clutch, taking up all the space in there save for a small slot for your lip gloss. He watches through half-closed eyelids as you type your message of apology to your friend. You don’t bother explaining yourself, knowing they’d probably text you something back about getting your back blown out and you didn’t need his head getting bigger about any of this. When he sees your messages he locks onto his name in your phone again before you lock it and start to put it back in your bag.

“Put my name in your phone.”

“What?” You look up at him, surprised he still cared about that. He doesn’t look mad, or annoyed even, not like he had the first time he’d seen it. Whatever is in his expression isn’t fully clear to you, though it doesn’t feel entirely unlike when you’ve disappointed a parent.

“Put my name in your phone. Properly.”

You watch him carefully as you pull your phone from where it was half-stuffed in your bag, and do just that. Looking down at the screen to type out ‘Ryomen Sukuna’.

“There.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, rubbing your wetness and his lingering cum through your folds, then patting your pussy lightly. Then, he pats it again, this time firmly enough to make you jump. “Good girl.”

-

CHAPTER 5

[victonair]

A short drabble entailing your confession to Azul.

Author’s Note: This is just a drabble that I wanted to practice my writing on. Regardless, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it! Words: 600+

Your eyes were akin to the moon and stars above; it wasn’t the color that reminded them of you, but rather how each one looked as enchanting as yours. You were reminiscent of a shipwreck that he had always taken solace in his childhood and most of all: you were the reminder that he had someone in his life that treasured him, the same way he treasured you back. In every way, words cannot describe you; if he tried painting how he felt for you on a canvas, it would be filled to every crevice with every color possible, because somehow - everything leads him to thinking back to you.

When you had confessed to him, he felt his heart beating out of his chest akin to a drum; he felt his blood actively run through his veins to support his heart - he felt every response of his body to your words of admiration and love. It was the way you stared at him, a soft smile on your face and words easily rolling off your tongue. Just how did you do that? How do you say such things without stuttering or running off? If it were him, he couldn’t have taken it.

Silence was often his best friend, the lack of noise in his office was frequent company - but as of the current? He had grown to hate it in the matter of seconds. It was the fact that he was so silent after everything you had said, even as he tried to will his mouth open and speak every single rushing thought that came to his mind: he could only say one word.

”Why?”

Your only response was a chuckle, accompanied with a smile and one answer, “I’ve grown to love you throughout our time together; I must say to you that my heart does not beat at a fast pace as it normally should when one loves another. Rather, it beats slowly at the thought of you. If I’m to be honest, my life is a fast-paced race that I advance at a strenuous speed, it’s dangerous and for my time in this world and my own - I haven’t been able to slow it down.”

You look at him like he had hung the moon and stars, and created everything just for you and yet, it was the exact opposite of the words that were coming out of your mouth, it was painting the most exquisite picture on how you exactly felt for him.

“But with you? My heart and mind does not race with stressing thoughts, instead I slow down. I didn’t slow down at first, but gradually it slowed down effortlessly around you. I find my days get slower when you’re around, and I find that those are the days I treasure the most. I find myself seeking you out, and making unconscious accommodations to you in my life. You’ve unknowingly made yourself a space in my life.”

Taking a pause, you further your words, “Love to me is the sea where you grew up in, to me it is the pulse of your heart, it’s the look in your eyes whenever you feel joy - love to me is the definition of you.”

And at your words alone, he is rendered speechless - he wants to return your words, say something of the same caliber of effortless prose and affection and yet he is unable to. He feels his lip trembling to say something, and yet - he can’t. All he is able to manage are his lips curving into a smile with what he is sure is the softest look that he is unconsciously mustering.

And he could tell with the wide smile you were presenting to him that this was all you needed to see.

[subtract-me-from-your-heart]

I like the show version of Chishiya, and here’s why.

I love manga!Chishiya, but he always felt pretty one-dimensional to me. His backstory is one of parental neglect, similar to Arisu. Chishiya basically fails to develop a sense of empathy (unlike Arisu, who just has ye olde Main Character Syndrome). He decides to enter med school because he thinks that a profession where he saves lives might actually help him grow a Give-a-Shitter. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Manga!Chishiya is an emotional flat line. He doesn’t care about other characters because he can’t. I remember thinking that he had a lot of the same traits as a serial killer. He viewed the world through nothing but intellect, and other people were either nonexistent or pawns to be used to further his own ends. Even the idea that maybe being responsible for the lives of others will help him grow some empathy is a chilling one.

That’s cool. I actually really like those kinds of characters. I also think there are enough characters like that in the story. Characters who you look at and think, “Okay, yes, you are terrible.” The big problem is that it makes his weird self-sacrifice with Usagi absolutely senseless. Like, it came out of nowhere. There wasn't any sort of satisfying build-up where I felt like, "Okay, yeah, this makes sense."

His updated backstory adds a dimension that wasn’t present in the manga version. Rather than simply lacking empathy for other people, you can actually see the moment in which he makes the conscious decision to turn it off. He has this light bulb moment where he realizes that the world is a cruel and unfair place. He realizes that allowing himself to feel for other people is only going to hurt him in the end because he’s powerless to change the systems that are actively harming them. It's better to protect himself and survive.

Chishiya is a selfish character, but the idea that his selfishness stems out of a desire to protect himself from pain gives his character some actual depth that was always missing for me. It also makes the King of Diamonds game a lot more meaningful. Kuzuryu went through the same exact thing, but instead of turning off his feelings, he paralyzed himself with a moral dilemma. Where Chishiya chose to treat all human life as equally worthless, Kuzuryu couldn’t stop looking for some value to assign, whether that was to ease his conscience or to inform a sense of justice he was desperately trying to find.

I really, really like how that dichotomy played out.

I also think it's interesting that Chishiya feels a lot more psychological in the show. He's clearly highly intelligent in both the manga and the show, and maybe it's just Murakami's performance, but there's something more sinister to him. He's clearly developed some sort of friendly relationship with Kuina. He displays an ability to be playful and seems to genuinely be extending an offer of friendship to Arisu (up until he sells him out for one corn chip). Seeing how he can make these connections that feel genuine to the people involved (unlike his manga self who is pretty universally despised) and still be willing to fuck those people over for his own survival makes him feel a lot more menacing to me.

This ability to flawlessly manipulate and betray also means he has a deep understanding of human emotion, which is illogical by nature. In the manga, Chishiya says outright that he isn't suited for Hearts games, but show!Chishiya feels tailor-made for them.

It's also interesting that in the manga, he seems to get harsher and more isolated. By contrast, in the show, he feels to me like he softens episode by episode. It really struck me in the Jack of Hearts game when he said something about his partner dying because he was too kind. On the surface, you could take it as a typical judgy Chishiya comment, but there actually appeared to be a glimmer of sadness, or envy, or regret. Or all of the above. Or maybe it's just Murakami Nijiro's face that made me think that. Either way, I think it was smart of the showrunners to throw him in that game.

In the end, the King of Diamonds game pushes him to the realization that he really is envious of people who have the ability to be kind. He's envious of people who can make the selfless choice. And it's not because he can't be. It's because he's closed himself off to the vulnerability that allows a person to make that kind of decision. You can't truly save others if you're always protecting yourself.

So, he saves Usagi to try to become that person. And I don't feel it was out of character at all.

[mezz-merizing]

gosh the experience of trance is like, literally the best thing ever. nothing tops it!!

it's because it's so varied and diverse. among subjects, among hypnotists, among inductions,no trance ever feels exactly the same, but it always feels heavenly

sometimes the hypnotic sensation intertwines with the sensation of sleep and it's like "mnh,," as you can't stop swaying on your feet... you're trying to have thoughts but it's like trying to swim in syrup- every thought just drifts lazily through your mind and fizzles out, and it would be so easy to just close your eyes and let the last remnants of your consciousness fade out, but you can't! not when those pretty words in such pretty tones are twisting and twirling around your sleepy head, crossing right past your barely-conscious mind and into the depths below to etch themselves into your psyche <3

sometimes it's different, in a way i've talked about before! sometimes instead of deep and consuming sleepiness, it's a crystal clear sort of focus, an unbreaking clarity on one single thing. there's nothing around you but you and them, it's all just a black void, as you sit, with your hands folded in your lap, your eyes wide open and staring, but the mind behind them off, the gates open, begging entry. sometimes it's an engulfing focus that takes you over, that subjugates you, that demands your attention, and seizes it, and never lets go

sometimes it's emptiness. sometimes it's a serene sort of endless blackness that engulfs your mind and your soul, a complete lack of thoughts, a hollowing-out, an erasure. sometimes it's a wiping-away of everything you were and are, just for a time!! it's almost nirvana... you just exist, free of burden and free of thought. and of course, exquisitely programmable, too... an empty bowl like that mind of yours begs and pleads to be filled, and surely the person who did this to you has no shortage of ideas on how to fill it <3

sometimes it's the exact opposite, sometimes it's chaos!! not sleepiness, not focus, not emptiness, but a sort of fullness that you can't even parse, where words and thoughts and phrases and concepts swirl around in your mind, with you standing in the eye, barely-aware, and certainly not comprehending!! and it would be so easy for someone to just slip yet more into that vortex, so when it finally calms and you manage to organize everything back into its neat place in your psyche, all those fun things that drifted in get sorted back in with the rest~

sometimes it's delight in your complete lack of understanding- sometimes your trance just dumbs you sooo far down that all you can do is giggle and smile as your hypnotist tells you what you're to think, and say, and act like <3 sometimes you can't help but feel anything but giggly and happy about how deeply entranced you are, because you're sooo hypnodrunk that all your fuzzed-out mind can feel is pleasurable euphoria!!

and sometimes it's order. the very purest order. when your mind is dismantled and restructured into the perfect machine, when all the chaos is carefully extracted from the equation, and your complex consciousness is reworked into an efficient, effective, purpose-built thing. when your mind is designed. and of course, when your mind is designed by someone, they can redesign it however, and whenever they wish~.

and the really fun part?? the craziest part?? sometimes it's all of those things!! sometimes it's one, sometimes it's some, sometimes it's something completely different, and it's always something nobody's ever quite felt before! the incredible beauty of hypnosis is in its infinity, how you can go deep day after day for year after year and still discover brand new things you had never even conceived of before!!

hypnosis is art!! trance is expression!! and i, for one, think i'm extremely lucky to have fallen accidentally into a kink that has taught me more and brought me more fantastical experiences than any other ever could :3

[gemsofthegalaxy]

Jinx vs Powder, which is it? - Discussing the Present Moment and lack of an "end state"

Upon watching Season 2 I was a bit conflicted on the idea of Powder vs Jinx, and in thinking about it, the conundrum reminded me of some gripes I've seen many people reference about the season as a whole, which I will get into as this analysis goes on. First off, though, I didn't know how to feel on the whole Powder vs Jinx idea. The show makes such a huge deal of it in Season 1 and it ends with the "resolution". it's Jinx. Powder is gone, fell down a well, the final time.

Only for this conflict to continue on in Season 2, be a constant push and pull when we felt like the question was answered already! Jinx is Jinx, walks through life a shell of a person for a bit, then Isha comes into her life and throws everything into question. She has something to care about, someone to love, which feels a little more like ol Powder, and then that increases again and again by the reemergence of Vander, who calls her Powder, on top of the fact that months after declaring each other "no longer sisters", Vi's back in her life and they're getting along again, just like that.

This, of course, gets ripped out from under her again in no time as well. Jinx drops to her lowest point, Vi tries to save her, she forsakes her and runs away and tells her not to worry about her anymore. She knows, now, there's no good version of her, everyone who gets close to her gets hurt or dies. This happens, again and again.

Then, Ekko comes back after a whole episode dedicated to him meeting AU Powder. Powder as she could have been, as we might even think we want her to be. A Powder with a loving family and a good measure less trauma in her life. In some ways, this might affirm the idea that this is Powder, and our Jinx is Jinx. But we also see that this version of Powder reignites Ekko's hope in our Jinx, even though we know the reason they're so different is she hasn't lived that same life.

So. Ekko convinces Jinx, somehow, they can always build something new. What he means is she can always try again. She said, hours ago, possibly not even, "there's no good version of me" and Ekko (even having not heard that) says "bullshit, I just saw a version of you that was good." And then there's another aspect to it, AU Silco's message: there's no greater power than to forgive. Ekko forgives Jinx, forgives himself for giving up on her, and wants her to forgive herself. Now, it might have been nice to see more of this conversation, but, I think we can infer that all the lessons Ekko took from the AU verse were things he would at least start trying to instill upon Jinx. To plant the seed, if you will, that she can forgive herself, she can build something new, she can be whoever she damn well wants to be. Powder, Jinx- does it really even matter? What she calls herself is beside the point. What matters is what she's doing now, and what she ends up doing is joining Ekko in the fight.

I watched a great video essay that dissected a bit of Ekko's character and one of the reasons he's so good-hearted is that he is present-focused. In fact, he's one of the only characters who is present-focused and remains so most of the time. Powder/Jinx, and Vi, they're stuck in the past. Viktor and Jayce are trying to force the future to come towards them, Silco's also obsessed with making a future dream happen while allowing his past to harden him to all connection outside of Jinx, Heimerdinger is so far in the future he can't understand the day-to-day issues small or large that humans face. Ekko cares about what is happening now. He's a man of action. And his power, his z-drive, also exemplifies how things can change, moment-to-moment, he goes back in time briefly so he can make the best of the exact present he's in and get it right.

Which actually speaks to something bigger in Season 2 I've seen people have gripes about, how some conflicts get resolved very easily between characters with a lot of tension between them, mostly Cait and Vi, and how longstanding political issues get dropped for bigger political plots. I've talked about why Vi reacts how she does to Cait in the prison cell scene, but I haven't touched on when they meet at the commune, but I think it also sort of fits well into the theme of present-focused = morally good. Cait has been on a descent into worse behaviour, but, she's been waffling too. She doesn't fully trust Ambessa or know where she lies on matters. So, the moment she sees Vi again, she's given a new option, a new out, and she makes use of it rather than mince words about who did what or why. I don't necessarily think this is a bad thing, and Vi, as someone who appreciates action and is protective, would also probably see this favourably (although, they do get around to arguing a bit more later, which I think is fitting)

Now, I understand why people are frustrated that the Piltover vs Zaun conflict takes a backseat. It's something that I do think could have been handled better, but, I also feel like I understand a bit what they were going for here. Yes, they've been embroiled in this conflict for a long time, but right now, in this moment, if they don't stand together they're that much more likely to lose. You can't fight for the existence of a nation that was wiped off the very map by an outside force.

Again, being present-focused and dealing with what is happening now is the only way to deal with Noxus marching on them. They cannot continue to worry about locking Jinx up or striking a deal for independence, again, there's not gonna be a nation of Zaun if Noxus takes over, either. I get why this is frustrating, but, I think it's realistic and I don't think it's counter to the story they've been telling, especially not in Season 2.

The whole Jinx vs Powder thing doesn't get to be tied up with a little bow on it, because Powder will always, always, always be what Jinx was named as a baby, and she will never not have been a child called Powder with the same blue hair she has now. There's no version of her (in Arcane, anyway) who wasn't insecure and brainy as a child and didn't go through some heartbreaking stuff. Silco told her to let Powder die, because he let his former self die and it made him stronger- but did he really? He still wistfully sits at Vander's statue, pours out a drink for him, and laments over fatherhood. Does that sound like a man who has left Vander in the past? As well, he's still desperately afraid of losing Jinx, showing there's something of the humanity left that he clings to. If Silco was alive to meet Vander's new form, surely they would have had words, even for all Silco said he was a changed man. Maybe they would have even had the power to forgive, AU Silco did.

The thing is, for as long as Jinx is alive, she will be inventing herself every day, for the rest of her life, she doesn't just get to decide she's "done" now. We are all the sum of everything we've ever done + what we decide to do in this moment. We all carry our histories into what we do next. There's no final state of being a person who's still alive and breathing, things will always change, new experiences will happen and shape us or give us new ideas or affirm our previous thoughts. This is also true on a societal level, no country or city or town stays completely static, there is no Done, the world just keeps on turning and things will develop, systems will rise and fall and be torn down and be built up.

As long as we're alive, there's always a chance to build something new.

[pennyserenade]

i have thought in great detail about coriolanus and sejanus, and whether or not coriolanus ever really liked sejanus. i think that the novel/movie are purposefully constructed to make this ambiguous, but i prefer to veer on the side of "yes, he did."

coriolanus' way of loving people was...lacking, to say the least. even with tigris, he thought awful, mean things about her, but it was evident he cared very much for her. the problem with coriolanus was not that he couldn't love -- it was that he could not love without first being assured that his investment would yield positive results for him. at least, he could not readily admit to himself that he was loving until he knew it was going to work out for him.

his character is very succinctly summed up by sejanus, when he tells him, "I remember that from school, watching you watch other people. Pretending you weren't. And choosing the moments you weighed in so carefully" (397). without fully knowing the totality of it, sejanus got it all too right: coriolanus took people in, measured them out, decided what they meant to him, and weighed in when he thought it'd benefit him. coriolanus was calculated in all things, most of all in love—a thing he knew made you vulnerable.

but that's not to say what coriolanus said to himself was the exact same thing as what he felt. if it was, i do not believe he would've done half the things he had done for sejanus--even given the prospect of reward in the end. this is part of what makes coriolanus descent into evil so heartbreaking: a part of him was good. he did want for connection and comfort, even if he had a real fucked up way of going about getting it. coriolanus was a dog that bit without fully knowing why; it was a protective instinct he used, because so much of his life had been filled with loss already.

in the book, after coriolanus snuck his father's handkerchief with lucy gray's scent into the tank of snakes, he went to sejanus' house. this is an incredible detail that so many people tend to overlook when they talk about coriolanus and sejanus' friendship. the beginning of the chapter reads:

"What had he done? What on earth had he done? His heart raced as he blindly turned down one street and then another, trying to make sense of his actions. He couldn't think clearly but had the dreadful feeling he'd crossed some line that could not be uncrossed" (287).

we start this chapter with a frenzied, rattled coriolanus, one terribly afraid of what he had just done and the consequences this action might have later. he was scared and isolated, and he didn't know what to do. a little further on, collins writes: "His feet had carried him far from home, but he realized the Plinth apartment was just a few minutes away. Why not pop in?" (288).i find this construction of words to be fascinating, especially in relation to coriolanus--a character we have come to known as calculated and precise, even in moments when he has to think on his feet. one could argue that during this part of the book, and in this state, it makes sense that coriolanus might wander that far from his home absent-mindedly. it shows how out of touch with himself he had become, and just how much the act he had just committed disorientated him. but i think it was more than that. i think coriolanus wanted to go to the plinth's house, that he was seeking comfort after he had done something incredibly dangerous (something, arguably, that sejanus might have done), and he could not admit it to himself. and his original intention had been to see sejanus, but sejanus was asleep.

the fact that collins wrote "his feet had carried him" and "he realized" is so brilliant. i’ve got lots of opinions about why she chose to write the book in a third person point of view. one of the reasons i think she did it has to do with the fact that coriolanus was distancing himself from himself--shedding culpability through phrases such as these, especially in moments like this. coriolanus did love sejanus, but he simply could not admit it to himself because sejanus was not a safe or wise investment to make. coriolanus refused to give credence to his need for him, and it ended up killing the boy in the long run.