#i just want to make it clear that i do not want to interact with people who think he isn’t androgynous

[syoddeye]

What if Simon goes back fo rhis card, but she won't give it back unless he tries again?

prev. next.

"sound it out, big fella."

simon huffs and glares at the barback in the corner of his eye. the man's pretending not to listen, working a damp cloth over a two-top that's already shining.

the place isn't even open yet. the door's propped ajar with a brick, and it's hours before service starts. he came early on purpose, figuring he could grab his card and go. maybe avoid this exact interaction. but no. here you are, dangling it in front of him.

he could take it. just lean over the counter, swipe it out of your hand, maybe get a handful of your hip and a squeeze in the process. but no, you had to go and get cute about it.

"'and it over."

"nice try. you know i mean whatever line you were going to feed me the other night."

"wasn't gonna feed you a line."

"no? then what the fuck was that? a disappearing act?" you lean forward on the counter, elbows resting on the wood, fists tucked under your chin. it makes you look pixieish, face tilted up, playing at innocence, but the glint in your eyes says otherwise. you're enjoying this. "performance anxiety?"

a lick of heat lashes over the back of his neck and curls around his throat until he swallows. "slip of the tongue."

your mouth takes on a shape he'd find annoying on any other face. you tilt your head, and he swears he can almost see a spade tail swishing behind you.

"right. so then what was the plan?"

"there was no plan."

"mm," you hum, skeptical, dragging it out. "and that's why you've sat closer each time you come in? that wasn't you working up the nerve?"

he could lock a single hand around both of your wrists, hoist them above your head, reclaim his card, and get a good long look down your top. easily. he must harbor some kind of masochistic streak to keep talking. it grinds his teeth.

"no, and you're gettin' on my last nerve—"

"i bet i am," you cut in, cheerful and unbothered. "so why don't i make this easier for everyone, and…"

you pull back, then rise onto your toes, leaning over the bar to reach him. he watches, fingers twitching, as you slide the card into the front pocket of his shirt and pat it twice.

"there's a note taped to the back," you smile, wicked and triumphant. "my number. call it. unless you'd like to run for it again."

simon remains frozen for a beat, your hand lingering just long enough to burn its shape into his chest. his jaw flexes, gears gumming up in his head.

you pull back, light on your feet like you haven't just tucked a grenade into his shirt. that teasing gleam in your eyes, daring, like you're so sure he won't do something. a baited hook, glaring and obvious, as if you don't care he's big enough to snap the line.

he exhales hard through his nose. "you're a pain in the arse."

you grin, wide and unrepentant, backing away with your hands in your apron. "you'll get over it. or not. but you'll call me first."

he watches you retreat through the door to the back, disappearing before he can think of anything clever to say. his mind wiped. instead, he stands there, stuck.

the barback clears his throat, breaking the silence with a nervous chuckle. "she got you, mate."

simon cuts him a look harsh enough to make the man flinch, but he doesn't say a word. he turns on his heel and strides out, letting the door slam against the brick.

later, in the quiet of his flat, he studies the note like it might combust. he twists the corner, staring hard at your name and number. been ages since he got one. longer since he called a bird up.

he doesn't care. shouldn't care. but you've got an attitude, quick and cutting. poking the bear, prodding the bull. testing to see how far he'll let you go. mouthy.

he wants to see what you can do with it.

[minswriting]

a quick blurb thought? 🤭 what if you’re in hotch’s office, on your knees and giving him head and suddenly there’s a knock on the door? Like maybe emily or rossi comes in to talk with aaron and you’re hiding under his desk, still giving him pleasure while aaron tries to act calm and collected and secretly like rossi knows what’s going on, smirking in amusement before he leaves him to his privacy.

giggles i love this.

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | oral (m), getting caught, rossi mention

you hadn’t gone into aaron’s office with the intention of anything happening. in fact, you went in there to give him a file and when you noticed how stressed he looked, you gave him a small shoulder rub as the blinds to his office had been closed.

you should’ve known this wouldn’t have been a normal interaction. it never really was. you were always feral for this man and the fact that you were now on your knees, under his desk, giving him the sloppiest head was proof of that.

aaron had a hand in your hair as he leaned back in his chair, watching as you take his cock in your beautiful mouth. his lips were parted as he breathed heavily, looking at you with his beautiful dark brown eyes. you slurped as you reached the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around, causing aaron’s eyes to flutter close. “god,” he whispered, careful to not make any other noises.

and suddenly, there’s a knock at his office door, causing you both to freeze. aaron’s eyes shot open as he looked down at you. and quietly, he moved his chair so it was more under his desk, causing you to shrink into yourself. he cleared his throat as he composed himself. “come in,” he said. you were about to slide his cock out of your mouth when aaron put his hand back on your head, keeping it there.

“hey, aaron,” rossi said, opening the door and walking into aaron’s office.

“hello, dave,” aaron exclaimed with his stoic and composed demeanor, as if you didn’t have your mouth around his cock underneath his desk.

“the team wanted to know when we’ll be doing the briefing,” rossi exclaimed, quirking an eyebrow at aaron.

it took a moment for aaron to respond. he played it off as if he were thinking but in actuality, it’s because you started moving your lips on his length and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth.

aaron cleared his throat, gripping your hair more tightly. “i just need to finish this file and then i’ll be right out,” aaron said, his voice steady and calm.

rossi nodded his head. “have you seen y/n, by the way?” he asked. “spencer’s been looking for her everywhere but can’t find her.”

at the mention of your name, your movements became faster. you hollowed your cheeks, adding to aaron’s pleasure.

“uh,” aaron shook his head. “i haven’t seen her. i’m sure she’s around though.” he exclaimed as he held onto your hair.

“i’m sure she is too,” rossi said, smirking. “we’ll see you both in just a little bit then.” he said before walking out of aaron’s office and closing the door behind him.

as soon as rossi was done, aaron let out a low groan, leaning back in his chair to look at you. it didn’t take long until he was bucking his hips into your mouth, shooting his load down your throat as you swallowed. and when he finished, you pulled off of his cock, leaving a small trail of saliva and cum.

“he’s never going to let me live that down,” aaron said, tucking himself back into his suit pants that you were careful not to get anything on.

you moved yourself out from under aaron’s desk, standing next to him as you stretched. “oh well,” you shrugged, using your thumb to wipe your bottom lip.

aaron sighed, standing up from his seat. he pressed a kiss onto your lips. “thank you.” he murmured.

“anytime, boss.” you grinned, kissing aaron back.

and yes, aaron was right. dave did not let him live down the fact that he had walked in on you giving aaron head underneath his desk.

[blondemrk]

hellooo could i request a 7dream reaction fic? how they would react if their partner was getting hit on - but before they can do anything, y/n's already fighting back at the creep LMAO

°˖ reaction to their partner being hit on ១

p nctdream × fem!reader w.c 4.6k t.w suggestive.

mark

mark had been keeping an eye on you from the start of the night. it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you—he did completely—but he knew how people could get, especially in a crowded place like this. while chatting with the others, he made sure to glance in your direction every now and then, his protective instincts always on alert.

it was during one of those quick glances that he noticed the guy approach you. leaning casually against the bar, the stranger’s smirk was all too familiar—the type of confidence that reeked of entitlement. mark’s grip tightened on his drink as he watched the interaction unfold.

"you are so gorgeous," the guy began, his tone dripping with rehearsed charm. "how about i buy you a drink?"

mark’s body stiffened. he sat forward, ready to intervene, but before he could even get up, he heard your voice cut through the air.

"wow, how original," you said dryly, not bothering to mask your sarcasm. "no thanks—i’m fine without the drink, and without you."

mark couldn’t help but smirk a little at your boldness. still, he stayed on high alert, watching the guy’s reaction.

the man chuckled nervously, trying to play it cool. "don’t be like that. i’m just trying to be nice."

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in front of you. "if you were being nice, you’d take the hint and walk away. but since you’re still here, let me make it even clearer: i’m not interested. go bother someone else who has the patience to deal with your nonsense."

mark stood up, his jaw tightening as he made his way toward you. the guy still hadn’t moved, clearly not taking your words seriously. by the time mark reached you, the tension was palpable. he stepped in without hesitation, placing a protective hand on your waist.

"she said she’s not interested," mark said firmly, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "i think it’s time for you to leave."

the guy’s eyes flicked to mark, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. but one glance at mark’s unflinching expression and his broad frame was enough to change his mind. muttering something under his breath, the man finally turned and disappeared into the crowd.

mark’s gaze followed him until he was out of sight before he turned his attention back to you. his hand stayed on your waist as his eyes softened, his concern now fully focused on you. "are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but gentle.

you smirked, brushing it off like it was nothing. "he was annoying. i wasn’t going to let him ruin my night."

mark let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he cupped your cheek with his free hand. his thumb brushed against your skin, his admiration for you clear in his eyes. "you handed that so well. i still don’t want anyone bothering my girl again tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping to a tender tone. "how about you stick with me for the rest of the night, hm?"

you smiled, leaning into his touch as the tension from the encounter melted away. "sounds like a good plan to me," you said softly, your confidence still shining through.

mark smiles, leaving a kiss on your forehead. "lets go. i'll buy you a drink instead beautiful"

renjun

renjun is the observant type, and tonight is no exception. while the others are engrossed in their conversations, he’s casually scanning the room, his sharp eyes picking up on the subtle shifts in the crowd. that’s when he notices him—the guy standing a little too close to you at the bar. renjun’s easy smile falters as he watches the man lean in, his body language screaming overconfidence.

"you look like someone who appreciates good company," the guy says, his tone dripping with smugness.

renjun sets down his drink, the tightening of his jaw the only indication of his irritation. he’s already preparing to intervene, his mind running through possible ways to defuse the situation, but then he hears your response—sharp and cutting, with no room for misunderstanding.

"good company?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "is that what you think you are? because all i see is someone who doesn’t know how to read the room."

the guy laughs nervously, clearly not expecting such a blunt rejection. he tries to play it cool, his smirk faltering but still present. "wow, okay. feisty. i like that."

you let out a dry laugh, your expression turning colder. "you liking something about me doesn’t mean i owe you my time. so why don’t you take that ‘good company’ somewhere else before you embarrass yourself further?"

renjun can’t hide the smirk that tugs at his lips as he watches the guy flounder. by now, renjun has made his way to your side, standing just behind the man with his arms crossed. the subtle shift in your expression when you notice him doesn’t go unnoticed by renjun, and he takes that as his cue to step in.

"is there a problem here?" renjun asks, his voice calm but carrying a quiet authority that instantly shifts the energy. the guy freezes, caught off guard by renjun’s sudden presence.

the creep mutters something unintelligible—an excuse, an apology, maybe both—before hastily backing off and disappearing into the crowd. renjun’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, ensuring he’s truly gone before he turns his attention back to you.

"you know," renjun begins, his tone light but tinged with amusement, "i was ready to step in, but you didn’t even give me a chance."

you shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you pick up your drink. "he was annoying. i just wanted him gone. no need to waste time entertaining nonsense."

renjun chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with admiration. he places his hands on your waist, rubbing his thumb in circles on your skin. "remind me to never get on your bad side, y/n. you’re scary when you want to be."

you roll your eyes playfully, leaning back against the bar. "you? getting on my bad side? that would require you to actually be annoying, renjun. and you’re… well, tolerable."

renjun lets out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. "tolerable? i’ll take that as a compliment"

you laugh, the tension from the earlier interaction melting away as you fall into an easy rhythm with renjun. but while his expression is light, his actions are more telling. for the rest of the night, he stays close to you—not hovering, but always within reach.

every now and then, he throws a teasing comment your way, something to make you laugh and forget the earlier encounter. but he also keeps a sharp eye on your surroundings, his observant nature ensuring that no one else gets the bright idea to approach you uninvited.

at one point, when someone brushes past you a little too closely, renjun instinctively steps forward, his hand lightly grazing your back as he murmurs, "you okay?"

you nod, offering him a reassuring smile. "yeah im okay dont worry.."

he smirks, leaning just close enough for you to hear over the music. "i know. but it doesn’t hurt to me here does it?"

he smiles, pulling you towards him. "cant have anyone taking you away from me now can i?"

jeno

jeno notices the creep the moment they approach you. he’s been keeping an eye on you all night, watching from a short distance to make sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself. but the way this guy slides into your space, leaning in like he owns the world, sets off every protective instinct in jeno’s body.

the man’s body language screams entitlement, his smirk almost as irritating as his words. "come on, don’t play hard to get. you know you’re enjoying this," the guy says, his tone dripping with arrogance.

jeno’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tightening as he begins to move toward you, but before he can reach you, he hears your sharp, unwavering voice cut through the noise.

"enjoying this? oh, absolutely," you say, spinning around to face the guy. your tone is laced with sarcasm, your expression unflinching. "who wouldn’t enjoy being harassed by someone who clearly can’t take a hint?"

the guy blinks, clearly caught off guard by your boldness. his confidence wavers for a moment before he tries to recover, plastering on a smug grin. "you don’t have to be so mean, sweetheart. i’m just saying you’re beautiful. no need to get so worked up."

your eyes narrow, the irritation in your gaze enough to make jeno pause in admiration. he loves seeing you stand your ground, but his protective instincts are still on overdrive. he continues toward you, his strides purposeful, but you’re not finished yet.

taking a deliberate step closer to the guy, you tilt your head slightly, your tone colder now. "and i’m just saying that your ‘compliments’ are unwelcome. so why don’t you do yourself a favor and walk away before i call someone to escort you out? or do you want everyone here to see just how pathetic you are?"

the guy’s smirk falters completely, his bravado slipping under your unwavering glare. he stammers, clearly unsure of how to respond. that’s when jeno finally steps in, his presence looming as he positions himself between you and the guy.

placing a firm hand on the guy’s back, jeno grabs a fistful of the man’s shirt, yanking him a step back from you. his voice is calm, but there’s no mistaking the steel in his tone. "you heard my girlfriend. leave. now."

the guy mutters something under his breath—an attempt at saving face—but jeno doesn’t care enough to listen. he gives him a little push toward the crowd, watching as the creep quickly disappears into the sea of people, his arrogance now replaced by embarrassment.

turning back to you, jeno’s expression softens immediately. his shoulders relax as he takes in the way you’re still standing tall, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. he lets out a low chuckle, the tension in his body easing now that the guy is gone. "hey, baby," he murmurs, stepping closer to you. "you okay?"

you smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you meet his gaze. "of course. i wasn’t going to let him get away with that."

jeno grins, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you into his arms. he holds you tightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before leaning back just enough to meet your eyes. "you’re incredible, you know that? but next time, let me handle it, okay? i don’t want you stressing over anything. that’s my job."

you roll your eyes playfully, but your smile is warm as you rest your hands on his chest. "i wasn’t stressing. i’ve dealt with worse. but i’ll admit, watching you swoop in like that was kind of hot."

jeno laughs, the sound low and warm as he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "oh, so you liked the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing? good to know. i’ll make sure to keep that energy up."

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "just don’t make a habit of fighting people for me. i can handle myself."

jeno nods, his grin softening into something more genuine. "i know you can. that’s one of the things i love about you. but still… i’ll always have your back, no matter what."

the rest of the night, jeno stays close, his protective streak on full display. whether it’s his hand resting on your lower back or his occasional glances around the room, it’s clear he’s not letting anyone else get the chance to bother you. but he also keeps the mood light, teasing you about your sharp comebacks and making you laugh with his playful antics.

and every time you catch him looking at you, his gaze is filled with pride and admiration, as though he’s constantly reminded of just how incredible you are.

haechan

haechan doesn’t need much time to notice the creep bothering you. his sharp ears pick up on the guy’s overly confident tone from across the room, and he immediately shifts his focus to you. without hesitation, he starts making his way over, his trademark smirk already in place and his sharp wit at the ready.

"you’ve got such an attitude, but i kind of like it," the guy says, his smirk radiating arrogance as he inches closer.

but before haechan can say anything, you’re already taking control of the situation. you cross your arms, your expression unamused, your words cutting like a knife. "an attitude? oh, you mean standards? yeah, i have those. clearly, you don’t meet them."

the guy’s smirk falters, his overconfidence wavering for a split second. he tries to recover, forcing a nervous laugh as he leans back slightly. "come on, i’m just joking around. don’t take it so seriously."

you tilt your head, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you respond. "oh, i’m sorry. was i supposed to laugh? next time, try saying something funny."

the guy’s face twists in frustration, clearly not expecting you to shut him down so effortlessly. by now, haechan is standing behind you, silently observing with an amused grin. he takes his time stepping into the conversation, waiting for just the right moment to make his presence known.

throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease, haechan leans in slightly, his tone playful yet undeniably assertive. "my girlfriend is funny, isn’t she? honestly, you should’ve just taken notes and walked away before embarrassing yourself."

the guy glares at haechan, muttering something under his breath before finally turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd, thoroughly defeated.

haechan watches him leave, his grin widening as he turns back to you. his eyes sparkle with amusement, his pride in you clear. "that was hilarious," he says, rubbing your shoulders lightly. "you didn’t even give him a chance to breathe."

you shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. "he deserved it. the second he opened his mouth, i knew he wasn’t worth wasting any energy on."

haechan lets out a loud laugh, his hands slipping down to your sides as he rubs them in soothing circles. "next time, though," he teases, his tone shifting to something a little more serious, "let me handle it, okay? i don’t even want you to look at another man, much less waste your energy shutting him down."

you raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful nudge. "you think i need you to fight my battles for me?"

he shakes his head, leaning closer until your noses almost touch. his voice drops, his tone softer now. "nah, i know you’ve got it handled. but it’s my job to protect you, even if it’s just from some loser who doesn’t know how to mind his business."

you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. "fine. next time, i’ll let you take the lead. but don’t expect me to hold back if he says something stupid."

haechan chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "deal. you can handle the insults; i’ll handle making sure they never come back."

for the rest of the night, haechan sticks close to you, his arm either wrapped around your waist or slung over your shoulders. every now and then, he throws in a joke about the creep, making you laugh and keeping the mood light. but underneath it all, his protective streak is evident in the way his eyes occasionally scan the room, ensuring that no one else dares to approach you.

as the two of you head back to your group, haechan leans in close, his voice low in your ear. "god you look so good tonight"

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

haechans arm tightens around you as he pulls you closer. "i dont need anyone else trying to chat you up tonight. stay with me."

jaemin

jaemin isn’t one to lose his temper easily. he’s the type to approach situations with a calm and calculated demeanor, but when it comes to you, there are no limits to what he’ll do to protect you. that’s why, when he notices a guy getting too close to you and hears the arrogance in his tone, a dark cloud settles over his usually sunny expression.

"come on, sweeheart," the creep says, leaning into your space with an infuriating smirk. "you’ve been giving me looks all night. don’t pretend you’re not interested."

you step back, your arms crossing as you glare at him. "looks? the only look i’ve been giving you is the one that says, ‘leave me alone.’ do you not know how to read a room?"

the guy chuckles, brushing off your words as if they’re meaningless. "don’t be like that. you don’t have to play hard to get. i’m just trying to have a good time."

jaemin, who has been quietly observing from a few feet away, clenches his fists at the audacity of the creep. he strides over, his face cold and unyielding. by the time he reaches you, the guy still hasn’t gotten the hint.

"dude" jaemin says, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "she told you to back off. you should listen."

the guy turns to jaemin, sizing him up with an amused smirk. "and who are you? her babysitter?"

you open your mouth to reply, but jaemin holds up a hand, silencing you gently as his focus sharpens on the guy. "i’m the person who’s about to break your fucking jaw if you don’t walk away right now."

instead of taking the warning, the creep decides to push his luck. "oh, relax. i wasn’t doing anything wrong. can’t blame a guy for trying. i mean look at her, shes asking for it."

that’s the last straw. in a flash, jaemin’s fist connects with the guy’s jaw, the force enough to send him stumbling backward into the nearby bar counter. gasps erupt from the crowd around you, and the guy groans, clutching his face as he glares at jaemin.

"are you insane?!" the guy sputters, his confidence now replaced with fear and anger.

jaemin steps closer, his expression icy as he towers over the guy. "if i see you near her again, it won’t just be your jaw hurting. now get lost."

the guy doesn’t wait for further instructions. he scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, clearly eager to get away from jaemin.

turning back to you, jaemin’s expression softens immediately. he takes a step closer, reaching out to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "you okay, princess?" he asks, his voice warm and full of concern.

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the chaos. "yeah, i’m fine. you didn’t have to do that, you know."

jaemin sighs, pulling you into his arms and resting his chin on top of your head. "i know you can handle yourself, but i’m not going to stand by and let someone disrespect you. you’re too important to me."

you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning into his comforting embrace. "well, remind me to never get on your bad side. that punch was impressive."

jaemin chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. "only for you, baby. but next time, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. i’d rather keep my hands on you than waste them on creeps like him."

for the rest of the night, jaemin stays glued to your side, his protective instincts on high alert. every now and then, he glances around the room, his sharp eyes ensuring that no one else dares to bother you. but when he looks at you, his gaze softens, filled with the kind of love and devotion that makes you feel completely safe and cherished.

chenle

chenle isn’t the jealous type—or at least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. but when he sees some guy leaning in way too close to you, his smirk too smug and his intentions clear, something in him shifts. from across the room, he watches, his jaw tightening as the guy’s overconfident voice carries just enough for chenle to catch snippets.

"you’re way too beautiful to be standing here alone. how about i keep you company?"

you’re already rolling your eyes, visibly annoyed but keeping your cool. "i’m not alone, actually. my boyfriend’s here."

the guy doesn’t back off. instead, he lets out a mocking laugh, shrugging off your words. "boyfriend? i don’t see him. come on, you don’t have to make excuses. let me take care of you tonight."

chenle sets his drink down with a controlled precision, his eyes narrowing. he doesn’t do big scenes, but the guy’s blatant disrespect ignites something protective and possessive in him. without wasting another second, he strides across the room, his focus solely on you.

when he reaches you, he doesn’t acknowledge the guy. not a glance, not a word—nothing. his full attention is on you as he steps into your space, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist.

"chenle—" you start, confused, but before you can get another word out, he tilts your chin up and kisses you.

and not just a quick kiss. this is something else entirely. his hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips claim yours with undeniable intensity. it’s a kiss that demands attention—a declaration to the entire room, but especially to the creep standing awkwardly to the side. his other hand slides to your waist, holding you firmly against him, and you feel the tension in his grip, the silent message in his touch.

the kiss leaves you breathless, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt as you try to ground yourself. chenle’s lips move with deliberate, unhurried precision, and even though the guy is still hovering nearby, all you can focus on is him—his warmth, his confidence, his unyielding presence.

the creep clears his throat awkwardly, his bravado crumbling under the weight of chenle’s unspoken challenge. "uh… okay, i get it. geez." he mutters something under his breath and shuffles off, but chenle doesn’t stop.

only when he’s sure the guy is completely out of sight does chenle finally pull back, his eyes dark and smoldering as they meet yours. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a faint smirk tugging at his own. "that should make it clear to everyone."

you blink at him, still catching your breath, your cheeks flushed. "were you—were you jealous?" you manage, though your voice is still a little shaky from the kiss.

chenle raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he pretends to scoff. "me? jealous? please." he leans in closer, his lips ghosting over yours. "i just wanted to make sure that guy—and everyone else—knows who you belong to. that’s all."

you let out a laugh, shaking your head at his audacity. "you’re unbelievable, you know that?"

"i know," he replies smoothly, stealing another quick kiss. "and you love me for it."

you roll your eyes, but the warmth in your smile betrays you. "maybe i do."

for the rest of the night, chenle stays glued to your side, his arm either slung casually over your shoulders or his hand holding yours. he’s not one to hover, but tonight, his protective side is in full force. every now and then, he leans in to kiss you again—not because he’s jealous anymore, but because he simply can’t resist.

and every time he does, it’s like the rest of the world disappears, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

jisung

jisung isn’t the type to make a scene. he’s quiet and reserved most of the time, but when it comes to you, he’s fiercely protective. that’s why, when he notices the guy at the bar getting way too close to you, his hands gesturing as if he has any right to invade your space, jisung feels his blood start to boil.

the guy leans in, smirking like he owns the world. "you’re way too pretty to be sitting here alone. why don’t i keep you company?"

you shift back slightly, your irritation clear. "i’m not alone. my boyfriend’s here."

the creep doesn’t back off, laughing as if you’ve just told a joke. "oh, yeah? i don’t see him. sounds like you’re just saying that to get rid of me."

jisung watches from the other side of the room, his jaw tightening as he sets his drink down. he’s not one for confrontation, but seeing the guy blatantly disrespect you pushes him over the edge. he strides over, his tall frame imposing as he steps in between you and the creep.

"she’s not alone," jisung says, his voice low and firm, carrying an intensity that even surprises you. "i’m her boyfriend, and i think you need to walk away before this gets worse for you."

the guy looks jisung up and down, clearly assessing whether it’s worth pushing further. after a tense moment, he throws up his hands in mock surrender. "alright, alright. chill, man. i was just talking."

the guy slinks off into the crowd, and jisung exhales sharply, turning to you. his dark eyes meet yours, and there’s a fire in them that you don’t see often. "let’s go," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.

you blink, slightly startled by his tone but also intrigued by the edge in his demeanor. "go? but—"

"now, y/n," he interrupts, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the bar without waiting for further protest.

the car ride is silent at first, tension crackling in the air. jisung’s knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as he focuses on the road. you steal a glance at him, the way his sharp profile looks under the glow of the streetlights, and it sends a thrill through you.

"you’re mad," you say softly, breaking the silence.

he scoffs, his eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to the road. "of course i’m mad. that guy wouldn’t leave you alone. he didn’t respect you—or us. i should’ve—" he cuts himself off, shaking his head as if trying to calm down.

you reach out, placing a hand on his thigh, your touch grounding him. "you don’t have to explain. i get it. and honestly? seeing you like this is… kind of hot."

his eyes widen for a second, the tension in his shoulders shifting into something else entirely. he pulls into an empty parking lot, shutting off the car and turning to face you. his gaze is dark now, the fire from earlier still burning but in a completely different way.

"you think this is hot?" he asks, his voice low, almost a growl.

you bite your lip, leaning closer. "i think you being so protective is incredibly hot."

that’s all it takes for him to snap. he surges forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. his hand tangles in your hair as he pulls you closer, the other gripping your waist as if he can’t bear to let you go.

the confined space of the car only adds to the intensity, your bodies pressed together as the windows begin to fog. his kisses trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

"you’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough and full of conviction. "no one else gets to look at you like that, talk to you like that."

"i’m yours," you whisper back, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him even closer. "only yours."

the night might have started with frustration, but it’s clear that jisung is determined to make you forget every second of it, right there in the car with nothing but the two of you and the heated passion that takes over.

masterlist

hey guys!! sorry for not updating in a while.. i was out of the country!

also im making a permanent tag list so lmk if u wanna be on it!

[rainb0ws-h4t]

Another imagine before I dissapear again

Tw: slight yandere, stalking

Imagine you are a side character in the main plot of Twisted Wonderland. You hold no use in the story's progress, neither do you interact much with the main cast. You aren't aware of this at all, and continue to live your life as a regular student in Night Raven College.

Until a fascinating phenomenon happens that summons a magicless human from another world. Everyone gravitates towards them as they spend more and more time in Twisted Wonderland.

But who wouldn't be enamoured by their presence?

The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who is a denominator at every overblot? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who melts down the walls of every stone cold housewarden (no Kalim‼️) of Night Raven? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who fascinates and impresses you with each heroic act they do?

They're lively, strong, and dazzling.

Their name was a common topic in the bustling halls. Heck— some students even became fanboys of the infamous prefect, gushing about them during breaks like a teenage schoolgirl.

You honestly thought you'd just be another nameless student in the crowd of people vying for their attention. After all, you had no involvement in whatever plot was happening currently.

And you were fine with that.

With the shit they've gone through, you'd rather not get involved with any of the things they do daily. Plus, the people they interacted with either scared you to death or just annoying and loud students that you'd rather rip your ears off than listen to them yap.

Until, you've did something that redirected the entire plot entirely.

You strolled through the halls of NRC at an ungodly hour. You couldn't sleep, and frankly— just didn't want to be in the presence of other dorm mates sleeping.

You'd didn't expect anyone to be awake at this time. After all, a test was being held early in the morning. You were confident you could wake up in time for that though.

As you walked calmly through the silent halls, yu noticed a figure standing next to a window. You hoped it wasn't a teacher or anything. Getting caught sneaking out wouldnt look good on your record.

You opted to just sneak behind them quietly. Not like you were being loud anyway.

While you did so, you just happened to notice how familiar the figure appeared. So eerily familiar to that infamous prefect you've grown to admire so fondly...

*Thud*

FUCK.

You weren't paying attention to whre you were walking and tripped on practically nothing. The figure turned around, alarmed and frightened. The original alarmed expression now transitioned into confusion at the display of your pathetic state.

"W-who are you?"

Every living thing dies once in a lifetime,

You died two times in your lifetime.

Awkwardly, you attempted to stand up without looking even more like a moron. "Just another student... Strolling around.."

"And what are you doing here.?" They asked.

"Well,.. I didn't really feel like sleeping right now." The prefect nodded in response, they didn't seem intent on responding with anything else.

"What are you doing here?" You asked suddenly.

The prefect looked up at you at that, making eye contact. "I... Everything..." They kept opening their mouth and closing it. They looked so vulnerable and timid that you doubted that this was the prefect that assisted in every overblot.

"It's just so..." Tears streaked down their eyes.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around them and engulfed them in a big hug. Hoping that the warmth that you can provide would be enough to clear the tears.

"I just w-wanna go home... I dont w-wanna be here anymore." They sobbed, pulling you closer.

That night, you comforted the sobbing prefect and woke up with five minutes left to get ready for the test.

You're not sure if that's what stared it, but the prefect has been gravitating towards you a lot. They sat in the same lunch table as you, they strayed away from her friends more often (with only grim as a companion), walked to classes with you, and even invited you to their ever growing friend group.

Past you would've relished in the attention being showered on you personally by the prefect, but...

Everywhere you went with Yuu (they told you to call them that) was followed by a lingering feeling of multiple pairs of eyes that bore into your skin. You hated it. And that feeling only began to increase whenever you were alone.

There was one time that you escorted Yuu home, and they hugged you as a thanks. A loud thunder rang through the entire campus the second it occured. You slipped out of their grasp and scurried away immediately.

You forgot to mention but..

Yuu radiated a dazzling and alluring aura that everyone was attracted to. Whatever they felt towards Yuu was not your business, but those people they interact with always made it clear they wanted Yuu. It disturbed you in a way. They seemed so dazzled and the way they wanted to be in their presence 24/7 was borderline creepy and obsessive.

One thing you learned about Yuu was that they noticed it too. They were exhausted from keeping up the facade that they had on. And basically— exhausted from the guys that lurked wherever they went. They confessed that they felt disturbed by how erratic their behaviour was around them, but they were too frightened to say anything that might cause them to react suddenly.

You couldn't bring yourself to confess how you felt the same about them.

Those creepy ass leech twins with their menacing grins.

That rule-obssesed maniac that stopped you in a hallway and demanded you stay away from Yuu. (Rule 636? 352? Who even cares anymore?)

Some advanced machinery that circled the garden you were trying to rest in.

You swore you were nothing more than a side character in the story of theirs. You swore that if did get involved with Yuu, it wouldn't even have a lasting impact.

Now as Yuu gushed about how the boys seemed to have lessened their weird behaviour and began to act normal. You couldn't help but feel the curse that was placed over Yuu, was now transferred over to you.

You know you couldn't be alone from this point onward.

[callsign-rogueone]

house calls

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!)

words: 1.7k

🏷: set in the second half of iron flame. some soft moments in aretia with the gang before they head back to school. peach is a baby whisperer, sawyer is adorable, deep convo at the end, mentions of wildfire and mild peril (they both lived, clearly), made some more stuff up about sawyer’s family, teeny ridoc and sweetheart cameo, replacing jesinia with peach here kinda… more hints about peach’s relationship with the gods, I hope it’s not obvious that I’ve only seen snow twice and have never interacted with a baby, their next chapter will be the end of iron flame for them, including… that. (spicy chapter before this one tba!)

You aren’t expecting Ridoc to be the one to answer the door, but he offers you a grin nonetheless. “Hey, P!”

The rest of the squad turn their heads, waving from where they’re crowded into the living room, along with several riders and fliers you’ve never met.

“I was wondering where y’all ran off to,” you laugh. You stomp the snow out of your boots before you step inside, letting down the hood of your cloak. “It’s going to storm tonight, so I asked if I could go around and make some house calls before everyone gets snowed in. This is my last stop.”

Sawyer takes the giant basket you’re holding, offering his arm to hold onto as you take off your boots and set them in the heap by the door. “That’s new,” he manages, finally noticing your outfit.

“Major Aisereigh gave it to me. She said it’s a traditional Tyrrish dress. I think it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned,” you laugh, brushing off the skirt.

Sawyer continues to blink at you, taking it in. Nice is an understatement. It looks like it was tailor-made for you — a bodice that’s just the right amount of tight in the places that matter, strings tied in a bow behind your back to cinch around your waist before it melts into a long pleated skirt that ebbs and flows with each step you take, woven with a complex striped pattern. You’ve layered a white long sleeve underneath for warmth, but it could just as easily be worn without on a summer day to dance around in a field of wildflowers.

You’re covered from wrist to ankle, but you’ve never looked more beautiful as you do now, winter sunlight warming your skin, snowflakes melting in your eyelashes and the cold warming your cheeks.

“Say something,” Sliseag prods.

He finally finds words. “You look absolutely perfect in everything you wear, but this… this might be my favorite.”

“I think it’s mine, too. This beats those terrible robes any day. And it feels more… me than the rider’s uniform. Oh, hi!”

He clears his throat, making a hasty introduction. “This is Rhi’s sister, Raegan. Raegan, this is my girlfriend — she’s training as a healer.”

“Everyone just calls me peach,” you offer, extending a hand to shake. “And who’s this?”

“Lukas.”

“Hi, Lukas,” you coo. “You’re such a cutie. How old is he?”

“Just about six months.”

“Congratulations, both of you. How are you doing?”

“He made a good adjustment to the move, thankfully. But he’s teething now, which has been a struggle, especially at night. Neither of us are getting much sleep.”

“Oh, I bet,” you empathize. “My mom would suggest letting him chomp on a cold washcloth — but I’m sure Ridoc could set you up with plenty of clean snow for him to snack on.” You touch Sawyer’s elbow — he’s still lingering by your side. “Don’t let me distract you. And there’s snacks in there, if y’all want anything.”

————

When you finish up with Reagan and Lukas, Sawyer waves you over, half a cookie in hand. “How did you… These taste exactly like my mom’s.”

“I’m glad,” you laugh. “It’s her recipe.”

He looks at you like you’ve just told him that you genuinely believe that the earth is flat and the sky is just a blue bed sheet strung up to dry. “She gave it to you?”

You laugh. “Yes! We made them together, while you and the boys were out fixing the fence, and she wrote it all down for me. Said to hang on to it for the future when I had a household of my own.”

“Peach,” he says, way too seriously to still be still talking about cookies, “she’s never given anyone that recipe. Even my aunt doesn’t know it.” You don’t seem to understand the significance of this, but he certainly isn’t going to explain that his mother gave you the seal of approval to join the family.

“You Lucerans are weird,” Ridoc says, shaking his head, but not before he swipes a cookie out of the box.

“Take one for your girl, too,” you nudge quietly.

“I’m gonna break it in half,” he responds over his shoulder. “More romantic that way.”

You shake your head, amused. “That’s actually adorable.”

“It is,” Sawyer agrees. “Sometimes I wonder how he landed her, and then he does stuff like that.” There’s a soft silence before he speaks again. “How are you feeling? Being here?”

It’s been a few days since your arrival, and you’re still getting acclimated — getting to know everyone, and no longer getting lost on the walk between the infirmary and your room.

“It’s good,” you answer. “Different, but good. It feels like home, in a lot of ways. Like being home, but with friends.”

He gazes at the group, who are comfortably chatting and laughing as they work, spread out across the floor and crowded around every chair and table in the house. “Like it’s Harvest day, but all the time.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Like that.”

There’s a soft cry from the cradle, and you turn immediately, striding across the room. “You’re okay, sweet boy,” you coo, gathering him into your arms and swaying gently to comfort him. He quiets almost immediately, content just to be held.

“How?” Sloane asks in sheer disbelief.

Sawyer looks at you, shrugging. “She’s always been beloved by animals and babies.”

“You’re dating a fairytale princess, dude,” Ridoc says with a soft laugh.

“I know,” he replies, still watching you with the little boy, who is now resting happily against your shoulder as you hold him. “She’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“You better marry that girl,” Maren orders, pointing her pen at him.

“I plan to.”

The table sits with the admission for a moment before they resume their studies.

He watches you turn to Raegan, speaking quietly so you don’t disturb the babe — you must have promised to watch him and let her get some rest, as she offers you a grateful smile and disappears through a door in the corner of the room, closing it behind her.

“You don’t happen to know any old Lucerish, do you?” Violet asks quietly, sounding exhausted.

“Only some old sayings. Farmer’s wisdom. Probably not anything that would be in there.”

“Humor me?”

You lean against the armrest of the chair Sawyer is sitting in, still holding the baby — he curls an arm around your hips, keeping you steady as you lean down to read the journal. The page she has open is covered with swirling symbols, most of which you’ve never seen before. But besides the numbers… “I know that one,” you say, gently tapping one of them with a fingernail. “Atem. Breath.”

She blinks at you, her brow creasing. “Breath?”

You nod. “There’s an old adage about harvesting fall vegetables — when you can see your breath in the morning for the fifth time that season, you should pick everything you can that day or take it inside. Otherwise the frost will kill it within the week.” You continue scanning the page. “But the rest… I have no idea. Kids aren’t taught any of this in school, especially not where we’re from. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No, you helped a lot, actually. I’m gonna head back to the house; I need to talk to Brennan about this.” She stands, piling everything into her bag. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

You slip into her chair, tucking your legs underneath you — it’s much warmer inside than out, but it’s still a bit chilly in here.

Aretia really is like home.

——————

The fresh snow crunches under your boots as you make the walk back to school, side by side. It’s so quiet out here that you almost don’t want to speak at all, but now that you’re finally alone, you can say what’s been on your mind for the last two hours.

“Do you remember the fire?” you ask softly. “When we were still in school?”

“Of course I do. How could I possibly forget that?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, watching the trail of footprints in front of you — the rest of the squad had left a bit earlier than you did. “I kept trying to forget, but it didn’t work. Thought you’d brushed it off — you were always the brave one, not me.”

An unusually dry year had led the fields to burn easily, strong winds sweeping the fire through the landscape in a matter of hours — quickly enough that when you and Sawyer finished up your daily chores, you realized you were trapped.

“I thought we were going to die in that barn,” you admit. “I prayed for a little while, to all the gods I could think of, but eventually I just accepted it. We were hardly fifteen, but we’d lived good lives, done good things and helped feed our families and dozens of others for years. And we were together. That was it, really. That we were together, holding hands.”

He holds you a little closer as he responds. “I think about that day a lot. Whenever I’m scared, or I need to be brave, I think about the two of us sitting in that gross water trough, soaked to the bone and waiting to die, and I tell myself that we were spared for a reason. What that reason is, I have no idea. But if it’s anything, it’s probably this.”

“Probably.”

“What made you think of it?” he asks.

“It’s been on my mind a lot lately. Probably because y’all smell a little bit like smoke all the time. But hearing some of the things you all talked about today... I still only have half an idea how any of this works, but I know it’s not good, and it won’t be easy, either.”

He makes a soft noise of agreement, but lets you continue.

“My point is, I think we could get through anything as long as we were together. Including this.”

“I feel the same way. And just like then, I don’t plan on letting go any time soon.”

You laugh, remembering how you’d refused to separate, falling asleep on the floor of his grandparents’ living room still holding hands.

“Neither do I,” you say quietly. “Neither do I.”

[sterifels-blog]

warnings ⚠️

•nsfw! 🔞 please do not interact if you are not 18+ ❤️ you are not my responsibility.

creepypasta

REQUESTED: how they'd react if you ask them what their favorite (body) part of you is.

bloody painter

•he would say your hands. he's intrigued by your fingers, as odd as it may seem. not so much the looks of them; but instead the power they wield. "you have such delicate hands for someone so strong... makes me wonder what they could do if they weren't holding a brush." the implication is there— and, it's more of an invitation then a question. he knows what you're capable of- but he thinks he's being smooth about the fact he wants your hand wrapped around his cock.

•soft, but possessive touches: he'll hold your hand in his and trace the lines of your palm with his thumb, enjoying the way your skin feels against his rougher hand. he's not always filthy- infact, he washes his hands more that you're around. he knows you can't stand the feeling of blood smearing all over yours off of his.

•places gentle kisses on your knuckles. he'll press a kiss to your knuckles after you've done something for him, silently showing gratitude in his own way. alternatively; as he's bumping his hips to snap his pelvis tight against your own— more-so panting onto your fingers as he holds them to his parted lips. he's grunting at how good you feel, his brows tight-- and knitted together while placing soft kisses to your fingertips. bro loves you.

•admiring the art of your hands: if you paint (hopefully, with normal supplies), he'll watch you carefully, entranced by the way your fingers move across the canvas. "i like how you create... i like how you touch things."

•okay brother. calm down.

•handcuff scenario: if he's feeling possessive, he might tie your hands just to keep you close, though it's always with a Iight touch, as if savoring the moment. it's that, or he's got you in his lap- your back pressed to his chest as one of his hands keeps your wrists pulled together, and the other is brushing hair out of the way so he can kiss your neck.

•earning affection: "i know these hands could do so much more, if i let you." a quiet invitation to explore.

clockwork

•she'd say your eyes. clockwork has a dark fascination with them, and she isnt shy about making that clear: "your eyes... they've seen more than i can imagine, and yet they still hold something innocent about them." she has no issue with tainting that innocence- although she chooses to cherish it for herself, opting to keep your mind safe and away from others. your eyes only on her.

•intense gaze: she'll lock her eyes on yours, not breaking contact, as if studying you. it's like she's searching for something deep within, and it makes you feel exposed, yet strangely desired. she'll be kissing from your sternum down to your pelvis, her nails dragging along your bare sides as she relishes in the feeling of your fluttering skin against her lips.

•her lip gloss paints your stomach in a shimmery raspberry hue as she kisses your skin, her thumbs digging into your hips as they massage in slow circles.

•she's huge on teasing: "i could lose myself in them, but you'd never let me. you'd just pull away, wouldn't you?" she won't give you much of an option to pull away. she'll have you on your knees in front of her, her hand cupped under your chin as she admires the tremble of excitement that rushes down your spine.

•gentle, longing touches. she gently cups your face, forcing you to keep eye contact "i could make you see things- things you don't want to. but... you trust me, don't you?"

•when you inevitably agree with her— saying that you do trust her, her hands are parting your thighs, shamelessly sighing as her tongue traces lazy drags against your clit and labia. (she's definitely the type to write her name with her tongue, over and over until you're whining for her to do something other than tease. you're not talking at all after that)

•behind-the-scenes power: "if you look away, i'Il only make it worse. keep looking... you're mine, aren't you?"

eyeless jack

•thoughtful to say your throat. jack has an intense interest with your neck/throat. he can't stop staring at your throat, where he knows your pulse beats, so close to the surface- so easy to cut off if he so much as squeezed you hard enough. if he so much as twisted your head quick enough to cause dissection. not that he ever would- no, no. such horrific things are only reserved for his victims- but his medical knowledge often gets the better of him when intimate with your body.

•gentle but dangerous touch. he'll graze his fingers lightly along the curve of your throat, his thumb brushing the side of your neck as though testing your response. he'll hum— his nail digging softly into the prominent vein on the side of your neck, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against it as though smelling the metallic flow from the outer-shell of your skin. he doesn’t say anything, but the way his hand squeezes is word enough. jack loves you, he's made it clear over and over again- but often, he still finds it necessary to remind you that you both are different. un-alike.

•dangerous affection: "i know the veins here so well... it's almost like could just.." he might trail his fingers over your throat, his mind going to darker places as he tightens the grip he has on you to just beneath your chin, tilting your head back with a little groan into your ear. he brushes your baby hairs away from the base of your neck, leaning in to place a kiss against the base of your skull, panting with hearty breaths whilst his hips rut slow, sloppy grinds against the cheeks of your ass.

•alternatively, he’s got your legs kicked apart, his own feet placed between yours as to ensure that you don't try and squeeze them shut. pinned to him, your back against his chest— jack doesn't let you loose as his fingers swirled wide circles around your clit. his teeth graze at your ear, murmuring quietly about how easy you were for him. predictable. and you were.

•teasing whispers: he'll lean close to your ear and murmur, "your pulse is fast... what's got you worked up? it's just me.."

•holds your throat while he's fucking into you from behind.

hoodie

•your ass. zero shame, zero hesitation: hoodie doesn't even try to hide it, "you've got the best ass i've ever seen. why wouldn't i look? you should be flattered."

•he's hands-on at all times. whenever you walk past him, his hand is right there. sometimes, he gives it a playful squeeze, other times a sharp smack that makes you jump. "what? you're the one who walked by me like that."

•you, in fact, didn't even walk by. he's the one who walked by you. too many times, will you give him silence in return for his tomassery– and each time, he does the same thing. he'll come up behind you, apologetically (🤥) sliding his hands down your waist to cup your ass as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. "you know i'm just teasing.."

•favorite pose? you straddling his lap. he loves when you sit on him, especially facing away so he can rest his hands on your hips— or further down. "you're making it really hard to focus, you know. not that i'm complaining.."

•and he isn't complaining, especially when he’s able to bend you over the counter later that night, groaning and grunting as he 'thanks' you for the meal you'd cooked for him after a long mission assigned by the operator. he's tired, sure; but he always has some extra stamina stored away for times like this. seeing your ass bounce on his hips as his dick bullies against your g-spot is worth every bit of energy he has left.

•constant touching: if you're lying on your stomach, he's lying next to you, his hand lazily draped over your lower back and sliding lower.

•pulling you closer: if you're standing in front of him, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back against him, hands wandering. "c'mere. you're too far away. yeah, that's better."

jason the toymaker

•your hands

•craftsman’s admiration: “your hands... so delicate, yet so full of life. they could create so much beauty... if i allowed you.” his voice carries both fascination and a subtle possessiveness, enjoying how wrapped around his fingers you were. the innuendo is there, integrated in his words. why would you need to touch yourself when he was there to do all you wished for you?

•very gentle with his touches. he loves to take your hands in his, running his fingers over the smooth skin, almost as if memorizing every line and curve. the type of guy to intertwine your fingers with his own as he keeps your wrists pinned to the bed— huffing against your neck with steady, deep thrusts. loves kissing behind your ear, grumbling about how good you take him- make him feel.

•kisses to your palms. jason has a habit of turning your hand over and pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your palm. “such beautiful hands… wasted on anything but me.” definitely prompts you into giving him a hand job, obsessive over the way your fingers feel curled around him. he thoroughly can't get enough of you, and arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he sits you in his lap for a slow makeout.

•mild.. obsession: he’ll watch you when you’re doing anything with your hands—writing, sketching, even cooking. “it’s mesmerizing, really. i could watch you all day.”

•into playful (but freaky ass) control. jason likes to guide your hands when you’re working on something, his larger hands enveloping yours. “here, let me show you how to do it properly. not that you’re bad at it… i'm just better.” this applies to the bedroom, where he's guiding your hand; curling your fingers only when he allows you to.

•possessive comments: “these hands belong to me, no? no one else gets to feel them, hold them, or be touched by them.”

jeff the killer

•dangerous attraction to your thighs: "your thighs... they look so soft. i bet they'd feel even better wrapped around me." and they do— whether they are clung at the sides of his head, or straddling his hips as he helps you ride him after a particularly high stress day. he loves them more than anything else in the world.

•gentle possessiveness.. he'll casually run his hands over your thighs, his fingers lingering just a little too long as if marking territory. does it especially when you are all sitting in a group. if given the opportunity, he'll have you tucked between him and the arm of the couch, your legs slung over his own so his hand can rub up and down yours.

•plenty of flirtatious teasing: "how tight do you think those legs could squeeze, huh? show me, and i'II make it worth your while."

•when you go about showing him- he makes it a point to keep you at his disposal until you're too satisfied to complain about anything. his tongue is useful for talking— but it is just as skillful when it's dipped between your thighs, running between your folds until you're squeezing his head so tight, he was sure his skull would crack.

•loves giving you kisses to the inner thigh. on a whim, he might press a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, just to feel the warmth of your skin. after a particularly strenuous night of.. events, it's a subtle gesture of appreciation

•"i can't help it. your thighs are just... perfect. i think i could spend all day here, don't you?"

•mock care: if he's feeling particularly mischievous, he'll gently squeeze them and say, "relax. i'Il be gentle. for now."

jane the killer

•playfully seductive: "these hips of yours.. i could write a book about how perfect they are." she smirks as her hands glide along them, leaving goosebumps in her wake. by far, they are the most favorable thing on your body in her eyes- apart from the obvious sentiment of your breasts. she thinks the proportions of them match you perfectly.

•possessive hold. jane has a habit of gripping your hips firmly, puling you closer until there's no space between you- mainly around the others of the household. there is no denying that you're hers- but it is still in her nature to be competitive over that fact, especially with her other-sex counterpart being present. "you feel so good against me. don't think i'Il let go anytime soon."

•slow in admiration. her fingers trace the curve of your hips, almost reverently. "every inch of you is stunning, but this.. this drives me insane." you're hovered over her- sweat dripping down your spine and dampening the roots of your hair as her hands guide you in a rocking motion. they are clasped tightly to your hips, nails, digging into your flesh as she encourages you to tuck in your core. she doesn't mind doing the messy work of bouncing you on her strap, so long as numbs you into that blissful state.

•dually stimulates your clit just to see them buck.

•sultry whispers while standing behind you. she'll lean in, lips brushing against your ear as her sleek nails tickled your hips with repetitive strokes. "these hips were made for my hands, don’t you think? hm?"

•when things heat up, her focus always finds its way to your hips, her kisses trailing along the curves as her grip tightens. "you have no idea what you do to me." jane's eyes linger on your hips like they're the most captivating thing in the world.

kagekao

•your mouth and messy kisses. kagekao loves kissing you- rough, messy, and without warning. he thrives on the way he can leave you breathless and completely flustered. it comes of good use when you two are arguing. you'd been rambling about something- not that he was listening; but he captured the gist of you bitching about how he was leaving the house a mess. guilty— of course he was; but he wasn't going to acknowledge it. "can't talk now, can you?"

•shutting you up: secondary to a kiss, if you're rambling or talking back, he'll cut you off with a hand against your mouth; putting you into momentary silence. it is only when his hand moves to tug at the buckle of his belt do you understand where he is truly going with it. your mouth, around him- is as good as it is while talking. as skillful as your insults- just more quiet apart from the occasional gag to fuel his ego.

•playfully dominant. he's a master of teasing you into silence, brushing his thumb over your lips and smirking. "these lips of yours are dangerous... but i like the way they feel under mine." he's cheesy because he knows it gets you going. you'll cuss him out, commencing a back-and-forth between the two of you. and as much as he enjoys shutting you up— it is, unfortunately, your 'arguments' that get him swollen and tight in his slacks.

•messy control: if you're mid-argument, he'll pin you against a wall and kiss you hard enough to stop the words from coming. "i don't care what you were going to say." he's a bit of an asshole— and when it comes to an actual confliction, you're often pushing him away as to voice your opinion.

•obsession with your voice: he's addicted to the way your lips move when you talk (+ the sound of it), and he often stares shamelessly. "keep talking- let me watch those pretty lips of yours."

•if it's been a while since he's last seen you; and you have the chance to speak to him over the phone, he's 100% not opposed to rubbing one out with you on the line. he'll go silent, listening to you ramble on about something that seems insignificant compared to the raging throb of his erection. mindlessly hums in agreement to something he shouldn't have— and gets startled when you begin scolding him over the phone.

laughing jack

•jack has a shameless fixation on your legs, especially if you're blessed with some extra height. "your legs just go on forever, don't they? makes me want to see how far they can wrap around me." his words are said with a wicked grin, no shame in his tone. if you're smaller, no worries about it— he's still intrigued about how many positions he can wrangle you into, especially with your smaller size being an accommodation.

•loves, loves, loves having you up against the wall. it's not the most practical position- but he has the strength to pull it off. at no point in time will your feet be touching the ground. your legs are slung over his hips, and mercilessly, jack is giving you no time between breaths as he fucks in and out of you. he'd been worked up over a dress you'd worn out with jane; the gap of time from which you returned— to then being railed furiously almost nonexistent.

•the stupid cunt is constant teasing: he'll comment on how your legs look in any outfit especially if they're bare. "oh, you're just showing them off today, aren't you? that's just cruel." he especially loves seeing you in skirts or short dresses. a tight pair of pants will still do justice- outlining your figure, but seeing your skin is an entirely different experience for him.

•obsessive attention. runs his hands along your thighs and calves, almost like he's worshiping them, while making playful, almost mocking comments. "so soft.. are you sure you're strong enough to be here?" he knows you are, he has no sincere doubts that you've earned your place amongst the bunch; but it intrigues him how someone as hard working as yourself could have any aspect of a gentle physic leftover.

•payful biting: he'll nip at your legs from your calvee to your thighs, just to watch you squirm. "what? can't handle a little attention?"

•restless fascination: loves having his head in your lap, running his hands up and down your legs, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "how am i supposed to behave with these perfect legs right in front of me?"

•a good smack to the head will do it.

masky

•masky has an obvious fixation on your breasts. he won't even try to hide it. when you're in close quarters, his eyes are always drawn to your chest, and he'll casually glance at them before meeting your eyes, smirking. "could you be any less distracting?"

•shameless touching: he's the type to casually rest his hand on your chest when in private, grinning like it's the most natural thing in the world. if you're not paying attention, he'll give them a slight squeeze and say, "couldn't resist, sorry." which, is a lie. he's fully capable of resisting- but with you, he doesn't care much to.

•throughly enjoys having you ride him. if not only to see the way your face twists up in pleasure; then, to see the way your breasts bounce with each desperate thrust you chase after.

•loves seeing you in workout clothes— especially something like a workout bra that cups your breasts exceptionally. he'll come up behind you, hands wandering from your sides, and against your ribs to your breasts, his fingers fondling with the under-band of your bra appreciatively. places soft kisses on the back of your neck, humming in approval as he relishes in the sight of his palms engulfing your chest in the gym mirror.

•unapologetic flirting: "look real fucking good in that top. deserve some attention, don't you think?" he'll lean in close, just to make it clear that he's very aware of what he's doing- not that you had any doubts.

•although secondary pleasure wasn't normally accommodated on his schedule (nor does he have a high drive for it)– when you gave him a tit job for the first time; he swore he was knocking on heavens door. he could hardly keep himself from giving in too early- grunting and huffing as he dragged on his cigarette, prolonging his climax for as long as he could. cusses the entire time, groaning about how good you were.

•proximity: when he sleeps, he'll have his face tucked against your collarbone, his arms wrapped around you as his nose divets to your sternum.

slenderman

•control obsession: he’s drawn to your wrists, knowing just how delicate they are and how easily he can take control. he loves— and definitely gets off on the feeling of holding them tightly, guiding you however he sees fit. “your wrists are so fragile... better reason for you to listen"

•possessive in his grip. slenderman will sometimes just stand behind you, his long fingers brushing your wrists in a possessive, almost ritualistic manner, ensuring you feel his presence without him saying a word. he might even trace your veins as if marking them as his own— otherwise, silently reminding you of your merciless place beneath him.

•soft yet firm restraint. if you’re not paying attention, he’ll slip his tendril around your wrists with a cold, firm grip, keeping you in place. his touch is both controlling and almost comforting, as if trying to stake a claim over you that is inevitable. keeps you from moving too much, because it “makes it easier to work with you.”

•tying you up: there’s something about restraining you with ropes or simple threads that bores him. he's more into using his tentacles— wrapping them around your wrists slowly, ensuring it’s just tight enough to restrict movement. it’s a methodical and precise act. “you’ll stay still. you can handle this, can you not?"

•borderline sadistic during intercourse with you. overstimulation is a guarantee— his tentacles cuffing your wrists together as you squirm on the silk of his bedding. relentless. your breaths heave in desperation as his thumb circled your clit for what felt like hellish hours on end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes that he brushes away with little care- only after they'd began to trail down your cheeks.

•fingers that linger: when he’s guiding you through a task, his fingers press against the soft skin of your wrist, sending shivers up your spine. it’s a constant reminder of his dominance and the way he can bend you to his will with little effort. sits you between his legs and has you ride his fingers, kissing the flat surface of your inner wrist.

•silent manipulation: whether you’re walking or sitting, his hands will often find their way to your wrists. the way his fingers curl around them feels almost hypnotic, leaving you unsure if it’s affection or an underlying threat.

ticci toby

•possessive grip: toby's hands will find their way to your chest, casually gripping them as if it's the most casual thing in the world. he's not gentle, but not rough either— just firm enough to feel like he's marking his territory. "i like having you close. ganz in der nähe" the words may seem innocent enough, but they are the furthest thing from it.

•soft, but intense. if you're in his arms, he'll keep you pressed against him, his hands roaming under your clothes to gently feel and play with you. his breaths hitch as he does, clearly enjoying the closeness more than anything. not being able to feel much- it's intriguing for him to see how you react to something he assumed would feel so insignificant.

•when he figured out you enjoy it- quite a bit, he'll find himself stroking your ribs more often, tracing over your collarbone.

•huffs of approval: when he feels the soft weight of your breasts in his hands, you'll hear him let out a pleased sigh, followed by a low chuckle. "you can't help making these noises when i touch you, hm?" he enjoys them, thoroughly. in fact, it's something he favors, doing whatever he can to pry the sweet sounds from your lips.

•missionary— classical. he's got your back pinned to the bed, one arm wrapped around your spine as he lay a series of open-mouthed kisses to your throat, trailing down to find one of the pebbled nipples of your breasts. the sound of your breathy moan is almost enough to make him brick up again, a low groan leaving his throat as his lips engulfed your tit with gluttony. he could worship you like this for hours- but not without his own share of enjoyment.

•light teasing: if you react to him touching you, even just a little, his grin widens. "i know you like it. you don't need to hide it." he'll lean in close, letting his breath ghost over your neck. there's nothing he enjoys more than getting a reaction out of you— and it severely agitates him when you silence yourself.

•insecure softness: as unhinged as he may seem, he can get a little soft about it, too. "i just... i need you close, okay? don't push me away." he's not one to beg, but there's something desperate in his voice when he holds you like this. loves having you against his chest, feeling your bare skin pressed against his own.

[kataraavatara]

and another thing about acosf!

If their sole plan was Nesta “getting better” via forcing her to do something against her will, they could have just forced her to spend time with Priestesses. Why not? Do they genuinely think SA victims are all silent and meek, and that no SA victims has ever behaved similarly to Nesta, so the priestesses would have no idea how to interact with her? If they think Nesta is self harming by having risky sex with men and hasn’t shown an interest in women, wouldn’t an all female enclave be ideal? They know the library has worked for hundreds of women.

Instead, Nesta is forced to

•live in close proximity with Cassian-so it’s more likely the bond will snap so she’ll be loyal to the Inner Circle forever. Her reliance on sex as a coping mechanism is now something that’s to their advantage instead of something they would have to let her work through. She can now be “fixed” not by addressing the underlying issues but by continuing the unhealthy behavior in a way that benefits the IC.

• Train as a warrior- I mean, obvious. They’re worried about potential threats and need to make sure she’s as efficient as possible when they shove her on the front lines again.

•Find the Troves- Free labor is free labor. Now instead of Feyre doing it, they can risk someone with less value to them. Best part? She doesn’t get a salary like every single other member of the IC does. Now Rhysand’s infinite wealth can stay infinite!

•Psychological conditioning- Yeah, I’m know the field of psychology hasn’t been invented in ACOTAR. Walk with me anyways. By positioning themselves as saviors they hope they can overcome the hurdle they placed by forcing her there to begin with. If Nesta sees the IC as the people who saved her, she’ll not only feel indebted but also be less likely to question them in the future. We see this working when she bows to Amren, and apologizes to Cassian for being upset when he violated her clear cut boundaries at Solstice. They want to acclimatize her to her autonomy being stripped for “the greater good.” If she was sent somewhere else, she’d be probably be more loyal to whoever actually helped her than the people who forced her to get help. That’s why Cassian and Azriel are in charge, despite the the fact that there’s the equivalent of talk therapy in the Library.

Anyways, the bullet points are Rhysand and Amren’s agenda. Feyre and Cassian are (perhaps intentionally) oblivious and thinks they’re just trying to help. Azriel wasn’t let in but has figured it out and doesn’t want to rock the boat. Mor is just happy to see Nesta suffer. Elain is a pawn who’s been strung along for the ride so they can get Nesta to do what they want her to by threatening to have Elain do it instead.

[earlycuntsets]

those on tumblr that fwm in anyway!

I have not checked my notifications in a week. so sorry to anyone I haven't gotten back to.

EDIT: i'm not gonna be as active. I'm not leaving altogether just putting some space between me and tumblr. happy 1000 followers to me!!! lol but I might come back in some capacity but not rn. just until personal stuff has been handled. maybe once a week. i've got a lot of post ideas so i'll come on here if I find anything really good. but I have a bad history with social media consuming my brain.

this tumblr has been fully added to earlycuntsets.org and posts will continue from there, but I am not gonna be on here very much.

i've gone through some mental stuff interacting on here. I have a substance issue rn that i've been trying to get ahold on since september. I complain more on earlycuntsets.org

I felt so broken up really. this thing mcr that we all love so intensely.

I don't want to see that get ruined for me. the negative connotations with my account because I flipped out on mcr archive people. talking about that will get me nowhere because no one understands my side. about 4 people on here understand my side.

and for the first time yesterday, I considered apologizing. just to ease my own pain around this. you want to know the truth?

I wanted to work with them obviously. I wanted to do what they do is that clear enough?

it was hard for me not to be aggressive when people I don't know think they can scold me. from the start they just wouldn't respond to me. I would find cool stuff and send it to them. I just thought they'd be more accessible to fans.

and then the only time I have heard from them was for them to judge my website when I spend every extra moment i'm not at work on this one thing. this one thing that is my only expression of love to mcr.

having to go against them took a lot out of me but it was bound to happen. AND SO I gotta get out of the social aspect. it's making me overthink my every move.

I am going to be spending less time on here and more time on my website.

I have moved this whole blog to my website and just updated 840 posts to have links/tags/titles that function. I need to figure out a few things but I won't rest until it's easy to navigate. and perfect. lol there are dead pics and video on the blog section. there are pages of posts that don't have preview images. the site overall is undercuntstruction.

I was actually looking at hulus set up with the "carousel" things for each category. I am having fun and i'll probably make an mcr netflix idk. big grandiose bipolar dreams. that I hope to see through.

my website will be like this (2002 is the only one done rn) so the layout now is:

the google drive part

the 2002 blog part (everything from here)

the sources and links

[sassypleia]

Hope and Body Language help us believe in what we see. It is what makes us believe and have opinions.

A New Hope ⬆️ . Get it?! (Hahaha) Also, message read CRYSTAL clear.

We all hope, we wish, we visualize. We wish the best for Nic and Luke, whether they are together or not. I have said it before I will keep saying it; in my opinion they are together. I don’t care what you think, it’s my opinion and if you do not agree…. Well why are you on this page? Also, go touch grass if you want to spread hate on others opinions.

Hope: “A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen” (Oxford Languages).

In this fandom I’ve seen some pretty interesting things. Some good, some great and some embarrassingly bad things. But in the end, we are all hoping for a specific outcome. It may not be the same outcome but we wish a resolution and to see Nic and Luke happy ofcourse.

Our girl Nic, she’s not afraid to keep showing us that she does not care (to a point) and she will keep going out and supporting all her FRIENDS. Luke has changed his patterns (Nic slightly as well) but we keep seeing less of Luke out and about. Their social media patterns have changed. I WONDER WHY?!

***cough*** ***cough*** ***cough***

When patterns change, when we see non-verbal body language that is YELLING at us, it signals to our brain that this means something.

“Body language is the use of physical behavior, expressions, and mannerisms to communicate nonverbally, often done instinctively rather than consciously. Whether you’re aware of it or not, when you interact with others, you’re continuously giving and receiving wordless signals. All of your nonverbal behaviors—the gestures you make, your posture, your tone of voice, how much eye contact you make—send strong messages” (https://www.helpguide.org/relationships/communication/nonverbal-communication).

So, in the mean time…. While we are waiting. Ship them. Ship Nic and Luke. With each other, with whoever your heart desires. Ship respectfully. But just know. What I ship, it’s Nic with Luke. Everything I have seen points me in that direction. Their body language from the WT interview gives me hope. Everything they have said about one another (whether next to each other or with others) has given me hope.

Just play nice everyone. They will tell us on their own time.

I would also encourage everyone, only share pictures that the actors themselves put out or ones from events that they attend (also okay anyone from their team). Save the rest for private chats. And for heavens sake : DON’T TAG THEM.

Let’s see if we can help change the narrative with the positivity and support.

Xx 🩵

[rainswriting-blog]

Never Push the Ghost

Summary: After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, you’ve learned to navigate his temper carefully, but today, you’re done playing it safe. What begins as a frustrated outburst over his bad habits quickly spirals into a charged confrontation, where tempers flare, boundaries are tested, and passions ignite. As the tension between you and Simon peaks, one thing becomes clear: he always knows how to handle you, even when you’re determined to push his limits.

Warning(s): P and V pentation physical restraint, including choking, pinning, dominance, power dynamics, punishment, consensual rough intimacy, emotional intensity, teasing, role-specific, minor injuries during physical interactions, Aftercare. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, now 40 and still serving in the British SAS, you’ve learned to tread carefully around his temper. At Mid twenties, you’ve always been mindful not to push his buttons. But today? Today, you’d had enough.

It started innocently enough—his boots. Always in the way. You tripped over them for what felt like the hundredth time, and this time, the frustration boiled over. He was sitting there, unmasked for once, watching TV as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You snatched up his boots and hurled them toward him, voice sharp with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Simon! Stop leaving your damn shoes everywhere. I keep tripping on them!”

His head turned slowly, disbelief flickering across his features as he rose to his full height. His imposing frame towered over you, and his voice, low and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Did you just throw shoes at me?” he asked, stretching as he stepped toward you, his tone more curious than angry.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I did,” you shot back, your words laced with sass and defiance, despite the undeniable power he radiated.

He moves swiftly, his hand wrapping around your throat as your back meets the wall with a sharp thud. Your head connects with the surface, leaving a dull ache, but his thumb brushes against your bottom lip in a startlingly gentle contrast.

"You better be careful what you say next," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If it’s not an apology, I don’t want to fucking hear it." With that, he releases you, his hand falling away as if daring you to challenge him.

Glaring up at him, you rub the back of your head, fury bubbling to the surface. “You literally made me hit my head on the wall,” you snap. “Fuck you, Simon.”

Spinning on your heel, you stomp toward the stairs, heart pounding. You make it halfway up when you hear it—the quiet, deliberate sound of him following you. His footsteps are almost too soft to detect, but you know him too well.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, the realization sending adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without thinking, you break into a run, bolting up the stairs as fast as your legs will carry you.

You barely made it a step past the doorway to your shared bed when Simon closed the distance between you. With swift precision, he tackled you—not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to bring you down to the floor.

“Simon, stop it!” you protested, your palms landing on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he didn’t budge.

“You want to be a fucking brat? Fine,” he growled, his voice low and steady as he pinned you effortlessly. His muscular legs straddled your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Then I’ll show you how brats are punished.”

Before you could protest further, his hand captured both your wrists, bringing them above your head in a single, controlled motion. His grip was unyielding but not cruel, a balance of dominance and restraint.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your legs kicking out instinctively, but it was no use. He was stronger, his weight and precision leaving you at a clear disadvantage. You glared up at him in his brown eyes, heart pounding as adrenaline and frustration warred within you.

Simon’s grip tightened just enough to make his point, his voice calm but unyielding. “I’ll let go when you stop acting like a child and throwing fucking shoes at people,” he said. With a swift motion, he rolled you onto your stomach, keeping control as he got to his feet, now towering over you.

You stayed there, catching your breath, until his next words broke the silence. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?” you shot back, twisting your head to look at him.

His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Reluctantly, you complied, fumbling to unbutton and slide them off. Before you could ask what next, his voice cut through again. “Panties too.”

You hesitated, but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn’t asking twice. Sighing, you obeyed, sliding them off before he snatched both garments and tossed them down the hallway, the sound of fabric landing echoing faintly in the quiet room.

Without warning, his hands gripped your sides, lifting you effortlessly by your armpits. “Simon, what the hell?” you protested, but he ignored you, carrying you over to the bed.

He positioned you carefully, ensuring your body lay across the edge of the mattress, your hips and butt perfectly displayed for him. His grip was firm yet controlled, a calculated dominance that left you breathless. You squirmed, but it was no use—he had all the control.

Simon reached for his belt, pulling it from the dresser with a deliberate motion that made your breath hitch. He folded it over in his hands, the leather snapping sharply as he tested it.

“You’re going to count to 26,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “And you better not forget what number you’re on. If you do, we start over.”

Before you could respond, the first strike landed on your bare cheeks with a sharp crack. A startled scream tore from your lips as the sting spread, your fingers instinctively clutching the sheets beneath you.

“...One,” you managed to gasp, voice trembling.

“Good,” he said, his tone almost approving, before bringing the belt down again. The sound and sensation mingled, sending a rush of heat and embarrassment through you as you clenched your fists.

“Two,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the next strike.

The pattern continued, each snap of the belt prompting you to grit your teeth and call out the next number, your voice growing steadier as the count rose. His measured strikes and unrelenting focus made it clear—he wasn’t stopping until you finished, no matter how much you squirmed or protested.

By the time the 26th strike landed, your body trembled, and tears streamed down your face, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The sting of each strike blended together, leaving you raw and overwhelmed. Between sobs, the apology tumbled out of you, sincere and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you choked, voice shaky but genuine. “I’m so sorry.”

He immediately set the belt aside and knelt down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they guided you up into his arms. His chest was solid, comforting, as he wrapped you in his embrace. One hand gently rubbed your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he held you close.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone soft now, the sharpness of his earlier discipline gone. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His words soothed you as his touch anchored you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the moment. He stayed with you, murmuring quiet reassurances until your tears slowed, your breathing evened out, and the tension began to melt away.

As your breathing steadied and your tears finally subsided, Simon leaned back slightly, his hand brushing gently over your cheek to wipe away the remnants of your tears. His voice softened, a teasing edge creeping into his tone.

“Do you want your reward now?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, his words cutting through the lingering haze of emotion. His thumb traced soothing circles on your shoulder, waiting patiently for your answer.

You nodded, the weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Simon didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you to the middle of your king-size bed. He laid you down gently, his hands lingering on your sides as his eyes searched yours for any hesitation.

Pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, his toned chest and arms were on full display, the raw strength in his movements evident. He reached for your legs, guiding them open as wide as they could go, his touch firm but careful.

Then, without warning, his mouth found your core, warm and commanding. The open-mouthed kiss sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your back arching slightly as a soft moan escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his messy brown hair, gripping it as the sensation overwhelmed you. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of warmth through you as he worked with unrelenting focus, every movement designed to unravel you completely.

Between gasps and the waves of pleasure coursing through you, a laugh bubbled up, light and breathless. You tugged gently at Simon’s hair, your fingers still tangled in his locks as you managed to speak through a moan.

“This is one of the reasons I married you, Si,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and bliss.

He paused for a moment, glancing up at you with a cocky smirk, his lips glistening. “Is that so?” he teased, his voice low and rich, the warmth in his tone matched only by the glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving you made the right choice.”

Before you could respond, he resumed his focus, his touch and attention reminding you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

As your body trembled under his touch, your voice came out in a breathy whisper, the words tumbling out between moans.

“Another reason is… you’re so good to me,” you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension in your body coiled tighter. “Even though I’m a brat sometimes… you still love me.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a soft, almost tender smile playing on his lips even as he kept his focus. “Always,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending you closer to the edge.

His words, paired with the intensity of his actions, sent you spiraling, your climax crashing over you in a wave that left you breathless and utterly undone.

Simon stood, his movements deliberate as he shed his pants and boxers in one swift motion. His toned physique, now fully bare, radiated strength and confidence. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and detail as he leaned down, tugging your shirt off in a fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed beneath him.

Hovering over you, his warmth enveloped you as his lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss. The intensity of the makeout session sent your head spinning, your hands exploring his firm chest before sliding down, wrapping around his sheer size. Your touch elicited a low groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips as you slowly pumped him, feeling his weight and heat in your grasp.

Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved lower, finding your tightened nipple. He flicked it with his tongue before sucking gently, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. At the same time, the head of his cock teased your folds, sliding along your sensitive skin in slow, deliberate strokes, building anticipation with every movement. The combination of his touch and his skilled attention had your body arching toward him, craving more.

As the teasing continued, the overwhelming need to feel him took over. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, trying to pull him closer and push him inside you yourself. The desperation in your movements made him chuckle low in his throat, his tone dripping with amusement.

“So impatient, love,” Simon said, shaking his head slightly as a playful smirk curved his lips. His hand moved to your breast, delivering a firm yet playful slap that made you gasp, the sting mingling with the pleasure coursing through you.

“You’ve got to let me enjoy this,” he teased, his voice low and husky as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours again. “I’ll give you what you want, but only when I’m ready.”

Simon took his time, exploring every inch of your body with a precision that left you trembling beneath him. His hands, lips, and tongue traced over your skin, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. He seemed to revel in your every reaction, taking his sweet time, teasing and testing you until your body was wound so tight it felt like you might snap.

What felt like hours later, when you were on the edge of begging, he finally positioned himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into your core in one smooth motion, filling you completely. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation took hold of you.

“Finally,” you managed to whisper, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the sheer intensity of him. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of satisfaction and desire flashing in his gaze.

“Worth the wait, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his deep voice sending another shiver through you as he began to move, setting a rhythm that left you breathless.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him as you locked eyes with him, his big brown eyes dark with intensity. Your voice came out low but firm, trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Now choke me, Si,” you whispered, the request hanging heavy in the air between you.

His movements paused for just a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the edge of dominance returning to his expression.

“You really are a brat, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with that familiar authority. His hand moved up, brushing against your throat before settling there, firm but controlled, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Say the word if it’s too much,” he said, his voice dropping lower, the weight of his care evident even in his commanding tone. When you nodded, his grip tightened just enough to leave you breathless, amplifying the sensation of everything else as he moved with unrelenting purpose, his eyes never leaving yours.

Simon’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a rush of heat through your body, amplifying every sensation. Without hesitation, he began thrusting into you rough and fast, each movement deliberate and powerful. The sudden intensity had you arching beneath him, your hands clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your cries and screams filled the room, raw and uncontrollable, mingling with his low, guttural groans. The overwhelming sensations blurred the line between pleasure and pain, leaving you trembling and completely at his mercy. Tears streamed down your face, not from distress but from the sheer intensity of the moment, your body responding to him in ways that left you utterly undone.

“Look at you,” Simon growled, his voice thick with desire as his hand on your throat loosened slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Screaming for me like this… you’re perfect.”

His words only heightened your arousal, your body tightening around him as the pleasure built to a breaking point. You could feel the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap as he continued his relentless pace, determined to push you completely over the edge.

Your second climax hit like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as the release came with a splash. Simon pulled out briefly, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight—your release coating his thighs, cock, and the bed beneath you. A proud, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he ran a hand along your trembling body.

“You really are full of surprises, love,” he murmured, his tone filled with a mix of amusement and desire.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your mind still hazy from the intensity, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. Without hesitation, he pushed back into you, filling you once again as he resumed his relentless movements. His pace was just as intense, if not more so, driving you higher despite the overstimulation.

“Not done with you yet,” Simon growled, his voice low and commanding as his hips snapped against yours. His hands gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as he continued to take you apart, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your shaking form. The overwhelming sensations left you gasping, your mind spinning as he pushed you toward yet another peak.

Your body gave in entirely to the overwhelming sensations, trembling uncontrollably as you couldn’t stop squirting with each relentless thrust. The bed beneath you was soaked, your cries filling the room as overstimulation consumed you. Tears streamed down your face, the intensity leaving you shaking and gripping onto Simon like a lifeline.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails and even drawing blood in your desperation to ground yourself amidst the overpowering pleasure. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, your reaction only spurred him on. His groans grew deeper, rougher, as he chased his own release, his movements becoming erratic.

Finally, with a guttural growl of your name, Simon thrust deeply one last time, his release surging into your womb. His weight pressed against you as he buried his face into your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy. The warmth of his release filled you, and he stayed there for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle.

Still trembling, you clung to him, your body utterly spent. His arms wrapped around you protectively, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered softly, “You’re incredible, love. Always.”

Your trembling arms wrapped around Simon’s neck, holding onto him tightly, as though letting go might make the world fall away. Your body shook with aftershocks, your breath uneven as you clung to him, seeking comfort in his warmth and strength.

Simon’s hands roamed over your back, soothing you with soft strokes and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he said gently, his voice low and comforting as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Carefully, he shifted, pulling out of you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity you had just shared. A soft whimper escaped your lips at the sensation, but he was quick to gather you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispered, holding you close as he ran his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, grounding you as he kept you wrapped in his embrace.

You buried your face in his neck, unwilling to let go, the scent of him and the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside you. He stayed there with you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you come down at your own pace, his love and care wrapping around you like a cocoon.

Simon held you close for a moment longer before his voice broke through the haze, soft but firm. “Love, we gotta get up,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I need to clean you up… and we need new sheets,” he added, his gaze drifting to the mess between your thighs and the soaked bed beneath you.

You groaned softly, nuzzling into his neck, reluctant to let go. “Can’t we just stay like this a little longer?” you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he gently stroked your back. “As much as I’d love that, we’re not exactly in the best condition to keep lying here.” His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Come on, love. Let me take care of you.”

With a soft sigh, you nodded, though your arms stayed loosely draped around his neck. He kissed your forehead before carefully helping you sit up, his hands steadying you as your trembling body adjusted. “Let me grab a warm cloth and something for the bed,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on your knee before moving to take care of things.

You stayed where you were, your legs still open, trusting him completely as he knelt in front of you with a warm, damp cloth. His touch was gentle as he began to clean you up, his focus intent on being as careful as possible.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the cloth brushed over your sensitive skin, and you looked down at him, your voice trembling. “Si, careful… I’m so sensitive.”

He glanced up at you with a soft, apologetic smile, his brown eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m trying, love,” he said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he continued his careful work.

His free hand rested lightly on your thigh, a grounding touch meant to steady you as he moved the cloth over you with deliberate precision. Despite your sensitivity, his care and attention helped you relax bit by bit, his patience and love evident in every motion.

“Almost done,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before finishing, ensuring you were comfortable and clean before setting the cloth aside. “There we go. All taken care of,” he said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction as he stood, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Simon froze mid-step, his eyes widening as realization struck. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“What?” you asked, suddenly alarmed, your body tensing at his tone.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.” Grabbing his boxers, he quickly pulled them on and strode to the bedroom door, which had been open the whole time. Your stomach sank as you watched him leave.

In the living room, Simon stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Johnny sprawled on the couch, his face a mix of mortification and sheer disbelief.

“Johnny,” Simon began, his voice low and cautious. “What did you hear?”

Without missing a beat, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon, then quickly away, his ears turning bright red. “Everything,” he said, his voice flat and tinged with awkwardness.

Simon groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then back to his visibly uncomfortable friend. “For fuck’s sake, Johnny. You couldn’t knock or announce yourself?”

Johnny shrugged, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. “Didn’t think I’d need to, mate. Thought I’d be welcomed like usual—not treated to… that.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Annoyed that Simon hadn’t come back, you walked out of the bedroom, forgetting—or not caring—that you were still completely naked. The moment you stepped into the living room, Simon and Johnny’s heads whipped toward you, both sets of eyes widening in shock.

“Bloody hell!” Johnny exclaimed, immediately covering his face with his hands, though the damage was clearly done.

Simon’s reaction was instant and instinctive. Without saying a word, he bolted toward you, his expression a mix of frustration and protectiveness. In a flash, he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Si!” you yelped, your fists lightly pounding his back in protest as he made a beeline for the stairs.

“Not a fucking chance I’m letting Johnny get another second of this view,” Simon growled, his voice low and clipped. He carried you back into the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him with a firm thud, and set you down on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

“What were you thinking, love?” he asked, hands on his hips, though his tone was more amused than angry.

“I was wondering why you didn’t come back,” you replied with a shrug, though a flush crept across your cheeks.

“I wanted more cuddles, Si,” you say, pouting as you sit on the bed, watching him with big, pleading eyes.

Simon sighs, a soft smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re unbelievable, love,” he mutters, walking over and pulling you into his arms. “But I’ll give you all the cuddles you want—after I deal with Johnny.”

Simon strides back into the living room where Johnny is still sitting, clearly trying to process everything he’s just witnessed. Simon waves a hand dismissively. “Sorry about that, Johnny. Do whatever you want—I need to get back to Y/N. She wants more cuddles.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to head back upstairs.

“Uh, LT,” Johnny calls out, his voice laced with concern and disbelief. “Your back is bleeding. What the hell did she do to you?”

Simon glances over his shoulder, smirking slightly. “It’s part of the territory, Johnny,” he says nonchalantly before disappearing upstairs, leaving Johnny sitting there, dumbfounded and speechless.

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[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

what do you think about using people’s preferred pronouns?

Here's what Scripture says.

There are two genders, man and woman. Period. You cannot change your sexuality. You weren’t born the wrong way. God created you exactly as He intended you to be. Rejecting that is rejecting Him. Saying He was wrong. And that’s a sin- pride. But then that pride leads to more sin of the sexual kind, which in turn leads to your entire lifestyle being sinful.

Sidenote: This kind of sin is literally no better or worse than other sin, to be clear. I really think it’s distasteful how so much of ‘Christian’ culture just slam dunks on LGBTQIA more so than other sin. Is it bad and should be called out? 100%! But that doesn’t make it worse than other sin. Having an idol is just as sinful. Being an addict to a substance is just as sinful. Having uncontrollable wrath is just as sinful. Having straight lust is just as sinful. I could go on. Basically what I’m saying here is that being queer shouldn’t be put into a separate box that gets extra hate from Christians because it’s ‘other’. Because THAT is ALSO sin. Christians who use the queer community as a punching bag and going after them with the Bible as an excuse are sinning just as much and are just as wrong about this.

So. That is all 100% Scripture. Up to this point, all Christians who believe in Gods Word should agree with this. But this next part is more of a gray area, and is now my personal conviction when it comes to this.

Whenever I'm talking to someone who identifies as queer and wants to be refered to pronouns that are not their biological ones casually, I try to use their name as much as possible. If I'm talking to someone who believes that they are a woman when they are in fact a man, if I say what they're doing is okay by calling them a girl, I think that is Not Great. Using a name feels different to me. So when talking to people as strangers or acquaintances, who I don't know very well, or at all, I'll use whatever name they call themself.

I think that some pronouns are utterly ridiculous to be blunt. I’m not going to refer to someone as an animal or fairy or other neo pronouns that are ridiculous. That is just TOTALLY wild to want to be referred to as not even human and I won’t refer to someone like that. That's where I draw the line. But also to be fair, I do not believe I have ever interacted with someone IRL who wants to be treated in that manner, so I am not as clear on that.

BUT- here's where I think some Christians might get upset with me.

At the end of the day I think it is better to use these pronouns, even if they are wrong, than to alienate these people.

Hear me out.

I know a handful of people who identify under the LGBTQIA banner- acquaintances who I interact with regularly, or even actual good personal friends who I love and respect for who they are and who love and respect me for who I am. Some are gay. Some are trans. Some are non-binary. Etc. All of them are very aware of my faith. And I am very aware of their beliefs. And in conversation with them or about them, I do sometimes refer to them by the prounouns they prefer. And because I have done this, it has directly impacted our relationship to where they respect me and like me for who I am, and because of that get to see the light of Christ in my life, rather than just looking at my faith, thinking 'She belongs to this group of people that openly that hates me and people like me' (whether or not that's true, that's what society believes about Christians unfortunately) and then not engaging with me.

Because the way they see it, their queerness is their identity. And if you directly (from their POV) hurt and disrespect and attack that by refusing to call them a 'they' rather than a 'her', then they won't listen to anything you have to say.

See, the thing about spreading the Gospel and preaching to the nations, from my experience, is that you first have to connect with someone on a personal level before you show them why they connected with you and what is different about you- Jesus. Yeah, there is street evangelism, but in my experience that only ever works if God has been working on their hearts already before someone stops them on the street to chat about Christ. It truly and utterly working to give someone a real and total conversion experience that sticks right in the moment is kinda rare. I certianly don't believe all the videos Christian influencers make on it. Otherwise its an emotional hit deal. Or it just alienates them further from Christians being so forceful on them. And so I think that if I can take the steps to connect with someone who is queer as a person first, by treating them in the way that they believe respect works, then its going to be a lot easier and nautral for me to introduce the subject of Jesus' death on the cross for our sins. They like me and respect me, so they'll listen to what I have to say when they see that it is important to me. Because that's how friendship works.

OR, this has 100% happened before multiple times, THEY have brought up the topic of sexuality and pronouns FIRST, before we've talked about anything beyond our favorite ship or the coffee we both order each time we go to this one special place. MULTIPLE TIMES, they've broached the topic of "Every Christian I have ever talked to before in my entire life has treated me with disrespect and refused to call me the way I want to be called. You are the first kind and respectful Christian to queer people I have ever met. Even though I know you disagree with what my sex is. You're still nice. Why?" And then from there I get to talk about what the Bible actually teaches and what God's rescue plan for us actually is and what it all means.

See what I'm going for here? On the one hand, affirming gender identity isn't ideal, but on the other, it is what can allow you to show them what the Gospel actually is. And that a lot of 'Christians' aren't Christian. And they are totally right that some people use it as an excuse to be hateful. 'Christian' parents who reject their gay children and cut them out of their lives are 100% wrong and sinning and WILL be condemmed for it. They are right about that. So by doing what I do, by refering to them in the way they see as respectful in certain cases, I've made connections, and planted seeds, and gotten them to understand why I believe what I believe. I've done what Christ has called me to do- preached the Gospel. Now it's up to Him and the person in question to do with that information what they will.

Now could I be wrong about this? 100%. I don’t know everything. But I have arrived at this conclusion not because it sounds good or is the easiest option, but through close examination of the Word, and through where I truly do believe that the Spirit has lead me in prayer. If someone who is spiritually mature with good moral standing who I respect wants to correct me, then by all means do so and I will listen and think about it, just like I would and have before with any other issue. But until then, this is my conviction.

[botanikos]

Image text: It's Lisa Simpson giving her presentation with the words "I blocked and deleted anons for months, and left this blog/Stolas only for it to all keep going anyway."

Today, while singing around the kitchen after having a hard time at work, I had some "post-stress clarity" or whatever you want to call it.

I have been so exhausted, anxious, and genuinely saddened by the ongoing anonymous tirade that continues to mention my name (and others — but I don't speak for them, only myself). So allow me to make some clarifying statements, shall we? Not that I owe anyone a single word... besides, those I am close with or who know me know the truth. And let me just say thank you.

To everyone else, I refuse to apologize for making this post. As a victim of this circlejerk of an anonymous harassment campaign that people don't want to acknowledge or take seriously and just label as regular old "drama" even though it's been going on for months and that is fucking WILD — I am tired of keeping quiet. So here it is, why I "left."

1. My very first anonymous "criticism" was not that at all. I still wouldn't classify it as "hate" either, despite what others thought of it at the time. However, I have come to the conclusion now, months later, that it is entirely possible, and very likely, they mistook me for someone else. "Jude, that is awfully generous" ; no it isn't. It's what I believe to be true. My URL, at the time before it was changed to botanikos, was very similar to another person's. Knowing what I do now, it makes sense. No harm, no foul.

2. I have no real proof of who has been / is / was sending the constant barrage of anonymous messages. The Cam blog stepped up and said it was them. I believe they played a part in it, for sure, but considering things are STILL being said and I received messages even after blocking them. . . Huh. Interesting, don't you think? Anyways. . . That being said — Not once have I ever made a post about or directed towards another name that has been consistently mentioned in all of this, yet my posts were stolen and used. Linked, of course, because I took the reblog feature away. So again. . . The only things I have ever addressed are a select very few (2-3 messages at most) anonymous asks. I have. . . So many screenshots of messages I consistently received. Let that sink in.

3. "Just ignore and block. They will stop." If that were true, do you think I would have left this blog? No. Again, I don't know who is behind any of this, but it doesn't take rocket science to realize it's because I write Stolas and started befriending people? I assume that is what I am guilty of and what drew the attention? Coz otherwise, WHAT is the reason FOR ALL OF THIS/THAT? I'll wait, if anyone has a valid explanation. . .

4. Yea. I DID make a new blog! Wow! It's almost like I felt unsafe and anxious on this one after everything that's happened/been going on! And the only real way I saw myself regaining control of the situation was to take a few days away, shut down this blog, and start anew?!?! And even still, my name is being dragged around to other people. . . Funny how cowards don't want to ask or talk to me themselves about whatever curiosities they have. Huh! But no longer surprising. I'm just disappointed that I know 6 year olds with more decency and respect than the adults over here.

At this point, I am acutely aware that whoever is behind this, while I may not know their direct identity. . . It is SOMEONE or a group of people who are either close friends with one another and have interacted with me on some level (or the people around me) or they are someone I am close to and unaware of their double standards.

So, of course, I'm going to use a different name and different blog, be private and highly selective, and slow to follow people back or write anymore. Because my spirit and desire to be here while not entirely gone has been severely broken. If you feel like you need anything made clear or confirmed from me, just ask. I have screenshots of everything I need/felt was necessary. I'm an open book. Talk to me in private if you need anything more from me. But there's your explanation.

So let it fucking go. At this point, I'm done being sad about it; now I'm just furious. And if saying all of this makes you dislike me or question my character, I hope you take a moment to do a little reflecting yourself, too. Because nothing I've said above is in any way demeaning. I have given you my experience(s). This blog has brought me so much joy, and sparked new friendships that I am grateful for. But the fact remains that I had to leave. I have to be someplace else, and I'm not even fully present there either.

[tulip-room]

ramekins and fondue - m. osamu || wc: 1.4k || tags: next door neighbors -> lovers, pining, notes left on the door, fondue date, fluffy, short and sweet <3 || hq works

It starts out with needing sugar and a tentative knock on a wooden door. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she says as the door opens and reveals a man behind it. He looks to be in his mid twenties and he’s wearing a loose shirt, his hair is tousled like he just rolled out of bed. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”

“It’s fine, is there something you need?” He lifts up a hand to cover his mouth as he yawns. 

“I need some sugar, if you don’t have any I can go to the store or pay you back or something–” he cuts her off with a small smile.

“I have some, you don’t have to pay me back or anything.” He opens the door wider and beckons for her to follow him inside so she carefully steps over the barrier and closes the door behind her with a click. “Here,” his voice rings out from around the corner as she hears a cabinet creak open and close. He hands her a bag of sugar that has a red clip keeping it closed. “You can have the rest of it, I needed to get more anyway.” She smiles and takes the bag from him with an appreciative nod.

“Thank you, I’ll treat you to coffee or something.” 

“Alright, I’m not home this early most nights but I can maybe squeeze you in during a lunch break on the weekend.”

“Okay,” She closes the door behind her and takes a deep breath. Interacting with people should not be as difficult as it is. It’s just her neighbor and all she’s doing is asking for sugar so she can put it in her coffee. When she closes the door of her apartment she’s greeted by her cat and she immediately sets the sugar on the coffee table and picks him up. “Hi baby,” she kisses his small head and smiles when he starts purring, she sets him down and returns to the kitchen with her bag of sugar and finishes making her coffee. 

The next time she sees him is when a note is posted on her door telling her to come over. She laughs and puts her purse down on the couch before making her way over to his door. She holds the note up and waves it once he opens the door. “I thought you weren’t usually home this early?”

“I can make exceptions.” She rolls her eyes with a laugh and follows him inside of his home. She smells the food and hums with delight. “Did you make me dinner before I even got your name?”

“It’s Osamu.” He jests with her and she lets out a small laugh. He pulls the chair out for her at the kitchen island and pushes it back in once she sits down. “This is what I want for you taking the last of my sugar.”

“To be fair, you never told me when we should meet for coffee and you never asked for anything back.”

“This is what I want, you to have dinner with me.”

“I guess I can accept that.” There is a silence that settles around the room as she watches him finish cooking. His hands move with practiced ease as he goes around the kitchen. She can see his shirt is nicer than she’s used to seeing him wear. Usually he leaves the house in a black shirt that has a few stubborn stains on them although it’s clear the shirt had been washed. He usually wears pajama pants and when she asked him about it one day he said he was going to work. 

“What do you do for work?” She asks as a steaming bowl of food is placed in front of her, her mouth waters slightly and she waits for it to cool down before taking a bite. The flavors melt in her mouth and she hums as she takes another bite.

“I’m a chef, I own my own restaurant actually.” He leans against the counter on the other side and blows on his own bite of food.

“I can’t believe I’m getting this for free,” the statement causes him to laugh and he shakes his head.

“Come by the shop anytime and I’ll set something aside for you.” 

“Aww come on, you can’t show blatant favoritism like that,” she teases and she can feel the smile etch itself onto her face. 

“It’s my restaurant, or you can just come over here. Anytime really.”

“I’ll have to take you up on the offer,” they eat dinner in silence and just as she puts her shoes back on to leave the apartment he stops her. 

“You can stay a little longer if you want, it’s barely dark out.”

“If you insist,” she kicks her shoes off once more and sits on the couch with him. By the end of the movie his arm has found it’s way around her shoulder and her head found its way to his chest. They stay like that even after the credits roll, too scared to move in case the moment ends. She ends up being the first to move as she feels a cramp in her foot. “I suppose I should go home.”

He feels disappointment settle in his chest as he helps her up and walks her to the door. “See you soon?”

“I guess,” she teases and he doesn’t go back into his home until he hears her door lock. 

Over the next few months she’s visited him at the restaurant on days she had computer work. She always pays, and he conveniently cleans tables around her as an excuse to talk but he refuses to say it although they both know it. 

Within six months she feels closer to him than she has to anyone in a long time. She has a coat at his apartment and a toothbrush incase she leaves from his house for work instead of her own. Her table at Onigiri Miya is always clean and empty even during a lunch rush. Both of their friends at frustrated as they refuse to say. 

When she gets home from work she finds a note on her day reminiscent of when they first started doing whatever you want to call what they’re doing. She pulls out her key ring and unlocks his apartment, the lighting is lower than usual and she follows the noises to the kitchen and sets her bag down on the couch. “And what’s all this?” She says behind a poorly contained smile. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here yet,” he glares jokingly at her and turns around with a wooden spoon still in his hand. There are heart shaped ceramic containers on the table with candles under them and pieces of fruit cut and displayed on his nice plates. “Close your eyes and pretend you didn’t see this yet.” She laughs but goes along with it as she sits down at a seat. She can feel a hat be placed on her head and can feel his lips press gently against the skin on her forehead. 

“You’re not sneaky you know.”

“I know.” She hears more pots and pans clash as he rummages with things, hears the clinks of the ceramic against the table and then hears the sound of his chair scraping against the wood. She knows there’s a scratch on the wood from the metal of the chair scraping against it so often. “Okay, you can open you eyes.”

“Do I need to ask what all this is for?” She looks around at the fondue set up with a smile as her chin rests in her hand.

“It’s for your birthday, okay, I admit it.”

“Thank you.”

“Happy birthday darling,” his hand reaches out and skewers a piece of fruit before dipping it in the cheese and extending it out to her. She sighs happily as the taste hits her tongue and she can’t help but shake her head.

“Did you call off work today?”

“Possibly, I’m sure everything is fine. Let’s not talk about work.”

They sit at the table occasionally feeding each other bits of food and Osamu is grateful to his past self for putting down a discardable tablecloth under the food. There’s bits of cheese when he takes it off the table and the dishes sit in the sink when they make it over to the couch to enjoy the rest of their evening.

They don’t need to say what they mean to each other, it’s evident in the way the spare key jingles on her key ring and in the way that there are heart shaped dishes with the price tags still on the bottom in the sink. Love isn’t always something that needs to be said.

taglist (gen, fill out this form) @cheriisae @cherrysurf @hiraethwa @hatsukeii @szyvrue @darthferbert @localgaytrainwreck

this is for the very special, very lovely @solzscribblez as it is their birthday today <33 I hope you're having a wonderful birthday darling and that it's filled with all of your birthday wishes coming true and that you've gotten time to relax and enjoy yourself. I love you and hope you're doing well darling <3

[somerandomcockroach]

Okay, but decepticon Prowl didn't plan and prepare and properly defect from the decpticons, he was thrown out.

The ask that mentioned him being a bad shot got me thinking.

We rarely see Prowl as a bad shot, so either one of two things are going on

1.) Prowl is just not emtionally invested in this fight and is running too many numbers for something else but he has to be here against his will

2.) Prowl is intentionally shooting certain deceptions because "they threaten the future of the decepticons" (they threaten and beat up Prowl)

So after enough "bad shots" the grunts of the decepticon base Prowl was stationed on (as barricade) beat him up, and throw him out. Prowl is annoyed by this because obviously he is important but he can't reveal himself without ruining his cover. So he goes planet hitch-hiking to get back to Megatron and obviously get reinstated and protection.

While planet hopping, "Barricade" meets Jazz who is currently under the name of Meiser since he is infiltrating and taking a look at some decepticon territory. Barricade does not know that Meiser has been following him since he got thrown out. Barricade also does not know that Meiser has his suspicions about who he is. Afterall, there aren't a lof of praxians left in the deception forces, and this one has some dumb gold paint on his cheveron that has already started to flake and show red in these harsh outdoor conditions.

Barricade does think that Meiser is either an autobot spy (since he is not accounted for in any of Prowl's databases and battlefield simulations), or has a major glitch in his logic circuits that got him kicked out and now desperate for any social interaction (which must be the reason why he is hanging around Barricade, since no one ever actually willingly hung out around him before, and especially nobody hangs out with Prowl).

Things keep happening that try to kill "Barricade". But luckly clumsy Meiser is right there to "accidentally" shoot the problem right in the processor. Barricade does not remember Meiser having a gun on him. Or a knife. Or that feral of a smile. But anyways he has places to be and a mech to see.

Prowl intends on turning in Meiser-the-spy or just ordering the death of Meiser-the-idiot once he gets back to Megatron. Especially since through this adventure, Prowl has learned that Meiser will listen to a long thought out and perfect plan, then immidiately go do his own thing, so he can't be used as some disposable pawn in one of Prowls plans.

Evnetually Prowl gets back to Megatron. It is unfortunate that this regrouping happens on an open battle-field, but Prowl predicts that the decepticons will have to make a hastly retreat in 27.8 joors and does not want to miss his ride home. He expects to be welcomed by Megatron, updated on all battle field data, and then sent to the safety of the back of the lines to go sip a cube and win this battle.

Except Megatron has noticed that decepticons tend to have more friendly fire where ever he sends Prowl. And Prowl has already given him predictions and battle maps and troop movement plans for the next 100 vorn. And honestly? Megatron has wanted to punch Prowl for a while now.

So he does just that. One moment Prowl is clearing his vocalizer to get his attention while he is OBVIOSLY busy beating up an autobot. And the next moment Prowl is 12 feets away with a large fist-sized crater in his chest. Serves that nerd right.

Prowl goes offline. Not from the injury. But from the glitch that spawned when Megatron didn't welcome him back and start a much needed debreif.

Anyways, Prowl wakes up in the autobot medbay.

HELP, oh you all really don't like Prowl and want him punched ahagsgga

In my mind it's hard to turn events to that. You see, I think Megatron would treat Prowl like autobots treat Ratchet. Megatron is ruthless in the way he treats his warriors, they fight for "freedom" so someone's life is worth it. Prowl always gives 99% successful plan with minimal risks. And these plans work because Megatron accepts them. Decepticons can say nothing but they hate "Prowl" behind all these plans, because they can see that they are turning in even more bugs than they were before. Before it looked at least like a live or die battle. Now it is a straight order of dying in their cases. But hey, ahah, who is this "Prowl"? There is only Barricade and a possibility of his hidden identity leaking, it's just Megatron can't keep his optics on him 24/7 so making him second identity is a good way of preventing him from instant death. I actually want to think of the ways Starscream could switch his attention to Prowl and not like him because he can't be bribed. "With such tactician even I can be a leader" and Prowl just "-_-".

Prowl is left without voice, tracking, comms, everything is done to not let Megatron find him, but he will search for him even if everyone tells him he is dead. Prowl just need to fix everything and not let others find any info on him and somehow leave to send a signal. So I bet there are much more layers to all of that. For Megatron to want to punch him he needs to be like Starscream or be a Sentinel Prime.

Pffht, imagine you see a very beaten up Decepticon, clearly beaten up by his own people. Everything that allows to track you is ripped off. What does it mean? They wanted to get rid of him while making it look like he died of accident in the end, they got all they needed from him and left him to suffer. Means he had something valuable within him and clearly will be more anticipating in the interrogation with autobots. Revenge takes a place, wouldn't it? So even if Jazz is in a good condition and finds him, he clearly will bring him to Autobot base right away. Prowl will not search the way on his own, he will be thrown out where it is impossible to get out by his own, Junkion, so his priority also will be to get saved even if go with autobots with the possibility of revealing his identity and he will make everything to not let it happen

[spikeface]

hiiii hello if you would ever like to rant about teen wolf s6a please do <3 i'm like five episodes in on my rewatch and i'm constantly oscillating between peeking at my phone like a proper zoomer and repeatedly asking myself where is theo my friend enemy theo.... i know he's here where is he...

Omg okay I will but you have to understand that this is the distillation of years in this fandom, the once loose coal of my irritation compressed into a diamond of haterism. There are parts of this season I love, and I've made peace with some of the stuff I complain about here. 

But we're not here for peace. :)

Never Say "Pineal Gland" Again. The Ghost Riders are fun as a plot device. People being kidnapped and forgotten, a mystical train station, that's fun! Teen Wolf loves monstrous, seemingly unknowable villains, and does great with them in two ways, both of which 6A fails at:

The first option is to get inside their heads. The alpha of season 1, the kanima, the darach, the nogitsune, the Dread Doctors—all are introduced as deeply alien creatures whose inner lives and personal connections to the main cast are slowly revealed. 6A seems like it's going down that route, because the crew spends a lot of time trying to figure out and talk to the Ghost Riders, but there's no payoff: they just want to hunt forever and that's that. No personal history with anyone, no connections beyond a willingness to mind control Parrish and a bit of nervous shuffling around Lydia.

Which might still be fine, because the second option with characters like these is to make them window dressing for a charismatic villain, a la the oni with the nogitsune or the berserkers with Kate. This framework would be great for 6A if not for the fact that the villain in this case is Garrett "Brain-Eating Nazi Lion Wolf" Douglas. 

Douglas does not get enough hate. I get that he's so forgettable, what else is there to say besides "blech," but we can do better. Teen Wolf has such fun villains: they're dramatic and camp, while also intimate and personal. They have deep connections with the main crew and almost always have a sympathetic side to them. Even the nogitsune, the most alien of the main villains, has an almost plaintive moment where it reminds Noshiko that it's only doing what it was created to, what she summoned it for.

Nothing about Douglas is challenging or charismatic or sympathetic or aesthetically appealing or well acted. Davis had a bad habit of hiring wooden blonde hunks as far back as the mechanic of season 2, and now there's one as a main villain. Douglas's closest connection is to Theo—their scene in the shed is easily Douglas's most engaging, though that doesn't say much—but their connection is superficial. How would Douglas even know who Theo was if he spent those years floating unconscious in a vat? 

His final showdown is deeply unsatisfying. By the time Scott faces him, they've barely interacted so far. What does it mean for Scott to challenge him? What does he mean to Scott? How has Scott grown to be able to face him? Why does Douglas want this power anyway? Why would this Nazi be telling a Mexican-American that he'd be a fine Hitler youth? What the fuck is happening here? 

In the end, Peter rightly points out that a brain-eating Nazi is such a low bar to clear that taking a stand against him is almost meaningless. Douglas is a mockery of the complex, charismatic, intimate, high-stakes villains of previous seasons. Damnatio memoriae is too good for him; we need to remember how bad he sucks.

If Only We Knew Someone With Lightning Powers. Dropping Arden Cho unceremoniously was gross. Following that with a season of lightning villains is gross. Having Kira's only legacy be a sword that is then given away and broken, after everything she sacrificed for it, is just foul.

Would It Kill You To Let Them Go To Prom? Teen Wolf is only sporadically interested in high school life. Sometimes, it's part of the show's appealing silliness, but 6a's indifference just gets to me. This is the final semester of senior year for Scott and co., but we get absolutely nothing. Stiles misses that final semester and apparently, so do we! There's no classes, barely any lacrosse, and definitely no prom or graduation or college acceptance letters, nothing that acknowledges this season as a rite of passage. Any hints to the characters' future are condensed into a few lines at the end. C'mon, man.

It goes beyond the expectations of a teen show. Davis is so indifferent to his characters that in the next season, he makes all the characters who should be juniors into seniors, just to add on a flimsy narrative about things ending. It's lazy. 6A, to me, also really brings out how little Davis has invested in the world of Beacon Hills. Beyond Coach, there are so few consistent background characters. The high school class, lacrosse team, hospital, and sheriff's department are all prime opportunities for recurring background characters, but the show only bothers with a few (e.g. Brett&Lori, Sydney, Danny until they dropped him without even telling the actor). Nathan, Gwen, and Phoebe are all new characters, rather than people who have existed in the background before this, and after this season, they disappear again. There's very little sense of the world of either the high school or the town in general, and it stands out in a season where the whole town is being targeted.

The Newest Werewolf. Hayden was a minor character in season 5, but still had a lot going on: a close relationship with her sister strained by the supernatural; having to work a shitty job to afford the medications for her life-threatening condition; being targeted by the Doctors; being pursued by a boy she's not sure if she likes; trying to flirt when she's naturally competitive and sarcastic; DYING; being revived by Theo and then exploited by him; fighting the Demon Wolf's attempts to get in her head; deciding to help her friends; walking a fine line to survive the Beast when she's kidnapped by him; discovering Tracy's body. Her life is rich, and ends with a groundbreaking moment where she's the first person onscreen that becomes a werewolf with fully informed consent.

In 6A, she's flattened into Liam's love interest. Almost all of her scenes are with him, and her decisions are almost entirely about him. Many of her lines are about reassuring him. The exception is her dynamic with Gwen, which is much more engaging, and to me only shows how much more they could have done with Hayden if they just let her cook. Why is Liam the only one to get scenes alone with Theo? Surely she and Theo would have stuff to say to each other. Or what about her relationship with Scott? Why is Liam the only beta to have an arc with him? Where's her relationship with her sister??

The Wailing Woman. This should have been such a good season for Lydia. The groundwork is all there! Banshees have a special power over the Ghost Riders, and to placate them, the Ghost Riders create a facsimile of someone the banshee has lost.

Hmm, whom has Lydia lost recently? Whose presence might give her a vested interest in ignoring evidence of the Wild Hunt? 

Allison would have been perfect as the deceptive product of the Wild Hunt, and would have matched the framework the show established far better than Claudia. Part of the reason the Hunt falls apart is because Lydia is instantly suspicious of Claudia, and has no emotional investment in her. With Allison, Lydia would get to say goodbye to her in a way that matches the season being set in the final semester of high school. 

This would also have built on season 5 in fruitful ways. Lydia's power makes her a target in season 5, but she has almost no agency over her power. She's driven to blow Valack's head off without any control over it. 6A could be about Lydia realizing that this fake Allison has been created for her because the Wild Hunt is afraid of her power, but only if she chooses to use it.

And with respect to Allison, Lydia has more grieving to do. She's been struggling to process her death since it happened. She spends all of season 4 trying to find a way to help people as a response to Allison's death, but then is locked in a basement for the finale. In season 5, she has to be told by Stiles about Allison's role in defeating the Beast. Lydia deserves a season in which she can properly grieve Allison. She's literally the wailing woman! Let her wail!

As a final note, I'll add that I was frustrated with the way Stydia was done in this season. I dislike it strongly but waffled on including it because I've never been a big Stydia shipper, and so I worry that this criticism will seem motivated by my disinterest in the ship, rather than my frustration with its execution. My issue, though, is not Stydia itself but how little the show explored Lydia's subjectivity. 

Imho 6a substitutes Lydia remembering Stiles for her liking him, and prioritizes exploring his feelings over hers. It's clear from the first episode that Stiles is still in love with her, even if he's accepted they'll never be a romantic couple—which is one of my favorite things about Stiles, and a great part of O'Brien's portrayal. But when it comes to Lydia liking Stiles, the show focuses on how she's the one to remember him. But that's also, apparently, because she's a banshee? They focus on that at the expense of her personal feelings for him, and when the scene is most explicitly about their connection—in the memory landscape sequence of "Memory Found"—the focus is on Stiles' feelings for her. It just didn't seem like it was about Lydia in a meaningful way. The previous season, she'd been into Parrish, which is a pairing I despise and don't want to see more of, but the fact remains it was important to Lydia. The lack of exploration of how Lydia had ended it or moved on from it felt like more dismissal of her experiences. Stydia seemed like it was ultimately about making sure the audience knew Stiles is important, at the expense of a real exploration of their dynamic, which I discuss more below.

You Don't Have To Stop But Could You. So, okay, stay with me on this one. I loved that Theo returned, and thought they did some great things with him, BUT that's not why we're gathered here today. Despite enjoying a lot about Theo's dreamscape sequence, I was really frustrated by the way it framed Tara and what its impact was clearly intended to be.

I really loved the first scenes of Theo's return: he's dirty, angry, confused, and biting. He looks exhausted with his own bullshit, but instantly attacks Liam and Hayden and then threatens to kill everyone, and lies by omission about Douglas (and his own powers?), reflexively playing his cards close to the vest. He's looking out for himself and averse to personal risk. I thought they did a good job of presenting a Theo who has the potential to change, but hasn't yet. He's not really ready to see Scott and Malia again, and reverts to flippancy. 

We also get a scene in “Ghosted” of how deeply Theo hurt Malia. She hallucinates his betrayal in connection with her guilt about her own family; both of them are still deep wounds for her. It makes sense that she would lose control at the sight of Theo suddenly showing up in Scott's living room with a little "you aren't still upset about the whole shooting thing, are you?"

But then the episode ends!

And the next one starts with the Tara dreamscape.

Again, I don't want to sound like I disliked this sequence full stop. I've written meta about its relationship with Scott's dreamscape sequence and what it says about Theo, but I remain frustrated with how the basic impact is about generating sympathy for Theo. Tara is the victim the viewer knows least (vs Josh or Tracy or Scott), her death the most ambiguous (we only see Theo watching in what could be a daze, like the one pre-resurrection Tracy was in), and her only role in this sequence is to hurt Theo. She doesn't have any subjectivity beyond that: she's not Theo's sister, betrayed by her little brother's violence towards her, ready to explain her point of view. She's a gory ghost who barely reacts to Theo, a walking prop.

Theo, meanwhile, is there to be pitiable. When he was pulled under, he was powerful, and attacking everyone, and wearing shoes. Now he wanders barefoot through the hospital, and at the sight of Tara, he just runs. Beyond some frustration with the door, there's none of the vicious anger he showed in season 5. 

To be clear, it's not that I think Theo shouldn't be pitied or doesn't have this vulnerability, and Cody Christian does a stellar job with this scene, which is also beautifully atmospheric. But in terms of the impact of the scene on the viewer, it's there to create pity for Theo at the expense of grappling with any of the violence he did. It frustrates me because the sequence easily could have addressed his violence while still making him look sympathetic.

Theo was trapped in and perpetuated a cycle of violence. The viewers don't know the full truth about Tara, but we do with Scott, Josh, and Tracy. Theo killed them. What's more, we know all three tried to have a connection with him: Josh followed him post-resurrection despite the fact that Theo had been the one to kill him the first time; Scott wanted Theo in his pack, trusted him, and tried to be there for him; and Tracy was in love with him, trying to help him, without judgement, even when he was at his lowest. It would have been much more meaningful to have Theo face them instead of Tara, or at least in addition to her. 

It also would have been more meaningful to have Theo reckon with his capacity to do violence, rather than his fear of suffering it. We all know Theo is scared of being hurt; Theo knows most of all. He's even honest about it: "I don't want to be one of the bodies, it's that simple." What he has more trouble with is confronting how he perpetuates a cycle of violence, or even that he's in one. The dream sequence as it is does have Theo confront the idea of an endless, unchanging cycle, but it would have been much more effective to have that cycle be about the violence Theo did.

Think about how it would have looked if, once Tara dragged Theo down, Theo went on to reenact any of the violence he did, over and over and over. He could push Tara off the bridge over and over, but it'd be even more impactful to have him kill Josh over and over. He already killed him twice, but now he has to do it forever.

Scott stands there, barely on his feet, betrayed and weary, and says, "Now you have to kill me yourself." 

And Theo does, over and over. 

Tracy tells him, over and over, "You're hurt. You need time to heal." 

And Theo kills her for it, over and over. 

You'd get the same progression towards despair, but now it would be much more about Theo confronting what he did. It would still be a sympathetic depiction of a lost kid, shaped and trapped by brutal forces, while addressing his own choices, and why Malia might be so upset to see him.

As it stands, the sequence undermines Theo's history and Malia's reasonable reaction to him. We get her flashback/hallucination, Theo's inflammatory return, but then an episode break, followed by an extended sequence in which Theo is nothing but helpless and pitiable, finally followed by Malia's rage. Her reaction is divorced from the catalysts of the previous episode, and the scene of her anger even contains a callback to the dreamscape ("you don't have to stop"). I've made my peace with it, but it remains frustrating as a choice from Davis, who wrote this episode.

Malia Middle Name Tate.* Again, there's a lot I love about what they do with Malia in 6A, but now is not the time for love. So much of Malia's screentime is about Stiles and Peter at her expense. Those are both huge relationships for Malia, but they're not explored on her terms. 

The last we saw of her and Stiles, they'd broken up over a complicated situation. Stiles ends things at a self-destructive moment, as Malia tells him she would accept him even if he did kill Donovan. In some ways, I think Stiles is punishing her for this acceptance out of self-loathing, but it's also about the fact that Malia's acceptance is clearly tied to her own desire to kill the Desert Wolf. She accepts what might be Stiles' violence because she wants him to accept that she plans to kill Corinne, and Stiles isn't cool with that. The two never speak about it again, though, even though Malia subsequently doesn't kill Corinne. By season 6, the two obviously have baggage, as seen in their clash over the senior portrait. 

Once Stiles is gone, we see that he's still her anchor. I thought this was an interesting choice, because Scott and Allison's breakup was what forced Scott to be his own anchor. It would have been interesting to see that for Malia, or for her to decide that she still wants Stiles to be her anchor as a friend, or any sort of arc where she processes the breakup or her own feelings or makes decisions about Stiles for herself. Instead, the anchor concept seems to exist to remind the viewer how important Stiles is in general: he's Malia's anchor! Look how lost she is without him! Stiles simply must be rescued from the Wild Hunt! Malia isn't the one to break through the veil, however, and after he's back, there's still no sense of what this means for Malia. Her subjectivity re: Stiles is just ignored. After he comes back, she doesn’t even get a scene to greet him.

It's even worse with her "arc" with Peter. The last we see of those two is in the finale of season 4, when Peter betrays her. After going out of his way to get close to her, he literally tosses her aside and tries to kill her friends. Season 5 begins with Malia confirming that she's Malia Tate, not Malia Hale. She then forgets Peter until he returns from the Wild Hunt, when she goes to take his pain and is suddenly struck with the memory of his betrayal. That's the entirety of their relationship. 

Meanwhile, Peter is busy carving the biggest revenge spiral of his life in Eichen, suggesting he hasn't changed much from the end of season 4, before he's swept away by the Wild Hunt. I didn't dislike his scenes with Stiles at the train station, but to the extent that it's about his relationship with Malia, it cuts out Malia. Stiles' contempt for how alone Peter is as a result of his actions is good, as is his desperate plea for Peter to help his daughter, if no one else—but Malia sees none of this. She goes to Peter after his return only because he seems marginally less horrible than Theo, and still doesn't trust him. And why would she? Why would the viewer? We saw how big that revenge spiral was. 

Peter does go on to sacrifice himself for Malia, but these moments are always about Peter and what he wants, and they lead to one of the most abhorrent moments of the show. The fact that Malia is forced to call him "dad" despite obviously not wanting to is just gross. It's all about what Peter wants, and honestly, why would he even want this? It's meaningless because it's forced, and it's especially foul that Lydia is written to be the one telling Malia to do this, given Peter's history with her. I hate it!!

Meanwhile, where is Henry, the father she chose? Was he kidnapped by the Wild Hunt? Did she ever tell him she's a werecoyote, or about the Desert Wolf? 6A won't tell us. We see in "Ghosted" that her mother and sister's death still haunts her, but does the season do anything with that? No.

The last grump I'll add re: Malia's treatment is how little she gets with Theo. I've already talked about how I disliked how her anger at Theo is framed, and it was especially frustrating that it wasn't followed up with anything beyond an angry quip in the finale. Liam gets a series of scenes (good ones!) where he works through his anger at Theo, and it's incredibly frustrating that Malia, after having a much more intimate dynamic with him in season 5, gets so little. I despise the writers' choice to ignore them.

*This is a tiny thing but in the birth certificate prop for Malia in season 4, you can see that her name is written as Baby Malia. So. Technically. Malia is her middle name. Baby: a beautiful name for a baby.

Mieczysław. You knew this was coming. My frustration with how Stiles was handled this season is about the ways in which it's done at the expense of other characters, and even of Stiles himself.

The premise of 6a was to work around O'Brien's absence by making it a plot point. Stiles becomes the focus of the season, but theoretically, characters could have space to work through their relationships with him, and potentially plenty more for dynamics with other characters. 

But in practice, the writers clutter the season with repeated empty claims about Stiles' importance that stifle exploration of Stiles' relationships. Yes, he's Malia's anchor, but what does that mean now, after season 5, and how does it change over the course of the season? Yes, he's Scott's best friend, but again, what does that mean now? How does the season help them grow and develop? A lot of screentime is given to the sheriff, who gets long soliloquies about Stiles' importance, but there's no sense of development in their relationship or even any context. We don't, for instance, get any sense of what it means for the sheriff to have forgotten his own son, or how this revelation relates to things like refusing to believe him about the supernatural in 3a. On top of all of that, the sheriff's consistent presence and the primacy of his relationship with Stiles only emphasizes how marginalized every other parent-child relationship is in 6a: Scott&Melissa, Lydia&Natalie, Malia&Henry, Liam&Dr. Geyer, and Hayden&Valerie get almost nothing. I wonder if Noshiko has any thoughts on the importance of your child being remembered.

Some of the references to Stiles are poignant—the Jeep, for instance—but their impression overall is that the writers thought that Stiles could be replaced with cardboard cutouts. We get a parade of props, disconnected anecdotes and lore, the useless introduction of Elias (never seen before or after and gives them no new information<3), and of course, my worstie, Claudia.

Claudia's presence is a reference to Stiles, but not meaningfully about him; Stiles only finds her at the very end, and instantly rejects her. The biggest arc re: Claudia is the sheriff's, and while I'm not, like, against the idea of him grieving Claudia, it's done at the expense of Lydia's arc. To the extent that Lydia focuses on Claudia, the show seems to be trying to suggest that Stiles is important to her, but the message is undermined by the cheap cipher. Is she thinking about Stiles because he's important to her, or because there's a fake lady in his house right now? Is her relationship to him about her feelings for him, or her role as a banshee?

And again, all of this is at the expense of something like Lydia's grief for Allison.

If we needed to pad Stiles’ absence with proxies for him, why not at least give us characters who explore his dynamic with the pack? Why not, say, a flashback scene of when baby him met baby Lydia? We have actors for both their younger counterparts. Or, better yet, why not scenes between Stiles and Scott as little kids? Again, we have the actors, and it would allow for more exploration of their relationships. It’d be especially meaningful for Sciles, given their anxieties this season, but I have more thoughts on that below.

The Alpha of Beacon Hills. The extent to which Scott is shut out of arcs and relationships is bananas. There are things I like (Scott&Liam, Scott&Lydia&Malia as besties), but we're here for the parts that frustrated me, which were numerous:

His future and dreams. This builds on my frustration with Davis's general disinterest in the characters' lives, which I discussed above, but it was an unresolved plot point for Scott last season and gets worse this season. Season 5 (last semester) made Scott's future more tenuous than ever. His dream is UC Davis's prestigious vet science program, and he's working his ass off to get into it: he's got school, extracurriculars, his job, and the constant life-or-death chaos of people trying to kill him or wreak havoc he's told he's duty-bound to stop. Season 5 Scott seems despairingly resigned to things always getting worse, but also throws himself into things like AP Bio, despite his friends' lack of faith in him (hated that scene) and his teacher's negging. Then, of course, Theo and the Dread Doctors show up, and the last we hear is that Scott has missed a deadline for a scholarship. In 6a, he's excelling at his psych elective (AP Psych?), but is still stressed about how much class he's missed.

Then we get nothing until the very end of the season, when Stiles asks in passing: "Real question is, how did you get into UC Davis?" Why is this such a tiny moment? Why is Stiles so uncharacteristically snide about this achievement, when he's been one of Scott's biggest cheerleaders, and this season is meant to be a Sciles season? Wtf?

Scira. Not one word about Scott dealing with Kira's absence. Not one word!! Everyone jail forever!

Scott&Peter. This could have been such a juicy arc. Scott's last interaction with Peter was the season 4 showdown, but Scott still has hope for Peter—a hope he's committed to even when it causes friction with his best friend. Peter's return and his tentative interest in connecting with his daughter would have been a great basis for exploring what it means for Scott to have this hope, or just an exploration of Scott and Peter in general. Peter is Scott's first supernatural villain and his own supernatural origin story, and Scott forgets him. The show gives us a beautifully devastating scene where Scott goes to help a seriously injured man and, in taking his pain, discovers that this was the man who caused him some of his own worst pain! Scream!

But then… nothing? Scott and Peter barely have interactions, never mind a meaningful dynamic. It could have been so powerful. Such a waste.

Scott&Theo. Some of this was really good! The moment when Scott walks into his house and suddenly sees the kid who murdered him standing in his living room, seemingly have once again convinced Liam to believe him! I loved it! We get a very rare moment of Scott being at the edge of his rope, ready to snap, and we can see Theo's shock. The last time he saw Scott, Scott was angry but also desperate to get away, shaking when he got close to him, staring at him with big sad eyes. But now things have changed! You can see it hit Theo. That's so good, and there are elements of the Sceo arc in this season that I adore.

But after that dynamic return, Scott and Theo split up, and we don't get any of the charged conversations and confrontations that Liam and Theo get—why not? It would have been so good!

What moments we do get prioritize Theo's perspective. In the finale showdown with Douglas, for example, he mocks Scott that a lone wolf never survives. At that point, Theo makes his entrance to declare: "He's not alone. He's got a pack."

This is so significant! It directly recalls the murder, when Theo trapped Scott alone and told him he didn't have a pack. Beyond that, Theo's risking his life in a seemingly impossible fight, just to back up Scott, without even claiming he's part of the pack, and in facing Douglas, he's confronting a demon from his own past.

But that's the point. This moment is mostly about Theo. We barely get Scott's reaction, beyond the shock of Theo's arrival, and then the tone changes with Malia and Peter's arrival. We don't get Scott's perspective on that moment, or Theo at this point, or anything else with them. Blech.

Scott&Melissa. I could go on about how their dynamic was dropped about halfway through season 2, but I'm gonna try to keep it to 6a here so please know I'm exhibiting great restraint! Anyway, they get so little. There's that devastating scene in "Ghosted" when Scott hallucinates that his mother's been murdered and doesn't yet realize it. So haunting, and potentially so resonant to their relationship: does he worry that being a constantly targeted werewolf has doomed her? That he can't protect her? That he's already lost her in some sense? How does it tie in to the fact that she's then taken by the Wild Hunt, and he's seemingly doomed to lose her, that he's lost her already? We barely linger on that moment.

We see him teach her to use a weapon, but the moment's gravity is ignored for the joke of her electrocuting her son. Melissa's arc with Chris is half-played for laughs, even though it represents a significant move on her part to become more involved. Why now? What does it mean for her? For that matter, what does it mean for her to date the man who once treated her son like a rabid dog? Does she even know about that? Does her son have any feelings about their relationship? We don't know. 

Scott&Stiles. Omg, ok, where to begin. This should have been the Sciles season, and its faults had nothing to do with the acting—the love and loss was palpable for Posey and O'Brien, and I think that gives their arc the poignancy people love about this season. They act their hearts out around some really awful writing.

The writing starts off well. It seems like the season is going to address some of the fallout and unresolved communication issues of season 5. Stiles, who's still petrified of losing everyone, is obsessed with being "needed," while Scott, who's been shackled to a nightmare since he was bitten, is desperate to no longer be required to fight. This recalls a lot of the tension of 5x01, which was never really addressed, and it's a great theme for the final semester of senior year.

The two also struggle to articulate how much they mean to each other, which seems like a lingering issue from s5. By the end of 5b, they'd affirmed that they were on the same page, in the same pack, and needed each other, but hadn't articulated their anxieties about losing each other. A season in which they're separated is the perfect way to explore it, and at first, it seems like they're going to. Scott uses his psych class to guess at how Stiles' anxieties are manifesting, as if it's been on his mind. He asks nervously if Stiles wants to split up (to look for clues), and seems relieved when Stiles refuses, as if the question is about something deeper.

Stiles, for his part, answers with meaningful intensity. He's clearly trying to express that he doesn't want to lose Scott, in the same way that his obsession with being "needed" is about not wanting to lose people, and being convinced that a crisis is the only way to hold on to them. Scott, meanwhile, sees crises as what get between him and his connections to people—they're what take people away from him, and him away from his life with them. This is a great theme to explore for Sciles, because the answer to both issues is the fact that their friendship has always been bigger than supernatural crises—older than Scott being bitten, bigger than the Wild Hunt. Scott could assure Stiles that he's never going to lose him—not because Scott needs his help, but because he wants his friendship. He'll never draw away even if it means tearing apart the Wild Hunt. Stiles, for his part, could assure Scott that no matter how many crises there are, how often Scott is forced to be the true alpha, he'll always be Stiles' friend first: "You'll always be human to me." Both significant statements after s5!

At the very least, the season seems like it's going to make these two articulate how much they mean to each other. In one of my favorite moments of the season, Stiles realizes he's going to be taken and tries to talk to Scott. O'Brien's acting is so good here, because you can see that Stiles is beyond trying to explain what the problem is. He just wants to tell Scott something like goodbye, how much Scott means to him—but he can't. There's no way he's saying goodbye, and his love for Scott is too big to articulate.

And Posey's reaction is soooo good. You can see Scott take in that Stiles is clearly struggling with something, and that this struggle is significant in the same way as the one from the previous season. He won't push Stiles to talk right now, and wants Stiles to know he isn't drawing away: "Tell me later." At the same time, he's holding Stiles to actually come talk to him, instead of stewing like he did in s5: tell me later.

But then Stiles is gone! Scream!

And then, once Stiles is gone, Scott struggles with how to articulate how much Stiles means through the hole his absence creates. All he can say is that it feels like he's missing a limb, and when it comes time to remember Stiles in "Memory Found," he gets so overwhelmed with how much Stiles means to him that he almost dies. 

All of this suggests that the payoff for this struggle is them finally articulating what they mean to each other--in the most basic way! They're traumatized eighteen year old guys, no one is expecting speeches. Just something about how their friendship answers some of their most existential worries: "I still got you."

But instead we get:

SCOTT: They still need us. STILES: They'll always need us. And, you know, I... I need you. You know that. SCOTT: I need you, too. I'm gonna miss you. STILES: No, really, I need you, though. Uh... I lost my license in the Hunt, so you have to drive.

Why is Davis so allergic to meaningful expressions of love in the context of characters leaving? So many characters disappear with no goodbyes (Jackson, Isaac, Danny), or only the briefest one (Kira, Derek). O'Brien and Posey do their best with this scene—both of them seem near tears—but the writing's joke-y tone works against them at every turn. It's Stiles' final scene before the finale, and the capstone to Scott's greatest relationship in the season and arguably his greatest in the show, and it could have been so much stronger if Davis weren't an infuriating mix of apathetic and cowardly.

This concludes this episode of Spikeface’s Sundry 6A Snipes! Thank you for letting me rant<3. 

[ask-philgraves]

Let me be very clear.

Cassie here from @ask-philgraves.

Let me make something super clear. If you send me any hate asks, prepare to cry. Unlike my fellow creators, I'm not a nice and lenient person when it comes to hateful rhetoric. I'm personally nonbinary and fall under the trans umbrella. I'm pagan and disabled. Both mentally and physically.

I also, was raised in a very abusive environment with Southern Baptists (evangelicals) as parents who kicked me to the curb when I was sixteen after I came out as bisexual.

I say all this to show nothing you anons can say will hurt me, but what I say will hurt you. I won't pull my punches, especially if you are antagonizing my friends. We deserve to take up space in the community just as much as you fuckers.

I'm a really nice person. Anyone who's interacted with me can tell you that, but I draw the line at hatefulness, and I will send it back your way without a care in the world if you cry or not.

Let this be a warning. If my friends have to come to me because of a hateful anon one more time, and you mistakenly decide to show your face around my blog, it will be your first, and last. I will not stop until you concede. I have years of pent-up anger, especially as an American and seeing the shit my country has been going through for the past decade almost. I don't have time to coddle you and ask if you're doing okay if you're sending hate. So you will be used as a verbal punching bag.

That's all, and I wanted to give a huge shoutout to all the blogs experiencing hate so far. You alla re wonderful, sweet and amazingly kind people. Don't let this shit drive out the community. You all deserve space just as much as y'all have welcomed me. I'm alright being the big scary guard dog for a bit. <3

To my followers and muts, you're all sweet too, and don't let this discourage you from interacting.

Forever grateful, Cassie