#including in ways that become offensive

[gingerswagfreckles]

Because a lot of people are still not getting it: Wherever you draw the line between "good Atheism" or "bad Atheism," I PROMISE you, there are Jewish people who exist beyond it. There are people from all religious backgrounds that exist beyond it.

[rapdogmon]

You've always thought the hills you've passed on your way to work looked a little bit like the vertebrae of a human spine, lightly pressing against the Earth's skin. Sometimes, usually near dusk as the sky grows dim and the sun begins to set, you think you see them shift though you're never certain.

Your 4th grade teacher told you those hills used to be mountains. Taller that Mount Everest. You're not quite certain you believe her. You think about a massive creature with a rippling spine of mountains rising from the earth. So massive it would turn the days to permanent nights not just for your state but four states over.

You remember a time when your grandmother told stories about those who went missing between the mounds. She says it was spirits of the past and you choose to believe that though something in your gut tells you it was the earth, hungry and waiting.

Geological horror. You find a geode and crack it open and the crystal lining its walls is human blood that can't be genetically matched to anyone. You find a human skeleton but every one of the bones is made from rock, a rock that you know can't be whittled into those shapes. You find layers of clay and loam that sport ancient fossils at the top and the still-rotting corpses of modern animals at the bottom.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Actually, I think this does link in with a wider conversation that I have been thinking for a while Tumblr maybe needs to hear.

There's a common meme on this site now that no one here has any reading comprehension skills. The best one is, of course, the original "No offense but reading comprehension on this site is piss poor/How dare you say we piss on the poor" post, which gave rise to the nickname "pissing-on-the-poor website". There's also the "I like pancakes/How dare you say waffles are terrible" one. Both of these are great, because they're silly jokey ways to show two closely related phenomena that are probably the commonest ways to fail a reading comprehension check.

The first is someone reading certain catchphrases or buzzwords in the post, and based on their own biases or prior experiences or whatever else, their brain simply fills in what it reckons the poster is saying on the topic. Instead of reading the rest of the sentence and digesting it, the reader then just uses their assumption as the interpretation, and reacts to that.

The second is closely related, because it also uses biases and prior experiences to to interpret the post, but rather than ignoring what the OP is actually saying, it instead performs a series of gymnastic leaps to construct a whole new assertion on the OP's behalf that simply isn't there.

There's also a third, of course; that one is people being so eager to feel smug and superior over someone they perceive as Bad that they wilfully assume the OP is stupid or being serious when they're actually joking. And if the reader hadn't been so blinded by their desire to get to look down on someone, they'd have seen the very obvious tells, sometimes even including sentences like "Obviously this is a joke." (I think we have all seen examples of these. Also, in a bid to avoid as many reading comprehension fails here as possible, this does not include misunderstandings borne entirely of neurodiverse struggles to parse intentions; but, neurodiverse people are just as likely as neurotypicals to have ego play a part in their misinterpretation of others, and that is what this point is about.)

And the thing is... actually, we are all capable of any of these. I imagine a sizable chunk of people reading until this point were probably thinking "Lol, yeah, people are so stupid," but na, nage, I'm not having that. Literally everyone does these sometimes. And it becomes a particular risk when the topic under discussion is something that might brush against an issue that is a pressure point for you, like a social justice talking point that you are forever having to argue with internet strangers about, for example. Your brain holds schemas! And sometimes it likes to pattern match things before it deigns to tell you about its findings! And that can hit you right in the emotions, which if they are strong enough, really can shut down all rational thought.

But. This brings me to the real point of the post.

Because the thing is, we have all saddled up and gone to war under these conditions, or at the very least been strongly tempted to. And a vital skill that literally everyone has to learn, sooner or later, is:

Before you hit 'reply', double check the post to make sure you fucking understood it.

And that does not mean "simply re-read, confirm your bias, carry on." It means, "Is it possible to read this post from the point of view of someone who doesn't intend it the way I've taken it? If I put myself in the shoes of an innocent, could they still have written these words? Is there another interpretation for these phrases?"

And you do have to do this step. You simply do have to. Because if your desire is to 'clap back' and call someone a gargling knobskin made of garbage, fuck me sideways but you must see that it is imperative that you check if they actually deserve that kind of treatment first. You cannot spend your time claiming that we must all choose to be kind and then not bother doing your due diligence before screaming a person's various and assorted bigotries at them. If you misread it, and they were innocent - you are the raging aggressive cunt in this situation.

It does not matter that you reacted from an emotional place of normally having to defend yourself either, by the way. Sure, that makes the quality of your human soul better than that of the average Redditor who just enjoys anonymously hurting people, I guess? But it's also irrelevant. If you messaged someone and called them a misogynist because you performed several mental somersaults and landed on your own sore spot when they meant no such thing, you are the attacker. You owe them an apology. And yeah, sure, you can explain your over-reaction as the product of your normal experiences if you like, but that is only an explanation, not an excuse. You are still the asshole here. You still need to apologise and mean it.

And you could have avoided it if you'd done that due diligence, as you should have. If you're going to take a swing, make sure it's the right target. This was once described to me as donkey people - they don't think, they just kick. This is admittedly a little unkind to donkeys, who always do their due diligence, but I feel it's an apt metaphor.

TL;DR: If you feel moved to angrily reply to something, first make sure you've interpreted it right. Don't be a donkey person. And if you ask for clarification, people are innocent until proven guilty. Ask nicely. If they are a bigot, you can then smelt them for parts.

[errriiie]

The last practice before nationals

poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, gangbang extra tags: porn with plot, praising, bodyworship, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), little bit of spanking word count: 5.1k not proofread english is not writer's first language! you've always been so nice and sweet to Yellowjackets, the one and only soccer team in your school, Wiskayok High. But you also were naive and innocent enough to constantly overlook the fact that every single girl on the team wanted your attention. And when, the last day before their nationals, they finally decided to make things clear between you and them.

When Coach Martinez first introduced you to the girls, they weren't too impressed. Average hair, average eyes, average height. Nothing special or anything to look at more than usual. You weren't even, roughly speaking, a full-fledged part of the team. At least that's what Taissa said. She was always like that - confident and sure of her opinions, even if they were somewhat offensive.

But you didn't mind, and even agreed. You were just an equipment manager, and you only became one because your mother and father were very close with Coach Martinez and asked him to find you a place out of old friendship. Of course, the coach made up a different story for everyone about how you came to be on the team - but every time you remembered the truth of your presence here, you wondered if you had the right to wear your signature yellow and blue bomber jacket. You felt ashamed, even though you didn't act like someone who got in because they got a pass. You were responsible, punctual, but you didn’t forget about empathy and responsiveness when communicating with girls. Over time, you began to be noticed by more than just Misty Quigley, who shared the same position with you.

Misty Quigley herself wasn’t too bad. Well, she was… weird. But you decided that everyone had their own cockroaches in their heads and she was just trying to make friends this way.

"You know, if we ever run out of food, I’ve always wondered what human flesh tastes like. I mean, they say it’s like pork, right? Maybe we should start taking notes just in case." Misty once said while you were cleaning up the cones after practice. You looked at her with wide eyes, full of confusion.

"Excuse me? Misty, this is a little weird…" You awkwardly continued to do your job, while Misty burned a hole in you with her gaze. Misty tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking… mostly. But think about it—survival is all about adapting, right? It’s just a thought experiment! Besides, we’ve got to keep our spirits up somehow. Want to talk about your favorite horror movie instead? I promise I won’t suggest cannibalism this time!”

But Misty didn’t always say such creepy things. She could talk about history, especially about Roman emperors, about her experience in first aid and medicine in general, about her interests, of which there were quite a few, but no one except you, apparently, wanted to listen to her. You didn’t understand the reasons and were patient with her. Misty immediately began to appreciate this - she did not throw away potential loved ones. Then Natalie Scatorccio appeared. Natalie did not have much experience with love, including the manifestation of care towards her. You didn't know anything about her, except that she lived in a van and was an extremely good and promising soccer player. But the more Misty shared the good news about your "endless love and care", trying to brag that she had such a tasty morsel and not the rest of the team, Nat couldn't help but become interested in you. People who lack love often don't quite realize how much they subconsciously want to find it.

She caught you after practice once and started talking to you. Nat herself didn't understand why she wanted to come back to you more and more every day - was it your manner of speech or how brightly you smiled at her after silly stories? She wanted to blush under your gentle gaze, and her heart beat strangely when you waved at her after she made a good pass to the other team members. But of course it wasn't always like that. The more attached she became to you, the more she focused on looking into your unexpectedly deep eyes, rather than at the ball.

"Natalie, don't you want to start playing properly? What are you constantly distracted by?" Lottie narrows her eyes when Natalie refuses to pass the ball to her and tries to dribble the ball to the goal herself, but hits the wall.

"Forget it, Lots. I'm just having a bad day." Natalie waved it off. It was odd that for someone having a bad day, she was smiling so stubbornly and persistently in the wrong direction. Lottie couldn't help but realize that she was looking at you. Perhaps you needed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

So, Charlotte Matthews quickly became next.

After practice, she caught you doing your job as you were supposed to, and called you out on it. She was annoyed, but more curious about your relationship with Natalie. You were blushing and apologetic, and it was hard to deny that you weren't to blame for Nat's deteriorating performance.

And then Lottie discovered that your shy face was extremely hard to get out of her head. Inadvertently, you began to talk after and before practice, Lottie sharing some details about upcoming parties at her house and inviting you. You, of course, refused. Your parents expected you to be decent, and Lottie didn't like rejection and didn't know what rejection was, being a rich girl. So she made it her goal to get you at least once. Or twice. So trying to get under your skin, subtly courting you, and trying to get through to your difficult parents was already routine. Including giving expensive gifts.

"Tai, have you seen the new hair clip in Y/N's hair? Those things cost a lot of money, I tell you, I saw it in the window of that expensive jewelry store." Vanessa was amazed at the new accessory you now had.

"I didn't really pay attention to it, to be honest. What do you… mean? Do you want one like that? I didn't think it was your style." Taissa chuckled, and Van rolled her eyes.

"Haha, very funny, but that's not what I mean… Hey, Lottie! Does Y/N have a rich mommy and daddy like yours?"

Lottie, passing by, chuckled, clearly filled with pride. "Not really. That was my gift. Y/N is very nice, you know. You shouldn't have doubted her, Taissa."

Then Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer appeared. They were already in a relationship and were amazed to see how quickly you changed the team's attitude for the better. And yet, from the very beginning, you were a black sheep for Taissa. Van, however, did not treat you with great disdain. She preferred to give people a chance to prove themselves first, and only then draw her own conclusions. However, they quickly liked you. Taissa was surprised that you had previously attended law and jurisprudence classes, and these topics interested her greatly. Van was pleasantly pleased with your taste in films and comics. You complemented their couple with something that they could not complement each other with on their own, after all, no relationship can simply be perfect. It was a matter of time before they both wanted your attention more than was possible. Van often invited you to her home to read or watch something, and Taissa loved to discuss social issues with you. You turned out to be more than either of them could have thought.

"Tai, I'm sorry, but I've already taken up Y/N's time for the evening with myself." Van smiled tenderly at Taissa.

Taissa raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly hoping for something. "Damn. How did you manage to come to an agreement with her faster than me? Maybe you'll take me with you?" she said with awkward hope. "Of course, I don't understand a damn thing about your conversations, but still…"

"No way, babe. You'll steal her attention again." Van shook her head.

"Why do I keep hearing everyone talking about Y/N from every corner of the room?" Jackie folded her arms in displeasure as she found herself next to the couple. "I understand that she's new and all that… but what's so unique about her? I swear, we won't get to nationals like this."

Jackie Taylor was annoyed by your popularity within the Yellowjackets. She could see the effect you had on the girls - they were going crazy trying to get a piece of you. She wasn't interested in you at all, but she had a feeling that if she didn't get a little bit closer, they would dethrone her and make you the team captain and even make you their mascot. She had to do something, and fast.

One day, Jackie stayed with you after practice, kindly offering to help you clean up the equipment. When you both walked into the warehouse, she almost pinned you against the wall, demanding answers to her questions.

"Y/N, I can see something's going on. I understand that you want to be friends with everyone, sure, but… we're trying really hard to get to nationals. And you're being way too… outgoing, you know? You need to stop. For the good of our team, as captain, I'm asking you to…"

"Your hair looks great today. Even after playing so hard." You blurted out, unable to contain your genuine respect. "Oh. Sorry. Keep going."

Jackie froze, her combative attitude seeming to completely falter. "You… you think so? Finally, someone sees how much I work on this hair, trying to get it just right every morning! I use powder and hairspray literally all the time, and no one has even bothered to compliment me… until you, of course."

Jackie took pity on you after that. Not when you were willing to spend hours shopping for clothes with her, stealing your clothes and trying on what she told you to try on, making you her model. No one had ever shown such steely restraint with Jackie Taylor, and every time she put on your makeup, it was so hard for her to resist the pounding of her heart and the strange desire to cover your lips with hers. But there was a catch to being with Jackie. The amount of time you spent together didn't sit well with Shauna Shipman. She was the only one who showed no interest in you at all. She didn't care about you, and that was surprising. She never, not once, approached you. You doubted she even knew your name, although considering Jackie told her everything, your name was the only thing she knew about you.

And the fact that you were a real suck-up. That's what she called you when she decided to have it out with you.

"What do you have with Jackie? Do you think I can't see how you're trying to pull the wool over her and everyone else's eyes?" Shauna narrows her eyes, looming over you. "What is it about you? Are you such a good suck-up?"

You felt hurt, but even more so, you felt a seething injustice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shauna, I was just trying to be friends with everyone. It's not my fault they saw something in me."

Shauna snorted, unsure of what to do with you. "Well. Fine. Just stay away from Jackie, okay? And you'll be fine." Shauna had already turned away from you, about to leave. She adjusted her backpack, but a book fell out. You quickly picked it up.

"You dropped…" You looked at the cover, sighing in surprise. "Pride and Prejudice? That's my favorite book!" You exclaimed, surprising Shauna. She rolled her eyes, simply taking it from you, pretending not to care, but in reality, she was even a little impressed. You were left standing in the hallway, not quite sure what you did wrong.

And then you were surprised when Shauna came to you wanting to discuss the book, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps she was so eager to discuss her interests with someone that she decided to choose the worst option of all - you (Jackie, as expected, did not like reading books at all). You liked to read in your spare time, and Shauna was pleased that you had read a lot of female writers from the 18th and 19th centuries. She sometimes shared her thoughts on them with you, but the main thing was that at one point she made you a playlist of songs named after you. You were flattered and too busy enjoying the gift to notice how much Shauna blushed as she tried to hold your hand.

You didn't even know it would be like this. It seemed like almost all the girls on the team were literally tearing you apart. You'd never received so many gifts, compliments, and, it seemed, hints? Of course, you were pleased. You were a girl, after all. And you suddenly had little free time. Sometimes you spent time with two or even three girls at once a day. Of course, sometimes this led to conflicts between them, but they never dragged you into it. You were untouchable.

But you didn't expect that they would all decide to fix it in one day.

Despite everything, training for Nationals continued. Luckily, the Yellow Jackets team still managed to get their game together and win the filtration game that determined their participation in the competition. Everyone, of course, was incredibly happy. As were you for your favorite team.

There was just one thing. Your parents forbade you to fly with them. You begged as much as you could, but they were adamant. They wanted you to stay home and use your free time from your team to good use, studying and preparing for college. You shed so many tears in front of them, almost begging, but nothing worked. Sometimes you wanted to curse your parents.

Tomorrow, everyone was supposed to fly to Nationals. You entered the locker room, terribly dejected. You were immediately noticed, and the girls were insanely worried. Lately, all of them had been very attentive to you.

"You don't look well, Y/N," Natalie said, her smile from earlier quickly fading.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Maybe a stomach ache?" Misty jumped up to you as if your life depended on it.

"Get away from her, Misty. Y/N might need some space." Vanessa shook her head, and was just as concerned about you.

"I-it's okay…" you sniffed. "It's just… I couldn't convince them. I did everything I could, I begged as hard as I could, and they still refused me. You… you'll have to celebrate your victory at the nationals without me." your eyes sadly looked around at everyone. The shared sadness touched every girl present.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry." Lottie took your hands in hers, looking at you sadly, but Jackie quickly jumped up to her.

"How so? Do they not care at all that you want to fly with us?" she snorts, angry at your family. Being spoiled by her own parents, she did not understand this attitude, especially towards you.

"At least you will be here when we return." Taissa tried to find the positives, although she was disappointed too.

"It does not make much sense, she will not be able to share the joy of us taking the first place in the moment." Shauna said, shaking her head. There was silence between all of you. You were so upset that you didn't even notice how all the girls were looking at each other meaningfully and nodding silently. Suddenly Lottie ran a gentle hand down your cheek, took your chin.

"Don't be so upset, Y/N," Lottie said softly, looking soothingly into your eyes. "You know… in all this time that you've been part of our team, we've grown attached to you. You've always been so kind to us. I think we can come to an agreement and find a way to thank you properly."

You were very embarrassed, and suddenly you felt a little awkward. "I was just being myself, you don't have to do anything for me." You, of course, felt pleased. But you were surprised when you felt hands behind you, and out of the corner of your eye you could see blonde strands of hair, and then you heard the familiar voice of Nat, who decided to come up to you from behind.

"Don't be such a shy princess. Why don't you let us comfort you?" she almost purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It felt… oddly pleasant, like a wave of excitement had washed over you.

"I, um… I don't know… how are you going to do that?" you ask. You can already see and feel Misty wrap her arms around your right hand, stroking it, looking at you in awe.

"You see, Y/N, you have some kind of influence over all of us." Lottie continues. Jackie glares at Matthews, apparently annoyed that Lottie is in charge. While she's busy burning a jealous hole in someone else's body, Shauna approaches you, her hands stroking your neck, and you shiver, vaguely aware of where this is all heading.

"We feel an irresistible… attraction to you. It's hard for us to share you between us. Haven't you noticed how hard we try to please you?" Lottie asks, genuinely concerned. "And you still wouldn't give in to any of us. We tried to figure out what you wanted, but we failed every time. So we thought you'd have to try each one before you figured out which one of us you wanted to be with."

Your brain was already running out, and now that Van's hand was stubbornly touching your thigh, and Taissa was holding your waist, whispering something in your ear, you completely stopped thinking. You were surrounded by a crowd of girls with whom you spent all your free time so happily, and they were trying to get you all the time. Was it all of them? Each of them wanted you to be their girlfriend? These thoughts left you shocked and you didn't even know how close or far from the truth it was. You, of course, dreamed about them. About each of them at least once, though about some more than others. But for you it was not serious, you did nothing! Did they really want it that much?

You yourself do not notice how you let out a quiet sigh when Shauna kisses your neck. She does it roughly, as if she is having difficulty containing the desire that is accumulating in her. Shauna is silent, examining, analyzing and suppressing in herself, and then explodes like a time bomb. And now she wants to explode at any moment.

Misty's hand undoes the button of your pants in irritation, and Van and Taissa pull them down. You are brought back to reality, and you feel panicked. You were definitely not prepared for being undressed.

"W-wait, there's no need to go anywhere-" you break off with a groan. Nat, still standing and supporting you from behind, bites your ear, licks it, makes your sensitive earlobe wet. You sigh at the newness of this strange, disorienting sensation.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Everything is going to be just fine." Natalie purrs, and you can't tell if she's stoned or not. Your pants are thrown to the floor. And then your panties. You are naked for all the girls, and they are looking at you so mesmerized, like this is the best thing they've ever seen in their lives. Even Jackie and Lottie, standing behind you, are watching you in awe.

This time, Van is first. Her tongue touches your already wet cunt, and she circles it, tasting you. You moan, and Natalie tugs your hair a little, exposing more of your neck. Taissa gives you a couple of loud slaps on your ass, interested in seeing your reaction. You shudder and your hips jerk, because you like it. Misty's hand goes under your shirt and gropes your breasts, pulling your nipples almost painfully, while Shauna leaves wet marks on your collarbone from her mouth, wanting to leave marks on you that will definitely last until their collective return from Nationals.

You are so turned on, and you feel stimulation from all sides. Your hand wants to reach for Van's red head, to press it harder, but Nat, watching you like a hawk, pulls you back.

"Let her do it herself." She whispers in your ear. You nod frantically, it's best not to argue with them. A few more movements of Van on your clit, her skillful tongue, which had probably done the same with Taisa before, could easily bring you to orgasm. You moaned more actively, your chest moved a hundred times more intensely, and then she pulled away.

"She's ready, Lottie." Van said, wiping her mouth. It was hard for you to understand what was happening, and you just whined, saddened that you were not allowed to come. For a moment, everyone broke away from you. Everyone was listening to Lottie.

"We'll help you after you help us, Y/N," Lottie says with a smile that sounds like she's some kind of prophet. "We've been waiting so long to get your attention. We think we deserve to come first. But I promise you won't regret it."

You nodded at her, mesmerized, but you felt like this wasn't quite the Lottie you knew. She was so mysterious, and you couldn't tell what was on her mind.

"Get away from her, all of you." Lottie commanded. "And you, Y/N, sit on your knees, please. Put something down so it won't hurt her to sit on the floor."

Van and Nat dutifully laid out their own jackets so your knees wouldn't hurt from what you were about to do. It was a pleasant moment of care. You obediently settled down on your knees in front of Lottie. You were literally being eaten with their eyes, and you were ready for what was to happen.

Lottie was already reaching for her shorts, but Jackie spoke up. "Sorry, Lottie… but I'll be the first." She said, raising her chin high. Jackie's voice was filled with nervous confidence, and she tried to withstand Lottie's and the other girls' piercing gaze. "I'm the captain of our team, and I want to be the first one to do this. What made you think you could lead?"

Lottie was silent, and you couldn't even understand what she was thinking right now. Then she nodded, and her voice was cold. "Okay. Be the first. But don't ruin it too soon."

You didn't understand the meaning of the words, but Jackie frantically replaced Lottie, pulled down her shorts, and the taste of her cunt quickly imprinted on your tongue. You didn't know what Jackie really wanted to achieve by this - to let you fuck her first or she just felt depressed because of how Lottie quickly took control and everyone, even Shauna, was ready to obey her. In any case, you didn't mind. You devotedly licked her pussy and tried to watch Jackie's reaction, just to please her. In your fantasies, you tried many times to make Jackie as good as you could. In your mind, Jackie was not the type to give - she liked to receive more, and if she had to be on top in your fantasies, she was so gentle and timid, afraid to make an extra move, that it only excited you more. But here she was — trying to have your whole mouth, like she had been fantasizing about it for so long that you were almost dizzy with the realization. Your drool and her juices were running down her thighs while she moaned, and the others were watching, some daring to stick their hands down their own shorts. A couple of minutes passed and Jackie came convulsively, sitting down on the bench. Now she wouldn’t object. She had no strength.

Shauna was next. She was never patient, not with what she liked - her hand grabbed your hair (no one protested, everyone decided she deserved it for scoring the final goal during the nationals qualifiers) and she pulled herself roughly-gently towards her vagina. Your eyes rolled back and you almost got lost in her thick dark pubic hair, but fuck, she was delicious and you were ready to continue as long as it took. You even forgot how to breathe sometimes - Shauna was a little rough, muttering something harshly under her breath and moaning, repeating your sweet name. She came quickly and took a step to the side, pulling up her shorts and retreating to the bathroom, apparently to rethink something.

Then there was Taissa… and Van. They were both allowed near you at the same time. You were dumbfounded, not knowing how to cope with taming two pussies at the same time, but you didn't even have time to wipe the saliva and cum from your mouth, as the red vagina was in your mouth. You had to change one pussy to the other every 15-20 seconds, trying to lick both like never before. You were forbidden to use your hands, but they both frantically encouraged you as best they could, while your tongue circled their clits, and the dirty noise filled the locker room, already filled with heat and languid sighs.

"You're holding up great, Y/N… Come on, help Van a little…" Taissa whispered, tearing you away from her pussy, because you stubbornly did not want to stop. However, upon hearing her order, you quickly set to work on Van, drawing a sigh of excitement from her, and ten seconds later, an orgasm. Taissa followed.

Then there was Nat. You licked your lips, ready to receive her. You were surprised that her pussy was shaved, maybe she was getting ready and wanted to please you? This thought caused a sweet warmth in you. And Nat's pussy tasted sweet too. You sucked on her clit, wanting to please her in a way that no guy had ever done. Natalie moaned surprisingly softly, and it excited you so much that there was almost no dry spot left in your panties. She let you use your hands, and you held her by the hips, because she was shaking while your wet tongue caressed her tender folds, and the hot air from her nose came straight to her pubis. Needless to say, Nat came quickly, but for some time she did not want to leave your mouth? Misty didn't even ask your permission. Her head was wrapped around yours, her fingers tangled in your soft hair, and she was holding you to her bushy pussy like she was dying without it. You were taken aback, but that didn't stop you from wanting to please her, even if her actions were met with disapproval from the other girls. No one wanted to be played with more roughly than the rest. You licked her, trying to please her as much as possible - Misty looked like she was not easy to please, but she was whispering so sweetly in your ear, praise and advice, that your arousal literally flowed out of your panties.

"Yes, t-that's it, Y/N… That's just perfect, oh, you're so beautiful. You're just an angel, a little perfection." She muttered selflessly, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she came loudly in your mouth.

You were exhausted, but Lottie was still there. She was the last one. You looked up at her, tired, sluggish, and excited. She gave you a quick smile, but there was undisguised triumph in her eyes. She had you after all. Did we mention that Lottie hated rejection and not getting what she wanted?

Lottie lifted your chin, gently stroked your hair and tidied it up, wiped the tears of pleasure from your eyelashes. She let you dive into her pussy yourself, start licking it yourself, as if you were in some kind of licking contest and were going to take first place there. She let you keep glancing at her, watching every movement of her moaning mouth and trembling hands, just to please her. Your heart was beating so fast and it was so hot and you wanted to please her so much, plunging your sweet tongue into her pussy over and over again, that you had a hard time holding on. Lottie took the longest, savoring every second and apparently holding herself back. Eventually she pulled your head away from her, pressed her pussy to your forehead and came, covering you even more with her wetness. You were all for it.

"You did well, Y/N. You love us so much, you were ready for everyone." Lottie said tiredly. She nodded to the girls, and they sat around you. "Now you've earned a reward, huh?" You nodded vigorously, needing release. You were so wet, and almost whining with excitement. Your head ended up in Shauna's lap, and Nat, Misty and Jackie quickly found themselves at your feet. Misty nibbled on your calves and thighs, often not hesitating to do it quickly and hard, while Jackie, on the contrary, licked them like a kitten, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. This crazy contrast made you breathe quickly and roll your eyes, and all for the sake of Shauna watching this cute picture. Nat touched your pussy with her tongue, her two fingers slid inside your wet cunt - after such a long abstinence, taking two fingers at once was not at all difficult. You moaned, letting them all work on you while the others watched. Natalie's tongue was trying so hard to please you, playfully sucking and pulling on your clit, playing with your labia and purposely quickly driving her fingers into you, wanting to bring you to the peak and play on you like guitar strings.

"We love you, Y/N, such a gift for us." Jackie purrs, watching Natalie fuck your helpless pussy.

"You're the best!" Misty agrees with a smile, biting you and licking it slobberily.

"All that's left is to cum." Shauna says calmly, not hiding her smirk, constantly keeping her eyes on herself. "Come on. Nat's mouth is waiting for it."

As if on cue, you spill into Natalie's mouth with a loud moan. Everyone exhales relaxedly, and Natalie cleans your pussy with her tongue. "You're just sweet, princess." She smirks at her own abilities.

You let yourself sink into the girls' arms, catching your breath. You don't know yet that later they'll help you get dressed, each of them will kiss you on the lips, and you'll tell them to talk about it after Nationals. In the end, you still can't seem to choose one. You love them all, and you're waiting for them to return to Wiskayok, safe and sound, with victory in hand.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”  

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff. 

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression. 

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

[sleepy-grav3]

Amity Park hates the Justice League but loves Red Hood and sometimes other heroes

A/n: I got this random idea so here it is. Oh, and this is good reveal AU ok?

-------

Due to the Justice League mocking them and ignoring their villain problems that were also publicly interdimensional problems, everyone hates the JL. It got worst with the GIW coming in, who blatantly went against the meta-laws (which included aliens, demons and so much more that weren't human from the beginning). They started to think the Justice League supported them.

In the Infinite Realms, however, there's a revenant that many adored and others respected. He did not hold back against criminals. Criminals that would rape, kill, traffic, sell drugs, and more to people. He especially didn't like when they brought kids into this. He'd avenge people the way they should've been: by promising that their abuser/killer/whatever wouldn't be able to do it again. And in the place they lived in, the only way for that to be possible was by major injury, heavy social outcasting, and/or death. Most prefer the 3rd.

And after how long the Amitians dealt with the attacks which eventually came to a slow once or twice a week type thing, they started opening their minds to the idea of coexistence. Well, further than they had. So when people started to cross over and start making their small haunts in their side of the veil, the Amitian's began to become aware of the popular hero Red Hood. He was part of the undead community, which was trustworthy in everyone's books.

So Amity Park started making merch. Most of it was for Team Phantom, but there was plenty for Red Hood as well. There were other heroes on the side, like for Superboy 1 (who they renamed to Supernova due to their hatred for Superman for 2 reasons, the obvious and that he rejected a mirror-born), and Raven (the half demon).

And with this coexistence, Team Phantom had noticed the positive feedback about killing in the name of vengeance. So they went on the offensive, and after a good year of that, the GIW lost funding for producing no results and just taking up resources. The acts were still there, but nobody enacted them in Amity, and nobody actually knew or believed them outside of the haunted city.

Then the Justice League find out about the hero group there due to tracking merchandise after they started to sell outside of the city. Superman was the guy everyone liked, so he was sent over. He immediately got thrown out and was now questioning who the heck Supernova was and when he rejected him.

Flash? Outcast. Everyone ignored and walked away from him. they had the police, who never did anything or even had to anymore, kick him out.

Green Lanter? Oh the poor guy. He had his ring taken away and thrown out of the city somehow. It took hours to find it.

Wonder Woman, they had to be ok with her. Not at first, but once Phantom had a talk with her and people learned that they were cousins through Clockwork (Kronos) and Pandora, they were ok. ish. Tolerated was the best word and she got the info back to the league.

The batfamily took a trip there, dragging Red Hood along somehow. And right when Red Hood was noticed, a crowd began to form as everyone practically worshipped him. There were many victims he had avenged and an Ancient (Lady Gotham) came and gave him the gifts she couldn't without scaring the guy.

At one point, the poor guy even cried.

[starlightbright]

RIP Ricky September they had to kill you because it would have been unrealistic to not keep you on as a companion 😔

EDIT: I've noticed some people taking this post really seriously, so to clarify: no, I don't think Ricky was literally a perfect uwu anti-racist angel. This post was mostly a joke about how he was running around doing companion shit and, most of all, how the Doctor and Ruby both thought he was a hottie. My actual feelings about Ricky are that he's a complacent white liberal. Character reading under the cut if you want an explanation.

I do think the implications of making him unplugged from the racism bubble, paralleling him with the Doctor (man who shows up with knowledge about history and technology and guides the other character through dangerous situations), and directly contrasting to Lindy (including being open to trust the Doctor without second guessing him the same way Lindy and all her friends did) are supposed to be that he wasn't like the other people there and is thus LESS racist since racism comes to be what defines their society. I've seen some people basically ask "then why'd he move to White People City?" but within the text it's actually Rich People City; the reason everyone there is white is because systemic racism financially benefits white people. Making him LESS racist is NECESSARY to giving his death any meaning - because if he definitively would have called the Doctor a slur and walked away, then the Dot killing him quickly was a mercy kill because we KNOW all the other residents are going to die in the wilderness.

THAT SAID, I also don't think he was a progressive anti-racist. Do you know what Ricky actually is? A white liberal. He might disengage from the White People Bubble, he might not be outwardly cruel to black people, but he's still surrounded by people who are and benefits from a system where ONLY WHITE PEOPLE ARE RICH. The culture might be fucked, but he still benefits from it without doing anything to actually fight it. It's like how many a white liberal will read about the history of slavery, feel sad about it, and then be uncritical of prison labor. If Ricky was meant to be progressive, there'd be something, ANYTHING in the text about how he's tried to educate his followers on their society's problems, but it got deleted. He is COMPLACENT.

That's sort of the point, I'd say, since the theme is about how priviledged white people put themselves in a bubble of people like them and choose to look away from what's wrong in society. Those people become complacent at best with no effort to actually speak out or change things. Hell, even within the text, Ricky SEES a problem others are looking away from (the slugs eating people), but only tries to fight it by making a TikTok about it and becomes complacent again, accepting that people are just going to be eaten.

So tl;dr: no, I don't think the white liberal kid literally would have been a companion. I think if you stuck him in the Ood episode, for example, he'd have shaken his head when he found out about their plight, maybe made a TikTok with sad music playing over footage of them, and then said "welp, nothing else can be done." I think it's FUNNY to imagine another companion that the Doctor and Ruby both are giggling like schoolgirls over.

Also I kind of thought he was ugly - no offense to the actor but the makeup they had him in combined with the lighting and closeups made him look way older than 27 so he gave off this uncanny "how do you do fellow kids?" look.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

the softest silence

“anyways, don’t be a stranger” (scott street)

There's a photo in a silver frame on Seungcheol's desk.

It's not particularly striking, no grand event captured, no posed smiles. Just a snapshot from a summer long gone. Three people squeezed into the frame: you, with a sunflower tucked behind your ear, laughing so hard your eyes are nearly closed, the petals casting delicate shadows across your cheekbone. Jeonghan, cheeks puffed in mock offense, his arm flung over your shoulder, fingers barely grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he's afraid to hold too tight. And Seungcheol, in the middle, caught mid-laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled, like the sound had startled even him. A moment of pure, unguarded joy frozen in time.

It's a photo no one meant to take. A moment no one meant to keep. And yet, it sits there, dustless, untouched. As if time itself had decided it should stay. The silver frame catching the morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds of his office, creating a small constellation of reflections against the wall.

You still remember that day. Not because of the picture, but because of the way the sun hit Jeonghan's hair when he turned to call your name, golden light threading through strands that seemed to absorb the warmth itself. Because of the way Seungcheol looked at the both of you when you weren't looking, eyes soft and wondering, like he couldn't quite believe the three of you had found each other in this vast, indifferent universe. Because you didn't know, then, that it would be the beginning of something beautiful.

And quietly, quietly tragic.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You met Jeonghan when you were fifteen, on a Tuesday that had started like any other. Gray skies threatening rain, the weight of textbooks in your arms, the familiar knot of anxiety that came with being the new face in the hallway. The classroom smelled of chalk dust and floor polish, and you'd chosen a seat by the window, hoping the cloudy light might make you less visible somehow.

He was the first person to talk to you in your new school, sliding into the empty desk beside yours with the casual confidence of someone who had never doubted his welcome anywhere. Sitting next to you in math class and offering half of his chocolate chip cookie like it was some kind of peace treaty, breaking it with careful fingers that somehow knew exactly where to snap it for equal parts.

"Fresh-baked this morning," he'd said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "My mom's secret recipe. Well, not actually secret. She got it off the back of the chocolate chip bag, but we pretend it's a family heirloom."

The cookie was still warm, slightly gooey in the center. You'd taken it hesitantly, not quite understanding the easy way he'd decided to include you.

He never really gave you a choice. He just started existing in your life, like a bookmark slipped between pages. There one day and never gone after, marking something important without drawing attention to itself.

"I'm Yoon Jeonghan," he'd said with a grin that seemed to know something you didn't. "And you're my best friend now. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

You had laughed, not knowing how true it would become. Not understanding that some people come into your life with the quiet certainty of seasons changing. Inevitable, necessary, transformative.

Jeonghan was relentless in his affection. He called you at midnight just to tell you dumb jokes that he'd clearly rehearsed, his voice going slightly higher when he reached the punchline. He left sticky notes in your locker with bad puns and little doodles, stick figures with exaggerated features that somehow always looked like the teachers he was mocking. He dragged you into his chaos without warning. Impromptu trips to the convenience store during lunch, elaborate pranks on classmates that never crossed into cruelty, study sessions that devolved into philosophical debates about which cereal mascot would win in a fight.

But he also knew when to be still. He was there when your mom got sick, when the hospital visits became routine and the smell of antiseptic clung to your clothes even after washing. When you missed three weeks of school, he brought you handwritten notes. His messy scrawl somehow more comforting than the typed assignments other classmates had sent. When you needed someone to sit beside you in silence and just be there, he would arrive with a bag of your favorite snacks and a deck of cards, never pushing you to talk, never making you feel like your silence was a burden.

He never asked for anything in return. Never made you feel indebted for the way he held your world together when it threatened to come apart. It was just what friends did, he'd say, as if everyone had the capacity for the brand of loyalty he offered so effortlessly.

And then, two years later, he introduced you to Seungcheol.

It was at a house party Jeonghan had forced you to attend—his words, not yours. The living room was too warm, bodies pressed together in the limited space, music loud enough to feel in your chest but not quite loud enough to drown out the anxiety of social interaction. You were standing awkwardly by the snack table, calculating how much longer you needed to stay before you could politely leave, when he dragged someone over, his hand firm around the wrist of a boy you'd never seen before.

"This is Seungcheol," he said proudly, the way one might present a particularly impressive science project. "He's the only person I know who's more responsible than me. So naturally, I think he should take care of you when I'm not around."

The boy, Seungcheol, had looked momentarily embarrassed, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. But then he'd laughed softly, the sound barely audible over the thrum of the bass, and extended his hand. His fingers were slightly calloused, warm against your palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, his voice deeper than you'd expected, resonant in a way that made you want to hear more of it. "Jeonghan talks about you all the time. I was starting to think you might be imaginary."

You hadn't expected to fall for him. Not really. But there was something about the way he listened when you spoke, head slightly tilted, eyes never wandering from your face, as if every word you said deserved his complete attention. Something about the way he remembered the little things you said in passing. How you mentioned offhandedly that you loved tteokbokki from that one street vendor near the station, only to have him appear at your door weeks later with a container of it after you'd had a particularly rough day. Something about the way he stood slightly behind you in crowded spaces, quietly protective, never overbearing. A presence that said: I am here if you need me, but I trust you to navigate your own way.

He was the kind of safe that didn't feel suffocating. A quiet strength that reminded you of old trees, roots deep and branches steady even in the strongest winds.

But you were Jeonghan's best friend. And Seungcheol was Jeonghan's.

So you stayed quiet.

So did he.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The three of you became something of a unit. A trinity that others in your social circle recognized and accepted without question: where one went, the others followed, like planets locked in each other's gravitational pull.

Seungcheol drove the both of you home after late-night hangouts, always stopping for convenience store ramen. The fluorescent lights would cast strange shadows on your faces as you huddled around the small table outside, steam rising from your bowls, the night air cool against your skin. Jeonghan would sing badly in the passenger seat while you and Seungcheol harmonized just to annoy him, the three of you laughing until your ribs ached when he'd dramatically cover his ears and threaten to walk home.

Sometimes, Mingyu and Seokmin would tag along, stuffing themselves into the backseat, yelling over each other about snacks and playlists. Mingyu always insisting they needed more protein, Seokmin arguing just as passionately for sweeter options. The car would feel smaller then, warmer with the press of shoulders and knees, the windows fogging slightly with collective breath and laughter.

There were sleepovers where you all ended up on the floor of Jeonghan's apartment. A mess of blankets and pillows in the living room, the television casting blue light over your tired faces as you talked until sunrise. Seungcheol on one side of you, Jeonghan on the other, both too warm, too close, too familiar. Their breathing eventually evening out into sleep while you remained awake, hyperaware of every point of contact: Seungcheol's arm brushing yours, Jeonghan's head somehow ending up on your shoulder. And in those moments, you'd lie awake and wonder what it meant that your heart beat differently for each of them. A steady, warm rhythm for Seungcheol that felt like coming home; a quicksilver flutter for Jeonghan that felt like chasing something you couldn't quite name.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

One night, during your final year of high school, the three of you ended up on the roof of Jeonghan's apartment building. It was autumn, the air crisp but not yet biting, and you'd brought blankets to wrap around yourselves as you looked up at the few stars visible through the city's light pollution.

"We should make a pact," Jeonghan had said suddenly, his voice soft in the darkness. "That no matter where we end up after graduation, we'll always find our way back to each other."

Seungcheol had chuckled, the sound warm in the cool night. "You make it sound like we're going to war, not college."

"Same thing," Jeonghan had replied, bumping his shoulder against Seungcheol's. "People change. They find new friends, new priorities. I just don't want..."

He'd trailed off, and you'd turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. His profile was sharp against the night sky, eyes reflecting the distant city lights.

"Want what?" you'd prompted gently.

He'd shrugged, a forced casualness that didn't quite mask the tension in his shoulders. "I don't want to lose this. Us."

Seungcheol had reached over then, his hand finding Jeonghan's in the dark, squeezing once. "You won't."

You'd watched their hands, the easy comfort they offered each other, and felt something twist in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, but a sense of being witness to something intimate and unspoken.

"Promise?" Jeonghan had asked, looking not at you but at Seungcheol, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of traffic.

Seungcheol had nodded, his expression serious in the half-light. "Promise."

You'd reached over then, placing your hand over theirs, completing the circle. "We promise," you'd said, speaking for all three of you, not yet understanding the complexity of what you were vowing to preserve.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years passed. High school faded into college. The texture of your friendship changed with distance and time. No longer the constant presence in each other's daily lives, but something that had to be maintained with intention, with effort. You drifted, came back together, drifted again like tides. But you always found your way back: birthdays, holidays, lazy Sundays that turned into movie marathons in whoever's apartment was cleanest that week.

And always, always, Jeonghan teasing.

"Still single?" he'd ask with a smirk, nudging Seungcheol as you all sat around a table at your favorite barbecue place, the smell of grilling meat and sizzling garlic filling the air between you.

"Still annoying?" Seungcheol would fire back, expertly flipping the meat without looking away from Jeonghan's challenging grin.

And you'd roll your eyes, but part of you ached, because they felt like puzzle pieces you'd never quite fit between. Their friendship had a shorthand, a history that predated you. Sometimes you'd catch them exchanging glances that seemed to contain entire conversations, and you'd wonder what it was like to know someone so completely, to be known that way in return.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

But one spring, it shifted.

Jeonghan got busy.

New job at a design agency that required late nights and early mornings, new apartment across the city that made spontaneous visits less practical, less time for the comfortable routine the three of you had established. His absence created a space, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, you and Seungcheol began to fill it with something new.

You and Seungcheol started spending more time together, just the two of you. It wasn't planned, not consciously. He helped you move into your new place, carrying boxes up three flights of stairs without complaint, assembling furniture with patient precision long after you'd given up on deciphering the instructions. You helped him pick out a birthday gift for Jeonghan, wandering through stores for hours until you found a vintage film camera that made Seungcheol's eyes light up with recognition

"He's been talking about this model for months," he'd said, his excitement infectious.

You had dinner. Once. A casual thing after settling into your new place, too tired to go home but too hungry to sleep. A small restaurant with mismatched chairs and dim lighting, where Seungcheol ordered for both of you because you were too exhausted to make decisions, and somehow he got exactly what you would have chosen for yourself.

Then again. This time planned, deliberate, a text from Seungcheol asking if you wanted to try that new place that had opened near your apartment, the one with the fusion menu everyone was talking about. You'd said yes without hesitation, ignoring the flutter in your stomach as you changed outfits three times before he arrived.

And then… again. Each time the conversation flowing more easily, the silences more comfortable, the moments of accidental touch lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

And one day, under the soft golden haze of dusk, Seungcheol kissed you.

It wasn't planned. You were walking back from a late afternoon movie, the streets bathed in that magical hour when the sun seems to paint everything in honeyed light. You had made a dumb joke about the film's predictable ending, and he laughed, really laughed, the way he used to back in high school. Uninhibited and genuine, and something cracked open between you. He stopped walking, turned to face you, his expression shifting into something serious and tender and terrified all at once.

He looked at you like he had been holding his breath for years.

"I shouldn't have waited this long," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, one hand coming up to cup your face, thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone.

You never asked what that meant. Whether he was referring to weeks of dancing around each other or years of quiet longing. You just kissed him back, standing in the middle of the sidewalk as the world continued around you, strangers passing by, oblivious to the way your universe had just realigned itself.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The relationship was slow and quiet and gentle. There were no fireworks, no chaos. None of the dramatic declarations of love you'd seen in movies or read in books. Just small things: coffee in the morning made exactly how you liked it, hand squeezes in public that said "I'm here" without words, late-night walks with no destination, just the comfort of shared silence and understanding.

It felt inevitable, like something that had been waiting patiently in the wings of your life, ready to step forward when the time was right.

The rest of your friends found out quickly. You swore Soonyoung had been waiting for it, the way his eyes widened in exaggerated shock before his face split into a knowing grin when you and Seungcheol showed up to a group dinner holding hands.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning as he pulled out a chair for you. "I've had a bet going with Seokmin since second year of university."

You'd blushed, but Seungcheol had just laughed, his arm secure around your waist, a quiet pride in the way he stood beside you, as if finally allowed to show something he'd hidden for too long.

Even Jeonghan smiled, teasing as ever when you told him. Though you noticed he'd been the last to know, an unusual oversight that neither you nor Seungcheol had acknowledged.

"Guess I was your cupid, huh?" he'd said, raising his glass in a mock toast, lounging across from you in the café where you'd arranged to meet, his hair longer now, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. "I always knew you two were weirdly in sync."

But sometimes, you'd catch him watching. Just for a second, expression unreadable, a flicker of something in his eyes before he'd blink and it would vanish, replaced by his usual mischievous glint.

You chalked it up to nostalgia. To the natural melancholy of seeing childhood friendships evolve, reshape themselves around new dynamics. To the bittersweet recognition that things would never be quite the same again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Two years into your relationship with Seungcheol, you found yourself alone with Jeonghan for the first time in months. He'd been traveling for work—Tokyo, Seoul, New York—his social media a blur of skylines and coffee shops in different cities. But he was home now, just for a week, and had invited you over to see his new photographs.

His apartment was exactly as you'd expected: organized chaos, walls covered in prints and postcards, surfaces cluttered with books and camera equipment. It smelled like him. Sandalwood and coffee and something slightly citrusy that you'd never been able to identify.

"So," he said, pouring you a glass of wine as you settled onto his couch, "when's the wedding?"

You nearly choked on your first sip. "What?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Come on. You've been together for what, two years now? That's practically married in Seungcheol-time. He's never dated anyone longer than six months before you."

You set your glass down carefully, studying Jeonghan's face. "We haven't really talked about it," you said truthfully. "We're good where we are."

Jeonghan hummed noncommittally, taking a long sip of his own wine. "He'll ask, you know. He's been saving for a ring since last Christmas."

Your heart skipped. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't quite match the intensity of his gaze. "He tells me things. Some things, anyway."

There was something in his tone, not bitter, but not entirely at peace either. A complexity you couldn't quite untangle.

"Are you okay with it?" you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. "With us, I mean."

Jeonghan looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of raw emotion. Pain or longing or something in between. Before his expression settled into a gentle smile.

"I want you both to be happy," he said simply. "And you make each other happy. So yes, I'm okay with it."

He raised his glass, tapping it lightly against yours. "To the people I love most in this world finding each other," he said, his voice steady but soft, like a confession.

You clinked your glass against his, a weight lifting from shoulders you hadn't realized were tense. "Thank you," you said, meaning it more than he could know.

"Just promise me one thing," he added, setting his glass down and leaning forward slightly.

"Anything."

"Don't make me wear one of those awful groomsmen suits. I look terrible in pastels."

You laughed, the tension broken, and the conversation moved on. But later, as you were leaving, Jeonghan hugged you tighter than usual, his face buried briefly in your shoulder.

"Take care of him," he whispered, so quietly you almost missed it. "He deserves someone who sees all of him."

Before you could ask what he meant, he'd pulled away, his familiar grin back in place as he waved you off.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The wedding was in early spring, under cherry blossoms that scattered pale petals like snow whenever the breeze stirred.

A day soaked in sunlight and soft winds. The sky bloomed like watercolor: pinks, golds, and a gentle blue that looked like it had been painted just for the two of you. The venue was simple. An outdoor garden with rows of white chairs and an arch twined with flowers and greenery. Nothing extravagant, nothing that called for attention. Just like your love: quiet, steady, true.

Jeonghan stood beside Seungcheol before the ceremony, both in tailored suits that made them look older, more serious than you were used to seeing them. Through the partially open door of the preparation room, you caught glimpses of them: Jeonghan adjusting Seungcheol's tie with practiced fingers, their heads bent close in conversation, a moment of intimacy that made you pause, not wanting to intrude.

"You're shaking," Jeonghan said, his tone light as he smoothed the fabric of Seungcheol's lapel, fingers lingering just a moment too long.

Seungcheol exhaled, a shaky breath that betrayed his nerves. "You think I'm doing the right thing?"

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them, a current you could feel even from where you stood, unseen.

Jeonghan paused. Smiled. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but tried valiantly nonetheless. "You're doing the only thing that's ever made sense to you." he said, voice steady despite the slight tension in his shoulders.

He meant it. God, he meant it. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, even as something in his expression flickered. A shadow passing too quickly to identify, gone before it could fully form.

You stepped away then, not wanting to witness more of a moment that wasn't meant for you. Your wedding coordinator found you minutes later, ushering you into position for your entrance, fussing with the train of your dress, the placement of flowers in your hair.

You walked down the aisle, and the world held its breath.

Seungcheol looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever waited for, his eyes bright with unshed tears, his smile trembling slightly at the edges. Jeonghan stood to the side, hands in front of him, heart beating slow and loud in his chest, you couldn't hear it, of course, but somehow you knew, could see it in the careful way he held himself, as if afraid to disturb the air around him.

He watched your vows. Watched Seungcheol tear up when you called him your safest place, your harbor in every storm. Watched as you slipped rings onto each other's fingers, promises made tangible in precious metal.

He laughed with the crowd when the officiant made a gentle joke. Toasted with the rest of them at the reception, glass raised high, smile fixed firmly in place.

And when it was his turn to speak, he stepped forward, raised his glass, and said:

"To the people who taught me what real love looks like. Not just the loud kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that doesn't ask for anything back."

His voice was steady, but something in it made the room fall silent, everyone leaning in slightly, drawn by the raw emotion barely contained in his measured words.

He looked at Seungcheol then, eyes soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"And to the ones who stay… no matter how much it hurts."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Most of the guests smiled, moved by what they perceived as a poetic tribute to marriage's endurance through difficulties. You smiled too, touched by his eloquence, by the depth of feeling in his toast.

Seungcheol's smile faltered for just a second. A barely perceptible crack in his joyful composure, a flash of something like recognition crossing his features before he recovered, raising his glass in acknowledgment.

No one noticed.

Except Jeonghan.

Who had seen everything, always.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Years later. The seasons had softened. Summer easing into autumn, passions settling into comfortable routines.

Your house has grown quieter. The parties less frequent, the messes smaller. You and Seungcheol had fallen into the gentle rhythm of long-term love. The kind of relationship where you could read each other's moods in the set of shoulders, the pace of breathing. Love settled differently after a few years, less like fire, more like gravity. Comfortable, warm. Something that didn't need to be named every day to be known.

You still had Jeonghan over sometimes. Not as often as before. He traveled more now—Tokyo with its neon glow that he captured in stunning night photography, Berlin where he claimed the coffee was better than anywhere else, sometimes just vanished for weeks at a time to go "find himself" in cities that didn't ask questions. But he always came back. Always found his way to your door with gifts from distant places and stories that seemed half-true at best.

This time, he brought orange wine and a new camera, sleek and vintage, another addition to his growing collection. Said he missed your cooking, though you both knew he was the better chef among the three of you. It was his way of saying he missed you, missed this, the comfort of familiar faces and shared history.

The rest of the boys came too, a reunion that filled your home with noise and laughter after months of relative quiet. Minghao and Mingyu yelling over the charcoal in the backyard, arguing about the proper way to grill meat as if their lives depended on it. Soonyoung trying to teach your dog a dance move, the poor animal looking thoroughly confused as he demonstrated what he swore was the next viral TikTok trend. Seungkwan and Hansol screaming in protest as Chan suggested yet another bizarre drinking game he'd learned from his coworkers. It was chaos. It was comfort. It was everything you'd always wanted to keep; This family you'd built, piece by piece, person by person.

You were inside plating dessert, a cake that had taken you hours to perfect, layers of chocolate and cream that you hoped would impress even Mingyu, who had become something of a food snob since starting culinary school. The kitchen was warm from the oven, the open window letting in the sounds of laughter from the backyard.

Jeonghan came in, slipping past the others and settling onto the kitchen counter with a quiet sigh. He looked tired, you noticed, not the kind of tired that came from a long day, but the bone-deep exhaustion that accumulated over years. Still beautiful, still quick to smile, but there was a heaviness to him that hadn't been there in your younger days.

Seungcheol stood at the sink, rinsing glasses, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms wet with soapy water. "You still collect film cameras?" he asked, glancing at the one slung around Jeonghan's neck, the strap worn and fraying slightly from constant use.

Jeonghan nodded, spinning it in his hands, fingers tracing the familiar contours. "They're the only way I remember things right," he said, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet kitchen. "You? Forget? Mr. 'I still remember what everyone wore to the first day of high school'?"

Jeonghan smiled. Not quite sad. Not quite anything. An expression that existed in the spaces between defined emotions. "Sometimes the things you remember aren't the ones you want to."

That gave Seungcheol pause. His hands stilled in the soapy water, a glass held motionless as he turned to look at Jeonghan, something unspoken passing between them.

The conversation moved on. You returned from the dining room, handed Jeonghan a slice of cake. He teased you about the uneven icing, the slight tilt of the top layer. You smacked his arm playfully, defending your creation. Everything was normal.

But something about that moment, those words, stuck. A splinter too small to remove but large enough to feel with every movement.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It wasn't until much later that Seungcheol understood.

The evening was winding down. Mingyu and Seokmin had volunteered to drive the more inebriated members of the group home. Joshua and Jeonghan were deep in conversation on the back porch, their voices a soft murmur carried occasionally through the open window. You were showing Hansol and Seungkwan the renovations you'd made to the guest bedroom, their enthusiastic commentary echoing down the hallway.

Seungcheol was in the garage, rummaging through old boxes, trying to find the extra bulbs for the patio lights that had mysteriously stopped working halfway through the evening. The garage was cluttered. Not messy, but full of the accumulated possessions of a life built together: holiday decorations, camping equipment used once a year, tools that Seungcheol insisted were essential despite your never having seen him use them.

The evening sun had already started dipping low, casting gold through the open doorway. Dust floated in the beams as he pushed aside old photo frames and tangled extension cords, the air thick with the scent of cardboard and faintly musty fabric.

Then he saw it. An old, worn photo album, tucked under a pile of forgotten board games. The cover was faded blue fabric, corners frayed from years of handling. He recognized it instantly. Jeonghan had made it years ago, back when the three of you were still inseparable, your lives woven tightly into each other's days. A graduation gift, he'd called it, though it had arrived months after the ceremony.

Seungcheol sat on the step leading up to the house, flipping it open with careful fingers. The binding creaked slightly, pages stiff from disuse.

Page after page, his smile grew: beach trips with sunburnt cheeks and wind-tangled hair, ice cream dripping down wrists in the summer heat. Movie nights on the couch, all of you piled together under blankets, faces illuminated by the blue glow of the television. Jeonghan's questionable bleached phase that had lasted exactly three weeks before he'd admitted defeat and returned to his natural color. Birthdays, holidays, ordinary Tuesday afternoons that had somehow warranted documentation.

A history, not just of events, but of feeling. Of belonging.

And near the back, tucked into the spine, was a single polaroid. Slightly faded, edges curling. Not inserted into the album proper but hidden, as if meant to be found only by someone who knew where to look.

Just Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Sitting on a rooftop; the one from Jeonghan's old apartment, the city sprawled out below them, lights beginning to flicker on as dusk settled. The photo wasn't posed. Just a moment caught by someone passing by, you, probably, though Seungcheol couldn't remember the specific occasion. He was laughing at something off-camera, head tilted back, eyes nearly closed in genuine mirth.

Jeonghan wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at him.

Looking at Seungcheol with an expression so raw, so unguarded, that it felt almost intrusive to see it now, years later, preserved in chemical and paper.

And in that stillness, something lodged in Seungcheol's chest. A realization that had perhaps always been there, dormant, waiting to be acknowledged.

Because it wasn't how you looked at Seungcheol. It wasn't how Jeonghan looked at you. It was how Jeonghan looked at him.

The quiet admiration. The ache tucked carefully into the curve of his smile. That same expression Seungcheol wore the first time he realized he loved you.

Everything shifted.

Memories he hadn't questioned suddenly glowed in new light. The way Jeonghan lingered after game nights, finding reasons to stay just a little longer when everyone else had gone. The way he stood beside Seungcheol during your wedding with his hands too still and eyes too calm, a perfect best man except for the slight tremor in his voice during his toast. The trips abroad that always coincided with your anniversaries, the gifts that were always exactly what Seungcheol needed but had never mentioned wanting.

It had never been about you. It was never about you. It was always him.

"Found the bulbs!" your voice called from behind, pulling Seungcheol out of it. You stepped into the garage, brushing your hands on your shorts. "Finally. They were in the kitchen drawer with the batteries, which makes absolutely no sense, but there they are."

You saw the album in his lap. And then the photo, still held between his fingers. "Oh," you murmured, crouching beside him, your shoulder warm against his. "That's from the old rooftop place, right? The one near the station. Before they turned it into those expensive apartments."

He nodded slowly, fingers still touching the edge of the photo, as if afraid it might disappear if he let go.

You looked at him, then back at the picture. A quiet beat passed. Then you reached out, taking the photo from his hand.

"I'll ask Jeonghan if he remembers this," you said gently, perceiving but not acknowledging the shift in your husband's demeanor. "He's upstairs, I think. Said something about borrowing a book from the office."

You didn't wait for an answer. Just leaned over, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and headed back inside, leaving him with the album and the weight of understanding.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Later that night, the house was quiet.

The others had long gone home, the remnants of a loud evening now settled into silence. Empty plates still scattered across the kitchen counter, half-empty bottles of wine waiting to be corked, the lingering scent of charcoal and laughter hanging in the air. The living room, hours earlier filled with boisterous voices and overlapping stories, now stood in hushed reverence to the night. You had gone to bed after handing Jeonghan the photo, your footsteps fading up the stairs, leaving behind a trail of soft goodnights.

Seungcheol found himself wandering through the quiet house, turning off forgotten lamps, straightening cushions, his mind racing with revelations he couldn't quite process. Each object he touched seemed weighted with new meaning; the mugs Jeonghan always used when he visited, the blanket he'd gifted them three Christmases ago, the collection of polaroids magnetized to the refrigerator. Years of friendship suddenly illuminated by a different light.

He paused when he spotted movement on the balcony through the glass door. A silhouette against the city lights.

Jeonghan was there.

He always lingered.

Cross-legged in the deck chair, beer in hand, gaze unfocused on the skyline. The soft hush of traffic below mingled with distant sirens and the occasional laughter from a neighboring balcony. A breeze smelling faintly of summer rain. The kind of night that hummed with what's left unsaid. His hair, longer now than it had been in their youth, swayed gently, catching moonlight in silver strands.

Seungcheol slid the door open, the sound causing Jeonghan to tilt his head slightly, acknowledging his presence without turning.

"You're still here," Seungcheol said, his voice barely rising above the ambient sounds of the night.

Jeonghan didn't look over. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd steal the view a little longer." He took a slow sip from his bottle, his fingers wrapped around it with familiar ease. "Besides, the city looks different from this side of town. Prettier somehow."

Seungcheol sat across from him, the wicker chair creaking under his weight. Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, just full, like a book with too many pages to read in one sitting.

Then Jeonghan spoke, voice quieter than usual, almost lost in the night breeze. "She showed it to me. The photo."

Seungcheol's chest tightened, a familiar ache now seen through new understanding. He watched Jeonghan's profile, searching for signs he might have missed all these years. "I found it earlier," he said, because there was no point pretending. "Didn't remember it until I saw it again."

Jeonghan let out a breath that seemed to carry years. "Neither did I. Funny how time makes you forget the things you thought you'd carry forever." He traced the rim of the bottle absently, eyes still fixed on some distant point in the cityscape. "And then suddenly, there it is again. Like it never left."

Seungcheol hesitated, words forming and dissolving on his tongue before he finally spoke. "The way you looked at me in it…"

Jeonghan finally turned to him. And for the first time in years, he didn't hide behind teasing smiles or deflecting jokes. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, now held only quiet resignation. "I know."

The words hung there between them, suspended in the balcony air. No denial. No dodge. Just the truth, quiet and steady as a heartbeat.

Seungcheol looked down, his fingers curling against his knees, memories reshuffling themselves in his mind. Every late-night conversation. Every lingering glance. Every time Jeonghan had stepped back, stepped aside, stepped away.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asked, the question barely audible above the distant traffic.

"Because you loved her," Jeonghan said simply, his smile small but genuine. "And she loves you. And I wasn't going to be the reason something good broke." He looked back out at the city, the lights reflecting in his eyes. "Some things are worth protecting, even from yourself."

Seungcheol swallowed thickly, his throat tight with words he couldn't form. "You should've told me."

"And what would that have changed?" Jeonghan asked, with the gentlest smile, no trace of bitterness in his voice. "Would you have chosen differently?"

He didn't ask it accusingly. He wasn't trying to wound.

Just… wondering.

Seungcheol didn't answer. The night air filled with possibilities never explored, paths never taken, words never spoken.

Because maybe he wouldn't have.

Maybe he still would've found his way to you.

Maybe Jeonghan still would've stayed by his side, all the same.

"I meant it" Jeonghan said suddenly, softer now, eyes tracing the skyline with practiced care. "When I introduced you two. I thought you'd be good together. And I was right." He paused, taking another sip of his beer, his throat working as he swallowed. "You balance each other. Always have."

He turned then, meeting Seungcheol's gaze with the kind of directness they hadn't shared in years. "You're happy, right? With her?"

Seungcheol nodded slowly, the truth coming easily despite the complexity of the moment. "I am."

Jeonghan smiled, and this time it reached his eyes; warm, genuine, and tinged with something that looked almost like relief. "Then that's all I ever wanted."

He stood then, stretching his arms like he wasn't carrying a lifetime between his ribs, like the conversation hadn't exposed something both of them had spent years carefully avoiding. "I'll crash on the couch. Early flight tomorrow," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Milan this time. Fashion week. Lots of pretentious people." He laughed softly, almost to himself.

Seungcheol didn't stop him.

Didn't ask him to stay.

But as Jeonghan reached the door, he spoke once more, his voice steady. "Hannie."

Jeonghan paused, hand on the door handle, but didn't turn around.

"Thank you," Seungcheol said simply. For what, he didn't specify. For stepping aside, for keeping the secret, for remaining their friend despite everything, for all the years of quiet sacrifice.

Jeonghan's shoulders tensed briefly before relaxing. Without turning, he nodded once and slipped back inside, leaving Seungcheol alone with the night and all its unspoken truths.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

That night, Seungcheol climbed into bed beside you. You stirred faintly, curling closer in the darkness, your hand brushing his chest in your sleep, fingers instinctively seeking the familiar warmth of him. The sheets rustled softly as he settled, your breathing a gentle rhythm against the quiet of the night.

He stared at the ceiling, watching shadows from passing cars slide across it like silent ghosts.

He thought of Jeonghan.

Alone on the couch.

A photo in his pocket.

A thousand miles behind his smile.

And he did nothing.

Said nothing.

Because you didn't know.

And Jeonghan… Jeonghan would never let you know.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft cadence of your breathing, feeling the gentle weight of your arm across his middle. In the darkness, he allowed himself to imagine, just for a moment, a different path.

One where he had seen, had known, had understood the look in Jeonghan's eyes years ago.

But the thought dissolved as quickly as it formed. Because here, in this bed, in this life, with you. This was his choice. This was his love. And even knowing what he now knew, he wouldn't change it.

So he pressed a kiss to your forehead and let sleep find him, certain in the knowledge that tomorrow, Jeonghan would be gone again. Off to another city, another adventure, but that he would always return. Because that was the promise they had made without words: to stay, to remain, to preserve this fragile, beautiful thing they had built together, even if it meant carrying quiet heartaches no one else could see.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

So the next time they saw each other, everything appeared the same.

The inside jokes flowing easily between them. The playful teasing about Jeonghan's latest hair color and Seungcheol's growing collection of dad jokes. The way Seungcheol passed Jeonghan his drink without needing to ask, already knowing exactly how he liked it. Two ice cubes, a splash more than the usual pour. The comfortable silence as they sat side by side on the porch swing, watching the neighborhood children chase fireflies across the lawn.

To anyone watching; to you, to their friends, to the world.

Nothing had changed.

But in the moments between laughter, something in their eyes lingered. Just for a breath. A silent acknowledgment, a shared secret held carefully between them like something precious and fragile.

Not regret.

Just memory.

And perhaps, in those quiet moments, a different kind of love than either had expected. One built not on possession or fulfillment, but on the quiet dignity of knowing and being known, of choosing to remain despite everything left unsaid.

Because sometimes, love lives quietly. Between heartbeats, across the years, woven into all the words they never found the courage to say. And sometimes, the softest silence speaks the loudest truth of all.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 nightgown

synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.

cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.

a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE

"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gang—Chuki—picked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.

"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."

Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.

Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.

'Not again...'

Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred times—which he had—effortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.

"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."

You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."

"HA!"

The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.

"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."

"Hey!"

"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"

"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.

Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.

But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.

Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.

Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.

The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloud—animal language, included.

So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.

Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.

"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"

"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."

Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.

'Shit!'

And just as you were trying to prove a point...

"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."

Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.

"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."

"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.

Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.

"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."

You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.

You studied his facial features up close—for about the fifty-millionth time—taking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.

The slight pink of his tanned lips...

The strength of his jaw...

The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.

"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.

Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassed—and slightly scared for the swordsman.

Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.

He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.

He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.

A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.

Still, what was he supposed to expect?

You were a woman now—no matter how difficult it was for him to accept—and women had... needs.

Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.

Not under his roof...

"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.

"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"

Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.

'Adorable...'

"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.

"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."

Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.

He barely believed his eyes as he drank you in—your appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.

Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.

You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.

The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.

Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.

God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...

He had never felt this way before.

So distracted.

So obsessed.

You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.

Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.

'Christ...'

He tried not to think of you like that.

You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...

You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.

Not a jaded pirate like himself.

But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.

"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.

"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.

You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.

You knew you couldn't chicken out now.

Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.

"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"

You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.

"What are you trying to do?"

You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.

"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.

"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."

With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.

"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."

Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.

It caught his attention immediately.

"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."

His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.

"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."

You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.

"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.

"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.

This had to be a trick.

You were just doing this to piss off your dad...

Right?

You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.

"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

The floodgates were opened.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."

He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.

"You gonna be okay with that?"

Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.

"Alright, then... no holding back."

And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.

The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.

The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.

The third and last time—because your virgin self simply couldn't take anymore—was when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.

His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.

Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

Because, to him, there wasn't.

"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"

He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"

"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"

He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.

"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"

SMACK!

The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.

"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.

Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.

"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."

"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunna—!"

"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"

You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.

"So greedy..."

But so was he.

He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.

"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"

It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.

His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.

A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.

Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.

Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.

When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.

The sight nearly made him hard all over again.

'Fuuuuck...'

"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.

Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.

With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.

"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"

Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.

As much as he loved this—your company, your touch, you—he knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.

He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.

He couldn't just abandon that.

His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.

"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."

Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.

"Really?" you asked, adorably.

With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.

"Really."

BONUS!!

"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"

The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.

The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.

"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"

At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.

"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.

This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.

"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"

Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.

"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."

Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.

Even harsher than Mihawk's.

"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"

Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.

With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.

"Good... I'll see you guys around."

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

one three

TWO

Days, perhaps more, have passed. You and Hanno have been meeting in secret, seizing moments when there was no sign of General Acacius. All that you were permitted to know was that he was recovering in the company of his beloved wife, Lucilla, who made it clear she wanted no trace of your presence near her husband. The absence of Acacius weighed upon you more than you cared to admit. To be denied access to him felt akin to holding your breath for far too long. Yet, your clandestine encounters with Hanno had proven to be a welcome distraction, enough to keep your mind from lingering too deeply on what you could not change.

"Your gladiator is requesting your care, Y/N. And while we are on the subject, your encounters under the pretext of physical care will soon spark rumors," Ravi remarks as he steps into the chamber where he keeps his healing tools. "General Acacius will be the first to rage if he learns of your escapades. Should Emperors Geta and Caracalla grow suspicious, they may presume you are seeking a new lover. Not to mention the possibility of Macrinus taking offense at your growing closeness with his gladiator." You remain crouched, organizing a collection of herbs, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Hanno needs you—or rather, he has summoned you for yet another session of personal defense training.

"Ravi, believe me, I am well aware of the risks I take in daring to draw close to Hanno. Yet, I choose to take them—something no one of sound mind would do. General Acacius will not always be there to save me in the future. Lucilla has made her stance on my involvement with him abundantly clear. You do not see him here, concerned for me, do you? Precisely for that reason, I must think of the future." You speak as you search for the garment General Acacius once left at your disposal, should you ever need to fight.

"Since you are so determined to take such risks, be cautious. The guards will bring Hanno to be treated, and you will have only that time to practice—whatever it is you two practice," Ravi warns, much as he does each time you and Hanno meet, repeating the same cautions.

"I shall change my attire. If you would, dear friend, make Hanno comfortable until I return," you say, rising and moving toward the exit of the space where you and Ravi have tended to countless gladiators. "If all goes well today, I shall be one step closer to becoming more than a healer or a lover. I shall be the closest thing to a warrior I can aspire to be." Ravi nods, though a hint of worry lingers in his expression. He is the closest thing to an ally you have.

Time rushes by when one is on the brink of doing something forbidden, but you no longer concern yourself with the consequences. You are resolute to take control of your destiny, even if that control is but a sliver. Once dressed, you secure the dagger Acacius once gifted you in a hidden compartment of your attire. It is your small but vital secret, and you are steadily improving in its use.

With purpose in your stride, you make your way swiftly to where Hanno is awaiting you. When you arrive, his eyes brighten at the sight of you. "I see your delay is justified; you look prepared for battle. Let us see if you can land a blow," Hanno says, advancing toward you with a predatory gait meant to intimidate.

You meet his gaze with an unflinching smile. "Save your words for when we’re truly facing off, gladiator," you reply, following him to the familiar training grounds. It is the very arena where countless gladiators sharpen their skills, preparing for the moment they will stand before the emperors in the grand coliseum.

As soon as you step into the center of the training grounds, Hanno strikes without warning. His sword arcs toward you, narrowly missing as you instinctively step back. At the start of this combat practice, both of you wield swords, though your grasp on its use remains novice.

"Have you lost your sanity, Hanno? I wasn’t ready," you exclaim, fixing him with a glare of irritation. He advances on you again, silent and relentless, as if transformed into a stranger intent on attack. His gaze is unwavering, his resolve sharp.

"When you’re defending yourself, no one will wait for you to be ready, nor will they show you mercy. I want you to see me as you would see any foe who dares strike at you," Hanno declares, his sword slashing toward you again. You react, relying on your defensive maneuvers, retreating step by step until a strategy for counterattack begins to form in your mind.

"I’m not so sure; you seem to be enjoying this far too much," you retort, timing your movements before landing your first offensive strike. It catches him off guard, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. The gap between you narrows, charged with the thrill of the fight and something deeper, more electrifying.

"I am enjoying it just as much as you enjoy patching me up with that brute strength of yours, healer. Now, focus," Hanno says, parrying your blow with unnerving precision. It’s like a dance—each movement perfectly countering the other. You attack; he defends. He strikes; you block. The rhythm between you is almost hypnotic, an eerie harmony born of tension and skill. But then, in a risky maneuver, Hanno manages to disarm you. Your sword flies from your grasp, landing far out of reach. Now standing mere steps apart, your eyes meet, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like the end for you, so why not take a chance?

With a surge of reckless determination, you rush toward him, channeling all your strength into an attempt to topple him. In your mind, it isn’t Hanno you’re facing—it’s an enemy, someone who would do you harm. Your unexpected move catches him off guard, and he falls to the ground. By sheer luck or fate, his sword slips from his grip as well. Now, you find yourself on top of him, both of you unarmed. The air between you is charged, your breaths mingling as silence envelops the space.

"It seems I have bested the great gladiator of Macrinus," you say, pressing your body lightly against his, a triumphant smile on your lips. Hanno smirks, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he swiftly reverses your positions, pinning you beneath him with effortless strength.

"Do not be deceived, healer," he murmurs, his piercing gaze locking with yours. But you are not so easily subdued. With a practiced movement, you draw the hidden dagger from your vestments and press it against his neck, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Your presumption is touching, gladiator," you retort, your tone both teasing and sharp.

"What will you do next, healer?" Hanno asks, his breath warm against your face. The tension between you ignites instantly, palpable and undeniable. Before you can respond, he pulls your face closer to his, his lips capturing yours with a fervent intensity, as though he means to consume you entirely. At first, you almost resist Hanno’s kiss—it feels forbidden, a boundary you should not cross. Since your husband’s passing, Acacius was the only man you had kissed. Yet, as Hanno’s tongue ventures into your mouth, you find yourself surrendering, the kiss quickly becoming mutual.

In truth, Hanno is devouring you, but you refuse to let him take the upper hand so easily. You tug at his hair with force, pulling him closer, demanding his full attention. The kiss deepens, its intensity increasing to the point of no return. You want him to feel your hunger, to know that you wish to consume him just as much. For all its forbidden allure, you crave this moment—not because of duty or obligation, but because you want it. You want to know what it feels like to kiss someone you shouldn't, to rebel against every expectation tethering you. Your husband was not forced upon you, but your marriage had been a safeguard. Becoming Acacius’ lover served a similar purpose. But with Hanno, nothing feels safe. And perhaps that is why you let this moment unfold. There is no security here, no veil of protection. If you and Hanno are caught, Acacius could kill him, both the Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla could execute you, and the repercussions would be endless. Yet, none of that matters as your lips clash with his in this reckless, intoxicating dance of defiance.

The kiss is all-consuming, so intense that, for a moment, it steals your breath. You pause, pulling away to recover the air you desperately need. Yet Hanno seems unsatisfied, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that threatens to unravel your resolve.

His hand cups your face, fingers tracing over every detail as if committing you to memory. When his thumb brushes over your lips, he murmurs softly, "Your lips remind me of hers, my beautiful Arishat." Reality strikes like a sharp blade. He is with you, yet his mind lingers on his late wife. The weight of that truth is unbearable. As he leans forward, seeking your lips once more, you push him away, creating the distance you now desperately need.

"I will not be her replacement," you think, your resolve firm. "Nor Lucilla’s substitute." Avoiding his gaze, your shame and frustration burn within you. Rising quickly, you make your way toward your quarters. You and Ravi must always be prepared to tend to the wounded, so your rooms are close to where the gladiators train and where Ravi keeps his healing tools.

"Healer," Hanno calls out behind you, his voice firm yet laced with something softer. He follows after you, refusing to let the moment end so abruptly.

"Gladiator," you say, turning to face Hanno. Your body nearly collides with his, but you take a step back, halting the chase that had ensued. "Our training is done. I think it would be wise for us to part ways now, so as not to confuse..." You pause, searching for the right word to define what you might be confusing, only for Hanno to step abruptly closer, almost closing the space entirely.

"I am not confused about anything, healer," he says, his tone firm yet sincere. "I was lost momentarily in a memory, but I assure you, I knew exactly who I was kissing." He takes another step forward, his presence overwhelming.

"The act itself is already a problem, gladiator," you reply, struggling to maintain composure under his intense gaze. "We should not have kissed." Before he can respond, both of you hear footsteps approaching. In an instant, Hanno’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you behind him as though to shield you from whatever danger may come. Ravi appears, nearly running toward you, his face etched with worry.

"General Acacius has been seen heading this way," Ravi announces, his voice hurried and panicked. "The guards are murmuring that he’s coming to see you, Y/N. I suggest we get Hanno out of here immediately, and you prepare yourself to receive him."

The mention of Acacius sends a cold dread through you. Him encountering Hanno now would spell disaster. "Tell the guards who brought Hanno to retrieve him from here," you instruct, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "Hanno and I will change out of these combat garments, and I’ll distract Acacius while the guards take Hanno back to his cell. Ravi, I’ll need your speed."

Without hesitation, Ravi nods and rushes off to summon the guards. You, in turn, push Hanno toward a secluded area where he can change out of his training gear. "Change in there and wait for me," you instruct firmly. Noticing the swords in his hands, you swiftly take them from him despite his protests. With no time to spare, you carry the weapons back to your quarters while Hanno remains in the area where you and Ravi usually tend to injured gladiators. In the quiet urgency of your chambers, you hastily change your attire, your mind racing with the precariousness of the situation. Hanno waits silently, the gravity of the moment clear to both of you.

"Do you fear what might happen should General Acacius discover your association with the gladiator who recently sought his life?" Hanno asks as you enter the room where he waits patiently to be taken back to his cell.

"I do not fear for myself," you reply, adjusting your tunic with calm precision. "I fear that if you and he meet, there will be unnecessary bloodshed. As I’ve told you before, if you wish to kill him, do so in a duel—before the people of Rome. Sate the appetite of Emperors Geta and Caracalla as they watch you strike at each other in a frenzied battle for glory in the name of the gods."

Hanno listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he steps closer. Without a word, he helps you smooth the folds of your tunic, his touch deliberate yet gentle. "Will you tell him of our association, then?" he asks, finishing his adjustments and letting his hand linger briefly as it grazes your cheek.

"What is there to tell?" you counter, meeting his gaze with resolve. "Our association is no one’s concern." A smile spreads across Hanno’s face, slow and satisfied, as if your answer pleased him greatly.

Moments later, Ravi appears, his expression tense. "The guards are near," he informs, his tone clipped. His gaze shifts between you and Hanno, briefly noting the closeness between you, though he chooses to remain silent. With a small nod, Ravi turns to Hanno, gesturing for him to follow. Hanno casts you a lingering look before allowing Ravi to lead him toward the guards, leaving you behind with the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest.

You wait patiently for General Acacius to arrive, though his delay stretches longer than anticipated. The thought suddenly strikes you—he might already be in your quarters, as he has been on previous occasions.

"Would you care to explain," his voice calls out, smooth and laced with quiet reproach, "what reasons led my beloved healer, whom I hold in such high regard, to abandon me to the care of Ravi instead of tending to me herself?" Turning toward the source, you find him stepping into view, pulling back the mantle that had concealed his face and form. His approach is measured, deliberate, and his gaze briefly flickers to the swords you had left behind without considering they might draw his notice.

"You should have sought explanations from your wife, General Acacius," you reply, your tone calm but firm, though the effort to keep it so is greater than it seems. "It was she who instructed me, in the presence of the guards no less, to withdraw from tending to your care." His footsteps pause near the swords, his attention drawn to their gleaming edges. The air between you grows heavier as his eyes shift back to yours, narrowing slightly as he regards you. You remain steadfast, though the distance you keep from him feels tenuous, as if he could close it with the simplest of steps.

"I was not informed of such a decision; I would never have allowed my care to pass from your hands to another's," General Acacius speaks softly, his tone a mixture of calm and yearning as he moves toward you with deliberate caution, yet there is a palpable hunger in his eyes.

"General, whether you authorized it or not is irrelevant," you reply, holding your ground though the weight of his presence begins to press upon you. "Lucilla no longer wishes for us to remain close. Surely, you remember that when all this began, you told me that if your wife were ever to object to our association, even if it was merely for appearances, it would end."

Your words are firm, yet the truth they carry sinks heavily into your own heart. You know now, with certainty, that the chapter of your life entwined with Acacius is nearing its inevitable conclusion.

"Those words were spoken before we became what we are today," Acacius responds, his voice steady yet filled with a quiet intensity. "Surely you know I have no intention of abandoning you." He steps closer, his gaze unwavering, his nearness suffocating in its allure.

"Do not worry for me. Your pity is no longer necessary, Acacius," you say, though the ache in your chest betrays the pain these words bring. Deep down, you have long feared that what he felt for you stemmed from nothing but pity.

"I have never pitied you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with conviction. "Perhaps I felt empathy for your pain in the beginning, but after that—everything was real. Your presence makes me a better man." His hand reaches up to touch your face, tenderly tracing its contours as if to soften your resolve. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, an intimate gesture meant to draw you back to him, to coax you into his embrace once more.

"You owe your loyalty to your wife, not to me," you say, your voice faltering slightly under the weight of his gaze and the warmth of his touch. "We must no longer allow ourselves to feel anything beyond what is proper, Acacius." Even as you speak, your resolve weakens beneath his touch, his words a balm and a temptation all at once. He seems heedless of your protest, intent only on closing the distance between you.

"Lucilla has my loyalty, but you... you have my protection. I will not leave you unguarded," Acacius says, his lips almost brushing against yours, his voice weighted with emotion.

"Then you should know that my loyalty is no longer yours exclusively," you reply, steadying yourself as you deliver the words. You feel the sharp recoil in Acacius as he steps back, his expression hardening, though disbelief flickers in his eyes.

"I am involved with another," you continue, forcing the lie to your lips with a strength you did not know you possessed. "It may mean that I will no longer require your protection in the future." Your words are a dagger you wield with precision, for you know that to continue as his lover would jeopardize his marriage—a risk you cannot allow, no matter the desires that linger within you.

"Who would dare attempt to claim you, knowing that you are mine?" General Acacius demands, his voice edged with irritation that betrays a rare crack in his calm demeanor. His gaze narrows, his presence no less imposing, but the fury brewing beneath his words sends a shiver through you. You realize the fire you have kindled within him may burn brighter than you anticipated.

"Someone who does not fear the wrath of General Acacius," you say, your voice steady despite the undeniable pull of his proximity. You desire him, undeniably so, but you know you must not have him.

"It is clear that our involvement must end—now. Before it concludes in disaster," you declare, watching as Acacius processes your words, his gaze shadowed with an intensity that seems both pained and unyielding.

"Then let it be clear to you," Acacius responds, his tone laced with an unwavering authority, though no threat lies in his words. "Whoever dares to encroach upon what is mine will meet the edge of my sword without delay. Our bond will not be severed while either of us draws breath, Y/N. Keep that in mind." His declaration is resolute, not spoken as a plea but as a statement of his immutable commitment to you. It leaves you breathless, the weight of his words pressing against the fortress of your resolve.

"You cannot protect me forever, Acacius. Just as I cannot heal you forever," you murmur, stepping closer, your desperation palpable as though silently begging him to release you—to let you go before you both reach a precipice from which there is no return.

"Mea domina," he whispers reverently, stepping closer and pulling down the fabric covering your shoulder with deliberate care. His lips press softly against the exposed skin, lingering as if to seal a silent vow. The tenderness in his touch conveys more devotion than desire, a gesture that leaves you caught between longing and regret.

"I would die if necessary, but I will not abandon those I hold in the highest esteem. You and Lucilla are my priorities, and I will relinquish neither of you. If you place so much faith in this new interest of yours, let him come to me bearing a sword, and he shall find his end," he declares, his voice unwavering and resolute, his words resonating like a solemn oath.

Acacius lifts his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his lips trace a path of soft kisses along your temple, down to the curve of your jaw, and finally your forehead. His lips linger as if memorizing each contour of your face, avoiding your mouth deliberately—a clear boundary, or perhaps his way of expressing silent reproach for the words you have spoken. The kisses feel like a claim, yet also a farewell—his way of both cherishing and punishing, of reminding you of his commitment while withholding the one intimacy he knows you yearn for. The intensity in his gaze as he pulls back speaks volumes, as though he is willing you to see the depths of his resolve. "At times, it feels as though battle is all you truly understand, Acacius," you say, holding his gaze with a penetrating look, as if unraveling the depths of his thoughts.

"I am a man of honor," he replies, his tone firm yet measured. "I will not seek out the man who dares to involve himself with you, but neither will I stand idle should he attempt to take what is rightfully mine." His presence remains close, commanding and resolute, as though he seeks to claim not just the space but the moment itself. With deliberate care, Acacius reaches out, his hand brushing your face in a touch that is at once gentle and laden with unspoken meaning. It lingers, as if he wishes to commit every contour of your features to memory.

Without another word, he steps back, retreating from your chambers with the disciplined stride of a general accustomed to carrying the weight of empires. His departure leaves the room heavy with unresolved tension, the air thick with the echoes of what cannot be spoken. Alone, you are left to ponder the tangled web of emotions and loyalties binding you to both Acacius and Hanno. The weight of your entanglement bears down upon you, as inevitable as the arena’s call to blood and glory.

[rainsinheaven-if]

PLAY THE DEMO

Last updated: March 7, 2025 - and includes the prologue + chapter 1 with 14K words (without code)

Warnings: Blood and injuries, sexism, profanity, temporary character death, child neglect, parental physical and emotional abuse, optional sexual content, and more. Suitable for ages 16+. List will be updated in the future.

This game is in early development and a work in progress. There may be future changes to location names, plot etc.

You’ve never felt loved by your family before.

Born a twin but feeling more like a shadow, you’ve watched your younger brother, Nolan, receive all the love and praise you were denied. But no matter how unkind you are to him, Nolan’s loyalty and kindness towards you remains unwavering. It’s as if there’s a bond pulling you back everytime you think of leaving it all behind.

Now a mysterious illness has swept through Valorian Kingdom’s royal court, leaving many nobles, including the king at death’s door. The Oracle’s prophecy offers a single hope: the Crown Prince must gather five lost souls to join him in a dangerous journey towards Coven’s Swamp, an ominous and foreboding area hidden deep within the mystical forest.

You are chosen to be one of those five.

As you venture deep into the forest, the journey will push you to the limits of courage and loyalty, forcing you to question everything you believe about family and love. This might not just be a journey to save the day, but a journey towards self-discovery for you and everyone in your group. So when the journey ends, will there be anything left of the person who first stepped into the darkness? 

Customize your MC! Change your appearance and control your personality. MC starts out as female, but there will be transition options.

Grow a relationship with your twin! Choose to either continue being unkind to your twin brother or getting to know him instead. Your MC's relationship with him may affect some major events.

Develop relationships! There are six romanceable characters - 3 male, 2 gender selectable, and 1 non-binary. Or you can avoid romance and keep it all platonic.

Learn and improve your skills! With the option to choose to focus on offensive or defensive magic, you can learn and improve your skills to become better at what you do.

Find yourself! Journey through the mystical forest to not only find a cure, but to self-discovery. There are plenty of secrets to learn about that may or may not change the way you think and feel.

More to be added…

Below are the six romanceable characters in this story. You can choose to flirt with everyone, but at one point, you'll have to decide on one. Also keep in mind that there are other important characters as well that are not listed here.

Ver/Vera Forrest | Gender Selectable | 21

Playful and energetic with golden-retriever-like energy, V is always ready for adventure. They never fail to be there for you when you need someone to rant to, or a shoulder to lean on. Their cleverness and sneakiness keeps them out of most trouble due to the way they were raised. And it’s exactly how they are raised that has made them hide their burden under their positive enthusiasm.

You are best friends, so why don’t you know any of their secrets? 

Oliver Astoran | he/him | 21

With a cold demeanor, Oliver holds a strong desire to protect the people he cares about, especially those whose kindness is exploited. Your unkind treatment towards your brother causes him to despise you. You are always able to press on the right buttons to rile each other up. He shows a strong sense of determination that marks his mental and physical strength. But perhaps there’s something more to the reason behind his behavior than what the eye sees.

Will you ever be able to see him in a different light, or will it just be fighting, fighting and more fighting?

Ethos Van Winston | he/him | 22

Burdened by the responsibility of being heir to the throne, Ethos is reserved, guarded, and serious. As a child, he was once carefree and one of your closest friends. But after an incident that left unspoken, lingering tension between you two, he now elicits a melancholic presence. His warm side is hidden away somewhere, and you wonder if there was more than just the incident that made him change.

You weren’t the reason he changed… right?

Theodore Eaves | he/him | 24

From a young age, Theodore’s life has been defined by duty and training. He’s mature for his age and has a tendency to act like an older brother to you and the group. He’s well disciplined and stoic, rarely having time to express vulnerability. His focus on duty has left him oblivious to romantic interest, despite his admired reputation due to his looks and status. His obliviousness goes further though, for reasons that he himself hasn’t fully discovered and understood.

Will you ever get to see a vulnerable side of him, instead of just that brotherly figure?

Mattie | they/them | 19

Curious as ever, Mattie often gets themselves into trouble. But with their charming personality and resourcefulness, they’re able to get themselves out of trouble. They are playful, enjoying the work of teasing others and instigating drama to get chaotic, and hopefully flustered, reactions. Their skills and knowledge about the forest have proven him to be a good asset, but there is more to them than what meets the eye.

For someone who is so bright and playful, they can’t surely have anything to hide, right?

Yaran/Yara | Gender Selectable | 22

Nobody is sure they know who Y is. They seem ambitious, cunning, and deceiving; doing risky things to achieve their own goals at the cost of someone else’s pain. They are unpredictable, popping in and out of your group - sometimes being a guide, but other times hindering progress. Despite their ambiguity, they are charismatic and mysterious enough to leave your group intrigued. All there is to do now is truly learn who they are and what they have hidden inside.

Who is Y and can you trust them with anything, especially your life?

ROs Profiles | Discord

music inspiration

This is my first attempt at creating an interactive fiction game and using Twine Sugarcube. Please be patient and kind <3

Shares are appreciated :)

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

⚔️ Task Force 141 - NFL AU 🏈

by me (sleepyconfusedpotato) and @alypink ! This AU will include some Original Characters made by us both!

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New Hampshire 141s, a new rising american football team whose players dominantly came from the United Kingdom, is ready to face the NFL season!

As the previous Head Coach, Herschel von Shepherd got fired by the General Manager MacMillan, John Price (who has roots in rugby) got chosen by MacMillan to bring the team to victory. Let us see which players caught Coach Price's eyes!

John Price (HC)

John Price was born in Liverpool, England, but moved to America when he was still very young due to his father being deployed from the military to an American base. Although his father retired a couple of years later, they decided to stay in America. He grew up loving sports as a child but American football always piqued his interest more than any other sports. He played safety in middle and high school, but in his junior year, he had Meniscal tears that prevented him from ever playing again. John was heavily depressed after his injury, one day one of his close friends, Nikolai, who was also one of his fellow teammates on his high school team, told him to cheer him up to go watch the team play or to attend the training camps, John agreed and started assisting to the games and eventually started to think about becoming a head coach. He was recommended by his former high school head coach to take the job as a defensive coordinator for the New Hampshire Wildcats, a college football team. His performance and playbook were impressive, leading the Wildcats to reach a bowl and winning it twice. He proved to be fit and ready for a professional football team in the NFL and was hired as a defensive coordinator by the New Hampshire 141’s, by the HC at that time, Herschel von Shepherd. His first two seasons were disastrous as there was friction between the players and their head coach, most of the players disagreed with Shepherd's decisions and playmaking. To add to that, he seemed to never care about the player's input or needs. Although in those seasons they held a record of 4 wins and 12 losses, the General Manager of the team noticed his defense was the best in the league for both points and yards, and also noticed that a good portion of his defense players were selected on the all-pro team of those two seasons. After the owner and GM fired Shepherd as a Head Coach, John took his place.  In his first seasons with the 141s, he restructured the team and went to playoffs and one NFC championship. As he wanted to improve his team, he started attending college football games, he attended once a college game in which he met the offensive coordinator at the time, Aly, and after the game he met her to ask about some players he was interested in on her actual team, for QB and WR positions, they became acquaintance since that day and kept communication for some time, as she sent some prospects his way. She also requested his help every now and then, making him attend her games and inviting her over to watch the 141s too. After spending time together and sharing the same interests and love for football, they started to date but kept it low as two months later, John hired her as his new offensive coordinator.

#26 Kyle Garrick (WR)

the most responsible and reliable player of the team. Kyle’s dad was an ex-WR and a former head coach out of a college football team. His father is a very hardworking man and disciplines his son like a football player, and with that, comes a great expectation for Kyle since his high school years. Kyle is extremely reliable, responsible, and respected on and off the field. He is HC John Price's favorite due to his work ethic. Kyle believes in having discipline in everything he does to be one of the best. He keeps a picture of his girlfriend, Eleanor Graham (Ladybug) everywhere, especially in his locker room as he says she brings him good luck for catching the hail mary’s from Alex.  Kyle and Alex met in Baylor University, where they played together and won many games, including several bowl games. They became best friends in and out of the football field, supporting each other infinitely. “You've got friends nearby.” On Alex’s quote, “I can throw the ball like ‘fuck it, he’s over there somewhere’ and Kyle would magically appear and catch the ball. He’s always at the right place.”

One day during practice Alex was throwing the ball too far to the left, which headed straight towards her head. On instinct and in an attempt to catch the ball, Kyle collided with Eleanor, which bruised her arms. Instead of being upset like how Kyle would expect her to react, she laughed loudly at him, saying that she chose to sit there. She knew the hazard of studying near a football field. Even though Eleanor said she can take care of her bruises, Kyle insisted on nursing her. (Alex SMILED ear to ear). They both met from time to time. Every practice, Kyle always looks for Eleanor on the side of the field. Eleanor’s laid-back personality often bothers Kyle as she's a damn med school student, but through her, Kyle learns how to slow down and live in the moment. Love bloomed between them and they became a couple midway through freshman year. 

When Kyle was drafted to the NFL to be with Alex for New Hampshire 141s, Eleanor was there with him when he received the call from HC Price. Though Eleanor has to stay in Texas to continue her studies, Eleanor travels to New Hampshire often to visit Kyle.

#31 Alex Keller (QB)

Alex is the quarterback of the 141s, second draft pick and first QB of his university. He is very skilled and hard-working, he is in love with water girl Farah Karim and aspires to be like Tom Brady. He and Kyle Garrick (WR) met in their first year of freshman in University and they played since their first year as the duo of QB and WR (Burrow and Chase vibes) and were drafted together in the NFL draft by the same team. Young duo but very effective especially during the regular season. Alex Keller met Farah Karim in his rookie season during training camp in his first year and has been infatuated with her. Since then, he has tried to score ASAP or reach 4th down so he can sit on the bench and talk with her. Whenever he can, he visits and picks her up from University and helps her out whenever he can in anything she would need.

#70 Simon Riley (TE)

Simon Riley used to be a rugby player in England. He joined the rugby team during his college days and met Price as one of his coaches, who trained and guided him to become one of the most dominant flankers in college rugby. Unfortunately, though he’s always dependable whenever he’s on the field, Simon was often riddled with injuries. His quiet personality didn’t help his case either, bearing the pain in his left leg in silence, until one day, he tore his ACL during an important game which cost the team their winning chances. Simon rested for a whole year to heal his knee. Together with his familial struggle, he contemplated quitting being an athlete. That was until Coach Price offered him a fresh start in the USA. As a flanker is equivalent to the Tight End position in American football, Price told him that he would be perfect for the role. Simon was adamant at first as he was still injured and how he’d be able to completely heal from this devastating injury. But when he said that in America they could find him a good physiotherapist to help him heal his knee, he reluctantly accepted the offer.  Simon got into the draft and was a first-round pick due to how much of a good player he was in rugby. On his first day on the team, he met the other players who got drafted, but the most important and the most fateful meeting was when he got introduced to Charlotte Le Jardin (nickname Jade to simplify her last name), a physiotherapist that Laswell had promised help him to heal his ACL and help him regain his top form. It was a rough road, but with every step he took, Jade was there to help him.  Now, every injury he has he doesn’t stay on the sidelines but goes inside the tent or the stadium so he can be checked by her. Whenever Jade’s out watching the game, he scores more than usual or gets distracted. He often carries the team, especially during the conference championship games. 

#71 Johnny MacTavish (RB)

Johnny MacTavish was born and raised in Scotland. After high school, he was offered an academic and sports scholarship to a prominent university in the USA. He began his football career when he was a freshman at University as a very talented runner, which elevated him as the starter RB on his fifth game. In his senior year he was  awarded the Heisman Trophy winner at college, but due to a shoulder injury, he missed being the top pick at the draft. He was later selected by the New Hampshire 141s and got put in as a starter as soon as he got drafted. He has good chemistry with his team but gets injured by overdoing himself or trying to tackle defensive players on the other team. He is also constantly with Jade for treatment and often misses important playoff games. Johnny is a very talented running back and that is why HC Price can’t get rid of him no matter how he misses practices and meetings and how his personal life affects his performance on the field. He always tries to take his friend Simon Riley to social gatherings and social media, but he completely shuts him down every time. That's different on the field though, as whenever Johnny's going to play a run, Simon will always be there in front of him to push the tacklers away, making way for Johnny to score a first down or a touch down. They're an unstoppable duo together. Johnny is very popular among female fans, making his jersey the one with the most sales every year. His dating story is pretty large and his games are always attended by the women he dates (which constantly changes).

some memes I made 😭

Here's the Hereford 141S' Logo and jersey design! The logo is heavily inspired by the Task Force 141's logo, so it's pretty much just a sporty twist of the logo!

More characters underneath the cut!

#11 Alejandro Vargas (MLB) and #22 Rodolfo Parra (OLB)

(Drawing to be posted!)

Alejandro and Rudy both moved to El Paso, Texas when they started high school at the age of 14 years old. They were avid football (soccer) players during their time in Mexico, but when they started High School they began to play football. Both Alejandro and Rodolfo played as Linebackers, Ale being MLB and Rodolfo being OLB. They did amazing in High School then they both received a scholarship to attend the university in Dallas, Texas. Both of them were later selected to do the NFL Pathway program, for both of them. Being together since their childhood years, high school and university they were a packaged deal and were both selected on the same team, same position on the NFL draft.  Alejandro is especially hyped when playing against Philip Graves, QB of the Dallas Shadows. They have had beef with each other on and off the field since they played against each other for the first time. Ale’s average sack during a game against Dallas is approximately 5 per game, he sometimes is way too harsh while tackling making him get a couple of flags whenever he blitzes and sacks. He’s often scolded by his friend Rudy, but he does not care as long as he can sack Graves.

Kate Laswell (Defensive Coordinator)

(Drawing to be posted!)

was raised in Virginia, USA. Both her parents and brothers loved football and so did she. Since elementary, she watched and never missed a game during weekends, she always had a fascination for the Chicago Bears and their ‘85 team. Her father told her about how that defense, without an extraordinary QB or offense made them win the superbowl and also made them the best defense of all time. After witnessing that season and that Superbowl, she fell in love with how the defense scheme in football works. Unfortunately professional football for women wasn’t an option, so she studied a lot to become a defensive coordinator. She studied day and night, memorizing the plays, analyzing games and creating new playbooks since she was young. She struggled a lot to have an opportunity since it was a male-dominated team. One of her childhood friends made it to the roster to become a defensive coordinator for the Colorado Buffaloes College Football Team, he was a good coach but not “impressive”. She supported him by attending his games but couldn't help but try to talk to him whenever she thought he could do better, often interrupting his play callings during his games to make him change the play, and it always worked. She and his friend attended a College Bowl, and met John Price at that game, the three of them watched the game and she started to tell both of them what adjustment she would do for both teams, and that piqued John’s interests as she was awfully right, he was impressed by how well she read offense’s routes and how she was able to change from a 3-4 or 4-3 to a hybrid defense. He decided to give her a chance and hired her as his new defensive coordinator for the 141’s and established a very good partnership and friendship with her ever since.

Farah Karim (Intern Physical Therapy Student - Watergirl)

(Drawing to be posted!)

Farah Karim is a university medical student who got an internship in his junior year of college to be the water girl and help around the New Hampshire  141s team. She comes from an immigrant family and is the pride and joy of her parents. She struggled so much in her younger years to pursue an education and get into a good college in the USA, she managed to get a scholarship due to her great school performance and was given the chance to work with a professional football team. She met Alex Keller after his rookie season and developed a close friendship with them that later turned into a romantic interest. She is grateful for his help and also supports him during games. Her classmates usually bug her by asking Farah to let them meet Alex or to set them up with him, which she dislikes very much.

(OC) Alyssa Martinez (Offensive Coordinator)

Aly was born in Mexico and moved to the USA thanks to a scholarship she received when she graduated from High School and moved to Texas to attend college. As soon as she graduated from Texas A&M holding a Bachelor of Science in Sport Management, she started working as an offensive coordinator at a local highschool. She then escalated to being an offensive coordinator for the College she attended. Aly managed to take the team to a College Bowl where she met 141s Head Coach John Price and became acquaintances after that game, they kept communication after that game, as Aly asked for suggestions for her playbook and she helped Price on suggesting him prospects for the upcoming draft selection and also players on free agency.  She was later hired by Price as his offensive coordinator and they began to have a low key romantic  relationship. She specializes in West Coast offense, having her team play the Air Coryell scheme. She suggested Price to draft Alex Keller as he was the perfect pocket passer that would fit their offense perfectly. She’s an avid Tom Brady fan.

(OC) Charlotte Le Jardin (Physical Therapist)

Originally from England, Jade was adopted by an American couple and moved with them to the United States at an early age. Her parents, Eli and Gracie, worked at Bravo Stadium, home of the 141s, and Jade became a constant presence on the sidelines. As time went by, the Bravo Stadium became her home. Jade started helping around the sidelines bringing water, towels, medical kits, and even helping out in the blue tent, all the while completing her college in biological science and doctor of physical therapy (DPT), and of course, licensing in Physical Therapy. When she got her license, her experience was already on par with the other physiotherapists since she had been jumping from senior to seniors, learning and practicing all she could. Kate Laswell who has been seeing Jade there since she was a teenager, hired Jade as one of the many physiotherapists for 141s, and with that came a fateful challenge: a newcomer Tight End with a torn ACL from his rugby days, who’s trying to get back to his top form in order to play in the NFL.

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PHEW so there you have it! If you've read it this far, oh my LORD me and Aly love you so much! This is a pretty severe brainrot that we had, so hope you like it!

And let's enjoy the 2024 NFL Season 🏈🏈🏈

Hope you like it! 🥰🥰

[mariacallous]

When I caught up with Elizabeth Warren, the senior Democratic senator from Massachusetts, by telephone on Wednesday evening, it seemed like she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Hours earlier, Donald Trump had caved to pressure from the financial markets and announced, via social media, a ninety-day pause on many of his tariffs. On Wall Street, stocks shot up. Later in the afternoon, Warren, who sits on the Senate finance and banking committees, had spoken from the floor of the upper chamber, where she demanded an independent investigation into whether Trump had manipulated the markets to benefit Wall Street donors. (Anybody who had known about the policy pivot in advance could have made a fortune buying stocks or stock futures.) But while, in her floor speech, Warren had bristled with righteous anger at the idea of Trump, or anyone else at the White House, tipping off rich friends, during our conversation she couldn’t stop herself from chortling at the Administration’s claim that the President’s reversal had been the product of an artful negotiation strategy. “No serious person believes that, and I can’t even find an unserious person who believes it,” she joked. “The tariffs are on; the tariffs are off. The tariffs are on; the tariffs are off. Donald Trump is playing the biggest game of Red Light Green Light since ‘Squid Game.’ ”

Since Trump’s return to the White House, his chaotic style of governing has often seemed to catch Democrats off balance, and deprived them of a stationary target. Warren, however, has been on the offensive throughout. Unlike Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who have joined forces for a “Fighting Oligarchy” tour, she hasn’t been barnstorming around the country. (Although, as part of the mass “Hands Off!” protests last weekend, she did speak to a large crowd in Nashville.) But Warren has been busy in Washington. In February, when a team from Elon Musk’s DOGE gutted the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (C.F.P.B.), which she was the primary figure in founding, she denounced the attack as illegal and joined a street protest by the agency’s staff. More recently, Warren has broadened her critique of Trump’s policies to encompass other areas, including trade, taxes, financial regulation, and the debilitating effect of his over-all blitzkrieg. “Chaos is its own tax on the economy,” she said to me. “No business wants to plunk down the millions of dollars it takes to build something, or assemble a team, if they don’t know what the rules will be next week, much less next year. The only consistent theme is chaos, and no one can plan against chaos.”

Warren, who has long been a leading voice on the progressive left, is part firebrand and part policy wonk. During the run-up to the great financial crisis of 2008, when she was a professor at Harvard Law School, she cautioned, in speeches and blog posts, about the dangers of financial deregulation and Wall Street greed. After becoming a senator, in 2012, she focussed on soaring inequality, and, in 2020, when she ran for President, she proposed an annual wealth tax on the top 0.01 per cent. Even before last week, when Trump announced his blanket tariffs and brought the United States to the brink of another financial crisis, Warren was warning about the dangers that Trumponomics posed, including the likelihood that it would plunge the U.S. economy into a recession. “Look, this is the dumbest financial crisis in U.S. history,” she told me in an interview on Wednesday morning, shortly before Trump did his about-face. “Unlike earlier crises caused by viruses or subprime mortgages, this is one man who woke up with a crazy idea and imposed it on the world. But the tariff crisis is layered onto other ways in which he is weakening the economy.”

On a new Substack newsletter that Warren launched on Friday, in conjunction with other Democrats on the Senate Banking Committee, she highlights some of the Trump policies that she sees as particularly pernicious, including efforts to weaken financial deregulation, Musk’s slash-and-burn tactics at key federal agencies, and the pursuit by Republicans in Congress of a highly regressive tax policy that could well force spending cuts which could rip up the social safety net. “Lights are flashing red, but it is not too late,” Warren writes. “We still have time to prevent economic calamity for American families if we act quickly.”

Since coming to office, Trump has appointed new regulators—or, rather, deregulators—at many of the nation’s oversight agencies: the Securities and Exchange Commission, the Federal Reserve, the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, the Commodity Futures Trading Commission, the Federal Trade Commission, and the C.F.P.B. To Warren, this is a recipe for disaster. “The lesson we should have learned from 2008 is that if the regulatory players don’t do their jobs in enforcing the laws and overseeing large financial institutions, these institutions will go for profit every time and load risk into the system,” she told me. In February and March, the shell of the C.F.P.B., where Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent is now the acting director, dropped more than half a dozen enforcement cases. In one of them, the agency had accused the bank Capital One of cheating customers out of two billion dollars by misleading them about interest rates offered on its savings accounts. In another, it had accused three big banks—JPMorgan Chase, Wells Fargo, and Bank of America—of failing to protect their customers from rampant fraud on Zelle, a payments platform in which they have ownership stakes.

In our conversation, Warren underscored that the Republican desire for tax cuts seems to know no bounds. “Even in the middle of this chaos, they are moving forward on a bill that has trillions of dollars in giveaways to corporations and billionaires, and cuts the underlying investment in working families,” she said. “That’s a terrible idea in the best of economic times, but it will be a complete disaster at a time when more American families are coming under financial stress.”

The struggle over taxes and spending seems set to dominate the legislative agenda on Capitol Hill until the end of the year. But, for the moment, Warren is focussed on Trump’s tariffs. Even though some are now lower than they were at the start of the week, they are all still very much in place. (For most goods from China, the import duty is now a hundred and forty-five per cent. Autos, auto parts, steel, and aluminum face rates of twenty-five per cent, as do many other goods from Canada and Mexico. Items from most other countries are subject to a rate of ten per cent.) The policy debate about how far the federal government should go to protect manufacturing jobs remains heated. Even as elected Democrats have lambasted Trump for panicking investors and tanking the markets, some of them, particularly in industrial states such as Michigan and Pennsylvania, have joined the United Auto Workers union in expressing support for at least some of Trump’s tariffs.

When I asked Warren what stance Democrats should adopt on tariffs, she marked out a middle ground, describing them as “an important tool in the economic toolbox,” but arguing that they should be introduced only in certain situations and industries. “If you get sick, and fill your prescription in America, there’s a ninety-per-cent chance that the drug was manufactured overseas, probably in Asia, and the materials for it probably came from China,” she said. “That’s a dangerous place for our country. If we got into a back-and-forth with a couple of countries, suddenly there’s no antibiotics for heart medication.” Warren argued that the keys to employing tariffs successfully are targeting them on goods that have strategic value, using them in conjunction with other policies designed to encourage production in the United States, such as subsidies, and introducing them gradually so that businesses and investors can plan for them. This was the approach of the Biden Administration, and Warren pointed out that it is very different from what Trump is doing. “Imposing tariffs on virtually every country for virtually every product sent to the United States, at rates that seem to be randomly pulled from a bingo cage, is not a way to strengthen America’s economy,” she said. “And it is certainly not a way to attract long-term investment and good jobs to the United States.”

But with Trump and the Republicans holding power in Washington, what can the Democrats do? Warren insists that, at least when it comes to Trump’s blanket tariffs, they are far from powerless. In introducing these levies, which it falsely described as “reciprocal,” the White House invoked the International Emergency Economic Powers Act, of 1977, which gave the President the authority to introduce broad tariffs during a national emergency. “But we are not in an emergency right now with Belgium or South Korea,” Warren pointed out. “That same law gives Congress the power to pass a resolution and say, ‘Nope. No emergency here,’ and roll back the entire tariff authority that Trump is using.”

On Thursday, as the stock markets fell again, Warren, together with her colleague Ron Wyden, of Oregon, introduced a piece of legislation that would do just that. Four Democrats and one Republican—Rand Paul, of Kentucky—joined them. With only forty-seven seats, Democrats seem unlikely to get the votes that they need for the bill to make it out of the Senate, especially now that Trump has announced his timeout. But Warren insists that bringing the legislation to the floor is still worthwhile because Republicans will be forced to vote on it. She said, “They will have to declare for everyone to see: Are they still simply Donald Trump’s suck-ups? Or are they legislators who will exercise independent judgment to protect the people and the economy of the United States?”

Warren surely knows the answer to her questions, which may explain, in part, her enthusiasm for the bill. When I spoke with her for a second time, after Trump’s reversal, she insisted that it was now more important than ever. “Trump demonstrated again that his whims will determine tariff policy for the entire world,” she said. “That will be true right up until Congress says no. Our resolution is the no.” 

[saminsecret]

How the slashers would react to a male s/o part 2

tw for homophobia/outdated views

Sorry it’s been like two three years I’ve been obsessed with Sam Winchester (still am) but i still love my slasher roots

Characters include Thomas Hewitt (TCM remake), Billy Loomis (Scream), and Yaujta (Predator)

Thomas Hewitt (TCM Remake):

He'd be confused and ashamed. Thomas was born in 1939, so most of his values are very homophobic christian-like. Not that he himself really understand homophobia, he was just raised that way. So when he found himself daydreaming thinking of you in a more romantic tone, he definitely felt a huge blow to his self-esteem. What would his family think? He'd become more reclusive and basically shut himself in the basement. He'd also definitely avoid you and his family.

Luda Mae would have to get involved. Now what did Thomas think was going to happen? Hell hath no fury like a concerned mother. "Tommy sweetheart, tell Momma what's wrong!" After some more pleading and guilt tripping, Thomas would be all but butter in Luda Mae's hand. He'd communicate to her about his feelings towards the cute boy (you) down at the gas station, all while looking like a kicked puppy. Luda Mae would feel very mixed emotions. On one hand, Thomas likes someone!! On the other hand, that someone is you...a man. She'd be very conflicted, to say the least.

Luda Mae would set you two up. After thinking about it, Luda Mae puts Thomas' happiness over any bigoted beliefs she has. She loves Thomas too much to stop him from finding someone. She would console Tommy and let him dwell in the basement while she tries to think up a plan on how to push you and Thomas together. Cue her not-so-subtly asking you some suspicious innocent questions while you stock the gas station. "Oh Y/N, how tall do ya' like your man to be? You like men, right? Oh darlin', I won't judge your homosexualness! What about men with long hair? What about-" After some mildly offensive and invasive questions she finally decides you two are a match! She invites you to stay at the Hewitt residence for a little while and finds little things to keep you closer to him. Taking his tray downstairs, helping him with heavy lifting, just harmless things that you guys can bond over. Thomas of course is both extremely delighted and extremely embarrassed. He frequently drops things on himself or is falling over his feet, embarrassing him even more. Poor Tommy! But eventually...

He can't stop being around you! He loves you so much Y/N! He can't stop thinking of you; he's just so smitten! When he has a break, he likes to hold hands or cuddle while you read to him! And don't worry about Hoyt or Monty, they can kiss Thomas' ass! (Or his chainsaw/Luda Mae's various kitchen cutlery, if they go too far). Expect small gifts like crushed flowers or little bits of jewelries he found on some of the victims. He also loves it when you wear his clothes, although he is a big boy compared to anybody so you might not fit into everything. If your strong enough, he'll let you hold his chainsaw :D

Billy Loomis (Scream):

He'd have mixed feelings. Billy (as well as Stu) were probably closeted bisexual's. Billy would be more self-depricating with his sexuality because of his father and the general time period.

He’d bully you. How else is he supposed to deal with his homoerotic feelings towards you? Walking down the hallway you’ll hear a snide remark from Billy (and Stu) about how ‘gay’ you are— what a bunch of dicks!

But eventually… he’d have to have you. He’s obsessed with you, and now that Sidney’s dead he can turn you into his new obsession. He follows you to your classes, teasing you and ‘accidentally’ bumping into you to make you trip. Don’t worry Y/N, it’s not like it can get any worse.

Except now he’s at your window. Tapping on the glass, beckoning for you to let him in. He wants to apologize for all the teasing! Well, at least that’s what he says, but the moment you open the window he pounces on you, knife to your throat. He’s demanding you be his boyfriend! Well…

Now you watch horror movies every night with Billy and Stu. Billy always has an arm wrapped around you, and about a million polaroids stashed away of you sleeping. Enjoy your stalker boyfriend, Y/N!

Male Yautja (Predator):

"I do not care about 'ooman gender, my ooman." Seriously though, you two are completely different species already so it really doesn't matter that you're a guy. You will undoubtably be hated on by other Yautja, but not because you are a male mated to another male but for being a human mated to a Yautja.

He doesn't care about procreation, if that's what you're worried about. Humans and Yautja cannot create offspring, so he knew from the get-go of mating with you that kids would be out of the picture. So being a male doesn't really hinder him. He also doesn't care about whatever concerns the other Yautja have to say about your relationship, he'll fight to the death for you. And god forbid if a human tried to discriminate against you. Hey Y/N, how do you feel about human skulls as décor?

He'd make you more confident. Y/N, you have done the impossible ; courting a Yautja! This should be an immediate confidence booster as your mate has chosen to be with you, a human, rather than further his own species! How'd you do it Y/N?

He'd decorate your house with trophies. Invest in alot of shelves. Yautja live for the Hunt, so expect nothing less from your mate. He'd bring home a variety of trophies ranging from earth animals to things you're sure no human has ever seen before. Your mate is a worthy male, Y/N, and he makes sure to show you through all his various feats! And because you are his mate, he declares that all hunts are dedicated to you. How sweet!

[errriiie]

Right now you're mine

shauna shipman x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, shauna shipman, jealousy, co-dependent relationships (?), dubcon extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, degrading, possessiveness, fingering (r! receiving), dark themes, knife play word count: 3k not proofread english is not writer's first language!

Shadows dancing on the sheets If you obey I might give you a treat. There's something weird about you with Shauna. She's kind to you, then mean, but you never talk about it. She gives you mixed signals every damn day, and you're not quite sure what to make of it. You've been hanging out with Lottie lately because you thought it was okay. Shauna didn't like it. She made that clear. And she just wanted to wipe your nose and wipe the smug smirk off your face the way she knew how to do it best. (Also, you're a little like Mari here)

Your team won the treasure hunt. You were good at running - it was something natural, something that couldn't be taken away. You and the other girls were jumping up and down in a big happy ball, hooting happily, knowing that all day long you would finally be able to rest for at least a day from all this work for the good of your little camp. You tried not to bother anyone, although when Mari or Gen teased one of the losers once again, you did not try to hold back your smile. You finally felt some semblance of dominance, having fun with your friends and also letting off some arrogant comments. You knew that Shauna lost to you, being on the opposite team. Really, you did. But you tried to ignore her unreadable glances, from which her frown and disfavor towards you were given away only by her eyebrows, drawn together to the point of transference, when she snorted and whispered something in the ear of Melissa, who had so inopportunely formed around her.

It pricked your heart, but you couldn’t quite say why. There had never been anything formal or complete between you and Shauna one way or another. There had been some strange looks, awkward touches, but nothing serious, especially since the end of this winter, when the cabin had burned down. Shauna scared the shit out of you, but you couldn't bring it up. There was just something unnerving about her all-encompassing hatred and the way she separated herself from everyone. From you included. Well, it wasn't like you were friends or anything more. You dressed in the rags that Lottie, with whom you had grown a little closer in the last couple of weeks, called "sacred and appropriate" and proudly sat at a chair with the others. You were having a feast, followed by a ritual for those who had died in the winter. You shared grins with your team, cheerfully tapping your fingers on the table, unaware that Shauna was the one bringing you your food. You felt her presence twenty centimeters from your body as she came close. Everyone was busy with each other. In her hands was a deep bowl with something obviously tasty, and even if not, in your circumstances, you had no choice. You looked into her eyes - she looked into yours and, spat, sent a wad of saliva straight into your stew.

"Bon appetit." She placed it in front of you. You did not understand what had just happened. Your eyes widened while Shauna did not even think to move from her place. Then the realization of the disgusting gesture came. The desire to fight for justice followed.

"What the fuck, Shauna? Why did you just spit in my food?" you didn't expect your voice, fueled by the feeling of offense, to become loud enough for others to hear.

"Me? No. I'm not." The look she gave you sent shivers down your spine. She sounded like it was the most natural response, and it almost made you feel like you were the crazy one here.

"Fuck, Shauna, did you spit in her food? Seriously?" Natalie's tired and genuinely confused voice came from your side as she stood up. For some reason, you stood up too.

"No, and the mere suggestion offends me." she replied. Oh, you just got angrier. Apparently no one believed her. But Shauna didn't look like she needed it at all. "You should eat, y/n. I worked hard on this food."

You weren't going to swallow that. Not with so many curious eyes on you and Shauna. You grabbed the cup and pointedly, with one swift movement of your hand, dumped the entire contents on the ground. Shauna was furious because she clearly expected there to be no fight. She thought she knew you well. She thought you would bend to her will. The lack of the desired reaction was like the safety catch being released. Shauna leaned forward, grabbed your hair, tangling her strong fingers in the tangled mass and literally bent you over, smashing your cheek into what was left of the spilled stew. Not the smartest way to dispose of food. "I told you to eat, bitch!" she screams, letting you whine in humiliation and the efforts you make in vain to get out before the girls pull you apart. "Okay, I've had enough!" Natalie is pissed, and she's the queen, she's the leader of your little group, and you look completely confused as you try to wipe the dirt and stew off your face. "Both of you. House arrest. And no arguments. Don't ruin our evening with your bullshit." But you're hurt. You're literally the victim, you've done nothing to Shauna fucking Shipman, and you've definitely never wished her any harm, so why the fuck did she humiliate you in front of everyone and make you look so pathetic? You wrenched yourself free of the girl who was holding you and screamed furiously. "Fuck you all, this is bullshit!" you turned on your heels, trying to pick up the remains of your battered, pathetic pride and walked in the direction your tear-stained eyes were looking. Your back was literally catching sympathetic glances, especially Lottie's, and this only made you look smaller in this whole situation.

You clung to a tree, staring at the green crown of the spruce above your head. Damn Nat, who decided to punish you too. Damn everyone who decided not to intervene in time. Damn Shauna, who... the crunch of branches made you shudder and look around. You turned around, seeing a familiar figure in ordinary clothes. Dirty flannel, jeans stained with what looked like old blood, a knife... a knife? You look scared now. You stares at Shauna, takes a warning step back. "Whatever you're going to do to me, don't you fucking dare. Everyone will know." Your voice is menacing, and your eyes are watching the knife a dozen times more than they are watching Shauna's expression and intentions. "What the fuck have I ever done to you, Shipman? I didn't harm you in any way!" you try to defend yourself. Shauna's knife hand twitches at the word harm, moonlight catching the blade's serrated edge as she takes three slow steps forward. Her flannel clings to sweat-damp shoulders, that same earthy musk from pinning your face into the dirt still clinging to her knuckles.

"Done to me?" A bark of laughter scrapes her throat raw. She taps the knife's flat side against the pale line bisecting her left eyebrow—the scar from when you "accidentally" elbowed her during that stupid lake ice fight last winter. "You breathe. That's what you do."

The blade drifts lower, cold steel brushing the hollow of your throat. Shauna's other hand snakes out to fist in that infuriatingly soft shirt, yanking you close enough to smell the forest rot clinging to your hair. Her breath hitches—just once—when your noses almost touch.

Fourteen days ago. Midnight watch shift. Your laugh carrying from the tree line, leaning into Lottie's shoulder like you hadn't spent last Thursday letting Shauna braid wolfsbane into your hair.

"You wanna know what I'm gonna do?" Shauna murmurs, thumb swiping through the mud still smeared on your cheekbone. You presses yourself against the damn pine tree—or fir, it doesn't matter. You look wary, scared, and you trying to control your breathing so as not to show your fear to Shauna. Your head shoots up almost instinctively because you want to press youself against the tree trunk, just so Shauna doesn't slit your throat. "I... I actually hope you don't do anything," you says uncertainly, not knowing on what you supposed to be looking at: Shauna’s knife or Shauna’s face. "You know it'll cost you dearly if you kill me." The blade trembles—just enough to nick skin—as Shauna's mouth twists into something bitter and hungry. Pine resin sticks to your back, sharp and medicinal, mingling with the iron tang blooming at your throat.

"Cost me?" Shauna drags the knife downward, popping the first button of your shirt with surgical precision. "You think Nat gives a shit if I skin you like a rabbit?" You winces as a thin, shallow cut, small but bleeding, blooms across your throat. You can't even see it, and fear overwhelms you. You always thought this would be a rush of adrenaline, but your body just doesn't move as you mercilessly endures Shauna apparently undressing you.

"You're fucked if you kill me, I mean it," you voice is more of a tremor and a terrified bleat than anything else. The cougar bares its teeth even when cornered by a bear. "You know it's true, don't play with me."

Shauna's knife hand goes still when your breath hitches. The second button parts with a snick of steel through thread, exposing a sliver of collarbone that glows blue-white in the moonlight. Her free hand digs into your hip hard enough to bruise, pinning you against sticky bark.

"Cost," she repeats, dragging the blade lower to trace the curve of a breast through thin cotton. "You still think we're debating philosophy in the Literature class? That Becky MacCoy is gonna tattle to mr. Devis?"

The knife tip finds the third button. "They'll thank me." Cold metal slips between fabric folds, grazing nipple. "Burn your clothes for kindling. Use your bones for broth." Her knee jams between your  thighs, pressing up hard. "But you?" The blade retreats, comes to rest against your lower lip. "You'll just be... inconvenient."

You whimpers as Shauna's knee presses so nastily—and so good—on your clit. Fuck, you doesn't even know what's happening. Your mind is all mixed up with the holy and the sinful, and you doesn't understand who Shauna is to you, or if you going to die today. Or if you going to cum, either.

"W-why are you saying all this? Why are you doing all this?" you asks, looking worriedly at the knife on your bottom lip, but you has to admit, you looking into Shauna's dark eyes more often. "I don't even... hate you. Why the hell are you doing this to me, you fucking sadist?"

Shauna's thumb presses the blade flat against your tongue, metallic bitterness flooding both their mouths. Her knee grinds harder, friction burning through denim as she leans in until their foreheads touch. Sweat-damp strands of hair cling to your temple—you smells like fear and elderberries, Shauna notes with vicious satisfaction.

"Sadist?" She twists the knife handle, making light catch the saliva-slick steel. "You begged for this when you let Lottie braid those fucking daisies in your hair last week." The accusation comes out hoarse, unexpected. Her free hand snakes under your shirt, nails biting into soft belly flesh.

That afternoon by the creek. Your head in Lottie's lap, flower crowns and shared jerky. Shauna gutting rabbits twenty feet away, blood dripping hotter with each peal of laughter.

The knife withdraws. Shauna licks a stripe up the column of your throat, tasting copper and pine sap. "You want reasons?" Her teeth close around an earlobe, biting just shy of breaking skin. "I'm the butcher. You're the meat." You lets out a low moan in Shauna's ear, because it's hard not to. But your head is a storm, and you itching to defend yourself. You've always been quite the fighter. Maybe that's why Shauna wanted to break you so much. "I will be the last one to be meat. I'm the meat if I ever draw the queen card. But right now, I'm not meat at all," you mutters in Shauna's ear.

"You want to know why I was hitting on Lottie a week ago? Why I had daisies and wolfberry and sea buckthorn leaves in my hair? Because I wanted to fucking suck up to Lottie a little. I don't need her at all, if you're wondering." you speak with surprising clarity, as if there's no lie in your words. "Are you jealous of me, Shipman? Or are you jealous of her? I think if you were jealous of her, I'd be a fucking corpse right now."

Shauna's blade slips between the fourth and fifth buttons, parting fabric with a sound like cracking ice. The knife tip traces the valley between your breasts—too sharp, too precise to draw blood unless she wants to. Her other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back against the tree.

"You think I care about your pathetic games?" The blade dips lower, slicing through waistband elastic. Cold night air hits bare skin as denim pools around your ankles. Shauna's palm slams against the tree beside your head, forearm flexing as she crowds into your space. "Jealousy's for people who don't know how to take what's theirs."

Her teeth find the juncture of neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to bloom a bruise. You twitch in pain, but to Shauna's satisfaction, you have nothing to counteract. The knife clatters to the forest floor as Shauna's hand replaces it between your thighs, fingers pressing ruthless circles through damp cotton panties. "You don't get to be meat," she breathes against the fresh bite, "until I say you're meat."

It's too much for you. You twitches, and damn Shauna for being so fucking strong compared to you. Even in the past, you had always been known for your speed and tact, but not for your strength, which Shauna had in abundance.

You moans, softly and loudly, haltingly, trying to say something but unable to start a new sentence. You whine, and feels your teeth wound ache. You see the blood from the bite mark on Shauna's lips and leans forward, kissing them and biting her bottom lip before Shipman can say anything. You didn't understand what you were doing, but you really wanted to save your life. You already understood that Shauna had no intention of killing you. Yet. Fucking you was probably more interesting. You had fantasized about it a couple of times when you had to press yourself closer to Shauna's body in the winter because you had no choice and had to endure this forced closeness. You didn't remember when exactly you started liking it. Shauna freezes when your teeth catch her lip—a split-second of stillness where the forest holds its breath. Then her hand flies to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair to crush their mouths together properly. The taste of her own blood blooms between them, metallic and primal, as she licks into your mouth with the same ruthlessness she uses to field-dress deer. The kiss tastes like violence.

Her free hand rips the remaining buttons off your shirt, nails raking down pale ribs. The abandoned knife lies forgotten between pine needles as Shauna shoves her knee higher, denim seam grinding against soaked underwear. "Still think you're not meat?" she growls against swollen lips, biting the question into your jaw. Her thumb finds the hollow beneath your ear—that spot she'd mapped weeks ago during forced proximity—and presses hard enough to make your eyes roll back.

You moans hoarsely, your hips jerking against Shauna's knee between your legs. You need more, you want more, and you both so turned on right now. "Sh-shut up..." you moans, your cheek pressed against Shauna's for a second before your hands slide under Shauna's flannel and t-shirt, your nails raking painful lines down her back. You're such a fucking mess. Both of you. "P-please, do something. Give me your fingers back." You almost begs, biting you own bottom lip. Her knee isn't enough.

Shauna's laugh comes out ragged, more breath than sound, as she drags her bloodied lip across your cheekbone. "Begging already?" Her teeth catch the shell of your ear, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. The hand at your neck slides much lower, calloused fingers hooking into the waistband of those ruined panties.

With a sharp tug, Shauna tears the cotton aside. Her middle finger slides through slick heat in one brutal thrust, curling upward on the retreat. "This what you wanted?" she rasps, palm slapping against clit with each punishing stroke. Her other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sounds she'd die before admitting she's memorized. "Or you need me to carve the answer out of you?"

The forest floor swallows yours mingled breaths—pine needles crunching under shifting weight, distant owl cries drowned out by the wet slap of skin. Shauna presses her forehead to yours, brown eyes gone feral in the moonlight. "You'll take what I give," she growls, adding a second finger that stretches tight muscle, "and fucking thank me for it." You look at Shauna blurrily, your eyes unable to find focus, so bright and blue usually, so enchantingly deep now, looking so faded with sexual arousal. You moans in mild pain - it's been a long time since anyone has stretched you from the inside, and you feel sick from the unfamiliarity. That nice, fucking good feeling down there becomes clearer as you whispers. "I'm going to c-cum," you doesn't know why you warning Shauna about this, leaning almost all your entire body on her. One of your hands falls from Shauna's neck and lazily tries to pull Shauna's jeans down, but they won't budge. Of course. They're fucking buttoned. Shauna catches your wandering hand mid-hip, slamming it back against the tree with enough force to dislodge bark. "You don't touch," she snarls, the knife suddenly reappearing in her periphery—plucked from the forest floor and pressed sideways against your heaving stomach. Her fingers never stop moving inside you, the heel of her palm grinding relentless circles as sweat drips from her jaw onto exposed collarbones. "Think I'd let you sully these?" Shauna jerks her hips forward, denim-clad thigh rubbing against your bare one. The blade traces lazy patterns over damp skin without breaking it—this time. "These hands skin bears. Butcher does the taking."

Her thrusts turn jagged, knuckles whitening with the effort of keeping you pinned. The knife falls again, forgotten as Shauna's teeth find purchase on a peaked nipple through torn fabric. "Cum then," she demands against salt-damp skin, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Prove you're more than Lottie's fucking lapdog. More than just another dumb bitch who's content with her measly victory."

Moonlight catches the wild glint in brown eyes as Shauna watches—always watching—the exact moment your body betrays you. Her free hand digs into the soft flesh of your thigh, blunt nails leaving crescent promises that'll outlast dawn. You shudders, whimpers, and as if on cue, cums all over Shauna's fingers with a soft moan. Your head snaps back and hits the tree trunk. You hisses in pain, but it doesn't matter as you recovers from the intense orgasm. You doesn't even look at Shauna, simply because you afraid to look her in the eye after that.

"Was that all necessary?" you mutters, but not with aggression or irritation. It sounds like a strange question. Shauna withdraws her fingers slowly, deliberately, watching yours body twitch with oversensitivity. She brings glistening digits to her mouth, tongue swiping through the mess with a predator's grin. "Necessary?" The word drips with mockery as she steps back, adjusting her flannel with hands that don't quite steady.

She stoops to retrieve her blade, thumb wiping pine resin off the hilt. The night air bites at sweat-slick skin as she turns toward the tree line, shoulders rigid. "Don't flatter yourself." The words hang between them like a noose. "Just needed to shut you up before the coyotes came."

Her retreating footsteps crunch through underbrush, leaving you half-dressed against the pine. Dawn's first light catches the blood drying on Shauna's collar—proof of teeth marks she'll spend tomorrow's watch shift tracing with her tongue. She leaves you alone. Confused and half-naked. You awkwardly pull up your wet underwear, dress as best you can - your clothes aren't in the best condition, and you knew it was unwise to lose them like that. You came, but was it worth it?

You swallow your resentment as you slip into your hut. You just want to sleep.

[cece693]

Kiss, Marry, Kill

pairing: jasper hale x male reader tags: human reader, jasper being hurt over small things, Emmett being his joking self, party games, crack fic?

Streamers of gold and cream swirled from the high ceiling of the Cullens’ mansion, and the soft glow of fairy lights made everything look like a magical dreamland—well, at least to your human friends, who couldn’t stop gawking at the place. For you, it was home away from home. After all, you spent so much time here with Jasper that the polished floors and glittering chandeliers had become more familiar than your own dorm room.

Still, tonight felt different. It was your birthday—the last you’d celebrate with a beating heart. Next year, you’d be fully immortal, forever attached to Jasper’s side. But first, you had a party to survive.

You had just finished eating a perfect slice of birthday cake (courtesy of Esme’s unwavering drive to make it tasty for even someone who despised cake) when Jessica's voice boomed across the music:

“Birthday boy! Get over here! We need you!”

Her tone made you freeze. You recognized that brand of enthusiasm. It usually meant trouble or embarrassing party games. With a resigned sigh, you left the comfort of the food table and found Jessica huddled in the living room with Angela, Mike, and a handful of other curious onlookers.

“We’re playing Kiss, Marry, Kill,” Jessica announced, flipping her hair as if she was unveiling some grand plan. “And you’re up first!”

Your stomach sank like a stone in a lake. An array of wide, excited eyes turned your way, including Mike’s—who offered a sheepish wave. You prayed to whatever powers exist that Jasper wasn’t within earshot. “C’mon, Jess,” you said, forcing a laugh. “Don’t you think I’m too old for this?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re twenty-one, not eighty-one! Besides, Emmett is all fired up just hearing about it.”

You heard a low chuckle from across the room. Emmett, leaning casually by the DVD shelf, flexed his biceps with a wink. Rosalie smacked his arm in mock annoyance. Great—there went your hopes of keeping this discreet.

“Alright, fine,” you relented, your cheeks heating. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jessica cleared her throat dramatically and raised a tiny notebook where she’d jotted down names. “So, Kiss, Marry, Kill…” She paused, letting the suspense build. “Mike, Emmett, and Tyler!”

You snorted. Of course she’d drag Emmett in. And Tyler? The guy who you briefly had a fling with before getting with Jasper? Oh boy, now you desperately hoped Jasper wasn't even in the house.

“Okay,” you began slowly. “Let me, uh…weigh my options…”

Immediately you thought of killing Tyler. No way would you announce you'll hypothetically kiss or marry him, it was tough enough to break your friends-with-benefits relationship. You didn't want to give him false hope when that ship has sailed. Mike was potentially clingy, might send you heart-shaped candies on Valentine’s Day with bad puns, but he was overall harmless. And Emmett, there would never be a boring day in your life, it was Rosalie you were worried about. She'll definitely kill you if you even dared to steal him away.

As these thoughts zipped through your mind, you realized the circle of friends was waiting with bated breath. “Alright,” you said, “if I have to choose, I'll kiss Mike…”you said, pointing lamely in his direction.

You heard him choke on a soft, “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at Emmett, who was now wagging his eyebrows. "I'll marry Emmett. He’s entertaining, funny, strong, and got a great sense of humor..." you rattled off, trying not to laugh as Emmett bounced in his spot like a child. “You hear that, Rosie? I’m marriage material!” Rosalie simply rolled her eyes.

"And I'll kill Tyler. No offense man, but you did almost take out Bella with that van years ago, so maybe it's karmic justice. Rest in peace.”

While your friends erupted into laughter, especially at the idea of your 'marriage' with Emmett, you maneuvered your way through the crowd, itching to find Jasper. While it was merely a game, you knew it would rub your cowboy the wrong way to hear you'll marry his brother. Looking everywhere for him—his room, the kitchen, the living room, hell, even the bathroom—you had just returned to the kitchen where Edward suddenly flashed in front of you.

“Jeez, Edward!” you exclaimed, pressing a hand to your chest. “I'm still human, remember?"

He just shrugged with a knowing smile. “He’s in Carlisle’s study. I’d go talk to him if I were you.”

His expression told you everything you needed to know—Jasper was not in a good mood. With a nod, you headed toward the study, ducking under a few gold streamers.

You found Jasper sitting at Carlisle’s desk, arms folded, staring intently at the wall. His blond hair fell into his face, casting shadows across his darkening eyes. The moment you stepped in, he flicked his eyes up, then away, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to see you or avoid you.

“Jazz?” you said softly, closing the door behind you. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

His expression darkened as he let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t act like you don’t know. I heard everything. You’re apparently planning to marry Emmett now.” Though the jealousy stung your heart, his wording was so ridiculous you almost snorted. But one look at his face told you laughter would not help.

“It was a joke, Jazz. You know that.”

His Southern drawl grew sharper. “A joke, sure, but it sounded pretty convincing. You did have reasons lined up for why Emmett would be such a great husband.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re serious right now?”

He held your gaze, frustration and hurt swirling in those golden irises. “If you wanna go marry him, go ahead,” he said bitterly. “It’s your birthday; maybe that’ll be my gift to you—freedom from me.” You took a breath, forcing yourself not to snap back. He was centuries old, but that didn’t stop him from occasionally having the emotional meltdown of a teenager.

“Jasper, you know I love you,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “The only reason I said I’d marry Emmett is because Tyler and Mike are the other two options. And I definitely wasn’t going to marry them.”

He ran a hand through his honey-blond hair, exasperation evident. “Still. Hearing you talk about Emmett like that…it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I’m sorry, but in the game, someone had to be Marry. And I—”

A loud creak announced a third party: Emmett barged in, wearing the dopiest grin. “Hey, fiancé!” he crowed, waggling his eyebrows.

Jasper’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Emmett, I’m really not in the mood.”

Emmett tossed his hands up. “Okay, big guy, cool it. I just wanted to see if the wedding was still on or if I should start ripping up the invitations.”

You blushed furiously. “Emmett, get out!”

He laughed but obeyed, tossing a mock salute as he backed out, calling down the hallway, “Hey, Rosalie, we’re canceled… I mean, no, I’m not actually…It was a joke—don’t give me that look!”

When Emmett finally left, the door clicked shut, leaving you and Jasper alone again. You watched him quietly for a moment, noticing how his shoulders slumped with residual tension. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, stepping closer. “You mean everything to me—this game was Jessica’s silly idea, and I just got roped in. I swear, I never would’ve said it if I knew it’d hurt you.”

His jaw worked, and you could see he was trying to contain the waves of jealousy. You placed a tentative hand on his arm.

“I chose Emmett mostly for comedic effect, okay? Mike is…Mike, and I have history with Tyler. If I’d said I’d marry him, I’d be sleeping with one eye open. Emmett was the lesser evil.”

A flicker of amusement ghosted across his face—very brief. “So, you really don’t wish you had a ring from Emmett?”

You nearly laughed. “God, no. I’m sure Rosalie would kill me if I tried. And I only want your ring, anyway.”

He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his posture. Carefully, you slid your arms around his waist, feeling his cool body against yours. “You’re the one I want,” you insisted. “Always. Soon, we’ll be bonded forever—vampire to vampire. That’s bigger than a wedding.”

His eyes softened, and you could tell he was tuning into your sincerity—possibly even reading the waves of guilt and affection roiling off you. “I’m sorry I overreacted,” he said quietly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just…don’t like the idea of sharing you.”

The door swung open again, this time revealing Alice, Bella, and Edward peeking inside—like a cluster of meddling siblings. “Are we good here?” Alice asked, twirling a piece of confetti between her fingers. “Because the party’s over, and I’m thinking of scheduling a no-more-dumb-games vow for the next birthday.”

Bella attempted a sympathetic smile. “We tried telling Jessica that it might not be the best idea.”

“Also, Emmett’s writing up a wedding registry,” Edward piped in, wry amusement in his tone. “You might want to stop him before he goes too far.”

Jasper let out a disgruntled sigh, rising from his seat. “I’ll put a stop to that.” You followed him out, hand in hand. The tension of the evening lingered in the air, but the weight was lifting, replaced by relief and some lingering embarrassment.

Back in the foyer, Emmett was dramatically dictating a registry list to Rosalie, who stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Definitely want a waffle iron, and maybe a lifetime supply of hair gel for the big day—”

Jasper cleared his throat, and Emmett turned to see the two of you standing there. “Aww, the happy couple!” he teased, pressing his hands together.

“Emmett, enough,” Jasper hissed, though you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and swatted Emmett with a leftover balloon. “You’re impossible.”

You let out a chuckle and caught Jasper’s eye. The corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile—an olive branch of sorts.

Alice, never one to miss a cue, fluttered over. “Now that the crisis is averted, how about we officially call it a night? There’s more cake on the table if you want it, but I doubt you do,” she teased, knowing full well none of the Cullens would partake.

“I might,” you joked. “Still human, remember?”

Jasper slid an arm around your waist, leaning down to press a cool kiss to your temple. “You might be human now,” he whispered, “but soon enough, we’ll have our forever.”

You smiled, heart full and light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”